TITLE:  Paying the Piper, Part 2 - Whispers in the Dark 
SERIES TITLE: Destinies, Section 3 
Author:  Valerie Shearer 
Contact: thenightbird@earthlink.net 
Series:  DS9 
Rating:  PG 

Summary:  

This is a sequel to Seduction and Shadowdance, the third part of the story which will eventually include a fourth story concluding the series.  It is advised that the reader read Seduction and Shadowdance first as it all related. 

This story also uses as background Paula Stiles "Isolation".  It is now available in the a.s.c archive.  

In this part, Bashir must deal with his growing isolation from friends and his home, while Sisko has other choices to make. 

Note to a.s.c Archivist:  Permission is given to archive this story. 

Note on Distribution:  This story may be passed onto others provided this entire header is left intact and my name and e-mail address goes with the story.  No permission is granted for its publication in fanzines.  Permission must be obtained before it is posted on fanfic websites, and if permission is given all parts of the story must be posted. 

Note on Feedback:  Please let me know what you think.  Posts in the newsgroup are very welcome as well.  Constructive comments are welcome but flames will be ignored.  Reply at thenightbird@earthlink.net.  All reasonable mail will be answered.  If you are missing parts of this story, e-mail me and I'll gladly send them.  If you tell me which kind of word processor you use I'll send it in that format.  When the series is finished I plan to offer a printed version at my cost. 

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction.  Julian Bashir, Miles O'Brien, Ezri Dax, Ben Sisko, William Ross, Elim Garak, Luther Sloan, Kira Nerys, Kai Winn, Worf, Jules, Kukalaka, Quark, Vic, Odo, William Ross, Kassidy Yates, Damar, Jake Sisko, DS9 and the cannon portions of the trek universe are the property of Paramount Studios.  Jaro Sarre, Garak's "customers", Dr's Rand, Halbert, and Russel, Lt. Barnes, the man in the new suit, and the planet Zas'sanna are mine. 

I wish to offer a special thanks to my beta readers, Paula Stiles, Matt Edwards, and Cathrine Hansen, who offered many good suggestions which have made this complex story better.  


Acknowlegements: 


Part 2 - Whispers in the Dark 

songs:  "That's Life" 

        "My Way" 

        "Both Sides Now" 

All songs are the property of copyright holders. 


                         Paying the Piper 

              a sequel to Seduction and Shadowdance 

                        by Valerie Shearer 

Part 2 - Whispers in the Dark 


    In fifteen minutes he would report to duty and officially resume his position as the Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Nine.  He had gotten up a little early and eaten alone in his quarters.  He had taken special care to look his best, and had finally dressed in his uniform.  Looking at the reflection in the mirror, he saw a stranger. 
    It looked like him.  The uniform fit well, better than the one he'd destroyed.  It was a perfect symbol now, this uniform given to him by Sloan.  It made the cycle complete.  Nothing of his old life was left untouched anymore.  Rand had gone and he had simply taken his place. 
    He hated Sloan for stealing his life.  But at the same time he felt nothing.  Sloan hadn't been angry when he'd been put in the virtual box.  He'd just been cold, and just as coldly had pushed him into accepting the help that had finally given his life a little peace after all the nightmares.  Bashir knew it all fit into Sloan's plan.  But it was hard to feel anger for someone who had none. 
    He had even started to forget about Sisko.  He still despised the Captain, but Sisko couldn't hurt him anymore.  Nor did he expect him to try.  Taking back the official trappings of his position at the hearing, he'd seen a look of surrender.  Sisko would leave him alone from now on.      He had no target for his anger anymore.  It no longer had a place in his life.  Like he had before, when he'd discovered what his parents had done to him at six, he started to bury it deep inside.  He felt nothing.  Medicine had meant everything to him, but now it was just another assignment.  There was nothing left to believe in.  He checked his uniform once more, making sure the blood test he'd hidden didn't show.  As he left the room, he wondered what lies it would reveal. 

    Despite everything, he paused outside the Infirmary.  It was what had brought him there, and filled his life for so long.  Medicine had been his passion, embraced at a risk only he knew.  He'd kept it at the cost of his father's freedom.  For a fleeting moment he wished that arraignment had not been, that it had all been taken away.  Perhaps Sloan would have no use for him then, at least not in the same way.  He would not have to face this moment, knowing that Sloan had saved it for him.  Even tainted, he wanted it.  But he knew everything came with a price. 
    Slowly, he walked inside, trying to ignore the turmoil inside him.  This time he had paid the price, and there would be no end to his sentence.  He had cooperated, and in his acceptance had given up his last chance to break away.  The only escape from Sloan was death, and he wasn't ready for that.  He gazed toward Intensive Care.  He'd already known when he'd first awakened.  Sisko's entire play had only reinforced it. 
    He heard someone say, "He's here."  Suddenly uncertain, he stepped past the door.  Several of his staff came out of one of the labs, led by Jabara.  He hadn't anticipated a reception, and didn't know what to expect.  But Jabara was waiting with a smile.  "Welcome back, Doctor," she said.  "We missed you." 
    He believed her.  She'd been there from the start.  There was warmth in her voice.  These people had been there when he'd been brought in from the holosuite, and watched as he nearly didn't make it.  He mattered to them, not for what uses he had but for himself.  It had been a long time since he'd felt so cherished. 
    The numbness inside him began to fade.  He didn't know what to make of it.  The rest of his staff came forward to shake his hand.  "We knew we'd get you back," said one of the Starfleet nurses.  He thought of the long nights when they'd been swamped by casualties from an arriving ship.  Sloan had said much the same, but she believed in the doctor he thought he'd lost. 
    He hadn't expected this.  It took him completely by surprise and ambushed his emotions totally.  He had no idea what to say.  "I'm simply honored," he finally said. 
    The first patients arrived, a couple of small children and their mother, all with some sort of Bajoran virus.  The nurses could have treated it, but he suddenly needed to do it himself.  Sloan had saved medicine for him, but not taken it.  Nothing could ever take the joy he felt at being a doctor. 
    An accident and several fights kept him busy the rest of the morning.  He didn't want to leave for lunch, and ate in his office.  When everyone was gone he ran the blood test quietly, not reading the results, not wanting them to stain this perfection.  The afternoon was filled with the normal variety of ailments he remembered from before.  It was almost as if he'd never heard of Sloan.  He didn't want it to end. 
    They said you couldn't go home again.  He knew this wouldn't last forever, but for now he proven the old adage wrong.  For a time, at least, he'd rediscovered himself. 

    Sisko smiled at his two guests, sensing Kira's relief as she saw the last of them.  He picked a chair at the large table filling the ward room, and watched as they chose their own, maintaining a careful distance from each other.  "Colonel Kira didn't say what this was about," he said, "but I was assured it was important." 
    "Most certainly," said one of his guests, short with unruly hair.  Both were middle-aged Bajoran's wearing non-descrip bureaucratic dress, but there the difference ended.  The short one had greeted him with a clipped address of "Captain," and would have fit perfectly well in any office in the Federation.  The taller one, his hair and eyes dark, with an intense look, had addressed him with a respectful sounding "Emissary". 
    He could guess what the meeting was about.  Bajor would enter the Federation when the war was over.  Or that had been the plan.  Doubts were beginning to surface.  Politicians were starting to hedge.  Everyone remembered that he had personally been responsible for ending things the last time. 
    The dark haired man opened the discussion.  "Sir, we seek out your feelings on this issue.  We are attempting to find some sort of middle ground.  I and Mr. Barlan represent differing points of view, but neither of us is considered extreme." 
    Sisko had a sinking feeling that Starfleet wasn't going to like this.  How did one find middle ground?  Either Bajor was admitted or it wasn't.  There was no half-way.  "Perhaps you could explain," he said diplomatically. 
    The dark haired man continued.  "There are some concerns that bringing Bajor into the Federation will compromise our cultural identity.  There is also concern that as a member of the Federation we will be left open to attack by those who are not personally our enemies." 
    Sisko remembered how he'd put it himself, 'Bajor must stand alone'.  But that had been with the Dominion.  When the war ended that would be over.  But he found he had come to understand the Bajoran mind.  No interpretation was ever final.  He had been given a vision by the Prophets, and it had become as fully a part of their lore as that from the ancients. 
    "I can understand your concern, but the Federation has united many cultures without taking away their identities."  He tried to be diplomatic.  
    The dark haired man hesitated, "Perhaps, but these have not been under occupation for several generations.  These cultures have not only recently begun to rebuild their cultures.  There are those who fear the Federation influence will alter our own destiny." 
    Sisko had no real answer.  There was something fundamentally incompatible about the two, a difference he was keenly aware of.  But others had found a way to make it work.  "I care about Bajor," he said.  "There will be a transition of sorts, but with more security Bajoran culture will have the chance to regain some of what was lost, and perhaps the scars of the occupation can heal." 
    The dark haired man looked un-convinced.  But the short man, Mr. Barlan, spoke first.  "Precisely, but it isn't culture that concerns some of us.  It's that security you speak of.  It might have been true before the war, or for those deep within the Federation.  But now Starfleet is far from what it was, and we are very near the enemy.  And border areas have always been unstable.  I don't want my home to become a convenient target for someone intent on attacking the first part of the Federation they can find." 
    The calm logic bothered Sisko more than the cultural fears of the other man.  But there was the wormhole.  Even if the Prophets never allowed it to open for traffic again, it would be a strategic location Starfleet would give priority over others.  "I believe Starfleet would give this area full protection," he said. 
    Barlan said very quietly, "As it did Betazed?"  
    The dark haired man spoke quietly, "Do you say these things as Captain Sisko, or as Emissary?" 
    Sisko wished the interview would end.  He would have preferred it never to have been at all.  "As myself," he said simply. 
    "You, our Emissary warned that Bajor must stand alone.  The Dominion would have destroyed us had you not made the warning.  Are you saying the danger is past?"  Barlan's question was equally quiet. 
    Sisko could not answer.  He couldn't give them some formula Starfleet would have preferred.  He owed them more than that.  "I will not allow Bajor to come to harm," he said.  "But I can't give you any answers now." 
    "The Prophets are patient," said the dark haired man.  "We await your answers."  
    Sisko bid his guests farewell, but wished the lingering questions and doubts could be sent away so easily. 

