Three figures stood beneath a the gleam of an overhead lamp. Thick, dark leaves waved and rocked above them, from the long, sharp branches tapping against this single source of light. Its shadow obscured their gathered faces.
"Do you have it?" asked one - tall, lean, and almost invisibly dark.
"Everything you asked for, and more." The smallest member of their trio snapped to attention, pausing for a mock salute. "Sir."
The first speaker's response was whip-quick, consonants sharp like the crack and hiss of overcooked butter. "This is serious, you moron. Wipe that smirk off your face before I wipe it off for you."
"All right. Fine. No problem."
"Now. You did manage to us transport - right?"
After only a moment, a steady glow was emanating from the screen of a padd in the small one's hand. He passed it to the other men, paused long enough for both of them to conduct a summary study of its contents, and tucked it quickly back into the folds of his coat. "Ulix says to meet him by midday tomorrow, but he added that he'll be leaving at exactly that time, whether the three of us are on board or not."
"Did he give you any trouble?"
A shake of the small man's head was accompanied by a not quite indifferent shrug - which could just as easily have been mistaken for a movement of the shadows above. "I always thought Ferengi were more interested in Latinum than they've ever been in asking questions."
"Right, then. Let's be sure it stays that way."
"He… uh… He did ask for payment in advance…"
The tall one stiffened. "I trust you told him that's out of the question."
"Course I did." The shorter man glanced over his shoulder, as though convinced that every shadow hid multiple pairs of silent, staring eyes. "There was one more thing I wanted to ask…" he ventured - and coughed, hesitating.
"Go on," his companion prompted.
"It's just, with all this fancy planning and all… How do we know there's going to be a job once we get there? I mean, let's say for argument's sake that this guy was telling the truth. You'd think he would at least…"
"Trust me," interrupted the first speaker, forgetting for a moment how his voice at full volume could fill the still, moist air of midnight. "We aren't in a position from which we would ever want to say no. If our friend says there's a job for us to do, then wherever he's sending us is exactly where it'll be."
Stretched upon the surface of a long, sloping bench, muscles tense along the length of his arms, another man winced and clenched his teeth with a sharp inward hiss. The tension had sent a powerful ache all the way through his neck and into the lower part of his skull. He pressed both arms down hard against the mattress, using all his strength and will to keep them flat at his side - and to fight a compulsion to knock away the looming form of the high frequency diagnostic scanner.
Wire-thin beams of orange-yellow - spreading outwards from a central point above - brought a shallow, tingling sensation to the tips of his fingers. It's only an illusion, he reminded himself. Nothing was really closing in around him, or riding that visible glow as it crept in a slow dance up and down the length of his body.
Just a little longer. He closed his eyes, but imagined no less that the overhead scanner was falling towards him. It wouldn't last. As long as his calculations were correct, he only had a few more minutes, to calm the pressure of his thundering heart - and resist the heated rush of blood beneath his skin.
They'll tell you when it's time to get up.
"Don't be nervous, Julian." The voice of a woman came from the darkness above him. His mind brought forth a detailed image of her perfect cheekbones and smooth, milk-white face - in the seconds before he opened his eyes to peer upward at the sight of her smile.
"You're not the one on the table," he tried to joke, painfully conscious of how small and thin his voice had sounded.
"All right." Dax's voice broke through his fearful musings. "I suppose not. But nothing will go wrong. This won't last forever, and we're here with you - you know that."
Seeing the Trill woman's subtle amusement, feeling the pressure of her hand around his wrist, Bashir nodded sheepishly - but kept his focus on the broad, close forms of the machinery above. He was holding back an urge to escape, struggling to ignore a soaring, giddy sense of vertigo. Every breath he took was shallower than it was comforting, passing too quickly and unevenly - far too visibly - in and out through his nose.
This is ridiculous. He scowled in self reproach at the sheen of cold sweat that had spread across the surface of his skin, and the mild itch as it trickled wetly from his brow to his temples. Pull yourself together, man.
Nodding quietly, Bashir curled his fingers as securely as he could around the corners of a slender green treasure that was nestled within the creases of his right hand palm. An isolinear chip, the size of a Human fingertip, but with information as precious to him as Latinum to a Ferengi. He managed with some effort to reciprocate Dax's reassuring smile.
