"I remember," whispered Bashir with a cold, uneasy shudder. But the corridors returned only a ghostly, ambience of age and neglect. At least once - or, more likely, on several occasions - their surfaces had been painted over by diligent hands, which had then long ago left their endeavours to fade, and turn archaically brown at the corners. Twenty six years, it had been. And yet, not since landing had his early memories been so clearly intermingled with his view of the rooms and passages beyond their initial entrance.

There, he thought with a jolt of recognition. The largest room, second from the door… That had been the office, where he and his father had met the gen-engineers, all of them destined to end whatever natural course his life might have known.

Which meant that Julian's old room… Halfway along that corridor. Almost precisely forty degrees to his left. And at the end of a longer, narrower hallway had been that low-ceilinged clinic - barely high enough for the Adigeon nurses to stand. A table had stood at its centre, parallel to the walls once lined with abominators, digitally regulated nano-manipulators, and every variety of looming mechanical device.

As his younger self's cognitive functions had steadily improved, and curiosity finally drove him to ask, he had come to learn what each device was meant to do. But his childish recollections were still inhabited by cold, metallic alloy monsters, with eyes of glowing yellow, skeletal foundations and hard, protruding edges and limbs.

Twenty six years… In spite of the planet's natural heat, which was barely lessened in this unconditioned maze, Julian felt the chill of gooseflesh creep across his skin. He felt haunted. Time alone was what now stopped the ghosts of his past from drifting like cobwebs through these halls. Time alone separated him from the stares of who knew how many children, waiting for the time when they too would be gradually and irrevocably changed.

Surging ahead with long, fast strides, Jack continued to peer through every tarnished window. "No," he remarked at every one he passed. "No. Not here either." He spared no regard for Patrick's continued plaintive calls as the old man hurried to rejoin him, his voice echoing in the unseen distance.

"Wait for us, Jack."

With every clouded windowpane that his companions discounted, the small but hopeful flame that Julian had imagined glowing deep inside of him was dimmed to a cold, brittle cinder. Its absence left a hollow at the depth of his already aching chest. Lauren was right. This was no hospital, but a place so long neglected that cracks had spread across the walls, and fragments of rubble had started to gather like crumbs swept into empty corners.

"Still, it's a curious place…" the tall brunette muttered to herself. Her deep, low voice was soft and lingering. Following barely two metres behind her, only Sarina paused to glance over her shoulder. A brief apology came from behind her dark brown eyes, before she too disappeared around the same long corridor as the others.

There's nobody here. No-one had frequented these corridors for a very long time - possibly even years. Bashir walked unsteadily, each trembling step far too slow and difficult. It would take their small group little time to move beyond his ability to follow. The whole idea had been dreams and fancies, to be swallowed by these chambers of old, abandoned apparatus and the dirty canvas shrouds that covered them. He was alone.

And with that thought, he was suddenly, overwhelmingly tired.

"This is stupid, Julian," he cursed himself. "Stupid!" He swayed a little, as though the floor were no more substantial than a deck of rotting timber-boards. Holding to a section of wall, that protruded outward to no more than the width of his fingers, he winced at the sharply throbbing pain in his head. And tasted metallic salt upon his lips.

Bringing one hand up towards its source, he studied the fresh scarlet stain that had soaked into the hem of his sleeve. Nosebleeds, now? Perhaps he should not have been so surprised. His blood was thin, with a weak, liquid sheen, and even the floor was spinning dizzily around him, with a fresh ache forming at the base of his eyes. If there was anyone to find in the next rooms along, he would have to find them soon.

A sound in the distance was almost too quiet to be heard - until it gradually caught, and held, his attention. A series of clicks like hard surfaces tapping lightly against one another. Could it be possible? Was someone else still working here? It was almost too much to hope for.

A door was slightly ajar, where it had deviated enough from its tracks for the base to have jammed in tight. Even Bashir's thin frame was unable to squeeze through the open gap without the edges scraping against his skin. "Hello? Is somebody there?" His voice was hoarse and tentative. The noises stopped.

A landscape of grey-black shapes had been stacked together to span the length and width of the room's interior. Bashir ran a hand along a row of bulky neuro-electric monitors - although only the corners remained entirely visible, and the inch and a half of uncovered screen was scratched and grimy. His fingertips came away stained with the flaky grey-brown of dust.

A small but sudden gasp issued forth from this scene of long neglect. Two oversized dark eyes peered from between two covered shapes, but concealed themselves immediately as soon as they made contact with the momentarily bewildered Human.

"Don't be scared…" Bashir called, as clearly as his voice allowed him. "I just need to ask you something." Slowly, hesitantly, and with one hand gripping the covers like a barricade, the same wary figure revealed himself again.

The room's other occupant was notably smaller than Naron, or any others of the city's population - at least, as Bashir remembered them. A child, he realised. And more than likely, one of the only other creatures that he would see in these deserted halls. Four faintly darker lines ran along his bare, domed scalp and extended all the way to the top of his nose. The natural yellow-brown of his skin shifted quickly to an underlay of desert ochre.

A grey plastic toy clattered loudly to the floor. The boy startled, frozen as though by the stare of a Gorgon - and with a quick, almost subvocal yelp, he darted for the exit.

Wait. Bashir grappled for the nearest stable support - the mirrored edge of a privacy curtain, which had been drawn two thirds of the way around one of the empty beds. If only there was a way to detach this metal post from its frame, to use it to support him like a staff. He couldn't let the retreating child disappear, as Jack and Sarina and the rest of their party had done.

The youngster had already dodged all the way to the door, slowing only for just enough time to thread himself through the still-marginal gap. "Hey!" gasped Julian, hoarse and breathless, fighting not to stumble against any walls or apparatus as he struggled to follow the Adigeon boy, his own steps jagged and uneven. "Stop. Please. I… I won't…"

His head ached as though squeezed between two grinding blocks of stone. A fog of colourless, rippling textures obscured what remained of his failing vision. He swayed on his feet, and bent low, clutching the broken doors and breathing hard. His other hand held fast to his own belly.

"Wait…"

The young Adigeon halted, glancing over his shoulder. But the fingers of his left hand were already hooked around the sharpened edge of the next intersection. His small, thin body was tense and watchful, preparing to disappear around it.

With one thought coming through the clouds in his head, Bashir levered himself away from the wall. Don't go. He could not allow this child to get away. He could sense his own weak, feathery pulse. His legs resisted at every step, as though held back by the traction of thickly congealing, knee-high mud. The floor continued to shift beneath him as he surrendered briefly to the meagre support of the corridor. breathing with such exertion that every breath was painful in his lungs. Even the deepest of these brought little oxygen to his head and extremities.

And just as suddenly, the ground was rushing closer, faster than he could ever right himself. With a hard enough collision to knock the breath from him, Bashir felt the shock of impact surge into his shoulder. There were no voices, no hasty pounding of distant feet against the linoleum. Nothing but the quiet, slow silence of an otherwise abandoned hall. But… Still standing - by some miracle, he was still standing. It was the wall, not the floor, that had taken much of his weight.

Sick and dizzy, he fell to a helpless crouch and crossed both arms - like a bat folding its wings - across his chest. Their touch did nothing to lessen the painful cold. Eyes heavy, barely open, he surrendered to the power of gravity, slid still further as the indoor scenery began to drift away.

No regrets, Julian told himself. You tried your best.

He closed his eyes.