The transporter room was crowded again. Sisko was there. He had been there since Salerno had beamed up just after roll call. Salerno was waiting there as well, though he had taken the time to shower and change back into his Starfleet uniform. Two nurses were there, informed of the injuries inflicted on Jordan by the kapo. Kira was there just because she wanted to be. In fact, she was handling the transporter controls. Thomas was there, too, since she was their expert on concentration camps. They all waited for nearly a half an hour before the call came for transport. The rest of the away team had already beamed back up, having had no success in finding the doctor. Novak had reported though that Crematoria IV was completed.

When Jordan materialized on the pad, he had his back to the crowd. Sisko could see a bruise already forming on the back of his shaved head. Jordan turned, a look of shock on his bruised face. He looked as bad as Sisko had feared, though Salerno had tried to prepare them. The nurses moved forward quickly to sit him down. "His arm is broken," one of them reported. "Possible concussion."

Jordan pushed them away and stood up again. "You can't treat it! I've got to go back. Sir, he's there. I saw him."

The nurses froze. Everyone did. Kira and Sisko looked at each other. It was something they had hoped for, but it hadn't seemed real that someone would just beam up and say they'd seen Bashir. "Where?"

"I can show you on the map," Jordan answered. He moved to the transporter console and pulled up an image of Auschwitz on the display. He pressed a few keys, then stopped. He turned his head back to the nurses. "I won't let you treat it, but I could use something for the pain." They obliged with a hypospray, and he continued, zooming in on the section of camp where he had been. He pointed to one of the rectangular bars that marked the barracks there. "He was there, sitting outside until curfew."

Sisko watched the display, memorizing the location. "You're sure it was him?"

Jordan turned back around. "Yes, sir. I didn't get a good look at him, but he was speaking English, and the accent was there. He was talking to another prisoner. I could hear it all. It's definitely him. He was talking about the future, about traveling among the stars."

Kira and Sisko shared a look again. "He was talking about that?" Kira asked. "What about the timeline?"

Jordan shook his head. "He died," he explained. "The other guy. He died. I think that's why he told him all that, because he was dying. I think they were friends. I can go back in the morning, to his barracks."

Sisko thought about that. Bashir could be back on board by morning. But Thomas was shaking her head. "No, you can't."

Everyone turned to where she was standing in the back of the room. "Explain," Sisko ordered.

She had been leaning on the wall, but she straightened up. "It's too dangerous. Lieutenant Jordan is already injured. There could be a selection in the morning. You never know. They'd select you for that arm," she told Jordan, "and you'd be sent to the gas."

"Not if we're out before roll call," Jordan argued.

Thomas still shook her head. "They lock the doors. Block arrest. There is no roll call, and you can't leave the building. You've been lucky so far. But you would have probably passed before. Not now."

"What about Bashir?" Kira asked. "He could be in a selection, too."

Thomas shrugged. "He's been there for six weeks, and he's not in quarantine. He's already been through selections."

Jordan held up his arm. "A kapo could kill him at work."

Thomas nodded. "Could. But no one has yet. Morning just wouldn't be a good time anyway. He's probably never alone then. There's only a short amount of time between reveille and roll call. There are, what, eight hundred men in that barracks? Would you have time to even speak to him?"

Jordan didn't answer. He didn't want to answer, because he didn't like the question. Sisko didn't either. He had been listening the whole time, but had not joined in the debate. The away team reports confirmed what Thomas was saying. Morning was a mad rush to take care of physical needs before roll call. And he really didn't want Jordan to go back down there. He'd decided that before he left Dax to return to the bridge. One man held prisoner was enough. They weren't going to risk losing another. But no other away team member could get that close to Bashir. The SS had stayed clear of the barracks most of the time, for fear of lice and typhus.

"You'll be staying, Lieutenant," Sisko stated. "Get that arm taken care of. You said he was sitting outside, alone except for that one man?"

Jordan nodded. "Yes, the others had already gone in. The dying man came back out, but Bashir was there the whole time."

"Did he say anything to make you believe he'd be back there tomorrow night?"

Jordan thought about this for a while, rubbing his forehead with his good hand. "He said, 'I come to look at the stars.' Not 'I came.' That makes it sounds like he does that often."

"Good," Sisko said. His mind was made up. "It will have to do. I want someone to keep an eye on him at all times. I'll go down to get him tomorrow night."

"Captain," Kira began immediately, "I don't think—"

Sisko held up a hand to stop her. He would accept no arguments on this point. He'd been sitting on this ship for weeks reading reports of the search. He needed to go down himself. Besides, he wasn't going to take any chances. "It will be dark, and I don't plan on being there for long. I'm going; end of debate."

The next morning, Leo was dressed in stripes. While uglier than the civilian clothes he'd been given, they were warmer. He had thanked Bashir for providing them. Max was thankful too, though he knew where the stripes had come from. He had watched Szymon leave the night before, and he had watched Bashir return. Bashir had even stopped to point one of the men on the floor to Szymon's vacated spot on the bunk. The others there complained but were too tired to argue. Bashir, as usual, said nothing, but his eyes and the extra uniform had told Max that Szymon had died.

