But now, she was connected by remote to the central computer itself. Her computer was recognized as just another terminal on the station. But her security access was never questioned, and her actions were never disclosed on any other terminal or record. She could, if she chose, cut off life-support to the whole station or shut down the antimatter- containment field generators on the fusion reactors and blow up the station completely. But she wasn't about to do that. That would cost Bajoran lives.

However, she did have other activities in mind. But she was distracted by a message on the screen. It informed her that someone had just requested the computer to record the interrogation of Targo Hern who had been placed under custody twenty minutes before. This initiated quite a different program than anyone in Security had in mind. Inara felt a cold satisfaction along with a pang of remorse. What if Targo was innocent? A signal sounded from the front room. Someone was at the door. She set the computer to record and slipped it back beneath the bed before answering the door.

A middle-aged Bajoran man stood waiting there. "I believe we had plans for dinner," he said.

Inara had never seen him before. "Please," she said, "come in." She was wary, now that Liian had been killed and Security had caught Targo.

"The Elders send their greetings. They comfort you in your loss," he recited.

So he's Liian's replacement, she thought. "Who are the Elders?" she asked as innocently as she could muster.

"Targo Dain sends her encouragement." He stood at attention.

Good enough. "What's your name?"

"Stirad Vind."

"What's your real name?" she smirked.

"Theel."

"Well, Theel, one last question. Who are you replacing?"

"Byela--or rather, Fin--Liian."

"Well, we'll need another replacement soon enough. Targo Hern's been arrested. Come with me." She led him into the bedroom and produced the computer from under the bed. She pressed a few controls, and her screen changed to show her a view of Targo in a cell being questioned by the woman that had come to inform her of Liian's death. Major Kira Nerys. A member of the resistance once. Now a collaborator with the godless Federation.

"You do know what will happen to him, don't you?" Inara asked coldly. She turned to look at her new colleague. His face was pale, his eyes wide. He didn't answer, but he swallowed hard. Good, she thought, he should know the risks.

Inara pressed another panel and voices began to emit from the computer's speaker. Targo was speaking. "I don't know why you're keeping me here. I've done nothing wrong. You have no right to arrest me." His words complained but his voice showed no sign of concern. He was calm. He knew the risks as well.

"You haven't been arrested," Major Kira corrected. "You've been detained for questioning. We're concerned about the murders that have been perpetrated on this station in the last two days."

Inara allowed a slight smile to cross her face, knowing that Theel wasn't watching. She had been keeping close tabs on the murder investigation, and she knew that Targo was a suspect.

"I don't know anything about the murders," he asserted.

"Oh, come now, Mr. Figin. Everyone on this station knows about the murders by now. The Gidari was first," she said. "Perhaps you can help me. Who was second?"

"The Ferengi. But my knowing doesn't mean that I have anything to do with them."

"Third?"

"An ensign. The Gidari killed him. Why don't you ask them about the murders?"

"Fourth."

"A Bajoran boy. He was in the Cardassian's shop. Why isn't the Cardassian being detained for 'questioning'?"

"The Bajoran boy was killed with a laser scalpel." Kira's tone was confident. Inara could not see her face, but she could hear the energy in her voice.

Targo said nothing. His face revealed nothing. Did you do it? Inara thought to him. She looked at the chronometer at the top right-hand corner of the screen. Nine minutes. Targo was checking the time, too.

"You were educated at the Miris School of Medicine, weren't you? When did you graduate?"

He didn't, Inara thought.

"I didn't," Targo answered. "I never graduated."

"It's funny that your name doesn't appear in any of the books as having ever been a student there," Kira countered.

"I wouldn't know why not." Targo spoke slowly, stalling for time. Six minutes. He sat down on the bed near the far wall of the cell.

"I do," Kira said. "Your name is not Figin Hern."

Targo said nothing. Five minutes.

"Why did you lie when you registered for residence on this station?" Kira asked.

Targo remained silent.

"Your name is Targo Hern," Kira stated confidently.

"It is."

"That's better." Kira nodded and took a step closer, crossing her arms across her chest. "Why did you lie?" she demanded.

Targo was silent. He braced his arm on the bed to hold himself upright. His face showed no guilt, no fear, only conviction. He took a deep breath. Four. Did you do it? Inara's thoughts urged. Come on, tell her. It won't matter now.

"I could understand you're killing a Gidari and a Ferengi," Kira charged, "but not a Bajoran. Why kill the Bajoran?"

"I didn't kill anyone, Major. And if you think I did, you should charge me properly." Three minutes. Targo's head nodded forward, and he pulled it back up quickly.

Too late, though. Kira had noticed. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," Targo answered, and smiled.

Kira raised a panel from the table in the middle of the room and pressed a colored light. She looked back to the door of the cell. Nothing. "Computer, open cell number four."

"Unable to comply," the computer answered.

"Override," she snapped frantically.

"Unable to comply."

Two minutes. Inara screamed at him silently. Did you do it?!

"Ops, transport the prisoner in cell number four to the Infirmary."

A woman's voice answered, and Inara mouthed the words along with her. "The transporter isn't functioning."

"Medical emergency in Security!"

A man's voice, "Bashir. I'm on my way."

One minute. Tell her! Targo slumped over on the bed.

"To the Prophet's, Major," Targo breathed. He closed his eyes.

A new message appeared on Inara's monitor, cancelling out the picture from Security. "Initial phase, complete. Beginning filtration." Inara thumped her fist down on the bed.

"Like I said," Inara turned to Theel, "we'll need another replacement."

Julian took a bite of his food and thought about what Grant had said. He couldn't sleep at night. It tortured him. He wanted forgiveness. Julian was still angry. How many nights had he stayed awake wondering where his father was, or why he'd left him? It had tortured him to see other sons with their loving fathers.

