Jones stopped in front of his door and waited for it to open. It never had worked right, but Jones and his roommate didn't bother to worry about it. It wouldn't have been high on the station's repair list anyway. After a few seconds the door slid open smoothly.

It was dark inside, but Jones knew that his roommate would be sleeping. He always woke up when the door opened though, so Jones whispered into the darkness, "It's just me, Justin." Without turning on a light, he stepped into the bedroom.

There was no answer from Justin, and Jones wondered if he hadn't come home yet. But as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he could vaguely see Justin's form on his bed. He's still asleep, he thought, and he took special care to be quiet as he undressed. His own bed lay at the other side of the room, and he couldn't wait to get into it and start his vacation.

Jones changed into a robe and headed for the bathroom for a quick sonic shower before he began his hibernation. His eye caught the chronometer on the wall and he stopped. "Computer," he said, "what is the exact time?"

"The time is 03:13:31."

"Then why does the chronometer say 0105?" he asked without realizing that the computer would think he was still addressing it.

"Unknown."

"Thank you," Jones said in irritation. "That's all." It was strange. The computer generally ran the chronometers. They could only be reset manually, unless the Bajorans had been messing with the computer again. He left the bathroom and returned to the bedroom to check the chronometer there. It said the same thing: 0105. Then he remembered. Justin had a watch, an old-fashioned wind-up wristwatch that his parents had given him for Christmas last year.

Jones opened the top left drawer of Justin's dresser and fished the watch out. He looked at the face. Both hands pointed to the one. Maybe the computer's wrong, he thought. But he wouldn't have been relieved from duty until 0300. It just didn't make sense. Heading for the bathroom again, he stopped to pick up his comm badge. He waited for the door to shut behind him so he wouldn't wake Justin and called Ops.

"Ops," came the answer.

"I'm having problems with the chronometers in my quarters," he said. "What time do yours say up there?"

"You could ask the computer for the time, Ensign." The woman's voice sounded annoyed.

Must be Bajoran. "I checked that. I want to make sure the computer hasn't been tampered with again."

"We've received no other reports of malfunctions tonight. It's 0317. Does that help?"

"No," Jones answered. "That's what I was worried about. Someone's reset all our clocks."

"I assume you have double quarters?"

Jones was thinking, and he only half paid attention to the voice in Ops. "Yes."

"Well, maybe your roommate was playing a joke on you."

"I'd better go check on him," Jones said. He knit his brow in confusion. "He wouldn't have been up that late. Jones out."

He returned to the bedroom. Justin was still lying in his bed. He hadn't moved since he'd seen him before. Jones's eyes had now fully adjusted, and he could make out that Justin's eyes were open.

"LIGHTS!" he shouted and ran to his roommate's bed. Justin didn't move, and his eyes stared blankly at where Jones was standing. He wore an expression of wonder frozen on his motionless face. His eyes were tear-stained, and there was blood on the blanket beneath his neck.

Jones slapped his comm badge. "Medical emergency! Chamber 326 habitat level H2." He felt on his roommate's wrist for a pulse, and when he felt nothing he put his ear to his roommate's chest. Nothing. Justin was dead. Jones fell back onto the floor in shock and sat there, staring at his roommate's opened eyes.

The old man released his grip and then smacked Bashir across the face. His voice was younger when he spoke. "Medical emergency! Chamber 326 habitat level H2."

Julian Bashir opened his eyes and slapped the communications panel beside his bed. "I'm on my way." He pulled his outer uniform on over his pajamas. Then he grabbed the medkit he kept in his quarters for such emergencies and was out the door at a run.

He arrived at level H2, chamber 326 within minutes, finding the quarters where the call had originated. But he almost ran into the door when it didn't open for him. He was just about to override the security lock when the door slid open. No one was in the front room, which was dark. He could see a light on to his left.

"In here," a quiet voice said.

Bashir followed the voice and the light and entered the bedroom. One young man sat on the floor in his robe, staring at another young man on one of the beds. The one on the bed didn't move, and his eyes were open. He recognized him from the Infirmary. It was Ensign Tsingras.

Bashir walked quickly to the bed. "What happened?" he asked as he checked for a pulse. When he didn't find one, he pulled out his tricorder. No neural activity. It was official. The ensign was dead, certified so at 0323.

The other young man hadn't answered. Bashir closed Tsingras's eyes and pulled the bottom of the blanket up to cover his face. Then he turned to Tsingras's roommate. He knelt down to be at the young man's level. "What's your name?"

The man didn't look away from the body.

"Look at me," Bashir said a little more forcefully. "That's an order."

The man turned his head to look at the doctor.

"That's better." Bashir's voice was soft again. "What's your name?"

"Jones, sir. Ensign Karl Jones, Security."

"Good. Karl, did you call Security?"

Jones looked stricken. His eyes widened in fear. "I forgot!"

"That's alright," Bashir said. "Calm down. I'll call them." Then he tapped his comm badge and called Security. He sighed and tapped it again. "Bashir to Sisko."

There was a short delay before the commander answered. "What is it, Doctor?" His voice was still a little groggy from sleep. He sounded annoyed.