An SS officer was standing in the road, watching the barracks when they went out. It made everyone nervous, and they ran to the latrine or to the Appellplatz. No one wanted to be seen as slow in front of the SS even though they weren't at work yet. But the SS made no move to punish anyone. He didn't even yell. He just watched. Max found it creepy. He thought that it might be Heiler, the peculiar guard who was obsessed with Bashir. He watched Bashir as they passed him on the way to roll call, but the Englishman showed no signs of even having seen him there.

The SS didn't follow them to roll call though, and Max forgot about him in the agony of the twice daily Appell. It was a not a bitterly cold morning, but it was still enough to make him shiver. But the SS didn't like movement of any kind in the ranks. So Max tried to relax all his muscles. It stopped the shaking, but it only lasted a few minutes at a time. The count went slowly. Apparently, there was a discrepancy in the numbers. It was not in Max's block though. His Blockälteste didn't run off with the others to find the missing man. A man somewhere behind him was beaten. He could smell the reason for it. The poor man had dysentery. Nearly everyone did, and Max knew that tomorrow it might be himself who was unable to hold it. Life was a very precarious thing.

Max had it easier, physically, than some, like Bashir and Leo. Their kapo was sadistic and the work was hard. For Max, it was still hard work, but he could find things in the baggage he unloaded that made life easier. Heiler would never let Bashir go, Max was convinced, but he had already decided to talk to his own kapo today. Maybe he could get Leo transferred.

Heiler seemed to have forgotten his tirade of the day before, but he had decided on a new trick. Whenever it seemed that no one was looking, the changeling would trade faces with someone Bashir knew. It would only last a second and only when he was watching. They were faces from the crew. She was insane. He had thought that before, but this was utterly ridiculous. What would she do if the other SS noticed? The prisoners might panic completely. Well, he had to admit, she was probably safe there. Most of the prisoners would never look an SS in the eye. The dog had noticed though, and he danced whenever Heiler came near. He barked and backed up, moved forward and seemed completely confused by the whole thing.

The barracks was nearly done. Half the kommando was already working on the next one just beside it. Others were inside this one, building the lopsided bunks that would house three or four times more men than would actually fit in the barracks. Leo was with them, and Bashir envied him for at least being in a shelter. And on the ground. Bashir was still working on the roof. He fell twice because his shoes or hand had slipped off the ladder. But no one beat him for it this time. The kapo screamed but allowed him to get up on his own, all the while throwing furtive glances back at Heiler.

She came to him during the midday meal. First, Heiler had expelled everyone from the barracks where they had been able to sit on the half-finished bunks. Then she had found Bashir sitting outside. She dumped his soup out onto the ground and then stood directly in front of him. Bashir kept his eyes below the level of the top of Heiler's boots, but he also noticed the stares of the rest of the kommando. Most showed suspicion. The kapo's stare showed hatred. Only Leo looked concerned.

Speaking in English with his practiced German accent, Heiler asked him how he was doing. "Having a good day, I hope." Then he dropped the pleasantries. "Have you noticed there are more SS around here these days? Must be something to do with the gas chambers. Number IV is working now. If I heard correctly, the first to use it will be the Gypsies. But, don't worry," she added, "Your turn will come."

Heiler started to walk away but stopped and turned back. "I saw your friend Simon today," he said, pronouncing the name wrong. "And I saw his clothes. Tell me, who is your new friend? Perhaps I should introduce myself."

She would do that if he didn't answer. She probably would do it even if he did answer, but he knew his chances of distracting her were better if he spoke. "I don't have any friends," Bashir told her.

"Yes, you do," Heiler argued. "He's right over there." His hand, with the whip held firmly in its grip, pointed toward Max's brother-in-law. Leo saw it, since he'd been watching the whole time, and cringed, burying his face in his bowl. "He's wearing Simon's clothes," Heiler continued. "You gave them to him."

"He was cold."

"So kind of you. Tell me, was Simon dead before or after you stole his clothes?"

Emotional abuse was a minor thing at present. Bashir felt no guilt over Szymon's death. He didn't answer.

But Heiler wasn't willing to give up the conversation. "Does he know he's wearing a dead man's clothes?"

"We're all wearing dead men's clothes," Bashir argued, keeping his voice calm and even, almost a monotone, "even you."

"Touché," Heiler laughed. "Very well then. Enjoy your lunch."

Bashir smirked at her sense of irony, but only after she'd turned. Lunch here was never something to enjoy, even after weeks of hunger. And it wasn't even lunch now; it was part of the mud between his feet.

The original plan had been that only Novak would be on the ground. Three others were uniformed and ready just in case Bashir got lost in the crowd. Those three hadn't been able to find him during the morning though, and they returned to the ship that afternoon. Novak returned too, but with plans to beam back down in the evening to watch for Bashir returning from roll call.

Sisko spent the day with O'Brien, checking and rechecking the systems. They planned to leave as soon as Bashir was safely on board. The warp drive was ready, though still not up to the specs that O'Brien wanted. The sensors too, had improved, but not by much. Without the forward array there was little more to be done. Dax was already working on the trajectory that would get them home. More worrisome were the impulse engines. They were working, but the jump would damage them if they weren't buffered. Sisko didn't want to have to crawl to Earth on thrusters, especially when members of his crew needed medical care. Nohtsu, he remembered, was still in stasis, and he told O'Brien to make sure that power to the stasis chambers was not interrupted either.

