But five others had not been so lucky. The Klingons had redundant systems that other species didn't have. This was the only solution Bashir could find to why they were faring so much better. Klingons were built for survival. But Bashir kept coming back to the others. Five more deaths. And then the little girl. It was too many. He tried to remember how many bodies were located in the cargo bay. Gerin had been returned to the Ranger. That left twenty-three.

Dax had gone back to her laboratory with the poisoned gagh. The terrorist had been taken to Security. And the nurse was monitoring the remaining patients. The Infirmary was quiet. Bashir yawned and sat down at the computer console. Twenty-three dead in three days. How many more until it is over? he wondered. It was depressing. He rested his head on his hands and closed his eyes for a few minutes.

The door opened and his first thought was that it was another poisoning or another bomb. But it was Grant. Bashir couldn't decide which was worse.

"I know you don't want to talk to me," Grant said, more confidently that the last time he'd come. "But I need to talk to you."

Grant was right. He did not want to talk to him. But he couldn't just dismiss him as he had before. The nurse was watching. Bashir looked to the cubicle where the terrorist had been held. It was sound-proof. At least there would be privacy there. "Not here." Bashir sighed and stood again, leading Grant into the cubicle. The door shut and there was silence as both waited for the other to begin speaking.

"I really haven't got time for this," Bashir told him, turning his back on the older man. "With all that's gone on here on the station. . . ."

"I realize that," Grant interrupted. "But it's the only time I've got. After all that is solved, the Ranger will leave the station and so will I."

"Good," Bashir said tersely.

"Julian, you're not being fair."

Julian sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Fair? Since when did 'fair' ever come into this?" he asked sardonically. But he didn't raise his voice. He was too tired at the moment. "You were never fair to me."

"I know," Grant admitted. "I wasn't. And perhaps, I'm still not, but I can't let it rest any longer, not with you here, so close. I've got to settle it, Julian. I can't go on with this on my conscience."

Bashir turned to face him again. "Why should I care what you've got on your conscience?" he asked, letting his voice raise a bit. "I personally hope it tortures you for the rest of your life."

"You don't mean that," Grant said.

"Don't you tell me what I mean and what I don't," Bashir returned, pointing an angry finger at him. "After what you did to me, I don't care about your feelings at all. Why should I? What have you done for me?"

"I gave you life." Hope filled Grant's eyes. "I taught you to read."

Bashir hadn't wanted an answer. "You buried me," he shot back.

"I had to do that," Grant tried to explain. He sat down on the edge of the biobed. It was the only thing in the room. "If I told them you had died, I had to bury you. It was all part of the same lie. I couldn't face the truth then, I had to play along."

"Without a thought as to how I felt, what was happening to me?" Julian asked, letting the feelings come back to him. They'd been buried underneath the concerns of the bombs and poisonings. The anger surfaced first. Everything else seemed to be tied up in a aching ball in his stomach. "You didn't think about me then and you're not now. So what's different? You want me to take the last twenty-five years and just forget it? Just like that?"

"You won't even give me a chance," Grant protested. "I could be a good father or maybe just a friend. I don't have to be your father."

"You're not," Julian defiantly held.

"I need your forgiveness!" Grant said, his voice raising just a bit. "I want to make it up to you. Why won't you give me a chance?"

"Because you betrayed me!" Julian answered, "You hurt me. You left me alone. You abandoned me. Because you're inhuman. Because it makes me sick to think of what you did. Even if it hadn't been to me."

Grant stood. His self-assured manner had returned. He was not the weak old man Bashir had had to confront yesterday. "I'm not inhuman. Humans make mistakes. That's what I did. I made a mistake. A big one. But a mistake." He took a deep breath and spoke slowly, carefully. "I betrayed you. You can't betray someone if he hates you. There has to be something to betray."

Julian corrected him, "It's because you betrayed me that I hate you." He paused for a moment, trying to put his words together carefully. It was getting harder. He wasn't sure if he was too upset or just too exhausted. But his thoughts came in jumbles and snatches of memories. The fire, the hospital, the pain, the fear. "I trusted you then. You were my father. I looked up to you. I wanted to be just like you. You were my hero."

"I looked up to my father the same way when I was young," Grant said. "But as I grew older I realized that he was only as human as I was."

"How can you compare you and I?" Julian turned on him. "You had a childhood. You grew older with your father. I lost that. I didn't grow older. Not with you. I was four, still a child, still trusting. It ended there."

"I know. I know." Grant was becoming impatient. "I've said it over and over again. I know what I did was wrong. I know I betrayed your trust. I know that I only made it worse by covering up the truth. I know that you're angry with me. I know that you have every right to be. And I know that you don't want to forgive me."

"Then why don't you just leave me alone?" Julian turned away again and walked around to the other side of the biobed. "I don't need you, and I certainly don't want you. I don't want to see you or talk to you. I don't want to know you. Go away."

"No," Grant said. He held out his hand toward Bashir. "I won't go. I can't go. Maybe you can go on with this now. But I can't. For me it just gets worse. I need you."

"Then you should have thought about that before now," Julian argued loudly, leaning forward across the biobed.

"I couldn't then," Grant pleaded. "I told you that. I wasn't in my right mind then. Losing your mother was a trauma for me."

Grant's words brought the hurt to the fore. Julian looked Grant in the eyes and said quietly, "But losing me wasn't." He hadn't meant to sound so sad. He felt his face turning red and turned away.

"If it wasn't I wouldn't be here now," Grant said, matching his tone. "I loved you just as much as I loved your brother and sister. I was in the delivery room when you were born. I was so happy then. Each time a child was born was the happiest day of my life. You say you remember everything. Do you remember your first birthday? I do. You were sitting at the table with a piece of chocolate cake. And instead of eating it, you gave it to the kitten, piece by piece.

"Do you remember the cat? She used to jump into your crib and sleep on your feet. She did that every night until the fire. You couldn't go to sleep unless you heard her purring. You used to carry her around under your arm. She was always just about to fall, but she loved you anyway. You were her favorite."

Bashir didn't want to answer. He could remember, but only a little. Those memories were just fleeting glimpses of the past. They faded almost as soon as they appeared.