"I'm sorry to wake you up, sir. But I believe we have another murder. Security is on the way, but I thought you should know."

"Where are you?" Sisko was awake now, and his tone reflected his awareness and concern.

"Chamber 326, habitat level H2."

"I'll be right there. Sisko out."

Bashir turned back to the ensign. "Let's get you off the floor." He helped the young man to his feet, and they went to the living room, away from the body of Jones's roommate. Then Bashir went to the replicator and ordered a cup of tea with sugar.

Just as he was carrying the tea back to the young man, the lights went out, plunging the quarters into darkness. He tapped his comm badge with his free hand. "Bashir to Ops."

There was no answer. Bashir thought that it must be the Bajorans again. The viewports helped to add some light from the stars, and Bashir's eyes adjusted quickly. Jones was lying curled up on the couch when Bashir reached him. He looked tired. Bashir sat him up and had him drink the tea. While he was drinking, Bashir went back to the bedroom to examine the body, turning sideways to slip through the half-open door.

He couldn't see much in the darkness. But his tricorder still functioned properly, and he began to scan the body. There were four puncture wounds on the neck surrounding a larger wound that pierced the trachea and lacerated the vocal cords. And there were concentrations of a foreign substance in every cell of Tsingras's body. The largest concentrations were in the vicinity of the heart and in the bloodstream. The tricorder could identify part of the substance which seemed to be a compound of nearly fifteen different chemicals. Three of which were unknown. But even discounting these three, the remainder was sufficient to prove fatal in a matter of hours.

But even more strange was that the internal organs of Tsingras's torso were not there. Bashir had never seen anything like it. There were no longer any cavities in the torso, nor a heart, stomach, intestines, lungs, etc. Something was there, an unidentifiable mass. Bashir wished for his biobeds and diagnostic computer, but of course, they would be down like the rest of the station.

Bashir felt that now it might take the others some time to reach them, so when he was finished examining the victim, he decided to try and question the only witness. Jones had finished the tea and seemed much more alert. His eyebrows were pulled down over his eyes in thought. Bashir sat down beside him. "Tell me what happened," he said, setting the tricorder to record what the ensign said.

"I was on duty until 0300," Jones began and told the doctor everything that he'd done since coming back to his quarters. He told how he'd seen his roommate in the dark and thought he was asleep. And he told about the inconsistencies of the chronometers and Justin's wind-up watch. "Somebody had to set all the clocks wrong." He started to talk faster as he arrived in the story at the death of his friend. "So I came back to Justin and turned on the lights. I could see his eyes were open then, so I called you. I checked his pulse, but. . . . Why would anyone want to kill Justin? He was a nice guy."

"I don't know," Bashir answered. And then he thought about the clocks. Perhaps he could determine the time of death. "When did you call Ops?"

"At 0317," he answered and then continued, "and the computer had said 0313 when I asked, but the chronometers and Justin's watch said 0105."

"So if someone reset them," Bashir said slowly, thinking aloud, "that would have been at . . . 0222." He addressed the ensign again. "Then what did you do?"

"I sat down and waited for you to come. I didn't touch anything after that as it could all be evidence."

Grant tossed and turned on his bed. He honestly wanted the sleep now that wouldn't come. He just couldn't get comfortable, and his head had begun to ache. His body was shivering though he wasn't cold. In fact he felt rather hot. He turned over again, closing his eyes tight, and tried to force his mind into the area of dreams. But the closer he got the more he remembered his son's--Bashir's--aloofness and hostility. He sat up angrily and reached for the table beside his bed. The drawer slipped open easily, but his hands searched in vain for the hypospray. It was gone. Dr. Maylon must have taken it.

"Lights!" he ordered and nothing happened. He waited for a moment and called again, more tentatively, "Lights?" Still nothing. Grant cursed under his breath and got up from the bed. His legs were still shaky, but he could stand. The stars filtered dim light through the viewport, and he headed toward the dresser on the other side of the room. Opening the middle drawer on the left-hand side, he brushed aside the clothes. He couldn't see into the drawer, but his hands knew the familiar feel of a hypospray.

Forgetting the malfunctioning lights and the doctor's warning against the drug, Grant stumbled back to his bed. He pressed the hypospray against his neck and then slipped it beneath his mattress. Then he dropped himself back onto his bed and closed his eyes, letting the blackness sweep over him.

Liian moved cautiously counting his steps. He'd practiced them earlier in the night before Taleyn had pulled the station's computers down. Sixty-four straight and then turn right. The Promenade received little light from the stars that shone in through the oval viewports on the second floor.

Fifty-nine, sixty. Liian had decided on the Cardassian's clothes shop. He felt that if anyone deserved a bombing it was a Cardassian. The others didn't belong there, but most of them sincerely meant no harm. Liian held the bomb in his hand. It was small and heavy, but he could feel the power of the Prophets in its smooth cool surface. Sixty-four.

Liian turned right and counted again, this time to thirty-three. And then he was at the door. Unlike the other doors on the station, this one opened easily. Taleyn had seen to that. In appearance, it would seem that every electric or computerized function on the station had fallen. But in reality a few were still running though they wouldn't register on any monitors. One of these had been the transporter that had beamed her aboard the Ranger. Another kept the life-support systems running and another had recalled the extra Security back to the security office. Still others allowed her colleagues to carry out their tasks.

