Chapter Three
"How is the patient Doctor?" Sisko asked, entering the infirmary. Bashir looked up from his console, where he had been studiously working on the results from the Vulcan's last medical exam.
"Stable, for the moment," Bashir answered. "He suffered some tissue damage from the inhaled plasma, but he doesn't seem to have acquired any permanent damage. I have him sedated so his body can recover from the injuries."
Sisko looked at the doctor and frowned. He had grown used to Bashir's little idiosyncrasies over the past five years, and he knew when something was bothering the Doctor. "Is there something else, Doctor?" he prodded, hoping to bring it out.
Bashir looked up at him, surprised at the Captain's insight. "Oh it's probably nothing," he said, trying to shrug it off. When he saw that Sisko wasn't going to let it go that easily, he continued. "The computer picked up some anomalous readings that it hasn't been able to identify," he answered.
"Something serious?" Sisko asked. This was the second instance where the computer came across something it wasn't familiar with. He wondered if the two were connected in some way.
"I'm not sure," Bashir said, turning back to his readings. "I don't think so, but I'll have to run further tests to clarify it."
Sisko nodded. "Worf will be bringing you a sample of something we've found on the Vulcan's shuttle," he said. "I was hoping you could give us a hand in identifying it."
"I'll give it my best," Bashir said.
"I know you will, Doctor," Sisko said. "I'll be in my office if you need me." Bashir nodded at him and then turned back to his work. Sisko stayed a moment longer and then left, heading back to Ops, leaving the Doctor to his own ministrations.
It had been an hour since Worf had left with the sample for Sickbay, and Hernandez still wasn't finished. The Klingon had ordered him to go over the entire computer core twice, in case the Chief had missed something in his first perusal. Hernandez had thought the idea pointless, but had wisely kept his opinion to himself. After all, he knew better than to upset a Klingon, especially one that was his superior officer.
So he had set to work immediately after Worf had left, and had been diligently working ever since. The only trouble was, he hadn't turned up a single thing in the hour that he had been busy. Apparently the Chief had been as thorough as ever.
"I swear," he muttered to himself, a habit he had picked up working on the night shift. "IF there's anything worse than a Klingon officer..." He trailed off. A light skittering sound echoed from the empty shuttle behind him. He pulled his head out from under the console and stared towards the back of the ship. He couldn't detect anything within the ship. He shrugged and turned back to the console before him.
"Not only have I begun talking to myself, but I've also started hearing things." He reached into his toolkit for a laser torch and stuck his head back beneath the console. He was just about to remove another panel when he heard the sound again. It was a sharp sound, like needles on metal. He slid out from between the two chairs in the cockpit and stood up, turning to face the empty corridor behind him.
"Hello?" he called out to the darkness, hoping that someone would answer. "Is anyone there?" He started forward, laser torch in hand. The sound came again, closer this time, coming down the corridor. He held the torch in front of him like a weapon. He knew it wouldn't be much help, but he still felt safer holding it.
He started down the corridor, one tentative step at a time. The corridor was empty, his only company the shadows that clung to the walls like a second skin. He called out again, and again was greeted with silence. He stopped in the corridor and stared around, listening to the sounds around him.
After a moment he chuckled to himself. Working the night shift had left him a little jittery. Satisfied that he was alone in the shuttle, he turned back towards the cockpit. He was eager to finish his work so he could take his readings and get the hell out of there. He had taken a few steps down the corridor before he finally noticed the shadow moving on the wall next to him. Or at least he thought it was shadow. He turned to face the wall and the shadow detached itself from it, towering its blackness over him like a disease. He took a few steps back, almost dropping the laser torch in the process. The blackness advanced on him, its fluid movements paralyzing him. He tried to scream for help, but his throat had locked, frozen in terror. With a sheer force of will, he held the laser torch in front of him, its red glow bathing the corridor in an eerie light. And in that light, Hernandez looked square upon a visage from Hell, and promptly lost his mind.