"Do you remember," Grant continued, "how George would tease you because he was bigger than you and you would run to me for help? And that would only make George more angry. He missed having you around, you know? Do you remember sitting on my knee by the fire as I read you stories before bed? You loved the stories, especially the fairy tales where the good prince always saved everyone and lived happily ever after."

Grant didn't wait for an answer. "You wanted to learn to read so you could see the stories in the books, too. The pictures weren't good enough. You always wanted to learn. There were never too many questions for you. You were a bright child. Do you remember when you ran into the street and the horse stepped on you? You were so frightened. You cried and cried. All I could do was hold you. You wrapped your arms around my neck so tightly I thought you'd never let go. I wish now you never had."

"I didn't," Bashir said. His throat hurt. He tried to swallow the pain away but it stayed. "You pushed me away."

"I know," Grant said. "I shouldn't have. Do you remember how we would all sing songs together at Christmas? Your eyes lit up like magic the first time you saw the Christmas tree."

"Stop it!" Julian screamed, covering his face. He was so tired, so angry, so confused. It was too much. His legs shook so that he felt he couldn't stand. He remembered. He remembered everything Grant mentioned. He remembered Grant. He remembered his smile, his strong arms lifting him off the ground and throwing him in the air. He remembered the sound of his laughter and how it made him laugh just to hear it. He remembered playing ball in the garden and long walks by the river. And he remembered how it had felt in the hospital all alone with only the doctors and nurses, strangers. He remembered the pain and the loneliness. He was afraid of the dark, and he couldn't sleep without the cat. He remembered watching the door constantly, waiting for his father to come.

Julian sank to the floor. "How could you do that to me?" he cried. He actually cried. Real tears stung at his eyes. He'd never cried. He'd cried from pain, physical pain, as a child. He had cried for his mother. But he never cried for Grant. "I was only four years old. I needed you. I loved you. You were my father. I waited and waited for you to come. Fathers aren't supposed to do that."

Grant had come around the biobed to where Julian was. "I know," he said. It was so quiet he could barely hear himself.

Bashir heard him. He looked up. "You know now. Why didn't you do something about it then? I would have loved you then. I would have forgiven you."

"You can't now?"

"I don't know how. I don't know if I can, if I even want to." He wiped some of the tears from his face.

Grant tried a different approach. He was kneeling on the floor. "I can give you your family back. That's what you want," he reasoned. "I called them. Elizabeth is coming. She wants to meet you."

"I wanted you." Bashir said. He pulled his hand to his chest, folding his fingers in to his palm. His hand thumped over his heart twice. "I have a hole here. I've had it for twenty-five years. It eats away at me when I'm not looking. It hurts. It started when I was in the hospital. It's you. It's where you were supposed to be."

He didn't let Grant answer. "But you weren't. You weren't there. It hurt so much, the burning. My skin hurt, my eyes hurt, everything hurt. I was scared. All the doctors, the lights, the machines. I needed you. I needed you to hold my hand, to tell me everything was going to be alright. But you weren't there. I needed you to hold me when I found out my mother was dead. You were my father! I was only four! Four!"

"I know it was wrong!" Grant shouted back. He stood up. "I know I was wrong! I know! But I can't change it. I can't go back and fill that hole. If I could, I would have changed it all! I would have stopped the fire with my bare hands, or carried you out myself. I lost your mother in that fire. I would rather it had been me. But I threw you away. I have a hole here, too!"--He stabbed at his own chest-- "where you should have been. Even when I was doing it, when I was saying the words, telling them you were dead, even then I could feel it. But I thought it was your mother. I ignored it. I was so angry."

"At me," Julian said, finishing the sentence.

"At God," Grant corrected, and it slowed him down, lowered his voice. "And with Helen. I was angry with her for dying and with God for taking her. But she was gone, and I couldn't get back at Him. So I got back at you." This time Grant sunk to the floor. He sat beside his son, leaning his back against the cold metal of the biobed.

Julian wiped away the tears and stood again, moving away from Grant. He didn't know what to say. It still hurt. But there seemed to be no more words. "Elizabeth is coming?" he asked finally. "When?"

"She didn't know yet," Grant said, standing too. The hope had returned to his eyes.

"And George?"

Grant's face began to turn red, and he looked away. "George wasn't home." They were both so quiet now that it wouldn't have mattered if the room was sound-proof. No one would have heard. Bashir walked toward the door and it opened. It was so quiet that he could hear the Klingons breathing. He stopped in the doorway. "I can't take what you did and make it right," he said finally. "Like you said, you can't change it now. Neither can I." He could hear Grant begin to weep as he walked out the door, trying hard to tuck his feelings back down inside himself. When the door shut, it closed out the sound. Julian kept busy with the Klingons and tried not to notice when Grant left.

"You wanted to meet me, Chief?" Lieutenant Mir stepped out of the turbolift and walked toward O'Brien, who was standing near an open access crawlway. They were in an empty corridor. Security stood guard at either side to keep people out.

"Yes," O'Brien answered. "Did you bring the coupling?"

"Of course." Mir held out the small gray box. It was very simple, nothing special. Just a coupling. But this coupling meant a lot more. With this coupling, the terrorists had first accessed the computer. Now they controlled the computer. They held the lives of the entire population of Deep Space Nine in their hands. Most of the Bajorans on the station weren't concerned, but Mir didn't like to think that anyone else had the power of life or death over him. He hadn't liked it when the Cardassians were in charge, and he didn't like it now.

"Good," O'Brien said, grinning. In addition to his tool kit, he carried what looked like a flat black box. "Let's go." He knelt down and crawled inside the hatch. He pushed the black box in front of him.

Mir dutifully followed O'Brien into the crawlway. "Why did we come to the docking ring for this, Chief?"

"Because that's where the terrorists were," O'Brien cheerfully answered. "We're going to get to the computer one way or another, Mr. Mir."

"Right," Mir replied, though he didn't really understand. But O'Brien appeared confident, and that made Mir feel a bit more secure.

"Have the transporters been dismantled like Major Kira ordered?" O'Brien asked as they crawled forward.

