"Of course," the man returned with an amiable smile. "We can't be too careful these days." He didn't even turn his head when Crusher administered the test. Behind him, Security had moved into the shuttle and were firing specially calibrated phasers at every inch of her. Doctor Crusher stepped away and nodded. "Lieutenant Commander Martin, Internal Affairs," the man said, identifying himself. "It's good to finally meet the famous Captain Jean-Luc Picard. I should have guessed it would be someone of your skill who would catch Bashir."

Riker stepped forward at that. "Catch?" he asked.

"We rescued Doctor Bashir," Crusher corrected, emphasizing Bashir's title.

The smile vanished from Martin's face. He took on a more somber visage. "I'm sure that's what he wanted you to think. He's enhanced, you know. Not an easy man to best in a mind game. And that's what he's playing. A mind game. I've been after him for months, and I haven't even been close. Then he turned up dead. And then he turned up not dead. Clever. But this time he doesn't know I know or that I told you. We have him."

"Why would he 'turn up' at all?" Crusher asked, snapping shut the medkit she was holding. "If he was evading you, why would he want to be rescued?"

The blond man didn't answer. Riker didn't give him time before firing off another question. "Why were you after him?"

"Enough." Picard stepped between the three of them. "This is not the place to discuss this." Picard looked around and instantly people began to look busy again. "We'll convene again in my Ready Room." Picard turned on his heel and expected them to follow. He was silent until they were all present and safely behind closed doors.

Martin was the first to speak though. "I have orders, Captain. The prisoner is to be transported to Starbase 136 for holding until such a time as he can be transferred to a maximum security prison."

Picard spun around. Martin was holding out a PADD, and Picard snatched it from him. It contained orders, just as Martin had said.

"Under what charge?" Crusher demanded, clearly unhappy with Martin and his mission.

"Illegally releasing eighty-five liters of biomemetic gel to an unknown recipient," he said, speaking slowly, "and accessory to genocide."

"Where's your proof?" Picard asked. "What evidence do you have?"

Martin seemed taken aback by their questions. "Why the Enterprise, of course. Your own findings support that biomemetic gel destroyed Deyon III. And Bashir's own records from Deep Space Nine record the release of the gel. None other is unaccounted for."

Picard expected Riker to point out the obvious, but Riker wasn't speaking at all. So Picard offered to do it. "You said you'd been after him for months. We only discovered the cause of destruction of Deyon III."

"There were reports, Captain, several months ago."

"Rumors," Picard corrected, "and only a few months ago, around the time Bashir was declared dead. You said you were after him before that."

"Any sizeable release of gel such as this is investigated, Captain," Martin replied, with a patronizing manner. "The charges were only just amended to include genocide." Martin took back the PADD. "So you will please take the prisoner into custody and set course for Starbase 136."

"I will not," Picard stated firmly, which finally caused Riker to speak.

"Sir?"

Martin seemed just as interested in an explanation.

"We are not a dictatorship, Commander, or even an autocracy. Doctor Bashir is a Starfleet Officer and a citizen of the Federation. He is entitled to a fair trial or an official court martial. Besides, there are other sources of biomemetic gel outside the Federation, and Deyon III lies well outside the boundaries of Federation space, as it has since the defeat at the Bystron Belt."

"He's already had a trial," Martin countered. "Last week. He was tried in absentia and found guilty."

Crusher's mouth gaped open in astonishment. "Last week you thought he was dead!"

Martin turned to her and gestured with his hands as if he were speaking to a thick student. "Which is why he was unable to attend."

"He is able now," Picard held, "to attend."

Martin sighed. "You can contest my orders all you want, Captain, but you'll have to do it at Starbase 136. I'm sure that Captain Jean-Luc Picard can talk them into a retrial, but we still have to get there. And since we have to get there, it would be a wise idea to keep the genetically-enhanced accused locked safely away."

"He can't leave his quarters as it is," Crusher pointed out, the fight having left her in the wake of Martin's logic. "His eyes keep him there."

"Or perhaps he only lets you believe that," Martin countered. "But I leave it to you, Captain. It's your ship. I do believe James Kirk treated Khan as a guest on his Enterprise." With that, he turned on his heel and left the room.

"Doctor," Picard suggested, looking at Riker, "find Mr. Martin some guest quarters, please."

"Jean-Luc," she started to protest. But Picard held up a hand to stop her.

"Later, Doctor," he said. "I haven't decided anything yet."

She didn't argue, but it was obvious she wasn't happy as she swished out the door.

"She's going to put him on Deck 4, I can feel it," Picard joked, hoping to lighten his First Officer's mood. There were crew quarters on Deck 4 in stark need of repair after their last firefight. Some didn't even have life support.

"You can't just leave him there," Riker said with a complete lack of humor.

"On Deck 4?" Picard asked. "It was a joke."

"Not him. Bashir." Riker's intensity had returned with his voice.

"What about him?" Picard didn't like where this was going. "He gets a fair trial, Will. And a full investigation. I expect you to be honest and impartial."

"I will investigate impartially," Riker agreed, catching the suspicion Picard was throwing at him, "but I'm not impartial. I stood on that world."

"Innocent until proven guilty."

"But not free," Riker countered. "The accused can be held in custody until trial."

"He's already held," Picard repeated what Crusher had said. "He can't leave his quarters for the light." He thought quickly to divert Riker from quoting Martin. "And there's medical proof of that."

Riker turned away in frustration. "He's enhanced."

"So?" Picard returned. "He's not guilty of that either. I believe his father is currently finishing a prison term for that."

