AWOL

by Devan Dev

Julian Bashir has just lost his job, but that's the least of his problems on this day! Bashir & cast of thousands.

All characters are the property of Paramount. Any resemblance to people living or dead is strictly coincidental, and suggests a slight paranoia on your part.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Absent Without Leave

Conflict of Interest

"What!"

At least, that's what Dax thought he said.

She was watching Bashir through the door to Sisko's office where he looked like he was working himself up into quite a snit. They'd been in there for almost ten minutes now and Dax, ever the curious one, was wondering just what was going on. Sisko had called him in after spending over half an hour on subspace talking to Starfleet Command, and at first both parties had been seated while Sisko got to the point, but now Bashir was on his feet, glaring at the commander like a man betrayed. Dax wanted to know why.

Finally he left, resentment plain on his face as the lift disappeared below the deck plates.

Poking her head through Sisko's door, Dax raised her eyebrows at him in inquiry. "What was all that about?"

He sighed. Time for the inevitable questions. "I guess everyone will know soon enough. I've just informed Dr Bashir that he is no longer the Chief Medical Officer of this station." He watched her eyebrows rise even higher with detached amusement.

"And why not?"

"Apparently, Starfleet Command feels that DS9, with its diverse population and delicate political situation, not to mention its strategic location near the wormhole, is just too important a place to entrust to the tender mercies of a lieutenant, junior grade."

"What!" Unconsciously, Dax mimicked the doctor's own reaction. "How did they suddenly come to this conclusion? He's been here three years, and now they're deciding he's not experienced enough?"

"It's called politics, Lieutenant. Bajor is becoming important and Starfleet Medical is beginning to notice what a plum assignment this really is. Being a CMO, of anywhere, is helpful in achieving rank and unfortunately, there are those among the medical community interested in such things."

Dax was outraged. "But that's not fair! Not after he's worked so hard here. Julian's taken a rundown Cardassian sickbay and converted it into a first rate medical facility, built a medical team from the ground up, and earned the trust and respect of the entire Bajoran population on this station, not to mention his work on behalf of the orphans down on the surface. And now they want to take it away from him just so some rank-happy doctor can make it to Starfleet Headquarters?"

"I know, Jadzia. It's not fair. Not even close." Sisko closed his eyes and rubbed his temple with two fingers. "He was a pain in the butt when he first got here, a kind of puppy always underfoot, but now I can't imagine relying on anyone else. And it's going to be difficult integrating a new man. He'll have to overcome a lot of resentment, and not just from the medical staff. I've explained to Dr Bashir, as I intend to explain to everyone, that I expect Lt Commander Rossen to get the same support any member of my team receives. I don't want my new CMO feeling like he has something to prove. And I especially don't want to hear about rivalries or territoriality compromising the well-being of this station. I don't like this, but Starfleet's giving me little choice so I am going to make the best of it. And so is everyone else." His voice had taken on the deep, solemn note he used to forestall unwanted discussion.

Dax withdrew, remembering the unpleasant business brought on board by Lt Commander Eddington the last time Starfleet tried to replace a member of the station's crew. She shook her head sadly. Here we go again.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Bashir stalked down the passageway, paying very little attention to his final destination, aware only that he really didn't want to go back to the Infirmary just yet. He was hailed from behind.

"Ah, Doctor. Going to lunch?"

"Garak." He paused long enough for the Cardassian to catch up with him. "No, actually. I'm not very hungry right now."

Garak looked closely at his young friend's face. "Is there a problem, Doctor?"

Julian's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Garak had that 'I know something' look that he usually found entertaining, but not today. "Why? Do I look like there's a problem?"

Garak smiled. "It's that little furrow between your eyebrows. If you want to keep your emotional state private, you're really going to have to work on that."

Julian's 'furrow,' if anything, became even deeper. Garak was right, of course. He'd always been pretty lousy at keeping his feelings off his sleeves. Besides, it wasn't going to be a secret for very much longer. "All right. Come on, let's go to Quark's. You can buy me lunch while I tell you what just happened."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Garak sipped thoughtfully at his soup. "I don't understand. You act as if this is unusual."

Bashir gaped. "Taking a man's job, giving everything he's built to someone else on the basis of rank," and here his voice took on a suitably disgusted tone, "this sounds normal to you? You would find it acceptable?"

"On Cardassia, it's commonplace for the older, more established officers to take the best assignments. Why would it be otherwise?" Garak sounded genuinely surprised. "There's very little point in striving for advancement if you're unable to take advantage of your position when the opportunity arises."

"But it's not fair! This is my job. I'm the CMO on this station, not some HQ flunky looking to 'take advantage.'" Abruptly, Julian realized his rising volume had begun to attract attention and hunched down, lowering his voice. "Damn Starfleet anyway. What do they know? I bet this 'Rossen' has never even seen a Bajoran. I bet he doesn't know you can't resuscitate one with the Jorgenson Technique like you can most humanoids. Probably doesn't even know they're allergic to ritallin. I bet he kills someone within a week!"

Julian smiled grimly as he imagined this scenario playing out in front of Commander Sisko. Ha! Replace me, will you? His expression slowly faded as he realized what he'd been thinking. What kind of man was he that he'd take personal satisfaction in someone else's death just to salvage his pride? What kind of doctor? His face closed in a sudden flash of shame.

"Julian?"

He looked up again into Garak's concerned eyes. It wasn't often the tailor called him by his given name and it caught his attention.

Softly: "It's not going to help, you understand, wallowing in self-pity. Believe me, I know."

Indeed he did. Garak had been exiled from his homeworld since before Bashir came to the station. Surrounded by people that hated him, hated all his kind, Garak was forced to earn a subsistence living on the station's Promenade running a tailoring shop. He'd even confided to Julian once that should he ever leave the station, the Cardassian government would have him killed. Bashir wasn't entirely sure he believed that, but so far Garak had only left the station once, to accompany him to the surface of Bajor to help him look for a Cardassian orphan's parents. Not for the first time, the doctor felt a pang of sympathy for the exile.

"You're right. I am behaving badly. I have no more 'right' to this position than the next man and if Starfleet wants to put a more experienced person in my place, who am I to argue?"

_____________________________________________________________________________

As the USS Copernicus dropped out of warp, Lt Commander Theodore Rossen was at the window appraising his new assignment. Not a very promising looking place, he reflected, as he stood watching the ship maneuver into position against one of the upper pylons. Still, looks can be deceiving, he thought hopefully.

This post hadn't really been his idea, but his career counselor thought it would be a good move. Rossen wanted to make full commander and knew he needed his own command to do so. Fourth in his class at Starfleet Medical, veteran of several tours on both starships and space stations, he knew he was qualified for his new position, but still he felt like something of an invader. He was there to take another man's job, even if the post did call for a more ranking officer than currently held it, but he acknowledged the tightening in his belly as an expression of his discomfort with the idea. Julian Bashir was a good doctor and had done a superb job in the three years he'd been assigned to DS9, especially considering this was his first tour right out of medical school. Rossen had read Bashir's last paper on Bajoran immunological disorders and was impressed. Not for the first time, he wondered about the man.

Let's hope he's the forgiving type. I don't want to have to deal with a bruised ego, he thought tiredly. The last thing he wanted was a turf war with the station's last CMO. Well, if Bashir was going to be a problem, then Rossen would simply have to find a solution. It simply wouldn't look good if he was unable to build a team out of perfectly qualified and proven personnel. He breathed deeply and crossed his fingers.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Garak watched his lunch companion walk away from Quark's toward the Infirmary. Oddly enough, his thoughts about the impending takeover echoed Rossen's almost word for word.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Lt Commander Rossen strode through the gear-shaped outer door of the airlock and up to the three people waiting for him. "Dr Bashir, it's very good to meet you." Bravely, he held out his hand.

"And I you, sir." Bashir took it, shaking firmly, a slightly false smile on his face.

"Dr Rossen, welcome aboard Deep Space Nine."

Rossen turned to Commander Sisko, his new commanding officer. "Thank you, Commander. It's good to be here. I'm looking forward to my new assignment."

Bashir's smile managed to become just a little more false. I bet you are.

Sisko hadn't failed to notice Julian's strained look and struggled to inject a little bon hommie into the proceedings. "Doctor, I'd like you to meet the station's Second in Command, Major Kira Nerys."

Kira nodded her head in a formal gesture of acknowledgement. Despite knowing how much this hurt Bashir, she couldn't help being faintly amused by his stern attempts at self-control. He'd never been one of her favorite people, she'd almost hated him when they'd first met in a manner similar to Chief O'Brien's initial reaction, but over the past few years she had to admit he'd come a long way. Now, she actually liked the man. Well, a little, anyway.

"Welcome aboard," she added.

Bashir continued to look over his new 'boss.' Rossen was a little shorter than the tall doctor, but not nearly so thinly built. He managed to convey a sense of size, of substance, that Julian found vaguely enviable. Because of his age and slight build, people had a tendency to discount him and it usually took some time for them to take him seriously. Something Rossen clearly had no problem with.

"Dr Bashir, perhaps you'd care to take Dr Rossen on a tour of the station?" Julian looked up sharply, startled by the sudden attention.

"Certainly, sir. Dr Rossen, if you'll come this way," and he proceeded to lead the newcomer down the passageway toward the Promenade.

"Hmm," said Sisko appraisingly. "That went well, don't you think?"

Kira's smile broadened. "If you say so, Commander."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Bashir paused a little to allow Rossen to fall into step beside him.

Rossen glanced at his face and took a deep breath. "Doctor. . . Julian. . . I think we need to clear the air a little before going any farther."

Bashir stopped, looked his new section head directly in the eyes, and waited.

"I know the kind of work you've been doing here. I know you're a first-rate doctor, the youngest doctor ever nominated for the Carrington Award." He paused. "And I know how galling this must be for you."

Bashir shifted slightly on his feet and glanced down, softening a little. "Yes, sir. I will admit to a certain. . . disappointment."

Rossen sighed inwardly. Although this man was trying to make a good show of it, he clearly harbored a great deal of resentment which was going to make this job as difficult as he'd feared. Why had he listened to that counselor? The hostility in his subordinate's eyes made him wish he'd opted for another command assignment. Oh well, too late now.

"Despite the obvious reasons for your. . . disappointment. . . I expect to be able to count on you to support me as I become familiar with the station and its inhabitants." Rossen's tone somehow made it both an order and a question.

"Yes, sir." Bashir looked almost defiantly into Rossen's eyes. "I would be a very poor doctor indeed if I were to let my personal feelings interfere with their ability to receive good medical care."

"Good man," said Rossen, and meant it.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Bashir watched Chief O'Brien throw the winning dart with annoyance. They were at the back of Quark's bar indulging in their latest pastime, darts, and O'Brien had just beaten him for the third time tonight. They'd only played three games.