The shop was bathed in total darkness. The little light from the upstairs viewports couldn't penetrate past the corridor. Liian pulled a small, cylindrical flashlight from a pocket in his tunic and stepped forward. Clothes hung on humanoid-shaped stands, displaying Garak's apparent skill at tailoring. In the back was a counter and some curtained booths for trying on his wares.

Liian set the flashlight down on the counter so that it faced the booths. Checking the setting on the bomb, he moved forward. The bomb, once armed, would go off in twenty minutes, time enough for him to get back to his quarters without being seen. There would be few people out at this time of night, and all others were stuck behind doors that would only open manually. Liian chose the middle curtain and pulled it back quickly. The sound of the rings sliding on the rods above seemed terribly loud in the silent station.

The light behind him cast his shadow onto the wall in the back of the booth between the shadows of the curtains. It made him look taller and thinner, and Liian wished that his true stature was more along those lines. He wasn't fat, just stocky, and he wasn't terribly short. He was, he supposed, just average. He'd always wanted to be something more than that.

He placed the bomb on the wall, even with his shadow's shoulders, and was just about to activate the arming switch when he saw the shadow curtains move. Another shadow now joined his on the wall. Liian froze. The shadow lacked a clearly defined head. It was hooded. One of its arms moved and disappeared into its body.

When it returned again, the unmistakable shadow of a knife had appeared at the end of it. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the shadow spoke. Then the whole shadow grew more defined on the wall and melted with his own as the person behind him stepped forward.

Sensing in an instant that his life was truly in danger, Liian spun with the bomb still in his hand. His attacker was taken by surprise as the bomb smacked into his gray-hooded face. The knife scraped weakly against Liian's arm, but the man didn't lose his grip on his weapon. Liian did. The bomb fell clattering to the floor. He grabbed for the gloved hand with the knife and caught on to the man's wrist with both hands.

He saw a flash of black. The next thing he knew, he was tumbling to the ground, and his knee was filled with pain. But he did not release his hold on the man's arm and pulled his adversary down with him to the floor. They had moved out of the booth, and Liian came very close to hitting his head on the counter. The knife came down quite near his shoulder, but Liian forced it away from him.

The man got to his knees first. Liian's knee wasn't working properly, and his kneecap stung with the effort. Using his free hand, the man hit Liian hard against the face with his fist. Liian tasted the blood in his mouth where he'd bitten into his lip. But before the man could repeat the blow, Liian pulled his good knee up into the man's ribs hard and repeated it before the man could react. At the same time he tightened his grip on the man's wrist, hoping to cut off the blood supply to his hand. The third blow with his knee took his assailant's breath away, but instead of letting go of the knife, he threw it about six feet past the counter and Liian's head.

Liian let go of the man's arm and instantly brought his whole leg up. Getting a foot on the man's chest, he sent him sprawling back into the booth. Liian turned and pulled himself along the floor hoping to reach the knife before his attacker regained his footing. He wasn't so lucky. His whole leg burst into pain again as a heavy weight fell upon it from the back.

Instinctively, Liian cried out and moved his hand in the direction of his aching knee. But the man, who was kneeling on the back of Liian's knees, snatched up his arm and twisted it onto his back so that Liian could feel the ends of his own close-cropped hair. Liian bit his lip to keep from crying out again and tasted more blood in his mouth. He tried to move, to force the man off of him, but the man was out of reach.

"You terrorists sure do put up a fight," the man said, panting from exertion. His tone was patronizing. "But don't you think perhaps I'd come prepared?"

Screaming with the effort Liian shifted his weight with all his strength, causing his attacker to lose his balance once more. The weight slid off Liian's knee, and he moved forward again, stretching out his free arm for the knife that just might save him if only he could reach it. His fingers brushed against the warm ribbed surface of the handle, but then his breath was forcefully ripped from his lungs. The man had thrown himself bodily onto Liian's back, still holding Liian's left arm behind him and tightening his grip on it there.

Liian stretched his other arm toward the knife, biting back the pain in his opposite shoulder. He had it, and he smiled despite the situation he was in. But even then he heard a slight whirring sound in his left ear, and something hot pressed into his neck. His breath stopped in his throat, and his fingers froze on the knife.

The whirring raised in pitch, and Liian felt the heat reach up past his ear, cutting off the sound. Still the heat moved forward, and Liian's fingers relaxed their grip on the knife. The heat jerked in his head, and a last breath escaped from his lungs. When the man released his arm, Liian lay still.

The whirring stopped, and the man stood up beside the body. He walked to where the knife lay in the boy's hand and pulled it from his fingers. He knelt down again at Liian's head and turned it so that he had a clearer view of the boy's neck. But the indirect light from the flashlight was insufficient to see. Standing up again he retrieved the light from the counter, and, holding it between his teeth, he aimed it just below Liian's left ear.

He placed the tip of the knife at just the spot where the laser had entered and turned it so that it would match the direction the laser had taken to the boy's brain. When he felt he had the knife positioned just right, he pulled it swiftly toward him, forcing it into the boy's neck. He left it there, took a piece of folded paper from his cloak, and threw it down beside the body. The doors swished open again, and he was gone.