"There may not be any light in his quarters," Riker argued, skirting the ethical question of genetic enhancements altogether, it seemed, "but there are devices. The computer, the comm system, the replicator. He could take over the whole ship from in there."

Now it was Picard who turned. "You're really reaching there, Will." He went behind his desk and sat down.

"Am I?" Riker asked, leaning his arms against the desktop. "Khan did it. He read everything he needed in the ship's database, right from his guest accommodations."

"I don't need a history lesson, Commander." Picard felt his face heat up in anger. "Bashir is not Khan."

"Bashir read something and turned a replicator into a transmitter in complete darkness."

Picard didn't answer. He wasn't sure what to say. If Bashir was guilty, he could be capable of such a thing. But if he was innocent, he didn't deserve to be imprisoned again. He'd been through enough.

"He's been in a cave for six months," Riker continued, trying a different track. "A cell in our brig is a major improvement in accommodations. Warm, dry, clean, and three square meals a day."

"And no freedom."

"If he's innocent, we risk having to apologize," Riker added, standing up again. "I'd do it personally. But if he's not, we risk more by leaving him free. A lot more."

Picard looked at him. Riker didn't know. He'd never been a prisoner before, not like this. He didn't know what the loss of freedom could do to a man who'd already suffered so much. He didn't know that it was as much torture as having one's fingers broken with a hammer.

But he did have a point. The pips on Picard's collar weighed a ton each when he spoke. "Have Data escort him to the brig."

Riker was only too eager to turn for the door. He didn't know. "Yes, sir."

"Dim the lights," Picard reminded him.

Riker nodded. "To Doctor Crusher's specifications." The door opened for him.

"Will," Picard called, stopping him. "He's to be comfortable and treated with respect--the respect an innocent man deserves."

Riker's intensity dropped a bit, but his voice was sincere. "I'll make sure of it." Perhaps he had an idea after all.

"You should gather your things," Data was saying.

"I don't have any things," Bashir replied, standing, "though I do remember having some shoes. Where are we going?"

But Data didn't answer. "Please just come with me. I will inquire about the shoes."

"Alright." Julian could see only the usual darkness and shadows beyond Data's distinct silhouette. They'd dimmed the lights in the corridor for him again. Data turned and Bashir followed him out the door.

Perhaps it was time for a medical check-up to see how he was recovering. But that wouldn't require him to gather his belongings. Still, he wasn't worried. What, ultimately, was there to worry about anyway? If something was going to happen, it would happen. Worrying wouldn't change a thing.

But when Data called out the deck in the turbolift, Bashir felt his pulse quicken quite involuntarily. They were going down. Why down? The lift stopped and he followed Data out into the corridor. "I should amend my earlier question," Bashir decided. "Where are you taking me?"

Data stopped and turned to face him. "I would prefer you did not ask."

Bashir sighed, but he didn't give in. He sensed something important was happening, and he wasn't going to follow blindly just to save the android's feelings. Or his own. "I'll know when we get there so you might as well just tell me."

There was a pause, and Bashir took that as sincerity and respect. A pause like that was an eternity for a positronic brain. "I have been ordered to escort you to the brig."

A wave of panic hit him in spite of his former musings about the ineffectiveness of worry. But the empath was always in the back of his mind, so he shut the panic down, thinking instead that the brig was no different than the darkened quarters he couldn't leave. There were differences in comfort, of course, but the principal matter was the lack of choice. In that, they were the same.

It was obvious that this wasn't easy for Data, so he wouldn't make it any harder. Keeping his voice calm, he touched Data's arm. "Then lead on." Data nodded and they began to walk again.

There were others waiting in the brig. Security officers probably, but one stood out more. A tall, imposing man. "Holding cell three, Data," the man said.

He was familiar with Data but also commanding. He wasn't Picard, so that only left Riker. And that fit the voice Bashir had heard earlier in Sickbay. Bashir stopped in front of him. "Commander Riker."

Riker's voice was strained, as if it were an effort to speak directly to him. "Doctor."

"Am I allowed to know why I'm being imprisoned?"

"Of course," Riker replied, stiffer even than before. "Though this isn't imprisonment. We're just holding you pending an investigation."

There was only one investigation of which he was aware. And since he knew he was himself, he doubted it could lead to incarceration. Something else was going on. "What investigation? What are the charges?"

"I don't know if I'm the one to inform you," Riker stalled.

"I have the right to know," Bashir held, "unless my status is so in question as to leave my possession of rights in doubt."

Riker was silent. He apparently got lost on the last sentence. Finally, he spoke, and his voice was more fluid, more sincere. "If that were the case, you would be imprisoned. We're going to make sure you receive a fair trial."

"That's kind of you," Bashir returned, "but I'd still like to know the charges."

"Illegal release of biomemetic gel, for one."

Ah, that. So Sloan had got wind of his release from the cave. "I want an advocate," he said.

"I volunteer," Data spoke up. "I will act as Advocate."

"Data, you don't even know all the charges," Riker argued.

"Regardless," Data stated, "I know the accused."

"Number three," was all Riker would say.

It was easy enough to turn and follow Data to the cell, but he found it quite difficult to step into it. It's just a room, he told himself, just a room. It didn't feel like just a room. He could hear the forcefield humming. You knew this would happen, he argued. They wouldn't just let you leave.

But I'm innocent, he argued back. Sisko ordered it.

But that didn't change anything. Either he'd be found guilty or innocent. The truth was no good unless it was accepted. And whether or not it was accepted was out of his control. Everything beyond his own body was outside his control. So the cell was just another kind of room.

All that was easier thought than really believed, however. He forced his body to calm down. He didn't want the empath to come racing down here because she sensed his panic. The cell might only be a temporary setback. She could set him back for months.