Forgiveness. He didn't know if that was possible even if Grant did tell Elizabeth and George. Grant had done too much. Twenty years ago he could have forgiven him. But not now. He'd missed so much. George had a family. So Julian was an uncle. But he'd never see his nieces or nephews. So that was something else Grant had taken away.

Julian felt alone, and not just because Kira and O'Brien had left the table. "Medical Emergency in Security!" Kira's voice came over the comm line.

Julian slapped his comm badge. "Bashir. I'm on my way." He stood up, abandoning his lunch, and ran down the corridor toward Security. He hit his comm badge again as he ran, "Bashir to Infirmary."

But there was no answer. Damn, he thought and changed his course. It would do no good to arrive at an emergency without any medical equipment. Nurse Reyna was on duty and should have answered his call. She could have met him with his med-kit.

He tried the communicator again, but he couldn't speak. His stomach lurched as he felt the floor give way beneath his feet. He caught a vague glimpse of fearful stares from the people on the Promenade, and then a bright blue light filled his eyes. It all happened so quickly that he didn't have time even to ponder what had happened. When the blue light faded he was standing in a dark room. A figure in a red cloak approached from the shadows of one corner, and a near-blinding light appeared above his head.

"Kira to Bashir!" the major barked. But there was no answer. "Kira to Medical." Nothing.

"Computer," Odo said impatiently, "locate Doctor Bashir."

"Doctor Bashir is not on the station."

Kira and Odo both looked at each other. "Then where is he?" Kira asked. "And what about the others in the Infirmary?"

"I'll find out," Odo said and turned to walk out the door. He waved to the officer standing there to follow him as he went. Behind him, Kira was calling Ops.

"He answered my call not two minutes ago, but now he doesn't answer."

"Could the Bajorans be interfering with communications?" Sisko asked.

"He's not even on the station, unless they've messed with that, too."

A third voice interrupted their conversation. "This is Odo. The Infirmary is empty."

The red cloak walked toward him, and Dr. Bashir recognized the figure. It was the priestess. "I am the Keeper of Rhek," she said in a low, husky voice, "the Protector of Life. You have that which does not belong to you."

Julian thought for a moment and stood up straighter. He would not show her any fear. The Gidari believed in strength, and that's what he had to project. It didn't help that he kept thinking about what the Gidari had done to Tsingras. "And you have something that doesn't belong to you," he said, hoping that he was right and praying that he was wrong. "Where's my nurse?"

"You may not speak to me in that tone!" the Gidari woman shouted. "I am the Protector of Life of this, the Gindarin! And you have what does not belong to you!"

"And I'm the protector of life on Deep Space Nine!" Bashir shouted back. Adrenaline followed the outburst as he convinced himself of the anger in his voice. "Where's my nurse?"

The woman said nothing, but she raised a gloved hand from the sleeve of her cloak. From the corner where she pointed two other red-cloaked figures stepped out, holding Nurse Reyna between them. Her eyes begged him to rescue her. She bit her bottom lip and dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. She was terrified. She made no sound, and something dark was attached to her neck.

"What have you done to her?" Bashir demanded. "She has nothing to do with any of this."

"We have done nothing to her," the woman said calmly.

Bashir forced his own voice to sound calm as well. "Like you 'did nothing' to Ensign Tsingras? I don't have what you want. It was destroyed."

"You had Gidari genetic material in your possession," the priestess countered.

"I did," Bashir maintained. "And it was supposed to be destroyed after we found Harglin Nastrof, but the disposal wasn't working. It was only after you murdered Ensign Tsingras that I realized we still had genetic material."

"We did not murder Ensign Justin Tsingras," the woman denied. "He fulfilled our most sacred ritual of Nin-Rhek."

"So I've heard." Bashir crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"Where is the material?" the priestess pressed.

"It has been destroyed," Bashir answered. He would not give in to her. That's what she wanted. He tried not to think what they might do to get him to give in.

"You are lying!" she bellowed. "You are keeping it from us in order to gain information that you are not welcome to."

"I've already gained that information. And we became welcome to it when you destroyed the life of our crewman which you were not welcome to."

"We are the Gidari!" the woman roared.

"I don't care who you are," Bashir returned. "You can not just beam onto our station and kill our crew members under guise of a ritual. And you cannot abduct innocent people, either."

"Ensign Tsingras was necessary." She turned away from him. "He was the first person to see Harglin's body. . . ."

She had become frustrated, or she wouldn't have bothered to explain herself. He was getting to her. "No, he wasn't," Bashir contended.

The priestess swung around quickly, so quickly that Bashir caught a glimpse of her blue face and silvery hair beneath the edge of her hood. "Then you!" she hissed.

"Wrong again," Bashir said, allowing a bit of sarcasm to escape him.

"Who?!"

"The one who murdered him, I would think. So you see, you murdered," and he emphasized the word, "an innocent person."

She turned away again. "I want the material!"

"You can't have it," Bashir held. "I don't have it. Our disposals malfunctioned after our computer systems were tampered with. When they were repaired, the material and the uniform on which we found it was destroyed, and happily so. Because, to be quite honest, it stank." He had let his tone grow smug, but it carried force when he spoke again. "Now release my nurse."

Reyna was nearly crouching as she tried to pull away from her captors in a panic. She was crying, and silently mouthing the word "please" over and over again. The two Gidari held her tightly by the wrists, which kept her from crumpling onto the floor. Bashir could hear her fast breathing and worried that she would hyperventilate.

The priestess did not turn back around, and she made no move to order her attendants to release the nurse.

