Theirs was a road of obstacles, of trials, good intentions, and compromised ideals. Their path was set, even before Richard and his son stepped onto the shuttle that was to transfer them to the first of three interconnected long range ships. The first irreversible step on the way to Adigeon Prime.

Confronted by a broad, matronly smile, Julian wriggled back to be closer to his father as the shuttle journeyed through successive layers of their world's azure atmosphere. Richard followed his gaze towards one elderly passenger, whose hair was thickly white around skin that was dry and crinkled as though from a loosely fitting overlay. Neither forced the other into an exchange of conversation, but Julian continued to stare at the crowd of older, larger Humans on both sides of the transport vessel.

Amsha had farewelled them both at the launching site, kneeling to kiss her son's cheek and bring him into a tight embrace. Not for the last time, Richard sent a promise through the distant ether, and still more fiercely, he swore the same to Julian's mother as well. Conscious always of the child at his side, he was no less plagued by distractions than he had been on the night before. A word, a glance, a moment of suspicion would be more than enough for all his good intentions to collapse around him.

The larger ship was easily visible through the nearest viewing port, glaringly bright along one side from the light of an uninterrupted Sun. Boarding shortly after the shuttle docked, Richard discovered before too long that he was uncertain of whether he was really the one guiding his boy through the corridors of the ship, or whether it was Julian's unstoppable curiosity leading him on. "In here," he chided, taking his son by the shoulders and ushering him through the appropriate entrance.

Their cabin aboard the transport ship was smaller than he'd anticipated. Slipping through the narrow entrance, Richard glanced at the sparse decor, and shook his head in disappointment. The boy and his father were two of only twenty or thirty passengers on board. There must have been some empty quarters, a better alternative, that he could exchange for this confining space without significant trouble.

"Well - it's quiet," he muttered to himself as the doors closed on the bustle outside. "At least that's something."

Julian raced immediately to leap onto a thin double seat at the cabin's outer edge, where he sat with his legs straight in front of him and a brown toy bear in his lap. He'd always been attached to that animal - as securely as to his very own shadow. Looking around with wide, inquisitive eyes, he plucked some lint from one of the teddy's slightly tattered ears, just as a high, bi-tonal chime sounded persistently at the door.

"Stay there, Jules," Richard scolded his son before the boy could run forward to see who was visiting. As Julian clutched his teddy with two small hands, craning for the best view, Richard adjusted his jacket and paused for a steadying breath.

"Come in."

The computer responded automatically to the sound of his voice, opening the cabin door at the pre-programmed command. The youth in the entrance paused with his hand still raised. He was dressed in the double striped uniform of a low level steward and his slightly mottled face was pale and yellowing like old paper.

"Travel documents please." He barely glanced at either of the two passengers as he lowered his gaze to a list of names on a padd in his hands.

Scowling with downcast eyes, he made a brief glance at the falsified documents that his passenger had provided - so brief that Richard wondered how he could have possibly noticed any of the contents. Eyes the colour of moss-covered stone finally made contact with those of Richard Bashir, and the youth slapped the older man's identity papers summarily back against his palm.

"Thank you for your co-operation I hope you have a safe and pleasant journey," he said with as little sincerity as if he'd recited the words from a cargo manifest. But Richard felt his own blood chill as for a moment, he found himself looking directly into a pair of small, dark eyes.

You shouldn't have worried, he told himself, nodding a customary thanks to the bored young steward. He doubted that even the likeness of a couple of gangly Talarian hook spiders on their false identity papers would have attracted any genuine scrutiny from this jaundiced youth.

Julian stopped to watch them both, feet treading on the air and with both hands firmly planted on either side of him. But the youth showed no more interest in father or son as he turned and disappeared on his way to the neighbouring tiny cabin.

Richard, too, avoided the boy's curious, questioning gaze. He tucked the lying padd back into the deepest corner of his travel bag. If he could stop Julian's face from entering his field of vision, it might even be possible to imagine that there were no eyes now watching him. He could not hold back the feeling that a line had been crossed, a point from which he could never return. If only he could feel that there was some accomplishment in the ease with which this initial deception had worked.

The constant turn of minute after minute bore a strange resemblance to a slow-moving carousel - with a relentless, grotesquely stilted melody marching slowly across the background. But the sensation they left him, the words that had been spoken, and the memory of Jack's pale face as he relished the silent discomfort of his companion, offered him no reprieve even as the time for each was past.

