Inara tried to think what her next move would be. There wasn't much she could do, not alone. There were two bombs left. The rest had been destroyed with Theel's quarters. But what to do with them? Two would not do much damage, except to the smaller ships. She thought perhaps, though, that the Klingons deserved them, no matter how much damage they did or didn't do. The Klingons had been all too willing to help the Federation officers of the station when their computer was down. Their very nature deserved it. They were no different from the Cardassians. They just happened to be allies with the Federation so their distastefulness and aggression were tolerated.

Another message flashed across her screen, interrupting her thoughts. "Filtration interrupted."

"What?" she said aloud. "Why?"

"Unknown," replied the computer.

Inara looked at the counter. Three minutes. That wasn't enough time. There wasn't enough inhibitase in the cell to kill Theel yet, even with the dimethyl sulfoxide mist. He didn't even seem to be affected at all. He was talking too much. Inara's attention was drawn to the conversation in Security.

"If I tell you what I know, what will happen to me?" Theel asked.

"Cooperation looks much better on your record than being difficult," Kira told him, promising nothing.

"What is he doing?" Inara asked. He was a fool. She didn't know where the Elders had found him. He was weak.

"Unknown," the computer droned.

"I was not talking to you," Inara snapped.

In Security, Theel was trying to warn Kira, telling her about the poison. "Beam me out," he pleaded, "like you did before, with Chief O'Brien. Beam me out and I'll tell you everything."

"I can't," Kira answered. "The transporter's locked up. We're working on it. Talk now, maybe we'll work harder."

Inara tried the computer again. "Computer, continue filtration process."

"Working."

It was too easy. It was a mistake. It had to be. Why had the process interrupted in the first place? It must be a. . . . She checked the transporter record, just to be sure. It was engaged! She checked the sensors. It wasn't Theel; he was still in Security. It was a trap. A shimmering light began to appear in the room beside her. She gasped. Don't panic, she told herself. She could catch him during transport. She quickly entered her code, dropping the computer with the exception of her own door.

She looked toward the transporter effect. Too late. It was still there. She could see the form coming together. The shapeshifter. She grabbed hold of the computer and her bag and dashed past him toward the door. She cursed her boots which rang out loudly in the corridor. It was dark, but she knew the way. She'd rehearsed it. She could hear Odo behind her. He was calling in her ID to Security. How was that possible? She'd taken down the computer.

Three, two, one, turn. Inara cut a right angle to the left and ran down the next corridor. She heard Odo's boots behind her in the first corridor. They stopped suddenly. Inara stopped as well. He couldn't see any more than she could. If she made no sound, he wouldn't catch her.

She opened the computer again and the screen glowed blue when she turned it on. She covered the light with her bag and blocked it with her body. She tried to pull up the transporter controls. Nothing. The screen remained blank. She tried the sensors. Nothing. It was all gone. She'd lost control. O'Brien was better than she'd thought. She turned off the computer and was bathed in darkness again. With her hands she searched in her bag for the flashlight. It wasn't there either. The Prophets are not with me today, she thought, angrily. She was as helpless as the station's crew.

She heard another footstep at the junction of the corridors. It waited for another sound. He'd find her if he entered the corridor. He could stretch out his arms or form himself into a net to trap her. She had to run for it. The computer was useless. She'd leave it behind. In one movement, she gathered up her bag, rose from the floor, and took the first step in her sprint to the next corridor junction. The one to the docking ring, the Klingon ship, and, perhaps, her destiny.

In the total darkness, Dr. Bashir's nervousness grew to something closer to fear. He was as good as blind. The only comfort was that Maylon was, too. Bashir sat on the floor, flattened his back against the turbolift wall, and listened, trying to be as quiet as possible. He heard Maylon shuffling to get to his feet. Then he heard him struggling with the door.

"Help me with the door, Julian," he said. "I think we're close to level with the docking ring. We can walk from here."

Bashir was uncertain. He couldn't trust Maylon. That was certain. But if Maylon suspected that he knew the truth, he could kill him more easily here inside the turbolift. Then he could always get the door open by himself or escape through the hatch in the ceiling.

"Are you alright, Julian?" Maylon actually sounded worried. "Where are you?"

Bashir thought that maybe, if he could get out of the turbolift without getting killed or poisoned, his chances were better outside. He could find an access crawlway and lose Maylon in the dark. He stood, quietly. His left ankle hurt when he put pressure on it. But he had no choice.

A light flashed brightly in his eyes. "There you are. Are you okay, Julian?"

"I'm fine," Bashir replied, raising a hand to block the brightness. He couldn't see Maylon past the beam of light. "It just knocked the wind out of me." He didn't tell him about his ankle. He didn't want to share any weakness with him. Maylon might use it to his advantage.

"Good thing I brought a palm beacon, huh?" Maylon smiled. Bashir couldn't see it, but he could hear it in his voice. "Always be prepared, Julian. You never know what's going to happen. Now help me with the door."

Maybe Maylon didn't suspect yet. "Get the light out of my face first," Bashir said.

"I'll have to put it out," Maylon warned. "We'll need both hands, I think. The Cardies seem to make their stations out of sturdy material." The light moved toward Maylon's body and winked out.

Bashir stepped forward toward the door, trying to ignore the darkness and what it did to his sense of balance. He only hoped both of Maylon's hands were truly on the door frame. Julian braced his foot against the wall, sending pain shooting through his leg, and pushed his fingertips as far into the crack between the two doors as they would go. "I'm ready."