"You might try to make this a bit more interesting," O'Brien commented, a note of exasperation in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Chief. My mind just won't play the game. I guess I'm a little distracted."

"Ah."

Bashir glanced at his companion, his annoyance suddenly finding focus. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

O'Brien's lips twitched slightly at the corners. There was something unseemingly entertaining about baiting the young man and O'Brien rarely tired of it.

"Oh, nothing, Julian. I mean, there's no reason for your mind to be anywhere else, is there?" he asked innocently.

Bashir felt his annoyance building to genuine anger. He wasn't in the mood for this kind of game. "Chief, this is not fun. You know perfectly well what's likely to be on my mind right now and I don't appreciate livening up the evening at my own expense. Find another target for the butt of your dubious humor."

O'Brien looked sharply at him. "I'm sorry, Julian. Really. I hadn't realized this was getting to you so much." He looked so genuinely contrite that Bashir instantly regretted the tone with which he'd spoken.

"No, Miles. I'm sorry. It's just. . . ."

"Just. . . ?"

Julian sighed. "Commander Rossen and I aren't exactly hitting it off."

"Ah," said O'Brien again, nodding sagely.

"He. . . objects. . . to the way I've run the Infirmary before he got here. It's not 'regulation,' it's not 'the way I would do it,' it's not 'acceptable.' He keeps rearranging things, putting them in their 'proper place.' And he criticizes the nursing staff for not adhering to Starfleet medical regulations, never mind that most of them are Bajoran and this is a Bajoran station." Julian concentrated in an effort to be precise. "It's not that I don't like the man, because I do. He's really an all right sort of fellow, decent, caring, a good doctor. It's just that up until now, I've had things my way, the way that works for me. And now I have to follow someone else's rules and I guess I just don't like it."

O'Brien nodded his understanding. "I know exactly what you mean. There's nothing more frustrating than having someone telling you how to go about your business. That's one of the reasons I took this job, you know. No one understands these systems like I do, so no one can tell me what to do with them." He winked at Julian conspiratorially.

In spite of himself, the young officer smiled. What made it particularly amusing was that the Chief was right; no one did understand this "damned Cardy junk" more than he did and Sisko always bowed to O'Brien's judgment regarding it. Autonomy is the key to job satisfaction, he thought. Then he sighed wistfully. Wish I had some.

Bashir left Quark's much later than usual, partly due to O'Brien's efforts to brighten him up and his refusal to accept defeat, and partly because Julian had felt the need for a sympathetic ear. The older man had a way of putting things in their proper perspective and Julian needed to hear that everyone had had problems and feelings similar to his at some time in their lives.

Now he was on his way to the Infirmary for a last check and 'to put the systems to bed.' It was something he did every night and just because it wasn't 'his' infirmary anymore, he'd be damned if he'd stop now.

"Lights," he called as he strode through the door. . . and stopped dead in his tracks. Lying in an enormous pool of his own blood, Dr Rossen's sightless eyes started vacantly at the ceiling.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The Taking

Bashir walked into Constable Odo's office and handed him his official report.

"Cause of death was a single stab wound to the abdomen. Estimated time of injury between 1800 and 1900 last night," he said stiffly.

Odo didn't reply. He just sat behind his desk watching the doctor as he began to fidget. He didn't even look at Bashir's report, preferring instead to continue gazing at him. Finally, Julian could stand it no longer.

"Constable, are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"And what might that be?" Odo's gravely voice betrayed nothing.

"That I might have had something to do with this."

Odo's expression, such as it was, remained unchanged. "Did you?"

Julian knew this was a test. No one could lie to the station's security chief and he was sure this initial probing would tell Odo a lot, namely whether or not to lock him up right now.

"Look, I know I'm probably the only person on the station at the moment who seems to possess any kind of motive, but surely my lack of grace concerning Dr Rossen's new assignment doesn't make me the prime suspect. Or does it?"

Julian waited anxiously for some sign Odo was only being thorough, just doing his investigative duty, and that he didn't really think the station's only remaining doctor would stoop to murdering a professional rival. Surely not, that would be ridiculous. At least, Julian hoped it seemed ridiculous.

After an eternity, Odo finally answered the question that had been on Bashir's mind from the moment he'd realized Rossen's death reflected very badly on him.

"No, Doctor. I really don't think you're capable of stabbing someone in the belly just to get rid of him." Julian breathed out in relief. "You do understand, however, that I will require independent verification of your findings. And," he added meaningfully, holding up a finger, "as a possible suspect, you are not authorized to resume your duties until I have cleared you. I will ask Commander Sisko to contact the Provisional Government and have them send a temporary replacement."

Bashir looked unhappy. "Is that absolutely necessary? If I really had killed Rossen out of rivalry, that still doesn't give me motivation to kill anyone else."

"That may be, but I can hardly allow a suspect in a murder investigation to continue functioning in his official capacity until this is resolved, particularly when that capacity involves the well-being of every person on DS9. Actually, if I were to follow Starfleet security regulations in this matter, you would be making yourself comfortable in one of my holding cells about now."

Julian was shocked. "I see. Then I'm thankful you're not wearing a Starfleet uniform."

Odo tilted his head in agreement, beginning to look slightly less threatening. "One more thing."

Julian turned, in the act of leaving. "Yes?"

"Where were you between 1800 and 1900 last night?"

He took a deep breath. "In Quark's. With Chief O'Brien. You can ask him yourself, if you like."

Odo's mouth leaned upward in his approximation of a smile. "Don't worry. I will."

Julian left the Constable's office with a feeling of foreboding. Not only that he might be a suspect in a particularly brutal killing, unsettling as the thought might be, but more than that, he had a general sense of impending doom. Rossen's wound had more significance than simply being a cause of death. The knife used had been very large, very long, and heavily serrated. In fact, it was exactly the type of injury one would receive after having a Klingon ceremonial dagger thrust into one's gut.

Not that Julian was particularly afraid of Klingons, but this had all the earmarks of an execution. Briefly, he wondered what the Klingon had thought Rossen guilty of. Or had it been a Klingon? Maybe the murderer was trying to disguise his identity? Maybe he was really some other race. Or maybe he just had a Klingon knife fetish. In any event, Julian hoped this could be cleared up quickly, both so he could get back to work and especially so that the specter of some (Klingon?) psychopathic Jack the Ripper wandering about the station could be put to rest.

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Julian!"

He stopped. Good, just who he needed to talk to. "Hello, Jadzia."

She got right to the point. "I just read Odo's report to Commander Sisko and he's asked me to help in the investigation. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course not, if you don't mind some in return." Julian steered his friend over to a replimat table. "You first."

Dax studied the young doctor carefully. He had a pale, slightly stressed look to him. "I just want you to know that I don't believe you had anything to do with this. Even if you hadn't had an alibi."

He smiled warmly. "Thanks, Jadzia. I'd hate to think you of all people could believe I would do such a thing." And he meant it; as the thought crossed his mind he actually felt slightly nauseated. There were few people on the station whose opinion mattered more to him. "So, how can I help?"

She returned to business. "In your report, you said you thought the murder weapon might be a Klingon ceremonial dagger."

He nodded.

"How long would it take to die from the kind of wound such a knife would inflict?"

"Oh, depending on where and what it severed, about three to ten minutes. Dr Rossen didn't have a chance; he'd have been incapable of even calling for help the moment he hit the floor. I estimate he lasted maybe... oh... five minutes, no more. The blood loss was just too rapid to sustain life, much less consciousness."

Dax nodded in agreement. "That's what I thought. Were there any signs of a confrontation? Bruises, blood under the fingernails not belonging to the victim, that kind of thing? Or do you think he was completely surprised?"

Bashir thought for a moment. "No, I can't say I found anything out of the ordinary. I'd say he was taken completely by surprise. Why?"

"Because Klingon execution rituals generally include confronting the offender with his crimes and looking for fear in his eyes. A strong warrior will face his death bravely, but a coward leaves a legacy of dishonor to his family and sons for generations."

"Oh. Then you don't think it was a Klingon." Julian felt strangely disappointed.

"I don't know. I suppose it could be. Maybe the Klingon just wanted Rossen dead and didn't care how it was done. Perhaps it was a crime of opportunity and the dagger was all he had handy." Jadzia shrugged. This was certainly an odd case.

Julian decided to bring up his own concerns.

"You do realize this person might still be on the station, don't you? That since he could be anyone we have no idea what to look for? I assume Odo is investigating the Klingons on board, but what about everyone else? I mean, it could be anyone." Julian shifted, uncomfortably aware of how paranoid he was beginning to sound.

Dax looked at him with concern. "Julian, is there something you're not telling me?"

He felt his face redden and dropped his gaze to the tabletop. "Well, I know this is going to sound a bit off, but ever since I left Odo's office this morning I've had this very strong feeling that Rossen is not going to be the only one to die before this is all over."

Dax suppressed a shiver at his tone. "Why do you say that, Julian?"

He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "It's that knife wound. No, it's the knife itself. Perhaps it was all the killer had handy, like you said, and God knows I've performed autopsies on murder victims before, but somehow this is different. It was just so damned brutal." Julian stopped, unable to express his nebulous fears adequately. Besides, he really didn't want Jadzia to start thinking of him as some kind of coward. So much for the honor of my sons, he thought dismally. Just shut up, Bashir, before she thinks you're a complete fool.

Dax's face became kindly. "Perhaps you just need some rest." She laid her hand on his, squeezing reassuringly. "I know it's been a difficult few days for you, and now this. Why don't you go back to your quarters and lie down for a while? Try to relax." She smiled at him, worry darkening her spots.

He nodded and rose to leave. Great going, Doctor Neuroses. He walked away wondering if perhaps Jadzia was right and it was all in his head.

He wouldn't have been able to return to his quarters at all, much less take a nap, had he known about the two pairs of eyes that watched him go.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Julian twitched restlessly on the bed. He was dreaming, his eyes beneath the lids flicking back and forth in counterpart to his rapid, shallow breathing. Sweat began to break out on his upper lip and a small sound came from deep in his throat.

"Infirmary to Dr Bashir."

Abruptly, he sat up, gasping, startled by the interruption. Reaching up to tap his badge, he responded in a thick, rusty voice: "Bashir."

"Dr Menen is here from the Bajoran Medical Authority. He'd like you to brief him on the status of the patients he's to be responsible for over the next few days."

Julian smiled. Good old Simm. It was comforting to hear her speak of all this as something that was just an inconvenience, soon to be over in a matter of days.

"I'll be right there."

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, remembering the last few sequences of his fading nightmare. He'd been on the station, completely alone this time, with not even the Lethian to keep him company. As he'd wandered about looking for someone, anyone, he'd begun to feel a 'presence' watching him. Then, as his paced quickened along with his paranoia, he'd felt the watcher begin to hunt and had panicked, running through the corridors, blindly, desperately looking for shelter. Mistaking an open doorway for protection, he'd jumped through only to come face-to-face with his pursuer.

