Even now he couldn't force the vision from his eyes, though beyond the flames the blackness waited. Tears stung Grant's eyes. "Make it stop!" he screamed. There was no one to hear him. "Helen! Forgive me! Please! Helen!"

His right arm reached out instinctively for the drawer beside his bed. He'd make it stop. He'd make the blackness come to him, enter him, instead of teasing him from behind the fire. But the drawer was empty. The mattress! He'd put it under the mattress. Grant slid down and crouched beside the bed. He ran his hands under the mattress, but felt nothing but cold metal.

He began to panic. Where was it? He always kept it nearby. He needed it. The dresser? Grant ran to the opposite wall but his hands found no dresser there. Like a blind man, Grant pulled himself along the wall, feeling for the furniture that should have been along that wall.

He found the dresser, after stumbling into a table and chair. He opened the drawers quickly. They were empty. My things, he thought. Where are my things? His clothes, his possessions, where were they? And where was his hypospray? He needed it.

Grant searched every room, wondering how his quarters had shrunk and why there were no lights. But he found nothing. He found his way back to the bed, to the blanket on the floor. He sat there on the floor, clutching the blanket as he cried.

It took all the strength Dax had to push the lever up. The door slid open, but she again fell to the floor in the process. She didn't mind too much, except that it hurt to fall. She would have had to crawl along the floor anyway. She felt light-headed, but that was the only part of her that felt light. She was so weak that moving her arm was a difficult task. Standing up would have been impossible.

She tried to call out for help to anyone who might be in the corridor. But her voice was just as weak, and she could not muster the energy required for more than a whisper. She was worried too, when she found the strength to think at all, that someone just might be out there. Someone who wasn't supposed to be there. She took a little comfort in the darkness that hid her from others as well as it hid others from her. Bracing herself for another effort, she pulled herself another foot across the floor. At this rate, she thought, I should get to the Infirmary by next week. Actually, she knew she wouldn't make it at all. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she knew the drug would wear off in less than four hours.

Dr. Bashir felt, as tired as he was, that he was in the right place. He had wanted to practice frontier medicine. This was it, and he was prepared for it, when other doctors might have thrown up their hands in frustration. He was working in the dark, with only a palm beacon held overhead by Nurse Reyna. He could not use the computer's diagnostic or analytical equipment or any instrument that was dependent on the computer. He had only what he could use with his hands.

But it was the light that annoyed him. No matter how Reyna held it, it never spilled into the wound in the needed location. Pieces of glass had penetrated the security officer's chest and pierced his lung. Ilona continuously monitored the patient's vital signs with a tricorder she held in her hand. He had lost a lot of blood and would continue to do so until the last piece of glass was removed and Bashir could close the wounds. Already his blood pressure was dropping.

"A little to the left," Bashir said, hoping that a new position would improve the light that shone into the wound.

Of course, Reyna did not answer, but obediently moved the light. As she did, a dim light flashed from overhead for one second before disappearing again. Everyone froze, and the light returned. Without a word, Ilona took the palm beacon, Bashir returned to his work, and Reyna left to manually turn up the overhead lights to their daylight levels. Everyone squinted for a moment, but continued with their tasks. Ilona turned off the beacon and placed it on the next biobed.

The evenness of the overhead lights was just what he needed, and Bashir began to carefully remove the last shard of glass that had lodged itself into the patient's left lung. That done he began to close the remaining wounds, beginning with the punctured lung.

"Doctor," Ilona said calmly, "his pulse is dropping."

Reyna moved quickly, and Bashir could see the man's heart rate on the tricorder propped up beside the bed. It was indeed beating slower. It weakly contracted two more times and then quit altogether. "Inaprovaline," Bashir said, watching for a reaction. He heard the hiss of the hypospray and waited. Nothing. "Again."

Still nothing happened. The patient wasn't breathing. "Try the chloromydride." There was urgency in Bashir's voice. The man shouldn't be dying. He was dying because he was cold. They were unable to keep him sufficiently warm and operate at the same time. With the improved lighting, they could see the gray tint in his skin.

This time his heart responded weakly to the stimulant, but it wasn't enough. "He needs air," Bashir said.

"How," Ilona asked, "without the respirator?"

Bashir didn't look up, but went to work on trying to keep the man's heart pumping. "Tilt his head back," he said, "pinch his nose and blow into his mouth."

Ilona didn't argue and obeyed. The man's lungs filled with air.

"Now wait," Bashir said. He counted to himself as he watched the tricorder to see if the man was breathing on his own. "Reyna, rub his legs. We've got to get him warm. Ilona, again."

She repeated the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Without the tricorder, it would have been imperceptible, but he indeed began to breathe shallowly again after exhaling the air Ilona had given him. Bashir sighed, and worked quickly to close the remaining wounds in the man's chest. When he had finished, Ilona bandaged the patient, and Bashir put two more blankets around him, tucking them down beneath him at the sides.

Bashir checked the tricorder again. The pulse was slow but gaining strength. His breathing was becoming more regular, and his blood pressure was rising steadily. Color was returning to his face, as well. "I think we did it," he said, as he peeled off the surgical gloves and placed them into the bowl that held the shards of glass. "Let's give him some corophizine to guard against infection."

"Yes, Doctor," Ilona said. She prepared the hypospray, and Reyna went away to fetch some more blankets. It was still cold.