    Garak was working on a padd when the message arrived.  He found it hard to concentrate on the code.  His mind kept drifting back to the hearing.  Tain himself could not have planned the day as well.  Bashir had spend most of his time alone since then, out of uniform.  Garak had given him room.  He was still watching but didn't want to push.  
    He noted a message had been received.  He stowed the padd out of curiosity.  He noted with mild alarm that his elusive visitor had contacted him. 
    "Ah, Mr. Garak, Erica loved the dress.  I do hope you have more of the material." 
    Garak smiled at him, "As a matter of fact I do." 
    "Oh, good.  Could you possibly make another dress, something similar for my sister.  I'll send the particulars." 
    "Certainly," he said, still smiling.  "There is enough fabric." 
    "Good.  She liked it so much I want her's to be a surprise."  He nodded thoughtfully.  "I'll be in the area in a week.  Could you have it ready then?" 
    Garak remembered that Bashir had said he passed.  So had Bashir.  "I can, if you give me all the details," he said smoothly. 
    "I look forward to it, and certainly appreciate your talents."  The man was smiling, and his tone pleasant.  But somehow Garak remembered the alarm he'd felt when Bashir had made arrangements to look over his new holodeck program. 

    Bashir was in no hurry at the end of his shift.  He stood in the corridor outside the Infirmary, at a loss about what to do.  He wasn't hungry.  He wanted to keep the contentment of the day as long as he could.  Wandering toward the Promenade, he paused, finding it too distracting.  In the end, he turned around and went directly to his quarters. 
    It had taken him completely by surprise.  He had stepped back into the role of doctor without a second thought.  But it was more than a role.  It was the core of his identity.  He had felt alive that day, so unlike the others spent stumbling through the wreckage Sloan and Sisko had left him.  
    Perhaps he could get back a little of his life after all.  He had believed it hopeless, but now he had to try.  The first thing he wanted was a game of darts. 
    He considered the uniform.  It didn't feel honest to wear it now that he wasn't on duty.  But he dressed in casual clothes, not the black pseudo-uniform he'd put together.  That felt as wrong as the other uniform.  The real Bashir existed somewhere in-between them. 
    He left, more relaxed than he'd been since the holodeck illness.  The replimat was crowded, several small groups of Bajorans drawn together in heated discussion.  He wasn't really interested, but caught references to the Federation and even Sisko's declaration of Bajor standing alone.  He shuddered a little.  The changeling had been here then.  He heard the thud as the door had closed, felt the Jem'Hadar shove him inside when he'd balked, and remembered the sudden silence of the Vorta's little room.  The drug kept the terror at bay.  He thought of the blood test, still waiting to be read.  He moved away from the Bajoran's discussion. 
    He found a place to eat in relative quiet.  He'd just gotten started when Miles entered.  After getting his dinner, Miles also sat by himself.  Bashir had nearly finished his food before Miles looked his way.  He tried to be nonchalant, but this was too important.  He ate the last few bites and stood, noting that Miles hadn't noticed.  Miles was sitting along the way to the disposal area.  He paused by his old friend, deeply aware of how much this mattered. 
    Miles looked up as Julian approached.  "I understand Keiko will be back in a few days, but in the meanwhile would you like a little company?" he asked, lightly. 
    Miles stiffened, finally looking up at him.  He was grim, still hurt.  "Maybe, but not yours."  
    Julian told himself it was only fair.  He'd been just as direct.  But Miles had been a friend, and he desperately needed that friendship back.  Steeling himself, he said simply, "I should not have said that.  I didn't mean it." 
    Miles drummed his fingers on the table.  "You shouldn't have said it then.  I'm sorry, Julian, but there is a limit.  You can't ignore your friends and insult them and think it doesn't matter.  Maybe later, when it doesn't hurt so much."  
    Julian felt awkward standing there, but didn't want to give up just yet.  But looking at Miles he could see how deep the hurt went.  He had to get through it someway.  Miles was the most loyal friend he had.  "Perhaps darts, when you're ready."  Even he could hear the hesitation in his voice. 
    Miles stared at the table, and mumbled, "Maybe I've lost interest in that too."  Miles wasn't good at hiding things.  He couldn't look at Julian when he said it.  But he understood, just the same.  Sometimes sorry isn't enough.  It wasn't this time.  
    Julian stepped back a little, giving him some space.  "If you change your mind, I like darts." 
    Miles was mumbling to himself, "Good for you," as he retreated. 

    "Computer, lock the door," he said.  He collapsed on the couch.  He didn't remember walking back to his quarters, or the daze that still surrounded him.  But he knew it was over.  He might share something with his nurses born of long nights and shared battles, but eventually even that would fade.  Miles was patient, and exceptionally loyal.  Given half a chance he'd still be a friend.  But he'd not given that.  He'd been cold and unfeeling.  He'd met Miles overtures with arrogance.  
    He found he really couldn't blame the man for paying him back.  He wondered which was the harder to take, his own cold rejection or Miles deeply troubled one.  But both had mattered.  Eventually, Miles might forgive, but never forget.  There would always be the taint of distrust poisoning what grew between them.  
    The day before he had known that his old life was dead.  But it had only been a surface knowledge.  It had been a cruel day, giving him a taste of hope and then dashing it forever.  The difference was that he could feel it now, a grief he could not describe.  It was as if someone cherished had died.  He did not yet want to believe it was himself. 

    Garak had been working late, several more padds having arrived that day.  One had been urgent, and he had a dress the customer needed done by morning.  The special courier had come and gone, and he had more time for the others.  It had almost been a relief to work on the dress that evening.  He still wondered how many Cardassians he was condemning with each padd he decoded. 
    Briefly, he noticed the shimmering material he'd set aside for the special order.  He'd decided to hold the rest, just in case.  He had no desire to join these people.  He understood them too well.  He believed he could slip out of their grasp, unlike his friend.  But it would be a very delicate situation, and he wasn't at all certain it would work. 
    Before that evening he had been more willing.  He had come to like tailoring, but missed the fascination his old life had held.  The allure was still there, but he had been reminded of all the other things that came with it that evening. 
    He'd decided to take a break and a late dinner just in time to see O'Brien stumble out of the replimat, obviously upset, and Bashir follow in a daze.  He knew how cold Bashir had been to O'Brien, and wondered if he'd reconsidered.  But he'd broken the trust this time.  When O'Brien was ready, it would already be too late for Bashir. 
    Garak understood.  He'd lived under Tain's domination and there had not been room for friends.  Only in his exile had the doctor become his first real friend.  Garak had only belatedly realized how it had made life more tolerable.  He could not help being the man his father had created, but had come to understand what he'd missed.  He could no more go back than Bashir could. 

    He'd turned down the lights, and had some tea.  It hadn't helped.  All he could feel was a half-numb sort of sorrow, and he slumped down on the couch, still dressed, hoping he might be able to sleep.  Since banishing the nightmares, sleep was once more a refuge.  But that night, emotionally exhausted, he found no comfort in the nap he'd taken.  It was just the same when he woke up.  
    "Computer, lights at normal brightness." 
    The room lit up again, he stood surveying it for something to do.  Garak's book was sitting near him, but he could not bear to hold it.  He had no desire for food, and preferred quiet over any sort of distraction. 
    He noticed the results of the blood test.  He didn't really want to read it then, but putting it off wasn't going to change things either. 
    He picked it up, hesitantly touching the padd.  He hadn't believed things could get any worse, that he could lose more than he already had.  He simply stared at the devastating words, so precise and clinical.  For a moment he was both doctor and patient, mixing the regret of a bad diagnosis with the shock of the recipient.  Then he just froze as the reality hit him. 
    He collapsed back onto his couch.  The drug was just as he'd been told--and researched on his own.  It was the other parts of the results that were so devastating. 
    The list was unmistakable, a high white cell count, and the presence of an unknown element.  Whatever it was, he was a carrier.  
    He forced back the initial panic, trying to find a middle ground.  He hadn't done a complete analysis, and would try again.  But he was almost sure it was something that had nearly killed him twice already, something he'd been given to turn him into a killer.  
    The first time had been in that little cell where he'd poisoned the double agent.  He'd probably been infected as well in case the device didn't work.  The second time had been Zas'sanna, where the program had brought it back.  Gazing at the padd, he wondered if he'd survive the next. 
    The mystery was why he was so healthy.  He should have had some effect from the battle raging inside him, but had none.  And it should have been contagious, but it was not.  It was a mystery he had to solve.  He took another blood test and put the padd away.  There was a reason to go to work tomorrow now.  

    After Sloan had come the first time, and Sisko had issued his order condemning him to this, he'd seldom been able to sleep.  There had been one place that was a refuge, one being who would not ask the wrong questions and would sing songs if that helped.  Now, with all of it gone, he needed that refuge.  Quark was closed, but closing time could be altered by enough latinum.  Restless, he decided to try.  He hadn't been near Quark's since the holosuite disaster, but his deep need for peace outweighed caution tonight.  
    He was still dressed as he'd been earlier.  Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he arrived at Quarks with a few hanger's on still sitting around.  The Promenade was deserted.  Quark noticed him coming and stood by the door, which he closed.  All Julian could think about was Vic's lounge.  He stopped in front of the door. 
    "We're closed," said Quark. 
    Julian waved towards the remaining customers.  "What about them?" 
    Quark was adamant.  "They were already here." 
    He needed to relax and Vic's was the only place he could escape.  And Quark had the only holosuits on the station.  He held up the latinum.  "I'd like Vic's." 
    Quark visibly stiffened.  "It's occupied." 
    "But you aren't open," said Julian, annoyance becoming desperation.  
    "They were already here," Quark repeated. 
    The desperation was becoming something darker.  "I suppose they'll still be busy tomorrow," said Julian very coldly. 
    Quark met his gaze.  "We're booked for a long time." 
    Julian said nothing, just looked at the Ferengi with all the bitterness he felt about his life.  Quark, much more resolute than he expected, replied in a look full of disgust.  For a second they made eye contact.  
    He could see he had intimidated Quark, but it was late.  The infirmary could be busy tomorrow and if he pushed his way in tonight Quark might call security.  Sloan would call him on that.  He stiffened, pulling on the shield of arrogance he had learned to trust.  It still hurt inside.  But he knew that Quark would give in if there were a lot of customers.  Tomorrow evening would be soon enough. 
    He checked the time, still unable to sleep.  He'd changed for bed, still miserable but willing to wait.  He wondered if Sloan was watching, but didn't particularly care.  He took the hypo from its hiding place.  Reducing the dosage so he could wake up in time, he placed it against his neck.  He stowed it in its place again, already drowsy, and welcomed the nothingness he found. 