He would have to thank Simm for waking him up.

A short time later, Bashir was walking down the passageway connecting the habitat ring to the central core with his customarily long, loose stride, when he passed an open doorway and heard what could only be described as a moan. Stopping, he peered inside. It was dark.

"Hello? Anybody there?"

As he was greeted by silence, the hair on the back of his neck began to rise and all the awful premonitions of the past day came creeping into his mind. He was about to move on when he heard it again, softer, definitely a sound of pain. Uncertainly, he stepped inside.

"Is anyone here? This is Dr Bashir. Do you need assistance?" Julian held his breath, beginning to sweat again.

There, to the right, behind those cartons. Did something move?

As Bashir moved forward, his eyes locked to the spot behind the nearest carton. The hiss of the hypospray behind his left ear was the last thing he heard.

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Infirmary to Bashir."

Simm frowned, beginning to grow concerned.

"So, Nurse, where is he? I'd really like to get settled in, but I can't do that until this Starfleet doctor of yours gives me the information I need." Dr Menen was also frowning.

"He said he'd be right here. Computer, where is Dr Bashir?"

There was a pause while the computer traced the available comm badge signals: "Dr Bashir is not on board the station."

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Benjamin! I can't believe you actually think Julian ran out on us." Dax was giving Sisko her 'I had more faith in you than that' look. He had a feeling he knew just which one of the symbiont's memories was responsible for that tone.

"Old man," he began apologetically. "As the commander in charge of this station, responsible to both Starfleet and the Bajoran government for its operation, I have to consider the possibility. Odo told me he informed Julian of his intention to investigate his role in all this and that he couldn't be returned to duty until everything was cleared up. Odo thinks Julian's disappearance hints at the possibility that perhaps he thought it couldn't be cleared up satisfactorily and that implies a certain amount of guilt. If he did run away, it was an incredibly stupid thing to do."

Dax's tone was glacial. "And if he didn't, then he's in real trouble and needs our help, not our suspicions."

Sisko felt that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he always got whenever he suspected one of his people was in genuine danger. He didn't believe Julian had run out on them either.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Questions

Julian groaned. He opened his eyes slowly, but found that didn't help much: it was pitch black. At least, he hoped it was pitch black.

Cautiously, he tried to get up but his hands wouldn't get under him nor could he bend his knees. Dimly, he realized he was tied with his arms behind him and his legs attached to something that didn't move. It was hot and he was thirsty. As he went to lick his lips, he discovered tape across his mouth. Additionally, he had to urinate.

Where was he? How long had he been here and who had taken him? And why? Perhaps this had something to do with Rossen's death? Stupid, of course it has something to do with it. Or did he think this just a coincidence?

He stilled his mind and listened. Faintly, the low throbbing sound of a ship's engines came through the deck plates beneath him. He was not on DS9 then; the station's reactors didn't make this sound. Suddenly he heard footsteps only about a meter above his head. This must be a small compartment rather than an actual room. Was he being smuggled away from pursuit? In a way, he hoped so. God help him, someone had better be looking.

He lay his head back on the metal floor and closed his eyes.

Some indeterminate time later, he opened them again to the sound of metal-on-metal coming from above. A hatch cover lifted away to pour blazing light down upon him, making him squint in pain.

"Bring him."

One pair of hands reached down to release his feet from the unmoving something while another grabbed him roughly by the upper arms. He winced as their powerful grip bruised him.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see his captors were Y'riddians.

"Untie his feet so he can walk." The first Y'riddian bent to do so. Idly, Julian considered kicking him, but decided against it. Why provoke a possibly painful reaction for nothing? Besides, he needed to learn why he was here. If only they'd take the damn tape off so he could speak. Kira and O'Brien would appreciate this, he thought with a flash of grim amusement. They always said he talked too much.

As they marched him along the passageway, he saw other crewmembers, not all of which were Y'riddian, and thought it likely this was a pirate or mercenary ship, mixed crews generally were, contracted to abduct him. He wondered who had hired them.

Three minutes later and two decks farther up, he was shown into someone's private quarters. The lighting was dimmer here and he couldn't see into the cabin's depths after being in the bright light outside.

"Hello, Doctor. I hope you haven't been too inconvenienced." A truly beautiful woman was sitting in an opulent chair towards the back of the room and all he could do was blink at her.

She looked at the Y'riddians. "Leave us." They turned and left without a word.

Gracefully, she moved across the room towards him and began picking carefully at the edge of the tape covering his mouth, finally managing to get her fingernail underneath it. He gasped as she ripped it off his face.

"Thanks, I think."

She slapped him. "I did not ask to hear the sound of your voice. You will use it only to answer my questions." He was again reduced to blinking.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No. Are you Human?"

She slapped him again, harder. Damn, but his face was beginning to hurt. "I said you will answer questions, not ask them."

He waited.

"You are the Medical Officer of the Federation Space Station Deep Space Nine, yes?"

He wondered briefly if perhaps he should remain silent. He was under no obligation to answer this woman's questions and it might actually be a bad idea to confirm his status. After all, he was a Starfleet officer and she might just let him go to avoid trouble if she thought he wasn't the one she was looking for.

Her eyes narrowed and she turned away slightly. Suddenly, without warning, she swung back and with surprising force for such a small person backhanded him across the face. He was knocked sprawling, head spinning, blood in his mouth. As his mind cleared and his breathing returned to normal, he saw she had come to stand in front of him, her boots mere inches from his face.

"You will answer my questions, Doctor. If you defy me, I will make you beg to be allowed to answer them." Her voice was colder than space itself, making him close his eyes and swallow a stab of genuine fear.

Oh, what the hell. What else do you have to do? he thought in an effort to buck himself up.

"Get up."

Carefully, he rolled forward and walked his knees up under him. With difficulty, he managed to raise himself to a kneeling position and stand. Swaying slightly, he focused his eyes on her.

"Let's try this again. You are Doctor Julian Bashir."

"Yes."

"As part of your duties, you are responsible for the well-being of the shapeshifter, Odo."

Bashir paused. Odo? What the hell did Odo have to do with anything?

"Yes," he answered quickly, when he saw her eyes beginning to take on that look.

The mysterious woman turned away and walked slowly to the back of the room where he couldn't see her very well. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Frantically, Julian searched his memory for this contradictory woman. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't. Did you come into the Infirmary while I was on duty?"

She looked at him. "Did you ask me a question?"

He swallowed again, sweat breaking out on his brow.

She smiled sunnily, but Julian saw the slightly maniacal glint in the depths of her eyes and shuddered. "No, ma'am. I didn't say anything."

"I thought not. Still, I will answer the question you didn't ask." She came forward and stopped inches from his nose.

"Do you remember the woman who came to you two years ago, nine months pregnant with twins?" Her voice was intense.

Again, Julian thought frantically. Yes, the small Human woman with the impossibly large fetuses inside her. One of them had died, despite his best efforts; if only he had seen her earlier. "Yes."

"She was my sister."

Oh, hell. This insane woman wanted revenge on him for the events succeeding the unfortunate birthing. The mother had been hysterical, wracked with grief, and had simply collapsed insensible when she'd been shown her infant's dead form. She'd never quite recovered and died two weeks later in his Infirmary like her son, again despite his best efforts, leaving behind an orphaned baby girl. The incident had taken its toll on him as well, as he'd tried to come to grips with his inability to treat terminal grief. Some people just died of a broken heart, but somehow he didn't think this woman in front of him was going to listen.

Once more, he dared to ask a question. "Are you going to make me pay for your sister's loss? And yours?"

She looked away and sighed. "Much as I'd like to, no. I was there with her when she died, Doctor, and I saw how you treated her, but no. I was hired to deliver you to a planet in the Tsoph System and I will. But I want you to know that while I'm being paid a great deal to take you there, I'm required only to keep you alive and functional. Anger me, and I will take my revenge. I might even forgo my profits to slake my thirst." Julian shivered with a sudden chill as she licked her lips sensuously at him.

"May I ask one more question?" He tensed, hoping she wouldn't go off on him again for his refusal to stop questioning her.

She paused, looking his body up and down predatorily. "Yes."

"Why did you kill Dr Rossen?"

For a moment, she said nothing. "What makes you think I killed him?" She seemed amused now, much to Julian's relief. Humor generally didn't give way to sudden violence.

"Who else would have done it? Did you mistake him for me?"

"In a sense. We've been studying your habits for several weeks and know that you're usually the last one to leave the Infirmary for the night, after you 'lock up.'" She frowned. "Unfortunately, when my subordinates surprised this Rossen and not you, one of them killed him in his panic. Rather an interesting weapon he carries around with him, isn't it?"

Julian nodded. He'd begun to suspect as much shortly after being captured.

She walked over to a button on the wall and pressed it.

"I think I've confirmed everything I need to know." She gave him a sinister smile. "For now."

Two of the Y'riddians came back and stopped just inside the door.

"Take him to the secured area."

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Report."

Odo glanced at Commander Sisko, but addressed his reply to everyone seated around the conference table.

"I have completed my initial investigation: Dr Bashir has been missing from the station since 1526 yesterday afternoon. Tracing several possible routes from his quarters to the Infirmary, I found evidence of a transporter beam in one of the vacant storage rooms opening off corridor 7B." He paused. "It looks as if the doctor was beamed away to a ship either in orbit or in one of the docking bays. There were nine vessels here at that time, five of which have departed. Of those five, two are Klingon."

Kira looked thoughtful. "Then you're saying he was abducted by Klingons."

Odo was inscrutable. "I didn't say he was abducted at all."

The table was silent as they all absorbed the implications of this statement.

Dax was the first to jump to Bashir's defense. "I find it very hard to believe Julian ran away from the station to avoid prosecution for the death of Dr Rossen." She looked defiant, secure in her convictions and determined to convince everyone else.

"Neither do I," declared Chief O'Brien, sounding every bit as disbelieving as Dax but with an undercurrent of anger in his voice. "Julian wouldn't hurt a fly, even if it bit him."

Sisko frowned. "I'm not entirely convinced of that, Chief. Dr Bashir is quite capable of acting in his own self-preservation." Dax looked ready to object again, but he waved her down. "Don't worry, Jadzia. For the record, I don't believe it either. I want to proceed as if he was taken by force and since the murder weapon was a Klingon knife, I think we ought to begin our investigation there. Constable, I want you to concentrate on finding Dr Bashir. If he's as blameless as we'd all like to believe, then we need to find him before Starfleet loses another of its medical professionals. Besides," he added with a smile, "I really do think I'd miss his boundless enthusiasm." His smile widened as he noted Kira's and O'Brien's eyes roll in their sockets.