They faded slightly to the back of his mind like the shouts of a crowd as they walked away. But the standard past times gave no distraction. Before very long, a single thought was enough to bring every doubt stubbornly back into view.

"Mine," one old woman was insisting to anyone who came within two metres of her stack of metallic puzzle pieces, which she had gathered together on a central table. She continued to pile them atop each other in an oddly jagged sculpture. Julian took only a glance and very little time to bring it to completion in his head, just as he and several others were ushered away to an adjacent dining hall.

Why would the Adigeons not have returned his messages? he started to wonder - another of the recurring thoughts that had refused to let him be. Should they really be taking this long, or had his request been buried deep beneath an influx of subspace chatter? Nikos had urged patience, but with each passing minute, patience was turning increasingly to an unattainable art.

But still, he reminded himself, and clenched both hands. It's only until you can find another place to go. This isn't the time to panic - at least, not yet.

Glancing down, Bashir contemplated the laden tray that had been pressed into his hands by a small, raven-haired kitchenhand. Her skin was pale as a flurry of loosely packed snow. "Really - I'm sure it's not necessary to…" He faltered under the force of the woman's stare, instead nodding politely, and silently. "Thank you."

Salted lamb stew. With a tower of thickly gelatinous gravy, and what looked like lumps of potato. He had smelled the overpowering, savoury odour from the door. At least it was soft enough for the blunt plastic cutlery to slice through it with little trouble. Scones might have been better, perhaps - but still far too heavy for such an hour. Was there really a time when the choice had been his?

The languorous brunette from the previous afternoon grinned suggestively as he passed her by, and Bashir barely managed to conceal a small, cold shudder. Carrying his lunch to a nearby table, he regarded the meal with mild distaste and thought about how much time it would take to grow unpalatably cold.

Bashir's still wandering thoughts quickly filled with all manner of ways in which a single message could be lost or abandoned, while those at the other end continued to wait in silence. He pressed one hand against the other until the tight, anxious pain had released itself a little from his chest - or more likely shifted into his stomach.

It wasn't too early to worry. Was it? Subspace communications could be slow over long distances, but rarely this slow. And others would never truly bear witness to Julian's part on this endless merry-go-round. Some might have spared a thought for each dizzy revolution, had he asked it of them. But on that day, he was very much riding alone.

He had to find a way to start working more of the controls.

"You after something?" A large, pock-faced man demanded of Bashir, head tilted into a challenge, arms folded so that the circumference of his arms bulged noticeably.

"I need to get to a computer interface. Is there any way to arrange that?"

"What would you want with a computer?" the orderly asked in a doubtful tone.

Julian opened his mouth, but without an answer. He stopped, mind working rapidly before he could gather enough of his thoughts to say a word. "I just want to check… something. Look, it won't take long…"

"Oh, right. And you expect me to arrange it for you."

The other man had sounded tired. Bored, even. And yet, there was something undefined beneath his response - subtle, but which no less caused Bashir's eyes to narrow.

He kept his voice low. "Listen. I don't expect you to care - just tell me where I can find a console."

"Is there a problem?"

He recognised the Starfleet doctor with the tight, weary face, first approaching from his right, who then stopped barely two steps away and watched their exchange with quiet attention.

Fixed by a pair of faces turned towards him, Bashir found that he was stuck in place as surely as if by the walls of a holding cell. "It's not important," he said. "Really. I just thought… If I could get to a computer, then…"

He could not locate the source of his sudden wary hesitation, but the doctor's failure to challenge his cool half-answer was many times worse than any other reaction he might have anticipated. If only he could figure out what he had seen in the eyes of her subordinate. With her own eyes briefly closed, the woman sighed wearily as though she had forgotten how to prevent herself from sighing. "If you're willing to be patient, I'll see what I can do," she told him. "But I'm afraid it may not be up to me."

"That's not true," accused Bashir. "Whatever happens in this wing falls under your jurisdiction. I checked the Institute files before coming here."

"It's not that simple, Julian."

"Why not?"

"I think you know," she responded. "I can't just hand over computer access without some idea of what you intend to do."

Bashir turned away, feeling a scowl heat the blood just beneath the surface of his face. "Never mind. Just…" He shook his head. "Just forget it."

The doctor's hand upon his wrist stopped him, accompanied by another audible sigh. "I'll have to speak to Doctor Nikos first. Return to your seat. Finish your lunch. And then, we'll see."

But with her back to her larger companion, she had not seen the smugness in his self-satisfied leer.