Kira had been ordered to bed by Sisko, and she had grudgingly obeyed. It had felt good to lie down and close her eyes, but she had felt guilty for it, too. She was supposed to be finding the terrorists. She had felt helpless to do that lying on her bed in her darkened quarters. But she had had to admit, she had felt helpless to stop them in Ops as well. And there wasn't anything in Garak's shop to help either. So she had stayed in her quarters, and she had even gone to sleep. For about two hours.

Kira sat up on her bed and reached out for the communications panel near her bed. Of course, it didn't work. So she didn't bother trying the lights. They wouldn't work either. She lifted her blanket and shook from the chill. She pulled on her uniform and boots, grabbed her phaser and a palm beacon, and pulled the lever that opened her door. She was surprised to find light on the other side. She threw the beacon back inside and waited to see if the door would close on its own when she stepped away. It did not. She closed it and ran toward the crossover bridge that would take her toward Ops. Without the doors it would still take her at least a quarter of an hour, but she'd be faster with light.

She'd had a dream, and it had given her an idea. She had seen the station, in her dream, from the outside as if she were floating above it, swimming in the stillness and silence of space. And now she knew how they could catch the terrorists. Maybe sleeping had been a good idea after all.

Commander Sisko blew hot air into his hands and then rubbed them together quickly. "How about some heat, Chief?"

"Well, normally that would be an easy problem," O'Brien answered. "I'd just repair any malfunctions in environmental control in the life support systems. But at this rate, I don't know where that is."

"What are you working on now?" Sisko asked.

"This should be the power control to the replicators, but it seems to be the internal sensor array."

"Well, that's useful at any rate."

"I found something!" one of the other engineers called.

"What is it?" O'Brien yelled back.

"Not sure, but it could be the replicators," the assistant replied.

"If it is, I want some coffee." O'Brien yawned. As if it had heard him, the replicator on the far wall began to hum. Its black surfaces began to light up with blue and green lights.

"Coffee break!" Sisko exclaimed. He was the first to reach the replicator, mainly because he was the only one sitting down. Everyone else in Ops, about half a dozen engineers and technicians, seemed to be buried beneath consoles and wires. Sisko ordered his coffee and waited to see if it would appear.

It was slow in coming, but the replicator did produce a white ceramic mug of steaming coffee. Sisko wrapped his nearly numb fingers around the warm cup and took a taste as everyone looked on with hopeful eyes. It was perfect. "Good work, Lieutenant."

Everyone cheered and clapped the young Bajoran officer on the back in congratulations and gratitude. It would be much easier to go on working now.

Moving was becoming easier, and Dax found she could almost crawl. She'd made considerable progress already, pulling with her arms and pushing with her knees. But she'd also nearly exhausted herself. She stopped for a moment to rest, pulling herself up to lean against the wall. Her legs were left in an uncomfortable position, but she couldn't muster the energy to move them.

How many hours? she wondered. Surely it couldn't last much longer. She had no way of knowing. She wasn't even sure when the Gidari had come. Her fingers and ears were numb from the cold. Now that there was light, she could see her breath in front of her face. She felt worse sitting up. It made her dizzy. She thought she could hear footsteps. The sounds became louder, coming nearer.

Dax was near a corridor junction, and the sound seemed to be coming toward her from the crossing corridor. She waited to see who it was. She realized she was helpless. If it was a terrorist, or worse, she could hardly run from them or fight them off. She watched the junction and waited.

The sounds moved nearer and rang out in the empty corridor. Dax tensed as they got close, but she kept her eyes on the corridor. A figure in a red-orange Bajoran uniform ran by. "Kira!" Dax called, when she noticed the short-cropped red hair.

But it was too quiet, too late. Kira was gone, running down the corridor away from her. She could still hear the boots ringing on the station's metal floor. Then they stopped. Maybe she had heard. "Kira!" Dax yelled again. It wasn't really yelling, but it was the best she could do. Her voice obeyed her, but weakly. She listened to see if the footsteps would return to the junction or would continue down the corridor.

She heard nothing. And she started to wonder if maybe she'd been mistaken. She was dizzy and still light-headed. Perhaps she had hallucinated as well. Perhaps she still was. Kira stepped cautiously from around the corner. She saw Dax and then walked quickly toward her.

"Dax." She looked worried. "What happened? Are you alright?" She knelt down beside her.

"I'm okay," Dax said, wanting to sound reassuring. But instead she sounded drunk. Her words slurred together. "The Gidari came for a visit. I'll be fine, but I'm very weak. I want to get to the Infirmary." It took so much energy to talk, to force the air from her lungs.

"Can you walk?"

Dax shook her head. She didn't want to speak any more.

"I'll find some Security, and we'll carry you there. Stay here," Kira said as she stood. "I'll be right back."

"Where would I go?" Dax asked and smiled. Kira smiled back, and then she was gone again. Dax could hear her boots on the deck growing fainter. She was glad she hadn't been hallucinating.

Dr. Grant sat on the floor, hugging his knees in toward his chest. His head rested on his knees, and he rocked slowly back and forth. As he rocked forward, his heels touched the floor and pushed him back the other way. And when he rocked back, he felt the cold surface of the door on his back.

He realized now that he was not in his own quarters on the Ranger. He remembered what had happened earlier in the night. He'd been given guest quarters on the station. His hypospray wasn't here. It was back on the ship. And there was no way to get there. So he cried, and rocked himself back and forth.

As he rocked back the door behind him swished open. He fell onto his back and had to cover his eyes against the light in the hall. He lay there for a moment before he realized what had happened. He was free. He could go back to his own quarters. He could go to sleep.

