"I just checked on her five minutes ago, Doctor," the nurse answered, looking up. "She was still asleep. The concentration of the drug is now down to twenty-seven percent."

Bashir nodded. "Very good. She should be free of it by morning." Then he added, "I have a feeling the computer will go down again tonight. I'll be staying here, just in case, but I've got to get some sleep. I'm going to check on Nurse Reyna, but I'll need you to check on her through the night."

"Of course." Ilona nodded as Bashir turned away toward where Reyna was sleeping.

As he approached her, Reyna began to stir. Bashir stood quietly and waited for her to wake up. Her eyes fluttered and then opened. She grimaced as she took in a deep breath. Her eyes were fearful until she saw the doctor and began to recognize the familiar surroundings. She even managed a weak smile.

"Easy," Bashir said, lifting her arm in his left hand. "Don't try to talk or move around too much." He held up his right fist with his fingers facing her. "I'm going to teach you a little sign language," he said. "This is yes." He nodded his fist up and down like one would nod his head in agreement. "And this is no." His first two fingers and thumb unfolded from the fist and snapped once together at their tips. "Do you feel better?" he asked.

He was holding her arm at the wrist, raising it off the bed. Her hand formed a fist and nodded.

"Good." Bashir smiled. "Glad to hear it. Pain?"

Her hand nodded again.

"Sorry to hear it. But you should feel much better in the morning. Then we'll work on getting your voice back. Do you remember what happened?"

Her hand hesitated, but remained in a fist, and her brows dropped as she thought.

"You don't remember everything."

"No," her hand answered.

"The Gidari?"

"Yes."

"They drugged you. We've analyzed the drug. You're going to be fine. It should be completely worn off by morning, and the pain should subside. They attached some device to your larynx. The wound didn't respond to the dermal regenerator, but I think that's due to the drug. Let's have a look at it, though." Bashir released her arm and lifted the bandage on her neck. The stitches were holding, and the wound was beginning to show the first signs of healing. "Yes, it looks better." Bashir replaced the bandage and straightened up again. "Are you cold?" he asked, as he rubbed one hand along the opposite shoulder until he felt the friction heating up his arm.

Her hand lifted several inches above the bed and nodded.

"Computer," Bashir said, "what is the present temperature?"

"The temperature is twenty-four degrees Celcius."

"It doesn't feel like twenty-four," Ilona said. She was watching, ready to help should she be needed, as Bashir had tended to Reyna. "I'll get some more blankets."

Bashir nodded and Ilona left the room. Bashir picked up a tricorder and tested the temperature for himself. "It's only ten degrees," he said, and as he watched the tricorder's screen, the temperature dropped another three degrees. "They've already started. Get some palm beacons while you're at it."

"Yes, Doctor," Ilona called back.

Bashir tapped his communications badge. "Bashir to Ops."

Kira answered impatiently. "If it's the temperature you're calling about," she said in response, "we already know."

"Just checking," Bashir said. He was just about to end his call when the displays above Reyna's biobed went dark. The Infirmary's lights followed, along with the medical computer. The Infirmary, lacking viewports, was plummeted into darkness. A beam of light moved into the room. It approached him, and Ilona handed him the palm beacon she was carrying. She also handed him a blanket. Bashir held the light as the nurse laid another blanket and beacon down on the next biobed, and covered Reyna with the third.

"Well," declared Bashir, "there's nothing more to do for now. Reyna and I need to get some rest." He turned the light towards Reyna but was careful not to shine it directly at her. Her fist nodded to him again. He turned back to Ilona and added, "Wake me when the chemical has dissipated completely."

"Yes, Doctor. Good night," Ilona said, picking up the extra blanket and light, and walking back over to her chair. She picked up a PADD and began to read something on its display.

"Good night," Bashir repeated. But his attention was still on Reyna. He walked around her and set his blanket down on the biobed there. He placed the light on the cabinet between the beds where she could still reach it. "I'll be right over here if you need anything," he said. Then he took off his boots and unfolded the blanket. He left the light shining when he laid down. He was asleep within minutes.

Doctor Grant wandered cautiously, hands outstretched, through the dirt streets on the edge of town. It hadn't rained as he'd expected, but it had become very dark quite suddenly. He'd even run into a few trees. But he had to be home for dinner, or Helen would worry. So he kept walking, complaining to himself about the cold and the lack of moonlight when there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The stars hid from him, too, and only gave him the tiniest glimpses of light before fading away again. He'd never seen such darkness in Stratford. He wished he'd brought the horse along. Annie could always find her way home.

Grant let his guard down for just a moment and smacked the side of his face into the hard-edged truck of a tree. Instinctively his hand came up to his face, and he could feel the blood that trickled from a cut beneath his eye. His eye stung with pain, and he felt a little dizzy. But as he came around the tree, he saw a small light evenly flickering red. Ah, he thought, Helen has lit a lantern. Still holding his hands in front of him he advanced more confidently toward the little light. Strangely, it flickered near the ground. Why didn't she put it in the window? It would then have spilled its light into the house as well as onto the front steps.

He expected the lantern to grow brighter as he neared it, but it stayed small and red. And when he was no more than thirty meters from his door, the small light stopped flickering and burned solid. And then it was gone, leaving him alone in the dark again. "Helen?" he called out. Why had she put out the light?