Julian Bashir covered his mouth as he yawned. Jones was asleep on the couch, and Bashir was waiting for the commander and Security to come and open the door. He'd tried it earlier, but it wouldn't budge. He wouldn't have left anyway. The communications and lights were still out as well. In fact the only thing that did work was the tricorder and Tsingras's wind-up watch that indeed did show the wrong time. Bashir sat in a chair at the dining table and waited. The only sound was that of Jones's breathing.

Suddenly there was a flash of light from the bedroom. It was an eerie light, but beautiful with an aqua-blue tint. It faded leaving the sound of a low chant. Bashir stood quietly and stole toward the door. It stood frozen half-closed, and Bashir peeked around the edge of it to see inside the room.

Three Gidari stood around Tsingras's bed, chanting slowly in a language Bashir could not understand. Without the computer there was no instant translation, but he set his tricorder to record it just the same. Bashir couldn't see into the room from where he was standing, so he peeked around the door and crossed the open area when he was sure the Gidari couldn't see him. The room behind him was still as dark as pitch. That would help to hide him.

The Gidari's hands were raised, and they were dressed in red cloaks. A blue light had begun to emanate from beneath the blanket that covered the top half of Tsingras's body. Tsingras began to move, or rather, something inside him began to move. One of the Gidari stepped forward brandishing a knife. He pulled back the blanket that covered the body, throwing it onto the floor. He cut away Tsingras's nightshirt, exposing his glowing torso. Gently, and with the skill of a surgeon, he made an incision from Tsingras's throat to his navel. There was no blood.

The Gidari stood back, and all three lowered their hoods. Bashir gasped from behind the door, then froze in fear that they had heard. He was certain he couldn't be seen from his spot behind the door. He continued to watch.

Their skin was the same blue tint as the light he had seen and which still emanated from Tsingras's form. Their hair was silver and shined in the light. The one with the knife had longer hair than the others, and Bashir could now see that it was a female.

She was beautiful, and she looked toward the doorway. Her skin was smooth and her face narrow. Her eyes were a disconcerting solid white, but that didn't detract from her beauty. She turned back to the body, apparently satisfied that there was no threat. Her silver hair was put up elegantly in a cascade of braids and weaves.

She replaced the knife in her cloak and removed her gloves to reveal long slender fingers. She raised her arms, crossing them at the forearm with her fingers arching back to meet at the fingernails. The others imitated her movements with their still gloved hands and heads raised toward the ceiling. "Rhek!" they barked in unison, and a small hand appeared from the slit in Tsingras's torso, followed by a small voice that cried out in the silence.

The woman stepped forward again as the small Gidari struggled to free itself from Tsingras's remains. When it caught sight of the other Gidari, its cries ceased and it reached out toward the woman. She uncrossed her arms and pulled the small one from the body. It was larger than a human baby, resembling more a child of a year or two than a newborn. It was identical to the others in every way except for the glow of it's skin and the shortness of its stubbly silver hair. Long sinewy threads from its stomach and legs connected it to the corpse on the bed.

The woman held it aloft for a moment, chanting in a low voice that would hardly reveal her femininity. One of the attending Gidari stepped forward, producing a small blanket from beneath his own cloak. This he wrapped around the back of the young Gidari. He took the child from the woman's arms, still holding it up. The middle Gidari still stood at the end of the bed, chanting with his arms raised in the crossed position.

The woman took the knife again and raised it to the ceiling, one hand on the handle and one, opened flat, supporting the blade. The child's white eyes grew wide in fear as the knife moved toward him, and he cried out as the sinews were cut, releasing him from his former host. Small bits of bright blue fluid dripped from his legs and stomach. The fluid lost its glow as it fell to the bed, and gradually the child ceased to glow as well. The room was again bathed in darkness.

Watching from the door, Bashir struggled to follow the movements of the Gidari. He squinted into the darkness and stared as the attendant wrapped the child more fully in the blanket, covering his head as well. Then the attendant handed him to the Gidari who had stood, arms crossed, at the end of the bed.

The woman, reaching into her cloak once again, produced a weapon. A red line of heat and light shot out toward Tsingras's remains, which glowed red for a second before disappearing. Again the blue light flashed in the room, shining out the door behind Bashir to where Jones lay asleep on the couch. When the light faded, the Gidari were gone.

Bashir sat down, leaning back on the half-closed door and checked to see if the tricorder had recorded everything. But the tricorder refused to work. The only thing that showed on its display was the blue light of the Gidari transporter. Everything that had transpired in the bedroom was unreachable. Nothing he did changed the display on the screen. It was useless, like everything else on the station.

Jones was still sleeping. Bashir could hear him snoring. Standing up, Bashir slipped through the door to the bedroom. He used the malfunctioning tricorder's display for a light source. Bashir looked around the room. There was no evidence of the Gidari's presence. The only trace that remained of Ensign Justin Tsingras was the scorched sheets on his bed.

