It had not been the group's most difficult operation, but certainly, it counted among their most complicated. The visitor stayed close to his place near the wall, where a narrow depression sank inward by only centimetres, but it was enough to give some concealment to each sporadic glance he was casting to either side. The marks behind this open panel were as unfamiliar to him as quantum dynamics to a troop of roaming Pakleds. But no-one had ventured near enough to question his presence, and he did not have to understand this foreign circuitry in order to pretend.

As he stood with his back to the central - and so far, empty - thoroughfare, what had been a mesmerising pulse of colours across the circuit board was abruptly disturbed by a second, slightly aberrant rhythm that blinked dull red at the top left corner. The flashes of light snatched the man's attention, and he stared, knowing that his focus had turned immediately sharp. Even the drumming of his heart had intensified, so that his view of the panel flickered marginally with every surge of blood through the capillaries of his eyes.

Exactly as predicted… This was precisely what they'd been expecting all along.

With agitated hands, he clicked the panel shut and barely remembered to shuffle all his tools back into their proper order. The open container was left abandoned at one side of the floor, brushed aside like a pile of litter by a fluent sweep of one foot, moments before he strode away. Certainly, he had never been an engineer. He did not even know what two out of three of these objects were called, and had even less idea of what they were supposed to do.

Before long, the secretly concealed transceiver was once more only millimetres from his mouth - near enough that his fingers felt the tickle of displaced air. He spoke into the tiny device. "We're in business."

The silence lasted only seconds. But even this was challenging the man's already extended patience. Then, a sharp, startled voice spoke deep inside his ear. "Eh? Already? Then that's gotta mean that they're all inside - right?"

Idiots.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" the first man hissed. Impatience flooded his voice with a hefty measure of contempt. "= But that's not the point, Riley. Now get yerselves over here. Time to take up our second positions."

The child leaned close, each movement smooth and fluid, and studied Bashir with eyes as dark as deep, black wells - from as many angles as he could see. Both hands reached forward - long, slender digits grasping and lifting the Human's right arm up by the wrist. He manipulated it, turning it palm-upwards, and then back again to drop at Bashir's side. Finally, he squatted back on his haunches, and - with his head tilted to one side - he stared at the alien stranger's sickly face.

Julian's hand moved, a brief, involuntary spasm of his fingers. But the child scampered backwards until he was once again out of reach. A small, pink tongue flicked quickly from his half-open mouth as from a safe distance, he continued to study the man before him.

Eyes open as far as he could force them to go, Bashir fought hard to return the youngster's scrutinising gaze. "Hello…" he croaked.

The young Adigeon tensed again, glancing furtively back along the corridor.

"No. Wait." Bashir's words were hoarse and slow. But the undertone of urgency behind his voice seemed to have regained the boy's attention. He lifted one leaden hand towards his chest. "I've been looking for somebody. Another Human. Like me. Perhaps you might have seen… She used to work here."

"The lady doctor?"

"Yes!" For the first time since discovering that the hospital had been so long deserted, Bashir allowed himself to hope. Gasping, dizzy - almost manic, he let his head drop back to rest against the wall behind him. "Yes - exactly. Do you know…?"

"I was not supposed to tell." The child continued to study him, quietly hesitant. His large eyes blinked. "Are you ill?"

Bashir was surprised to discover that he was still reluctant to confess to the Adigeon boy. But he nodded delicately, his head throbbing. "Yes."

"Doctor can help?" The boy's soft query was diminished even further - as though perceived through a haze. He rose to his feet. But then he paused for long enough to glance over his shoulder. "I'll find her."

"This is going to hurt," said a voice.

It was true. The pain was stealthy, rising from the seed of a vague, distant ache, until it was deep enough to slice along the length of every nerve. His mouth opened, but every attempt to cry out against it was turned to fitful, shuddering gasps. He became aware of a steady pressure across his chest and arms. Physical restraints, he realised. Both hands tensed into two hard claws. Somebody had tied him down.

Oh, God. Stop!

Even with eyes opened barely to the breadth of a single hair, he sensed the hovering lights above him. Shadows moved, but only as distinct as on a cool, moonless night. Soft at the edges like thinning smoke. His vision returning, he tracked the outline of a drifting face - and groaned. "Cold," he managed to gasp. "I'm cold." His head was fuzzy, heavy - ears ringing and barely able to take in the sounds from outside.

"I know." The voice was a little clearer, low, and female. Definitely female… "Try to relax. It isn't harmful."

As the artificial glow faded quietly to nothing, he closed his eyes with delicate caution and swallowed back a taste of rising acid. Strange, he realised as his memories finally drifted back from their deep concealment. Of all the things they revealed to him, he did not recall having come into this room. A light shone into each of his eyes - slender and white, with a steady, too-bright glow. And the woman's voice continued to speak. She could not give him anything for the pain. Not yet, but perhaps when her initial round of treatments had settled and strengthened… Just be patient. Not long now…

But finally, perhaps, he could wonder to whom the voice belonged.

Seeking the speaker's face through half-open eyes, he saw dark hair gathered into a bun, and flecked in places with threads of light grey. "Lucky you came to me when you did," said the same woman's voice. "You're not as far gone as you might have been. And that's some good news, at least. Not unsalvageable. It may take at some time - at least a day, I'd wager - but you'll be back on your feet before very long."

She looked down into Julian's watching eyes. Her face was still unfocused, but it was steadily clearer even as the ache of his treatment grew dull and distant. "Even more lucky for you, I still remember what we did with a lot of your medical records. One day, maybe two, and that will be time for you to leave."