He was answered by the sound of an explosion. It echoed around him even as the force of the blast pushed him back down the corridor. Orange light struck his eyes as he righted himself. He could feel the heat against his face. "Helen!" he screamed and struggled to stand and run forward toward the house. It burned bright against the dark moonless night.

Another blast pulled him off his feet and a strong wind dragged him toward the house, which was no longer burning. "Helen!" he cried again. She was still in the house, though he could no longer see it. And the children! Where were the children? But before he could reach the space where the house had been, a black wall dropped quickly in front of him, nearly catching his feet as it slammed with a metallic ring to the ground . . . to the deck.

The first explosion had destroyed the inner airlock door, sending fire and pieces of metal spiraling through the corridor. The second explosion had struck the outer door and thrown the small Teldarian vessel docked there free of the station, breaching the trader's hull. The station's security systems had recovered quickly, having been left online, and airtight walls had closed around the airlock, blocking off that section of the ring.

The smaller craft, however, had been too far damaged by the seven foot hole in its hull. Its entire crew of fourteen people were blown out the cavity into the cold stillness of space as the ship drifted away from the station. Without the sensors or communication, no one in Ops even knew it had happened.

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?" Bashir mumbled as he was gently shaken from his sleep.

"You told me to wake you," Ilona's voice spoke.

Opening his eyes, the doctor could see her silhouette framed by the light from the palm beacon that sat between his bed and Reyna's. She smiled at him. One hand clutched the corners of a blanket pulled tight around her shoulders.

Bashir yawned. "What time is it?" he asked. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. And then he pulled his own blanket around his shoulders. The temperature must have dropped again.

"0130," she answered and handed him his shoes.

"Why so late? She was down to twenty-three percent when I went to sleep." Bashir stood, and, leaning against the side of the bed, he slipped his feet into his boots.

"She said to let you sleep," Ilona explained.

Bashir looked at his nurse in surprise. "She spoke to you? How?"

"Well, she just whispered it," Ilona whispered. She handed him his tricorder. "We compromised. There was no sign of infection, so I let you sleep another hour."

Bashir was going to get angry. Ilona was a good nurse. But she knew that it was not up to her to determine when he should treat his patients. But his body was still reacting slowly, and he only thought about getting angry. And Reyna was smiling at him, while her hand raised from the bed to nod her vote in favor of Ilona's compromise. Besides, that extra hour of sleep had felt good.

"You," he said to Reyna, "were supposed to be resting." He knew she couldn't answer. She looked well. There was no strain behind her eyes. The pain had apparently subsided. "Any more pain?" he asked.

Her hand hesitated and then made a gesture that just happened to correspond exactly to the sign language for "little."

The biobed was, of course, no longer working, but the tricorder, which operated independently of the computer, still functioned perfectly. There was no trace of the Gidari truth drug. Only the damage to Reyna's throat remained. "Well, I can't give you your voice back until the computer is back up. But we can take care of this," he said, lifting the bandage on her neck. He shrugged the blanket from his shoulders so that his hands could be free.

Bashir nodded to Nurse Ilona, and she set a hypospray to Reyna's neck. Reyna calmly closed her eyes and let the melorazine put her to sleep. Her breathing was deep and her pulse strong. This was the easy part, Bashir thought, knowing that repairing her larynx so that her voice matched would be more complicated. This time, her tissues responded well to the regenerator.

Afterwards he snipped away the stitches, carefully lifting them away with a clamp. Ilona was waiting with a clean bandage. Though healed, the trachea and skin were still sensitive and delicate. Bashir sighed when he was finished. Reyna was going to be fine. He watched her sleeping peacefully, and some of his guilt fell away.

"You should try to go back to sleep now," Ilona said, keeping her voice quiet as if she was afraid she'd wake the other nurse. She lifted his blanket from the floor and laid it across the foot of his bed. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were needed in the morning." Ilona knew, as nearly everyone on the station did, about the murders and about the bomb in the habitat ring the night before. Nothing remained a secret for long on the station.

"Let's hope not." He yawned and a chill slipped up his spine, reminding him of the cold. He checked his tricorder again: one degree. He sat on the side of the biobed and took off his shoes again.

"Stimulant, Major?" the communications technician asked, trying to be helpful.

"No, thank you," Kira snapped. Did she look that tired? She wasn't angry with the technician. She was furious. But with the terrorists. It didn't matter that she'd been up since four in the morning. The adrenaline from her anger was enough to keep her awake. "Where are they?" she asked, pounding her fist on the black console in front of her. The only lights that shone there were the reflections of the palm beacons spaced around the Operations Center.

"Without the sensors, it's impossible to know," the technician commented.

Kira shot him an acid glance. She knew that. That in part was what aroused her temper. It was impossible. Everything was impossible. She couldn't do anything to stop them. There were security officers on the Promenade, but she could not communicate with them. The computer was the lifeline of the station, and Kira was beginning to understand just how important it was. On a planet, it was different. You could have natural food and water and air and the sun for light. But on a space station, the computer controlled food, the water, the air, everything. And whoever controlled the computer controlled the station.

Then a shimmering form appeared on the transporter pad. The pad was, like nearly everything else on the station, nonfunctional, and Kira instinctively reached for her phaser. Someone was boarding the station. As the form began to take shape, Kira caught herself and replaced her phaser. It was a Klingon. They weren't the nicest of people, but they weren't enemies. Kira did not want to insult this one by pulling a phaser on him.