Only then did he realize that Data had been talking. "I will do some research on the charges."

"I was ordered," he told the android, his advocate, the one he could trust. "I asked for written orders, and I filed an official protest."

"Then it should be a simple matter to clear up," the android concluded with a smile.

A smile wasn't enough though, not for Bashir. "I'm being framed, Data," he said. "Section 31 is behind this."

The android side-stepped the last statement. "I will do my best to clear you, Doctor." He turned to go.

"Data," Bashir called. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Data turned and cocked his head just slightly. "I am honored you consider me a friend," he finally said.

"Then call me Julian," Bashir said. Then he added, "I trust you, Data."

Data nodded and walked out, leaving him alone--except for the guard, though he hardly counted as company--in the darkness. Well, mostly darkness. He'd been too preoccupied with the idea of incarceration to notice it before, but he was squinting and his eyes hurt. Though the lights were turned down in the brig, the forcefield on the door to his cell meant that the frame was lit. Had the light been at the other side of the room, it might not have bothered him. But as it was, the light was only a few meters from him at the farthest wall of the cell.

I've had worse, he reminded himself. Resigned, he sat down on one of the benches that would serve as his bed. He leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes, cutting most of the light out. With nothing else to do, he set his mind to one of the games he'd learned to play to occupy the endless days--or rather, nights--in the cave. Since he was in the brig, he started there. It was much easier here on a starship, he realized, since it was Federation technology such as he'd studied. The station, with its hybrid of Starfleet and Cardassian, was more difficult.

Visualizing the walls around him, he chose one and peeled back the first layer, exposing the circuits, conduits, and vents behind it. Within an hour, he'd deconstructed the whole thing. And with the thought that the other two walls were just the same, he turned next to the forcefield that held him in. Walls were easy. A forcefield generator was an actual device, not just a structure. But his mind had little else to do but worry--and he didn't want to do that. By the time Picard and Riker came to him, he'd laid bare every wire and circuit and put them together again.

"I'm sorry to wake you," Picard said, forcing Bashir to open his eyes.

"I wasn't asleep," Bashir replied. "I was thinking." He squinted against the light coming from the door, and Picard realized why his eyes had been closed.

"May I ask what about?" Picard asked, curious.

"Have you become the ship's counselor?" Bashir asked, matching Picard's own tone of voice.

Picard stiffened, but he understood the brusqueness. Beside him, Riker bristled.

"I was thinking about forcefield generators," Bashir supplied anyway.

Riker glanced at Picard, but the captain ignored him. "I'm sorry we had to hold you here, but you are facing some very serious charges."

"You keep apologizing," Bashir said, not bothering to stand up, "but I'm still in here. You didn't have to do anything." He leaned forward. "Or don't captains still make the decisions on starships?"

Picard bit back a sharp reply. Of course, it had been his decision in the end. "There are risks--"

"Guilty until proven innocent, it is then," Bashir cut him off, his tone softening. He leaned back again. "I didn't expect anything more, to be truthful."

Didn't expect more? Was that just his way of saying he understood the risks, the logic in the decision? Or did it mean something else? "We don't consider you guilty," Picard replied. "We will investigate the matter thoroughly."

Bashir stood now. "He does," he stated, inclining his head toward Riker.

"Have you become a telepath?" Riker threw back just as Bashir had earlier. Picard shot him a look to show his displeasure at the interruption.

"I didn't read your mind," Bashir claimed, "but I can read faces, especially with that damned light. I can read your tone of voice, the way you carry yourself in my presence. I disgust you. Tell me, Commander, is it because of the present charges or my genetic status?"

Picard gave Riker another warning glare, and Riker wisely ignored that loaded question. "You don't seem overly uncomfortable in there. And I'm sure it's only temporary."

"Well, that does make me feel so much better," Bashir admitted, though with ample sarcasm. "What you believe doesn't change at all the fact of my innocence. Cell or no cell, I know the truth."

Picard almost admired Bashir's philosophy, but it still worried him. He'd been reading up on Bashir--service records, psychological profile, etc. Picard never would have imagined such stoicism. His records had described him as a passionate, compassionate man with a buoyant sense of humor and an easy bedside manner. What was it about the cave that had changed him when the other events in his life had not? Was it the duration? The solitude? Or had it been simply the last straw?

"Can I get you something to eat?" Picard asked, feeling sympathy and a commonality with the man in the cell.

"No," Bashir replied quickly, sitting down again. "I don't need anything."

"Please, don't go hungry," Picard admonished, remembering the list Bashir had recited only yesterday.

Bashir gave him a sidelong glance that held both bitterness and amusement. "Eight hours is hardly going hungry."

"Suit yourself," Riker interrupted again. Picard was liking less and less his First Officer's attitude. "You wanted to hear the charges?"

"I already know them," Bashir returned. "Illegally releasing eight-five liters of biomemetic gel to an unknown recipient."

Picard nodded. He'd gotten half of it right. Bashir knew the exact amount though. Picard glanced at Riker. He hadn't been told the amount before.

"Then you don't deny releasing it?" Riker asked, taking notes on a PADD.

"No," Bashir returned, keeping his voice calm and confident. "I deny releasing it illegally."

"Would you like to have your advocate present," Picard offered, ready to call Data down from the bridge.

Bashir waved a hand to dismiss it. "It's not important. He's already heard." He leaned forward, facing Picard and ignoring Riker. "I'm sure you've been reviewing my records. Did you happen to note an unfortunate incident with a Lethean four years ago?"

Telepathic coma. Picard had noted it. "You were attacked and nearly killed when you found a Lethean ransacking your Infirmary." It was a very rare thing to survive such an attack. That had made it memorable. That and the one link with this case.