"If you don't believe me about the material, why don't you look for it yourself?" Bashir suggested. "If you have the technology to transport us here, certainly you have the technology to scan for Gidari genetic material on the station. I promise you can have whatever you find."

The woman turned, and Bashir heard a door open and close behind him. "We shall see," she said. "Release her."

The attendants let go of the nurse and she fell to the floor. Bashir stepped toward her, but the two attendants moved to block his path. They held energy weapons in their hands. Two small red dots on his chest proved the accuracy of their aim. Bashir stopped. Behind the two, Bashir could hear Nurse Reyna's uncontrolled breathing. She was hyperventilating.

The priestess was watching him, and he shot her an angry look. She was the liar. They had to have done something to Reyna. She had been a strong young woman, full of fire and determination. But now she was utterly broken. Her arms shook as they braced her against falling completely to the floor.

The door opened again allowing blue light to filter for a second into the dark room. When it closed, only the white circle of light was left to illuminate the six figures in the room. But Bashir wondered if there weren't still more Gidari hiding in the corners, which were still shadowed in darkness. The priestess moved quickly past the two attendants and reached for Reyna's neck. Bashir took another step forward, forgetting the weapons in concern for his nurse.

Another flash of blue light filled Bashir's eyes, and he again felt the sensation that there was no floor beneath his feet. When the light faded he stood in the Infirmary. Nurse Reyna fell to the floor clutching her throat only a few meters away. Blood dripped slowly from beneath her fingers, and her breath gurgled as the blood entered her throat. He ran to her and began to pick her up in his arms. Her whole body was shaking, convulsing, and she tried to push him away.

Julian knelt beside her and wrapped his arms tightly around her, using one hand to cover her wound. He stroked her hair and spoke to her softly. "It's over now. It's alright."

The door opened, allowing Commander Sisko and Odo to enter. Sisko's face was questioning, while Odo's carried no such sign of humanoid emotions. Reyna, who had begun to calm down, saw them and tried again to push away. The commander came closer, and she pushed back again and tried to crawl away.

"Back away!" Julian ordered. He'd apologize later. "Call another nurse."

Sisko obediently backed away and did what he was told. Reyna stopped fighting and instead pulled herself toward Bashir. They were kneeling beside a cabinet, so with one hand, Bashir opened it and withdrew a hypospray. He prepared a sedative and placed it to Reyna's shoulder. After waiting a few seconds for the sedative to begin taking affect, Bashir dragged her up to her feet, still talking to her gently.

He dropped the hypospray to the floor and lifted her up in his arms. She sobbed voicelessly still and held onto him, burying her face against his neck. He carried her to a biobed and laid her down, but she would not release her hold. "Shh," he said, stroking her hair and the side of her face. "It's all over now. Everything will be alright. Shhh."

Julian scanned the readouts on the biobed as he held her. She'd been drugged. The dark object he'd seen on her neck had punctured her trachea and larynx, lacerating her vocal cords. He listened as her breathing became more shallow and even, though the blood still gurgled in her throat. When she was asleep, he gently laid her head down on the pillow. He kept one hand on her neck and reached with the other for a dermal regenerator.

"What happened?" Sisko asked, apparently forgetting that he'd been yelled at by an inferior officer.

"The Gidari," Bashir answered, "They wanted the genetic material." Then he added angrily, "She didn't know anything about it."

Sisko sat down in a chair. "Will she be alright?" Behind him, the door opened and Nurse Jabara entered. She assessed the situation quickly and moved to assist the doctor.

"I don't know." Bashir was being honest. The computer could find no match for the chemical in her system. It could only describe the effects, the most obvious effect being an increased sensation of pain. Bashir just prayed that the sedative he'd given her didn't cause an adverse reaction and cause her condition to deteriorate.

But he was even more concerned at the fact that the dermal regenerator was having no effect on Reyna's wounds. Though she was still bleeding, it was fortunate that the device had not severed any major arteries. "Jabara," he said without looking at the other nurse, "in the lower drawer of that cabinet is a small, white medical kit. Get it, please." He pointed quickly to one of the biobeds on the far wall.

"Yes, Doctor," Jabara replied. She returned seconds later with the kit. Without Bashir's having to say a word, she took over holding the bandage to Reyna's neck, leaving him free to use the kit.

Bashir opened it and, using a surgical clamp, he pulled out a curved needle with a length of surgical thread. He thanked his mother silently for her love of history. It apparently had left a mark on him, and he had studied the history of medical practice for his own interests while in medical school. For centuries, suturing with needle and thread had been used to stop bleeding and close wounds.

Nurse Jabara seemed undaunted by this rather primitive approach, and Bashir assumed that she must have seen or even used such practices during the occupation when more advanced technology was perhaps not available. She assisted him skillfully and covered Reyna's neck with a clean bandage after he had tied off the last stitch.

At this time Reyna's pulse was strong. She was not yet in danger of dying, but, with the unknown drug, he had no way to be sure. The drug was not concentrated in her blood, which complicated things. If it had been in the blood, he could have just filtered it out or given her a transfusion. But the drug had been distributed throughout her body at the cellular level. They would just have to wait it out.

The device attached to her trachea had not hampered her breathing. Her wounds were identical to the ones found on Tsingras's body. It was a bit like a tracheotomy, Bashir decided, but one that would keep the victim quiet. Without vocal cords, no one could hear you scream.

Sisko had waited until it appeared Bashir was finished with the nurse. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Bashir sighed. There was nothing else he could do at this point for Nurse Reyna. He turned toward the commander, leaning against the side of the bed. His hands were sticky with the nurse's blood. It also adorned his uniform where she had clung to him. "Yes," he answered, "but I can't say I wasn't frightened. I finally convinced them to scan the station for material. I guess they were satisfied, because we're here now. What was the emergency? Another murder?"