The Klingon was an imposing figure, especially when seen from several steps below him. He stepped heavily down from the transporter pad and took two angry steps before stopping just in front of Major Kira. He was still imposing. He stood nearly a foot taller than her, but she could also see the youth behind his bearded face.

"You are in command of this station?" he demanded.

"At the moment, yes," Kira answered. Actually she admired the Klingons in part. They were direct and honest. There was no need for diplomatic half-speech with them. They got straight to the point.

"You did not answer our communications, so I have been charged with delivering this message," the man said. He held out what resembled a data PADD, though its design was darker and crude, with sharper angles.

She took the PADD and read the information there. She wanted to sit down, but she didn't. She locked her knees instead. One must not show weakness to a Klingon. She stayed standing stiffly, showing no emotion. But she could feel the heat rising to her face. Another bomb. This time on the docking ring. Fourteen dead. The Klingons had recovered the bodies of the Teldarian crew and brought the ship back under tractor beam.

"Please express our gratitude to your captain for the assistance. I'd like to see the ship. Our transporter is down."

The Klingon activated his communicator, and Kira felt a pang of envy and shame at the station's helplessness. He spoke for a moment in his own language, which, without the computer, was not immediately translated. He stood at attention as he talked, as if his superiors could see him. But he did not relax even when he ended the communication. He looked down at the major. "You may accompany me to the Nej."

Kira turned to the communications technician. "Inform the commander that there has been another bomb. I'm going to investigate. And tell Doctor Bashir to expect the transport of fourteen dead."

The technician stared at her stupidly. "How?"

Kira scowled. This was not one of Starfleet's top graduates, that was for sure. "I don't care how, just do it. And get Security to Docking Port Four."

The technician straightened to attention. "Yes, sir."

Kira picked up a tricorder and turned back to the Klingon. She nodded and he activated his communicator again. Instantly she felt the tingling sensation of the transporter beam and saw the dim environs of the Operations Center fade from view. It was replaced by the interior of the Klingon vessel, which wasn't much more pleasant or well-lit.

Father grabbed him by the arms. "I told you to go away," he repeated. He shook Julian with each word. The sky here had grown dark too and cold. Julian shivered beneath his father's grip.

Bashir was awoken again by Ilona's hand urgently shaking his shoulder. Someone was at the door, attempting to open it from the outside. "It's Security," she said. She held out a tricorder. "I checked for their comm badges to make sure."

Bashir sat up slowly. It was harder this time. It seemed as if he'd just gone back to sleep. Ilona was already back at the door. She removed a panel from the wall and pulled a lever. The door moved slowly in its track until it was wide enough for a man to enter. A security officer stood at attention at the other side of the door.

"Ensign Barton, sir," the man said between breaths. He had obviously had a hard time getting to the Infirmary.

Bashir nodded. "Is someone injured?" He put on his boots and stood to stretch his legs. He feared the worst: someone was dead. Another victim of the murderer.

"No one's injured, sir," Barton answered. "There are fourteen dead. The Klingons will be transporting them here, sir."

Fourteen. It was even worse than he had feared. "What happened?"

"A bomb, sir, on the docking ring. Docking Port Four. That's all I know. I still have to inform the commander."

"All right," Bashir said, and the man disappeared out the door again.

"Should I close it?" Ilona asked, gesturing toward the door.

"I don't know." Bashir thought for a moment. He had a lot to think about. Fourteen. There weren't enough biobeds. But then, they wouldn't really need them, would they? Would they send them all at once or one at a time? Close the door? Which was safer, open or closed? "Can you see any Security from the door?" he asked.

Ilona leaned her head out and looked around. Several beams of light were visible from the door, filling the Promenade with a thin, ghostly light. "Yes."

"Okay then. Leave it open." Even as he decided, the open area of the floor began to shimmer with the effect of a transporter. Four bodies encased in plastic were deposited on the floor. A Klingon woman was standing behind them. Bashir recognized her. He'd treated her dislocated shoulder a few days before. He was glad she was here. They'd need the help.

"Where do you want them?" she barked.

Bashir looked back at the morgue against the back wall. The drawers would have to be opened manually. Their primary function was holding the bodies in stasis, so that they didn't decay, but without the computer they could only serve to hold the bodies. "Along the back wall." Without another word the Klingon bent down and lifted the corners of one bag. Bashir lifted the feet and together they carried the first body to the back of the room. Ilona went to the back and forced one of the drawers open as Bashir and the Klingon carried the rest of the bodies. When the first four were laid in their drawers, the woman called for the Klingon ship to transport another four. They continued until all fourteen were in the morgue.

"Thank you for your help," Bashir offered as they set down the last of the corpses.

The Klingon said nothing but nodded. She handed him a data PADD. Then she disappeared in a transporter effect. The PADD held information from the preliminary examination by the Klingon medic aboard their ship. The corpses were Teldarians. Most had apparently been killed when they were blown out into space by the breach in their hull. One had sustained serious injuries that suggested he had been standing near the airlock when it blew. Some others had wounds from flying debris. And they'd all have to be examined.

It took Sisko a few minutes to realize that the pounding on his door was not the sound of drums at a jazz bar in Kansas City. It was Jake who actually convinced him.

"Dad," Jake pleaded in a whisper, "wake up. Someone's at the door. They're trying to get in."

The room was dark when Sisko opened his eyes. He sat up quickly at the sound of fear in Jake's voice. Someone was trying to get in. "Wait here," he told his son, forcibly sitting him down on the bed.