"Yes, sir," Mir replied. "I checked them myself. It was simple really," he explained. "We just removed some of the isolinear rods from all of the cargo transporters in the docking ring. The only one that's working now is the one in Ops. We can take it down any time."

"Good." O'Brien grinned. "Things are looking up."

"What is that?" Mir inquired, indicating the black box.

"It's a computer, Mr. Mir," O'Brien answered. "A portable computer. We're going to use it to tap into our computer the same way the terrorists did."

Dax entered the Infirmary carrying a bowl of quite dead gagh. Bashir hoped his face wasn't still red. He didn't want to have to answer her questions. He had been trying still to find the key to counteracting the large doses of stenacine the poisoning victims had been given. Until they found the murderer, there was still a chance of more cases. But he had kept being interrupted by images from his childhood and thoughts of Grant which he tried to push away. "Anything helpful?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Well, maybe." She watched for just a moment, and Bashir recognized the motherly concern he saw in her eyes. "Are you alright, Julian?"

"Just tired," Bashir answered. "I'm beginning to forget what sleep is like. What did you find?"

He was relieved when she seemed to accept his excuse. And he was thankful that she didn't ask him any more questions. "It couldn't have been replicated on this station," she announced. "We don't have the technology to do it. It was an unknown substance until the Gidari introduced it into Tsingras. And we know it's synthetic. So, either the Gidari have been prowling around the station unnoticed--"

"Which doesn't seem likely," Bashir interjected.

"No, it doesn't," Dax agreed. She continued, "Or someone got hold of our records on it and replicated it on the Ranger."

"The Ranger?" Bashir was surprised. If it was true, it would greatly narrow down the list of suspects. "You're sure it would have to be the Ranger?"

"Those drugs are made up of things no one in the Federation has seen until now," Dax tried to clarify. "We could only simulate them here. What the gagh got was the real thing. It matched perfectly with what I was given. The Ranger is a new ship with new equipment, a science vessel meant to analyze and work with newly discovered materials. They're the only ones with the technology, Julian. It has to be them or the Gidari."

O'Brien looked at his work. It was just the way he remembered seeing it when he had first found the coupling after the first night's tampering. Then, it had just seemed like light vandalism, but it was serious now. "Hand me the computer," he told Mir.

Mir was crouched behind him in the crawlway. He slid the computer forward along the floor. It was a small portable computer with a folding top. O'Brien took the cable he'd fastened to the coupling and connected it to the computer. Then he opened the top, exposing the console and screen. It was easy, then, to tap into the central computer.

O'Brien took a few minutes to explore just how much access he'd gained. He had at his disposal communications, Security, medical records, defensive systems. Everything, in general. And not once was he asked for proper clearance. The computer accepted his every command.

"Okay, this is it," he said, more to himself than to Mir. "You stay here on this end and watch my back." As he fed the coordinates into the transporter, he hoped that Mir was someone he could trust. It was hard to tell sometimes with the Bajorans. Mir seemed friendly enough and helpful. But then, so had Neela, his former assistant, even as she covered up the murder of another crew member and tried to assassinate Vedek Bareil during a visit to the station.

"Here goes." O'Brien pressed the control and pushed back away from the computer. The transporter took hold of him, and, when the tingling effect ended, he was looking directly at the central computer. It looked normal enough, for a Cardassian computer. It was bigger than Federation computers, which contained, in general, smaller parts. The isolinear rods the Cardassians used worked on much the same principle as the isolinear chips in Federation technology, but they were bulkier and the equipment to hold them took up more space. O'Brien tapped his comm badge and asked for Mir.

"Right here where you left me, Chief," Mir's voice answered. It echoed in the large room that sparkled with colored lights.

"Good, run a scan," O'Brien ordered. "I want to know if there's anything unusual in this room."

"Yes, Chief."

There was silence as Mir ran the scan. O'Brien walked slowly around the equipment, scanning it with his eyes. Cardassian computers were also not user-friendly, so O'Brien wasn't quite sure where to look. The terrorists had to be controlling the computer by remote, so they had to have something here to receive their commands and transmit the replies. They needed a bug.

"I've found something, Chief," Mir's voice echoed. "You're real close to it. It's small, rectangular, a little bigger than the coupling. It's close to the floor on your left. Do you see it?"

O'Brien looked where Mir had indicated. The computer equipment, like most of the station, was dark. The multitude of little blinking lights only added shadows to the contours and sharp corners of the metal casings. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He knelt down to get a better look. It was low, close to the floor, as Mir had said.

"Chief?" Mir sounded worried.

"I'm looking," O'Brien answered. "I've got it." Just then he felt the familiar tingling of the transporter, and he couldn't move. This time when the effect faded, he was kneeling in a detention cell in Security. Stirad, or rather, Theel, was watching him from the bed along one wall. He looked amused.

"Someone is too smart for you, Chief," he said.

"And just who might that someone be?" O'Brien didn't expect an answer, and Theel didn't give one.

"Chief?" Mir's voice interrupted. "I've lost you. Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you," O'Brien replied. His good mood had left him. He was annoyed. "I'm in Security." He really hoped Mir wasn't the one who had put him there.

Inara Taleyn knew exactly where he was. At first she had been impressed that O'Brien had thought of using the coupling. But she had also been amused. He didn't see that it had been too easy. It hadn't been quite that simple when she had first gained access. No requests for security clearance? She had given him the clearance before he was even asked. She had let him in.

But she thought he would try to track her down from there. She hadn't thought he would transport himself to the central computer. So she had transported him before he'd gotten too close. Too close? He'd almost found it. But now she had him. He couldn't leave. The detention cell was locked.

Inara pressed a few controls ordering the computer to begin the liquidation program. Now it was only a matter of time. Inara flipped off the computer and went to prepare her dinner.

O'Brien thought about what had happened to Targo Hern when the door to his cell wouldn't open. He stopped being annoyed and began to be seriously worried. Odo charged into the room, and O'Brien felt a little better.

"Computer," Odo said, "open cell number two."

Then O'Brien felt the mist. The air around him had become moist and he could feel the tiny little droplets landing on his face and hands. Theel, in the same cell, reacted strangely. He laid down on the bed and opened his shirt. "It won't open," he said, indicating the door. He didn't seem to mind.