"Yes and no," Sisko said, sitting down. "Kira was interrogating a suspected terrorist, and he died."

Bashir was just a little shocked. Just how was Kira interrogating him? he wondered, but then pushed the thought away. Kira wasn't like that. "How did that happen?" he asked.

"That's what we wanted you for," Odo said in a manner that told Bashir he should have already known the answer.

"Everything locked up," Sisko explained. "We couldn't even beam him out of the cell. I think we can rule out suicide. Someone didn't want him to talk."

A voice on the communications system interrupted them. "Ops to Sisko."

"Sisko," the commander answered.

"The transporter is back online."

"Transport him here," Bashir sighed, "and let's have a look."

Dr. Alexander Grant had not returned to the laboratory when he had returned to the Ranger. He went straight to his quarters and locked the door behind him. His stomach ached from hunger, but he did not eat. The conversation he'd had with Bashir played over and over again in his head. Every word of it stung.

He had known, somewhere in his head, that Julian would not embrace him when he came. But still, the hope had over-powered reason. He had hoped to start again, to put his memories to rest, to be a part of his son's life. He knew now that that was not possible. Julian had named his price, in a way, knowing that it was something Grant could never do. Grant must tell his family the truth. To gain the life he'd missed with one, he'd have to risk the life he'd shared with all of the others.

In his mind he played the scenarios. "What are you saying?" George would say. "Julian never died? You lied? Why? What could make you do that?"

"I couldn't think after your mother died," Grant would say in return, using the same arguments he'd used with Bashir. "You were so young then. You can't remember what it was like."

"I remember." The shock of it began to sink in. The pain returned. "I remember Mum running back into the house and you yelling after her to stop. I remember she threw him out the window and you, you screamed at him, shaking him like a rag doll."

"I never knew my mother," Elizabeth said. Grant did not remember her entering this scene. She was just there. "And I never knew my brother. All those years, you lied to me. All those years when he was my imaginary friend." Her anger began to flare. "All those years when I wrote him letters and left them at his grave! Where was he all those years?"

"I don't know," Grant stammered. "I don't know. At hospital, then at school. He was at school all those years."

"Then who's in his grave?"

"No one," Grant said, trying to make his position better. "It's empty."

"You let me write letters to an empty grave, knowing that he was alive somewhere else?"

"I remember," George joined in, "you never cried. Even at the funeral. You cried at Mum's."

"How could you rob me of my brother?" Elizabeth raged. "How could you look at us and lie like that?"

"I don't know!" Grant cried. "I just did. It just happened around me. I couldn't tell you the truth. You'd hate me."

"Our whole lives from that day," Elizabeth charged, "have been based on a lie! All the pain we felt was a lie! Everything you did was a lie!"

"You made me lie!" George added. "You've made me do the same to my children. How can I tell them they have an uncle now? They don't know anything about him."

"You wouldn't let us talk about him," Elizabeth had grown calm again, thinking back. "You said it was too hard for you to remember him. We obeyed to save you from pain. I had to go to Grandma to ask about him. I didn't want to hurt you."

"I'm sorry!" Grant wailed. "I'm sorry! I can't take it back! I can't change it now! Please, forgive me. Please!"

"Forgive you?!" George asked. "How? How can we possibly forgive you?"

"Family is a part of you." Elizabeth always was a bit philosophical. "It changes the way you grow. You took away a part of us. I've been missing that part of me from before I can remember. But," her voice raised in pitch and intensity, "it would have hurt you to speak of it? You robbed me of me."

"Please, I loved you so much," Grant pleaded on his knees. "I poured everything into my life with you. I gave you everything you could need."

"You didn't give me my brother." Elizabeth's voice was even and cold. Her eyes were red, filled with loathing and hatred.

George's were filled with anger. "I can't deal with this." His arms waved hysterically. "I want nothing more to do with you. You are not welcome in my home. My children will not be allowed to speak of you." He turned his back and walked away.

Grant turned to his daughter, his baby. "Elizabeth." Tears streamed from his eyes. "Please."

"Where can I find him?" she asked quietly.

Hope again filled Grant's heart. She would forgive him. "In Starfleet. On Deep Space Nine."

"You're not my father." Her eyes were stone, staring at him from a stranger's face. "I don't know you."

"No, please!" Grant wailed, doubling over until his face rested on the floor. "Please no!"

Odo had returned to the security office and his investigations, but Dr. Bashir remained in the Infirmary, still trying to determine how Targo Hern had died. He had washed his hands, but he was still wearing the same uniform with the nurse's blood. Bashir was perplexed. What he did know was that Targo had not committed suicide. Targo had been asphixiated. Targo had absorbed an enzyme identified as hematoglobulinhibitase into his circulatory system, inhihiting the hemoglobin in his blood from carrying oxygen. That the enzyme had been absorbed through the skin was more worrying. There were traces of dimethylsulfoxide, DMSO, the solvent which carried the enzyme. What Dr. Bashir didn't know was how it had been done. The cells in Security were not generally airtight.

"What about emergencies?" Sisko asked after Bashir had reported his findings. "Could the cells be sealed off?"

"Yes," the doctor answered. "In emergencies and in cases where a prisoner requires a different atmosphere, but I would have had to authorize it."

"Major" Sisko said, "I think the Bajorans have been in our computer again. Have Chief O'Brien check out cell number four."

Kira had said nothing. She had followed the arrival of the body of the prisoner into the Infirmary. Julian thought she looked anxious. She nodded and walked out the door. Sisko left too, and Bashir turned his attention back to his nurse, who was also now his patient. Nurse Reyna was still sleeping, and her vital signs were good. Her breathing was regular and her pulse strong. The levels of the drug in her system had dropped by ten percent.

