CHAPTER 15

Doctor Bashir sat in Quark's bar sipping a drink that had a name he could not pronounce. He had asked Quark for a drink that would make him "more optimistic." Quark said he knew just the thing, and produced a mug of tart-smelling liquid that resembled olive oil.

The drink was surprisingly good. When Bashir said that he wanted to know what the drink was, in case he wished to order it again, Quark uttered a word that included chaotic hissing sounds. Bashir didn't even try to repeat the name.

Quark could see that Bashir was in no mood for conversation, so he left him alone. Quark was fully aware of Bashir's situation. It was known throughout the station that most of the survivors from Observer had taken their own lives while under his care, and that Doctor Bashir might be held responsible for their deaths.

"Would you like another, Doc?" Quark asked, seeing that Bashir had emptied his mug.

"Yes, please."

A voice interrupted: "Doctor Bashir, medical emergency, please report to the Infirmary."

Bashir responded, "On my way," and rose from his seat. "Save that drink for later, Quark."

"You got it, Doc."

As Bashir walked briskly toward the Infirmary, he noticed that he was having difficulty moving in a straight path. Bashir felt horror in the notion that he might have to address a medical emergency, yet he was intoxicated, albeit mildly intoxicated. He was not so intoxicated that he was staggering, or that his speech was slurred, or that his motor skills were severely compromised, or that he could not relate to his surroundings; but he was affected. What was he doing, drinking that stuff in the first place?

Upon arrival in the Infirmary, he found his assistant in an examination room, taking readings on a patient.

The patient was Jadzia Dax. She was wincing and holding her hand in the air while the assistant scanned it with a medical tricorder. Bashir saw no blood, no laceration, no deformity in the hand. He quickly assessed his own ability to practice medicine, and felt that the effects of his drink were not an impediment.

"What happened to you, Jadzia?"

"I was trying to assemble a circuit, and I got a jolt in my hand." The stress in her voice was obvious.

The assistant gave Bashir the tricorder, and Bashir scanned the readings.

"Yes, I see. Nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worrying, I'm hurting! It hurts, Julian!" Dax was more interested in action than in reassurances.

Bashir retrieved an instrument and placed it over the back of Dax's hand. At Bashir's prompting, the assistant held Dax's wrist. "Wiggle your fingers," Bashir ordered.

"I can't. It hurts too much."

"Try."

Dax began wiggling her fingers. The pain was initially sharp and Dax winced, but the more she wiggled, the less severe the pain was. "It's feeling better," she said eventually.

Bashir moved the instrument to the palm of her hand. "Keep wiggling," he instructed.

She did, and the pain subsided further, until she could no longer feel it. "The pain's gone," she announced.

"You can stop wiggling your fingers."

Dax stopped wiggling, and the assistant released her wrist. Dax opened and closed her fist, and flexed her hand this way and that. She smiled.

"You had what some call 'Indigo Syndrome,'" Bashir said. "It's painful, but easy to treat. Indigo Syndrome is essentially a combination of stimulation and accompanying paralysis of the nerves, muscles and tendons, in this case, the nerves, muscles and tendons of your hand. You've been working with energy masks, I assume. They can cause Indigo if you get too close."

Instead of responding to what Bashir had just said, Dax turned to Bashir's assistant. "Thanks for your help. Would you please excuse us?"

Bashir dismissed the assistant with a wave, and the assistant nodded and left. When the door to the examination room slid closed, Dax turned to Bashir.

"This happened," Dax wiggled her fingers again, "as part of the tests that Miles and I are conducting. He's built simulator systems that resemble the safety systems aboard Observer. Somehow, those systems aboard Observer failed, and we're trying to see whether we can make our simulated safety systems fail. One of my ideas was to try camouflage to see whether I could hide our life signs from the life sensor."

"Hence, the energy masks."

"Yes."

"I'm curious. Can you tell me whether you've had any luck?"