An explosion rang through the corridors of the habitat ring. The charge, set behind the main door of a Starfleet officer's quarters, had been strong enough to tear the door loose and send it crashing into the wall across the hall. The quarters had actually been empty. The family who lived there was on Earth visiting relatives. But the bomb had a higher purpose than murder. It was meant as a messenger. Inara Taleyn materialized in her quarters to see Targo Hern sitting on her bed. The old man's wrinkled eyes looked worried.

"What are you doing here?" Inara asked. "We shouldn't be together when they find out about all this."

"But Liian isn't back yet," the old man protested. "There's been only one explosion. Liian's bomb has not gone off."

"Where is he?" Inara asked, trying to control her panic.

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"Yours went off?"

"Yes," Targo confirmed. "It's burning as we speak."

"Maybe he's just late," Inara said. She was trying to convince herself more than the old man. Liian was new to all this, if he was captured. . . . "They're going to be looking for us now. If he's out running around. . . ." She let the thought trail off, knowing that Targo knew the risks.

"We got a call from Kob." The old man spoke quietly.

Inara froze. "What did he say?" Her voice was urgent.

"The Elders urged us to devote our whole hearts to the Prophets."

Inara sat down beside him on the bed, and they both sat in silence for a few moments. Inara was worried. Liian was the only family she had left. And he was devoted; he was just young. He loved the Prophets as much as she did.

Targo changed the subject. "Did your mission succeed?"

"No problem," she answered, but she felt hollow. "It'll take them half a day to get the station running again, and the program is buried so far in the Ranger's systems that they'll never find it until it's too late."

Sisko stood back holding the light as the security officers worked at opening the door. Another murder. There had been two already, and still no real clue as to who the murderer was. And the Bajorans weren't helping any. Of course, they could be the murderers. But the possibility that they weren't worried Sisko more. That meant there was still more than one mystery to solve.

"Who's there?" Someone asked from behind the door. The voice was stern and threatening, but Sisko assumed that it was the person who had reported the murder in the first place. One of the security officers yelled back an answer.

A light appeared in the corridor, and all the security officers stopped and pulled out their phasers. But the others saw the threat and called out that they were medical personnel. Security went back to opening the door, and the two med-techs arrived with an anti-grav stretcher. The door released, and the security officers pushed it back into the wall.

A young man stood there waiting, wearing nothing but a robe. When he saw the commander, he snapped to attention. "Ensign Jones, sir." Ensign Jones looked tired, as if he'd just woken up. Doctor Bashir was waiting behind him. Quite the opposite of Jones, he looked very much awake and about to burst with excitement.

"At ease, Ensign," Sisko said, and the young man relaxed. "What happened?" he asked, looking past the ensign to the doctor.

"We won't need the medical technicians," Bashir said. "Nor the stretcher." The med-techs seemed confused and didn't know whether to turn around and leave or wait.

"Not even for the body?" Major Kira asked from behind. Sisko hadn't expected or heard her. But then Kira took her job very seriously, and he knew better than to be surprised that she'd come.

"There isn't one," the doctor answered. Sisko began to grow frustrated. Bashir liked to draw out a story for the most dramatic reaction. But, Sisko had to admit, the doctor hadn't had much chance to give a straightfoward account. He waved the med-techs away. They obeyed and turned for the door.

"What about Justin?" Ensign Jones asked, and then he clarified for Sisko's benefit, "Ensign Tsingras."

"He's not there," Bashir answered. He was obviously anxious, and he stepped around Jones to face the commander more directly.

Jones was incredulous. "Where'd he go?"

"I'm trying to tell," Bashir sighed.

It was much too early--or too late, depending on how one looked at it--for this sort of thing. "I'm listening." Sisko pulled a chair from the table and sat down.

Kira assigned the security officers to scan the quarters for clues before she, too, pulled a chair from the table. Bashir sat down on the couch. "Tsingras has been destroyed. There's nothing left."

Jones, who had still been standing, flopped onto the couch. Sisko thought he looked extremely confused, and the doctor wasn't exactly helping. "What happened to him?" the commander asked sternly, trying to help Bashir to focus.

He answered quickly. "It was the Gidari."

Kira sat up straight. "Are you sure? How do you know?"

"I saw them. They came back. I was watching from the door," he said. He leaned forward and held out his tricorder to the major. "I recorded it with the tricorder," he said, "but it doesn't work now."

Kira took the tricorder, and Sisko could see that it's display was frozen in a solid blue light that carried just a hint of green. It was the same color as the effect of the Gidari's transporter.

"Maybe Chief O'Brien can still get something from it," Bashir suggested. He sat back and started again. "Tsingras was poisoned. When I arrived I found traces of a compound in his body. The compound contained about fifteen different chemicals, three of which I'd never seen before. There were also five puncture marks in his neck. I don't know what those were.

"But later," he continued, "when Jones was asleep, they returned. They beamed into the bedroom, and I watched from the door. They seemed to perform some sort of ritual. One of them, a woman--"

Sisko stopped him. "A woman? You saw them?"

"Yes," he answered and seemed irritated by the interruption. "They took off the hoods. Anyway, she cut Tsingras's body open, and a . . .," he struggled for the correct word, "child came out. It was glowing blue. To make a long story short, they cut the child loose. The woman destroyed the body with an energy weapon of some sort. Then they beamed back out. That seems to have damaged the tricorder."