There were still plenty of minor problems to occupy the hours, Sisko found. Replicators were low priority outside the mess hall. Sisko had four of them repaired by dinner time. Power would be cut from them for the jump, but Sisko hadn't fixed them to be used. He had been killing time. Kira caught him at it when she was working on the environmental controls for the same reason. Since they were both there, he invited her to dinner, produced by one of his newly-repaired replicators.

The replicator was in the ready room, an area they hadn't used much because of power rerouting. Considering the length of their stay, the mess hall had taken priority since every member of the crew would need to use it at some point. The ready room was cold, since environmental and life support had been cut intermittently. But there was a table and some chairs, and the replicator managed a passable fettuccini Alfredo.

It was quiet, too. In less than a day, the entire ship had taken on a new atmosphere. People smiled in the corridors and told jokes as they worked. They talked about their families and the station and about returning. The tension had eased now that they knew they were going home.

"I'll need to call Odo," Sisko was saying, "as soon as we return."

"He's probably already called," Kira told him. "There will probably be several messages waiting for you when we get there."

"I've been thinking about what to do once we get there, Major." Sisko took a bite of pasta and washed it down with coffee. The replicator had decided that it didn't know any other beverages. "I've told Dax to try and get the ship back as close as possible to the time we left without meeting ourselves coming and going. But still, it took us a nearly a week to get here. And the ship will take time to repair. I don't want to leave Odo out there all alone. We are still at war. I need to get back to the station, and I can't wait the two or three weeks for the Defiant to make it back."

"What do you have in mind?" Kira asked.

"We'll need replacements, too, for the casualties," Sisko continued. "I want you to stay with the ship and whatever crew you need to get her back once she's fixed. I'll take the rest and get passage on a starship back to the station."

Kira put her fork down and looked at the captain. "And what would I do in the meantime?"

Sisko laughed, and it felt really good. Sometimes he thought Kira just didn't know how to take a break. "Take a vacation," he told her. "You haven't really been to Earth before, have you?"

"I've been there," she contended. "We were there for that dinner. The Chief and I had to go decade-hopping to find you and Dax and Julian."

"Our Earth," Sisko specified, still smiling. "Off the ship."

Kira opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again, allowing herself to smile. "Not off the ship."

"Well, then, this will be your chance. It really is a nice place." Sisko buttered another piece of bread. "I'm sure I won't be able to leave right away. We should all go to my father's restaurant for dinner. The whole senior staff, including Julian."

"It sounds wonderful. We haven't had a Sisko dinner in a while."

Sisko laughed. "I promise, he serves more than coffee there."

Bashir hadn't noticed any particular increase in SS around the camp, despite the completion of the crematorium. He could see the chimneys, though, as he and Leo returned with the kommando. It was already spewing out smoke. The top glowed red where fire and smoke emerged. It had started. The pyres still continued to burn as well, and the acrid stench thickly pervaded the Appellplatz while ash rained down like snow.

Again, the roll call was long, stretching on into the night and threatening to shorten the time before curfew. Leo had handled his second day at work better. Bashir assumed it was because of clothes. He wasn't so cold, and Szymon's shirt was big enough to hide his hands from the wind and ice. Actually, with the exception of lunch, Leo had performed his part very well. He practically melted into the mass of faceless prisoners. He knew to gravitate toward the center of everything, not to be on an outside edge. He was unnoticeable. Max had probably tutored him. Bashir wondered if Max had told him about Sophia and Hannah.

As one more day slowly crawled out of existence, Bashir daydreamed about replicators. They had become magical devices to him, even though he understood the basic mechanics of them. But what they appeared to do was produce food from thin air. Any kind of food, so long as it was programmed into memory. Huge amounts of food. Food with flavor. Food with nutritional value. And tea to drink, or coffee, anything warm. Or even cold. A tall glass of orange juice. Bashir was sure his mouth wouldn't remember what to do with such flavor as a glass of orange juice.

Finally, the count was over. Bashir was even hungrier now, and he scolded himself for giving in to his daydreaming. It can't hurt, he argued with himself. I'll never get to eat stuff like that again. I might as well dream it.

But it will only depress you, the sterner side contested. Stick to reality.

Reality is much more depressing. He found he couldn't argue with that. Now he saw the SS. There was one watching the road that led toward the barracks. But it still didn't seem to be enough to merit the changeling's remark, so he ignored the officer and went quickly to the barracks. Max, as usual, was keeping a look out for them. He already had his ration. He also had cheese from the transport he had unloaded that day. Bashir took his share of stale cheese and gnawed at it hungrily while he waited in line for his rations. Leo was right behind him doing the same.