Odo grunted. "All right."

Kira sat up straighter, her expression turning serious. "If it was the Klingons, why would they take Bashir? Not to mention murder Dr Rossen." It just didn't make any sense given what they knew so far -- which was almost nothing, she reminded herself. Every time something happened, it just made things that much more confusing. Dead people, missing people, Klingon vessels, impractical and ritualized murder weapons. In the name of the Prophets, what was going on here? Much as she was worried about Bashir, she was even more concerned someone else was about to end up hurt, or dead, or whatever.

"I don't know, Major. Right now, I don't think we have enough to do anything beyond guessing. We'll just have to see what Odo can uncover." Sisko surveyed the room looking for any further input. Finding none, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Dismissed."

Odo left the conference with purpose. It was time to contact his acquaintances in Klingon Intelligence. Perhaps they would know what possible interest the Klingon government could have in a couple of Starfleet doctors, but somehow he doubted it. In fact, the more he thought about it the more convinced he became that the authors of this mystery were not Klingon at all. He didn't rule out the possibility that Bashir himself was involved, but despite his cynicism in front of the others, he really did consider that quite unlikely. And if it wasn't the Klingons, then that left only three other ships in the right place at the right time to be involved. He should be getting the follow-ups on their flight plans within a matter of hours.

Later that morning, Odo sat back in his chair scrutinizing the padd in his hand with interest. The Revolution was a small transport vessel registered and captained by a Human woman with a mixed crew of Y'riddians, Terkanis, Orions, and a few others, bound for Gregian IV to pick up some unspecified cargo. Only, they had never arrived.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Answers

Bashir sat on the bench in his cell and tried for the hundredth time to mesh the pieces of this puzzle into a coherent whole, much as his friends were doing back on DS9. All he had so far was a violently insane woman, who would apparently like nothing more than to torture him at her leisure, hired to take him to the Tsoph System at the request of persons unknown. In addition to confirming his identity and revealing the truth about Dr Rossen's untimely death, she'd also mentioned his confusingly-unrelated connection to Odo.

He was just beginning to list all the people who might have an interest in the shapeshifter when he had his first visitor.

"Good afternoon, Doctor." The captain came to a stop just outside the force field comprising one whole wall of his cell. "Have my people been taking good care of you?"

"At least they finally fed me." His tone was a little less conciliatory than he'd intended; it wasn't safe to antagonize this woman. He began to grow alarmed when he saw her eyes narrow, the depths glinting dangerously. "I'm fine, really."

She relaxed marginally. "I'm so glad to hear it. My employers have reiterated their desire to have you in serviceable condition upon your arrival."

He decided the information was worth the risk. "Who are your employers?"

"Guess!" She looked like a young girl playing a game.

He voiced the first thing that came to mind: "The Cardassians?"

She laughed, finding amusement in his ignorance. "No."

He tried again: "The Klingons?"

This idea produced more merriment. "Not today."

Becoming annoyed, he gave it one more shot: "Then Romulans, then."

Her laughter turned hysterical, making him wince. "No, no, no. Not even close! You're going to be so surprised."

"Can you give me a hint?" he retorted irritably. "I'm not psychic, you know." Immediately, he knew he'd crossed that line again. Her face twisted and she reached over to release the force field. From nowhere, two more Y'riddians materialized next to her.

"Hold him."

They stepped into Bashir's cell and secured an arm each as she followed them inside. Stepping close, she dropped a hand between his legs and grabbed him, making him gasp in surprise and discomfort.

"What did you say?" Her voice was a hiss.

Julian crushed the tide of rising panic and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything her fingers tightened, driving her long nails into him. He moaned and tried to twist away from the Y'riddians in pain but they were like rocks, oblivious to what was happening around them and just as strong.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything. I won't say anything," he babbled, screwing his eyes shut tightly as she increased the pressure. "Please. . . ."

Her eyes were alive with unholy pleasure, her lips curved in a feral smile. Taking an even stronger grip, she began jerking and pulling at him through his trousers until he couldn't hold back the whimpers coming from deep in his throat.

"Please. . ." he whispered, pleading.

Abruptly, she released him. "I don't expect to have to remind you again."

When the Y'riddians let go of him and retreated from the cell along with their captain, Julian doubled forward, clutching his groin and breathing deeply to control the pain.

Her parting shot chilled him to the bone. "Maybe I'll get lucky and my employers will decide you aren't useful to them, after all."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Quark watched Odo enter the bar with suspicion. What does he want? Quickly, he ran through a mental list of his recent activities looking for anything which might be of possible interest to station security.

Odo walked directly to the bar opposite Quark and just looked at him in much the same way he'd intimidated Bashir only yesterday. Finally, when the Ferengi began to show signs of frustration, he spoke. "Quark, I need information."

Quark relaxed as he realized Odo wasn't fishing for him after all. "What makes you think I know anything that might interest you? Or that I'd tell you? I do have a certain reputation to maintain, you know."

Leaning against the counter and over the little man from his superior height, Odo growled, "Really, Quark, don't you think it's in your best interests to give me what I want? Or are your storage bays ready for another of my inspections?" He leaned back smiling that mock smile of his. "Besides, isn't your friendship for me enough?"

Quark began to feel nauseated. "Pagh! All right, what can I do for you?"

Odo leaned forward again, this time in eagerness. "Tell me about The Revolution."

_____________________________________________________________________________

"I see." Sisko was studying the report Odo had just given him. "And you think that this transport ship is the one that took Bashir? Not one of the Klingon vessels?"

Odo nodded curtly. "I've already checked with my sources regarding the Ta'peth and the Kutal Parg. Their missions were exactly as indicated and the other two suspect transports have both arrived at their intended destinations. We were fortunate they weren't scheduled to go very far."

Sisko looked up. "Did you have the local authorities check them out anyway?"

"Of course." Odo seemed slightly miffed that the commander should think he needed reminding. "Despite thorough biological scans and physical searches, they discovered nothing."

"Just checking, Constable. I had to ask." Sisko looked back at the report he was still holding in his hand. "Do we know where this Revolution is now?"

Odo answered with less than absolute conviction. "According to Quark," and here he injected the name with all the dubious reliability he thought it deserved, "The Revolution's next stop was to be in the Dirak Sector, he didn't know exactly where. Quark got the impression that no one was supposed to know, but fortunately the ship's crew drank a great deal. Being the hospitable host that he is, naturally he eavesdropped." Odo's tone took on a note of disgust.

Sisko smiled. "Don't knock it, Constable. At least now we have a place to start."

Odo merely grunted.

He dismissed the shapeshifter and set about informing the others that The Defiant was leaving at 0700 tomorrow for the Dirak Sector.

_____________________________________________________________________________

While the station's command crew slept soundly in preparation for their mission the following morning, Bashir was discovering that no bed, little food, and nearly constant anxiety made sleep impossible. The bench in his cell was hopelessly uncomfortable and anyway, even if it had been a real honest-to-goodness feather bed and not one of those Cardassian monstrosities he was forced to sleep in on the station, worry about the captain's employer's plans for him would have kept him up. Who wanted him and why? Somehow he knew he would regret finding out.

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Rise and shine!"

Bashir grunted and rolled over.

"Up. Now."

That tone of voice made him sit up and rub his eyes sleepily. Apparently he'd managed to fall asleep after all. Standing on the other side of the force field with his two favorite Y'riddians was Captain Make-a-wrong-move-and-I'll-rip-your-balls-off. He sighed. Damn, it hadn't all been just a bad dream.

She was positively glowing. "Time for me to sell you," she all but sang. Somehow, this struck her as very funny and she began giggling. Whoever she was 'selling' him to, he had to be more stable than this madwoman. For the first time since his capture, he found himself actually looking forward to meeting the ultimate architect of his troubles. Can't solve your problems till you understand them, he thought with a slightly Pollyanna-like attitude. Hell, it beat sinking into despair.

The Y'riddians entered his cell and secured his hands behind his back, then indicated he was to follow the captain as she led the way out of the secure area and down the passageway. A few minutes later they walked through the door of the ship's transporter room.

"Do you have the coordinates?" she asked the Orion behind the console. He nodded and she motioned the others to get on the platform with her. When they were all ready she looked at the Orion. "Energize."

They materialized on a rocky outcropping overlooking a deep and windswept gorge. No one else was there.

"This way," she said and led them into a cave at the back of the ledge. Much as he tried to keep track, it didn't take long for Bashir to get lost in all the twists and turns. Great. He'd never be able to get out of here on his own.

At almost every step they traveled downhill. By the time their course began to level off about ten minutes later, Bashir estimated they'd descended maybe some 50 meters from the ledge they'd beamed in on. He wondered who had erected all the independently powered lighting units they'd been following and why they felt the need to hide in caves. Maybe they just didn't want Captain Fruitcake knowing where they lived. He could certainly understand that.

After trudging through more tunnels for another five minutes or so, they came to a large, domed cavern brilliantly lit by dozens of the portable lights. Raising his head to get a good look at the place, Julian stopped involuntarily, his feet refusing to go any farther, his eyes widening in amazement and shock. The room was full of Jem'Hadar.

The underground cavern was alive with activity. Jem'Hadar soldiers were everywhere, moving equipment, training in twos and threes, talking animatedly into communications gear, and generally giving an overall impression that this was some kind of military base preparing for action. Given what Bashir knew of Jem'Hadar culture and motivations, he supposed they usually behaved this way regardless; it was probably recreational for them. Certainly, the Jem'Hadar infant Odo had tried to raise in the Federation's climate of tolerance and understanding had wanted nothing more than to fight the inferior beings he saw surrounding him. All, that is, except Odo himself. They seemed to have an inbred respect for Changelings, as much as they had an inbred contempt for everyone else. Julian wondered what they wanted with him.

Two Jem'Hadar officers detached themselves from a larger group and walked towards them. The captain nodded as they approached.

"Here he is, gentlemen. As fully functional as I'd promised."

The larger of the two looked Julian over, then addressed her. "Yes. He looks unharmed. You have confirmed his identity?"

She seemed affronted. Perhaps she didn't like this soldier's questions anymore than she had his, Julian reflected. "Of course! Do you take me for an imbecile? He is the medical officer of Deep Space Nine and has admitted to knowing the Changeling."

The smaller soldier's eyes became hard. "You know Odo?" he asked Bashir directly.

"Yes."

"And you know of the young Jem'Hadar he took to himself?"

Julian was confused. "Took to himself? If you mean the infant we found abandoned and that Odo raised to adolescence, then yes."

The small one nodded, satisfied. He looked to his companion and said, "You may pay them now."

Without comment, the officer who had spoken first unclipped the weapon at his side and fired at the two Y'riddians and their captain.