"Unable to comply," the computer answered.

"Override," Odo commanded sharply.

"Unable to comply," the computer repeated.

"Transport!" O'Brien said. He was starting to feel light-headed.

Odo nodded. "Ops, transport Chief O'Brien directly to the Infirmary."

"The transporter isn't working," someone answered.

"I think I can get it from here," a man's voice interrupted on the comm line. It was Mir. "Two to transport."

Theel sat up quickly. "No!" he protested. But it was too late. The transporter was already taking hold, cutting off his voice.

Dr. Bashir turned to see O'Brien materializing with his hands outstretched. Behind him a Bajoran man fell over backwards and then scrambled to his feet. He was running towards a cabinet full of surgical instruments. Bashir remembered the man. He was one of the terrorists. His name was Theel. He had set the bomb in order to kill himself. He must have had the same idea in mind now.

Leaving O'Brien to Dax and the nurse, Bashir ran to intercept him. But Theel reached the cabinet first and pulled out a laser scalpel which he placed to his neck. Bashir slammed into him before he could activate it, knocking him hard into the cabinet. His own hand clasped around Theel's.

Theel activated the scalpel and struggled to move it closer to his neck again. He tried to push Bashir away with his other hand. "Sedative," Bashir called. The scalpel slipped upward cutting a swath in Theel's cheek. He screamed in pain and struggled harder. Blood seeped out from the incision. But the nurse's hand appeared from behind, holding a hypospray. The struggling lessened, and within seconds, Theel was asleep and the scalpel fell to the floor.

Bashir and the nurse lifted Theel to a biobed. "Are you alright, Chief?" the doctor asked, glancing back to where O'Brien and Dax were sitting.

O'Brien didn't answer. He looked very pale. Bashir looked back at Theel, noticing the blood that ran from his cheek. It was a dark, bluish purple, not red. "No oxygen," he said to himself. The blood had been exposed to the air and still was not red. The display above the biobed confirmed his diagnosis. Traces of DMSO in the bloodstream and on the skin, and hematoglobulininhibitase.

"Twenty cc's tri-heme," the doctor ordered, "for both of them. Quickly!"

Dax and the nurse hurried to do as he said. The nurse handed him a hypospray, and he administered it to Theel. Dax did the same for O'Brien. The change was almost instant. The tri-heme counteracted the inhibitase, and oxygen began to reach the blood.

"It was only for a few minutes," O'Brien commented behind him.

"Well, a few minutes is all it needed," Bashir replied as he placed the dermal regenerator to Theel's face. "It almost killed you, Chief. I want you to stay here and get some rest."

"How long, Julian?" the Chief protested. "I've got work to do."

Bashir checked the biobed before he answered. Oxygen levels in the blood were returning to normal. They would be fine, though Theel probably wouldn't be too happy about that. "An hour or two. It's time for dinner anyway. Why don't you call Keiko and you can eat here."

"I'd rather not. She'd just get worried. And since I'm going to be fine . . . ."

O'Brien hadn't sounded too sure. "Of course, you'll be fine," Bashir assured him. "I told you so, didn't I? Just take an hour or two off." And now that he'd mentioned it, he wanted to do the same. He needed to get away. He needed out of the Infirmary. He'd been there all day, it seemed, and all night. "Let's get the other one back to the cubicle," he said to the nurse, "and I want Security here to watch him."

Dax waited as they moved the unconscious Theel to the isolation cubicle and locked the door. "You hungry?" she asked when Bashir dropped into a chair beside her.

"Is that an invitation?"

Dax nodded. Bashir thought for a moment. After his latest exchange with Grant, he wasn't all that hungry, but he needed the break. He looked to the only other patients. The Klingons were still comatose, but also still improving. Perhaps he could spare the time.

"How was school today?" Commander Sisko was home again, thankful for a break from the office. He was programming the replicator for their dinner. Jake was setting the table. He set three places, since Dr. Grant was coming. He frowned when Sisko asked about school. "Jake?"

"It was alright," he said, whining just a little. "But it was boring. And Nog wasn't there. His father said it wasn't safe." He rolled his eyes with the last sentence. "It's no more dangerous than being at his uncle's bar all day." He thumped the knives and forks down beside the plates.

Sisko grinned. Jake was so much like his father. And where he wasn't he was like his mother, Jennifer. Sisko enjoyed being home for dinner with his son, and he tried to make sure he took the time every night. It was an important time for them to be together, to talk. They did not often have the time otherwise. There was always something going on on the station to pull the commander away. Tonight he only had two hours, which is why he hadn't cooked the dinner himself. The situation on the station was too tense to be away much longer.

Sisko stopped smiling. "Were you on the Promenade with Nog today?"

The door signaled just then, telling them that their guest had arrived. "I'll get it," Jake chimed all too eagerly. Sisko suspected he was trying to get out of answering the question. But he said nothing and joined his son at the door.

The door slid open, and Dr. Grant stood outside smiling warmly. "Good evening. I hope I'm not late." He shook hands with Sisko and then took Jake's hand. "You must be Jake," he said.

Jake nodded. Sisko invited Grant inside. "Please, come in, Alex. Dinner is just about ready."

"Thank you, Benjamin." But Grant hesitated for a moment. He glanced nervously at the door frame and then stepped inside.

Commander Sisko offered him a seat at the table, which Grant took graciously. But Sisko had noticed his behavior at the door. "How are you feeling, Alex?" he asked.

"Fine, fine," Grant waved his concern away. "I was just overtired, I believe."

It was a strange answer. Sisko had been thinking about his injuries suffered during the bombing of the Teldarian ship. What had they had to do with being overtired? Sisko decided to ignore it for now. But he watched Grant more closely.

"Jake," Grant said, making conversation after they'd all sat down, "you look quite the young man. How old are you?"

Sisko was relieved when Jake answered politely. "Fourteen, sir." He tried to go back to eating his food, to let his father talk with the guest.

"Fourteen?" Grant nodded approvingly. "And don't call me sir." He adopted a conspiratorial tone. "Tell me, Jake, are there any pretty girls on this station?"

Jake's face lit up and then began to blush. "Well, there are a few." His eyes dropped to his plate, and he wouldn't raise his head. He pushed his food around on the plate with his fork. "They're all a little older than me though."