He got his rations and retreated outside, away from the crowd. A few dozen men still lingered outside, but most had gone in since the snow started falling with the ash. Julian crouched down on his ankles and ate his food. The cheese, not surprisingly, was the best part of the meal. The rest consisted of rancid meat that Bashir couldn't even identify and the awful clay that the camp passed off as bread. He liked his daydreams better. They lasted longer, too. The rations were barely more than a few bites and were quickly gone. Once he was finished, Bashir tucked his hands under his arms. It was a cold night. They all were, but this one seemed especially so. He wondered what month it was. He guessed March, but it might have turned into April already without his knowing it. It should be close to spring, he thought, though it seemed a foreign concept in Auschwitz.

The smoke was heavy, but Bashir could no longer see the sources of the smoke. He could see an orange glare against the horizon though. The chimneys, the ones he had worked on, were also blocked from his vision, but he knew they would soon be fired up as well. Best not to think about it, he told himself.

He couldn't see a single star through the smoke, but he kept watching anyway. He would have to go back inside soon enough, both because of the cold and because of the Blockälteste. The others already had. But he liked to stay and look at the sky. In some small measure, it helped to think that the Defiant was still up there somewhere, even though he knew they had probably left. It was like the daydreams, a little less depressing than reality.

"Julian?"

Bashir jerked back, nearly falling over in the snow at sound of his name. Instinctively, he reached out to catch himself and instantly regretted it as pain flared in his hand and shoulder. He turned cautiously toward the direction of the whisper. At first he didn't see anyone, and then a dark figure edged toward him in the shadows. He froze in place and watched suspiciously as the figure crawled over next to him. A small shape caught the light in the vicinity of the figure's chest. A lighter patch covered the figure's shoulders. And then he could see who it was—or who it was supposed to look like. Sisko. His eyes looked at Bashir with concern. Very convincing.

"Julian," he said carefully, and then he smiled. "I think it's time to go home."

Bashir stared at him blankly. "I won't fall for that." It was not the first time the changeling had ever impersonated one of his friends. She'd been doing it all day. She had never bothered to actually try and convince him she was someone else though. This was new. Still, he would put nothing past her, not after his trip to Auschwitz I and their subsequent meetings. She'd even impersonated a prisoner to get to him.

The changeling-Sisko's smile faded, and his expression turned to confusion. "Julian? It's me, Captain Sisko."

"I know who you are," he replied quickly and tried to back away. "I'm going back inside."

"No! Wait!" Sisko sounded exasperated and half angry. Bashir halted, unsure of whether she would strike out at him or not. She was so unpredictable. It was part of her hold on him, he knew, but he could think of no way to counteract it. "What's wrong?" he asked. Bashir said nothing, and then it seemed as if a light played over Sisko's face. "The changeling?" he whispered. "It's here."

Bashir felt his pulse pick up in his chest, which was still decidedly painful. What if it really was Sisko? No, he scolded, that's just what she wants you to believe.

Sisko inched forward again. "It's me, Julian. I'm not the changeling, and I'll prove it to you." His hand moved, and Bashir heard a familiar chirp sound even as it was muffled by Sisko's hand. "Sisko to Defiant, two to beam up."

All of a sudden, Bashir found he couldn't breathe right. His heart pounded and he dared to hope that this really was his captain. The transporter effect caught him, and his whole body began to tingle. The darkness and the barracks behind him faded from his sight to be replaced by the near-blinding light and cleanliness of the Defiant's transporter room.

This time Bashir did fall over, though Sisko caught him, and he didn't hurt his arm again. He felt dizzy and thought for a moment that he would faint, but Sisko's grip was strong and held him like an anchor to consciousness. He thought he heard him tell someone to bring a blanket and a medkit, but it was muffled, like Sisko was speaking through a wall of gauze.

"My God, it's you," Bashir heard himself whisper before he was even sure he could speak. He tried to stand up, but found that his legs had finally rebelled against him. They felt like rubber and refused to support him. So instead he just pushed himself back until he felt a wall against his right shoulder. The whole room seemed to be spinning, or maybe he was, and he needed the solidity of the wall to stay still. He leaned against the wall, covered his face with his one good hand, and tried to get his breath under control again.

Sisko felt the transporter take hold and watched Bashir carefully as they rematerialized on the Defiant. Bashir fell over once the transporter let him go, and Sisko quickly reached out to catch him, remembering the slight wince of pain when Bashir had nearly fallen before. Bashir's hand clamped on to his own arm as well, and Sisko was surprised to feel how cold it was even through his uniform. Sisko looked down and noticed that Bashir's fingernails were gone.

Bashir looked as if he were about to faint, so Sisko waved the others off and told them to bring a blanket and a medkit. Ensign Thomas quickly ran out of the room to follow his orders, and Sisko turned his attention back to Bashir.

"My God, it's you," Bashir whispered. Utter amazement shone in his eyes where there had been distrust and suspicion just a moment before. He tried to stand, but collapsed again. Sisko tried to help him as he slid over until he could rest his shoulder against the back wall. He thought it strange that he didn't lean back on it.

Sisko was a little afraid of Bashir's reaction. He seemed like a different person. He had never seen Bashir like this, so thin, so fragile. He was afraid to touch him, afraid that maybe he really would break. It was like Bashir was a ghost, and if he spoke too loud or moved too fast, Bashir would vanish away again.