He stumbled into the living room, stubbing his toe on a chair before he reached the door. Someone was indeed pounding on the door. "Who is it?" he asked.

The pounding stopped. "Ensign Barton, sir," the pounder answered. "Major Kira sent me with a message."

She's still on duty? Sisko shook his head. Kira didn't know when to take a break. She didn't know how. "Just a moment," Sisko called. He felt around the door for the panel that covered the manual opening lever for the door. He found it and popped off the cover, which fell lightly to the floor. Then he pulled down hard on the lever, and the door slowly slid open. On the other side a tired young ensign with a palm beacon stood with a security officer behind him.

"Come in," the commander said. The ensign followed him into the living room, but the security officer waited at the open door. Sisko's eyes began to adjust to the darkness that seemed on the verge of overtaking the ray of light from the ensign's beacon. But he still couldn't see Jake peeking from the door to his father's bedroom.

The ensign seemed to be breathing a bit hard. "There's been another bomb," he said. "The Klingons notified us. One beamed into Ops. There are fourteen dead. They're being transported to the Infirmary. Security's been sent to Docking Bay Four."

Sisko sat down in the chair he'd nearly fallen over earlier. So they weren't satisfied any more with blowing up empty quarters and deserted shops. Fourteen. "When was this?"

"I'm not sure when it went off. But it took me nearly twenty minutes to get here."

"Wait here," Sisko told the ensign. He got up and went to his room to change. Jake was waiting on the bed. Sisko could barely make out his form in the absence of light.

"Who are the people?" Jake asked. He was still whispering.

"You were listening." It wasn't a question. "I don't know. The Teldarian ship is docked at that port." Sisko paused before he zipped up his uniform. "Look, Jake," he said, "I don't want you on the Promenade today. Not even when the lights come back on. It's getting too dangerous."

"It's no more dangerous than staying here," Jake sulked. He took the blanket from his father's bed and pulled it across his lap. "They bombed the habitat ring last night. Besides, it only happens at night."

Sisko wanted to protect his son, to hide him away from all danger. But Jake was right. No terrorist attacks had happened during the day. Only one murder had been committed then, and it would be stupid of the murderer to try something that public again.

Then Jake got an idea. "I have to go to school, don't I?" He had begun to think that staying home wasn't such a bad idea. If he couldn't go to the Promenade, he couldn't go to school.

"Right." That's not what Jake had wanted to hear. Sisko knew it wasn't. He had caught the slight rise in his son's voice. "You're right. It's no more dangerous than staying here. But I want you to stay where the people are. Don't go anywhere alone. And that doesn't mean you can go snooping around with Nog. Stay out in the open. There are security guards on the Promenade. Don't get where you can't see them."

"All right," Jake assented.

Sisko finished zipping up his uniform and stepped into his shoes. "But keep that door shut until it opens on its own."

"Okay, okay," Jake said. He was nearly pushing his father out the bedroom door.

The ensign had sat down and rose again to attention when the commander reentered the room. "Close the door behind me," Sisko repeated.

"All right," Jake said. And he obediently lifted the lever, closing the door when his father and the ensign left.

Sisko followed the ensign as far as the access crawlway that would take them back to the Promenade. "I'm going to the docking ring," he said. The security officer looked as if he would protest. "Give me your light," he told the ensign. And he walked off toward the crossover bridge before either one could object.

Inara Taleyn appeared noiselessly in the Cardassian clothier's shop. She carried nothing with her except her computer, which hung from a strap around her neck and shoulder, and the bomb. She didn't need a flashlight. She'd chosen the coordinates for transport carefully. She was right where she wanted to be: in the middle changing booth at the back of the shop. Just where Liian had been.

She raised the bomb. It felt light and smooth beneath her gloved fingers. The timer was set for five minutes. She placed it on the wall at the back of the booth and armed it. A small red light blinked on and off. No one would see it behind the curtain here. She lifted the computer and activated the transporter again. She watched the flashing red light as she felt the transporter beam fall around her. The light faded from her view and was replaced by the white light of the palm beacon that Theel held in her darkened quarters. He was smiling.

Sisko had found his way to the docking ring and followed the voices to Docking Port Four. The corridor was sealed off, which meant that the hull had been breached. Security officers as well as operations technicians were already there. So were the Klingons, giving their assistance and the use of their transporter. Chief O'Brien was pulling on a pressure suit. Kira was pulling one off. And she didn't look happy. Sisko had to shout to be heard over the repair crew. "How much damage, Major?"

"They blew the airlock all to pieces," she said. Her face was red, and her eyes were narrowed in anger. "The Teldarian ship was blown clear of the station. The Klingons pulled the ship back and brought in the bodies. They didn't stand a chance."

"You've seen the ship?" Sisko asked, helping her out of the awkward Klingon suit.

"Yes, the hull was breached at the airlock. Any evidence left from the bomb was swept out into space with the crew and the airlock door." Kira pulled off the last leg of the suit and kicked it across the corridor. "They've got control of this station, Commander. They can come and go as they please and blow up every airlock we have. And there's nothing we can do about it. We don't even know that it happens."

"You need some sleep, Major." Sisko could tell that she was tired. She may have lost her temper often, but she rarely lost control of herself in this manner. Everything she said was right, but ranting about it wasn't going to stop the terrorists.

"I can't sleep now, not with this going on," Kira protested, running a hand through her hair. "I'm not tired."