Dax nodded. "Actually, we have. Miles says he's able to 'spoof,' that is, to trick, the gravitational sensor."

"So, you're closer, at least in theory, to your goal of intentionally causing a probe detonation."

"Yes. If we assume that the Probe Control Station, for whatever reason, gave a command to detonate, then there are only two safety systems in the way: life and environment. But those two systems are very hard to spoof. We're trying everything we can think of trying. We've used every instrument they had in the Probe Preparation Bay to try to fool the sensors. We're starting to try things that they didn't have in the Bay, or at least, things they weren't supposed to have in the Bay."

"Wish I could help," Bashir said, "but I don't have any ideas as to what else you might try."

There was a pause. Dax had wanted to ask something, and she decided she could not keep it to herself any longer. "Julian, when will Starfleet Medical begin its investigation into, you know, the deaths of the last ten crew members of Observer?"

"The investigation has already begun." I underwent an initial interview by subspace this morning. It lasted about an hour."

"And?"

"And," Bashir drew a breath, "I don't know. Officially, it's confidential."

"I have a high security clearance," Dax pressed, half-joking. "Julian, what happened?"

Bashir smiled slightly. He decided to tell. "The investigator didn't really say much. They're satisfied that I did not inject the patients myself and that I did not play an active role. I was, after all, asleep at the time. My hypos weren't secured, but as the investigator acknowledged, it is not required by medical regulation or standard practice that hypos be secured so that only a physician can get them. The Dyneuryllin wasn't secured either. But Dyneuryllin, even Grade Orange Dyneuryllin, is not deemed hazardous in normal doses, and it is not addictive, and it has no serious side-effects in normal doses, and it isn't widely abused. In short, there is no requirement that the Dyneuryllin be secured."

Dax started to smile. "That all sounds like good news. It sounds like you haven't broken any rules."

"I suppose so. Still. Ten patients died under my care."

"But what did you do that might have been wrong? There isn't anything, is there?"

Bashir sighed. "I wasn't conducting constant medical monitoring, for one thing. If I had, I've have been notified as soon as the first patient overdosed on Dyneuryllin, and I'd have been able to put a stop to further overdoses."

"Was constant medical monitoring required by regulation or rules of practice?"

"No. It is left to my discretion. But Starfleet Medical might rule that I should have used it in this situation anyway. It is possible that Starfleet Medical could question whether I'd replicated too much of the medication, though I think that is unlikely." Bashir lowered his eyes. "They also might question whether I should have been fully honest with my patients. When I told them that I was unlikely to find any effective treatment or cure, I may have taken away any last hope that they may have had. So Starfleet Medical might find that I prompted them to do what they did."

"Starfleet Medical can't punish you for being truthful, can they?"

"I don't know. They might find fault with me in other ways as well. I will just have to wait and see, I suppose. The next step, I understand, is that I will have to appear before a Board of Inquiry."

"When?"

"I don't know. The Board will probably want to come to Deep Space Nine to inspect my medical facilities. But how soon, I don't know."

"Will they want to do autopsies?"

"No. They're satisfied with my reports on the causes of death. There won't be any bodies here for them to autopsy, anyway. The remains of the sixteen people beamed off Observer are scheduled to be moved away from here by an honor guard in about eight hours, to a secret destination. Those members of the crew that didn't get beamed off will remain with Observer for the time being, or so I'm told. The Observer is going to be towed somewhere, presumably to the same secret destination. And then, those other crew members will be taken care of."

There seemed to be nothing further to say. Bashir scanned Dax's hand one more time. He and Dax were satisfied that the injury had been addressed, and there should be no adverse aftereffects. Dax thanked him and departed.

Bashir took a few steps out of the examination room. He walked in a true line. He could no longer feel the effects of his drink. But strangely, he did feel considerably more optimistic, more optimistic than he had felt in days.

"That was a nice drink, Quark," he said under his breath.