A tall feminine shape passed unperturbed through the rising smoke, as it turned to thin twisted ribbons and parted around her. Lauren was smiling as she stepped past Julian and knelt before the last of the three Anti-gens. The dark, broad shouldered and almost silent man had fallen to the floor, where he stirred restlessly, coughing away the smoke and shock. Lauren displayed no sign of anxiety or even concern, but cast a fleeting glance at the disruptor rifle on the ground beside the big man's feet.

"Hello," she whispered. Bending forward, she enfolded the survivor in a tight embrace, and allowed her painted lips to connect with his. Her right hand rose steadily as though to stroke the man's round cheek, seemingly oblivious to Jack and Patrick's expressions of profound incredulity. But she stopped at the last second and shifted back until she was once more gazing into the man's half-closed eyes.

There was danger in her movements as she studied every contour of his dark and strangely bewildered face. Something cunning behind her large blue eyes. She held an object concealed within the folds of her perfectly manicured free left hand. How long has she had that for? Julian asked himself in a moment of puzzlement, less than a second before he heard the familiar breath of a hypospray.

Quietly, Lauren sat back to study her victim, whose head had slumped like a weight to one side. His right hand was half curled, palm upwards, on the floor. "Poor man," she noted with dispassionate curiosity. "He really believed that I was interested."

It's not so bad, was Cadmus' final conscious thought. He had felt some pain after the initial plasma shock - a moment when he felt the sparks cut deep into his body. But this had faded, along with the glow of overhead lights in his eyes. His vision had taken little time to leave him - but even as it did, he was no longer struggling to see.

There had been a reason for all of this. It had been important. Somehow…

"You got study to do."

It was his father's voice, the old man struggling over to a splintered wooden chair and easing himself gradually down to sit upon it. The creases on his hard, brown face were as deep as though etched into a mask of hardening clay. Cadmus fancied that he saw that old man, still in the room and hunched in the chair by the South-East window, with the same stark divide between the light on his back and arms and the shadows that blocked all but the barest outline of his face.

"We're just as good as anyone else." The words rose from his distant memory, but with near-perfect clarity as though his father had never even died. "You study hard. Don't you fall behind - right, boy? You'll regret if you fall behind. You'll regret it the rest of your life."

"No, Father," the boy assured him. "I won't fall behind. I promise."

"Naron?" Bashir ignored the tight, sickly discomfort at the centre of his belly. "If you can hear me…?"

He wasn't even sure if the channel was open - or whether the console was of any more use than a slab of painted wood. His voice had a thick, heavy quality to it, and he staggered awkwardly to position himself on the floor beside Hilary Larkin.

"It's over."

Carefully, he pulled away the fabric of Larkin's jacket, and looked around him for something to clean the excess blood from a deep puncture wound. Stop it from escaping, and prevent infection - those were his priorities. Even now it was slick, and bright crimson, continuing to flow until it had almost hidden the break in her skin.

"It doesn't hurt," said a croaking, barely audible voice at his side. Larkin's head moved slowly - seeking the source of the noises around her. But her eyes remained closed. "Is someone there?"

"It's me," responded Bashir. "Julian. Remember? You were injured. But we're all safe now. Try not to move around too much."

"Julian…" said Larkin, smiling faintly. "I do remember… You were one of the children."

For a moment, she was quiet - vexingly quiet - but then she stirred a little and forced her eyes to open.

Her lips moved again, barely shaping words. "Thank you."

"I'm just returning a favour," Bashir replied hastily, but faltered when he saw the smile disappear on Larkin's face. Tentative and sluggish, her head was shaking.

"Not what I meant…" Her reply was slow, but forceful. "Thank you - you reminded me…"

Bashir frowned. "I don't understand."

"You reminded me-" Larkin struggled to explain. "…Who I was. I couldn't stay hidden after you had come. Not knowing what would happen if I did. I might not have made the best decisions in my life, but I'm still a doctor."

Others came quickly, hustling Bashir away from the dead and wounded, before he even had a chance to wonder how they had known they were needed. "We will take it from here," said one, who retreated quickly, dismissing his immediate offer of assistance.

"There is no need," the Adigeon medic responded. "We are transporting them to one of our best hospitals, at the border of the Western quarter. They will be well looked after once we reach that place."

Struggling to locate the direction in which Julian now stood, Larkin grimaced through a final attempt at a reassuring smile. Her departure in a swirling array of light and colour left an irregular reddish brown stain upon the floor.

The Adigeon sun was low in the sky, reacting with the thick atmosphere to produce a celestial display of scarlet and gold. "A Federation vessel is coming this way," Naron advised his tall companion, who stood beside him at the edge of the tower's outer ramp. "They will arrive within the hour. I have explained the situation, and I do not believe that you will be held accountable."

"I see." What did that mean, not accountable? Bashir turned to glance at the building behind him.