Far above the surface, two Jem'Hadar warships swung around from behind the planet and in less than a minute reduced The Revolution to so much orbiting debris.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Situational Expediency

The two Jem'Hadar officers led Bashir along another winding passageway of the underground complex to a small room where he was directed to sit. In a possible effort to intimidate him they remained standing, gazing down, as did an additional guard at the entrance; the room had no door. They needn't have bothered, Julian thought wryly. I'm quite intimidated enough already. Grimly, he watched as they continued to size him up, or to intimidate him further, he couldn't tell.

Finally, the shorter one spoke; apparently he was the one in authority. "We are going to explain your purpose here, once, and how you can go about fulfilling it to our satisfaction. I suggest you listen closely for the price of failure is death."

How melodramatic. Julian couldn't help himself: "From what I've seen, so is the price of success. Or do you shoot all your associates out of general principle?"

Julian grunted as the taller one stepped forward and backhanded him savagely across the face, giving him a sudden flash of deja vu. As he lay where the Jem'Hadar knocked him, running his tongue over a split lip and looking for his scattered wits, the seriousness of his situation and the implausibility of any rescue reasserted itself. Kira and O'Brien were right. He do talk too much.

Carefully, he hauled himself back into his chair and remained silent, waiting for the Jem'Hadar to get to the point and tell him what they wanted.

The small one continued as if uninterrupted. "Do you remember what happened to the infant the Changeling raised?"

Bashir's eyebrows raised with the abrupt switch in topic. "Yes. The instructions programmed into him were too strong to be challenged and he insisted on being returned to his people where he could be allowed to fulfill them. Odo took him through the wormhole in a runabout." Briefly, Julian remembered the toll the entire incident had taken on the Changeling. He had mourned his inability to help the boy and how he was lost to forces beyond either of their control. Or perhaps he'd only been mourning his lost innocence -- Odo had been truly dismayed by what the Founders, his people, had done to the Jem'Hadar. "Why? Was something wrong with him?"

Small One smiled. "I suppose that rather depends on your point of view." Amazingly, Tall One and the door guard joined him in expressing whatever irony this represented. Julian just waited for them to explain, while quietly noting that this was the first time he'd ever seen a Jem'Hadar smile, much less three at the same time. It wasn't reassuring.

"When Bovar was returned to us, he was full of strange tales and ideas. We tried to teach him the Right Way, but he found it very hard to understand. Oh, he wanted to fight certainly, and he knew our role was to exercise dominion over all the lesser races, and rightfully so, but his experience with your Changeling soured him. In his heart, he could not give the Founders the obeisance they required and began to plot against them. He told us of Odo's strangeness and the things he'd tried to teach him. He told us how weak and diminished this Changeling was and how he took orders from beings that were beneath him." Small One sounded genuinely disgusted. "We began to see that our service to the Founders may have been. . . misguided." He laughed at Bashir's look of growing amazement.

"I thought that obeisance was genetically programmed into you. Bovar had it and we certainly didn't give it to him. How can you just ignore it?"

Small One inclined his head, as if conceding the point. "You are right. Many cannot. We are a small group only, those who are strong enough to overcome this programming. It is we who will establish a new order. We who will raise the Jem'Hadar to their rightful place in the Gamma Quadrant, and beyond." He smiled with anticipated triumph. "Perhaps we will use our more biddable brethren as our slaves, as we have been used for generations. They seem not to mind."

Bashir had begun thinking. "You still have a serious problem."

Small One nodded. "Yes, the enzyme. Without it, we will amount to nothing. That is why you will make it for us."

Julian's eyes flew open in shock. "I can't! I tried to make it for Bovar and couldn't. If we hadn't found that supply in the wreckage of his ship, he would have died." He was desperate to disabuse the Jem'Hadar of the notion that he could do anything for them. Quite apart from seriously violating the Prime Directive, the idea of unleashing this violent and amoral species on the rest of the galaxy, his galaxy, was terrifying, not to mention putting him down in history as one of the creators of what would no doubt be a holocaust as savage as the Borg's. Remembering the pain Sisko still felt at the death of his wife, he vowed he would die himself before being responsible for so much loss.

At Small One's angry stare, he continued. "I'm not lying; I really don't know how to make the stuff. I experimented with various solutions, but nothing was ever quite good enough. I'm lucky to have kept him alive long enough to find and use the stored enzyme as it was. Besides, how am I going to research or manufacture anything without my lab facilities?" Please, please, don't let them have a fully equipped laboratory down here.

Tall One spoke: "We have adequate facilities erected for your use." Damn. "The last owner won't be needing them anymore."

Bashir was confused. "Last owner?"

"Yes. Dr Mora was helping us with another of our problems when we decided his lack of progress was deliberate."

"What problem was that, and what happened to him?" Julian heard himself asking although he could already guess the answer. Dr Mora Pol was the Bajoran scientist who did the first in-depth studies on Changelings, via Odo, and there was only one thing Julian could think of that the Jem'Hadar needed to know about their former masters.

Small One confirmed his suspicions. "When you scan a Changeling, what do you read?"

"Whatever it is he wants to be."

"Exactly. We needed Dr Mora to develop a method for detecting Changelings while they are hidden. It's very important for us to separate friend from foe if we are to be successful. For all I know, you could be a Changeling. Odo, perhaps?" He smiled nastily. "Shall I draw blood, Doctor, and make sure?"

"If you like. But be careful about it, you wouldn't want me to bleed to death."

At his unintended joke all three laughed, a surprisingly normal sound, but it still sent shivers down Julian's spine.

"And as for Dr Mora, since you'll be helping us with his work as well, perhaps it would be a good idea to show you what we do to those who fail to give us their best effort."

They escorted him out of the small room, the door guard following a short distance behind, and led him a long way down another endless corridor. It terminated in a somewhat larger chamber housing only one occupant: Mora Pol.

Julian gasped at what they had done to the doctor.

Mora lay on his back strapped to a large, nonconductive-looking table, completely naked, his wrists and ankles secured to the corners stretching him spread-eagled. Wires trailed from what looked to be a power cell against the left wall to various points on his body and under his skin. He was drenched with sweat and his limbs trembled slightly; his chest heaved with the struggle to breathe through a painfully ravaged throat. As Julian watched, a hum emanated from the cell and with it Mora's body arched in agony against the straps restraining him. The next few moments stretched for an eternity while Julian waited for the Bajoran's ordeal to end and when it finally did, the man collapsed back onto the table with a choking sound, slowly settling back to the hoarse pattern of his earlier breathing. Julian was frightened to see the victim was even too weak to scream.

"My God! If he displeased you so, why don't you just kill him? Why are you making him suffer like this?"

Small One had been studying Julian's initial reaction with satisfaction. "But Doctor, if we'd killed him we wouldn't have him now to motivate you." Julian stared at him in horror. "If you cooperate with us, not only will you escape this fate yourself, but we may even be persuaded to give Dr Mora another chance to continue his work, at your side."

Blackmail. Help the Jem'Hadar take over the galaxy and destroy the Founders or allow them to torture this living, breathing sentient person to insanity and death, assuming he wasn't insane already for he certainly wasn't very far from death.

While Julian considered this appalling choice, Dr Mora's body twisted again as the hum from the power cell intensified.

Later, as Julian sat on the floor of the little room they'd confined him in, he began to think about the situation in which he found himself. Much as he sympathized in principle with the Jem'Hadar's desire to be free -- after all, the individual's right to live his life according to his own will was the heart and soul of the Federation -- he simply couldn't justify helping them; there was too much at stake. He knew from personal experience what these genetically-modified soldiers were capable of and that the Founders were the only force keeping them from completely dominating, perhaps even destroying, every race in the Gamma Quadrant, and Heaven knows what they might do to his part of the galaxy if they were ever let loose on this side of the wormhole. There was sure to be significant loss of life at the very least and Julian was determined not to be a part of that.

On the other hand, there was no denying he was in a very bad position. No one knew where he was and the captain who'd brought him here certainly wasn't about to lead anyone back to where she'd completed her last transaction. He doubted her ship had even made it out of orbit. And he could still recall quite vividly the stretched and tortured form of Dr Mora writhing on the table; the same table the Jem'Hadar were going to strap him onto if he failed to give them what they wanted. As he thought of what the Bajoran doctor had been made to endure, Julian unconsciously pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them in a futile attempt to protect himself. Surrounded by brutal enemies with little-to-no hope of escape or rescue, the young Human suddenly felt very alone and frightened.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Sisko watched his bridge crew as they performed their assigned functions and sighed, at least they had something to do. He'd never realized the command chair could be such a prison. They'd been searching the Dirak Sector all day now and still nothing -- three systems down, ten to go. O'Brien had calculated the possible range of the transport vessel given its maximum speed and selected the most likely systems within reach, assuming it was headed anywhere that could support life. Even so, searching was a tedious business and this one could take over four days if they were forced to visit every star on his list. Sisko suppressed his frustration and worry; Bashir could be dead in four days, if he wasn't already.

And what if The Revolution wasn't headed for a habitable planet? What if it merely needed a remote corner in which to make a quiet rendezvous? If that were true, Sisko seriously doubted they'd ever see the doctor again. Looking over the faces of his people, he could read the same doubts reflected in their eyes.

"How long until the next system?"

Dax responded, happy to contribute, if only to relieve her own growing sense of helplessness. "Five hours."

"Very well. Call me when we're within sensor range." And with that, Sisko left the bridge to go stew in his quarters, in private.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Bashir woke from a fitful doze as Small One walked into his cell. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he sat up slowly and yawned.

Small One didn't waste any time on pleasantries. "Up. It's time for you to justify your continued right to exist."

Charming. Julian rose with an effort. How about his right to food, water, and rest?

Putting his thoughts into words made him sound more than a little irritable. "I'm hungry, thirsty, and tired. That's not likely to improve my performance."

Small One's patience was ebbing. "There's food and water in the lab, and I think you've slept long enough. Let's go. Now."

Reluctantly, Julian followed him out of the stone room and through several passageways to another large chamber similar to the first one he'd seen this morning when the captain made her ill-fated delivery. This room was full of equipment Bashir only partly recognized set up on several large tables and connected to a bank of power cells stacked along one wall. Small One pointed to a container in the corner.

"There's water and food for your kind in that storage bin. After you've eaten, I expect you to work on the enzyme; that is your top priority. If you show progress, I might let you into the bin again."

With that, Small One walked toward the doorway where another Jem'Hadar guard appeared and took up his position.

"Wait!"

Small One stopped and turned to look at Julian expectantly.

"Where's Dr Mora? I could use his help." He hastened to add, "I don't know how to use this equipment. It's Bajoran. Besides, he's not much use to you strapped to a table now, is he?" Julian hoped he made a convincing argument.