"On the count of three," Maylon said. It was something they'd learned in their years living together. They could move heavier objects, like furniture or crates of medical equipment, if all their effort was focused at the same moment, on the count of three.

They counted together, "One, two, three!" The doors slid apart about half a foot. Bashir wrapped his fingers more tightly around the edge of the right-hand door.

"Again," Maylon said. His voice was strained with the effort of holding the doors apart. "One, two, three!"

They pulled together. The doors came open and stayed there. Maylon turned the light back on. There was only about two feet of clearance, but it was enough. They were between decks. The floor was about three feet up. Curiously, the doors to the level below had opened as well. "After you," Maylon offered.

Bashir looked to the darkness beyond the door as his salvation. From the light of the palm beacon Maylon held, he could see the hatch of an access crawlway about five meters away. It wasn't far. But Maylon had an advantage. He had the light. Bashir scrambled up over the ledge and into the corridor.

"Give me a hand?"

"Hand me the light," Bashir suggested. If he could get the palm beacon, he would have the advantage. He could turn it off and use the darkness. Maylon would be lost in it.

"Never mind." The light clicked off, and Bashir heard it clatter onto the floor. Maylon was up before Bashir could even move one step down the corridor. Bashir sunk down to a crouched position. He held his breath to keep absolutely silent. He thought about the communicator. It might work. But using it would give his location away.

"I know what you were doing in sickbay, Julian." He sighed sadly. "You should have just kept out of business that wasn't yours." He stepped forward, and Bashir crawled silently sideways, still crouched, ready to run. He blew out his breath slowly and drew in another, still with no sound. "Sometimes I think you think you have to save the world. Sometimes, Julian, it just isn't your job."

Bashir slipped sideways again. Using his arms for balance, he first extended his left foot and then shifted his weight onto it, gritting his teeth against the pain. Then he pulled his other leg back beneath him. He'd covered nearly two meters already. Only three more. He could hear Maylon's steps. He had moved to the far side of the corridor, feeling for him along the wall. He had something in his hand and he let it slide along the metal wall, making an eerie screeching sound.

"You can't get away, Julian. I noticed you limping. Besides, I also know about your inferior sense of balance. I can catch you if you decide to run."

Bashir breathed again. He needed to be on the other side of the corridor. That's where the crawlway was. The screeching stopped and Bashir felt the air as Maylon's arm swung within inches of his face. Stretching out the other way, he moved again, crossing the corridor in one fluid movement. The screeching began on the wall he'd just left.

Three more, he thought. The pain in his ankle was so sharp that he doubted it was just a sprain. Maylon was still on the opposite wall, so he took another step, if it could be called that. His ankle burned. Another. Almost there. Breathe. He reached out his arm, feeling for the protruding edge of the crawlway's cover. The crawlways had saved his life before. He hoped they'd do so again. That is, if he didn't get lost once he was inside them. He promised himself that if he lived through this, he would memorize the schematics of the station better.

Once more he slid silently along the floor. His fingers brushed the edge of the cover. He had to open it and dive in, closing it behind him, as quickly as possible. Maylon would hear the sound. He moved to where he just in front of the cover and braced his fingers around its edge.

"Sisko to Dr. Bashir." Bashir wanted to destroy his comm badge. He ripped off the cover of the crawlway and threw himself inside. It didn't matter now, Maylon would hear him. Something struck against his leg and a hand clasped hard around his left ankle, twisting it until Bashir cried out in pain. He tried to reach for his comm badge, but he needed his hands to pull himself along the crawlway. Maylon was trying to pull him back out into the corridor. He kicked with his free leg, but Maylon had a good grip with both hands. One good pull and Bashir slid backwards out of the crawlway, landing on top of Maylon.

Sisko's call repeated. "Sisko to Bashir. Please respond."

A bright light again flared in his face, and Maylon's gloved hand snatched the comm badge from Bashir's chest before he could right himself. The light moved forward brighter until Maylon slammed it along with his fist into Bashir's face. Bashir was dazed. The light clicked off again, and the darkness gave him hope. He edged back toward the crawlway again. But he was a little off. He felt the cold metal of the wall against his back.

Maylon's whole body slammed against him then, shoulders-first right into his ribs. Bashir heard and felt them crack. The breath was truly knocked from his lungs then. A hand gripped his chest and then his throat. Bashir swung out his arm and connected with Maylon's face, but then he heard a familiar whirring sound beside his ear. A small red line of light appeared less than an inch from his face. He froze. Laser scalpel.

"Hold still, Julian," Maylon said mockingly. Bashir could see him now. In the dim red light, Maylon truly looked like a murderer. He looked evil. The red reflected in two thin red lines in the darkness of his eyes. Bashir didn't move and Maylon removed his hand from his throat. The laser disappeared, but Bashir could still feel Maylon's hand and the smooth surface of the instrument beside his cheek. Then he heard the hypospray.

Commander Sisko was in Security when the lights went off. The security officers were ready with palm beacons, though, and the different rays of light cast multiple shadows of every person or object in the room. It was an eerie effect. He immediately tapped his comm badge, silently hoping that it still worked, and wondering, if it did, why none of them had thought about that before. Then again, they hadn't had direct access to the central computer before. "Mir, report," he ordered.

"Transport was successful," reported Mir. He sounded surprised. "The loss of the computer didn't effect it. I can't get anything now, though. Chief O'Brien has taken down the computer completely, just as he said."