"You are," Sisko persisted. "Have Doctor Bashir give you something so you can sleep, if you have to."

"I have work to do, Commander." Kira had regained her composure. "I need to find the people who are doing this."

"I admire your dedication to your duty, Major, but you can do your job better if you are rested." Kira would stay awake for a week if that's what it took, Sisko knew that. She nearly had on several occasions. But tired minds got sloppy. They missed things. "What is there to do? Right now, what can you do?"

"Well," Kira said, thinking.

Sisko didn't wait for her. "You can't search the airlock for fragments until O'Brien's got it sealed off. So what can you do? You can't question witnesses, because there weren't any."

"There was one, Commander."

Sisko spun around. A Bajoran security officer had overheard their conversation. "There was one witness. He was wounded by the blast. He's being escorted to the Infirmary."

Sisko turned back to Kira. "The minute there's nothing to do, you go to sleep. And that's an order."

Kira was wide awake again. "The Infirmary?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

Sisko didn't answer but set off at a run down the crossover bridge with Kira right on his heels.

Julian Bashir uncovered the first corpse as Nurse Ilona held the light. The body of the Teldarian man was cold from the time it spent in space unprotected. His clothes were in a separate bag at his feet. The Klingons had been careful to keep everything that might contain pieces of evidence. This man had no wounds on his body, but his face carried a stricken expression. It was frozen in a last gasp for air.

Bashir lifted the bag of clothes and handed them to Ilona. She set them on an empty biobed as he pushed the drawer back into the wall. Without the computer and the power it supplied, the drawers were heavy and stubborn. They both took hold of the next drawer and pulled it open to the length of the next victim's body. This one was a woman. She was young. And she had been badly wounded. The entire right side of her body was burned and slashed from debris. She must have been walking near the airlock when it blew.

Working slowly and carefully, Dr. Bashir began to remove the many slivers and chunks of debris. Undoubtedly, most of it was the airlock. But perhaps some of it was the bomb. And perhaps then they could find a DNA trace, once the computer was running again.

Bashir held a long sliver of metal in the clamp. He pulled gently, trying to ease it from the woman's abdomen, but it appeared to be wedged into a rib. "I'll need a laser scalpel," he said. Ilona, who had been holding the light, left her spot by the drawer and walked over to a cabinet to fetch the scalpel.

A loud explosion shook the floor, and smoke filtered in through the open door. Bashir released his hold on the clamp and ran toward the door. Ilona handed him his medical kit as he ran. "Stay here and watch the door," he warned her.

Out in the corridor security officers were screaming to each other and running in the direction of the blast. Bashir ran with them. The smoke became thicker as they neared the Bajoran temple. But through the smoke, Bashir could see flames in Garak's shop. The terrorists had come back for a second try. Nearly a dozen security personnel stood there coughing from the smoke and trying to see into the shop.

"Go back to your posts!" Bashir shouted. What if the terrorists came back again, or if the murderer was right now prowling the Promenade? "You two," he said, pointing to the officers nearest to him, "come with me. And you," he pointed to two others, "see to the fire. Everyone else get back to your posts."

The two he'd appointed to the fire raced for extinguishers from the freight conduits that ran behind the shops. The others began to obey, walking away from the fire back to their posts. They walked slowly and looked back over their shoulders, but they obeyed. Bashir could see a beam of light on the floor beneath the smoke, and he waved for the first two to follow him. The floor crunched beneath their feet as they stepped on the glass and pieces of the walls.

A Starfleet security officer lay face down on the deck, his light was six feet away. He was alive. Checking the tricorder to see that there was no injury to the spine, Bashir gently turned the man over. He was covered in blood and breathing shallowly. Glass from the shop windows had cut his face and neck. One large fragment was lodged in the officer's chest. His uniform was burnt.

Bashir began to treat him there, removing the glass and using a coagulation activator to stop the bleeding from the wound in his chest. One arm was broken and Bashir immobilized it. When he was sure the man was stabilized, he told the two men with him to carry the man to the Infirmary. He heard footsteps coming loud and fast. He looked up just as all twelve beams of light converged on the newcomers.

Sisko slowed down when he saw the doctor. Two officers were carrying another, and Bashir was walking alongside. Beyond them smoke billowed from the clothier's shop, and an orange glow spilled onto the floor of the corridor. He could hear the extinguishers of those inside the shop. The air smelled of smoke and burnt clothing. Another bomb. How, with all the Security? How did they get by?

"He'll live," Bashir said as he passed him.

Sisko was thankful. Fourteen in one night was enough. It was too many. Kira rushed ahead of him into the still-burning shop. Sisko turned and followed the doctor to the Infirmary. There was a witness waiting there.

The Infirmary was brighter than most other rooms, simply because of all the people there who had palm beacons. But that wasn't saying much. It was still quite dark. Bashir was working quickly, straining over his patient in the inadequate light. A nurse was standing near him. Another, wrapped in a blanket, was assisting another patient who appeared to be treating his own wounds. The witness? Sisko could not see who it was because of the Bajoran security officer standing in front of him. Two others were leaving after having deposited their wounded comrade on the biobed.

Sisko stepped out of their way, thinking about the sitting patient. He wondered what this person was doing on the docking ring so late at night. Had he set the bomb himself and not gotten out of the way fast enough? And then the thought struck him that the man was treating himself. He knew medicine. Sisko could see his left hand, holding an instrument as he moved it slowly back and forth over his face. The nurse held a mirror. The security officer, still standing in the way, apparently held the light.