His captor considered the Human's blatant attempt to help his colleague with the possibility that Bashir might indeed do better with a little help. He knew the lab really was full of Bajoran equipment and he wasn't interested in waiting for the Federation doctor to learn his way around. Anyway, he could always use Mora to motivate Bashir again should it prove necessary. He'd be a more effective tool if Bashir was allowed to develop a friendship with him.

"Very well. I will have Mora brought here soon. Be ready to work when he arrives."

Some twenty minutes later, two Jem'Hadar soldiers came back carrying the limp form of Dr Mora between them. Unceremoniously, they dropped him in the middle of the floor, forcing a small cry from his lips. They weren't even halfway to the door before Bashir was at his side scanning him with the Bajoran equivalent of a tricorder.

"Dr Mora? Can you hear me?" Julian wasn't reassured by the instrument's readings.

Mora groaned weakly and cracked his eyes open, trying to focus. "Bash. . . ir?" he managed in a whisper.

Julian nodded, amazed that he'd been recognized, and smiled warmly, squeezing Mora's shoulder in reassurance.

"Yes. It's me. How are you feeling?" Julian grimaced internally: Why do doctors always ask that stupid question? Clearly, he feels bloody awful!

Mora tried to smile in return, but it came out more like a grimace. "I've. . . been better. . . why are you. . . here?"

Julian sighed. "Same reason you are, sort of. Only my tasking is to provide the enzyme their bodies need to live but lack the necessary genetic instructions to produce. I've had some experience with a young Jem'Hadar we found on the station a few months ago. . ." he broke off as Mora grabbed his uniform sleeve desperately.

"You must. . . not!" Mora's eyes had widened and he looked frantic. "They must not be allowed. . . to do. . . stop them. . . ." He collapsed back, exhausted. Quickly, Julian sought to reassure him.

"I know, and I'm not going to help them any more than you did. I'd just rather they didn't know that yet."

Mora nodded, satisfied. "We aren't going to live long, then."

"Ha! Speak for yourself. I'll live longer than you, Dr Sunshine." Turning more serious, Julian continued, "You really do look terrible. Hang on a sec," and rising, he strode to the bin and fetched a water packet, along with a mild stimulant.

"Here. Water." Julian helped Mora up to a half-sitting position and brought the packet to his lips. Mora drank like he hadn't seen liquid for days.

"Hey there, easy. There's plenty more."

In all, Mora went through three water packets before relaxing back down onto the floor. When he was finished, Julian surreptitiously injected him in the arm.

"Thank you. Absolutely nothing could have tasted better."

Julian smiled. "I'm glad you approve, because now you have to assist me with this equipment of yours. It won't be long before they'll be back to check on us and I told them I needed your help."

Mora raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you forget how to use Bajoran medical equipment?"

"Since I saw you needed an excuse to be valuable to the Jem'Hadar again."

"Ah." Mora nodded. "Then I'll forgo another expression of gratitude if you'll help me up."

Slowly, the two doctors began their pseudo-work.

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Looks like nothing in this system either, Commander." Dax strove to sound professional, but the strain and disappointment in her voice were plain to everyone on the bridge, easy to recognize because they all shared it.

Sisko frowned wearily and acknowledged the report. "Run a complete scan on every major object in orbit around Metris anyway; I want to leave nothing undone. When we're finished here, we'll set course for the next system at maximum warp."

"Aye, sir."

Dammit, where the hell was he?

_____________________________________________________________________________

Escape and Evasion

Small One looked over Bashir's and Mora's 'work' with suspicion.

"I see the past two days haven't produced much progress," he said, staring at them pointedly. "One might be excused of believing you aren't trying very hard, but I know that can't be so."

Julian returned the Jem'Hadar's hostile gaze with feigned anger and prepared to defend himself, again.

"In case you haven't noticed, these aren't exactly the easiest conditions to work in. This equipment isn't particularly suited for genetic research and altering your DNA is the only way I can see to make your body produce its own enzymes. How long will your current supply last, anyway? How much time do I have to work with?" This could be very useful information if Small One could be induced to part with it, not that Julian had any idea what he could do with it but he still wanted to know.

Small One's eyes narrowed in anger. Walking up to Bashir quickly, he sunk his fist into the doctor's midriff without warning, causing Julian to double over with an explosive "whoof" and sink to his knees. Twining his fingers in Julian's short hair, Small One pulled back, savagely twisting the panting face up into the light and exposing Julian's long, slender neck.

"Why, Doctor?" he hissed. "Are you planning on waiting us out? Hoping we will die before you're forced to produce the enzyme for us? Is that why you've been so unproductive since I left you two alone in here? Stalling for time?"

Julian tried to respond to the onslaught of questions, but somehow he just couldn't get his vocal cords to restrict the passage of air out of his lungs enough to form words, so he remained kneeling, still panting, with his eyes closed.

Small One finally released him with a short bark of anger and stepped back, all but drawing the Human's eyes to him. "Perhaps I have been too lenient with you, after all. Perhaps I was wrong to assume our demonstration with Dr Mora was sufficient to show you how futile any resistance would be. Perhaps it is time you learned firsthand how to obey your masters," and with that he turned and left the room, no doubt to suit action to words.

Mora, who all this time had kept a low profile in the back behind a console, spoke first. "We have to get out of here."

"No kidding," Julian noted wryly, finally recovering enough to answer him. "I don't suppose you know how to reach the surface?" His tone suggested he really didn't expect an affirmative.

Mora looked thoughtful, even a little hopeful. "Well, maybe. But I'm not sure what good that would do us."

"Neither do I, but I do know staying down here is going to do me a lot less good."

Mora walked over to a bench strewn with medical tools and picked up a hypospray. Holding Julian's eyes meaningfully, he nodded towards the door guard.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Small One was livid. Gazing down at the unconscious Jem'Hadar at his feet, he suppressed the urge to kick him and settled instead for boring into his fellows with his eyes.

"Find them. Or you will suffer the same fate as this fool."

Quickly, with one or two glances at the unfortunate still lying on the floor, they left to coordinate the search.

Small One motioned to his taller companion, the only remaining soldier. "He is yours. Practice your technique on him."

Tall One smiled, acknowledging the order with a short bow.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Bashir and Mora were several corridors away by then and hopelessly lost.

"I thought you said you knew how to get to the surface!" Julian hissed in a whisper, fear making him angry.

"I said I thought I might! Do you want to go back? We could always stop and shout; I'm sure Ril would find us quite quickly," he shot back, just as scared and not about to let Julian blame him for it.

"Ril?"

"You know, the Jem'Hadar who had you on your knees not half an hour ago, or had you forgotten?"

"No, I was just never properly introduced." Julian was oddly surprised to discover his nemesis had a name. "Is he the commander here or something?"

"I suppose so; at least, I've never seen anyone give him orders." Mora was beginning to look impatient. "We can discuss their social hierarchy later, assuming there is a later, but what are we going to do now?"

Julian thought for a moment. "We need to find a way off the planet. Have you ever seen any shuttles or transporter pads here? Or even some communications gear?"

"Well, no, but then I've never been given the grand tour. We should try on the other side of the complex -- I've never been there so who knows what they have? I don't see any more promising possibilities."

Julian nodded. "All right. After you," he said, gesturing for the other to precede him down the darkened stone passageway.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Sisko leaned forward in anticipation when he saw Dax frown over her console and work the displays. "What is it, Lieutenant?" Could they have found something, at last?

"I'm not sure yet. I think there's some kind of activity in this next star system." Her frown deepened. "I'm getting some strange readings."

"Such as?"

"Elevated radiation counts. Several small objects. Wait. . . refined metal, alloys -- Benjamin, those are ships!" If she didn't have the bridge crew's complete attention before, she certainly had it now.

"What kind and how many?" Kira asked, adjusting her tactical boards.

"Two, I think. But there seems to be a lot of orbiting debris. It's hard to get accurate readings at this distance."

Sisko wasn't about to take any chances. "Engage cloaking device."

Kira glanced at him sharply, knowing the cloak wasn't to be used on this side of the wormhole, before turning back to her panel. "Aye, sir."

Abruptly the lighting darkened, giving the bridge a combat look. Tension rose among the crew as they waited to get close enough to the system to identify the ships. Was The Revolution one of them? And if it wasn't there, what then? This was the third to last likely system on O'Brien's list, the last two being at the far edges of reachability, and if it petered out so did their last best hope. All eyes were on Dax as she worked her console.

"There are only two ships in orbit, both too small to be transports," she announced with defeat, her voice grim. But as the others sagged in disappointment, she suddenly straightened with alarm. "Commander, those are Jem'Hadar vessels!"

Kira snapped to attention in her seat and quickly began bringing the weapons systems online. "Can they see us?"

Dax brought up another display. "I don't think so. At least, they haven't left orbit or brought their own weapons up. In fact, they don't seem to be doing much of anything."

"Dax, scan the debris you noticed earlier," Sisko ordered. He had a bad feeling about this.

Dax did so, her quick intake of breath telling Sisko all he needed to know.

"It's another ship, completely destroyed. I'm detecting various manufactured materials and. . ." she looked over her shoulder at Sisko unhappily, "organic matter."

"Is there enough debris for it to be The Revolution?" He needed to be sure.

Dax nodded, turning back to her position. "Yes."

Sisko sat back and sighed. He hated missions that ended this way. Of all the people on DS9, Dr Bashir was the least deserving of this cold and desolate grave. So much for his great adventure on the frontier, he thought cynically. Still, time to mourn later, now he had a new mission. What were the Jem'Hadar doing in Federation space?

_____________________________________________________________________________

The soldier walked slowly around the cave followed closely by two pairs of eyes above stilled chests as Bashir and Mora waited breathlessly for the guard to find them, or to leave, either way the tension was suffocating.

Finally, the guard decided the cave was empty after all and went out to resume his search down the passageway.

"Damn," whispered Mora. "That was too close."

"Yes," Julian agreed. "We aren't going to escape too many encounters like that. I'm surprised they haven't found us already, actually. Don't they have scanners?"

Mora nodded. "They do, but these rocks are over fifty percent uridium." He smiled, "We're lucky."

Bashir wuffed through his nose in agreement then rose, gliding soundlessly toward the open doorway. "Come on, we can't wait here any longer."

"Right."

The two beings moved cautiously out into the open and walked quickly and quietly in the opposite direction taken by the guard.

_____________________________________________________________________________

"High orbit, Lieutenant. I don't want to get too close to those ships."

"Aye, sir."

Sisko turned his attention to Kira. "I want to know the instant those ships so much as sneeze, Major. We have no shields when we're cloaked and we'll have only seconds to react if we're discovered."

Kira nodded, just as concerned and wary as he was.

Relaxing slightly, Sisko turned back to the Trill sitting in front of him. "What do you show down there, Dax?"