    Sisko read the padd for the fourth time, wishing it would change.  He'd wondered why the delegation from Bajor had come with so little notice, and remembered the feeling of importance that meeting had.  They had left that evening, leaving behind a trail of rumors.  But reality had surpassed the station's population's ability to magnify crumbs into disasters. 
    A delegation of Bajorans had formally petitioned reconsideration of Federation membership pending satisfactory answers to several questions, the same he had been asked the day before.  One Mr. Barlan was among the organizers of the movement. 
    It might have been dismissed as part of normal Bajoran politics, with the fringes always ready to act, except these people were different.  The were villagers and clerks and artisans.  They included all religious variations and several significant points of view.  They could not easily be denied. 
    Starfleet had already taken up an hour of his time, asking questions he couldn't answer.  He put them off by explaining he hadn't had the chance to talk to anyone yet.  He decided to keep his visit of the day before quiet.  
    The real problem was that he wasn't sure what to say.  In many ways they were right.  If it was a choice of Vulcan or Earth and Bajor, he knew what the decision would be.  There would be an implied "if" to any promises.  He was less sure about the other concern, but didn't dare show it to Starfleet.  They were nervous enough about his dual identity as it was. 
    He'd called a meeting that afternoon for all departments.  He'd had Kira come in for a private discussion.  She knew of his personal doubts.  She had agreed to keep the Bajoran's from getting too close for the present.  He had to walk a very delicate tightrope for now.  
    But he knew the time was coming when he had to pick one side or the other.  He looked at the baseball, remembering the first time he'd put it there.  Who would have guessed, back then, that he would have forged such deep ties with this place that Earth had ceased to be home.  

    Bashir had arrived at the meeting rather late, his Infirmary full of patients.  An accident had brought a ship full of injuries, none serious, but it had kept him busy.  He had had a number of raktagenos.  After the fast paced morning, he was having trouble staying awake.  
    Everybody had heard of the petition, and between patients it had been the chief topic of conversation.  Sisko was concerned about security, and insisted that everyone be on their best behavior.  He expected Sisko's gaze to linger on him, but it hadn't.  Sisko barely noticed him.  Once more he had been forgotten. 
    Finally the meeting ended, and he helped with the last patients.  Nobody had noticed the difference in him.  He had buried all the feelings.  There was no elation today.  But it was still a refuge.  After the meeting he returned as much to finish his work as to settle his nerves.  At the end of the day, the lab deserted, he ran the second blood test.  Taking the results as soon as it was done, he retreated to his quarters. 
    He laid the padd on a table, studying it grimly.  There was a missing element, and he suspected what it was.  He wasn't ready to find out yet. 
    He immediately shed the uniform.  He hung it carefully this time, ready for tomorrow.  It had become a symbol of his refuge, and it would be treated with respect.  He studied his wardrobe, his plan already set.  Quark would be busy tonight.  He wouldn't risk a scene.  He'd could have insisted the night before, but this was better. 
    He picked out his most severe outfit, black and stark.  Quark couldn't miss the message.  He was going to take back what he could of his life, whatever it took to do it. 
    He looked at the blood test, still curious, but wasn't ready yet.  He stored it with his personal things.  Certain matters needed to be settled before he confirmed his fears. 

    He set out for an early dinner, followed by his confrontation with Quark.  The replimat was crowded, but he waited in line patiently.  Garak came in after he'd sat down, and watched him.  He ignored both the Cardassian and the buzz of conversation.  It involved the future of this station and the people who had been used to build it, but except for the infirmary it was distant.  He no longer belonged.  None of it mattered anymore. 
    He took his time, going back for desert.  Quarks needed to be crowded, but as he passed it wasn't full enough.  He kept thinking of the blood test.  He had to know, and went to his quarters, and straight to the padd. 
    He showed no reaction this time.  There were faint traces of another drug.  He had no idea what it did, but he suspected it was the reason he was alive.  For a time he stared at the padd.  Then he replaced it, leaving with no visible signs of the turmoil inside him. 

    He knew he wasn't welcome in Quarks.  But he brought enough latinum to change the Ferengi's mind if nothing else did.  Quark had lost a lot of profit with the holosuits torn up.  Perhaps Quark would not want the money, but he'd take it.  He needed it too badly to turn away such a well paying customer. 
    He wanted Vic.  He needed a little peace in his life, and Vic was it.  Without Quark's cooperation he wouldn't get it.  This time Quark wouldn't dare publically object, not with a large crowd to watch.  
    Dressed as he was, people noticed, and looking at his expression got out of his way.  Ignoring the crowd, he went straight to the bar. 
    Quark eyed him with caution, but said nothing.  "I'd like a drink," he told the Ferengi.  "Your pick."  He dropped enough latinum on the bar to attract his attention.  
    Quark nodded.  He produced an odd shaped bottle.  "This is new.  But it will help."  He poured a glass full and slid it in front of the doctor. 
    "I also want Vic's.  And I want it alone."  He dropped more latinum on the bar.  Quark quietly picked it up.  He was still reluctant, but the latinum had done its work. 
    "He's booked tonight, but I'll see what I can do."  Quark filled the glass again where he'd sipped.  He made no comment, but noticed as Quark motioned to Rom, and pointed at a couple sitting in the corner. 
    "I'll wait," said Julian, sipping his drink, attracting the attention of everyone and ignoring all of them.  
    Rom had hurried over the couple.  They took something from him and shrugged, glancing at Bashir.  Rom nodded at his brother. Bashir was still sipping the drink, waiting.  Quark said non-committal, "We had a cancellation.  You can have one for two hours."  He handed him the bottle.  Taking it and his glass, Bashir stood.  He thought Quark looked extremely relieved to see him go. 

    Vic was practicing with the band when he arrived.  He looked up at Bashir and smiled.  "I like the clothes," he said. 
    Julian grumbled at him, "I don't, but nobody asked me." 
    Vic looked concerned.  "I haven't seen you here for a while." 
    Julian sighed, taking a table.  "Problems.  Could you just sing a few songs for now." 
    Vic lost his smile for a moment.  "Do you want an audience?" 
    Julian shook his head.  "No. Just me."  He sipped his drink.  "Got to get used to it." 
    Vic hadn't gone near the stage.  Instead he sat down with the doctor.  "What's wrong?" he asked.  "That's hefty stuff." 
    Bashir stared at the glass.  "Maybe I'll be able to sleep." 
    Vic asked lightly, "Any requests?" 
    "No, just sing.  Anything." 
    The holographic singer went to the stage and the band started playing,  "That's life, that's what all the people say.  You're riding high in April, shot down in May ... " 
    Julian sipped his drink, listening to the song.  Vic was trying to help.  He enjoyed the music but the words didn't fit.  He wouldn't be "back on top" in June or any other month on either the Earth or Bajoran calendar.  Vic sang five other songs, lighter in tone, but they didn't help either.  He told the band to take a break and visited his lone customer again.  "Thanks, I enjoyed it," said Bashir. 
    "Not that I could tell," said the lounge singer.  
    "I've been sick since the last time I saw you," he said, "and there was some trouble." 
    "It was mentioned," Vic offered.  "I wondered if you'd come back." 
    "What is there to come back to?" he asked softly.  He'd gone through several glasses.  
    Vic picked up the bottle and replaced the seal.  "That can get you depressed.  Save some for later." 
    Julian looked at Vic, and said sincerely, "I have a secret life." 
    "We all do," said the hologram. 
    "This one's real.  It stole my life." 
    Vic got serious.  "Nobody can steal your life.  You have to let them." 
    "It's not that simple," said Bashir, his glass empty as he reached for a sip. 
    "No, it's very simple."  Vic moved the bottle out of reach.  "My life, such as it is, can be turned off, but in here I decide what I do." 
    "You're lucky," said Julian, gazing at the band. 
    "I heard about the hearing," said Vic.  "It's over.  You won." 
    "Not alone," said Bashir bitterly.  "It was all rigged to come out that way.  I didn't ask how." 
    Vic started to look concerned.  "How'd he buy you?" 
    Bashir was surprised.  "He tricked me into killing someone." 
    "Blood guilt, that's a classic," said Vic thoughtfully.  "What else?" 
    "Garak ... that program I ran was theirs." 
    Vic looked thoughtful.  "I wondered what it was.  Nothing normal." 
    "So you were watching," he said. 
    "No, not much to watch after you got in that dumpster tube."  Vic looked thoughtfully at him.  "These guys are like the Mob.  They have to own you.  Right?" 
    "That's pretty close," he mumbled. 
    "Do they?" ask Vic. 
    Bashir realized that Vic would keep this private but he might not be the only one listening.  But it felt good to talk about it anyway.  "It feels like it.  I carry a disease they gave me." 
    Vic looked sympathetic.  "The one you were sick from?" 
    "I believe so," he said, taking a breath.  "I leave, I die." 
    "Is it worth it?" ask the lounge singer. 
    "I don't want to die."  Bashir reached towards the bottle which Vic pulled away.  "I don't want this life either." 
    "You're not the first," he said.  "Until you decide what you want, don't fight them.  Don't be enthusiastic either.  Find yourself." 
    "How?" asked Julian, more depressed than when he'd come. 
    "Come and listen to the music," said Vic.  "And not alone.  Quark likes to open up the place to a real live audience.  He makes a lot more off of the place that way.  We have a deal.  He reserves it now and then for someone special.  You aren't the Bajoran couple that was getting married." 
    Bashir shrugged.  "They canceled." 
    "No doubt," said Vic.  "Look, do your job, come and see me and I'll do some requests.  See what you want."  He looked at the stage.  "I think the band is ready.  Any requests?" 
    "Surprise me," he said. 
    Vic consulted with the band and the lighting dimmed.  The music was quiet.  "And now, the end is near, and now I face my final curtain.  My friend, I state this clear, I state the case of which I'm certain.  I've lived a life that's full.  I've traveled each and every highway.  But no, much more than this, I did it my way ... " Bashir listened, letting go of everything but the song.  The song came to its finish.  "For what has a man, what has he got, if not himself, then he had not."  Bashir looked up, as Vic was looking directly at him.  "The record shows, I took the blows, and did it my way." 
    He noted the time.  He had to go.  Vic met him at the door.  "Thank you," he told the singer,  "I'll be back." 
    "You're always welcome," said Vic. 
    That meant more than all the songs in the world. 