Bashir nodded. "And did the records say why he attacked me?"

Picard knew the answer. "Biomemetic gel," he supplied. "You refused to sell him any."

"I refused to sell him twenty milliliters," Bashir corrected. "Do you really think I'd just give away eight-five liters?

"Perhaps the Lethean didn't offer you enough," Riker suggested.

Bashir glared at him. "He offered to compensate me well, I assure you. I refused. I won't be bought." He was so direct, so blunt. Picard believed him. That was one thing in his records that fit. He wouldn't be bought. "Check my accounts," the doctor went on. "Did I receive anything in return for the gel? Eighty-five liters should have made me a rich man." Then, suddenly, the fire left him. He sank back against the wall again. "But I'm sure that can be faked as well as anything." He turned his head toward Picard. "But the simple truth is that I was ordered to release the gel. I warned my superior of the possible effects and insisted on written orders, which he produced. I then filed an official protest with his knowledge."

"Your superior officer," Picard repeated. "Captain Sisko?" Why would Sisko order the release of so much gel, especially after his CMO protested.

"The only one I've ever had," Bashir confirmed. "He wouldn't tell me why. He didn't have to. The orders came from Starfleet Command."

The same Starfleet Command that had tried him in absentia for it? That didn't make sense. "That should be easily verifiable," Picard said, hoping to offer encouragement. He turned to go and Riker wisely followed.

"You'd think so," he heard Bashir say as he stepped through the door. The guard slipped back into the room behind them and the door closed.

Riker scratched his chin. "What do you suppose he meant by that?"

Picard didn't like his conspiratorial tone. "He believes he's being framed. Records can be altered." Picard turned to face Riker. "You aren't to see him anymore."

"Sir?" Riker asked, dropping his hand.

"He may not be able to see very well yet, Will," Picard explained, not wanting to be too harsh. Riker was a good officer, even if he needed reminded of it just now. "But he could pick up on your dislike of him. You've already said you're not impartial. I'll handle the investigation myself if you don't think you can do it?"

Riker squared his shoulders, taking the discipline like an officer. "I can be impartial," he said in his defense. "It's just his attitude. . . ."

Picard held up a hand to stop him from continuing. "His attitude is mild considering what he's been through."

"Not if he--"

Picard shook his head, dispelling the end of that sentence as well. "Innocent until proven guilty, Will." He let that sit for a moment and then pressed on with business. "See if we can't get the lights turned down around the forcefield. I'll be in my Ready Room checking on those records."

Bashir was pacing his cell like a caged tiger when La Forge entered the room. "Hi, Doc!" he said, smiling. He was carrying a tool kit, and he motioned that the guard could leave the room.

"Hello," Bashir returned, stopping to face the engineer. "May I ask what you're doing?" he was curious but he had to turn away again. His head was throbbing. He rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand.

"I'm going to fix your lights," La Forge replied amiably. "Are you alright?"

Bashir turned around and dumped himself onto one of the benches. "Headache," he mumbled, throwing one arm over his eyes to block the light that was pounding on his eyes.

"That I understand." Bashir heard him pad away. He lifted his arm and then his head, but he only saw the lonely toolbox before he had to close his eyes again. La Forge was already coming back though, and the light beyond his eyelids went off with a slight chirp. "Something for your headache," La Forge explained.

Bashir sat up and peered through the now dark and open door. A dark figure was there holding something out to him. He went to the edge of the door and took what was offered. A glass of water and two small pills. "Thank you," he said, recognizing the drug to be a low-level pain reliever.

"My VISOR used to give me the worst headaches," La Forge explained. "Seeing more than your eyes can take in comfortably, I suppose." He hadn't replaced the forcefield yet "If you need something stronger, we'll have to get Doctor Crusher down here."

Bashir swallowed the pills and took another drink of the water, finishing off the glass. "I don't suppose I'm allowed to prescribe anything myself."

La Forge smiled sympathetically, his features becoming more clear now as Bashir's eyes adjusted to the more comfortable light levels.

"You're not wearing the VISOR anymore," Bashir noticed.

La Forge's smile widened. "Implants," he explained. "They work about the same way, but they're much more comfortable."

"I'm glad for you," Bashir told him, feeling it, too. Technology could be beneficial. Even forcefields. He was still standing in the empty doorway near where La Forge was already working to remove the panel so he could get to its circuitry. Bashir edged one toe forward across the line that marked the door of the cell until it hung just over the edge. He wasn't sure why he did it. He wasn't going to try and make a break for it. That would only cause himself more pain and make him look guilty. No use in that. But one inch across the line was no different than behind it. Still, it had the allure of freedom, and he just felt he had to touch that.

La Forge was kind and kept up a conversation as he worked. It wasn't an important conversation or even a very stimulating one. But it was something to do. It wasn't alone. It wasn't imprisonment. You were still a person if someone across the line was willing to engage you in small talk. And Geordi didn't seem to mind that while he sat, Bashir's hands and feet were in reach of the line and even dangling into the freedom beyond. To Bashir, it was almost as if he were having a pleasant chat with a friendly acquaintance. Almost. The fact that there was a line at all reminded him of the reality.

"That should do it," the engineer said, shutting the panel. Bashir pulled his hands and feet back quickly, back into captivity. "I'm sorry about this," Geordi offered. He stood for a few seconds before he touched the controls.

Bashir handed him back the empty glass. "It's alright," he lied. "Do your job." There was a brief snap of light and then the dimness with which he was comfortable. The forcefield was back, but at least the light wasn't.