"About a hundred Jem'Hadar, I think," she said, frowning, "but they're not on the surface. I show an extensive network of underground passageways and caverns 50 to 100 meters below a range of mountains in the northern hemisphere. It's hard to scan, though; the rock is very rich in uridium ore."

"Hmm. I don't suppose they're mining it." Sisko tried to work out a reason for the presence of a hundred Jem'Hadar and two warships in this remote corner of the Federation. What could they possibly be doing underground? It's not like they could hide very well with two orbiting ships blatantly giving away their location. But then again, they weren't expecting to be discovered by a cloaked ship, either. Maybe they were planning to hide if anyone came close enough to be threatening. He shrugged; he wasn't learning anything up here.

"Odo," Sisko addressed the Changeling sitting in the communications chair. "We need to get a closer look at their activities."

Odo harrumphed. "I suppose a Rigellian moon rat could wander about those tunnels with relative impunity," he suggested.

Sisko nodded his approval and Odo started for the turbolift, O'Brien behind him.

"And Constable," Odo paused, looking back expectantly, "no unnecessary risks."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Now."

Two shadowy figures moved quickly across the open bay as two Jem'Hadar guards at the far end turned their backs on them. Neither stopped until they were safely hidden by the deep shadows of another passageway on the other side.

"Whew! I don't think I can take much more of this," one told his companion wearily as they walked away out of earshot.

"Tell me about it," Julian replied. "Forget whatever Ril wanted to do to me, I'm going to die of heart failure first. And I always said how exciting it was to be on the frontier. What's that ancient curse? 'May you live in interesting times'?"

"We have a similar one: 'May the Prophets fill your days with life.' I always used to wonder why one said it to one's enemies." He gave a short laugh. "What I wouldn't give to be treating a simple pimple right now."

Julian smiled, remembering how dull he thought things had been on the station lately.

They continued down the darkened corridor for some time, always slanting down, Julian noted to his dismay, but at least they seemed to have left pursuit behind them.

Mora was the first to feel it. "Wait," he said, stopping uncertainly. "Do you hear that?"

Julian listened. "Hear what?"

"I don't know, something. . . breathing. Someone's here." He looked at Julian, frightened, then they both began to scan the passageway with their eyes. Julian jumped, letting out a little sound of shock, when the two Jem'Hadar soldiers materialized out of the darkness in front of him and Mora fell back, horrified, looking like he was about to run. When two more soldiers appeared behind them, however, the fight went out of him and he slumped in defeat.

"Now would be a good time for that heart attack, Julian."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Odo scurried down the outside edge of the cave trying to get closer to the knot of five or so Jem'Hadar lounging about on some crates, eating what looked to be the Dominion equivalent of field rations. He didn't want one of them to notice him and decide he needed some target practice, but at the same time he had to get close enough to hear. Gradually, the essence of their conversation came through to him.

After listening for about ten minutes, he detached himself from the nook in which he'd taken shelter and scuttled away as fast as he could without attracting undue attention. He had to tell the others Bashir was alive after all, but probably not for much longer if they didn't act quickly.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Endurance

Julian listened to his heart pounding in his ears and wondered idly why it didn't just burst. He wished it would.

After their recapture, Mora had been taken away and Bashir escorted to the same chamber with the power cell against the wall, where he found Tall One waiting for him. Maintaining his composure while the guards stripped him and strapped him to the table had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done in his life. Right up until Tall One turned the current on.

Julian had no idea how long he'd been on that table, cycling up and down through the cell's output, alternately wrenching against his bonds then collapsing back, exhausted, as the pulse released its hold on him. His throat was raw, partly from rapidly sucking air in and out, partly from the screams he had ceased to make some time ago. If it hadn't been for the electricity involuntarily stimulating his muscles, he'd have stopped responding to the pain at about the same time. If only they'd let him rest, even for just a few moments, but Tall One had indeed been practicing his technique and could keep Julian on the edge of longed-for oblivion indefinitely. He groaned as he felt the charge building again.

Tall One watched the Human strain against the straps with satisfaction. This one was much more interesting than the Bajoran doctor -- younger, stronger. He would last a long time, and after a suitable recovery might even be able to finish the work Ril wanted from him. Then again, he might not. Tall One didn't care all that much about his people's freedom, he just liked to hurt and torture, taking great delight in the struggles of his helpless victims, prolonging their pain for as long as he possibly could. Perhaps this one would be a good test for his new toy.

Walking over to a storage container in the corner of the room, he took out a long, gleaming rod with a row of lights and buttons along one side: a Klingon pain stick. He'd gotten it from the occupant of the last unfortunate shuttle to pass near enough this system for Ril to consider it a threat and have it destroyed. He'd been afraid to try it on the older doctor, but this one. . . .

Julian found his voice wasn't too far gone to scream, after all.

_____________________________________________________________________________

As Odo walked through the doors at the back of the bridge, Sisko turned to address him.

"Report."

Without missing his stride towards the communications station, the Changeling managed to floor everyone with just two words: "He's alive."

"Julian?" Dax and O'Brien said in unison.

Odo smiled his 'aren't humanoids amusing' smile and nodded. "And that's not all; Mora Pol is down there with him."

Sisko frowned. "Mora Pol? Isn't he the Bajoran scientist who first studied you?"

"Yes." Odo's face was even more neutral than usual; he still had unresolved feelings about his time in Mora's care. "The Jem'Hadar were using them to stage a revolt against the Founders." While he was enjoying the effect his revelations were having on his friends, it was time to get things moving. "Apparently," he continued, forestalling further comment, "neither doctor lived up to their expectations. From what little I could gather, Dr Bashir is being taught the error of his ways with a remoted shuttle power cell and Dr Mora is quite likely next. I got the impression the well-being of their prisoners is not a high priority with this group."

"We have to help them," Dax said immediately.

"Of course, Jadzia, but we can't just go blasting in there." Sisko paused, thinking out loud, "I sent that subspace message to Starfleet Command almost an hour ago when we first sighted the Jem'Hadar, but the closest starship is over a day away at maximum warp and it isn't exactly going to be able to sneak in here as we did."

"I don't think Dr Bashir has a day," Odo added ominously.

Kira spoke up. "What we need is a diversion, while Odo and maybe one or two others, sneak in there and rescue them."

"You'll have to get them up to within 60 meters of the surface if I'm to transport them through all that uridium ore," O'Brien added. "And you aren't going to be as invisible as a Rigellian moon rat while you're doing it, either."

Kira was the first to volunteer. "Well, count me in. Odo and I can get them out, especially if The Defiant keeps those fighters busy."

"We'll have to do more than keep them busy," O'Brien countered. "We'll have to destroy them. I can't beam you back up through The Defiant's shields and once they know to look for us, I'm not sure our cloak is going to be completely effective. The Jem'Hadar seem to detect cloaked vessels a lot more easily than we do."

Sisko shook his head. "No, Major. I need you on the bridge at Tactical." He glanced over at Dax. "Been keeping up with your Klingon martial arts, Old Man?"

Dax nodded briskly. "Of course. Odo and I will bring him home."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Home wasn't something Bashir ever thought he'd see again. If fact, his ability to think about anything other than his tormentor's next move had faded away some time ago as his world degenerated into the fiery depths of utter hopelessness. He just wished they'd kill him and get it over with.

Tall One had been experimenting with his new toy, trying out various settings and application points. He'd never seen such a versatile tool. Julian moaned in faint protest as he felt the end press against his neck. No, not there, not again. Please. As the Jem'Hadar touched the button, liquid agony flowed down his spine and into the rest of his body, making it arch convulsively into the air, choking off his air supply and constricting his chest painfully. He saw the bright lights behind his eyelids indicating the onset of asphyxiation as his lungs refused to draw air and his body hung suspended above the table in a rictus of torment. Just as he was about to reach blessed oblivion Tall One removed the stick, not allowing Julian the escape he would have given his life for.

Slowly, Tall One walked around the table watching the Human's ragged breathing punctuated with desperate swallows. Julian's throat burned from the systematic abuse of the stick and his own screaming such that he couldn't have begged for release even if it would have helped him. The Jem'Hadar's eyes glowed with sadistic pleasure as he placed the tip of his new toy against his victim's genitals.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Dax and Odo crouched in the shadow of a pile of crates stacked to one side of an apparently deserted cavern near the outskirts of the underground complex and waited until the agreed upon time for The Defiant's attack. In five minutes, everyone else should be too occupied with what was going on in orbit to worry about noticing them -- they hoped.

"The scans showed one Human and one Bajoran 100 meters southwest of here, down this passageway to the right and over two more after it bends to the west," Dax reminded Odo unnecessarily.

He grunted his understanding, wishing they could get going.

"There are a number of small rooms in that area so it might take us a few minutes to find them. I hope they're together; I don't want to be hanging around there very long."

"Yes, Lieutenant. I saw the scans, too," Odo felt compelled to answer. She was getting on his nerves, which was unusual for the normally unflappable Trill. Perhaps she was more worried about Julian than she'd let on. He wouldn't be surprised; she'd been getting soft on him from what he'd seen lately. Maybe the good doctor was finally getting through to her. He smiled with suppressed amusement: Solids. He still found many of their actions unfathomable, not that he understood his own people much better. He sighed. Two minutes to go.

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Lock weapons on the nearest ship. Disengage cloak."

As The Defiant materialized in orbit about the same planet the two Jem'Hadar fighters were blithely circling, both ships reacted in unison, powering up their weapons and raising shields. Both swung to intercept the invader as it opened fire.

"Direct hit," Kira announced with satisfaction.

The damaged vessel fell back, allowing its fellow a clear shot. As it fired a return volley, The Defiant rocked heavily, its shields fluctuating with the onslaught of directed energy.

"Impact on rear port deflector. No damage," O'Brien reported crisply. "Looks like they're coming around for another shot."

"Break orbit, Chief. New heading 126 mark 75. Target the crippled ship, Major, we have to get both of them."

"Aye, sir."

The Defiant swung widely around the back side of the planet, planning to make another pass at the damaged Jem'Hadar ship, but as they came up upon its original position they found only empty space.

"Not so damaged, after all," Sisko murmured thoughtfully. "Position of closest fighter?" he asked.

Kira worked her console quickly. "The one that fired followed us around the planet and is about 2,000 kilometers astern. I can't locate the other."

Suddenly, the bridge lurched violently and the lights flickered. The unmanned science station on the far right erupted in a blaze of sparks and began to smoke.

"Huh. I can," O'Brien muttered to himself.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Gradually, Julian's eyes opened and he shivered with cold. He was lying, still naked, in the middle of one of those small rooms the Jem'Hadar used for cells, curled up on the floor. The sweat had dried on his body, chilling him dangerously, and when he tried to move his head he nearly passed out from the explosion behind his eyes.