"She's doing better, Doctor," Jabara said. She'd been watching her co-worker carefully from the moment she'd entered the Infirmary when Sisko called for her.

"Yes," Bashir agreed. "I think she'll be fine. We'll try to repair her vocal cords when the effects of the drug wear off. See if you can find a copy of her voice. We want it to match."

"Yes, Doctor." Jabara left to sit at the computer.

But Bashir stayed. He watched Reyna as she slept. Thanks to the sedative, she slept soundly and peacefully. Except for the bandage on her neck, one would not know that she was not well from looking at her. But Bashir did know.

He also knew that the nurses signed up for duty with the provisional government having the same knowledge of risk that he'd had when he signed up with Starfleet. They accepted that risk when they accepted their assignment to the station. But Julian still felt responsible. That, he'd decided, was the risk of being an officer. You felt responsible for protecting those who served under you. And he felt he'd failed, even though, rationally, he knew he couldn't have prevented it.

Kira stood back and watched as Chief O'Brien set about taking apart the ventilation system in cell number four. A diagnostic scan by the computer had testified that everything was working as it should, but that didn't answer the question of how Targo Hern was killed. She leaned back on the table, crossing her arms and legs. "Is there anything wrong with the ventilation?" she asked.

"I haven't really had time to figure that out yet, Major," O'Brien called back over his shoulder. Then he stopped, jumped down from the ladder he was standing on and faced Kira. "But I think we're going about this all the wrong way. If he was a terrorist--and I think he was--the others wouldn't want him to slip up and leak any information. Think about it. The doors wouldn't open. The transporter went conveniently offline."

"So you think it's the computer," Kira concluded. "Then it should be tagged, right?"

"Should be," O'Brien confirmed with a glint in his eye. "Let's find out." He stepped out of the cell and sat down at the table. He pressed a pad and a computer viewscreen raised from the surface of the table and activated.

Kira leaned over O'Brien's shoulder, bracing one arm on the table beside him. She watched carefully the displays he pulled up. She hoped that they'd finally have somewhere to go in this investigation. The Bajorans had already attempted to set off two bombs. One had been successful. Their pattern over the last two nights was to strike late at night, and each night they had stepped up their activities. What had begun as petty vandalism had become a serious threat. And so far, their only two suspects had ended up dead.

"The computer acknowledges the presence of DMSO and hematoglobulininhibitase," O'Brien said, pointing to the data on the screen. "It was in a mist. But it does not acknowledge an order from the Chief Medical Officer to change the interior atmosphere of cell number four."

"But that's impossible," Kira said, though she believed it. "Someone had to override--"

"But according to the computer," O'Brien didn't bother to let her finish, "no one did." He looked up at her and the glint was gone from his eyes. Worry appeared there instead. "Let's check that tag," he suggested.

Kira nodded, and the chief addressed the computer. "Computer, who ordered a change in atmosphere in cell number four?"

"Working," the computer answered.

"That should have been an easy question," O'Brien commented.

"There was no order to change the atmosphere in cell number four."

O'Brien sighed. "Computer, run program 'O'Brien's Tag' for the last two hours."

"Working."

"If someone tapped into the computer in that time, we should know about it," O'Brien told Kira. "This should be easier actually. It would have been worse if they had taken the whole computer offline again."

Kira studied O'Brien's face as he stared at the displays that were still on the viewscreen. He didn't appear as confident as he sounded. Kira didn't feel very confident either. Something inside her told her they were worse off now.

"No external devices were used in that time period," the computer pronounced.

O'Brien leaned back in the chair without taking his eyes off the display. "They were in the computer," he said, "I'm sure of it. But if they didn't use externals, they're in there deep."

"And they have control of our computer," Kira finished for him. She sat down beside him. Neither one spoke for a few minutes. It was an alarming thought. Life on the station depended on the central computer. It controlled everything from the fusion reactors to the gravity that kept their feet on the floor and the replicators that gave them food to eat.

O'Brien seemed to know what she was thinking. "They probably even know about the tag program."

Evening came without further incident. But none were expected, until later. Commander Benjamin Sisko was informed of the Bajorans' possible hold on the computer and knew that his people were doing their best to find the terrorists and end their threat. But the anxiety remained just the same. He not only thought of his crew, who accepted the risk of danger when they signed on, but also his son, who had no real say in the decision to come to this station.

If O'Brien was right, the whole station was at the will of the terrorists. Sisko ran all the scenarios in his mind. The Bajorans could shut down life support and kill everyone on board the station. Or they could take the anti-matter containment field offline and kill everyone on board the station. More likely, they could release the mooring clamps of a docked ship and fire the station's phasers at it before it had time to react. This could not only kill members of the vessel's crew, but perhaps spark a war. The Gidari would be a prime target.

Sisko tried to comfort himself in the knowledge that the terrorists did not appear stupid. They would most likely be wary of destroying Bajoran lives, and hopefully they would know that Bajor was not ready for a war with anyone, let alone the Gidari. So he had told Jake to stay in their quarters until he returned for dinner. Sisko, himself, headed for the Ranger.

He'd been concerned about Dr. Grant since he'd collapsed at dinner, but he'd had little time to see how he was. He didn't want to simply call. It seemed too impersonal. The security officers were waiting alertly beside the airlock doors, but Sisko was immediately allowed on board. He was glad for the calm pastel brightness of the Ranger's corridors. They relaxed him. He felt as if he dropped a measure of anxiety just walking through the airlock door.