"Good luck," Geordi offered, and Bashir felt it was sincere. Then he was gone and Bashir expected to be alone until Data returned, except, of course for the guard who moved back inside the room when Geordi went out.

However, within minutes of Geordi's departure, the door opened again, blasting a momentary brightness into the doorway. Bashir was unable to look to see who had entered. But he could hear the voices. They were low and quiet, but he could still hear them, even if he couldn't make out all the words.

"--talk here," one voice said. Unfamiliar. Maybe the guard. "--asleep."

"Not here," the second voice. Two words was all Bashir needed. That voice, the only one to keep him company in all his months in the cave. Sloan's voice.

"Anyone--walk by the corridor," the guard argued, and Bashir wanted to side with him. If they stayed in the brig, he could hear them, maybe learn their plan.

"Not here," Sloan whispered harshly. There was no mistake. The guard must have taken the hint because the door closed, and with the light gone, Bashir could see that he was alone. It all made sense now. Well, at least part of it. It made sense if Section 31 was the only answer Bashir needed. They were here. They'd framed him. They were up to something. And now he'd have to find something to be up to as well. He laid still, waiting, thinking, counting the seconds and minutes until the guard's return.

The door opened again and Bashir saw only one silhouette against the light. The guard was returning. Then he heard another voice and saw another silhouette. "Why are you not at your post, Mr. Dolson?" Data asked.

The guard, Dolson, answered, "Commander La Forge was just in here to take the lights off the forcefield. I was just returning."

"Mr. LaForge finished twelve point four eight minutes ago. Take your post, Ensign," Data ordered. The door closed and Bashir breathed a sigh of relief to see that Data had come in with the guard.

Though the light was low, it had been steadily rising and now was only as dark as perhaps a normal night in a room with only a few windows and a few stars to light them. One's eyes could adjust to such levels. And Bashir's eyes were better than most. He watched carefully to see where Dolson went and what he did. His hands were on his console, but they seemed to remain steady. Still, Bashir wasn't comforted. Dolson would be watching, if that was really his name.

Data approached the cell, his expression giving nothing away. "I was unable to find any record of the order or your protest," he said.

Bashir worried about speaking openly. Dolson would certainly be listening in, reporting to Sloan. Even in the cell, he was vulnerable. And he knew that Data was vulnerable, too. Then he had an idea. "They were probably deleted," he said. While he spoke he moved his hands. His right arm brought his fingers to the side of his forehead and then pointed at Data. Then he brought his two hands together, index fingers raised and circled them toward himself and around each other, palms facing out. Do you know sign? he was asking.

Data's head cocked to one side in his only show of surprise. He lifted his right fist and nodded it forward while he said, "I looked for signs of tampering but could find none."

"I'm not surprised," Bashir replied. Who was that man? his hands asked.

"I could only perform a level one diagnostic, however," the android went on. Lieutenant Commander Martin, his fingers replied, spelling the name, Internal Affairs. "A more detailed scan from Deep Space Nine might be more revealing."

Bashir's head nodded, but his fingers argued. No, they said, that was Sloan, Section 31. "There would have to be residual data fragments somewhere. What about my logs?"

"There was no mention in the medical logs beyond your notation of the release of the gel," Data said. How can you be certain?

"Perhaps you can call Miles and see if he could have a look." I have proof! There was PADD in the cave with me. Did I have it when you found me? The signed words took longer than the spoken sentence so he threw in some small talk. "Did you find my shoes?"

"Yes, though your previous uniform was destroyed." We found no PADD.

"But not the shoes?" It was there. His voice is on the PADD.

"I have had them sent to your quarters," Data replied. I will find it. "May I ask why you are so concerned over those shoes?"

"They fit really well," Bashir smiled, satisfied with the outcome of both conversations. Data turned to leave, but Bashir stopped him. "Data," he called, waiting for the android to turn again. "Thank you for believing me. At the moment, you're the only one I can trust." His hands had something else to say, something he suspected. They knew Data was his advocate. Data was vulnerable. They're here and you're in danger. Don't sleep.

Data left the holding area and went back out into the light. Dolson nodded to him as he left the brig, and Data noted that the guards eyebrows were pulled down in undeniable confusion. He had still been uncertain as to whether he believed Bashir, though he was willing to act as if he did in order to offer the most effective defense for him. But Dolson's knitted brows lent the man some credibility. It was possible that the guard had been watching the unusual exchange.

Sign language, given the technological and medical advances of the last few centuries, was an archaic form of communication. There were few truly deaf people anymore, and thus little use for it. Data had learned it years ago in order to act as the voice for a visiting ambassador. But he was surprised that Bashir had learned it. Whatever had been his reasoning for doing so, it had apparently been to his advantage. Dolson would most likely be unable to interpret the secondary conversation between the accused and his advocate.

"Bridge," he ordered the turbolift, deciding to go straight to the captain with his suspicions. The turbolift sped upward until the doors opened revealing the Bridge. The young ensign in the Ops position began to rise from her seat, but Data motioned for her to stay. It did not escape his notice that Martin, or perhaps Sloan, was also on the Bridge. "Captain," Data said, facing Picard, "if I could please speak with you in your Ready Room."

"What about?" Martin asked.

"That is not your concern," Data replied flatly. "If it was, I would be certain to include you in the discussion."

Martin smirked but didn't protest. The captain had simply watched the exchange with curiosity. "Of course, Mr. Data. I'll be right there."

Data entered the room, hearing the captain give parting orders to the Bridge crew. When he entered the room, Data waited for him to settle into his chair and for the door to close fully before he spoke. "Has Commander Martin been in here?"

"Not since he first came on board," Picard replied, leaning back. "I thought you said this didn't concern him."