    For the moment, Benjamin Sisko almost wished he'd never come to Bajor.  To be the bitter man he had been struck him as far easier than to face the dilemma he did now.  Nothing official had been done with the petition.  The Bajoran government was discussing it.  Sisko had talked to more officials in the Federation than he could remember by name.  But nobody knew how it was going to work out. 
    If he'd been able to take a side it would have been easier.  Even if it was unofficial, he could have managed better.  But he understood the Bajoran's concern.  And he knew the Federation would try to make it disappear.  
    It was worse that it had all been inspired by his own declaration that Bajor wasn't ready.  Starfleet hadn't forgotten either.  There was a certain degree of doubt in those he'd talked to when he said he couldn't say how it would go.  It was true; nobody dared even guess.  None of the politicians in the Federation would have stood a chance in the confusion of Bajoran politics. 
    Such was his state of mind when Kira informed him a delegation had come from Bajor.  He tried to refuse to see them but she advised against it.  They wanted the Federation to understand the nature of their concerns.  She urged him to see them. 
    He didn't know any of them.  Kira had noted they were all rather conventional.  He assumed they had come to see the Emissary.  Instead they needed him to be a go between.  They were worried that if the Bajorans balked the Federation would abandon them.  This time there were ten of them, thought only three had anything to say at first. 
    "Sir," said the eldest, "We worry there is a misunderstanding.  We do not wish to accuse the Federation of bad intent.  We simply want to insure our own survival by seeking certain assurances." 
    "I understand," he said, relieved that he could be honest for once.  "The Federation was a bit surprised by the events, but there is time if cooler heads can prevail." 
    "I share your concern," said one man, tall and rather thin.  "It is an unfortunate result of our recent history to distrust the motives of others.  In this case I believe the distrust is misplaced."  He sighed.  "Unfortunately my view is not a popular one." 
    Sisko was disturbed by the man's sentiment, not only because it did not bode well for the Federation, but he didn't know how much of it he shared.  He wasn't even sure what they expected of him.  "What do you want me to do?" he asked. 
    An older woman spoke up next.  "We wish, as one touched by both Bajor and the Federation, that you explain.  We do not want their enmity.  Even if our choice is to refuse admission, we do not dislike the Federation.  We fully intent to continue as allies.  We would simply feel it a better option for our own sakes." 
    Sisko took a deep breath.  He wished he could do that.  He remembered the complete confusion of the last official who'd contacted him.  "That may not be easy," he began, trying to find a way to put it gently.  "Federation admission once approved is considered a given." 
    The eldest man interjected quickly, "You mean they expect it to be accepted as if a gift from the gods." 
    Close, thought Sisko.  "Do you have something I can present for you.  I do think it would be better if it were your words." 
    "We do.  You are the only proper person to present them."  He was handed several padds.  
    Scanning them, he found letters from children and elders, farmers and city people, and it impressed him.  They had made a great effort to make themselves understood.  It was too bad the wrong people would read them.  "I'll present them." he promised.  He would do his best.  
    "We thank you, Sir," said the woman. 
    That might have been all, except he was missing some vital element.  He looked around at the delegation.  "From now on, this is off the record.  I'd just like to talk.  I'd like to know how each of you came to this decision." 
    They all nodded, and one at a time they explained.  In the end, Sisko had fewer answers than he'd had before. 

    It had only been a few days, but Bashir had already established a pattern.  He woke before the alarm, looking forward to the morning.  He ate by himself in his quarters, carefully putting on his uniform.  As he dressed, it was as if he was taking back a little of his soul.  
    He arrived punctually at the Infirmary, occasionally early if it was to be a busy day.  They were still *his* staff, people who cared.  There was a small bit of distance there hadn't been before.  But no one could fault his performance as a doctor, or the care he put in his work.  He channeled all the passion that had been taken from the rest of his life to this particular facet of it.  He cared deeply about his patients, and often made a special trip to check on them after his shift had ended. 
    The hours spent in the Infirmary were his best times of the day.  He felt whole then.  Sloan or Sisko did not touch him here.  Only the dreams he'd had all his life, dreams worth the risk of total disgrace and loss of freedom, were allowed to exist here.  If this was taken away he'd be lost, but the rest didn't matter so much if he could be a doctor. 
    He ate his lunch at the replimat, always alone.  Even wearing the uniform did not make him a part of the rest.  If possible, he'd have stayed inside the confines of his cherished refuge the whole day.  But he remembered what Vic had said.  He did his job, and acted as normally as he could manage.  It helped that Miles seldom came near, and Kira was too busy with Bajoran problems to have much contact.  He worried a little about Dax, but she had been driven away as well.  He rushed back to his refuge after a hurried lunch.  Often, he stayed late in his office finishing up paperwork, anything to avoid the emptiness of the rest of his life. 
    But the time inevitably came that he had to leave.  He went to his quarters, and read for a little while, catching up on the latest medical research.  It made his time of peace last a little longer.  But it was always marred by the split second of fear when the door opened that the bear would have moved.  Deep down, he knew all of this was a temporary illusion.  Sloan would find a way to destroy it as well.  It made him cherish it all the more. 
    After a time, he put up his reading, and changed to civilian clothes.  He skipped the severe black outfits.  People had gotten used to his new dress.  Nobody noticed that he didn't wear his uniform outside of work. 
    He ate at the Replimat.  He stood in line and waited patiently like all the rest.  There was nothing abnormal about his behavior except his choice of being alone.  
    After he was finished, he went to Quarks.  He sat at the bar and had one drink.  Then he went to Vic's.  If it was an open night he might stay late.  When he reserved it for himself he kept the time short.  There was always a crowd waiting for it to open again.  
    After Vic's, he would often stop by the Infirmary to check on patients.  Sometimes he'd stay longer if they were in serious condition.  Eventually, he'd have to go home. 
    No one could see the panic he felt at the door, just before it opened.  Sloan would come in the night, with as little warning as possible.  If no one was watching, he'd often stand for a moment before he could make himself enter. 
    Kukalaka had not left his shelf, not yet.  But he knew this was only an interlude in his life, a last reminder of what had been.  When Sloan came again, everything would change.  He still didn't know if survival mattered enough to change with it. 
    He still had the hypo hidden away, but had not used it.  He slept well enough.  The bad dreams were distant, and the nightmare to come hadn't yet arrived.  

    Miles rubbed his shoulder, wondering if he should wait until later when the doctor would be at lunch.  He'd seen Julian, coming and going.  He was long past the anger, but wasn't sure what to say to his friend.  Julian pushed everyone away.  Still, Miles had to try.  Julian had hurt him, and he still didn't understand why.  But he was convinced that Julian was being pushed into it.  Someone had hurt him first.  He just wanted to be there. 
    But all his attempts at casual contact had failed.  Julian was never hostile.  He was always proper.  In crisp British tones he would excuse himself, always with somewhere to go.  Miles might have given up, as Ezri already had.  She had enough problems with her job to have Julian's rejection added to them.  But now and then, he could see the hesitation.  Once or twice, he had been sure Julian had been ready to be his friend again.  It was enough to give Miles the nerve to keep trying. 
    Someone bumped his shoulder and he winced.  Julian could not ignore him this time.  He remembered how the doctor had admonished him to be careful when he ran the rapids with Odo, and give his shoulder a chance to recover.  Miles realized he hadn't been quite the same after that.  Very few people would have noticed, but Miles did.  
    That had been the beginning.  He was afraid this was the end. 
    He hesitated at the door, not sure of the reception he'd get.  But Julian was busy with a patient and one of the nurses approached.  "My shoulder, it slipped out," he said. 
    She led him to a biobed and had him lie down.  It still hurt.  Bashir didn't look up, but said quietly, "Stay still.  I'll be done here soon." 
    Watching as he worked, Miles did not see the quiet, distant man he'd become.  But it wasn't the friend he'd known either.  He was a doctor, a professional engaged in his work.  Miles noted as he gave the young woman his complete attention, and felt a strange ambivalence.  This must be Julian's last refuge, and Miles hated to invade it. 
    Bashir finished, telling the patient to rest for a few days but she'd be alright.  Then he turned his attention to Miles.  "The rapids again?" he asked, but there was no humor in the tone. 
    "Yeah, Odo miscalculated," he said.  
    Bashir just nodded.  "You need to be more careful, you keep injuring the same area." 
    "I've been working on my dart game," he said.  "Maybe you'd like to see how much I've improved some night." 
    For a flash, the careful mask that protected Bashir from whatever scared him broke down.  Miles was almost sure he would agree.  But then he looked at the shoulder, just staring at it for a second.  All Miles could see was a deep sense of pain.  Then he sent it away and all that was left was a chilling coldness. 
    Bashir took a moment to reply while he worked on the shoulder.  Miles noticed how careful he was, despite the cold look.  He was a talented doctor, and nobody could take that away, not even whoever had stolen the rest.  He comforted himself that something was left of the man he'd known. 
    Finally, finishing up, he said very quietly, "I wish I could but I don't have the time for darts anymore." 
    He wasn't talking about darts.  There was so much else--and so many people--he didn't have time for either.  "Well, if you do just let me know," said Miles with equal sadness.  For a moment the coldness disappeared, and he saw the pain again.  But there was nothing he could do but be there, and hope that someday Julian would let him be a friend again. 

    Miles couldn't possibly have known, he thought.  The shoulder had given them away, spared him more hours of psychological torment.  He still remembered, though even that was fading.  He'd belonged here then.  For a second, he'd been tempted to take Miles up on his offer.  Miles was good at darts, even if he couldn't help being better.  If it had been any other place than here he would have again rejected the offer immediately.  But here, where a little of him still lived, he could consider it. 
    He respected the engineer.  He even envied him.  Miles was open and honest, not given to hiding things.  He had worked for Starfleet Intelligence for a little while and not come back broken.  He had never told his friend how much he admired his family.  Miles was not alone, and as long as he had them he would never be.  It made his own isolation hurt more. 
    He had nearly snapped at him, when he'd realized that Miles had been allowed to *see*.  It would only encourage the Chief to keep trying.  He wanted to be left alone and let the painful reminders fade away.  But Miles was persistent.  He wouldn't take no for an answer.  He kept asking for the impossible. 
    Some day Miles would give up, and it would be a great relief.  But standing there, Miles gingerly rubbing the sore shoulder, he hoped it wouldn't be too soon.  As long as Miles was still willing to try, he wasn't entirely alone. 
    "I'll remember that," he said.  It wouldn't happen, but it was somehow comforting that it was still possible.  "Now, stay *out* of the rapids for a while this time so it heals." 
    He hadn't intended to make a reference to that other time, when days later his life had been shattered.  He hadn't intended to sound a little warm.  But Miles saw.  He smiled a bit. 
    "I promise."  And he would, Bashir knew.  He had made the promise to a man he remembered, not the stranger he'd become. 
    Someday Sloan would take the rest.  But he felt better for a little while knowing someone still cared. 