Kira broke in. "Where did he transport to?"

"I can't remember exactly," Mir answered, "but it was on the habitat ring, level 3, section 7."

"Thank you." Kira turned to the commander. "I'll take some Security."

"And Major," Mir added, "I think there's only one more out there."

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" Sisko asked.

"I checked the program text on the poison in the detention cell. It's set up to go off automatically for certain prisoners should someone request a recording of interrogation. Three names were visible. Theel's was an addition. He must have been a late-comer. Fin Liian and Targo Hern were the other names. There was one more, but it was encoded. I couldn't read it."

Kira nodded with satisfaction. Sisko was relieved. Things were getting a little easier. "That's helpful, Lieutenant. Stay put. As soon as we have him, we'll need the computer up again."

"Yes, sir."

"Lieutenant," Sisko caught him before the comm line disconnected, "did you remember to check for Bashir's signal before the failure."

"Yes, sir. I checked just after I cancelled the poison. He returned to the station about two minutes before the computer went down."

Kira was choosing two officers to go with her to level H3. Sisko stopped her. "Major, he hasn't reported back, has he?"

"No," she paused. "I'll keep an eye out for him."

Sisko nodded. "What about the civilians on the Promenade?"

"Already taken care of," she assured him. "The crew was ordered to escort them out of the corridors in case of power failure both here and in the habitat ring. There shouldn't be anyone on the docking ring. We cleared that before."

"Odo to Kira." The clang of his boots on the floor was clearly audible over the comm line.

"Here," Kira answered urgently.

"The suspect anticipated the transport. I'm in pursuit. She ran toward the docking ring."

"Description?"

"It's the nurse. Fareed Taleyn."

"We're on our way, Odo. Kira out." She headed toward the door with the two officers on her heels.

But Sisko was worried about other things. He just couldn't accept that Grant was the murderer, no matter how plausible it sounded with the drug addiction. But if he wasn't, someone else on the Ranger was. And Bashir should have been back by now. He tapped his comm badge again.

"Sisko to Dr. Bashir." There was no answer. Sisko waited, counting to thirty before he called again. "Sisko to Bashir. Please respond." Still nothing. Sisko picked up a phaser, a palm beacon, and a tricorder. "You're in charge here until Odo or Major Kira returns," he told one of the security officers. He remembered him. He was Tsingras's roommate.

Julian Bashir's first thought was panic. He knew he'd just been poisoned, just as the others had been. And he hadn't been able to find an antidote. But his Starfleet training had taught him to ignore the panic and to think through his problem to find a workable solution. The scalpel was no longer a threat. So he spread his arms out wide, knocking Maylon's hands away, and kicked forward with both his legs. They connected solidly with Maylon's body, and he heard him smack into the opposite wall.

Bashir reached out to the right, hoping to find the access crawlway. It wasn't there. Maylon responded quickly. The palm beacon flashed on again, and he shuffled to his feet. Now Bashir could see the crawlway, but Maylon quickly blocked his path. Bashir suddenly felt dizzy. Then Maylon's hand struck him across the face, sending him to the floor again. This time he couldn't get up. His whole body felt like rubber. Even with the light, he couldn't see. The floor was spinning and swimming beneath him. Maylon kicked him in the ribs for good measure, rolling him over onto his back.

"Not even a delay," Maylon commented with a bit of surprise. "That's good. Well, for me anyway. For you, too, I suppose. It'll be shorter." He took hold of Bashir's hand and dragged him back to the crawlway. Maylon pulled a pair of security hand restraints from his pocket and fastened one around Bashir's wrist. The other he connected to the inside of the crawlway.

Bashir tried to resist, but it was no use. He could do little more than raise his head. Maylon helped him to a sitting position. With the light, which was lying on the floor near the far wall, Bashir could now see his comm badge. If they were looking for him, he thought, they could still find him. There was a chance.

"Now, we can talk," Maylon said, crouching in front of Bashir. He was a little out of breath. "Oh, just a moment." He stood up and walked a few meters down the corridor, right to where the comm badge lay. "Here it is." He stomped on it with his booted heel, and it smashed into several large pieces. "How did it work? She took the computer down."

"She who?" Bashir asked, following Maylon with his eyes. It was difficult to focus. There were now three Maylons. They were all walking back to the three palm beacons lying on the floor.

"No sense wasting power." He clicked it off. Bashir heard him sit down again. "It's not like you're going anywhere. I suppose it doesn't matter now, so I can tell you. She is the Bajoran woman I've been looking for. I saw her young friend the first night out," and he added, "when I strangled the Gidari."

Bashir was actually glad the light had gone off. Seeing was making him sick. Besides he didn't want to die. If he could make it back to the Infirmary, there was a chance. Not much of one, but a chance. Maybe Dax could figure something out. Or Dr. Pynar. There would be no reason not to call her now. He focussed his effort on the hand restraint. He pulled hard against it, clenching and unclenching his fist, stretching his fingers to make them as thin as possible. "Why?"

"Why not? Let's face it, Julian, they aren't doing the galaxy any favors. They're greedy, aggressive, and egotistical--"

"And you're not?" Bashir interrupted.

Maylon sounded hurt. "I thought we were friends, Julian."

That was too much. "You poisoned me, Maylon!" Bashir was incredulous.