Bashir let go of his arm and placed his hand over his face. "Can we get you something?" Sisko asked quietly, gently laying his hand on the doctor's arm.

Bashir didn't answer right away. But his breathing became more regular, and he seemed to relax somewhat against the wall. He ran his hand through his hair, knocking off the striped cap he was wearing. Finally, when he did look up, he met Sisko's eyes and said, barely above a whisper, "You're still here."

"We wouldn't leave you," Sisko told him. "Not without trying."

"She told me she killed you."

She, Sisko thought. He had talked with her. "The changeling?" Sisko asked, looking for confirmation.

Bashir nodded. The changeling must have been with him the whole time. Sisko was glad to have found him when they did. He was surprised the changeling had let him live as long as she had, especially in such a place. Sisko took Bashir's hand and held it so that the fingertips were visible. His fingernails weren't really gone, but they were only about a quarter of the way grown in. His voice was sterner than he meant it to be when he spoke. "Did she do this to you?"

Bashir's eyes almost seemed to cloud over. After a long moment he nodded. "She told them I was a spy," he whispered, his eyes looking right through Sisko's.

"They . . . interrogated you?" Sisko asked.

This time his answer was no more than a breath. "They tortured me."

Sisko didn't know what to say. He wanted to ask Bashir what they had done, but knew that wouldn't help. He felt an anger grow inside his chest. He wanted to find that changeling and kill her himself. They couldn't leave anyway. They couldn't leave her there to change the timeline in the Dominion's favor.

Ensign Thomas returned with the blanket and medkit which she handed to Dax. Bashir's eyes immediately went to the blanket. Sisko nodded and Dax walked over, placing the blanket around Bashir's shoulders as best as she could. Bashir reached to touch her hand as she did so, as if to test that she was real as well. She smiled and knelt down beside him, still holding his hand. "We've missed you, Julian."

Bashir smiled, too, a small, tentative smile. He looked around the room then, taking in all the faces: Kira, O'Brien, and Ensign Thomas as well. His smile faded and a look of sadness crossed his face.

Sisko opened the medkit, removed the tricorder there, and began to scan Bashir with it. "We should get you to sickbay," Dax told him, but Bashir just shook his head.

"Why not?" Sisko asked, handing the tricorder to Dax. Her face paled a bit when she looked at the readout.

"I can't stay here." It was the first time he had spoken with his voice since beaming up. That voice held conviction, but his eyes spoke something different. Fear. "You have to send me back."

Sisko backed away. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "Absolutely not!"

Dax, still holding Bashir's hand in hers, turned and asked Kira to bring him a sandwich and something warm to drink. Bashir's head snapped up at the mention of food. He watched Kira carefully, following her with his eyes as she left the room.

"I can't send you back there, Julian," Sisko began again, more calmly this time.

"But I can't stay," he said, still watching the door. "I'll miss Appell."

Sisko didn't recognize the word. Maybe Bashir was in shock, delirious. He wouldn't have been surprised after seeing the tricorder readings, and Bashir had already admitted to having been tortured. But arguing wasn't going to help. Bashir was in no condition for it. "Why don't we talk about it in sickbay? You need medical attention."

Bashir shook his head. "I can't. They'd know the difference. I need to get back. It's late and we have to get up very early in the morning. They'll lock the door."

It was impossible. There was no way that he could send Julian back down there. Not after everything Thomas had said and everything he'd read in the reports and everything he could see right on Julian's face and in the way he held his arm. He couldn't even stand. They had tortured him, for God's sake, he thought. He couldn't send him back to them.

"Julian," he tried again, moving closer, "you're safe now. Here. After we find the changeling, we can go home. You don't have to go back. It's over."

Now it was Julian who seemed exasperated. He shook his head again. "It's not over."

Sisko was adamant. "It is for you."

"It's not just about me. There are other—"

Sisko didn't bother to let him finish. "We can't do anything about the others. You know that. It might change the timeline."

"It will change the timeline if I stay," Bashir pleaded. "Please, send me back."

Sisko shook his head, too. That was out of the question. He sighed. Before he could say anything else though, Kira returned with the sandwich. Not wanting to crowd the three of them, she held back and handed the plate to Dax who set it on the floor in front of Bashir.

Bashir seemed hesitant at first, but then he let go of Dax's hand. What surprised Sisko was that he reached out with his left hand for the plate. The tricorder had clearly shown that his shoulder had been injured, and his hand was hardly more than a mass of crushed bone. The hand still looked bad, though Sisko wasn't sure how much was dirt and how much was bruising. Bashir set the plate down on his legs and picked up the sandwich with his good hand. Sisko could tell he was trying to eat it slowly, as if he hadn't been starving for the last month.

Dax also held out a cup to him. Steam rose from the top. Tarkalian tea, Sisko guessed. They all knew it was Bashir's favorite. Bashir, for his part, finished the sandwich quickly and took the cup. He wrapped his hands around it—even the left—and then closed his eyes, letting the steam rise up to warm his face. He looked like he was on the verge of tears after he took his first sip.

Sisko watched all of this with concern. "Didn't you know we'd come for you?" he asked quietly.