"I was pleased to see that one Human at least was able to leave before Cadmus' arrival," the Security man continued, and raised a placatory hand. "She and the boy are quite safe. They remain in my office, for now. And for you and your friends, your survival was fortunate."

"Believe me," responded Bashir. "That hasn't escaped my notice."

But the other man paused to watch his changing expression. "It troubles you?" he guessed eventually.

"Not that-" Bashir told him. "It's just… I keep asking myself if I made the right choice back there. I did my best to help Larkin. But at the end of the day, I might still have done more for Cadmus and the others."

"The doctor was wounded," Naron reminded him. "Cadmus' men were either dead or dying. You could have done nothing to alter those circumstances."

Is that it? Julian wondered. Or was it something deeper, far less noble than he liked to admit? He kept his focus on the outer rail. "This place," he muttered. "It's dangerous."

Was that even the right word? He found himself frowning at a row of dense sulphur-yellow clouds, which was only now drifting behind the thick, cylindrical wall. But then he shook his head and rubbed away the tension in his brow. In the end, it made little difference what words he chose to employ.

"Maybe they didn't turn us all into freaks and monsters." A bitter taste was encroaching on the back of his mouth. "But if it weren't for places like this, then groups like the Purity Front would never have had a need to 'protect' the natural evolution of our species. Or… I don't know. Who's to say they haven't been right all along?"

"No," responded Naron. "Think what you will about the decisions of your parents, or of the ones who worked in the clinic behind us. Or even the Purity Front. But their solution was to turn against our most basic laws. Others might speak out against the history of Adigeon Prime - and that is not an issue for us. But once they become a genuine threat, even in a part of our city that has scarcely been occupied for years, then there actions can never be justified."

He paused. "And what of Doctor Larkin?"

Blinking rapidly, Julian struggled for a moment to gather his recollections. "They took her to the Western quarter…"

"Are you sure?" said Naron, his skin flushing a cold ice-blue. "The Western quarter?"

Bashir hesitated, again with a troubled glance behind him. "That's where the medics told me she would be."

Naron shook his head. "There are no hospitals in that sector of the capital."

"What?" Bashir span towards him with an immediately startled frown. "Wait - are you certain of that?"

"This city is my home." Naron's steady voice left no room for contradiction. His words sent a shock through Julian's blood. "These buildings are as familiar to me as the sight of my own arms and feet. And I can promise you there has never been a hospital in the Western quarter."

Somebody told him that we would come to this place. Somebody wanted Naron to be involved. And Cadmus, and the Anti-gens…

With a horrified gasp, Bashir sprinted downhill along the twisted thoroughfare. But he slowed to a stop after only twelve steps, with both hands splayed over the dome of his scalp. Where are you going? he demanded of himself. The silent city mocked him from every direction. To kidnap the doctor, to take her away without him even realising that anything was wrong, and… Who could possibly have arranged such a…?

"Sloan!" he shouted, and punched the side of the nearest wall. Immediately he wanted to swallow the name, to snatch it from the air as though it had never been spoken aloud. But he ignored a powerful shock that surged along his fist. The tears in his eyes had little to do with physical pain.

"I'm not your delivery boy, damn you!" he shouted to the obstinate edifices of the capital. He bent over, hands clenched around the metal rail as if to squeeze the life from its very molecules.

"Calm yourself." Naron had descended the platform considerably more slowly. "You are still weak from the treatments. You will not be able to fight every evil in this universe alone."

"But, Larkin…"

"There is nothing we can do for her."

Julian turned, anger rising inside of him, tears of accusation stinging in his eyes. How could you say that?

But the protest died on his lips. Whatever Sloan's ideals, the Purity Front had always been a threat. But at the same time, an opportunity. He could only assume that the same was true of Doctor Larkin. Bashir cursed himself - why could he not have realised earlier? But now, he thought, he himself was a part of the other man's schemes. If he was going to regain control over his own fate - if he too was going to resist as others had done - he would have to be careful.

Very careful.

He made no effort to stop the sting of moisture from touching his eyes. If anything, it brought him some relief from the raw dehydration that continued to chaff across their surface. But he forced back the tide of emotion - there would be time enough to make effective use of the anger inside him - and turned once more to face the tall Adigeon man.

"Just one more thing."

"What is that?" asked Naron.

Bashir paused to gather his thoughts. "You gave us access to the old hospital," he finally said. "You knew the codes. You had all the right information committed to memory. More than you revealed to us, I'd be willing to wager. Which means that you must have been able to bypass the security protocols. You could have stormed this building at any time. So why didn't you?"

"I told you that my position was like that of a Civic Security Officer." Naron turned towards him, taking on the faintest hue of milky orange. Amusement? Bashir guessed. It was the closest estimate he could find to match their situation. He wondered if there was not the faintest semblance of a smile on the Adigeon's otherwise impassive face, as he began his retreat.

"I did not say that it was the same."