Grant scrambled to his feet and tried to remember how to get to the Ranger. Where were the turbolifts? Grant chose to go to the right. He would find a lift eventually. It may take longer to get back, but that didn't matter now. He was free. His footsteps sounded loudly in the empty corridors, but he didn't care. He was almost running, watching the numbers on the doors as he ran past them. He came to a corridor junction and panicked again for a moment. Which way? He chose again the right and ran on.

When he did come to a turbolift, the doors opened for him. He stepped inside, and the doors closed again. But it didn't move. It was waiting for him to speak. Where was the ship? Docking Port 4? No. That was the bomb. Then he remembered. "Upper Pylon Two." But still the lift didn't move. They still didn't work. He was trapped again.

Grant sat down again on the floor and returned to his rocking, staring at the darkened control panel on the turbolift wall.

Dr. Bashir yawned and closed the drawer. He had finished examining the Teldarian woman. Her body was growing warmer, which worried him. But not as much as the Ferengi and the Bajoran boy. The Teldarians had been frozen in space, only now were they beginning to thaw. The two murder victims had been there for days already and had spent the whole night out of stasis. Things would start to get ugly if power wasn't brought back up soon.

Before opening the next drawer, Bashir scanned the security officer with his tricorder. With the added blankets, he was getting better. He needed blood, but without the equipment and computer, Bashir couldn't give it to him. But his vital signs were stronger, and there was no sign of infection. So Bashir returned to the morgue and pulled open another drawer, revealing the Teldarian captain. Bashir pulled on a new pair of gloves and began to examine the body.

The door opened, and Bashir turned to see who had entered. He hoped there hadn't been another bomb. He was surprised to see Kira and a security officer carrying Dax in their arms. "Don't worry, Julian," Dax said slowly, as they laid her down on a biobed. "I'll be fine."

Bashir looked to Kira, "What happened?" He began to examine Dax with his tricorder. But before she could answer him the tricorder told him.

"The Gidari."

"She'll be fine," Bashir said. "It's the green one."

"I told you so," Dax teased Kira.

"What did they want, Jadzia?" Bashir asked.

But Kira was confused. "Green one?"

"The chemicals," Dax said, ignoring Kira. "They destroyed the tricorder, too."

Bashir nodded. He wasn't surprised. He was glad the computer was down. They might have tried to destroy that as well. It, too, would contain information about the chemicals. He turned to Kira. "There were two chemicals we analyzed from the Gidari. One was blue. That's what they gave my nurse. It's a truth drug, and it's quite painful. The other was green. It thickens the blood, but has no serious side effects. If we can trust your simulations," he teased Dax.

"She couldn't even walk," Kira argued. "You don't call that a serious side effect?"

"Lack of oxygen. Oxygen is energy. Thicker blood flows slower, carrying less oxygen. Less energy. It'll pass. It can't last more than four hours. She'll be fine, really." He looked back to Dax. "How long has it been?"

"Not sure, Julian," she answered. She sounded exhausted.

"Alright," Bashir replied. He studied the tricorder, trying to remember the readout from the computer the night before. "It looks like at least two hours. We'll just wait it out. Get some sleep."

But he needn't have said anything. Dax was already asleep.

"I'd like some Security here and in her lab if you can spare it. When those computers come back up the Gidari might come back. They don't want us to have any information about them. We've used the computer to analyze those chemicals."

"Right now, I don't know if we can spare any," Kira said. "We haven't got enough to prevent three bombings in one night. But we'll see what we can do when the computer's back up. Take this." Kira handed him her phaser. Her eyes looked tired, but her features still looked defiant. "But I've got an idea on how to stop the terrorists."

"Really?" Bashir took the phaser, checked its charge, set it to heavy stun, and put it on a cabinet near Dax's biobed.

"Tell you about it later. I've got to get to Ops."

Bashir wished her good luck. Kira took one last look at Dax, appeared satisfied that she'd be fine, and headed out the door. Bashir returned to the Teldarian captain.

Kira arrived in Ops and thought she'd arrived in a war zone. Consoles were taken apart, viewscreens removed, circuits exposed. Dirty engineers and technicians walked around and over the dismantled equipment. "Where's the chief?" she called out over the noise.

An arm emerged from beneath the science station and pointed toward the engineering station. "Somewhere over there, I think," a woman's voice answered.

Kira followed where the hand had pointed. She tried not to step on anything. A pair of legs stuck out from a hole in the wall. "Chief?" Kira asked. "Is that you?"

"It's me," the chief called back. "I thought you were supposed to be sleeping. What can I do for you, Major?"

"I've got an idea on how to stop them."

O'Brien quickly backed out from under the console he was working on and stood up. "What kind of idea?"

"Where's Sisko?" Kira asked.

"In his office last I saw," O'Brien said. They both walked quickly to the prefect's office above the Operations Center. Kira knocked and the door opened.

Sisko was sitting behind his desk. He raised his eyebrows when he saw his Bajoran First Officer. "I thought I ordered you to sleep."

"I did," Kira answered excitedly. "And it gave me an idea."

"I'm listening," Sisko said,

Kira nodded and began. "Why don't we use the runabouts? Their computers are independent of the station. We can use their sensors and their transporter beams."

"And their communications systems," Sisko added. He thought for a moment and nodded. "Do it, as soon as you think you can get to them. Chief," Sisko continued, "how's it going out there?"

"We've got the environmental controls. The temperature is rising. We should be up to normal within the hour. I found communications. Lieutenant Mir is still working on the security sensor grid. The turbolifts should be working under manual control."