"It may not," Data admitted. "Bashir believes that it does. I need to request the use of a long range shuttle."

"For what purpose?" Picard asked. He leaned forward again, concerned. "You don't trust Martin."

"If Bashir is correct, sir," Data warned, trying not to say too much, "it would not be wise to speak openly. I believe I can find evidence that will corroborate Doctor Bashir's statements. It would be too much of an unnecessary risk to take the Enterprise back across enemy lines, but I believe a single shuttle could slip in undetected."

Picard blew out a breath, and Data hoped that he was guessing what Data was not saying. He would need to take the shuttle back to the cave. But if Sloan knew that he was doing so, he might be intercepted. Finally, the captain nodded. "Radio silence, Data," he ordered. "But hurry back."

"Of course." There was one other thing before he left. "Someone will have to act as Advocate in my place. Bashir's rights must still be respected."

"I'll do it," Picard agreed. "This hasn't smelled right from the beginning. Find what you need to find, Data."

Captain Sisko steepled his fingers while his elbows rested on the arms of the command chair in the center of the Defiant's Bridge. "Anything?"

"We're being jammed," O'Brien reported, biting back a curse.

"Source?"

"I can't tell," O'Brien replied. "It appears to be coming from every bloody direction. We can't get a signal in or out."

Sisko didn't take his eyes off the forward viewscreen, but he directed his next words to the Tactical Station. "Keep your eyes open, Mr. Worf. They're out there."

Data was gone, but Picard stayed in his Ready Room. He'd already noted that Martin had left the Bridge, but still he felt more comfortable making the call in some semblance of privacy. He called Commander Riker in, since he would need a witness to anything that was said. Once Riker was seated, he placed the call. He was not surprised to see the Bajoran female on the viewscreen. She was the station's First Officer. Her eyes lit up when she saw who was calling. Picard noted her rank insignia. "Good to see you again, Colonel," he offered in greeting. "Congratulations on your promotion."

"Captain Picard," she said, "of the Enterprise? Thank you. It's good to see you as well. I believe you found our doctor."

Straight to the point. He admired that about the Bajorans. It was also nice to see the loyalty built up amongst the mixed Federation/Bajoran crew of that station. Picard nodded, but decided he must still be guarded in what information he gave. "That we did. He's doing well and looking forward to returning home."

Kira smiled. "I hope that will be soon."

"As do I," Picard conceded. "But that may take some time. He's been through a traumatic experience."

Her bright smile faded quickly into concern. "Could you tell him that he's missed?"

"I will certainly pass that message along," Picard agreed. But there was still business to be attended to. "May I please speak with Captain Sisko?"

Kira regained her composure and stood straight, looking very much like the commander of the station that had stared down a Romulan fleet and came out on top. "The captain is away from the station," she said. "In fact, he's on his way to meet you. He hasn't called?"

Riker met Picard's glance before they both turned back to the colonel. "We haven't had any word from him," Riker informed her.

"Neither have we," she admitted, "not since fourteen minutes ago. We got an urgent communique from Starfleet Command. They were unable to contact the Defiant. We haven't had any better luck."

It wasn't hard for Picard to pick up on her concern. The enemy was still out in force. "We'll keep our eyes out for him. Thank you for your time, Colonel." She nodded once, frowning, and then cut off the transmission. "Alert Tactical, Commander," Picard ordered. "I want this ship on Yellow Alert until further notice. Try and hail the Defiant." He couldn't help but think it would be too convenient if something should happen to Sisko. Since there was no documented evidence to corroborate Bashir's story, Sisko was his only potential alibi at this point.

Riker stood. "Yes, sir."

Alone again--except, of course, for the guard--in the gradually brightening dimness, Julian Bashir found he couldn't sleep. He felt the nearness of the forcefield even though he was several meters from it. Even more, he felt the presence of eyes watching him. Dolson was watching, quite literally, for Sloan and Section 31. The captain and Riker were watching, if not so literally, to see if he were innocent or to see that he was guilty. And Troi, she didn't have to see him; she could feel him. She forced him into a cell far more confining than the brig with its forcefield.

For the moment, then, he doubted what he had done. The cave was wet and cold and uncomfortable. It was lonely, but in that it was also peaceful. Though trapped inside it, he had freedom there. No one was watching or listening. No one who mattered had even known he was there. Considered dead or out of the way, no one had tried to kidnap or kill him in all those months.

Now, freed from the cave, he was more trapped, captured again by the tidal waves of history. Alive again in the greatest war of the galaxy, knowing too much about both sides, one bad, the other not good. Sloan should have killed him. He knew too much about Section 31 and the dark side of the Federation. He was a liability to too many people. The Dominion, too, was still out there and would probably be only too happy to find him in their grasp again. If they should capture him again, he had no doubts that he would find being marooned in an underground cavern more tolerable.

No, things would not be easy out here. He was better off dead. Maybe everyone else would be better off, too. No one to tell their secrets; no one to stand in their way. And yet, he had dreamed of release from the cave and now freedom from the cell and a return to Deep Space Nine. Deeper and deeper into the fire. It didn't make sense.

The whole situation sat ill in Captain Picard's stomach. More and more it began to look as if Bashir were telling the truth. And that sat even more ill in his stomach. The existence of a group like Section 31 within the Federation was disturbing at best, frightening at worst. Thoughts of the Gestapo or the East German Stasi of Earth history came to mind.

