Part One:

The Beginning of the End

Chapter One

"Blasted Cardassian technology," Chief O'Brien muttered to himself. He had been working in lower pylon three ever since the Andorian freight vessel had almost ripped out the docking clamps trying to leave the station. Apparently, the clamps had frozen and wouldn't release.

He had always known this day would come. When the Federation had taken command of the station after the Cardassian withdrawal, they almost had to rebuild it from scratch. In order to cut down on the transition time, they had to splice Starfleet technology with what the Cardassians had left behind. And after five years of working peacefully together, the system finally decided to reject its Cardassian counterpart and shut down.

O'Brien hunted around for his laser torch. He had been in the lower pylon for the better part of the day, and it wasn't getting any better. He had managed to isolate the problem, but the solution wasn't any easier.

"Rom," he called over his shoulder. He had been opposed to the Ferengi joining his Engineering Team, but Rom had proven himself to be a valuable asset, both to the station and to O'Brien himself.

"Rom," he called a second time, a little louder. A moment later the Ferengi stuck his head around the corner, peering at O'Brien with those beady little eyes of his.

"You called, Chief?" he asked softly.

"Could you get me my laser torch from my tool kit?" O'Brien asked, trying not to sound annoyed at the little troll. Even though he could grate on your nerves, Rom meant well most of the time.

"Certainly," he answered and slipped back around the corner. O'Brien chuckled to himself. A few seconds later, Rom returned, laser torch in hand.

"Here you go, Chief," he said, handing the torch to O'Brien, a huge grin on his face. The Ferengi always felt good about himself after accomplishing a task, no matter how trivial the task might be.

"Thank you Rom," O'Brien said and bent over the exposed panel he had been working on. Just then, his comm badge beeped, breaking the silence of the empty space.

"Sisko to O'Brien," the deep voice called over the unit.

"Go ahead, Captain," O'Brien answered back. He gingerly placed the panel on the floor, wiping his hands on his trousers.

"How's it going, Chief?" Sisko asked.

"Well, I've isolated the problem," O'Brien answered. "But unfortunately, in order to correct it, I'll have to rebuild the entire module from scratch. The entire pylon will be out of commission for awhile, I'm afraid."

"How long do you think you'll need for repairs?"

O'Brien shook his head, even though Sisko couldn't see the action. "Maybe three days, maybe longer. It depends on mow many parts I can replicate, and how many I'll have to salvage from other systems."

"Chief, in case you've forgotten, the delegation from Parada will be here in three days. And as you know, the Paradin always travel in packs. We'll need all the pylons in operation order before then."

"I'll do my best," O'Brien said, and closed the channel. He shook his head. He knew the Captain always expected the best from him, and he's never let him down before. He turned to Rom, who'd stood silently by during the exchange. "All right, you heard the Captain," he said, turning back to the console. "Let's get cracking."

"Aye, aye Chief," Rom said, giving O'Brien a mock salute before returning to his work. O'Brien chuckled, and then proceeded to delve into the guts of the machine.

-----

Everything was going well in Ops, or as well as could be expected. Aside from the slight problem with the docking clamps, there wasn't anything major to report. Everything was quiet from the Cardassian border, and there hadn't been an incident with the Dominion for weeks. Aside from the Paradin delegation that was scheduled to dock at Deep Space Nine in a couple of days, the immediate horizon seemed uneventful.

Captain Sisko leaned back in his chair, rolling his baseball in one hand and staring out the viewport at the surrounding stars. The constant traffic on the station only served to make him appreciate days like these even more. It had been weeks since he had a chance to relax, to simply enjoy himself and the people he had the pleasure of being stationed with. It was days like these that he truly enjoyed his command.

A beep disturbed the solitude of the room, and Sisko swiveled in his chair, placing the baseball back into the holder on the end of his desk. "Sisko here," he called into the open comlink.

"Kira here, Captain," the voice of his first officer echoed loudly in the room. "We've just picked up an incoming shuttle on our long-range sensors. It's coming in pretty fast."

"I'll be right there. Major," Sisko answered and closed the channel. He got up from his chair, and after a moment, left the sanctity of his office and stepped out into the command center of the station.

He walked over to Dax's console, peering over her shoulder as she worked. "What have we got, old man?" Sisko asked, sizing up the situation.

"The shuttle's coming in at full impulse," Dax answered.