"Well, that was your own fault. I hadn't planned to. You just walked into it. You got too close. I knew you wouldn't understand, anyway. How could you even have seriously suspected me? We lived together for three years, didn't we?"

Bashir didn't answer right away. He was trying not to make any sound. The restraint was cutting into his skin. But it was moving. It was just past the base of his thumb. "Why poison?" he finally asked.

"You mean instead of the scalpel." Maylon sighed. "True, that would've been a lot quicker. I suppose I wanted to see what the stuff would do. It's stenacine of course, like the others. But this time I tried both of those Gidari drugs you found. The first one took much too long. Besides, we wouldn't have had time to talk otherwise." Maylon was silent for a short time. Then he said, coldly, "I'd like the evidence you found."

"The tricorder," Bashir said. It was almost too hard to manage a full sentence. He was concentrating on the restraint. Blood trickled beneath his sleeve down his arm to his elbow.

"No, not the tricorder. You didn't store it there. Where is it?"

"My boot." Bashir wanted to tell the truth. He had been right about the Gidari drug. It was a truth serum.

"Which one?"

"Left."

Maylon found his foot easily, felt around the edge of the boot and, not too gently, removed the chip he had put there. Bashir didn't care. He hoped to live long enough to tell someone personally who the murderer was.

"What are you doing?" Maylon asked.

Bashir opened his mouth to tell him then promptly bit his lip to keep from it. His head was becoming clearer, but the pain from his ribs, his ankle, his hand, his face, all that was becoming stronger. It wasn't quite like he'd planned. When Dax and he had run the simulation, it had taken twenty minutes or so before the truth serum mutated. It was working considerably faster now.

Maylon turned on the light again just as Bashir pulled his hand free of the restraint. He stood up, and, instead of moving toward the crawlway, which was infinitely closer, and which Maylon expected, he lunged the opposite direction, back toward the turbolift's open doors.

Maylon was taken by surprise. He sprinted after Bashir, but it was too late. Bashir dove into the turbolift, falling the three feet to the floor. When Maylon reached the doors and looked in, Bashir was gone.

Bashir hit the floor of the turbolift and ducked under the ceiling of the next floor. The doors were open to the level below. He swung down, holding on to the turbolift and dropped to the floor. His ankle couldn't take it and he fell. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he got to his feet and ran forward, ignoring his ankle and his aching ribs. There had to be an access crawlway there, just where the one had been one level up, about five meters from the lift.

"You can't get far, Julian!" Maylon yelled. There was a loud thump as Maylon jumped into the turbolift. He didn't immediately follow. Bashir could see the light from his palm beacon through the open doors of the turbolift. Maylon had taken out his tricorder and was examining something on the floor.

There was just enough light to cause a shadow along the edge of the crawlway's cover. Julian slipped it off as quietly as he could. There was only a slight pop as it came free. His hand burned where the skin had torn. The cover was heavy, and he nearly dropped it. He slipped into the crawlway, hoping that he could find the way to the Promenade from here, or even just someone to help. Laying face down in the small space, he braced his elbows and lifted the cover back into place. He felt a rib slip out of place, stirring up fresh pain. His breath came in pants and he felt cold.

He remembered the tricorder, still in the pouch at his waist. He wouldn't need light. The tricorder could show him where to go. He heard Maylon jump down to the corridor outside, and he moved on down the crawlway. He hadn't had time to activate the tricorder, so he crawled forward blindly, feeling along the wall for an intersecting crawlway. He was feeling weaker, and his stomach was churning. His head ached, too. His whole body hurt in places that Maylon had not even injured. He had a strange taste in his mouth and felt something wet like tears, but thicker, stickier, coming from his eyes. It burned.

He found the next crawlway and entered it. Behind him, the cover was removed and thrown loudly to the floor. A bright light filled the intersection. But Bashir was in shadow. He could not be seen. He pulled out the tricorder and kept going, crawling on his elbows and pulling his legs behind him. They cooperated some, but they felt heavy and spongy. Bashir rubbed his eyes and looked at the tricorder. There was a hatch on the floor. He found the lever to open it manually, but before he climbed down, he rubbed some of the blood from his hand onto the floor beyond. He was very careful to not leave any blood behind on the outside of the hatch.

Once inside, with the hatch safely closed above him, Bashir used the tricorder to check his condition. Among many other problems, his eyes were bleeding. That was the stickiness he had felt. But the blood wasn't right. The tricorder showed it to have a grayish tint, as opposed to the rich, dark red of healthy blood. The hemoglobin count was too low. And, of course, there was stenacine and too much of it. But he had little time or ability to contemplate this. He felt tired, and Maylon was still looking for him. His head was becoming fuzzy. He moved on. He had to make it to the Infirmary. It was the only thought he could hold on to.

Inara kicked off her shoes and ran faster, clutching her bag close to her side. There was no sound then, not from her, and not from the shapeshifter. She found the long crossover bridge. The docking ring was just beyond. O'Brien may have won the round, but the game wasn't over yet. She had two more bombs, and the Klingon ship would serve well as her final message. She had decided as she ran, that she would stay with the bombs, carry them through to the shipside door of the airlock. She would detonate them instantly. She would go to the Prophets before she'd go to their prisons.

She sprinted down the corridor, watching the stars stream by her in the viewports. She was thankful for the light. Her brother was wrong. Darkness wasn't a friend. It was something cold that seeped inside you. Inara needed the light.