"So the question is," Kira concluded, "did the Gidari commit the other murders?"

"That would be too easy," Sisko said, sighing. "Why would they kill one of their own men and a Ferengi waiter, in broad daylight, so to speak?" He stood and crossed his arms as he thought. "We're still missing something."

Everyone was silent for a while as they considered the evidence they had for the other murders. Jones broke the silence. "So why'd they mess with the clocks?"

"Clocks?" Sisko asked, feeling like he'd missed part of the story.

"All the chronometers were reset at approximately 0222," Bashir explained. "It was some kind of ritual. Perhaps that was part of it."

"And when did they come back?" Kira asked.

"Not long before you came," Bashir replied. "I'm sorry. I didn't check the time. What time is it now?"

Kira shrugged. "The lights went out at 0325, and they've been off for about, oh, forty minutes."

"Then I'd say it was about twenty-five minutes after the lights went out."

The security officers returned to report to Kira. One spoke. "There's not much here. One of the beds is burnt, but that's it."

Kira yawned, but she refused to go back to her quarters to finish the night's interrupted sleep. Besides, she offered as an excuse to herself, by the time she made it back to her quarters, it would be morning. It had taken her nearly an hour just to get to Ops. Every door had to be opened manually, and the turbolifts wouldn't work. But O'Brien, too, had been wrested from bed and was now on the job. Kira wanted to catch the people who were doing this. But until at least some of the systems were back online, she'd have little chance of doing anything. But, at least with the computers down, she didn't have to be diplomatic to anxious ship captains.

O'Brien had found that some systems were still up. Life-support and environmental systems were still functioning as were some general safety back-up systems to protect the integrity of the station. He found evidence that some other systems were up, but he couldn't trace them. Getting the central computer online became his first priority, followed by the security array along with doors, lights, and communication. If they had the sensors they could find the origin of this latest interference.

Kira was anxious for those sensors. She felt that those other systems would point the way to the perpetrators. They would have found it just as hard to operate with doors that wouldn't open. That's why Kira's guess was that those systems were doors.

As she sat in front of a black console in Ops, surrounded by a few well-placed palm beacons, she was reminded of the station under Cardassian rule. They had kept the lights low. It gave an eerie, unwelcome feeling to the station, a foreboding that seeped into the bones. At that time, she was the terrorist, the Bajoran resistance fighter, dedicated to ridding her planet of the off-worlders who were plundering it and killing her people.

Targo Kob. That was her only link so far. He had bought the coupling that allowed the radicals to access the computer systems. She searched her memory for the name. But she could not remember anyone with that name or description from her own involvement with the resistance. She grew frustrated. There had to be a link between Targo Kob and the Bajorans on this station.

At that moment a single light of an aqua color appeared on her console. Without some of the others, it was still quite useless, but it was a triumph none the less. O'Brien's head popped up from the lower level of the engineering stations. "I've got to have some coffee," he announced and climbed the ladder to the main level.

"Well, you can't have it until you get the replicators back online," Kira said. "How's it coming?"

"I've about got it," O'Brien replied as he pulled up a stool beside her. "Maybe another hour or two and we'll have the central computer up. But I've been thinking."

O'Brien's conspiratorial tone drew her in. "What about?"

"About how we can catch 'em. I've had to fight with this here computer ever since I arrived, but now that I feel I've gotten control of it, I don't like someone else messing with it. It's hard enough to deal with on normal days. And I'm getting real tired of being woken up in the middle of the night to fix it. So I've been thinking. What if we set a trap for them? I can rig a program to tag any peripheral device that tries to tamper with its systems. Then we just track down that device."

Now Kira was interested. "But if they discover they're tagged, they'll just dump the evidence somewhere."

"Then we just won't let them know. We'll let them take the computer offline. They'll think they're safe. But when we get it back, we show up on their doorstep."

"Sounds like a good idea, Chief," Kira said, but without much excitement. "At least, it's the only idea we've got right now. But it won't do us any good if the computer's not up to begin with."

"Right." O'Brien was still cheerful, and he slapped the console as he stood up. He disappeared again below the rails that surrounded the lower level. Kira found herself craving a cup of coffee, too.

By eight in the morning it had become clear that a bomb had exploded in the habitat ring, and the station had been put on yellow alert. Fortunately, no one had been hurt, but no safety features had been enacted to quench the fire that destroyed everything in the quarters of Ensign Sara Finley and her family. Their neighbors had tried all night to call for help, but they had had to wait until the communications system was restored before the station's crew could react. The Ranger's systems had come up on their own, but not without another warning against defiling the Celestial Temple. They then sent some engineers to help get the station back online.

The Infirmary was now brightly lit, and Julian Bashir was slouched in his chair over a cup of Tarkalian tea and a still dark console. His medical tricorder lay before him, displaying the fatal compound found in Tsingras's blood. By using a second tricorder, O'Brien had managed to retrieve some of the earlier information Bashir had collected. The Gidari ritual, however, was gone.