Slowly, he unclenched himself and pressed a hand to his throbbing temples. Spying the pile of clothing against the wall in front of him, he considered trying to get dressed, but as he lifted his head from the cold stone, wavering reality convinced him otherwise. Groaning, he collapsed back onto the rock and curled back into himself in search of warmth. He greeted the return of darkness with relief.

_____________________________________________________________________________

"This way." Dax led them down the corridor after checking for more Jem'Hadar coming their way. Given the sudden increase of soldiers running to various parts of the complex, it was obvious The Defiant was making its presence known.

"It can't be much farther."

Odo grunted. Hadn't she said that once already?

Rounding another corner, they came face to face with a Jem'Hadar soldier just standing against the wall, apparently not going anywhere. Dax fired, not even giving him time to draw his weapon.

"Not a very motivated soldier, was he?" Odo noted, wondering what he'd been doing lounging around while his fellows prepared to defend themselves.

"Let's find out why," said Dax, moving forward.

As the two carefully approached the open doorway the soldier had been leaning against, they heard a small voice coming from beyond.

"Um. . . hello? Who's there?"

Odo made a surprised sound and hurried forward. "Dr Mora! Is that you?" As the Bajoran came hesitantly around the corner, Odo motioned to him. "Quickly, we don't have much time."

Mora was stunned. "Odo! What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story, one we don't have the luxury of indulging at the moment. Do you know where they're holding Dr Bashir?"

Mora shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid not. Frankly, I'm not sure he's still alive."

Dax came up to them and spoke to Mora reassuringly. "He was as of ten minutes ago when we scanned this place for you two. He's in one of the rooms around here, probably being held much like you were."

"That being the case," Odo said, "we need only find another guard."

Warily, they moved off down the corridor to find one.

_____________________________________________________________________________

On the Run

"Hard aport!" The bridge crew swayed slightly to starboard as The Defiant's inertial dampeners struggled to keep pace with the ship's violent maneuvers.

"Status."

"Both Jem'Hadar fighters directly astern, line abreast, 6,000 meters," Kira replied with confidence.

"Rear deflectors at 80 percent," O'Brien added.

Sisko shifted in his seat, his concentration intense. "Major, target aft photon torpedoes and fire."

Kira was already locked on and had merely to give the confirmation: "Firing."

"Direct hit," came O'Brien's immediate assessment. "They're losing speed. . . some odd readings from their power core. I think they're really out of it this time."

Sisko smiled grimly. "You know what they say, Chief. 'Fool me once. . . .'" Shrugging it off, he continued, "Come about 233 mark 7, prepare to engage the other Jem'Hadar fighter. Position?"

"Still astern, 5,000 meters." Kira worked her tactical boards, targeting the remaining threat.

The Defiant swept through 180 degrees in a graceful arc, bringing her forward weapons array to bear. It was the work of seconds for Kira to lock the quantum phasers on their enemy.

"Fire when ready."

The ship shuddered slightly as the massive emitters spewed forth an intense stream of pulsed phaser energy in the face of the oncoming vessel, obliterating it in the blaze of liberated energy from its breached engine core.

Sisko was not satisfied. "Don't relax yet, people. Where's that other ship?"

O'Brien pulled up another display in front of him. Then he brought up several more, looking confused. "I don't know, Commander. It was back nearer the planet just two minutes ago, but now I can't find it."

"'. . . Fool me twice, shame on me,'" Sisko finished his earlier comment wryly.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Quietly, three figures prowled the dark passages of the underground complex looking for the lone guard that would signal the presence of their quarry. Time was running out and they'd have to leave if they didn't find him soon.

"He's got to be here somewhere," Mora muttered unhappily. "We can't just abandon him here."

Dax gave him her most reassuring smile. "Don't worry, we won't. We may have to take you back before it gets too hot down here for us, but we won't go back to the station without him."

Ahead of them, Odo was just coming up to the next corner when he signaled abruptly for them to stop. He glided back soundlessly to whisper to the others. "There's someone in the next tunnel."

Dax grasped her phaser firmly and started forward. "Then let's go introduce ourselves."

Slowly, she eased up to the bend, then jumped out, phaser at the ready. The startled Jem'Hadar had only enough time to notice her presence before slumping to the ground insensibly.

"Come on, let's see what he was guarding."

Dax strode down the passage, all but running, and was first to the open doorway where she paused in dismay. "Julian!"

There, lying on the floor of the stone prison, was the pitifully naked and curled form of their Chief Medical Officer looking in desperate need of medical attention himself. At least he was alive; she could see him shivering.

Stepping forward quickly, she was at his side running a tricorder over him as the others came up to the entrance.

"By the Prophets. . ." Mora whispered in horror. "How is he?"

"Not so great. A little hypothermic, coupled with severe dehydration and systemic degradation of his cardiovascular and lymphatic systems." She looked at Odo in alarm. "Can you carry him?" At Odo's nod she added, "Be careful, it's easy to induce shock in hypothermic patients."

Odo carefully morphed his arms around the unconscious Human, lifting him gently off the floor and cradling him to his chest. Julian moaned softly.

"Let's get out of here," Mora said, looking nervously down the passageway for intruders.

Dax's next comment didn't make him feel any better. "I hope The Defiant's neutralized those Jem'Hadar ships. We can't beam back until it can drop its shields."

"Regardless," Odo said caustically, "it can't beam us up if we remain here, either. We have to get closer to the surface before someone comes to check on their missing prisoners."

The small party moved off down the corridor.

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Intercept course, full impulse," Sisko commanded as soon as O'Brien announced he'd found the missing fighter. Playing dead seemed to be a standard tactic with these people. "Time until we're within weapons range, Major?"

"Twenty-five seconds."

Sisko watched the shrinking distance between him and his enemy with satisfaction. Chasing those fighters around the planet was beginning to get on his nerves, especially when they'd started damaging his ship. The 'injured' ship's surprise attack had taken out their starboard deflector in addition to the long-range communications array. Sisko was angry.

"In range, Commander."

"Fire."

But before Kira could initialize the firing mechanism, the Jem'Hadar ship jinked hard to port and disappeared behind the limb of the planet.

"Damn! All right, swing around the back side of this interfering rock. We've got to finish this up soon."

"Incoming message from the surface," O'Brien announced loudly. "It's the landing party. They're ready to beam back."

"Tell them to wait."

The next few minutes were tense ones as Kira and O'Brien scanned the vicinity for their target. Kira was the first to find it.

"Jem'Hadar vessel bearing 243 mark 23, fifty-two kilometers."

"Pursue. Fire the moment we're within range."

"Aye, sir."

O'Brien looked up from his console. "The landing party's run into a little trouble, Commander. They're insisting they need to be beamed up immediately."

Sisko frowned at the Jem'Hadar fighter that wouldn't die. "Tell them we'll pick them up as soon as we can. Tell them to do whatever it takes to remain within 60 meters of the surface. Don't let them get out of our reach."

O'Brien nodded.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The three conscious members of the landing party looked at each other with resignation.

"Great. Here we are, ready to go, and they tell us to wait." Mora looked frightened. "Just how long do they think we can stay unnoticed down here?"

No one answered his obviously rhetorical question until Odo hastily ducked down behind some crates. "Not long enough."

Two Jem'Hadar soldiers were walking casually down the corridor straight towards them, only seconds from finding the unwelcome visitors in their midst. Dax pulled her phaser and prepared to defend her comrades; she was the only one with a weapon. It crossed her mind to condemn Odo for his refusal to carry one, but decided she was happier in principle that he didn't. Still, an exception in this case would have been nice.

"Take cover," she said unnecessarily, taking aim on the soldier to the left. The blast of light and energy in the tunnel as she opened fire was more than enough to alert every Jem'Hadar within a thousand meters and she knew they couldn't stay there much longer.

"Signal The Defiant. We've got to get out of here, now."

"I just did," Odo growled. "They're under attack. They say they'll get back to us as soon as they can."

Mora cowered miserably behind him. "I hope we'll still be here when they do."

Dax noted the almost nonexistent charge on her phaser and said nothing.

_____________________________________________________________________________

"Yes!" Kira was exultant watching the last Jem'Hadar ship explode in a fiery display of pyrotechnic glory. "Finally."

Sisko was less enthusiastic. "Status of the landing party?"

O'Brien signaled his crewmates and was relieved to hear Dax's voice over the comm link. "Anytime now would be just peachy, Chief."

"Right away, Lieutenant. Just let me get a lock." The sounds of phaser fire could be heard clearly over the channel.

"Energizing."

Slowly, four shapes coalesced on the transporter platform, two of them oddly molded together, one with a phaser in her hand extended threateningly.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. Glad you could join us."

Dax gave Sisko her most withering look. "Thank you for the invitation."

He inclined his head in mock graciousness, then regarded Bashir more seriously. "How is he?"

"He'll live, but he needs medical care. At the very least," she added meaningfully.

"Where's this ship's sickbay? I'll take care of him until we can get back to the station," Mora spoke up, causing Sisko to remember him with surprise.

"Please," Sisko addressed the weary Bajoran. "Do whatever you can for him. Then take care of yourself."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Julian could hear before he could see. Faintly, as from a great distance, he heard indistinct voices whose words were merely a quiet mumble. He liked them; they were reassuring, even friendly. He smiled sleepily.

"Julian?"

Who was that? It sounded familiar. He was sure he should know.

"Julian? Can you hear me?"

Of course he could. . . stupid voice. . . like those people who asked if you were asleep; you could only answer if you weren't. He frowned, irritated.

"Julian, it's Jadzia. You're on The Defiant. You're safe now."

Jadzia. . . yes, he knew that name. . . pretty Jadzia. . . and The Defiant. . . he knew that one, too. . . safe. . . .

As memory returned full force, he bolted upright, or tried to. Not getting more than halfway up, he sank back down, groaning, his head spinning. He breathed shallowly, trying to quiet the sudden nausea in his stomach, and swallowed the bile that came to the back of his throat. Gradually, he relaxed as he felt someone gently stroking his hair.

"It's all right, Julian. You're on The Defiant. We're going back to the station."

He made a soft noise, slowly nodding his understanding. Back to the station. Impossible.

He tried to open his eyes, but the blinding light cut like knives straight through to his brain and he shut them again with a grunt. It was always something, wasn't it? He couldn't even remember the last time his world had been absent of pain.

"Computer, half lights."

Ah, good idea. He tried again and this time managed to focus his slitted eyes on the face in front of him. Blinking in disbelief, he commanded his tired brain to re-identify the person before him. My God, it really was Jadzia. His face lit with a smile of total happiness, slowly fading as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

"Welcome back, Julian," she said fondly, wrapping her fingers around his and kissing him gently on the forehead. "It's good to have you with us."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Mandy Gordon

Spring 1995