"Well, that won't matter for long, I'm sure," Grant reassured him. "The food is wonderful, Benjamin." He winked. "Almost as good as Helen's back home."

Sisko remembered Grant saying that his wife had died in a fire. He was about to say something, but Jake jumped in.

"Where do you live back on Earth, Dr. Grant?" he asked.

Grant leaned back comfortably in his chair and smiled warmly. He had barely eaten more than three bites of his food. "Call me Alex," he said. "I live in Stratford-Upon-Avon. That's where William Shakespeare lived. My wife is an historian. We have a house very much like his with a big garden for the children."

Sisko was worried now. "Alex, are you sure you're alright?" He thought of calling Dr. Bashir.

Grant appeared confused. "I'm fine," he insisted. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

Sisko took a deep breath. Something wasn't right. Grant was not fine. Sisko smiled widely. "How old are your children now, Alex?" he asked, hoping for a reasonable answer.

Grant seemed to immediately forget the confusion over Sisko's previous question. In fact, he beamed. "George is six. Julian is four, and Elizabeth is 11 months. She looks just like her mother."

Something was wrong. "You told me three days ago that your house in Stratford burned and that your wife was dead twenty-five years. Alex," Sisko stood, "you are not fine. I think you should come with me down to the Infirmary."

Grant looked offended and stood up as well. "I don't need an Infirmary. There's nothing wrong with me. Perhaps you should go to the Infirmary. You're being ridiculous. My wife is fine. Twenty-five years? She's only twenty-nine."

Sisko glanced at his son. Jake understood the look and left the table. But Sisko did not hear the door close. "Alex," Sisko continued, keeping his voice low and even. He wanted Grant to remain calm. "It's 2371. You are on space station Deep Space Nine."

"I know exactly when it is." Grant was becoming angry. He stepped away from the table and stomped to the center of the room. "It's my son's birthday. And, quite frankly, I should be home to celebrate it." He headed toward the door.

Sisko didn't want him to get away. He touched his comm badge and quickly called for Bashir. Then he called out to Grant. "It's George's birthday, is it?"

Grant turned around. "Of course not. It hardly feels like December weather, now does it, Benjamin? It's Julian's birthday."

"Who's Julian?" he asked. Where's Bashir? he thought. Grant did not look well now at all. He had grown pale again, and his hands shook at his side.

"He's my son. You know that, Benjamin."

"Computer," Sisko said, "tell me the names and ages of Dr. Alexander Grant's children, specifically Dr. Alexander Patrick Grant of England, Earth."

Grant waited impatiently, rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Dr. Grant has two children," the computer recited. "George, age thirty-one, and Elizabeth, age twenty-six."

"That's ridiculous!" Grant shouted. "I have three children. Who do you think you are?" He pointed harshly at Sisko. "I ought to know how many children I have. I was there when they were born. What is this place?" He looked around himself wildly as if he no longer trusted his surroundings. "What do you want with me?"

"I want to help you, Alex," Sisko said, stepping slowly closer. "You're not well."

"I'm a doctor. I ought to know if I'm well or not." He backed toward the door, but his knees buckled before he could get there. He fell to the floor. "What have you done to me?" he cried. "You've poisoned me, haven't you? Help!! Someone, help!!"

Just then the door opened and Bashir stepped in.

"Help me!" Grant cried out, crawling toward him on the floor.

"I will," Bashir said, trying to be reassuring. "Everything's fine now."

"He's poisoned me," Grant accused, "just like the captain." He held on to Bashir's leg.

"There's nothing to worry about," Bashir told him. Grant seemed to trust this and lay quietly on the floor. Bashir pulled out his tricorder and looked to the commander. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure. We were having dinner, and he mentioned his house in Stratford and his wife and children. He spoke about them like they were still children. Then he fell to the floor."

Bashir was kneeling on the floor beside Grant, studying his tricorder. Sisko thought he looked a little pale himself. He looked up again. His face was grim, but also confused. "Stenacine."

Maybe he had been poisoned. "The Gidari drugs?"

Bashir shook his head. "Only stenacine."

"It can still work," O'Brien asserted. "We just have to go about it a little differently."

"What do you mean, Chief?" Kira wasn't so certain after O'Brien's last attempt to try to find the terrorists. But she was willing to listen to any ideas. They had nothing else to go by.

Theel just wouldn't talk. He sat glumly in Security again, shamed by his second failure at committing suicide. She had thought about what he had said before though, about working in threes. It was true for most resistance groups. Fin, Targo, and Theel would make three. But there seemed still to be at least one more out there, one who had transported O'Brien into detention and started filtering the cell with the DMSO mist.

O'Brien, for his part, had hardly slowed down after his experience. He'd obeyed Bashir by staying in the Infirmary for an hour and a half, but then he'd returned to the chase. Now he looked absolutely inspired. He had asked Kira and Lieutenant Mir to meet him in his quarters. He didn't think anyone could be listening there. "This time," he said, "we let them kill Mr. Theel."

Kira wasn't sure she heard right. "We let them kill him?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

Mir was uncertain. "Why do we do that, Chief?"

"I'm glad you asked." O'Brien grinned. "Because when they do, we'll be watching and be there to catch them." He went on to explain. "We can use our friend Theel for bait. They want to kill Theel so that he can't talk. Just like Targo. So we let them have him. We draw attention to Theel and let them try to kill him with the inhibitase. Then we interrupt it, using the coupling. They think it's a computer error and try again."

"And finish off Theel," Kira finished for him. "How does that help us?"

"It doesn't. We track where the command comes from and beam you directly there to catch them. Meanwhile, we stop the filtration."

"Me?" Kira asked.

"You and Security."

Kira thought that perhaps it might work. But there were still too many back doors for the terrorists to get away. "What if they see us coming? They could still pull everything down or transport away."

O'Brien was ready for that question. "I've thought it all out," he said. "I'll be in with the central computer. I can isolate the important functions such as life support and the fusion reactors. But then we can take the whole computer down."

"That would make things difficult," she said skeptically.

"No more than usual," Mir countered.

