"Masquerade. Paper faces on parade.

Masquerade.

Hide your face so the world will never find you."

(The Phantom of the Opera, Lyrics by Charles Hart & Richard Stilgoe.)

Feeling peculiarly annoyed more than anything else that he could ascertain, Bashir looked down to where his hands slapped against the brightly lit floor of the tunnel. He was surprised at how much they resembled a pair of hard edged shadow puppets, but even more so that such a bizarre comparison should have occurred to him in the first place.

"Why are we crawling through Jeffries' tubes?"

"Shut up and move," came his captor's rough growl from behind.

They had already been moving long enough for his knees to ache. Not to mention his hands, shoulders, back… And he could do very little to shake the image of Doctor Nikos, injured and bleeding on his living room floor. He wondered if anyone had reached her in time, if they were blaming him for having disappeared again. Or if they might possibly understand after all, even just a little.

What's to understand? You abandoned a patient. You left her to her fate, alone. You deserve to be shunted from Starfleet Medical. For a moment the edges of his vision shifted and blurred, tears of rage and self-recrimination stinging in his eyes.

His next breath was forcefully deep, and he reminded himself just as angrily that he would have been of little use had he ended up lying right there beside her.

They'd stopped not far from Bashir's still darkened quarters, at one of the uneven, geometric panels that lined the wall of the habitat ring. "Open it," Appleton commanded.

The tiniest flicker of rebellion flaring in his chest, Bashir hesitated. "Why?"

"Because if you don't, I will kill you."

Could have guessed.

Crouching by the wall, he worked his fingers in around the panel's edge. It came away with a sharp click. An instant later, and a disruptor had once again been levelled at his face. The eyes of the man who held it were cold and determined. "In."

Bashir folded his limbs against each other and swung head first through the open gap. Once the hatch was back in its original position, he cast a querying glance at Appleton, who signalled to the narrow tunnel in front.

"Wouldn't it have been easier just to walk?" Julian called, turning his head a little as he moved.

"Oh yes, that would be fine for you." It had been an impulsive ploy, but now there was an even harder edge to the pale man's voice. "And your friends would be oh so quick to turn up, I would be arrested, and everyone would go home happy? I'm willing to bet there are already others out looking for you, and I know there are people looking for me. So we're both staying out of sight for a while, is what we're going to do."

Bashir stopped, wondering what it was he'd caught in the reply. Impatience? Irritation? No - that wasn't it…

Fear.

"Why would anyone be coming after you?" he asked, surprised to discover that his own voice now carried an edge of concern.

"Simple enough," the man replied. The sounds of movement had stopped. "I know about the virus."

Levering himself around so as to be facing across the tunnel with his back against one wall, Bashir frowned in his captor's direction. "What is it?"

For a moment, Appleton's dark eyes narrowed as he paused to study Julian's face. "You were bluffing earlier," he realised. "Weren't you? You really don't know."

A wordless stare was all the reply that he needed. The man with the disruptor also manoeuvred himself into a sitting position. "A few years back," he began. "It would have been only a matter of weeks after your then Commander Sisko first discovered the Dominion threat. I was one of a small group of people assigned to the development of new biological weapons. Something to prepare for the inevitable war."

"But we're not at war with the Dominion," said Bashir.

"Yet," Appleton corrected him. "We're not at war yet. Whatever peace there is right now, it won't last long. And don't pretend to me that you haven't already figured out the odds. I'll wager you've found the chance for a peaceful solution to be every bit as remote as we have. The Federation needs every advantage it can get, and that's before our people start to die."

"And what about that other man?" Bashir asked. "Where does he fit in to all of this?"

The reply he received was slow to come, but with little sign of reluctance or hesitation. "His name is Sloan," Appleton said. "Or that's all he tells people, anyway. He must have heard about our research - how we were all set to create a virus that could wipe out the Jem'Hadar before the expected war should even begin. And it's possible he may have been the one pulling the strings behind our project from the very start."

A frown passed across his slightly olive-hued, pale face. "That's not something I can say for certain, and I definitely don't have the evidence to support it. So a few weeks back, I stole all the data I could, and wiped the memory of our entire computer. Which was far from easy, let me tell you. I've been in hiding ever since, tracking him where I can, but without a lot of success."

"Until this week," Bashir finished for him. "He's the one you think is after you. Isn't he?"

There was no reply. But again, there was no need for one.

"Listen," said Bashir. He leaned forward slightly, with a sudden, intense resolve. "You don't have to do this alone. We could go to Captain Sisko. Together. Tell him what you just told me, I promise he would hear you out."

"And do what?" retorted Appleton. "Have that shapeshifter 'constable' of yours put me in one of his holding cells while I wait for that man and his cronies to find me? No, thank you. There's already a ship at one of your cargo bays. I plan to take her out, nice and quiet, and get the Hell off of this monstrosity before anybody even notices I'm gone."

"And what plan do you have for me?" Bashir asked. The man regarded him with a cold and silent glare.

"You're my leverage."

"Oh really?" He sensed his own voice rise in volume, but there was little he could do to prevent it. "If half of what you say is true, these people are hardly likely to care that you have a hostage."

For a moment, Lawrence Appleton was silent - thoughtful. He rubbed one cheek with the point of his gun. Did he even consider that possibility? Bashir wondered, watching from nearby. Is he planning any of this, or is it all just happening moment to moment?

Careful to avoid any sudden movements, he shuffled a little closer, and held out his hand. Appleton stared as if he'd never seen it before.

But his prisoner was keeping a steady gaze. "The captain will listen," he promised in a low stage whisper. "I swear it."

From further down the tunnel came an unexpected sound. Soft and unwavering - something between a whistle and a hiss. Bashir felt the blood drain from his face. Now what? Jerking towards it, Appleton was suddenly tense and fully two shades whiter. The pulse was visible at his right hand temple, where a raised blood vessel had begun to stir like a writhing serpent worm.

"You are working for them!" he shouted without warning, and recoiled so suddenly that Julian flinched. No chance to wonder what that constant hiss might be. His own heart was racing, but he kept his focus on the piercing dark eyes in front of him, and the disruptor pistol that had again been aimed his way.

"Wait a minute - I already told you…"

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" the man screamed, spittle escaping wetly from the corners of his mouth. "I've seen your kind before. I know how you hide, and lie, and treat the rest of us like we're your own personal toys. And what - you think I'm that… dim that you can play me like an instrument? Not this time. I'm not about to let you follow me out of here."

He tensed both arms, disruptor at the ready. And he fired.