    Ben Sisko had spent most of the last week, since the petition had first been presented, dealing with politicians.  He had spoken to half of Bajor, or at least it felt like it.  In between, he'd stared at admirals and officials in the Federation Council. 
    To consider if it was proper to join the Federation was unheard of.  He'd transmitted the letters and other things to the government officials, and they'd found their way into the daily press.  It had caused a great stir, and he'd gotten several outraged messages from Federation personages. 
    He wasn't overly surprised when he got a personal visitor.  The only thing unusual about it was using an admiral as a messenger. 
    Ross had arrived without warning, and left the shuttle immediately, demanding to see Sisko.  He knew Ross better than most of them, from his time as adjacent, but was wary of the man.  He was going to ask personal questions, and Sisko didn't know how to answer them. 
    Ross came on friendly, but he could tell it was an act.  Ross wasn't a very good actor.  "Well, it's been a while.  I guess you don't miss your old office." 
    Sisko looked around him.  "No.  Why should I when I'm sitting in it?" 
    Ross quit acting.  "Look, Ben.  There are a lot of people who are worried about you." 
    Sisko wasn't surprised.  He was worried about himself.  But he said calmly, "Exactly what are they worried about?" 
    "You've been talking to too many politicians," Ross grumbled.  "Starfleet wonders what side you're on in this discussion." 
    Sisko answered him in kind.  "So does everybody else.  I don't think I've said." 
    Ross looked him in the eyes.  "Ben, you know Starfleet has been very tolerant of the Emissary business.  You weren't transferred because it would create problems with the Bajorans.  But we need your support this time.  Are you still a Starfleet officer?"      
    "Are you questioning my loyalty to the Federation?" asked Sisko, outraged.  "After all the young people I've had to send to their death's to preserve it you dare ask that?"  He was incensed, and stared at Ross indignantly. 
    Ross stared back.  "Ben, you can't keep this up forever.  Yes, you've been a loyal officer in the war.  But when we retook the station it wasn't just taking a strategic place, it was going home.  You would gladly have died to save it.  Don't deny it." 
    "This is home," said Sisko, suddenly tired.  "I knew that the last time I was on Earth, and couldn't wait to get back after I realized I couldn't run from it anymore." 
    "How *do* you feel about this business?" asked Ross, softly. 
    Sisko said calmly, "They are very good questions.  I think they deserve some answers.  I don't think joining the Federation will harm Bajor, but they have the right to ask.  And you have the responsibility of giving an honest answer." 
    "Me?" said Ross, thoughtfully. 
    "Isn't that what you're here for?" asked Sisko, his tone flat. 
    "No, actually that's a job for the politicians.  I'm just passing through.  I have very little time."  Ross tapped his fingers on the table as if trying to decide what else to say. 
    "You shouldn't waste it, then," said Sisko. 
    Ross looked at him calmly.  "Take care, Ben.  If Bajor decides to opt to be on its own, you'll be pulled from this post almost immediately.  They'll put someone here they can trust, someone who won't talk about the Prophets and who will always put the Federation first." 
    "Do you trust me?" asked Sisko, curious to see how honest Ross would be. 
    Ross paused.  "You are a valuable officer," said the admiral.  
    Sisko watched him as he said it.  "I'm sure you are as well," he replied with the same smile he gave Kai Winn. 

    While Sisko was having his conversation with Ross, Garak had a return visitor.  He looked him over, noting the uniform was the same but he wore no indication of the judge advocates office.  Garak assumed it to be deliberate.  "I have the dress ready," he said.  "It should fit as long as the measurements were correct." 
    He brought it out, still on a form.  The man looked appreciative.  "It's amazing.  I'm sure she'll love it.  I'm glad I could stop by.  I'm just in and out this time.  Any new fabrics as good as that one?" 
    The Cardassian was cautious, but smiled.  "Nothing as unusual, but I do have some fine choices.  If you want to look them over," he offered. 
    "I wish I could, but no time.  I'll be back this way," he said, watching Garak as he folded and packed the dress.  Garak looked up, and asked brightly,  "Is there anything else I can do for you?" 
    The man came close.  Handing him payment, he said simply, "You are a multi-talented man.  I don't mean your code work either." 
    Garak grew cautious.  "Perhaps, I've had an interesting life." 
    The man smiled.  "The Chinese used to wish that as a curse.  I work for a special group of people.  I believe you already suspect." 
    Garak said carefully, "Perhaps ... " 
    "We need some information.  It's hard to get but the sort of contacts you have would make it easier." 
    Garak realized they were asking.  He remembered the man with the gun and the nightmares that hadn't yet ceased.  He was sure his smooth talking visitor knew about that.  If he said no, he'd always wonder when it would end differently.  
    But he had other reasons to agree.  He'd done some checking on Bashir.  Supposedly he'd gone to a burn conference just before the business with Sisko over the Romulans, but oddly enough he'd never gotten there.  And yet he hadn't stayed on the station either.  They'd made their first contact then.  Before, Bashir had been quiet and a little withdrawn.  He'd returned having recovered from a disease caught on his assignment, further changed.  He'd been distant and occasionally cold.  And yet all the records showed that he had gone there and come back.  Something had happened, and they had claimed him then.  Garak wanted to know more, but the only way was to have some sort of contact with them. 
    "What sort of information?" he asked.      
    The man held out a padd.  "It's on here.  Your DNA print will unlock it, including who to contact.  I'm sure you are capable of much more.  Think about it." 
    Garak looked at the padd.  Perhaps he could find out who had ruined his friend without being trapped himself.  But whatever happened, he knew what he was getting into.  Bashir had not. 
    He took the padd.  The man nodded.  "I'll be by in a few more weeks.  I should have more time to look at the materials.  Maybe I'll have you make something for me."  
    Garak looked at the padd, wondering how it would end.  

    Sisko noted that Ross had indeed left quickly.  The shuttle he had arrived on departed a few hours later, after minor repairs had been made, the official reason for the stop.  
    He should have had trouble sleeping after all the unsettling events of the day.  But after an initial period of restless tossing, he fell into a deep sleep.  He woke very groggy the next morning, with a bad headache.  But he decided to live with it rather than have to see Bashir. 

    Garak's young visitor had left on the same shuttle, narrowly missing Sisko as he watched the Admiral depart.  The twenty others were mostly returning to duty after leave, and nobody noticed his departure at the first stop. 
    But that night, dressed in a different uniform, he appeared in Sisko's quarters well after Sisko was asleep.  No alarms were set off.  The Captain was already well sedated, and he injected the small chip quickly in the base of the neck.  He then installed several devices that no scan would ever find.  Injecting Sisko with a drug that would counter the sedative and induce normal sleep, he beamed out, leaving no trace. 

    Garak studied the padd, running the DNA scan first.  It was required each time it was accessed.  He'd found the information they wanted easily and sent it on.  He was certain they could have gotten it themselves with little work.  But this was a test.  They wanted to know if he'd cooperate. 
    He was still watching Bashir, though much more carefully.  The doctor had very dangerous associates.  He wondered who among those on the station was under their employ.  He hadn't spotted anyone, but was sure he was being watched.  
    He ran the pattern on the padd again and stared at it.  He remembered the bodies.  Someone had been theirs then as well. 
    It had been years before, when he was still in favor with Tain.  He had found them, all killed with the same quick, sure, professional method.  All the materials on the project were gone.  He'd gone back to Tain with the news, and the cold hard man had said nothing.  Nor had he really tried to find the killers. 
    They had intercepted the transmission by accident, and Tain had put his best people to work on it.  It was encoded in an elaborate matrix which had taken months to untangle.  But even then the results were useless.  The random words were a code of some kind, based on some sort of key.  Without the key they were unreadable, and only the sender had the key. 
    The next step had been to find the sender, as more transmissions were discovered.  It should have been something the Order could easily accomplish.  But not this time.  It was always too late and the spy had already moved on.  Tain had made it Garak's job alone  to find the agent. 
    Garak was very close, and the decoding team had continued to work.  He had come to compare a smattering of code left behind with the transmission, and found them. 
    Someone had killed them all quite efficiently.  It had been a major loss for the Order, and the irony was that they were no closer than before.  But it had been a warning.  Garak had lost track of his prey, and Tain had not mentioned it again. 
    It was not the only time he'd heard of them.  But he'd approached with caution.  It was only when the encoding on the information he'd sent had matched that he realized that Bashir's friends were the same.  But it made sense.  They had wanted to know if he'd betray the Federation.  The Romulans already had the Tal'Shiar.  The Cardassian's had had the Order.  There had been rumors of operations conducted by neither, marked by their efficiency and finality. 
    Garak still believed that he could discover what he needed without being trapped.  But there was a small bit of doubt that hadn't been there before.  He could not get it out of his mind that after the deaths, Tain had left them alone.  It was small comfort that their mole probably died with the rest of the Obsidian order. 

    It had been a very long day for Dr. Julian Bashir, a ship having docked after a run-in with the Jem'Hadar, and the entire afternoon and evening taken up by emergencies.  He was very tired.  He had gotten a hurried meal and gone to his quarters to collapse for the night. 
    But that was not to be.  He had been so tired he had barely paused this time.  But Kukalaka was sitting in the middle of his couch. 
    Tired and dirty, he stripped off the soiled uniform and showered.  He'd get as much sleep as he could.  He dressed to go out, and instantly fell asleep. 