Grant's quarters were easy to find now. Sisko tapped the panel by the door and waited for the doctor to answer. There was no immediate answer, and he decided that Grant must be resting. Or perhaps he was not in at all. He turned to go, chiding himself for a wasted trip when so much was at risk on his station. But as he turned the door slid aside and Dr. Grant, looking a bit disheveled, stood in the doorway. He was surprised by Sisko's presence.

Grant did not move to greet him, so Sisko took it upon himself to start the conversation. "Hello, Alex. I wanted to see how you were doing. I hope you are feeling better."

Grant looked at him for a moment as if he was speaking another language. Then he responded, "Yes, I'm feeling much better. I was just sleeping." He straightened up, and, as if he was shocked at forgetting his manners, he invited Sisko in.

Grant's modest quarters were tidy and bright. The table from dinner the night before still stood at the side of the room with its eight chairs. But the dishes and food had been removed. Only a pitcher of water remained. Grant led him to the couch, and Sisko sat down.

"Can I get you something to drink, Commander?" Grant asked. Sisko was just about to correct him when he apologized. "I'm sorry. Benjamin?" He was smiling now, and he resembled much more the Dr. Grant that Sisko had met at Quark's two days before.

"No, thank you," Sisko said. "And I'm afraid I can't stay long. I'm quite busy on the station, and I've got to be home for dinner."

"I understand, what with all that's happening there." Grant sat down in the gray chair and smoothed down his hair with his hands. "Have you made any headway?"

"Not much, I'm afraid." Sisko felt bad for being vague. He knew that Grant was a suspect in the murders, but he still didn't believe it. Grant would not throw away his career and reputation. "But really, how are you? You worried us at dinner."

"Oh, well." Grant said. He leaned back in the chair and waved a hand to dismiss any anxiety. "It was just a momentary lapse I assure you. I had had some trouble sleeping the night before and took something to help. Unfortunately, I had an allergic reaction. But Doctor Maylon was quite competent, and I haven't had any problems today."

"I'm glad to hear it." Sisko smiled and began to rise. "I'm afraid I must be going. But perhaps you can join Jake and I for dinner tomorrow evening."

Grant rose, too, and they both walked toward the door, which obediently opened in front of them. "If you're not too busy, that would be a fine idea. Do call me and let me know. I don't want to keep you from your work."

"Fine," Sisko said, extending his hand. Grant shook it firmly. "Have a good evening, Alex."

"And you."

Bashir stood in the doorway to Quark's trying to decide if he was really going to go in. He stifled a yawn and looked around the front room as he debated whether or not he felt like eating. In truth, he really didn't, but he knew he should. He'd hardly eaten at all in the last two days. But he just had too much on his mind.

"Doctor!" Quark smiled, waving his hand with a flair as he walked toward where Bashir was standing. "What an honor it is for us that you've come to patronize our modest establishment."

Bashir crossed his arms and looked down at the Ferengi, eyebrows raised. "You're not honored, and I'm not patronizing," he said, making up his mind. "I'm looking for someone. Has Lieutenant Dax been in this evening?"

Quark feigned an expression of deep disappointment, but then answered more seriously. "No. Is it a little cold to you?" And since Bashir was not to be a customer, he didn't wait for an answer. He swiftly turned his back on the doctor and walked away.

Bashir, for his part, turned away too, toward the Promenade. Now that Quark had mentioned it, he realized he did feel a bit colder. But he shrugged it away with little thought. The crowds on the Promenade were beginning to thin now as "night" was falling. But many were diehard Promenade customers and would not be frightened back to their quarters. Security officers were stationed conspicuously around the corridor. Bashir tapped his comm badge. "Computer, locate Lieutenant Jadzia Dax."

"Lieutenant Dax is in the science lab."

"Thank you," Bashir added, just to be polite. He started off for the lab. As he passed the Klingon restaurant a familiar face caught his eye. Maylon saw him too and waved him over. Bashir grimaced inwardly but sighed and managed a courteous smile as he walked toward Maylon's table.

Maylon stood and shook Bashir's hand before offering him a chair. "You haven't already had dinner, have you?" he asked. "I remember you like Klingon."

"Yes, I do," Julian said, sitting down, "but I'm afraid I can't stay long. I'm not really hungry, and I have a lot of work to do." Bashir felt a little guilty as he lied to his old roommate. Maylon may have been strange, but he had always been kind toward him. But he was also not the person Julian wanted to talk to just now.

"The murders?" Maylon asked with wide-eyed, child-like curiosity. "Have you got any suspects yet?"

"I'm afraid I can't discuss that with you, Maylon." This was the truth. Indeed, Maylon was a suspect. Bashir was reminded of this as he watched Maylon lift a pinch of gagh to his mouth in his left hand. "We haven't had much chance to talk, have we? Have you been to see your parents yet?"

"I can't ever go back there, Julian." Maylon's jovial expression faded. "They're stuck in the Dark Ages. Ahmossa IV is a joke."

"But I'm sure your family must miss you." He couldn't understand how Maylon could stay away from his family for so long. Maylon had three sisters whom he talked of proudly, but in the three years they'd been roommates, he'd never talked to them. "Have you called them?"

"No, Julian, I haven't called them," Maylon sing-songed, rolling his eyes. "Why the sudden interest in my family anyway? Are you getting homesick way out here and transferring it to me?" Maylon's smile returned.

"No, I've travelled around a lot, so I'm used to it. Besides I talk to my family often enough." Bashir decided to change the subject and didn't bother to volunteer how often that really was. "Are you excited about your first trip to the Gamma Quadrant?"

"Not really," Maylon said, and his smiled melted away again. It was replaced by a melancholy sourness. "No one asked me if I wanted to go there. Not if I wanted to stay in Starfleet anyway. It's so far away from everything. It's spooky. Besides you don't know the Captain."