Bashir looked up at him. He took in a deep breath. "I dreamed about it." His face took on a faraway look, and he smiled one of his half-smiles. "I dreamed about washing my hands and sleeping in a soft bed where the pillow fluffs up around my head and there are fifteen blankets to keep me warm."

Sisko laughed in spite of himself. "Fifteen, huh?" Then he became serious again. "You can wash your hands in sickbay. You can take a whole shower in sickbay. And if you want a bed, I'll get you one, with as many blankets as you want. But I can't send you back there."

Bashir sighed and then focused again on the captain's face, meeting his eyes. "I can't stay."

Sisko was losing his patience. "Why would you want to go back there?"

"I don't want to go back," Bashir said, equally impatient. "That place is hell. It's death." He grew quiet again. "If I'm not there to be counted in the morning, they'll think I escaped."

"Let them think it. It's not your problem anymore."

"It is." Bashir sounded more like his old self with those two words. "They'll 'interrogate' people. They'll kill them. Maybe the people they kill would have survived the war. Maybe they survived and had families. Maybe they are someone famous, someone important. And they'll have died because I wasn't there for Appell."

That would change the timeline. Sisko knew it. But he still didn't want to accept it.

"Bridge to Captain Sisko," Worf's voice interrupted over the comm line.

"Sisko here," he acknowledged, his eyes still holding the doctor's. "What is it, Commander?"

"We have the proper trajectory, sir. Shall we set course?"

Bashir's eyes widened and filled with urgency. "No! You have to send me back."

Sisko ignored the interruption. "I'll come to the bridge, Mr. Worf. Stand by." He watched Bashir for a moment, but neither of them spoke. "Major, will you please stay with the doctor," he said. "Dax, Chief, please come to the bridge."

He rose and walked to the door. Dax looked back once, as did the Chief, and then followed him out the door. He was glad to see that Thomas had left the transporter room as well. "I want the two of you," he addressed O'Brien and Dax, "to go over the trajectory and set the course. Have Barker and Salerno prepare to go back to the planet. We need to find the changeling before we can leave. Go on ahead." The turbolift came and the two of them stepped inside. Sisko hung back in the corridor and motioned for Thomas to join him. "Is what he said true?" he asked.

Kira waited for the others to leave and then sat down where Sisko had been. She leaned against the wall and stretched her legs out in front of her. She didn't look at him when she spoke. "The Shakaar cell liberated Gallitep. Did I ever tell you about it?"

Bashir was surprised by the look she gave him then. She didn't look at him as if he were frail and pitiful. The look in her eyes was that of someone who knew, who had seen the horrors he had. He was her equal. "No, but I read about it," he answered, "when Marritza was on the station."

"I could never send anyone to a place like that," she admitted, once again facing the back wall.

Bashir nodded. "I couldn't either," he said truthfully. "Not someone else."

"But you'd send yourself." It wasn't a question. She knew the answer.

He sighed, knowing what she was getting at. He thought of Leo and Max, waiting for him to come in from watching the sky. They would be the first targets for the Nazis if he escaped, the first targets for Heiler. "If staying means that others would die? Yes."

Kira looked away again, but said nothing.

"I know people there, Major," he continued, hoping to convince her. Maybe then she would help him convince Sisko.

"You know people here," she argued calmly. "We don't want to see you hurt, Julian."

"But you won't die if I go," Bashir went on.

"So would you stay the entire war?" She still didn't look at him, and Bashir thought that maybe he was getting through despite her words. "Thomas says it doesn't end for two more years."

Bashir thought about that. "No, not if I had a chance to leave."

"Like now?"

"No, not like now. Not when it would cause others to die. I can't do that. I've seen what they do to people who try to escape . . . and to people who help them. If I leave now, if I stay here and don't go back, they'll torture them and anyone else who they think might know where I've gone. They'll kill people who don't even know me at all. They'll torture them and they'll kill them. Because of me."

Kira took a deep breath and leaned her head back against the wall.

"It's not just them, Kira," he continued. "Hundreds of people could die. Just because I'm not there to be counted in the morning. They could freeze to death."

"What about after they count you?" Kira suggested. "We could beam you back up then?"

Bashir shook his head. "They count again in the evening."

"How then?" She looked at him, waiting for an answer. "We can't leave you there."

He couldn't answer though. He hadn't had a chance to think that far ahead. He really had given up on this day, on ever seeing Kira and the others again. But how could he tell her that? Bashir leaned his head against the wall, too. It was late. He had forgotten how tired he was. But now that Sisko was gone and it was just he and Kira, the fatigue washed over him again.

"How did you survive the selections?"

Her question took him by surprise. How did she know about the selections?

Kira sensed his confusion. "Ensign Thomas briefed us about the camps," she explained, "about the gas, the selections. You're not fit for work. How did you survive the selections?"

"I wasn't in the selections," he confessed. "When there was a selection, she'd send for me."

Kira looked at his hand, the one he held close to his chest. He could see now the hard set to her face. She was angry. "To hurt you."

"Sometimes," he admitted. "Sometimes, she just wants to talk."

"To talk?"