"If they've already taken the computer down, we wouldn't have it anyway." O'Brien pointed out. "But every time we've lost it, they've still had access to everything. This time they wouldn't have that advantage."

Mir smiled. He liked the idea. "I think we can isolate communications as well from in there. Then we can still communicate with each other if the computer goes down."

Kira thought about all the ways it could go wrong. If the terrorists were just a little faster than anyone thought, they could beam away to another part of the station. Without sensors, she'd be just as incapable of finding them as before. And if the terrorists did manage to get away, they could hide nearly anywhere on the station. It would take the crew hours to search every area by tricorder. It was risky. But then, it might just work out perfectly. So far, it was the best they had, and they'd wasted too much time already. "It's worth a try. Let's do it, Chief. But we should warn the commander."

O'Brien stood up quickly. "Right, I'll talk to Commander Sisko. Mir, you get things set up with the coupling. You've got to track their signal and automatically transport to that location. We'll need split-second timing."

Mir nodded and got up to leave.

Kira stood too. "I'll get Security ready."

"Why do you have me in restraints?" Dr. Grant asked.

Grant was not dying. He had enough stenacine in his system to kill both of the Klingons that were still lying comatose in the Infirmary. Thankfully, he was being calm now. But Dr. Bashir just didn't trust him. Grant wasn't dying when other people were. He had a sinking feeling that now he knew who the murderer was. "Why are you taking stenacine?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Grant's eyes were sincere.

"That's probably because you've been taking stenacine," Bashir returned. "You've been taking stenacine for approximately the past five years. Why?"

"I am a doctor. I helped to invent stenacine," Grant lectured. "I ought to know if I've been using it. There must be something wrong with your computer or your diagnosis. Stenacine is an anesthetic. If I'd been using it, I wouldn't be conscious now."

"Maybe you're not." Bashir pulled a chair over and sat beside the biobed that Grant was lying on. "What's your name?"

Grant rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling, but he went along with the questioning. "Dr. Alexander Patrick Grant."

"What's my name?"

Grant was silent. His face fell. It had been neutral before but it actually slipped down into a sorrowful frown. "You're my son, Julian."

Bashir hadn't wanted that answer. He looked around to see if the nurse had heard. She was attending a Klingon at the other side of the room. "I asked you my name."

"Dr. Julian Grant."

"Try again."

"Bashir."

That didn't prove much. "What year is it?"

"Twenty-three. . . ." Grant's forehead creased as he thought. "Twenty-three . . . I don't know."

"It's 2371. Where are you now?"

Grant sighed. It was apparently an easy question. "In a hospital."

Bashir sighed, too. He was almost right. "In a matter of speaking, I suppose. But where?"

"I don't understand the question."

"What planet, what part of the galaxy, anything?"

"Earth."

Bashir shook his head and stood up again. "You don't know where you are or when. You're not dead or unconscious because you've built up a tolerance. You've been taking stenacine regularly for the last five years, haven't you? And lately they've been very large doses, large enough to kill anyone else." And it's quite a coincidence that people have been dying from it, he thought. "Were you trying to kill yourself?" He turned his back on Grant, who said nothing. "Not on my station. Nurse," he said, "let's transfer him to the other room."

It was known that a small percentage of people suffered side effects from stenacine, including black-outs and semi-conscious states in which they appeared to be awake and functional. But it wasn't known what would happen after prolonged use, especially in the case of such side effects. No one had ever taken stenacine for more than a year and not at the dosages Grant was using.

Grant was in a semi-conscious state. It was possible that he had been in such a state on previous occasions and committed the murders on the station, with or without his knowledge. But there was still one problem with that theory.

"Keep him monitored," Bashir told the nurse when they stepped back outside the cubicle they placed Grant in. The restraints had been released. "He should be okay in there. I've got to talk to the commander."

Nurse Reyna was still standing beside the cubicle, and she watched Grant through the glass. "Do you think he's the murderer?" she asked.

Bashir was surprised. He hadn't said anything to her about his suspicions. "It's possible," he answered. "But if he is, I don't think he realizes it. I've got to go to the Ranger to find out for sure. Call Security and have them send someone to guard him in the meantime."

Reyna nodded and called Security as Bashir left the Infirmary. He located Commander Sisko with the computer's help and headed for the turbolift. Sisko was still in his quarters. Bashir hoped he was finished with dinner. It was crowded in the corridors of the habitat ring as many people were trying to make it home early before the computer dropped for the evening. They were mostly people with families, Bashir noted, with parents holding their children's hands as they walked. The single people would probably chance the Promenade for at least a few more hours.

When Bashir rang, he was surprised to see Chief O'Brien on the other side of the door. "Just on my way out," he said. But he paused for a moment by the door. He spoke softly, so that those in the corridor could not hear. "The computer's going down early tonight, Julian. Make sure you're in."

But Jake Sisko heard from inside the quarters. "Julian," he said quietly as if it was a revelation for him.

O'Brien hadn't heard that and was on his way down the corridor. But Bashir had jumped a little inside and looked quickly at Jake. Sisko ordered him out of the room. "Jake, go to your room, please."

Jake protested, "But I'm not finished eating. It'll get cold."

"Isn't it already?" Sisko asked. "Take it with you and shut the door this time."

Jake didn't say anything else but glumly got up from the table. Sisko waited until he heard the hiss of the door closing. Bashir stood stiffly, barely breathing. Had Grant said something about him during his fit at dinner? It appeared that way. Jake, who had caught at least some of Bashir's first exchange with Grant, seemed to have come to some new understanding of who the doctor was. Sisko, too, appeared to have made the same connection.

But Sisko didn't mention it. "What can I do for you, Doctor?" he said and offered Bashir a seat.

Bashir took the chair offered and began, "I believe Dr. Grant has been taking stenacine for the last five years. He's addicted. It's possible to suffer side-effects from stenacine, though it's rare. Those side effects include black-outs or semi-consciousness. Grant's in a semi-conscious state now. He's awake but he doesn't know where he is or the year." He took a deep breath before he finished. He knew, and resented it, that Sisko and Grant had become friends. "In such a semi-conscious state, one might act, with or without knowing it, in a hostile manner. There have been several cases of violent crime from someone taking stenacine unsupervised."