She knew now that she was going to make it. She estimated the length as she ran, tried to count the viewports. Halfway across? She wasn't sure. She kept running. As she neared the end, she saw a beam of light along the wall. Footsteps. Inara slid to a stop, her socks gliding along the floor. She ducked behind the wall and watched. There was only one beam, one set of footsteps. Only one.

Inara took hold of her bag by the straps, kept them loose, and crossed her arms. She waited for the beam to come closer. It shined along the opposite wall. The steps came closer. A man came into view. He was Bajoran. It couldn't be helped. Before he could turn to scan the crossover bridge, she grabbed him from behind, slinging the loose straps of her bag over his head and around his neck. She uncrossed her arms, pulling the straps tight, and drug the man out of the corridor intersection.

Instinctively, his hands went to his throat. The palm beacon fell to the floor and broke, the glass shattering into little pieces. The man struggled. He flung his elbow back, to catch her in the ribs. But she anticipated this move and kicked one of his knees. He slumped hard to the floor. He almost fell forward, but Inara's grip on the bag held him up. He strained for breath, but she would not give it. Finally his eyes closed, and he became dead weight pulling against the straps of the bag. Inara whispered a prayer for his soul and let him fall. He didn't move.

The palm beacon was useless, but he also had a phaser. Inara took it and felt around the rest of his belt. He had a tricorder. This could be useful. She took it. Then she remembered. The shapeshifter had used his communicator. They were still working. She could listen in. She reached across the man's chest to take the emblem that also served as a communicator from his chest. She noticed then that it was moving. His hand shot up and grabbed at hers. He opened his mouth to yell, but his voice wouldn't come. He still gasped for a good breath.

Inara still had his phaser in her hand and she used it. The man's eyes closed again and he lay still. He was still breathing. She took his communicator and fastened it to her own shirt. Then she checked the corridor to see that it was clear. It was.

She looked back at the man on the floor. They would find him eventually. Perhaps too soon. He couldn't stay. Inara lifted the phaser in her hand, set it on high, and disintegrated his body. Then she stole into the corridor. She needed to think. She had an advantage now. She was armed. She saw an access crawlway a few meters down the corridor and slipped into it, pulling the cover closed behind her.

It took Commander Sisko a quarter of an hour to get to the docking ring. He didn't know where to start, except that Bashir had left the Ranger, which was docked at Pylon Two. That was just above him now. Sisko scanned for Bashir's comm badge, but the scan proved negative. But Bashir would have taken the turbolift from there. Of course, the turbolift would have stopped when the computer went down. Bashir might not have reached the docking ring. Sisko now had to find where the turbolift had stopped.

Sisko found the doors to the turbolift and scanned to see if the lift was behind them. Negative again, but the scan also showed negative for the next level on either side. Sisko bet that the turbolift was higher. There would have been no reason for Bashir to go any lower. The turbolift, if it was working, could have taken him all the way to the Promenade. So Sisko would go up, and the most direct path to the turbolift was the turbolift tube itself.

It wasn't easy to get the doors open. For safety reasons, they remained locked in place when the lift was not there. In emergencies, that could be overridden, but these were not normal circumstances. Sisko removed the cover from the panel beside the door and touched his comm badge. "Sisko to O'Brien."

"Here, Commander. Something wrong?"

"Yes. Doctor Bashir is missing." Sisko flashed his light into the open panel. "Chief, I've got to open a door. I want into the turbolift tube. I've got to override the security lock."

"You've got the panel off?" O'Brien asked.

"Yes."

"There should be a green line running diagonally down the back from left to right."

Sisko looked at the mass of circuits inside the panel. Usually glowing with energy, they all looked pale and colorless now. But there was a line running from the top lefthand corner to the lower right. "It's not green, but I think I've found it."

"Disconnect it. But be careful not to break the other connections. Then again, I don't guess it matters much now, with things as they are. We just won't be able to use the doors again for a while. You'll have to pry the doors open by hand after that."

"Thanks Chief." Sisko reached into the panel, trying not to disconnect the other circuits inside. But it was no use. His hands were too big and without the direct light behind, he was unable to see clearly. There were too many shadows cast by the small light he held. The line came loose, but so did a few others before Sisko could remove his hand.

Sisko walked around to the front of the doors and placed the palm beacon, still shining, on the floor. The doors were heavy, but they did open, sliding back into the wall. Sisko got them open about a foot and a half and picked up the beacon again. He slipped in sideways until he was standing half inside the tube. He could see a ladder about a meter off to the left. He shined the light upward and saw the bottom of the lift about forty feet above.

Holding the door for balance, and keeping one foot on the floor between the doors, Sisko swung his other leg and hand over toward the ladder. He caught it with his wrist, still holding the beacon, and pulled himself over. Now all he had to do was climb. He turned off the beacon, slipping it into the pouch on his uniform. Then he started up the ladder, trusting that his feet and hands would find the next rung in the dark.

When he'd counted thirty-five rungs, he stopped and checked the light again. The turbolift was just above him. And to his right was an open door with about five feet of clearance between the floor and the bottom of the lift. Sisko leaned toward it stretching his arm as far as it would go. He could reach the edge of the doorway. He set the beacon there, aiming it just a little off to the left. Then he found a grip there at the door and let go of the ladder. Using his arms, he pulled himself up.