He nodded. "She does all the talking."

"Tell me about her."

"What do you mean?" What was there to tell? She could be anyone or anything. She always seemed to know where he was and what he was doing. It was like she was in his mind somehow, because she seemed to know what he was thinking as well.

"How can I find her?"

"I don't know. She finds me. But she's at the kommando."

Kira shook her head, and Bashir knew what that meant. Too many witnesses. "She sends for you. Where do you go? Who did she replace?"

Of course. The Defiant couldn't leave if they knew the changeling was still there. "She changes, but mostly she's a man, an SS officer. Scharführer Heiler. He is one of the guards for my kommando. I think she might have killed the real Heiler."

Kira stood up quickly and marched to the other side of the room. She came back with a PADD in her hand. "Can you show me where you work?"

She held the PADD out to him, and he could see a map of the camp on it. It was huge, bigger than he had imagined. He had to study it for a moment so he took the PADD from her and very gently held it in his left hand and used his right to point. He shook his head though, he didn't have a reference point. "I don't know where my barrack—"

Kira stopped him and pointed to one of the long rectangles in the southwestern corner. "Here, it's this one. And you used to work here, at Crematoria II."

Bashir studied it a bit longer. Starting from the barracks he traced, with his finger, the way to the Appellplatz and from there to the area where the new barracks were being built. "Here," he showed her. "We're building barracks. I was working on the roof today." He yawned and then sat up straighter. He was afraid that if he fell asleep, they would sedate him and carry him off to sickbay.

Kira noticed. "Why don't you try to get some sleep."

He shook his head. "It's nearly time. I'm sure of it. They'll lock the doors and then I'll be in trouble." He turned his head to look at her. "You've got to help me, Kira," he pleaded with her. "I can't stay. Talk to the captain. Maybe he'll listen to you."

The turbolift arrived at the bridge, but Sisko ordered the computer to keep the doors closed.

"The Nazis were very meticulous about this," Ensign Thomas was explaining. "They counted everyone every morning and evening. They even counted the corpses that had died during the night. Anyone who died while working was brought back to be counted in the evening. If the numbers didn't add up, they'd count them again. And if they still didn't add up, they'd count again, and again. Sometimes it took hours. People died standing there being counted. If you fell, they would beat you. Or worse."

Sisko did not like where this was leading. They were so close now. The ship was repaired—repaired enough to get them home anyway—and all the crewmembers had been accounted for, alive or dead. They had only to find Bashir. Now, there he was. Still alive. He was stubbornly sitting down in the transporter room, sick and emaciated. And now Sisko was going to have to send him back.

"Computer, open turbolift."

The bridge was nearly silent when he finally stepped out. No one spoke, but they all looked to him for his decision. Worf stood up to let him take the command chair. "We have triple-checked the trajectory," he said. Apparently Dax and O'Brien hadn't filled him in on Bashir's predicament. "We should arrive within one week of our departure time."

Sisko remained standing. "We won't be leaving just yet."

"Benjamin," Dax began. She still had the tricorder in her hand.

Sisko held up a hand to stop her. "We'd have to find the changeling anyway. We'll just have to find another way." He took a deep breath and sat down. "If Bashir stays on board the Defiant, he will miss roll call and be considered an escapee. It is highly likely that innocent people would be punished and the timeline could be changed. What we need right now are some ideas on how to remove him from the camp unnoticed."

"What if he were to be transferred to another camp?" O'Brien suggested. "He just doesn't show up at the next one."

Ensign Thomas stepped forward. "I've heard of a transfer of single prisoners, but they were usually to Auschwitz, rather than from it. Transfers, in general, were more likely to be trainloads of people. We would still have the same problems: witnesses and victims if he should escape. There's really only one way I can think of, but I don't like it and I don't think you will either."

Sisko knew what her solution was, and she was right. He didn't like it. Bashir would have to be dead. He would be counted one last time, and then they could transport him up easily so long as no one saw them do it. "Is there some way we can make him appear dead? A drug we can use? Just long enough for roll call."

"I'd be afraid to try it in his condition, Benjamin," Dax replied. "Could we—I realize how this must sound—but could we use one of the others?"

"The others?" Worf asked. "You mean the dead."

"Yes," Dax answered evenly. "Some of them are frozen. He could be locked out of his barracks. Freeze to death."

"That would not be honorable," Worf said.

"It's not a question of honor, Worf," she argued. "It's a question of saving a life. We can't help the others now, but we can help Julian."

Sisko didn't relish the idea of leaving behind any of his crewmen, dead or alive in this time. He didn't want to have to tell a family that their son's remains were not available for burial. But Dax had a point. The dead were beyond help now.

"I don't think it would work," Thomas said.

Sisko turned his chair to see her better. "Explain."

"He's conspicuous," she stated. "Did you notice he still had his hair? I've never heard of that. Everyone got shaved when they got their tattoo. There are thousands of men down there who all look a lot alike, but he stands out. He'd be recognized even by strangers. There is another way, but I'm not quite sure we could do that either."

"What is it, Ensign?"

Thomas's eyes fell to the floor. She didn't look up when she answered. "The gas, sir. The bodies aren't counted when they come out. There would be witnesses, but. . . ."