Sisko's face was unreadable. "You think Grant killed all those people." It wasn't a question.

Bashir nodded. "But I need to go to the Ranger to make sure. I need to see his medical records."

"You can't have them transmitted here?"

"Not if I'm wrong," Bashir replied. "The Ranger's doctors are also suspects. If I'm wrong about Grant, one of them could change the records to support my theory. I need to be sure."

Sisko leaned back and brought his hands together in front of his chin. He spent about thirty seconds just watching the doctor. And Bashir became more uncomfortable with each second. Finally Sisko spoke. "I don't know what happened between you and Dr. Grant. So I'll only ask this once. Are you certain that you're not letting your personal feelings toward him cloud your judgment?"

So there it was. Sisko had made the connection. Bashir tried to remain calm, to not get nervous. "I don't let my feelings get in the way of doing my duty. I wouldn't have come to you otherwise. Besides, I don't think he's doing it consciously. I don't think he could, no matter what I think of him."

Sisko watched him for a few moments more, and Bashir worried that he would ask him to explain his personal feelings about Grant. That was something he just didn't want to do, not to Sisko, not to Dax, not even to himself. Finally Sisko moved. He touched his comm badge. "Ops, put me through to the Ranger's Head of Security." He moved to his communications viewscreen and addressed Bashir before the connection went through. "Report back as soon as you're off the ship."

"Where's Kira?" O'Brien asked when he saw Odo enter the corridor.

"Change of plans," Odo answered. O'Brien couldn't tell if he was angry or not. "I'm going with you. Major Kira will stay in Security with Theel. Is there a problem?"

"No," O'Brien hadn't meant to leave him out of the plans. It just happened that way. Odo had been busy with the murder investigations as well. "Everyone ready?" he asked. "Mir?"

"All set, Chief." Mir was waiting in the crawlway with the computer and terrorists' coupling.

"Okay, let's go," O'Brien gave the order. He felt the transporter grab hold of him, and he was soon standing again in front of the central computer. He looked around, noting where the transmitter/receiver was installed. He meant to stay clear of that. He didn't want to be transported back to Security again. Working quickly, he isolated the communications and life support systems from the rest of the central computer. The systems that shielded the fusion reactors were easier. They were already well protected from power failure and attack.

After fifteen minutes of rerouting connections and separating certain functions of the computer, O'Brien had everything set up. With one control he could shut down the entire computer. Even the terrorists' device wouldn't be able to bring it up again. He touched his comm badge and signaled for Kira to begin the interrogation.

Kira had other plans in mind. She'd begun to worry that perhaps the terrorists might catch on to their plans and decide to leave Theel alone. She had to make sure. So she was prepared with something a little different. She had disconnected the security sensors in the detention cells. If the terrorists were paying attention, all they'd get was voices.

Kira ordered the computer to begin recording the interrogation of detainee Theel Vind in Detention Cell Three. It didn't matter that Theel was actually in Detention Cell Four. He wasn't going to be speaking anyway. She set her tricorder to playback the conversation she'd already recorded, one where Theel's voice was much more willing to divulge useful information than the real, sedated prisoner in cell number four.

A security officer, wearing an environmental suit and holding a tricorder as well, motioned to her from inside cell three that the atmosphere had changed. His thumbs-up signaled that it had begun. Kira tapped her comm badge twice, opening and closing the comm line.

Mir, hunched over in the access crawlway, got the message. Indeed, he had seen it on his screen. The signal to record the interrogation had triggered an automatic reaction. The computer immediately began to change the atmosphere in the cell where the prisoner supposedly was. Hematoglobulininhibitase in a solution of dimethyl sulfoxide began to pour in in an ultrafine mist, barely noticeable, but deadly if action wasn't taken quickly.

Then he had an idea. It wasn't what O'Brien had in mind, but it just might be easier. Before he cancelled the mist, he asked the computer to show him the program that controlled it. Using a "Search" command, Mir let the computer search the text for Theel's name. He found it toward the bottom. It was an amendment to the original program. The program seemed to be specific. It was set up to kill Theel or his alias, not just any prisoner who might be interrogated. There were no other names on the screen.

Mir checked his time. Two minutes. The signal came again from Major Kira. Not yet, he thought. "Give me a minute," he said out loud, knowing that no one had really heard him. Searching backward, he found Targo's name along with Fin Liian's. There was only one other name. But it was encoded. He couldn't read it. It would take time for the computer to decode it, and he didn't have that much time. But he had enough information. If the plan worked, Odo would find out who the encoded name belonged to. Mir exited the text and immediately interrupted the progress of the program. Then he waited.

Commander Merot and Commander Lairton were more than willing to allow Dr. Bashir uninterrupted access into the Ranger's medical computer. They were just as interested in finding Captain Gerin's killer as Bashir was. Dr. Pynar had been on duty in sickbay. Both she and the nurse on duty were called to the captain's ready room under a pretext drummed up by Commander Lairton, and Merot escorted Bashir to sickbay. He stood guard just outside the door, making sure that no one else entered.

Lairton, as acting captain, had given Bashir full access to the computer. Dr. Bashir felt a twinge of guilt as he entered the empty sickbay. Was he letting his personal feelings get in the way? He hated Grant for what he'd done to him, but did he hate him so much that he wanted to find him guilty of the murders as a form of revenge? Was it blinding him to other evidence that might prove him innocent? Bashir pushed those questions away. He would still need to see the medical records to find out.

The first thing he found didn't help Grant's cause. Only one person had replicated stenacine on this vessel: Grant. And he'd replicated rather large amounts of it. Bashir was surprised that the information didn't make him feel better. He then called up Grant's medical records. Strangely, Grant had not had a routine medical exam for more than five years. That too supported Bashir's theory. If Grant was abusing a drug, an exam would have shown it. He would have tried to avoid them. He hadn't even had his exam after being assigned to the Ranger. He was scheduled for the next week. Bashir wondered how he would have managed to cover up his addiction to stenacine.