Bashir was looking for a solid bit of evidence to trace the Gidari to the killing. Sisko had suggested, and he readily agreed, that telling the Gidari that they were seen unhooded was not the best way to confront them about the murder. Bashir did not want to end up like Tsingras, but he was quite frustrated at being limited to a tricorder for his investigations.

The blood left on the bed contained no traces of the compound that had killed Tsingras. From his previous examination of the body, Bashir knew that the blood had come from the subject's neck. The neck wounds had been inflicted prior to the injection of the compound. By studying the known chemicals of the compound separately and the reactions they'd have in a human body, Bashir was able to determine more closely how Tsingras died. It didn't look pleasant.

The combination of the chemicals would have produced high fever and low body temperatures at different times. None of the chemicals caused unconsciousness or even any anesthetic effect at all. And the mutation of the internal organs assured that Tsingras's death was quite painful. Since the vocal cords had been cut, Bashir assumed the punctures in the neck had been made to keep Tsingras from screaming. It had taken him over one hour to die.

One of the three unknown substances was organic. That much he could tell. Bashir was convinced that to make a new Gidari from a human they'd at the very least need genetic material from a Gidari. That, if he could prove it, would definitely link the Gidari to the killing without mentioning that he saw them firsthand. But where was he to get a sample of Gidari genetic material? All the information he'd gotten from the Gidari corpse had been erased from the computer and given to the Gidari captain. The body itself had been transported to the Gindarin, leaving no trace behind on the biobed.

Then he remembered Tsingras. He'd had a residue on his uniform. "Nurse Jabara!" he called, raising his voice to be heard above the clatter in the room. He stood and waited for her to come.

"Yes, Doctor," a young woman answered, stepping around technicians to reach him. Her eyes were small, as if half-closed in fatigue. None of them had had much sleep.

Bashir lowered his voice. "When the Gidari body was transported here, do you remember the ensign that came with it?"

"Yes," she answered, but she looked confused. "I couldn't possibly forget that smell."

Bashir nodded. "He changed clothes. What happened to his uniform?"

She lowered her eyes and bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I know you said to burn it. But we couldn't do that, and the disposal wasn't working. I thought I'd just do it when it got fixed--"

Bashir grabbed her shoulders so suddenly that she stopped her explanation and looked up at him in fear. "I could kiss you," he said, smiling broadly. "Where is it?"

She was shocked and didn't answer right off. "I . . . I put it in a container so it wouldn't smell. Should I go get it?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes, yes, go and get it." Bashir released her and walked to the door. All station personnel were on duty now. Some who had no duties to perform were helping put the station's systems back together. Others were to act as messengers until the internal communications system was back online. It was proving rather tricky.

Several crewmen stood in the corridor talking together, and Bashir called one of them over. "Find Commander Sisko, and tell him that I've got something."

"Yes sir," the ensign said. Then he turned and ran down the corridor to the turbolift.

When Bashir turned back inside the Infirmary, Nurse Jabara was waiting and holding a white container. "You're not going to open it, are you?" she asked, turning up her nose in anticipation.

"I most assuredly am," Bashir answered, still grinning. "But you don't have to stay."

She looked relieved and sighed. She handed him the container and then hurried out of the room. Bashir placed the container on his useless console and opened it, holding his breath. The entire room groaned as the smell wafted into the air. Bashir carefully lifted a fold to reveal the blackish-blue substance that caused the smell and quickly took a sampling he could analyze with his tricorder. He dropped the uniform and closed the container tight to the relief of all the technicians.

"What the hell was that?" one of them asked.

Bashir released his breath. "Language, language," he scolded playfully. He had it, and it matched. The Gidari had injected some of the dead Gidari's genetic material into Tsingras's body along with the other substances in order to produce something between a child and a clone of Harglin Nastroff. He still couldn't identify the two other substances, but it wasn't necessary. The genetic material could only have been provided by the Gidari themselves. That was the evidence he'd needed.

It didn't take long for Sisko to arrive from Ops. He was frowning when he arrived. Bashir hoped it was because of the smell that had not yet fully dissipated. It was rather awful, he admitted to himself.

"You've found something, Doctor?" Sisko asked.

"Look at this," Bashir said, showing the commander the tricorder readout. "This is a sample of the unknown organic substance found in Tsingras's body." He pressed a button, and a second matching structure was displayed beside the first.

"And this," he said proudly, "is a sample from the residue of the dead Gidari left behind on Tsingras's uniform. It hadn't been destroyed after all."

Sisko seemed satisfied, but his expression actually fell. "Good job. Now I've got to talk to the Gidari. Mind if I borrow this?" he asked, pointing to the tricorder.

"Of course not." Bashir handed him the device. Sisko turned to leave. Bashir was glad, again, that he was just the doctor. Accusing the Gidari of a murder was not something to look forward to. "Good luck, sir."

A young Bajoran officer nearly ran into the commander as she ran toward the Infirmary. Sisko stopped. "Doctor," she said, breathing heavily. "There's been another murder."

"Another one?" Bashir turned back into the Infirmary and grabbed his medkit, checking to make sure that it still contained a medical tricorder.

"Where?" Sisko asked.