"Sounds like progress." Sisko smiled. "Keep it up."

"And Commander," Kira began again, "Dax is in the Infirmary." She spoke quickly to assure him that she was alright. "Doctor Bashir says it's nothing serious. But it was the Gidari. They came into her lab and destroyed some equipment containing information about them. They gave her a drug. Bashir says it will wear off."

"Thank you, Major."

"It'll take time to get the runabouts out, Major," O'Brien commented as the two of them stepped out of the office. "We can get the doors open, but we still have to get to the docking clamps, the pressure systems, the bay doors and such."

Kira nodded thoughtfully. "Get the station's systems running here first. They're more important. The runabouts will really only be useful when the terrorists strike again."

"And, most likely, that won't be until tonight," O'Brien finished.

Kira nodded again. That gave her time to think up a plan. Once she had the runabout, what would she do with it? She wanted to catch them before they set another bomb. She thought for a moment. Then a thought struck her. "Chief, no one died tonight."

O'Brien looked at her. He was about to remind her of the bomb in Docking Port Four. But she spoke again.

"I mean besides the Teldarians. No one died. No murders."

"None that we know of," O'Brien corrected. But he liked what she was getting at. "But maybe Targo was our man."

"Let's hope so. That'd be one less problem to deal with today." Behind them Sisko's doors opened. He walked out across the busy Operations Center and toward the exit. Kira assumed he was going to check on Dax for himself.

A low hum filled the turbolift and caused Dr. Grant to raise his head. And when he did he saw the control panel lit up and lettered in Cardassian script. His mind was calmer now, and he could think clearly. The turbolift was working. He stood up and studied the lift's controls. Within a few minutes he was able to direct the lift towards Upper Pylon Two. The turbolift began to move. It was slow and rough compared to the Federation's lifts. The Cardassians were so utilitarian. They seemed to care nothing for the comfort of their crews.

The turbolift came to a sudden stop, which almost threw him off his feet. The doors whooshed open much too quickly and slammed shut behind him after he'd exited. Grant stared at it in surprise for a moment. He was surprised that it had worked at all. But it had brought him, and safely enough, too. He turned and walked toward the airlock and home.

The airlock was also of utilitarian Cardassian design, a large circular door surrounded by the same gray metal walls. But through the windows in the gear-like door, bright light and pastel colors shone. The Ranger was comfort, so unlike this station. Starfleet took much better care of its people. It was a whole different philosophy, Grant mused. Starfleet knew that a comfortable, happy crew gave its loyalty more freely, more strongly, and performed to the best of their abilities voluntarily, which made everyone's job easier.

One of the guards at the airlock smiled when he saw Grant. "Good morning," he said. He was the station's guard.

Grant searched his memory for a moment. But he came up empty. He didn't know the man. "Good morning," he replied. Then he remembered that he must look a fright, as if he hadn't slept at all. That was why the man had smiled.

The door did not open when Grant neared it. "Name, please," the other guard asked.

"Dr. Alexander Grant."

"Ah, yes, sir." The guard turned and opened the door. "Welcome back, Doctor."

Grant stepped through the door and sighed. That station weighed heavily on him. He felt weaker there, drained by the dark colors and lack of luxury. He already felt lighter in spirit as he walked toward door that would open onto the Ranger.

The door opened itself before he could reach it. Dr. Maylon stood on the other side. He looked back at Grant, just a little startled. But his eyes brightened, and he smiled a welcome. "Dr. Grant, just getting back?" he asked.

Grant stepped through the door. "I got stranded on that station when the power shut down. They would not allow me to leave until it came back up," he said, defending himself and his appearance. But then he thought to turn the tables and question the doctor. "You're going out quite early, aren't you?"

"Well, I was hoping to have a Bajoran breakfast," Maylon answered, clasping his hands together. "Is the Promenade up and running yet"

"I don't know I wasn't on the Promenade. But the turbolifts only just became operational. And they must be controlled manually. I'm afraid you won't find much on the Promenade this morning. If you'll excuse me," Grant said, backing away down the corridor. "I did not have a good night's sleep, and I'd really like to rectify the situation."

"Sleep well," Maylon said, still smiling. Then he stepped through the airlock door.

Dr. Bashir waited for the turbolift to come to a complete stop and stepped off. He descended the stairs, planting his feet purposefully on each step until he reached the floor of Ops. Chief O'Brien had looked up by then, and he had caught Kira's attention as well. They had been checking the readouts and displays on the master console.

"I have a philosophy," he began, spreading his arms wide as he leaned them against the table, "about medicine: Sick people come to the Infirmary to get well. Not vice versa."

O'Brien and Kira said nothing. They exchanged confused glances.

"Now, I will give you a choice," Bashir continued. "Either make restoring power to the stasis chambers in my Infirmary a priority or find me somewhere else to put them and a way to get them there."

"Them?" Kira asked.

"Yes, them," Bashir replied, sitting down opposite them. "You know, one Ferengi, expired three days ago; two Bajorans, expired in the last two days, and fourteen Teldarians, who expired only just last night. Dead people don't keep fresh by themselves."

O'Brien nodded. "Okay, Julian. But I can't guarantee the stasis yet. Things are complicated up here. Everything's been crossed and confused. But, what I can do, right now, is give you a cargo bay. We can isolate its environmental controls from the rest of the station and lower the temperature."

"Fine," Bashir nodded back. "But how do we get them there? It would make an interesting parade down the Promenade, don't you think?"

O'Brien blew out his breath and thought for a moment.