Sisko moved forward, apprehensive that this man might be the answer to at least one of their problems. Was he the murderer? But when Sisko saw his face that feeling subsided, and his jaw relaxed. He hadn't realized how hard he had clenched it. "Alex," he said, "are you alright?" The nurse turned around to see who had spoken, and Sisko recognized her as the one the Gidari had taken.

"Oh, it's nothing," Grant replied with a haggard smile. "Just minor scrapes." His voice shook just a little, and his eyes were red. A cut beneath his left eye began to disappear under the instrument. "Your good doctor has his hands full."

Sisko nodded. "What were you doing out so late?" he asked.

Grant stopped his work and looked away from the mirror. Sisko thought he could see the glimmer of sweat on his forehead. Strange, when it was so cold. "I was having trouble sleeping so I went for a walk around the docking ring for some exercise," Grant said. "The lights went out, and I was just stuck out there."

"Did you see anyone else on the docking ring?" Sisko asked, hoping that he had.

"Only at the beginning," Grant answered. "There were the two guards by the airlock. Other people were going to" he paused as if he were about to say something else and then finished, "their ships."

"Did you see anyone at Docking Port Four?" Sisko could tell that Grant was nervous. But why? Surely he had not set the bomb. That was unthinkable. Besides, they were Bajoran bombs. Everyone suspected Bajorans in the terrorism.

"Which one is port four?" Grant asked. He had returned to his work. "The one that caught fire, or blew up rather?"

"Yes, that one. Did you see anyone there?"

"No, no one," Grant answered. "It was so dark. I could only see the little light flickering . . . blinking. When it stopped blinking, the place exploded. It knocked me down. The second one pulled me forward. The wall dropped and almost caught me under it."

"The second?" Sisko stepped forward. "There were two explosions?"

"Yes," Grant said more confidently. "I'm sure of it. The first caused a fire, the second put it out. Breached the hull, I'd say."

"Yes," confirmed Sisko, "it did. Fourteen people were killed on the other side." He gestured toward the back wall where one drawer stood open.

Grant looked where Sisko pointed. His hand dropped to his lap. "I'm finished," he said quietly to the nurse. "Thank you for your help." The nurse nodded, but didn't say anything. She left him to put away the instruments.

Sisko watched Grant. His face looked distant now. He was shocked. He hadn't set the bomb. "I know it was dark, but is there anything else you can remember?"

"No," Grant didn't look at him. He was staring at the floor. He spoke slowly. "Just the light. It was small and red. It was the bomb." He slipped down off the biobed.

"You have to stay here tonight. Getting back to the Ranger would be complicated. The airlock doors won't open."

Grant looked up at him. "No, I can't stay. I . . . I really need to get back." He was speaking faster. He wrung his hands nervously. "They'll be wondering where I am. They know I left. I can't stay here."

The Bajoran officer had been watching the exchange. Sisko ordered him to escort Dr. Grant to some guest quarters. Grant was about to protest, but Sisko held up a hand to stop him. "There's no way to get you back there. There's no transporter and there's no communications to call your ship. You'll have to stay until morning."

Inara sat on the edge of her bed and stared into the darkness. Of course, she could have lights. She could have anything she wanted. But then someone, like those barbaric Klingons, might see the light and tell the station's authorities where to find her. She already knew that they'd told them about the bomb. The station's sensors worked fine, but only for her. Anyway, she didn't mind the darkness. She remembered a poem her brother had written before he was killed.

I've seen darkness fall like snow
And wrap around me like a blanket, tight.
A softer warmth than the brightest light,
A deeper dark than that of night.

I've known darkness as a friend.
Silently listening, it sat by my side
It did not laugh, nor did it chide,
But held me gently while I cried.

He was right. Darkness could save you, comfort you. No one saw your weakness in the dark. He would have been a poet, if the Cardassians hadn't been there. Inara couldn't remember the times before the Cardassians. She was born into the Occupation. It was all she had known. But her brother had fought for the dream of their past. And she had followed him. He had died. His future was gone just like the past.

Inara was beginning to think that his fight had been futile. He'd won against the Cardassians, that's true. But what good was it now? Bajor would lose everything that was Bajor. There was no future worth having. And no one to share it with. Inara fought hard just to remember what her brother looked like. She had forgotten the names of her parents. Liian was the last, her last reason.

Inara shivered in the cold and tried to decide just exactly why she kept going. Why not raise the temperature back up and turn on the lights and let the Federation have their space station? In the end they'd have it. Bajor was tired of fighting and would lay down and surrender in time. The Federation spoke with sweet words, and the majority of her people would follow their saviors into godless oblivion.

She couldn't really stop them. Her group was small. Even more so now that Targo Hern and his brother were dead. There was only herself and Theel on the station. So why didn't she just play along? Give up? Enjoy the peace the Federation held out as bait and live the good life for a change?

No, she couldn't do that. She still loved the Prophets. She would continue for their sake until she was dead. She just wasn't sure in which direction to continue. She'd always had a hard time listening to her pagh. It spoke so quietly that she couldn't hear what it said. She was already on this path, right or wrong. So until she heard her pagh tell her a better way, she'd continue. Besides, she had Liian to think about.

Either the Elders had killed him, or someone else did. And she meant to find out who. She would stay that long. She could hold them off that long. O'Brien wasn't good enough to stop her before then. She realized that Security could find Liian's killer much faster with the computer up and running. The killer had used the darkness, too. But the Prophets came before even Liian. Then, when they caught her, she could meet Liian and her brother again.