"The Cardassian's shop," she answered. "It's not him, though."

Bashir caught a bit of disappointment in her voice and felt disgust. To continue to harbor such hatred. . . . Then he felt ashamed. Did he have the same hatred inside himself?

They all three ran toward the shop together. There was a crowd of Bajoran civilians outside the shop. Garak was there, too. Security officers stood beside him. Bashir hoped they didn't suspect him. Spy or no spy, Garak wouldn't kill someone. It would be too obvious. But as they got closer, he could see that the security officers were protecting Garak as they took his statement. It must be, Bashir assumed, a Bajoran.

Odo was waiting inside the shop, standing next to the body of a young Bajoran male. He lay face down on the floor, one hand outstretched, his face frozen in shock and pain. The ribbed handle of a knife protruded from the boy's neck. The other arm was twisted on his back. One leg lay at peculiar angle. There had obviously been a struggle.

Bashir knelt and began to examine the victim, but he listened to Odo and the commander behind him. "We found a bomb behind the counter. It hadn't been armed," Odo was saying. "This note was beside the body."

"It's Bajoran?" Sisko asked.

"Yes." Odo took the paper back from the commander. "'Radical,'" he read, "'We'll not allow you to succeed in ruining our future.'"

"So you think Bajorans did this?" Sisko was surprised.

"Only if they killed the Gidari crewman," Bashir interrupted. "This is just like the knife I saw last night with the Gidari."

"You're sure?"

Bashir looked up at his commander and nodded. "My guess is it's the same knife that killed the Ferengi. If Bajorans killed him," he suggested, "then it would've had to have been the radicals. But," he indicated the man on the floor, "why would they kill one of their own?" He stood.

"So we're back where we started," Sisko concluded with disappointment. "Who killed the Ferengi?"

"We may have something more now," Bashir stated, turning the victim's head.

"In what way?" Odo asked, skeptically. Bashir thought Odo always seemed skeptical of him.

"I don't think the knife killed him," Bashir explained, pointing to the boy's right cheekbone. A trickle of blood had dried on his cheek. The cut that produced it was barely even noticeable. "This cut was made from something else. It wouldn't reach, and it wouldn't have made so clean a cut. The blade of the knife is only five inches long. There's damage to the brain reaching as far as nine inches. But also there was a struggle. Hopefully then, the murderer left something behind besides that note."

"Ops to Sisko." It was O'Brien's voice.

"Sisko, here. Am I supposed to take this as a sign that you've restored internal communications?"

"Yes, sir. And the security array as well. We've got some ideas on our Bajoran friends."

"I'm on my way, Chief," the commander said. "Sisko out." He addressed the security chief. "Finish up here, and then meet me in Ops." He turned toward the door, but stopped. "Doctor, you'll keep me informed on this?"

"Of course," Bashir answered and then called for a stretcher as Sisko left the shop.

When Bashir reached the Infirmary, he was met by the familiar glow of blue and beige lights on black consoles. Irregular geometric shapes filled the display screens as technicians ran test scans and diagnostics. The medical computers were back up.

Dax took a deep breath as she waited for the Gidari captain to answer the communication. She knew Benjamin Sisko well from her previous host, Curzon Dax. She knew the tension he was under, even if few others would recognize the set of his jaw and the stern focus of his eyes. The Gidari were still basically an unknown. They saw to that, and it worked to their advantage. It was very intimidating.

The captain of the Gindarin appeared on the main viewscreen in front of a black background. His gray hood covered his head down past his chin, and Dax wondered how they could possibly see under those things. He didn't speak.

"Captain," Sisko began, and Dax's stomach tightened just a little. She was working on the computer, trying to get the science station back on line. But she listened to the conversation. "There was a murder here last night," Sisko was saying, "and by the evidence, we believe that Gidari carried it out." His voice was strong and even.

"What murder? Why would we murder anyone?" The Gidari captain's voice matched Sisko's evenness, but was gentler, calmer, unusual for someone denying a murder charge.

"Because one of your men was murdered on this station. One of our crewmen was poisoned with a compound containing Gidari genetic material. No one else would have access to that."

Captain Nardek said nothing for a few seconds. "Your doctor turned over all records from Harglin Nastrof. Or so he said. How then could you identify any genetic material as Gidari?"

"That is irrelevant. You or members of your crew are being accused of murder. That is relevant. But I'll tell you anyway." Sisko's manner suggested that it made no difference how they'd identified the material. "Ensign Tsingras, the officer who discovered your crewman's body, had some residue from Mr. Nastrof on his uniform. He had orders to destroy the uniform, but they were not carried out due to malfunctioning equipment."

There was no reply from Nardek, and Dax looked up to see a blank viewscreen. A few moments later it was replaced by a slimmer Gidari in a red cloak and hood. "Ensign Tsingras fulfilled our most sacred ritual of Nin-Rhek." The voice was distinctly higher in pitch. It was a woman. "The matter is over."

"The matter is not over," Sisko retorted. "An innocent man has been killed. . . ."

"I will not speak to you!" The woman's voice rose in intensity while lowering in pitch. "I am the Keeper of Rhek, the Protector of Life itself. I do not answer to you." The screen went blank again.