"I don't suppose the transporter's almost up?" Kira asked hopefully.

O'Brien shook his head. "Can they wait a little while longer?" he asked the doctor.

"Oh, they're quite patient, really," Bashir quipped. "It's the rest of us that are anxious for them to go." Then he was serious. "But I suppose we could wait another hour. After that it risks becoming a health hazard. They'll have to be moved then."

"I'll see what I can do," O'Brien said, and he rose from the table. Bashir rose, too. But Kira caught his arm.

"How's Dax," she asked.

"She's fine," Bashir assured her. "Just resting. Another quarter of an hour and she'll be back to normal." If the smell doesn't knock her out, he thought. Really, he was exaggerating. The drawers in the morgue at the back of the Infirmary did protect them from the smell of the decomposing bodies to a certain extent. But he hadn't been exaggerating about the health risk they could cause. The drawers, without the computer to seal them, could only do so much. In another hour, things would begin to be intolerable.

Kira seemed satisfied and returned to her work. Bashir went back to the turbolift. He arrived on the Promenade several minutes later. When the doors opened, he found he was still a foot above the floor. He stepped down without giving it a second thought and headed for the Infirmary.

There weren't many people on the Promenade this morning, with the exception of Security. But it was early yet. Many were probably aware that most of the station's systems still weren't functioning. The temperature had returned to normal, the doors and lights worked, and one might say that the turbolifts were running. But many things vital to the safety of the residents and visitors were still not available, such as security sensors and communication.

Bashir was surprised then to see Maylon slowly strolling along the Promenade, staring at the damage caused to Garak's shop. "Maylon!" Bashir called.

Maylon turned and waited for Bashir to catch up. "Hey, Julian. How are things this morning?"

"Not very well, as you can see," Bashir replied. "I've been quite busy all night. You're out early."

"I like the Promenade." Maylon was smiling. He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "There's always some kind of action going on somewhere. Besides I've been looking for a certain Bajoran woman. Do you know Fareed Taleyn?"

"No," Bashir said. He did remember the name being mentioned about the time of the Bajoran boy's death. Yes, a former nurse from the camps. "Why are you looking for her?"

"If you'd seen her, you would know, Julian," Maylon answered. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"I don't know that anything is opened yet. And you'd probably have better luck with the replicators on the Ranger." Bashir stifled a yawn. "I really must get back to the Infirmary."

"How about lunch?" Maylon asked. "That is, if you're still awake."

"I'm sorry. I already have plans. I have a weekly lunch date."

Maylon winked and raised his eyebrows. He'd obviously gotten the wrong idea. "Who with?"

Bashir looked at the burnt-out shop. There was still blood on the floor not twenty feet from where they stood. "With the owner of this shop."

Maylon was surprised. He blew out some air. "You'd have more fun with me, I think. Whoever owns this shop won't be in a very good mood."

"Which is all the more reason I should meet with him for lunch," Bashir said. "Besides, he doesn't have many friends on the station. I really must be going, Maylon."

"See ya around, Julian." Maylon waved, with his left hand, and walked off again down the corridor.

Bashir looked at Garak's gutted shop. Bits of mannequins lay scattered on the floor. Everything was black from the smoke. It was a mess. But it wasn't the first time his shop had been bombed. And, because Garak was a Cardassian, Bashir thought that it would probably not be the last.

He wondered why Garak didn't just move on to somewhere else. It's true, Bashir was sure, that Garak was a spy. But he also knew that he was working freelance. Enabran Tain, the former head of the Cardassian's Obsidian Order, had been very emphatic about never wanting Garak to return to Cardassia. He hated him. It seemed the Cardassians didn't want him any more than the Bajorans. So why did he bother?

But Garak would never answer that question. He was never that straightforward. But, then, lunch wouldn't be as interesting if he was.

Inara wanted to see the damage. She was a little put out that the lights had been restored already. But then, she figured, O'Brien and the others would have been up all night working on bringing the systems back up. She was surprised to find just how much they had restored. The replicators, the turbolifts, the environmental systems--she was thankful for that one--and communications. She had seen an officer in the corridor talking into his communicator.

She felt better when the turbolift jerked to a stop. The Promenade was dead. There were few people out, except for Security. They were everywhere. But the shops were just opening and it was nearly nine o'clock. She noticed though that those that were open were Bajoran. It was the aliens who were worried.

Inara walked toward the temple. She would be able to see the Cardassian's shop from there. The clothier's shop was guarded by security officers who tried to get the staring people to go on about their business. Inara didn't stop to gawk but walked slowly, looking in as she passed. There wasn't much left. The entire front of the shop had been broken out, the walls torn. Inside she could see pieces of cloth and shards of metal. The Cardassian wouldn't be grinning today.

Her boss, Mr. Wayd, was just opening up. "I hope I'm not late," Inara said as she stepped inside the shop. "I wasn't sure what time it was when I woke up this morning." She began to help him unlock each of the cabinets and set out the jewelry.

"I wasn't sure myself, Taleyn," Wayd replied. He wasn't an old man, but he reminded her of her father, what she could remember of him. "I'm not even sure anyone will come in today. But one never knows." He hadn't looked up, but he did now. "Did you see the Cardassian's shop?"

Inara nodded.

"Better him than anyone else," Wayd commented. "Dima says that I shouldn't worry. The . . .," he hesitated with the word, "terrorists, they're only attacking non-Bajorans. But I think shutting down the station hurts Bajorans, too. A Bajoran security officer could have been killed last night. And what if someone became ill? How would we call for help? And what could the doctor do without the computer?"