"I did meet him at dinner last night," Julian stated. "He seemed quite the gentleman. And he was very knowledgeable and enthusiastic."

"Oh, maybe when he's socializing," Maylon smirked. "He's a slave driver. He's Ekosian you know."

"So?" Julian asked casually.

"So?" Maylon seemed shocked that Bashir didn't know. "So they're Nazis."

"Not anymore," Julian tried to reason. "That was a long time ago. The Zeons and Ekosians still may have some problems, but on the whole they've learned to cooperate and help each other."

"I don't know how they can," Maylon said, shaking his head sadly. He leaned back in his chair, placed his fingertips together, and stared at them thoughtfully. "Doctor Pynar's a Zeon. And her brother's the Second Officer. I wonder how they really feel serving under Captain Gerin."

"They're trained Starfleet officers, and they've learned not to hold history against someone," Julian said. He couldn't help feeling like he was lecturing a child. "Captain Gerin isn't even old enough to have been involved in that anyway. How are you getting on with Doctor Pynar?"

"She's nice enough. She's a good doctor, and we get along. She's kind of worried right now," Maylon disclosed, "about the Bajorans, I mean. There doesn't seem to be any way of tracking them or stopping them. She's worried they'll do something to the ship, like mess with life-support or something."

"What about you?" Julian asked. "Are you worried?"

"Not too much," Maylon shrugged. "I don't put too much stock in worrying. It won't do any good. If they do something, I can't stop it. Hopefully Security or Engineering could, but if not. . . ."

"I suppose," Bashir said, amused. "But I think I have an overdeveloped sense of self-preservation."

"A fight-to-the-last-breath sort, huh?" Maylon chuckled. "Well, to each his own. How's that lieutenant of yours, Julian?"

That really caused Bashir to laugh. "Jadzia? She's hardly my lieutenant." He remembered how he'd treated her the night before, and the laughter stopped. She had only wanted to help. "She's a very good friend. I really must be going, Maylon," Julian said as he stood up. "It was good to see you again."

Maylon stood as well. "You, too, Julian. Be careful. This station's a pretty wild place."

"Yes, I suppose it is. Good-night." Julian left the restaurant and headed again for the science lab. The lab wasn't far away, and he hoped that she was still there. He hesitated as he approached the door. But the door opened in front of him, giving him no opportunity to change his mind. Dax was sitting in front of her computer console, and she looked up when he entered. She smiled brightly, but Julian couldn't make himself smile in return.

"I was hoping to see you at dinner," he said before she could even say hello. He was stalling, and that only made him feel worse. "What are you working on?"

Dax motioned for him to sit down and pointed to the computer's display. "I've simulated the Gidari chemicals you found in Ensign Tsingras. I couldn't replicate them. The computer couldn't recognize the components. If I actually had some on hand perhaps. I'm trying to analyze them, but it's proving rather difficult. I need more time, but the computer is kind of unpredictable at this stage. Considering the time, I expect it to go down in about six more hours."

Bashir opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again. He took a deep breath and gave it another try. "Jadzia," he began, "I want to apologize. I treated you horribly last night, and there's no excuse for it."

Dax turned to give him her full attention. "Yes, there is," she said warmly. "You just haven't told me yet."

Julian stood and walked away from her to face the wall. "I know," he confessed. "I don't think I can. It's difficult." He crossed his arms and then uncrossed them nervously. It's just words, he tried to convince himself, nothing to worry about.

Dax said nothing behind him and didn't push. Julian wanted to tell her, but it was just hard to make his voice work. He laced his fingers, stretching the muscles in his hands. He took another deep breath. "It is about Grant," he admitted. "But it's something I have to deal with on my own. I know you only want to help me, but you can't. It still just comes down to me."

"I'm confused," Dax said.

"So am I," Bashir admitted and melted back into the chair. "It's confusing. Grant did know me, and I knew him. Something bad happened then, and I've got to find my own way through it now."

Dax nodded, but her eyebrows were still pulled slightly down over eyes. "Something bad. Is that why you hate him?"

Bashir laughed sardonically. "Yes, and no. It's all so much more complicated than that." He still stretched his fingers nervously until they began to hurt. "Jadzia, I don't mean to push you away,"

"I know, Julian." Dax smiled back at him. "If you can't tell me, I can understand that. But I'm still going to care about you."

"Thank you." There was a silence between them for a moment, but there was no awkwardness. Bashir sat up, and they worked on the chemical analysis together.

Inara pulled on a sweater and powered up her little computer again. With swift fingers she lowered the temperature of the station by another three degrees, just to annoy them. Things were going to step up tonight. The Elders--or rather, Targo Dain and Tig Ferrel, the only Elders left--wished it so. The Federation wasn't listening. So tonight someone would die. Theel would see to that.

And Inara was to see that Theel was able to complete his assignment. She didn't like Theel. He was her age and handsome, but such a yes-man. He had no brain of his own, Inara was sure of that. He could only think what the Elders thought. Inara realized that in part she loathed him because she could see herself in him. She, too, had given everything to what the Elders demanded. She had ceased to think for herself, believing naively that the Elders knew what was best for her and Bajor.

And now she felt differently. She had lost her family to the Cardassians, but her freedom had really been taken by the Elders. They had taken her dreams, her love, her devotion, her talents. They had even taken her cousin, Liian. She had given them all willingly, but now she resented it, longed to have it all back. Theel could not have understood that.

She also realized that she could destroy the Elders relatively easily. With the station's computer, she had more power than they. They were a small group, truth be told. Three Elders, including Targo Kob, and a dozen or so Theels. And Inara could dissolve the whole thing just by entering a few commands. But she didn't. She still believed that Bajor needed to be free. And she still didn't know if the Elders had ordered Liian's death. That was something she needed to know for sure.