The lift had stopped between levels. Sisko couldn't see into it directly, so he checked the tricorder again. This time Bashir's comm badge was easily picked up. In fact there were three shown to be in the immediate area. One was identified as Sisko himself, the other as Bashir. The third was not identified. It was in the lift. Bashir's was just above him on the next level. Its signal wasn't clear. It appeared damaged.

Sisko scanned for life signs, but there were none besides his own. There was an open access crawlway five yards away on the right. There was a little blood on the floor as well. Sisko thought maybe he was too late. Bashir had apparently found something in the Ranger's sickbay. But someone else had found him. It could have been the terrorist, but Sisko didn't think so. His instincts told him that the murderer had been on that ship, not safely under guard in the Infirmary. Bashir had been wrong.

If he was too late, Sisko wanted to make sure that Bashir was the last victim. So he still had to go up. There was another communicator in the turbolift. Whose was it? The communicator in the lift might be the key he needed to finally catch the killer. Sisko set the beacon on the floor of the lift and reached up to pull himself into it. But his hand found something sticky. Checking it in the light, he could see that it was more blood. It was a strange color, but the tricorder identified it as human.

Sisko pulled himself up quickly, half-expecting to find Bashir's body there. But really, it wasn't enough blood. The turbolift was empty. There was only a little more blood on the floor and, nearly lost in a corner, a Starfleet communicator. The tricorder still could not identify the signal. Sisko concluded that it was not a crew member. He was willing to bet it belonged to someone from the Ranger. He put it in a pocket.

Bashir's signal had come from the level above. The floor was only three feet up from the floor of the lift, and Sisko jumped up easily, shining the light in front of him. Bashir was not to be found. Another crawlway was open here. Bashir's communicator lay not far from that, partially smashed on the floor. In the crawlway's opening, a pair of hand restraints hung loosely. One was covered in the same strange-colored blood and even small bits of skin. Someone had pulled himself loose. That was where the blood had come from. Maybe Bashir was still alive.

Sisko checked the tricorder, scanning the interior of the crawlway. Nothing. No life signs, no blood. Then he thought. Maybe he had it backwards. He'd gone down from here through the turbolift, leaving his blood on the edge as he swung over. Sisko returned to the turbolift and quickly climbed down to the next level. Taking the beacon again, he went to the crawlway. There was blood smeared on the floor inside. Sisko climbed in.

Bashir couldn't remember having left the access crawlways. But now he was standing, leaning against a cold, metal wall. And he thought he could see stars. He blinked hard and tried to wipe some of the blood from his eyes. But he lost his balance when he tried and fell again to the floor, panting from the pain. He felt like he was breathing water. He coughed and blood gurgled in his throat. He closed his eyes. Sleep was waiting for him, and the pain edged softly away.

He forced his eyes open and tried to start himself breathing again. That brought the pain back full force. Ignoring it as best as he could, he pulled his legs up under him and tried to sit up. His elbows buckled though from the strain, and he smacked his shoulder on the floor. But he tried again anyway. He had to get to the Infirmary. He wanted to live.

He did manage to get to his feet again. He staggered along dazedly, clutching the wall with trembling hands to hold himself up. He couldn't see the stars anymore. His eyes were too sticky. He tried to think, to keep his mind going. He thought of Elizabeth. She was coming to meet him. He tried to imagine what she looked like, but it all faded away again. The only other thing he could think of was death, and he didn't want that. Just keep moving, he told his legs. Was he even standing anymore? He couldn't tell.

In fact, he wasn't, but he was crawling, dragging his legs behind him halfway along the crossover bridge to the habitat ring. He could no longer distinguish between up, down, or sideways. It all made him dizzy. He thought he heard footsteps behind him, but then he realized that it was just the thunder, rolling away with the storm. A last bolt of lightening flashed and the whole hut became visible for a moment before disappearing again into darkness. The little girl lay shivering on the floor beneath his father's coat.

Julian stood and looked out the door again at the ominous horizon of Invernia II, hoping to see his father returning with help. The wind was still strong, and it wailed and blew in his eyes. He shut the door. He walked over to the girl. She didn't look much younger than him. Maybe eight. She shook violently from the cold, but sweat beaded her forehead. Her eyes were closed, but she spoke softly under her breath. He couldn't understand her. He didn't know the language like his father did. She cried sometimes too.

Julian sat down, leaning against the wall, and checked the time. It was four in the morning. He was tired, but he knew he couldn't sleep. Father had said to give her water when she woke up, but she hadn't woken up yet. He had to wait. He didn't know much about sick people, but he was worried about her. Father wouldn't have left her here if she wasn't bad. He wished that he knew how to help her. But he didn't even know why she was sick.

Just then she opened her eyes. She looked afraid. She cried out something and then closed her eyes again. She didn't move. She stopped talking. She stopped breathing. Julian closed his eyes and cried. Warm tears ran down his face, and the darkness of the night covered him.

"I'm surprised you got this far, Julian," Maylon said sadly. He looked down at his former roommate. Julian lay face-down and facing toward the wall on the corridor floor, his arms folded beneath him. His eyes were closed and his face was pale gray. Blood trickled from his eyes. Maylon couldn't see him breathing. "It's about time."

He sighed and knelt down to be closer. He felt on Julian's neck for a pulse. His skin was cold. He couldn't find the pulse. "I wouldn't have done it, Julian," he said. "if you hadn't figured it out. If you had just called for those records, I could have given you whatever you wanted. I would've had to change a few things. But at least you'd still be alive. I know you won't understand, Julian, but I'm sorry."