That, of course, brought into question Grant's treatment after his collapse at dinner. Maylon had admitted the unconscious Dr. Grant to sickbay at 2157. He had taken blood and tissue samples. He had noted the use of somnetic inducers to induce sleep. The patient stated that he'd had trouble sleeping and had used the inducers the night before. He had said that he'd felt a little dizzy all day long. Maylon conducted some neural tests and concluded that there was no cause for further alarm. He cautioned Grant against using the inducers and prescribed rest. He released Grant and a nurse escorted him back to his quarters.

"That's strange," Bashir said to himself. Grant had not seemed dizzy during the day. And there was no mention of stenacine. Stenacine would have easily showed up in a scan, especially the neural tests Maylon had used. Bashir began to think again about what Merot had said in the Infirmary. A murderer would not be above falsifying medical records. He remembered that Maylon had recorded giving Gerin condrofen and yet there was no trace of condrofen in the captain's system.

Bashir did a quick inventory of the condrofen used and available on the ship. Three cubic centimeters of condrofen were missing from the sum of the original stock on hand when the Ranger left space dock. A check on the records showed that 4.5 cc's had been administered. Three had been given by Dr. Pynar to a Bolian crewman, and one point five had been given to Gerin by Dr. Maylon.

Maylon had also been at the Klingon restaurant and on the Promenade early in the morning. Bashir felt a slight shudder and covered his mouth in surprise over the realization. Maylon had been his roommate. He'd lived with him for three years. He'd lived in the same room with a murderer for three years. Bashir recorded the pertinent information on his tricorder to take back to the station. It wasn't good enough though. Maylon might argue that someone had doctored the records to set him up. He needed more evidence.

Dax had told him that the Gidari drugs could not be replicated exactly on the station. But the Ranger had more sophisticated, state-of-the-art equipment. If Maylon was the murderer, he'd have had to replicate them here, in sickbay or one of the science labs. Bashir checked the sickbay's replicator records. He pulled up a display of every chemical replicated there. But the record was splotchy and corrupted. Bashir was unable to tell if this was the result of tampering or the computer virus the terrorists had introduced on the first night of their attacks.

"Julian! What a surprise to find you here."

Bashir jumped at the familiar voice. Maylon. Where was Merot? How did he get in? The door still stood open, since Maylon was leaning against the door frame. Bashir couldn't see the Security Chief from where he was sitting in Pynar's office.

He smiled what he hoped was a friendly smile and clicked off the computer. "Maylon! Hello. You surprised me. It was so quiet here. I, uh, had some questions about Dr. Grant. No one was here, so Commander Merot was kind enough to let me in." He quickly set his tricorder to store the information he'd recorded on a computer chip, which he removed and tucked in his boot before standing up.

"What about Grant?" Maylon asked, stepping into the room.

Bashir met him half way. He didn't want to let on that he knew. Maylon was wearing a blue jacket over his uniform. Bashir didn't want to find out what was in the pockets of that jacket. "He was feeling a little dizzy, and I wanted to check my findings with yours from his collapse after dinner the other day. You didn't see Commander Merot in the corridor, did you?"

"No," Maylon frowned. "Why didn't you just call? I could have transmitted the records to you."

"Our communicators aren't working properly, I'm afraid. The Bajorans have been giving us trouble lately." Bashir smiled. He was trying to remain absolutely calm. He was worried now about Merot. But he was also worried about himself.

Maylon's face was neutral. Bashir couldn't tell if he was suspicious or not. He didn't smile. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked coldly. His nearly-black eyes never moved from Bashir's face.

"Yes," Bashir said, "apparently you noted the same symptoms in your examination. I can't find any reason for it though. I should really get back to the station and run some more tests." He walked past Maylon toward the door.

"I'll walk you out," Maylon said.

"No!" Bashir replied, then added, to soften it a bit, "there's really no reason to. You should stay here. There should always be someone on duty in sickbay."

"I'm not on duty," Maylon said. "Pynar is. She should be here. Besides, we'll probably be leaving soon, and I may never see you again." He paused for a moment. His words were friendly, but his eyes didn't change.

"Really, Maylon," Bashir protested casually. "You won't be leaving tomorrow. We could have lunch."

"It's the least I could do." Maylon's eyebrows raised on the word "least". He stepped past Bashir and the door opened. Maylon held out his hand in a gesture that showed he meant for Bashir to exit first.

Bashir stepped out and glanced around. There was no sign of Merot. The corridor was deserted. He noticed he was gripping the tricorder quite strongly and put it back into the little pouch at his waist. He rubbed his palms on his sleeves and started down the corridor. He needed to be where there were people. "Maybe we could go for a drink, Maylon," he suggested. "I haven't seen the officer's lounge here on the ship yet."

Maylon was walking beside him. "Don't you have patients, Julian?" he asked in return. "You should get back to them, don't you think?"

Bashir didn't answer but stepped into the turbolift. So much for Plan A, he thought. Now I need a Plan B. Many people passed them on the new deck, all unaware of Maylon's true nature, and therefore completely unconcerned with their presence. Neither said anything as they walked. Finally, he could see the airlock. "Well, Maylon, thank you for walking me out," he said, still smiling. "Lunch, tomorrow?"

"Don't be silly," Maylon said, stepping through the first airlock door. "I'll walk you to the Promenade. I haven't had dinner yet. And I'd really like to see if I can find that woman again."

Bashir took a breath and stepped into the airlock as well. "Woman?" he asked, just trying to make conversation.

"The Bajoran one I told you about," Maylon answered. "You remember, don't you, Julian?" They stepped through the station side of the airlock.

"Good evening, Doctors," the ship's security guard said.

"Good evening," Bashir replied. He wanted to stop, to stay there with the security officers, but Maylon's hand was on his shoulders. He smiled now, too. Not to Bashir, but to the guards.

"Have you seen Doctor Pynar this evening?" he asked.

"No, sir."

"Thank you." Maylon walked on and Bashir was forced to walk with him. Bashir thought something would happen when they were in the turbolift together. But Maylon gave the command for the Promenade and stood stiffly in front of the door as it began to move. When they had nearly reached the bottom of the pylon, Maylon moved his hand toward the control panel. But just then the lights went out and the turbolift came to a sudden stop. Both he and Bashir were thrown into the air and then dropped heavily onto the floor.