Besides, it was a bit of a game. Chief of Operations Miles O'Brien was her main adversary, not the Federation and not Major Kira Nerys. O'Brien was the only one who could possibly stop her, and, so far, she was disappointed in his performance. He was no closer to her than before she'd arrived on the station. But she could see he had potential. He had brought the computer back up before late morning. It was working perfectly--if one could say that about the Cardassian computer--by early afternoon. She was determined to make him work harder this time around.

Bashir was calmer than at any time since the Ranger docked at the station. He yawned and drank down the last of his tea. "Task complete," the computer intoned.

"Look at this, Julian," Dax said, pointing to the computer screen. They had been trying to unlock the secrets of the Gidari chemicals. The computer was fine now, but the secrecy of the Gidari meant that the computer had little to work with. "They're synthetic," she concluded, "I'm sure of that."

"Yes," Julian agreed, "but how did they make them? And how do we counteract them?"

Dax frowned and zipped the neck of her uniform up a little higher. "Those are good questions. What I can tell you is that they can't do much by themselves."

"Let's see." Bashir moved his chair a little closer so that he could see the display better. Dax placed a small vial of bluish liquid under the scanner of her computer and ran a scan. The display showed the molecular structure of the chemical as well as information on its atomic properties. It was a close match to the Gidari chemical recorded by the scan of Nurse Reyna after her abduction.

Dax pressed a few controls and the computer display changed. Now the computer displayed data pertaining to the effects of the chemical on humanoid anatomy.

"It's a truth serum," Bashir realized after studying the information.

"Are you sure?" Dax asked. She pointed to one line of data on the screen. "There'd be heightened activity in the nervous system."

"I know," Bashir said. "This is the one they gave Nurse Reyna. It's apparently quite painful. But it has to have a purpose. Why would they have given it to her? They wanted to know something." He addressed the computer, "Computer, show me the effects of this chemical at time intervals of ten minutes from injection to dissipation."

"Working," the computer droned. The display then split into six horizontal parts. The first showed the effects at injection. It was markedly different from the data suggested by Dax's scan.

"It mutates," Dax said. "Reyna would have been quite relaxed for nearly twenty minutes."

"And cooperative," Bashir added. "She would've been very open to suggestion. But if they wanted her to talk, why did they cut her vocal cords? It's a bit contradictory."

"Maybe they waited until you were coming for that," Dax suggested. "The drug would have mutated by then."

"True. How long will it take to dissipate?" Bashir ran the screen down past the sixth interval. The thirteenth showed a drop in concentration of nearly one percent. It decreased by one percent every ten minutes from then on.

"But she was down to only fifty percent when I left her." Bashir thought for a moment. "She was dropping twice as fast as this after I gave her a sedative. The sedative must have had some immediate effect. But it's slowed down now." He released a sigh, thankful that the sedative hadn't made things worse. "What about the other one?"

Dax replaced the blue vial with one containing a green liquid. The computer screen first displayed the molecular structure with data on its viscosity, weight, and surface tension. This one was thicker and more viscous than the previous fluid. Running the scan in the same way Bashir had on the first one, Dax pulled up a screen showing the effects of the drug at ten minute intervals.

The drug had no serious effect at all. It stayed in the bloodstream, thickening and slowing the blood flow. But it was neither life-threatening nor permanent. Once in contact with hemoglobin, it broke down quickly. By the twenty-eighth interval, four hours after injection, there was no trace of the drug.

But then Dax placed a petri dish under the scanner and poured a bit of each of the fluids into it. The reaction was instantaneous. The combination of the liquids turned black. The computer analyzed the new compound as an acid. And the effects were a significant change. Death was inevitable. A humanoid subject would be dead within ninety minutes. The computer theorized that death could be postponed, but not averted, by nearly five hours, with the addition of various other chemicals, which would alter the compound's structure.

"Tsingras did not go pleasantly." Bashir stared at the computer screen.

"But it's good to know that Reyna will be alright," Dax said.

"Yes, and speaking of Reyna," Bashir remarked, "I must be getting back to check on her."

"It's late. You need to get some sleep," suggested Dax.

"I agree." Bashir stood and stretched his arms behind him. He suppressed the urge to yawn again. "The Gidari woke me up rather early this morning. But I'll check on Reyna first. Actually, I'm going to sleep in the Infirmary. If there is another emergency, and there's a good chance that there will be, I don't want to be stuck in my quarters."

Dax nodded and set the computer to run another test.

"And if I were you," he continued, "I would go home while you can still see the way."

"I will soon," she replied. "And if the lights go out, I'll just stop in the Infirmary and grab an empty biobed."

"You're always welcome. Good night." Bashir walked toward the door. It opened before him, but he stopped before he went through it. "Thank you."

Dax said nothing but smiled. Bashir left. As he walked down the corridor, he thought that he remembered his mother smiling that way.

Dr. Alexander Grant combed his hair, smiled at himself in the mirror, and left his quarters. He walked quickly down the corridor, not seeing the colors of the walls or the people that passed him. He just walked, smiling happily. The turbolift doors opened before him, and he heard his own voice telling the computer where he wanted to go. But he didn't feel the turbolift move. He walked forward when it stopped again and followed the corridors to the airlock.

Two security guards were waiting on the station's side of the airlock. Grant waved as he approached them.

"It's late, Doctor," one cautioned.

But Grant was hardly listening. He walked past, still grinning, and called back over his shoulder, "I'm just going out for a walk." To himself, he thought that it was a rather dark day, and perhaps it was going to rain. He took a deep breath as he walked. He always loved the way the air smelled before a rain, like it was waiting for something.