Maylon stood and walked away. He had to get back to his ship. He was late already. But, of course, he could say he got lost when the lights went out. He could leave the palm beacon behind somewhere. He worried a little about the blood on his uniform, but then decided that he could explain that away relatively easily. It didn't even look like blood. The Gidari chemicals had changed it somehow. It was interesting. But anyway, it was really only on the knees of his pants, which were black. It wouldn't even show up until he reached the ship's side of the airlock and the light there.

Major Kira lifted one of the shoes from the floor. Their plan seemed to be working. Fareed Taleyn, if in fact that was her name, had apparently tried to transport or use the computer in some manner and found it useless. She discarded the computer only two corridors down from her residence. Odo had had to return to his office to regenerate and had literally stumbled across it lying on the floor. There was no reason, then, not to turn the computer back on and bring up some of its functions. But after consulting with O'Brien and Sisko, it had been decided to leave most functions down. While the darkness hampered efforts to find Fareed, and Doctor Bashir, it also hampered her ability to escape. The shoes were simple. "She's trying not to be heard," Kira concluded.

They did, however, have the advantage of the security sensors and Ops. With them, Sisko could hopefully find the missing doctor, and Kira and Security could track down the last remaining terrorist. That's how they had found her shoes on the long crossover bridge to the docking ring.

One officer was staring at his tricorder. "There's something at the end of the corridor, sir."

Kira and the others ran down to the intersection where the crossover bridge joined the docking ring. But they could see nothing. The corridor was empty. The officer, a big barrel-chested human, checked his tricorder again. "It's back here." He walked back, still watching the readout on the tricorder, until he was standing just where the tricorder said he should. "Here."

Two beams of light focused on his arm and then followed where he pointed, all the way down to the floor. Kira couldn't see anything except that it was black. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's organic," the officer answered, "or at least it was. It's a phaser burn. Someone died here."

Kira stepped forward to peer at the tricorder for herself. "Can you tell who it was?" She worried that perhaps they'd come across Dr. Bashir. Sisko had told her about the broken communicator and the blood in the corridor. Or maybe it was Fareed, having decided to join her comrades in suicide.

The man seemed to know what she was thinking. "It was Bajoran. And it's really too big to have been the woman we're looking for."

That ruled out Bashir as well. And no civilians should have been in the area. But with the computer up, there was a possibility of finding out who it was. "Kira to Ops."

"Ops."

"Does the computer register any crew members as missing?"

"Only Dr. Bashir, sir. Everyone else shows up on the scan."

That didn't help. "Kira out." They'd have to wait until they had Fareed and everyone was accounted for. If Fareed had killed the man, then she might have taken his communicator. And since the communicators were personalized to each crew member, she would show up on the computer as just another member. It would also mean that she was now armed. "She had to have gone on to the docking ring. So let's check there."

The tricorder was picking up life signs ahead. Sisko had emerged from the crawlways one level up, following a trail of blood on the floor. The trail had then led down, back to the crossover bridge. The blood then had been on the walls in distinct hand-shaped marks. Sisko walked faster. There was a little light from the stars out past the viewports as well as that from his palm beacon. He could see something on the floor near the wall. It was black, like a shadow, but with shape. It didn't move. As he neared, the palm beacon caught a thin band of blue color against the black.

Sisko ran toward it, forgetting caution. If it had been someone from the Ranger, the blue would have covered a larger area. If it had been a security officer, there wouldn't have been blue at all. It had to be Bashir. He was lying face-down as if he'd been crawling, with his arms pulled up underneath him. He didn't seem to be breathing.

Sisko knelt down and gently touched his shoulder. He didn't move. Sisko rolled him over, until he was holding Bashir in his arms. Sisko turned his head and was shocked at his appearance. He looked dead. He looked worse than dead. His face was a sickly pale, ghostly in the dim light. His eyes were closed and dark from blood. It seeped from his eyes and the corner of his mouth. And Sisko could hear it in his lungs and throat as he breathed. But at least he was breathing. It was shallow, but it was there. Bashir's right hand was bloody as well, where he had pulled it free of the security restraints. It was the only visible wound he could find.

And then he stopped breathing. Sisko had been just about to call for an emergency transport. He did so now with greater haste. The transporter beam took them almost instantly and transported them to the brightly lit interior of the Infirmary. Sisko had been in the dark so long that the light stung his eyes. Dax was waiting there with two nurses. "He's stopped breathing," Sisko announced as one nurse took Bashir's feet. The computer lit up as they placed him on the biobed, still not breathing.

"He can't," the nurse said. "His trachea's blocked. We need a doctor. He's been poisoned."

"Stenacine?" Sisko asked, clenching his hands. The nurse nodded. Only the Klingons had survived the stenacine. Sisko looked to the security guard who stood guard over the cubicle. Grant had invented it. He could help. But he was also addicted to it and was in no condition to practice medicine. But Bashir didn't have a choice. "Let Grant out. We need his help."

Dax ran to obey and Grant, looking determined and much more himself, took over the situation immediately, trying several instruments, then pushing them aside when they were unsuccessful. Finally he opted for a long tube which he ran down Bashir's throat. Then he pumped on Bashir's chest with his own hands until the displays showed that he was breathing again.

"I don't know what we'll do, Benjamin," Dax said quietly as they watched. Her usually calm face was set in worry. Something in her eyes made her look her age, like she'd seen too much of death in her seven lifetimes. "It's also the Gidari drugs. Both of them. When Julian and I ran a simulation, mixing them was fatal. It was an acid."