Eyes closed, he allowed each thought to follow its own particular course. There was something he had said to Jadzia. A conversation, a confession - it might have even been a prediction. But the moment of release had only heightened his deadline, bringing every barrier closer and turning them to something evident, and palpable.
"There," said a voice from a distant corner of the room. "We're done."
With a descending hum at the very edge of Bashir's hearing, the light faded gradually until it was entirely dim. He paused for a long, slow breath, to gather his will before convincing himself that the time had come to lever himself back into a sitting position. Dax's hand was around his opposite shoulder, ready to catch him if needed. Together, they waited for his balance to equalise.
The unseen speaker was quick to come into view, lab coat swaying at the hem as she lifted a hand to scratch the top of her long, dark hair. Pinned high on her head into a slightly uneven whorl-shaped bun, it was escaping at several points and drifted in a cloud around the edges of her face.
Another strand was loosened from its bonds at the moment when she took her hand away. The greyish green hue of her eyes, set against the brown of her face and the chestnut tones of her hair, strengthened the woman's resemblance to a quietly attentive domestic cat. She located her visitors as she approached, and regarded them coolly, her expression turning moderately grim. "Why did you take so long to tell someone what was happening to you?" she asked.
Bashir looked away, but without much hope of hiding his brief discomfort. "I don't know."
"You must have a theory."
Several, actually, thought Julian. He had been distracted, tripped up by too many sudden, unsought obstacles. He'd lost all faith that his actions could make a bit of difference. Or perhaps he had just been far too tired.
This woman was an expert in her field. He should have known better than to expect that she would accept his claims of ignorance.
"Did you find anything?" he asked instead.
The woman's probing gaze lingered a moment, binding him as inescapably as any restraining field. But finally she relented, briefly closing her eyes with a sigh and a shake of her head.
"Nothing concrete," she began. "I've sent away for your medical history, and for any other records that Starfleet might have access to. But I have to confess that none of what they've given me has proven very helpful. At least, not yet. Most of your personal files from before the age of seven were destroyed. That was what your mother said the last time we spoke. It's not so unusual in cases like yours, but it does make our next course a little more difficult to determine."
"You…" Alarm surged through him, stripping his voice to the barest whisper. Even the sound of his own speech was startling. "You brought my parents into this? Athena - I can't believe you would…"
Athena Nikos stopped to settle into a seat nearby. Another strand of hair had escaped from its bonds, and her wide-set green eyes gave little clue as to the thoughts behind them. "Perhaps it's not my place to say. But wouldn't it have been better to include them from the start?" She sighed tiredly, sounding resigned. "In any case, there's still a chance we might get something useful, once we hear from our contacts on Adigeon Prime."
Julian tensed, quick to follow the conversation onto safer ground. "Has there been any word?"
"Not yet." Seeing the flash of anxious impatience behind Bashir's own eyes, Doctor Nikos hastened to reassure him. "But that doesn't mean we have to give up. It's only been a day, and even subspace messages can take a long time to reach beyond some Federation borders."
"Then perhaps I should…" He stopped. How many times had he tried to speak this thought, only to be held back by his own conflicting doubts? Even now, he was no longer sure. "There has to be another option. Even if I have to go there in person, I really ought to be doing something."
"That's not a good idea," insisted Nikos, "You're safer here than if you attempted to travel though open space. If anything does happen, you don't want to find yourself light years away from Federation territory with no-one around to answer your call. If you stay here, then at least help will be at close at hand if you should need it."
Nikos' wide, scrutinising eyes continued to stare as Julian released his hold on the examination table. His fingers had created tiny radiating grooves upon its surface. Maintaining his focus, he was able to conceal the visible weakness in his limbs. But he still felt every minute tremor as his strength and self control continued to abandon him. And shame was quick to take the place of impatience and anger.
"Please, Athena." He spoke softly. "I can't just stay here and… There has to be something…"
She sighed, glancing once at Dax before returning her attention to Bashir. "All right. What if I promise to give it some thought?"
Nodding reluctantly, Bashir slipped down a little to make standing contact with the floor, and steadied himself against the nearby bench. He stepped away, gathering his jacket from one of the surrounding tables - turning his face away from both of his companions. His voice was hoarse, as trapped beneath his chest as he, somehow, had allowed himself to be within this room. "So. We wait."