Inara nodded thoughtfully. "Well, we managed without a computer in the camps. I didn't like the cold myself. Haven't we had to sleep in the cold long enough?"

"Exactly," Wayd agreed. "My wife thinks they're heroes. But I know that without the off-worlders, I'd have no business. Neither would any other Bajoran on this station. And we'd all still be living in the camps asking for handouts from the Federation. Things may not be perfect, but they're better than they were. At least we're free now."

Inara sighed. "Are we? Sometimes I'm not sure. Poor people are never really free."

"But we're not poor, Taleyn." Wayd smiled. "You have to look at things in relation to other things. We were poor during the Occupation. We had only what they gave us, and it was never enough. Now we can have more. We have to work for it, but it's there for us if we try. Look at the humans' planet, Earth. We could be like that one day. They don't even have money. They don't need it."

"We're nothing like them, though," Inara contended. "They've never had to go through what we have."

"Oh, but they have," Wayd argued. "You should read their history. They almost destroyed themselves. Several times. It's a wonder their civilization survived at all. And without the assistance of the Prophets. But they did survive, as we have. And they recovered, as we will. They moved forward. That's what we need to do."

Inara didn't want to agree or disagree. She didn't want to discuss her beliefs. That could only lead to trouble. She agreed with some of what he said. They were better off materially than they were under the Cardassians. But at least during the Occupation, her people had kept their eyes on the Prophets. The Prophets were all they'd had. Now material things were perhaps blocking their sight. A customer walked in and saved her from having to say something.

Inara smiled until she saw who it was. The officer from the Ranger. Maylon, wasn't it? He was looking at a bracelet through the glass counter top. "May I help you?" Inara asked.

"Uh, yes," Maylon answered, looking up. He acted surprised when he saw her. "Oh, Miss Taleyn. No, no, it's Fareed. Last names first, I remember."

"What can I help you with, sir?" Inara said. Wayd had been concerned at her rudeness, but he seemed to understand the officer's attitude. He went to the back room, leaving her to handle Maylon as she saw fit. Inara knew that he was showing that he trusted her.

"Please call me Maylon," Maylon pleaded. Then he returned to the bracelet. "I need a gift. My sister's birthday is coming up."

"And you want to send her gold?" Inara wasn't buying it. "Didn't you say your family was from Ahmossa IV? What would an Ahmossan want with gold?"

Maylon grinned widely. "Ah, you do remember me. I also said they were hypocrites. She'd love gold."

"You'll be going into the Gamma Quadrant, how would you get it to her? And why not get her something from there? It would be much more unique, I'm sure."

"Look, don't you want to make a sale?" Maylon had stopped smiling. He looked angry. "Why does it matter to you who I'm going to give it to or how I'm going to get it there?" He stopped and forced his smile to return. "Besides, I could always give it to you."

"I don't want it," Inara said flatly. "But if you want to buy it, you're welcome to it." Inara removed the bracelet from the glass case and held it up for his inspection. "Would you like it packaged as a gift?"

"That's better. Yes, please." He lay ten bars of gold-pressed latinum on the counter. Then he took the package and turned to leave.

"It doesn't cost that much," Inara called after him.

"I know," he answered as he stepped through the door.

As soon as communications were up, the angry calls resumed. Kira happily routed the worst of them to Sisko. She had felt a little guilty about that, but she reminded herself that it was his job as commander of the station. Kira took on the lighter ones. Many ships called in to ask what was being done to catch the Teldarians' murderers or to protect themselves. Many others wanted to leave the station. These Kira gave to Sisko. It was his decision anyway.

The Gindarin, Kira noted, never called and never requested clearance to leave. Kira thought about what Bashir had said about the computers. The Gidari still weren't satisfied or they would have left. "Kira to Odo."

"Yes, Major," Odo answered.

"Do we have any extra security we could put in Dax's lab and the Infirmary?" She knew he wouldn't be happy about her request.

"Major, I have three investigations going on at one time. I have to guard the docking ring and the Promenade and the habitat ring. In other words, the whole station."

Kira stopped him. "I'm worried about the Gidari. I don't like the fact that they can just pop onto our station any time they choose and kidnap our crew or destroy our equipment. I want to be able to catch them next time they try."

"Then I'm afraid, Major, you'll have to do so yourself. There's nothing I can do at the moment. I've got all my officers out as it is. There's none to spare."

"Right," Kira nodded. "Thanks anyway, Odo. Kira out." If there was anything Kira hated, it was having her hands tied. She felt helpless. They had covered the Promenade with Security and still, there was a bomb. And the bombers left no trace. Dax was attacked by the Gidari in her lab. And there was no way they could have been stopped and no way they could be stopped if they came again. But no one had been murdered. At least that was positive.

"I've got the security sensor grid," Lieutenant Mir announced, interrupting her thoughts. It was reassuring news.

"Good work," Kira said. "Let me see it."

Mir pressed a few controls on the console, and a diagram of the station lit up the screen. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for the highlighted areas showing bomb damage. Kira requested the computer to show her the positioning of security officers, and little circles of light lit up the diagram at nearly every level. But even they were stretched thin.

Someone could slip through. It was inevitable. There wasn't enough security to guard every inch of the station physically. And Kira was sure she'd lose the sensors again by night. The terrorists, on the other hand, seemed to have everything they needed. With the transporter, they could easily slip by the station's security.

"Lieutenant!"

"Yes, sir?" Mir asked.

"I want the transporter to malfunction tonight," Kira stated. She would take away their advantage.