But even that didn't explain the gel and the destruction of Deyon III. Bashir's record argued strongly against his being involved with that kind of destruction. But then so did Sisko's, except perhaps for the incident with Eddington and the Maquis. But even as questionable as that was, there had been a reason. The people of Deyon III were no threat to the Federation or any of its allies. In fact, until the recent change in battle lines which pulled the Deyon system into Dominion control, Deyon III had been an important source of deuterium. That taken into account, it seemed more likely that the Dominion poisoned the planet, a point which Picard planned to bring up if Bashir's case wasn't dropped. A full analysis of the decay should provide a timeline and also the amount of gel needed to produce the destructive agent. That alone could clear Bashir of any involvement in genocide. And Sisko, should he arrive, could clear him of illegal release of the gel.

If all that panned out in Bashir's favor, then it would only seem more ridiculous to charge him, let alone convict him in absentia. Which would only fortify his own charge that he was framed, and not even framed well. And that opened up further questions of who would frame him and why. It was possible that there were those in Starfleet who were unhappy that he'd been allowed to keep his commission and license after the revelation of his genetic status. But there were channels. One could file a protest, request a hearing, transfer him to an undesirable post, or follow any number of other official methods to make life more difficult for the man. One need not invent charges, delete records, and put together a show trial. Such acts could only damage the careers of the accusers if the accused were exonerated.

That really then only left Section 31, which brought Picard right to where he'd started. Bashir was telling the truth, and the Federation was telling lies. No, that just didn't sit well at all.

Doctor Crusher and the science team were working on the analysis. Sisko was on his way. There was really nothing to do but wait.

There was a foreign light in the cave. It sparkled and shimmered and would have frightened the little fish in the stream if they'd had eyes that could see it. But it was short-lived, replaced by the now fully assembled atoms and molecules that made up a man dressed almost as darkly as the cave. He carried his own light and flicked it on, shining the palm beacon on the muddy floor of the cavern. He could see the left-over foot and hand prints detailing Bashir's subterranean existence. But he saw no PADD. He removed his tricorder and set it to scan for synthetic materials and alloys. The only such deposits were in the west, away from the stream, and in the vicinity of the refuse Commander Data had found during the rescue mission, just to the north. He checked there anyway, and only found the same ration wrappers that the commander had found.

The man returned to the first room, the one where the replicator was found. But it was not there. He knew that it wouldn't be. The Enterprise's records clearly showed that it had been taken aboard. He turned west and followed the same corridors the others had followed when they'd discovered Bashir. The tricorder showed a small deposit of synthetic alloys not four meters from Bashir's position at that time.

Kneeling down, the man reached into the mud at his feet. He shined the beacon on his muddy hand and the objects it now held. Circuits. Chips and circuits. Not for the first time, the man thought that his superior had taken things too personally. Distance was a prerequisite in their duty, the man had found. Taking things in made you vulnerable to errors. Errors jeopardized everything.

Bashir knew it was night on the ship when the light stopped rising in the brig. It had grown steadily brighter to a point where he could just begin to discern colors of objects. While still a dark room to others, the brig was now the closest thing to daylight he'd seen in months.

The door had opened once since Data left, to allow the security guard to change shifts. Dolson was off, but was the woman who took his place someone to be trusted? It occurred to him that all this might once again be a holoprogram, courtesy of Sloan, but it lacked certain similarities with his previous experience. The down time for one. Sloan had given him no opportunity for sleep. He'd only had any number of opportunities this time, though he'd been unable to sleep for more than a few hours since leaving the cave. Likewise, he'd been denied food before, except in the one circumstance where he wouldn't accept it. This time, he'd had a working replicator in his quarters. He'd been offered food in the brig as well, though he hadn't found himself hungry since entering the cell.

It was possible, if this was a hologram, that Geordi wasn't Geordi and the pills had done more than relieve his headache. But it didn't follow that he shouldn't be hungry or sleepy. That was what one desired when tormenting a prisoner. You would want the prisoner to feel uncomfortable, and despite the lack of freedom and the tickle in the air produced by the forcefield, Bashir didn't feel overly uncomfortable.

There were other things that didn't add up. Data was one. He'd understood the sign language and even responded in kind. And the sloppiness. When he'd first run into Section 31, Sloan had thought of everything, covered every escape, hid every clue--except for Chief O'Brien's shoulder injury the night before. This time there were too many holes he could fall through. There was no easy, clean way to get Bashir off the ship and Sloan had to know that.

And since he hadn't slept, Bashir doubted he could have been transported without his knowledge. He decided against the holoprogram, though he didn't rule it out completely.

The door opened and Bashir sat up, ready to face whoever entered, solid or not. It was Picard. Thankfully, he'd returned without Riker. "I thought you should know," Picard said, stopping in front of the cell, "I'll be acting as your advocate until Commander Data returns."

Bashir met his eyes, trying to see if there was any deception there. He saw only a neutral expression, and perhaps weariness. He thought it best to remain neutral as well. "Thank you." It was good news after all, if one accepted that this wasn't a holoprogram. Data had left the ship to find the PADD. Perhaps Sloan would have a turn in the cell. He'd probably be set free soon after, but it would be a small victory. And small victories were really all he bothered to hope for anymore.

"You still haven't eaten," Picard observed. "Is twelve hours going hungry?"

"If one were hungry, perhaps," Bashir agreed. "But I'm not hungry."

Picard didn't argue or push. He just nodded. "Well, I should hope this will all be cleared up before you do become hungry. Captain Sisko is on his way here."

Bashir stood before he realized he was doing it. He walked to the edge of the forcefield. The air there crackled and pricked the hairs at the back of his neck. "He's coming here?"

"You seem surprised," Picard said, furrowing his brow. "If he gave the order, he could clear you."

Bashir turned away, feeling a weight drop into his stomach. "If he'll admit to it," he said quietly.