    Bashir watched as Sloan entered the room, several padds in hand.  He'd been awakened by a buzzing, and still disoriented from sleep had been transported.  He felt mildly dizzy and his head ached.  He still didn't know what to do.  
    Sloan stopped, as if to study him.  "Welcome back, Doctor," he said. 
    Privately, Julian thought it was hardly a pleasure.  "I don't remember being asked," he answered. 
    "True, but I think this assignment will prove something of interest."  Sloan was arraigning some sort of display. 
    Julian told himself that he'd been forced to murder someone and betray the trust of a friend.  He didn't want to imagine what else Sloan had in mind.  A tall man, dressed slightly differently, entered the room.  He nodded at Bashir.  "I will answer any question you have about the equipment," he said. 
    He didn't want to ask any.  He didn't want to be that involved.  But nobody cared. 
    Sloan continued.  "Dr. Halbert will make sure you are fully briefed on the equipment and its capabilities.  I'm sure you'll find them quite useful.  In the meanwhile, I think you'll find the identity of your assignment most interesting."  
    Except for the two blood tests, he'd kept medicine untainted.  He hadn't delved any further into the identity of the disease.  He could do nothing about it anyway.  But he was sure some of it was medical equipment.  He felt a little bit of himself slip away. 
    Sloan lit the display.  He was stunned to see Captain Benjamin Sisko.  "Sisko?" he asked. 
    "Come now, Doctor," said Sloan.  "This is not *just* the commander of a starbase, but the Emissary to the Prophets.  He commands the most vital location in the quadrant right now.  And he fills a vital and central role as a religious icon and hero to his adopted homeland.  He has not betrayed the Federation so far.  But what happens when the two clash directly, as they very possibly will in the near future, and the good captain must decide which side to choose." 
    He could tell Sloan now, if it really interested him.  Sisko would never abandon Bajor.  He'd run back to Earth when the pagh wraiths killed Jadzia and darkened the orbs.  It was not just guilty about her death.  And he'd run back when he found an answer.  He remembered how the people had crowded around Sisko when the station had been liberated.  He still despised him, but he knew the man too well.  Bajor was home.  He would protect his home as he'd already done. 
    What if Sloan was planning to change his mind?  Would his medical advice be used to make a little box for Sisko, to push all the right buttons?  Part of him was pleased.  Part of him didn't care at all.  But it would take the last refuge away, taint medicine as everything else had been ruined.  He could not stand that. 
    "Sisko won't cooperate like Garak did, if that's what you're planning," he said. 
    "But you misunderstand," said Sloan, quite graciously.  "You have a very simple assignment.  Just watch him.  Use your doctor's mind to evaluate his actions.  You're not to interfere, just report." 
    He knew what use Sloan might make of the information.  But Sisko had been as responsible for the ruin of his life as Sloan.  Unbidden, he thought of all he'd lost.  Bajor meant everything to Sisko.  It would be rather ironic if Sisko's mistake cost him home.  He ignored the thought that it might be quite proper. 

    Halbert had taken him to a lab, demonstrating the small scanner someone had already placed inside Sisko.  Bashir had listened, his mind only half-way on the assignment.  "Is this the same kind of thing they put in me when I was sent to kill the double agent?" he asked. 
    Halbert looked up, annoyed he'd been interrupted.  "I should take care, Doctor.  I would watch what I said." 
    Bashir looked at him, wondering what had been done to compromise this man.  "I was infected with a virus," he said softly, "one I still carry.  It's hard to forget." 
    Halbert glanced at him.  "Are you feeling ill?" 
    "No.  But it's there."  He picked up the receiver.  It looked like a normal metering device.  But it displayed full bioreadings on the subject, as if he was lying on a biobed.  "What sort of range does this have?" he asked, unable to ignore his curiosity. 
    Halbert went back to his toneless voice.  "It varies.  But when both of you are on the station there should be no problem." 
    Bashir picked up the second device, one that masqueraded as a padd.  He pushed a button and nothing happened.  "What about this?" 
    "Oh, it activates the monitor.  You'll be able to conduct surveillance on your subject from your quarters." 
    They'd done some creative rewiring too.  He had a feeling none of it would show on any of the station's readouts.  "That's all?  he asked. 
    "More or less.  You should be able to listen to the subject when he's not in his quarters, from the same control.  But that is really all you need.  What matters is what's in here," he said, tapping his head.  "All of this will mean nothing without a good analysis." 
    He didn't want to do it.  He really didn't want to have to see Sisko at all.  But Sloan wasn't asking.  When had Halbert been made to decide?  Had it been as hard a choice for him? 
    But Vic was still right.  He wasn't sure.  Observing, with a bit of analysis thrown in wasn't a lot to ask.  His staff, split between Starfleet and Bajorans, had discussed the petition and what it mean quite a lot.  It might even be interesting to see how Sisko was holding up.  "That's true," he said. 
    Halbert had pulled something up on the system.  He was asked to sit.  "Since you mentioned it I decided to look you up.  You do carry a viral infection, but it should be almost unnoticeable." 
    Bashir looked up as he took a blood sample.  "The white cell count was too high," he said. 
    "Stay put," Halbert said, disappearing into a side room.  Bashir yawned.  He still hadn't had much sleep.  In a distant way he was pleased, even if he was the patient.  It proved that they didn't have all the answers.  He dozed a little, while waiting. 
    Halbert asked him to follow, and pointed at a bed.  "I'm going to check something.  Time to go to sleep." 

    Waking in his quarters in the morning, he didn't remember anything else.  The two items were there, and he found himself dressed for bed.  He was sleepy, but had more energy than he'd had in days.  He didn't bother with a blood test.  He had a feeling there was nothing to find anymore.  
    He was rushed, but could not help but notice the two devices.  He didn't want to touch them.  It further entangled him in Section 31.  It stole a little more of himself.  But Sloan expected cooperation.  If he didn't he would be replaced.  Sloan would get what he wanted regardless of what he did. 
    He could not deny his curiosity.  The bio-readout from the implanted monitor was very complete.  The doctor in him studied the subjects condition, and the amount of stress was no surprise.  Idly, he switched on the monitor, and found Sisko was already gone.  But listening, he recognized the voice.  It was Ross.  Sisko's was using his diplomatic tone, but Bashir could hear more than that. 
    "Ben, do you have any idea what she wants?" asked Ross.  
    "None.  She'll eventually get around to it.  But I suspect she just wants to know what I'm going to do."  Sisko was keeping his voice level, but it was obvious he could barely stand the conversation. 
    "Where does she stand?" asked Ross. 
    Sisko sighed.  "Kai Winn doesn't confide in me." 
    "Will she follow your example?" asked Ross. 
    "Perhaps," was Sisko's terse reply.  
    Ross asked a few more questions and Sisko gave more one word answers.  But he wasn't listening to the words.  He understood that even without Sisko's order, Sloan would have found a way to win.  He didn't want to work for Sloan, but he saw little choice anymore.  He would never get his life back, whatever he did.  And yet he still did not know what he'd ultimately do.  He heard, in Sisko's tone, the same uncertainty as in his own. 
    For a moment, he almost forgave the Captain. 

    Ben Sisko was at his most diplomatic.  "Welcome, Your Eminence," he said, almost wishing it was Ross again.  "Is there something we can do for you this visit?" 
    She smiled, her face never losing its carefully prepared look.  "Emissary," she said with a polite nod.  "I simply wanted to talk." 
    'About me,' thought Sisko, but he gave her back a plastic smile.  "There is much to talk about," he said. 
    She nodded.  "I agree.  We have a meeting arraigned to discuss the matter.  We wish you to come." 
    She was smiling, that little half-smile she gave when she was hiding something.  Sisko thought about Ross, and how he'd react to such a meeting.  He suppressed a small smile himself.  "And who is 'we'?" 
    "Several interested parties," she said sweetly.  "We hope to meet on Bajor in the next few days." 
    Now he understood why she had come.  This was supposed to be kept quiet.  Starfleet would be unhappy.  Ross would be more unhappy.  He looked forward to explaining it to him. 
    "I'll be there," he told the Kai. 

    Garak had done a little quiet research.  Concentrating on the time after Bashir supposed return from the medical conference, he found nothing odd.  But Bashir had spent a lot of time talking to Sisko, and Sisko had left private messages to Odo, Kira and Jadzia.  There had been some kind of meeting.  Whatever had been said, Bashir had kept away from Sisko after that.  It would be easy to find out what had driven him away.  
    But that was the simple part.  His visitor had given him a good idea of who had turned Bashir.  But it was going to be much more difficult than he thought--and far more dangerous.  However he did it, it must be untraceable to him.  But the theft of his friend would be avenged. 
    At lunch he'd been watching Bashir, eating quietly by himself as had become his preference.  Something had changed.  It was only the slightest of difference, but Bashir's mannerism's were altered.  He was preoccupied.  He'd been in a hurry to finish and go back to work before.  Garak wondered what had been so interesting that he was taking his time. 
    It wasn't until Sisko passed by that it began to make sense.  Bashir had hardly looked at the Captain of late, his earlier hostility replaced by total disinterest.  Bashir had only looked at him for a moment, but it was as if he had never seen him before. 

    It had been another long day, and Julian was very tired.  Opening the door was different that day.  He didn't worry about Kukalaka.  He would not have time for Vic's, and was too tired anyway.  He planned to spend the evening alone for once.  
    He'd seen Sisko at lunch with several Bajoran's visiting the station, and the Captain had almost looked relaxed.  Bashir had rushed through the day's reports, as much as he could manage.  But he'd been too preoccupied to make much progress.  He didn't want to use Sloan's toys, but the temptation was there.  
    As a doctor, he was interested in the bioreadings monitor.  There were so many good medical uses for it.  What else were they keeping to themselves? 
    It was the surveillance device that disturbed him.  It was different than noting Sisko's mood over lunch.  It was intruding into his private life, and giving Sloan all the right buttons.  Once, he'd have done it out of anger.  But he had no more right to give Sisko to Sloan than Sisko had had in giving that order.  But he must appear to cooperate.  Sloan could be checking on him.  He would have to look for a little while at least. 
    He activated the device.  Sisko was in his quarters, reading.  After a few minutes he turned it off.  Sisko was tense, but not as much as before.  Whatever he was going to do, he had begun to make the decision.  But not even Sloan could insist on him watching Sisko sit and read. 
    He opened his log.  He noted that Sisko was relaxed and resting, and left it at that. 
    He could have gone to Quarks, but had much to consider.  He wouldn't be able to get by with that forever.  Sisko would say or do something he'd have to note, or something too important to slip around would occur, and he'd be forced to analyze Sisko's actions. 
    The odd part was he felt noting for the man.  He still was despised.  He realized his reticence wasn't at hurting Sisko.  He would be throwing Sisko into an abyss but it didn't matter all that much to him.  What mattered was the toll it would take on himself.  
    He couldn't go back.  He was too deeply involved with Sloan by now.  But medicine was still mostly untouched, his last refuge.  The first report he wrote that led to Sisko's destruction would lead to his own as well.  It was only a matter of time. 