"Sir?" Mir was confused. "It's already malfunctioning."

"No, Mir. It's not functioning at all. I don't want it taken offline. They'll do that for us. I want it taken apart. I want them all taken apart. But first, get at least one of them running. We need to empty out the morgue."

"The morgue, sir?" he repeated.

"Yes," she answered, not wanting to explain too much. "Get the transporter running, and we'll transport the contents to Cargo Bay Seven."

"Yes, sir."

Quark's was not a busy place in the morning. But it was a place to get breakfast and information. Maylon sat at his table and thought over what the boy had told him as he ate his French toast. The boy had told him of the latest rumor that the murderer had been found. There had been no murders since one of the terrorists had been detained. Maylon had asked about the bomb. He hadn't expected the boy's response. "Which bomb?"

One security officer injured on the Promenade and fourteen Teldarians dead from two bombs placed in their airlock on the docking ring. The Teldarians were simple traders. They weren't warlike like the Klingons or dishonest like the Ferengi or Gidari. They were just traders. They hadn't done anything to deserve the death of the whole crew of their ship.

Just who did these Bajorans think they were? They seemed to think they could take on the whole galaxy by themselves. Were they really so stupid that they couldn't see that the Federation was here to help them, not to help the Federation? The Federation didn't need Bajor. The Teldarians didn't need to send their people here to be killed. Bajor needed the Federation. Without the Federation, they'd be helpless. The Cardassians had seen to that.

Maybe the Federation should give the terrorists what they want. Maybe Starfleet should pull out of here and let them have their station for a little while. Perhaps when the Cardassians came back with their Galor warships to take over the "Celestial Temple", the Bajorans would realize their mistake.

They were so ungrateful. So cold. Just like Miss Inara Taleyn, he thought. She had no reason to be unfriendly. He'd done nothing to her except be nice.

And Julian. What was he up to? The bomb on the Promenade had been in a Cardassian's shop. Maylon shook his head remembering that Julian had said he was meeting the owner of the shop for lunch. He was meeting a Cardassian. A Cardassian spy, according to the Ferengi boy.

The boy returned to the table and sat down. "The Gidari came back last night."

"I didn't ask you about the Gidari," Maylon said. The Ferengi were greedy. The boy just wanted more money.

"I thought you might be interested in the other events on the station."

"Fine, bring me some milk and tell me about the Gidari." Maylon handed him another bar of gold-pressed latinum. The Ferengi boy grinned so widely and graciously that Maylon thought he might start to drool. He scampered away quickly and whispered with his uncle Quark who looked over at Maylon's table often.

The boy returned with the milk and the information. The Gidari had transported into Lieutenant Dax's laboratory and drugged her while they searched her lab for information and chemicals designed by the Gidari.

Another race who seem to think they are God. Maylon drank down his milk, tipped the boy and left the bar. He didn't want to be late. He was due in sickbay at ten. The Promenade was beginning to come to life again. The security guards were less obvious now, and Maylon decided some were probably sent to the docking ring to guard it.

"How are you feeling this morning, Lieutenant?" Bashir asked, leaning over the security officer. He scanned the man with his tricorder as he waited for an answer.

"Much better," he answered, even managing a smile. "Thank you, Doctor. But I got light-headed when I tried to sit up."

"So don't try to sit up," Bashir advised. "Just relax. You've lost some blood. Too much activity will make you light-headed. Get some rest. It will get better."

"What exactly happened anyway?"

"Another bomb happened," Bashir said. He laid the tricorder aside. The patient needed rest and to replenish his supply of blood, which would happen naturally with time. "Destroyed the clothier's shop."

"Where we found the Bajoran kid?" he asked, but he didn't seem to require an answer. "Was anyone else hurt?"

"No," Bashir assured him. "You were the only one."

"That's good," the lieutenant commented.

"Now, go back to sleep." Bashir left him and went to see Dax. She was awake and smiled at him.

"You look tired, Julian," she said. She moved her legs over, and Bashir sat down on the edge of the biobed.

"I am tired." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. It was true. He'd had a little sleep early on, a few hours at the most. But he'd been awake since the bomb in the docking ring, and he was up the whole day before that. "How about you?"

"Oh, I feel fine now," Dax declared brightly. She was wide awake. She'd had her sleep earlier in the night until the Gidari came and after she was brought to the Infirmary. "Actually, you can release me any time you want."

"You never want to stay," Julian complained in fun. "Don't you like my Infirmary?"

"It's not the Infirmary," Dax teased. "I just don't like doctors."

"Oh, that hurts." Bashir became serious again. "Squeeze my hand."

Dax obeyed and took his hand.

"You've got quite a grip," Bashir said, when she squeezed. He had checked her before and knew that there wasn't any trace of the drug left in her system. He was satisfied that she had her strength back and no side effects from the drug. "Normally, I'd say stay and rest anyway, but we could probably use your help. You can go whenever you want. But don't feel you have to. We probably won't get to sleep tonight, so you might want to sleep now so you're well rested."

"I could say the same to you," Dax said. She sat up and rubbed his shoulders for him. "You've been up the whole night."

Bashir closed his eyes and felt the muscles in his neck begin to relax. "Grant was here last night."

"And?" Dax asked.

"He was on the docking ring when the bomb blew. He said he had gone for a walk," he clarified. "What was he doing going for a walk on the docking ring so late at night?"

"That is strange, I suppose." Dax stopped massaging his neck. "Maybe he didn't realize that the lights would go out."