Inara laid back on the bed and tried to see her brother's face. He was tall and strong, or did she just like to remember him so? He had straight blond hair, swept back over his head. She saw his dark eyes shining with conviction and with the tears he cried for his people. She heard his voice reciting a poem about the beautiful landscape he had never seen. And she felt the tears roll down her face.

Kira Nerys knelt on the floor in the freight conduit that ran behind the clothier's shop. The whole back wall of the shop had been blown out along with the window in front. She sifted through the debris half-heartedly, running a tricorder over every piece of metal, plastic, and cloth. But she doubted that it would do any good. They wouldn't find anything they didn't find before. They had an intact bomb already. And the bomber would not have left fingerprints or even enough to run a DNA trace. Even if he had, they'd need the computer to find it.

Kira sat back on her heels and rubbed her eyes. When would it end? It wasn't even so much these particular terrorists. It was all of them. When would her people put away the bombs and deception and learn peace again? They'd been fighting so long that they'd forgotten how to live any other way.

Kira wanted as much as anyone for Bajor to be free and independent. It was free now, but it could not be independent. Not yet. Without the Federation, the Cardassians or some other aggressive race would take advantage of Bajor's weakness to plunder the planet again and assume control of the wormhole. The Celestial Temple, she corrected herself. Bajor could not defend herself. This station couldn't defend itself. It was the strength and reputation of the Federation that kept the aggressors at bay.

The shop was ruined, again. Garak would not be happy. But Kira didn't really care what the Cardassian tailor thought. She, and everyone else on the station, believed--no, knew--that he was a spy for the Cardassians. It was better that his shop was bombed than anyone else's. Perhaps he would feel compelled now to use his talents to help them find the terrorists. No, he would never admit to those talents. And she wouldn't want to use a Cardassian to catch Bajorans, no matter what they had done.

Kira tried hard to think of a way to stop them, to track them, somehow. Without the computer she could not track their movements. Without the computer she could not even check the profiles of known members of radical factions on the station. She thought for a moment. She could detain people for questioning . . . after the doors were opened and the turbolifts began to function again. She could not think of any other way. She checked the time. 0230. It was going to be a long day.

Chief of Operations Miles O'Brien was having a bad day. And it hadn't hardly even really started. He'd been up all night, and all day the day before as well. He'd been wrestling all night with the computer, trying to get the temperature and lights back up, the communications back online. Everything. The only things that worked were the fusion reactors and life support. Everything else had been pulled down.

Or else someone wanted to make it look like they'd been pulled down. The terrorists, it was clear, had set the atmosphere in the security cell to kill Targo Hern. He was one of them, O'Brien and Kira had concluded, and they didn't want him to talk. But the computer, which was functioning at the time, had not registered any commands to change the atmosphere, or to take the transporter offline. The terrorists had control of the computer, and that was enough to give O'Brien a bad day.

His stomach yearned for breakfast, but, as yesterday, he first had to get the replicators working. That had made him think. The terrorists might just be hungry, too. Surely, they'd use the replicators, just as they'd used the transporter before, with no record of its use. So their trick was, if he was right, that the computer was still working. Everything really was, but only the terrorists had access to it. And to have that kind of control they had to be inside the central computer. So he had to find them there.

But that was proving difficult. They didn't want him in. He tried opening the doors to the central computer core manually, but they refused to budge. He tried the access crawlways and ventilation shafts, but they were sealed off. Technically, as Chief of Operations, he could override any order the computer had been given to keep him out of the room. But of course, he'd need access to the computer first.

So he was back where he started, trying to get the individual systems of the computer functioning again. O'Brien was not having a nice day, but he admired the handiwork he was seeing. Neither yesterday's problems nor today's had been a simple matter of turning off the individual functions of the computer. Whoever was doing this knew what they were doing. They crossed circuits and bypassed protocols until the computer actually damaged itself with too much energy here, too little there. And every terminal or display on the station had been cut off. The only constants were the fusion reactors. The terrorists knew better than to tamper with those. That would destroy the whole station and all of the Bajoran residents as well.

He needed coffee. Keiko knew just how he liked it. He thought of her still sleeping. He wished he was sleeping beside her. "I want whoever did this," he said to his assistant.

"Me, too," the Bajoran engineer said. She was kneeling beside him, handing him tools.

He himself had his head stuck into the communications station on Ops. "Yeah, but I can't decide if I want him in prison or working for me."

His assistant didn't laugh. He could see her tense up. "Whatever you just did, do it again," she said urgently.

"What did I just do?" O'Brien asked. He'd been doing lots of things. Which one did she want repeated?

"I don't know, but the lights in the Commander's office flickered."

The lights in Sisko's office had nothing to do with communications, but O'Brien didn't argue. "I'll do it again," he said. It was a start.

Dax sat up in her chair and stretched her arms. She had not gotten out of her lab in time and chose to stay there rather than try to make it back to her quarters for the night. She had slept sitting up in the chair, and her neck ached from it. She wasn't quite sure she was awake. It was an odd sensation, and she had to put her hand to her eyes to make sure they were open. She'd heard the bomb earlier. But she had reasoned that there was little she could have done. Security was on the Promenade.