    Garak arrived at Quark's very late in the evening, and after a quick glance around settled himself at the bar.  The establishment was nearly deserted, and he waited until Quark approached before sitting the latinum in front of the bartender.  Quark looked at it and then Garak. 
    "He's not here," he told the Cardassian.  "He canceled." 
    "Ah, but I wasn't looking for him," said Garak.  Quark eyed him curiously.  "It would be best if the good doctor wasn't here." 
    He had Quark's attention.  "Nobody's there now.  Would you like more privacy?" 
    Garak smiled.  "This will do.  We wouldn't want to make anyone suspicious." 
    Quark nodded, growing more serious.  He'd done business with the Ferengi before, and he would keep this to himself.  "Would you like Kanard?  I have some that's said to be a good vintage." 
    Garak nodded, and watched as Quark filled his glass.  He sipped it.  "Excellent," he said, adding a little more latinum.  "I need some information but it must not be traceable to me." 
    Quark nodded, pouring in a little more Kanard.  "That is possible.  I depends on the sort of information." 
    "I'd rather not say.  I should be clear.  What I need is the means of finding it myself."  Garak dropped a little more latinum in Quark's hand. 
    "I'm sure I can help," said Quark, "but it would be useful if I knew the sort of information." 
    Garak smiled.  "Quite simple.  Just before the time the Romulan's entered the war, the doctor went to a medical conference.  He met with Sisko and several other afterwards.  I need details on that.  Also any ... unusual surveillance going on." 
    Quark's cooperation was now a given.  "The doctor hasn't been himself of late.  And the captain sent some very private communications about that time." 
    Garak absent mindedly bumped his drink spilling it on Quark's coat.  "I must apologize, I wasn't paying attention.  Come by the shop tomorrow and I'll see to it." 
    Quark was looking at his sleeve.  He said very softly.  "I will.  You know what that program was.  I'd like to know what was so notable that it caused my holosuites to be dismantled." He looked at Garak, still apparently surveying the damage.  "I have other information." 
    Garak remembered how Tain had sat at his desk, stony-faced, as he'd described the executed men.  He'd disregarded the inner warning when he'd gone into the holosuite.  He wouldn't again.  It was too dangerous for Quark to be any more involved than necessary.         
    He said firmly, "No.  Stay away from these people.  They are very dangerous." 
    Quark studied him.  "You're worried," he said thoughtfully.  "I'll come in the morning." 

    Sisko had not announced that he would be going to Bajor.  He had simply called in Kira in the morning, and explained that something had come up and he would be gone for the day.  It wasn't unusual, though his sudden departures were more often on the Defiant.  She didn't question it, but she did look curious.  
    He'd gotten a short message that morning, before he'd left his quarters.  It had been from Winn.  He had stared at the screen for a few minutes, aware of the significance of the moment.  He was taking a chance.  He didn't know what would come of it. 
    She hadn't said who would be there.  He hadn't asked.  He didn't know the exact moment when he had chosen this path, but when Ross had danced around his question he had known that he was standing at a crossroads, and whatever path he chose he the other would be left behind.  

    It had been a very quiet evening.  There had been little to do at work, and Sisko had read for a time before going to bed early.  He'd had little to put in his report, and had decided to go to Quarks a little early. 
    He almost left when he noticed Miles was there, sitting by himself.  The Chief looked about as grim as he felt.  He had run one last blood test.  There was still a small trace of the disease, but something inside him was countering its effect.  If they wanted to eliminate him, all they need do was remove it.  He had suspected before, but now he'd confirmed it. 
    Sloan owned his life.  He could not deny that.  
    Miles looked depressed.  Eventually he'd work his way over to Bashir.  Thinking of the blood test, he almost wished Miles would come to him.  It would be easier that way.  He simply couldn't pretend anymore. 
    He got up, holding his drink.  Miles looked up at him, surprised and cautious.  "Mind if I sit down?" he asked. 
    O'Brien looked at him curiously, but pointed at a chair.  "Ezri left a little while ago." 
    "She's been pretty busy," he said, trying to think of small talk to fill the time. 
    "She lost a couple of them she sent back last week.  She was pretty down," Miles said softly.  
    Bashir though about the people on that shuttle that had been captured so he could reach his victim, back when Sloan had first compromised him.  He thought about the internment camp and the reports that had come from intelligence about prisoners.  A little of him understood how she had felt.  But he'd learned to live with it.  She would have to as well.  "She's not responsible," he said. 
    "She knows that," said Miles, his tone practical.  "She still ... feels like it." 
    He remembered when Ezri had first arrived, before Sloan had isolated him so completely.  He'd gotten to know her a little.  He liked her.  For a little while she'd come to him to talk.  But he'd pushed her away, like he was going to Miles.  "She has you to talk to," he said. 
    Miles shrugged.  "I guess.  I think I'd rather have my job."  He paused, looking perplexed.  "Look," he said, changing the subject, "I just wonder why your bothering." 
    Bashir knew he had to say something.  He didn't want to say it here, in the middle of the room.  He glanced at the dart board.  "It's been a while," he suggested. 
    Miles showed no enthusiasm.  But he took the hint.  Standing in the alcove, he handed Julian his darts.  Miles was waiting on him.  "Might as well get it over with," he said. 
    Julian aimed and threw the dart.  It hit dead center.  He didn't aim the second one and came very close.  Miles watched with resignation.  He was apparently careless with the others, and they landed off center.  "I'm slipping," he said. 
    "Yeah," said O'Brien, not buying it.  He turned to look at Julian.  "Why, after all the other times, why now?" 
    Miles threw his darts, doing quite well.  Bashir found he couldn't talk about it in a place this open.  ""Let's go to Vic's," he suggested. 
    Miles replaced the darts in their holders.  "I guess," he said off handed. 

    Miles watched as Bashir produced a stack of latinum and handed it to Quark.  "I'd like Vic alone for a couple of hours," he said. 
    Quark nodded.  "Nobody's there now." 
    Miles followed Julian up the stairs into the holosuite.  He remembered the many times they'd done this before, but this *felt* so different.  The lounge looked the same.  Vic came out to greet them.  "We're private tonight?" he said. 
    Bashir nodded, and Miles watched the unspoken interaction between the doctor and the hologram.  He envied Vic.  "For a while.  We need to talk." 
    "Okay, but would you like a few songs first?" ask Vic. 
    Bashir glanced at Miles.  "Up to you," he suggested. 
    Miles didn't know what to expect.  Julian had obviously wanted privacy.  But he saw a different man than the one who usually ate his dinner in silence and retreated inside.  He decided he wanted some time to think about it.  "Sure," he said. 
    They took a table.  He noticed that Bashir brought the bottle he'd had with him, and it wasn't synthol. 
    Vic sang several songs, mostly quiet tunes.  Bashir listened intently, and he thought the doctor was as depressed as Ezri had been.  
    The singer and band left, and Bashir poured him a drink.  He held his up for a toast.  "Here's to friendship," he said, but didn't smile. 
    Miles clinked glasses, adding, "Friendships that matter, and last." 
    Bashir had dropped the attitude already, and now he dropped the rest.  For the first time in months Miles felt like he was looking at his friend.  "Yes," he said, sadly.  "You mattered, and still do."  But there was more, and Miles caught the hesitation.  "But you have to leave me alone." 
    Miles just stared at him.  There was a sadness so deep he couldn't put it in words in his friend's eyes.  "Why?" he asked, not knowing what else to say. 
    Bashir looked utterly lost for a second.  "Something happened.  I can't tell you what.  But my life isn't my own.  It's too late to take it back." 
    Miles looked at him in disbelief.  "I could tell something had happened.  But Julian, you can't give up.  You can't let whoever did this win." 
    Suddenly the doctors face became cold.  "They have.  I'm not the man you knew." 
    Miles just looked at him.  He saw someone part stranger, part familiar.  He didn't want to say good bye.  "I'll get used to the new you," he said. 
    The coldness disappeared, and the Julian he'd known came back, this time with a look of desperation.  "Please, Miles.  I value the times we had, and wish they could go on.  But they can't.  Could you be two people?  Could you let a friend destroy one of the few things left that has meaning by making it a lie?" 
    Miles was stunned.  "Is it a lie?" 
    Julian collapsed into the chair.  "Not now.  I'm trying to hang on to a little of *me*.  But I know it's a losing battle.  I don't want everything to become a charade.  I'd rather remember all the good things without them being ruined."  His voice was calm but the sorrow in his eyes betrayed the rest.  
    Miles looked away.  "I'll leave you alone if that's what you want.  But I don't understand.  Who did this to you?" 
    Bashir had already retreated behind his mask.  "I hope you never know," he said.  Taking a sip of his drink, he stared at the stage. 
    Miles suddenly felt unwelcome.  "Good bye, Julian.  If you change your mind, I'm here." 
    Bashir didn't respond, and Miles stumbled out and down the stairs.  Standing in the bar, he was overwhelmed with memories.  He hurried out the door, before the grief filling his life was too obvious. 

    Garak had been busy with a customer when the message had come in, and his *friend* was most patient.  He was in civilian dress this time, very non-descrip in nature.  Garak thought it fit the man better than the uniform he'd worn before. 
    "I'm sorry, but I had a customer," said Garak.  
    "I am sure they went away quite happy," said the man.  "You do have a wonderful sense of style." 
    Garak thought he sounded a bit rushed.  He was trying to get the small talk our of the way quickly.  "I do appreciate the compliment.  But I do have things to do." 
    He looked a little relieved.  "Well, mostly I'd like to place an order.  It's not for me, but a friend has a birthday coming up and I thought he'd like a really nice outfit.  His daughter is getting married soon and he lacks any sense of style." 
    Garak knew something important was happening.  He stalled a little, making it sound more natural.  "Certainly, but I have a wide selection of colors and fabrics.  What would he like?" 
    "Ah, I'll leave all of that to you.  He wouldn't know.  Blue, perhaps, but aside from that ... " 
    "How soon is this needed?" ask Garak. 
    "If you could rush it ... "  He looked apologetic.  "I should have thought of it sooner.  But I'll be able to drop by in a few days." 
    "I think I can manage.  I look forward to seeing you."  Garak was as gracious as ever.  But as soon as the screen went blank a trace of the concern he had showed in his eyes.  The measurements had been received and he would have it ready.  But every time he used the fabric again, he'd remember this particular order.  It was a challenging game he was playing, but he was all too aware of the chances of losing. 