"Can you identify it?" Sisko asked.

After a moment, Kira answered. "It's a Vulcan science vessel. And from the amount of plasma leakage, it's damaged pretty badly."

"Is there anyone on board?" Sisko asked.

"I can't get a good reading," Dax answered from her station. "The radiation level inside the cabin is too high. From what I can determine, there's one life-sign, but it's very weak."

"Let's get a tractor beam on it, and tow it in," Sisko said, and then slapped the commbadge on his uniform. "Sisko to Bashir," he called down to the Infirmary.

"Bashir here, Captain," the voice of the doctor called back.

"Prepare to receive a patient, Doctor, suffering from severe radiation sickness," Sisko said and turned to Dax. "Can you beam the patient to Sickbay?" he asked.

Dax shook her head. "I won't be able to get a transporter lock through all the plasma leakage," she answered.

Sisko grunted, and turned back to the viewer. "Doctor, we have a change of plans," he called into the still open commlink. "Meet us at airlock two. We'll have to get the patient out ourselves."

"Understood," Bashir called, and terminated the link.

He turned around to his Klingon operations officer, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. "Mr. Worf, you're with me," he said and the two of them left Ops, heading for the docking ring.

-----

The medical team had already arrived by the time Sisko and Worf reached the airlock. Bashir was there, medkit in hand, two of his junior nurses waiting behind him in the corridor.

"All right people, time's short," Sisko called out. He stepped up to the door and pressed the button. They had to wait a moment for the airlock to pressurize, and then the massive door slid back. Sisko nodded and Worf entered, the medical team right behind him.

Bashir had handed masks to his everyone, and they put them on before opening the inner door. Bashir hit the button, and a moment later it slid back, opening onto a vision of hell.

Waves of plasma roiled out of the shuttle into the airlock, kicking the air purifiers on to try and ventilate the fumes out of the airlock. Bashir squinted his eyes against the onslaught, and after a moment, bolted through the open door into the shuttle. The two nurses followed, while Sisko and Worf waited on the outside, staying out of the doctors' way.

A few minutes later Bashir emerged from the shuttle, followed by his nurses. An unconscious Vulcan was being carried between them, his face and arms severely burned. They carried him into the corridor, and gently placed him on the deck plating. Bashir pulled off his mask and opened his medkit.

"Is he going to make it Doctor?" Sisko asked over the fallen figure. Bashir pulled out a hypospray and placed it against the Vulcan's neck.

"We have to get him to Sickbay immediately," Bashir said. He reached for his combadge to call the transporter room when the Vulcan gasped in surprise, grabbing Bashir's arm by the wrist and pulling him down.

Bashir looked down and the Vulcan leaned up, his mouth moving, trying to muster up the strength to speak. Bashir leaned closer, pressing his ear next to the Vulcan's mouth.

"Please...' the Vulcan rasped, his throat thick with inhaled plasma. "Please...kill..me..."

Bashir looked down at the Vulcan, astonished, and saw something he never expected to see on a Vulcan's face: stark terror. The pressure on his wrist increased, and Bashir pulled back, looking at his nurses' for assistance.

"Please..." the Vulcan insisted, his voice getting stronger. "I mustn't...be allowed...to live."

"Doctor?" Sisko asked from behind, the concern evident in his voice.

"He must be delirious," Bashir asked, trying to break free from the Vulcan's grasp. When it was obvious he wouldn't be able to, he looked at one of his nurses. "Give this man a sedative until we can get him to the Infirmary," he ordered.

The nurse nodded and pulled out a hypospray from his own medkit. He placed it against the Vulcan's neck and pressed the button. Bashir looked at the Vulcan and watched the horror fill the man's eyes as the sedative took hold. "Please..."he begged one last time and then his hand dropped from Bashir's wrist as unconsciousness overtook him.

Bashir slapped his commbadge. "Bashir to transporter room. Two to beam to the Infirmary."

Sisko nodded and stepped back from them as the transporter whisked them away. Sisko stood in the silent corridor for a moment, and then turned to his operations officer. "As soon as its safe, I want you to take a team into that shuttle and go over every square inch of it. I want to know exactly what happened."

"Understood," Worf said and Sisko left, heading back in the direction of Ops, the unspoken question still lingering in his mind. What exactly could have happened that would have terrified a Vulcan? Perhaps that wan an incident that Sisko didn't want to understand.