Dax stood up and stretched her legs and then began to fumble around the computer console for her tricorder. She had to be careful not to spill anything. The greenish Gidari chemical had shown properties that would suggest it could be administered simply by contact with epidermis. As harmless as it was, it was a risk she did not want to take.

As she felt around, a blue light filled the room, revealing the tricorder half a meter from her left hand. Dax forgot the tricorder and spun around quickly. But the light had already faded. She could see nothing. Subconsciously, she held her breath and listened for the sound of breathing, footsteps, anything. But there was nothing.

Maybe they just beamed something out, she thought. She released her breath slowly, quietly so that it didn't make a sound. But she felt that someone was, indeed, in the room with her. Dax began to back up, heading toward where she knew her door would be. "What do you want?" she asked, forcing herself to remain calm.

No one answered. She took another step back, running her hand along the console. Something blocked her path. She jumped, and someone grabbed her arms, pulling them tightly behind her. The Gidari. "What do you want?" she repeated.

There was an answer this time, but she couldn't understand it. It was a woman's voice, and she spoke in a strange language. Dax tensed and pulled against the grip on her arms. The person behind her changed grips, using one hand to hold her arms back. His other hand grasped her forehead, tilting it back so that her neck was exposed.

"Quiet," the woman's voice said, "or we will make you quiet."

Bashir had told her about the device he'd seen on his nurse's neck, and she'd seen for herself the damage it did from the tricorder reading he had taken of Tsingras. She kept quiet. They hadn't killed Bashir or the nurse, so they wouldn't kill her now. She hoped.

She felt a smooth, silky cloth brush against her jaw and heard a soft hiss. Almost instantly she began to feel heavy, as if her legs were not strong enough to hold her weight. Only the hand on her forehead kept her head from falling forward onto her chest. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. The man behind her let her fall. She was still awake. At least, she thought she was still awake. The lab had no viewports to let even the meager light from the distant stars into the room.

A bar of low blue light began to glow about four feet off the floor. Behind it a hand was visible, but the arm disappeared into a loose, purple sleeve. Everything beyond that was covered in darkness. Dax watched, motionless as the blue light slowly swung over the computer where she had been working. It stopped, growing deeper in color, over the tricorder, the one Bashir had used to scan Tsingras's body. The light stayed still but the cloak moved almost imperceptibly. A red beam flashed forward, encompassing the tricorder. The tricorder sparked and blazed brightly for a moment before disappearing into the darkness.

In the same way, the blue bar found the samples of the Gidari chemicals, and the red beam destroyed them. The bar continued around the room and only glowed brighter as it hovered above her. The Gidari was apparently satisfied, for the light from the bar disappeared. A larger light of the same color filled the room, and Dax caught a glimpse of three cloaked Gidari before they vanished with the light.

It must be the green one, Dax thought slowly. She felt no pain, which meant the two had not been mixed. The green liquid thickened the blood, slowing the circulation. So her body was not receiving the same levels of oxygen. She felt heavy and lethargic. But it would pass. Still, she thought it would be best to try to reach the Infirmary.

Dax moved her arm, slowly drawing it across the floor until it was near her chest. Lifting her elbow was like lifting weights, but she managed to brace her hand beneath her. Lifting herself was even harder. She weighed as much as a runabout, it seemed. She fell back to the floor when her elbow buckled under the strain. Gritting her teeth, she tried again. She only managed to roll herself over onto her back. But her shoulder brushed against the wall.

The minutes passed quickly, and Dax was still on the floor. She turned herself over again with effort and pulled her knees up toward her chest. She used the wall as a brace and lifted herself with her hands and knees. Eventually, she was standing, or rather leaning, against the wall, scratching at the panel that hid the manual release lever for the door.

Sisko had managed to crawl to Ops by way of the access crawlways just in time to see all the lights come on. They were the only things on at the moment, but it was something to celebrate. "Chief!" he exclaimed.

O'Brien, having just crawled out from under a computer console, didn't look so happy. "Yes, but I was working on communications. It's all crossed over. Maybe I can get it all running, but it'll take a week to sort it out right again."

"So if you work on the science station, will the replicators come back?" Sisko asked with a sarcastic grin.

"I certainly hope so," O'Brien answered. "I'm starving."

"I've got something!" came a call from somewhere near the floor. The master console flickered weakly a few times and went dark again. But then it began to glow, showing distinctly a circular diagram of the station in brilliant colors. Apparently the sensors had come online because the display clearly showed that docking clamps had been released at Docking Port Nine. A vessel was pulling away from the station.

"I don't suppose we have communications," Sisko said. He couldn't blame them for leaving. Why wait around for your ship to be blown apart? The station was unable to make them stay. But Sisko hoped they weren't taking the murderer along with them.

O'Brien shook his head. The engineers and technicians were still working and a few other consoles began to come online.

"Tractor beam?"

"No, sir."

"Who were they?" Sisko asked. The main viewscreen had come on, and he was watching the ship pull away. "Tellarites?"

"Yes, sir," O'Brien answered. "And the Aresian ship is going too."

"Can you stop them?"

"No."

"Let them go." Sisko was not grinning any more. He couldn't even talk to them as they left, make apologies, ask that they stay. The Bajoran reputation was bad enough thanks to radicals and terrorists. Now the possibility of bad reports and rumors was leaving the station again. Sisko felt he had failed. The Bajorans didn't deserve that. He believed in them as a people, and it hurt him personally when they were judged by the acts of a relative few. "Keep working, Chief. I want the terrorists found."