Picard had heard though. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Because he was very secretive about the whole thing," Bashir told him. There was no reason not to be truthful. If this were a simulation, Section 31 already knew the truth. If not, Picard would need to know it as his advocate. "He was very cold when he gave the order. He refused to give me a reason. He knew I'd ask for the order in writing, and he knew I'd protest. He never told me, or anyone else that I'm aware of, what the gel was for. I don't think he'll tell you either."

"Not even to defend you?" Picard asked.

Bashir faced him again, lowering his voice so that maybe the woman in the back wouldn't hear. "He ordered it. He ordered me to infiltrate Section 31. I don't think he was too concerned with my opinion or my welfare. I don't see why he would be now."

Picard stepped closer and softened his own voice. "We didn't ask him to come," he said. "We didn't have a chance. We can't get through to him; he'd already left the station when we called. He's coming simply because he knows you're alive."

That couldn't be it. Maybe O'Brien asked him to come. Maybe it was Dax. It wouldn't be Sisko, unless perhaps he felt guilty, though that was unlikely given the lack of concern for Bashir or the gel at the time of either of the orders.

Picard didn't wait for a response. "Colonel Kira asked me to tell you that you were missed."

Kira. Bashir turned away again, closing his eyes and fighting his emotions. He'd managed to keep everything on an even keel so far, not so much to fool himself as to fool Troi. If one expected too much positive, one would only be disappointed in the end, and disappointment was painful. He'd learned that lesson.

Picard sensed Bashir's distress. He seemed torn. "You miss her, too," he guessed. "Are you good friends?" Or was it closer than that?

"She saved my life," Bashir replied quietly, sitting down again. "Or at least she tried. I suppose it took a lot of people in the end."

"In the end of what?" Picard hoped to keep him talking. He knew from personal experience how hard it was to do that but also how much it helped when he did.

"Auschwitz," Bashir said, surprising Picard with his candor.

He hadn't expected Bashir to be quite so open about it. Picard turned and motioned Lieutenant Veleo out to the corridor. "Doctor Crusher mentioned seeing a number on your arm," Picard admitted, keeping his voice low as well. "And some of the things you mentioned earlier. I suspected. '42 perhaps."

"'43," Bashir corrected him, still staring at the wall, "February." He sounded almost hollow, the way Picard sometimes felt about what the Borg had done to him. "And March."

Two months. "May I ask how?" He was worried that perhaps he was asking too much, but he couldn't help the curiosity. One didn't meet a survivor of the Holocaust often in this day and age.

"The same way you saved the Phoenix," Bashir replied. "Protecting the timeline from the enemy."

"The Dominion," Picard realized. Not the Borg. So the Dominion had tried to change history, too.

"Don't worry," Bashir said, not sounding particularly assuring, "we stopped them."

"But why Auschwitz?" Auschwitz wasn't the place to change the timeline. Berlin, perhaps, but not a death camp.

"Revenge," Bashir clarified. "We stopped the Founders' ship, but we missed the one changeling on our own. She was upset."

He had a flair for understatement. Picard recalled Crusher's report of how she found him in the cave, mistaking her for someone else, several someone else's, all the same person. The changeling. "She was in the camp with you."

Bashir sounded tired when he replied. "Not with. Against. She killed thirteen of us. I was the only one she sent to the camp. The others mostly died right away. She kept me alive until the others found me. Seven and a half weeks. Only one of my friends survived. Only one."

Picard regretted the need for the cell again. "It must make it harder for you, being in there."

Bashir tipped the corners of his lips up. "This?" he asked, turning his head toward Picard. "This can't even compare." The hint of smile disappeared. "Fortunately, I've found very little that can."

Picard chose to turn to the lighter side of the issue. "How did Kira save you?"

"She came after me," Bashir explained, "the last night, when Heiler was taking me to the gas. She almost made it in time. She killed the changeling anyway."

Almost made it, Picard thought. "How did you survive?"

"Transporter," he replied, "and then several days in the Intensive Care ward at Starfleet Medical."

"And Sisko?" Picard asked, trying to break through that wall. "What did he do?"

"He was different then." Bashir turned his head, looking away. Sisko was definitely a sticking point with him. "He stayed," Bashir continued, "for seven and a half weeks, looking for me and the others. He and the crew pulled sixteen hour shifts repairing the ship. And once they located me, he beamed down personally to transport me back to the Defiant. He was there in the hospital when I woke up. He'd been there the whole time, I think, nearly a day."

"Sounds like a good captain," Picard commented. It sounded like himself--on his better days. Sisko would have moved heaven and earth to find his people, and once he did he stood by them. Picard was surprised when Bashir agreed.

"He cared about his crew. All of us."

"And now?" Picard wanted to get at the difference.

"He cares about the war."

"Captain," Worf's deep bass broke the silence on the bridge. "Long-range sensors have detected a ship."

"What kind of ship?" Sisko asked. It was the first ship they'd come across since leaving the station nearly twelve hours earlier.

"Federation," Worf replied, checking his instruments as the Defiant closed the distance. "Starfleet. Captain," his voice increased in intensity, "it is the Enterprise."

"Hail them," Sisko ordered, hoping that this time they'd get an answer or even an outgoing signal.

"We're still being jammed," O'Brien reported from Operations, "and you'll never guess the source."

Sisko perked up and leaned forward toward the engineer. "Not the Enterprise."

O'Brien just raised an eyebrow.

Why would Picard be jamming the Defiant's signal? "Are there any other ships out there?" he asked Worf. "Enemy ships?"

"No, sir," Worf returned. "There is a Starfleet shuttle, however, fifteen hundred kilometers out."