"But they'd all die," Sisko finished for her. "We could beam him up from inside."

"Except for one thing." Thomas looked up. "How would we find him? What would we lock on to?"

"We could give him a comm badge," Worf suggested.

Thomas shook her head. "They are stripped of all clothing before they go in."

"What about an implant?" Sisko thought aloud. "A subdermal communicator." He had used one when he'd been taken to the alternate universe to impersonate the other Benjamin Sisko.

It was O'Brien's turn to shake his head. "They don't have the range, not with our sensors in the mess they are. We would have to enter the atmosphere to get a lock, and that might likely tear this ship apart."

They all sat quietly for a few minutes, still trying to think of a way to save Bashir. It was getting late, and Sisko realized he couldn't keep Bashir on the ship much longer. They wouldn't be able to get him safely out of the camp before morning, and Bashir would have to join his work detail just as he had the day before. He needed the rest of the night to rest.

Sisko stifled a yawn, remembering that he'd been awake for nearly twenty hours already. "Mr. Worf, you have the bridge."

Worf straightened up to stand at attention. "Yes, sir."

"Old Man, Chief?" Sisko didn't have to say any more than that. The two stood up to follow him to the turbolift. Sisko paused at the door. "Ensign Thomas."

She stood as well, "Yes, sir?"

"Keep thinking," he said. Then he raised his voice so that everyone on the bridge could hear him. "And that goes for everyone. I want Doctor Bashir back on this ship within twenty-four hours."

Thomas nodded and turned to take the helm vacated by Dax. Sisko turned back to the turbolift where Dax and O'Brien were waiting.

Kira thought for a long time about what he had asked of her. Too long, she thought. What will they do to him if he's late? Maybe they could just return him in the morning as they had Jordan each morning. "I'll do what I can," she told him, though she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't saying. She got up from the floor.

But before she could even take a step, the door opened. Bashir stood, too, and faster than she would have thought he could. He still looked very tired though. Sisko, Dax, and O'Brien entered, and Kira could tell by the set in Sisko's eyes that he had made his decision. O'Brien kept looking at the floor, and Dax's usually serene countenance was obviously troubled. Kira knew what decision Sisko had made. She wouldn't need to talk to Sisko.

"Doctor," Sisko began.

"You're sending me back," Bashir finished for him.

Kira watched the captain. "I certainly don't want to," he said. "But I don't see any way around it. Yet."

Bashir began to fold the blanket up. Kira thought about suggesting he keep it, but it was a silvery blanket, metallic-looking, and probably very out-of-date with what would be available in this time period.

"Would you like anything before you go?" Sisko asked him. "Some warmer clothes or something to eat?"

Bashir looked like he would say yes, but instead he shook his head. "I wouldn't be able to explain it."

Sisko nodded. He didn't take his eyes off Bashir when he spoke. "Chief, please prepare to beam Doctor Bashir to the surface."

"Aye, sir." O'Brien called as he moved to the transporter console and Kira stepped down off the platform. "You know, Julian, I've been thinking," O'Brien said. "When you get back, I think we should take up racquetball again."

Bashir smiled, and it was a smile Kira remembered, not one of the sad, pained ones she'd seen so far this evening. "Do you think you might have a chance at beating me now?"

O'Brien just smiled and then he turned away. Dax stepped forward next to take the blanket Bashir held out to her. Then she let it fall onto the ground behind her and slowly put her arms around him, one arm around his neck to avoid touching his left shoulder.

Bashir tried to stop her at first, telling her with a grin that he smelled terrible. "I don't care," she said and drew him to her anyway. His good arm reached around her as well, and his head fell to her shoulder. Kira couldn't see his face anymore, but she thought she saw him crying. The two of them stayed that way, embracing each other, for a minute more and then Bashir pulled back. Dax gave him a kiss on the cheek and then stepped back down from the platform.

"Ready, sir," O'Brien said. "We should be able to put you back right where we got you, Julian. Just outside the barracks."

Bashir nodded.

"Just a moment, Chief," Sisko said. He stepped toward the platform as well. "We're still going to get you out of there, Julian."

Bashir looked down at him, "Promise?" he whispered.

Sisko nodded, his face serious. "Promise. Just don't give up on us yet." Then he reached up to his chest and removed his own comm badge. "Take this," he said, holding it out to Bashir. "You can hide it in your coat."

Bashir hesitated and then reached out to take it. He looked down at it, rubbing his fingers over its shiny surface, and sighed. Sisko stepped back. "Chief."

Bashir suddenly drew in a breath and a look of panic crossed his face for just a moment. Then he spun around and knelt to retrieve his cap. "I almost forgot," he remarked sheepishly. Then he stood again and nodded. The transporter took hold of him instantly and he was gone.

"Can you read his signal, Chief?" Sisko asked. "I want to be able to get him back at the first sign of trouble."

O'Brien checked his readings and nodded. "I've got the signal, alright. But it's coming from the platform."

Sisko stepped back up on the pad. His comm badge was sitting against the wall, just where Bashir's cap had been. He'd left it deliberately.