But Sisko wasn't ready to give up, and he knew Dax wasn't either. "You work on the stenacine. Maybe Grant's the answer. He's built up a tolerance to it, hasn't he? Maybe there's something there that can help. I'll talk to the Gidari. Keep him alive until I get back."

The trip to Ops was fast as he ordered Mir to release the turbolift that would take him there. Ops was normally darker than the Infirmary, but its vivid colors glowed brightly from every console and the lights on the walls were shining. "Put me through to the Gindarin, in my office." The communications technician saw the tough set of Sisko's jaw and scrambled to make the connection.

Sisko stopped before entering his office. Chief O'Brien was standing near the sensor controls. Like everyone else, he was watching the commander. Sisko tossed him the comm badge he'd found in the turbolift. "Get in touch with the Ranger. I want to know who this belongs to. And then I want him found." All of Ops was silent when the doors hissed shut behind him.

Inara watched the commander of the station transport away with the doctor. She blew out the breath she'd been holding. She was standing between two viewports only a few meters away from them and on the other side of the corridor. Her phaser was set on its highest setting. He had just passed by her on his way to the unconscious doctor. She was glad he had. The commander had been scanning every inch of the corridor. But once he'd seen the doctor, he ran straight to him, passing her by. If he hadn't, he would have found her. And there would have been a fight, and that would have easily tipped others off to where she was.

It had been a bit of work to find their communications signal. They'd changed the frequency. But she'd found it and tapped in using the tricorder. She could hear everything that was said. That's how she'd learned of the doctor. He'd gone missing, and when they found his broken comm badge near the docking ring, they assumed murder. And in assuming murder, they assumed the murderer was still on the station. The same murderer had killed Liian, and Inara was determined to find him first. Then she knew what she'd do with the two remaining bombs.

But now she was at a loss. She'd lost him. She was sure that the murderer had followed the doctor, but she didn't know where he went from there. Perhaps back to his ship, but which way? If he'd gone directly, he probably would have run into Sisko. Inara opened the tricorder again, scanning for other life signs before she brought up the communications link. No one was around, so she listened in.

Things were quiet. She was about to close it again and move off toward the ship, but then two calls were made, both external. One was to the Gidari, concerning the doctor. She ignored that one. It wouldn't help her. The other was more interesting. Sisko had found a communicator in the turbolift where Bashir had been. O'Brien was calling the Ranger to find out whose it was. Perfect.

"We've got a lock on it," the Ranger crewman said. "Just a moment. Yes, it belongs to Dr. Maylon. Let me see if I can get you some information on him."

"Thank you, Commander." There was silence after that.

Maylon. It was that awful, arrogant human who had been watching her, following her. She remembered how she saw him staring at her and Liian the day he died. She felt sick. He'd sat flirting with her that night, just before he'd killed her cousin.

The conversation began again. "He left the ship with your doctor just before the lights went out. He hasn't returned. His shift started thirty minutes ago. He's the one, you think?"

"It looks that way, Commander," O'Brien said.

"I'll transmit his records, and we'll notify you if he turns up on the ship."

"Thank you."

"Lairton out."

O'Brien then passed on the information to the Security patrols who were prowling the station looking for her. But Inara already knew what Maylon looked like. She wanted to know where he was.

"Why should we help you, Commander?" Sanglin Nardek asked. "You insulted us, lied to us, and demanded that we leave your station."

Sisko thought about his answer. He did not want to show weakness to these people. And yet, he knew Bashir would die without them. "Captain, I realize that relations between us have been rather strained in the past. But you are the only ones who can help. A man is dying because of Gidari drugs. We do not know how to counteract them."

"Gidari drugs. How do you know they are Gidari?"

"They match samples previously seen in the death of Ensign Tsingras as well as other poisoning victims."

"You should not have any such samples. All information on everything Gidari was to be handed over to us."

"Whoever killed your crewman does not seem to care about such promises," Sisko said. "The killer has been replicating the drugs and poisoning people on this station with them."

Nardek was still suspicious. "How is he getting such information?"

That was a good question. Sisko had his own ideas. "I don't know. But it's hard to keep a secret on this station. My suspicion is that he bought it."

"We want all such information turned over to us immediately!"

Sisko imagined that Nardek's face was red. Or purple, considering what Bashir had told them. "Not until you help us. We'll need that information to try to find an antidote on our own. If you help us, that wouldn't be necessary. Help us and I'll make sure everything is turned over to you, not only from this station, but from the Ranger as well. It was replicated there."

"And the murderer."

"He's killed one Gidari, which you avenged with the death of an innocent man. I'm sure the Bajorans and Klingons, as well as the Federation, will want claim to him also." The Klingons had already laid claim to the murderer when he was caught. The Bajorans had lost more to him than anyone else, and this was their station.

"We get the murderer, or we take what we want and don't help your doctor."

Sisko hadn't told them who the dying man was. They knew more than they were letting on as well. He remembered how they had come into Dax's laboratory and took what they wanted. They'd also transported Bashir and a nurse right off the station when the computer had been up and running and all the security features in place. They had the ability to do what Nardek was threatening. And Bashir would die anyway. "When he's found," Sisko said finally, "he's yours."

Nardek's voice was much softer then. "Where is your doctor now?"

"In the Infirmary."

"Have it cleared of all other personnel. We will come."