"You do realize that he's a suspect, don't you?"

"Julian," Dax said and waited for Bashir to turn his head, "I know you said something bad happened between the two of you, but do you really think he would kill someone? Are you sure you're looking at this objectively?"

"I know what you think," Bashir began, ready to defend himself. "But I don't let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties. I don't think he'd normally kill anyone. But I don't think he's acting normally. You saw how he was at dinner the other day. If he wasn't a doctor himself, I'd think he was a drug addict."

"Maybe you should ask Maylon," she suggested. "He treated him that night."

"Maylon's a suspect too. They all are. It's almost ridiculous how many left-handed medical personnel are running around on this station right now. Both of the Ranger's doctors and Doctor Grant, not to mention one of my nurses. What are the odds of that happening?"

"O'Brien to Bashir."

Bashir tapped his comm badge and answered, "Bashir here."

"We've got Cargo Bay Seven cooled down and ready to go. We're prepared to transport."

"That's good news, Chief. Do you need me to do anything?"

"No, we can get them from here, Doctor."

"Right. Whenever you're ready, Chief. Bashir out."

"Transport what, Julian?" Dax asked.

"Them," Bashir answered, pointing to the morgue. They watched the wall. They could see the transporter effect fall over the top left-hand drawer. It wavered and sparkled for a moment and then returned to normal. The effect fell on the second drawer. Even as it did, little lights began to appear on the black consoles above the biobeds. One by one they appeared, filling the consoles with color.

"That was rather quick," Bashir commented. "But it means I have more work to do. You know, with the computer up, they might as well have left them here."

"We'll just lose the computer again tonight, and they'd have to be moved anyway," Dax said, echoing Bashir's fatigued tone. She pulled her legs up so that she could sit beside Bashir on the side of the bed. "We've both got work to do."

"Be careful," Bashir warned. "The Gidari might want to return. Don't take any chances."

Dax nodded and smiled her serene smile. She patted him once on the back. "I won't. Let's get to work, Julian."

Julian nodded and stood again. He'd have to inspect the situation in Cargo Bay Seven to make sure it was sealed well and cold enough. And he could now repair Reyna's vocal cords and give Lieutenant James the blood he needed for a full recovery. Dax left and Bashir called Nurse Jabara from the other room.

"Let's set Mr. James up with two pints of A positive if the computer is up to cooperating." As he spoke, he ran a diagnostic on the Infirmary's computers.

"Yes, Doctor." Jabara went to replicate the blood and set up the equipment, while Bashir took the time to update the medical log. There was a lot to add because the log had not been accessible since before the night's first bomb. He waited for the diagnostic to finish and then set the log to record. Dax had been admitted and released without any real treatment. Nurse Reyna's injuries were healed and all that remained now was to restore her voice. Fourteen Teldarians had been admitted, so to speak. They were dead on arrival. And one security officer had been treated in the dark and would probably be released by lunchtime.

Dr. Grant was a problem. Bashir had been busy with Lieutenant James and had not even had a chance to examine Grant. He had taken care of himself. Bashir was glad not to have had to deal with him, especially at that time. But he didn't like patients leaving his Infirmary before he knew for himself that they were well.

The log taken care of, Bashir went to see his patient. "Well, Lieutenant. It looks as if you'll be out of here by lunchtime."

"Sounds great," James replied. "Do I get time off for this?"

"Only for the rest of the day," Bashir answered. "I could authorize that, I believe, but we'll need you tonight I would think."

Bashir ran a scan of the blood to assure himself that it was safe and uncontaminated. Satisfied, he began the infusion and monitored the blood as it slowly entered the man's system. The computer monitored it also, checking for air bubbles that could be caught in the line. It took several minutes, but finished smoothly.

Bashir turned to Jabara. "I've got to go inspect the cargo bay. Pull up the specs on Reyna's voice, and we'll take care of that when I get back."

Jabara nodded, and Bashir left the Infirmary again. He was amazed at the stubbornness of DS-Nine's population. Four bombs and three murders and they still wouldn't stay off the Promenade. It was late morning now, and morale on the Promenade seemed high. The corridors were full of people shopping. Bashir waited for the turbolift and stepped inside.

He stepped out again when he reached the docking ring. The docking ring was darker and quieter. There were generally less people here, except when a new ship was arriving. Cargo Bay Seven was a short walk from the turbolift.

The door did not immediately open when he approached. Bashir placed his hand on the panel beside the door. The computer recognized him. "Dr. Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer. Access permitted." The door slid open.

"Computer, who has access to this bay?"

"Only senior staff and medical personnel have access to Cargo Bay Seven."

Bashir thought for a moment. It might be a good idea to restrict access further. Even some of his own medical staff had to be considered suspects in the murders. "Restrict that access to only senior staff unless otherwise authorized by me."

"Done."

"Thank you." Bashir could feel the cold from the open doorway. He stepped inside and opened his tricorder. Seventeen below zero degrees. Fine. The bodies had been placed in plastic bags in preparation for their transfer. They were now lined up on the floor in the same order as they had been in the drawers. The bodies were freezing nicely. There weren't any leaks or contamination. Everything seemed fine.

Bashir turned to leave again, but the door wouldn't open. He stepped back and stepped forward, hoping that the door just had a glitch. But still the door didn't open. "Computer," Bashir said, "open the interior door to Cargo Bay Seven."

"Recognize . . . human." The computer's monotone voice responded.

"Excuse me?" Bashir looked up out of habit. And then he could see the small gray box above the door with its small flashing red light.