    Bashir had heard of Sisko's sudden departure that morning, and had said noting.  But he noticed the edge in Kira's voice at the staff meeting that day, and the careful way she'd worded everything.  Sloan would be interested, he noted in passing.  He would have to include it in his log, for it was too public to ignore.  
    There would be other things as well, as soon as Sisko returned.  Time was running out.  If he was to ever defy Sloan it had to be before he'd lost anything worth preserving. 
    Sisko wouldn't be back that night.  He'd have a last night of peace.  He knew where he wanted to spend it.  
    Quark was preoccupied when he entered the bar, looking up from a padd.  "Problems?" he asked the Ferengi. 
    "Missing shipments," signed the bar owner.  "The third this month.  What can I do for you?" 
    Bashir dropped a stack of latinum on the bar.  "Vic's, for myself tonight." 
    "Sure," said Quark. 
    He remembered how hard it had been the first time, wishing he wasn't reminded that everything got easier once you got used to the idea. 

    Quark did not arrive until late afternoon, but Garak hid his annoyance.  He was holding the damaged shirt, and handed it to the Cardassian.  There was something rolled inside it.  Garak took it from him, casually setting it aside. 
    "I had another shipment get lost," said Quark.  
    "Have there been many?" asked Garak. 
    "Too many.  How am I supposed to run a bar when my shipments disappear half the time."  Quark sounded absolutely normal.  Garak was certain his annoyance was genuine. 
    "I'll have the shirt back tomorrow," said Garak.  "I haven't lost any shipments myself." 
    "My cargo's are lot more valuable to them," said Quark, looking around.  "Bashir didn't sound very sorry either." 
    "Ah," said Garak thoughtfully.  
    "He booked Vic for himself.  He paid better than usual."  
    Garak eyed the Ferengi.  "You appear to be doing well." 
    "He isn't."  Quark was looking at a shirt.  "I like this.  Could you?" 
    Garak smiled graciously, taking the shirt.  "Certainly," he said.  
    Quark followed him into a dressing room. 
    Quark was suddenly very serious.  "What about the program?" 
    Garak eyed him grimly.  "I can't tell you.  If I did they might kill you.  Then your brother would have to run the bar." 
    Quark looked at him for a moment.  "I ran across something the other day.  It's yours if you want it.  But I want to know about the program." 
    Quark had not survived as long without a good sense of survival.  "I don't think it's a good idea.  But it might be worth it." 
    "Biomemetic gel," said Quark. 
    Garak sounded calm.  "What would I do with it?" 
    "I don't know.  But somebody had a use for it.  85 liters of it, to be exact."  The Ferengi watched him calmly. 
    Garak eyed him.  "It wasn't a standard program.  I don't know how much of it went on in my head but I never want to see another one." 
    He couldn't keep the emotion out of his voice.  Quark eyed him.  "You're right.  I don't think I want to know."  He handed Garak a padd.  "But sometimes they make a few mistakes," he added. 
    Garak took the padd.  He still had the suit to make.  He was beginning to wish he'd never heard of them.  He'd picked up the shirt and unwrapped the object inside.  "And this?" 
    Quark studied his shirt, "It will route any communications through a filter.  If anybody tries to follow it erases the pathway."  Quark pointed at the padd.  "I use one all the time" 
    Looking at the padd, Garak said softly, "I'll take that as a recommendation." 

    He had spent what might be his last evening as himself with Vic and his music.  At first, Vic had asked no questions.  He listened to the swirl of conversation from the make-believe audience, wishing his own life was like theirs.  Once, it had been an amusing game.  Now it was all too real.  In the end, unable to take the noise, he'd banished the images. 
    Vic came to his table and asked quietly, "Trouble?" 
    He looked at the singer, lost and numb inside.  "They take you in little pieces, you know.  Nibble away at you.  First they ... stole the most."  He thought of the moment the device pierced the man's skin, and shuddered.  "But after that it's so gradual you don't even notice.  You even discover you can sleep at night."  He thought of how he'd returned the hypo to its proper place.  He didn't need its help anymore. 
    "Have you decided?" asked Vic. 
    "Maybe it's past that," he said.  "There isn't much of anything to care about anymore." 
    "How do you know," asked Vic quietly. 
    "Medicine is the last thing I have and I even owe that to them.  But I needed it so badly I let them maneuver the lies until they were true."  He stared grimly at his drink.  "Once Garak told me it was all true, but especially the lies.  I understand it now." 
    Vic sighed.  "Yes, Garak." 
    Bashir looked at him oddly, but decided not to ask.  "Now they are going to take my integrity as a doctor.  There won't be anything else left." 
    Vic nodded, and shrugged.  "No, you have to give it to them.  Always remember that."  
    He moved toward the stage, and sat at the darkened edge.  The band played quietly behind him.  He started to sing.  " ... I've looked at clouds that way.  .... 
    Bashir watched as Vic sang rather softly.  He'd not done this one before.  "Moons and Junes and fairy tales.  The dizzy dancing way you feel, when every fairy tale comes real, I've looked at life that way."  He smiled to himself, remembering better moments.  "But now it's just another show.  You leave them laughing when you go.  And if you care, don't let them know, don't give yourself away."  His smile turned melancholy.  "I've looked at life from both sides now, from up and down, and still somehow, it's life's illusion's I recall.  I really don't know life, at all ... "  Bashir let himself get lost in the music one last time.  Vic finished, "I really don't know clouds, at all." 
    "Thank you," said Bashir.  He didn't add that it felt like good bye. 

    He'd fallen asleep quickly, because he was exhausted by the emotions.  But a telltale noise alerted him to the presence of someone in the room.  He said quietly, "Lights," and startled his visitor. 
    He'd expected Sloan, but it wasn't him.  But he did recognize the man.  He'd been is adviser at the hearing.  It figured. 
    "What?" he asked, wishing he'd go away. 
    He was officious and to the point.  "Sisko will be back tomorrow.  We want to know what transpired on Bajor.  He talks to himself in his quarters, which is why you have the device.  Don't just look and turn it off.  We expect results this time, and proper ones." 
    The man disappeared in a transporter blur.  He stared at the space where he'd been.  He wished he could escape back into the illusions but they were all gone. 

    Sisko had returned sometime very late, and Bashir vaguely remembered a beep when Sisko had entered his quarters.  The day had followed in a kind of fog.  The numbness was still there.  He did his job and nobody noticed.  But he didn't feel anything.  He came back early, eating a quick dinner before that.  He locked the door.  The biomonitor showed stress, but not an untold amount.  Sisko had made some sort of decision, or had come near. 
    He turned on the monitor.  Sisko was pacing this time.  Finally he sat, rather heavily, in the middle of his couch. 
    "Personal Log, Stardate ... fill it in.  What do I do?"  Sisko sounded very tired, and yet oddly relaxed.  He listened as the captain started pacing again.  "I've got to talk about this.  I can't sit on the fence anymore.  I have to make a decision." 
    Bashir looked up at the man, as he collapsed again.  This time he didn't try to get up.  "I remember early in the war.  All we'd done was retreat.  It was getting more and more hopeless.  We took out the white storage unit just to show them we could."  He got silent again, putting his head in his hands for a moment.  He watched, fascinated at the play of emotions.  "But I was afraid.  All I could see was Earth dominated by Jem'Hadar.  All I could see was the end of freedom for generations." 
    Sisko shook his head as if to clear the image of something.  "And then, all those dead, all those fine young people who gave their lives for the ideals of the Federation.  All those people who believed in the values it represented."  He sat up straight, as if looking directly at Bashir.  "It was bittersweet when we took it back, so many dead, but so much joy too.  It was ... intense.  I knew then.  I was home." 
    He stood up and started pacing again, his voice louder.  "I knew.  I'd gladly die to defend the Federation, and Earth.  I'd lie to save them.  I'd sell my self-respect.  But it's not home.  Here is home.  Bajor is home." 
    He sat again, calmer for a time.  "At first, I welcomed the unification of my home with the one I'd left.  It would be so easy that way.  But there are so many *questions* Starfleet and the Federation can't or won't answer.  I just can't ignore them.  And then there are the doubts.  All that before the Romulans came in was accepted  by someone in the Federation far too easily."  His voice was deep now, full of intense pain.  "And that business with Bashir.  It was a mistake but maybe the same ones turned him into that cold-blooded monster he became after they took him." 
    Bashir utterly froze.  He had long wanted Sisko to apologize, but this was the best he was going to get.  Sisko started talking again, just above a whisper.  "All those ideals that so many died for--still are dying for--are they just an illusion?  Has expediency become our way?  I remember the Sanctuary District, when Bashir asked, amid all that misery, if under the skin we were no better than the Cardassians or the Romulans?  Maybe, if you look deep enough, you find that's true." 
    Abruptly, Bashir was shaken from his trance by Sisko, when he picked up something and threw it.  His baseball bounced off the wall.  Sisko just watched as it finally settled. 
    "What do I do?" asked Sisko in a little about a whisper.  "Starfleet questions my loyalty, and I don't know what to say.  But all those dead, all those names, what do I say to them?" 
    Sisko started sobbing, deep broken sobs unlike anything Bashir had ever heard from him.  He kept muttering "what do I say?" 
    Bashir couldn't watch anymore.  He turned off the device, and stared at the monitor for a time.  Indeed, it was a good question.  What did either of them do to extricate themselves from this trap? 

    Garak stared at the padd, stunned.  All he could remember were the dead Cardassian's he'd found so long ago, the ones one of *them* had killed.  And he could see this new slaughter, bodies thrown at odd angles, some still alive but slowly dying from the Jem'Hadar induced internal bleeding.  And he could see the worry on the faces as well when they realized that they had not only failed but given over a deadly weapon to their enemies.  Whatever his contact's people were called, they'd taken the gel and were making a biological weapon out of it.  But they'd miscalculated.  They'd tried to test it and left their hidden lab.  The Jem'Hadar had killed them all, and taken the virus.  With its own expertise it had altered the virus so now it killed the same species it was meant to save. 
    It was said the Founders were dying.  Garak wondered, should they fail to save themselves, if they would guarantee that they would not die alone. 
    His new friend was going to pick up the suit in a short while.  He had once thought humans incapable of the cold-blooded deceit that Tain had expected.  He'd seen them as too weak and too easily broken.  But he had come to reevaluate this idea.  He would be very wary of this man.  Behind the smile he was as cold as the Orders best. 

    Bashir had waited to write his report, even if it was late.  They wanted to know what had gone on at the meeting, and Sisko had said nothing of that.  He suspected they had other ways of finding out, but his job was to keep tabs on the inner Sisko.  His reports would be very carefully analyzed.  If he told them about the Sisko he'd seen that night, he was sure Sloan would find a way to take advantage of it. 
    He would have to find a way to avoid that.  
    Sisko had admitted it was a mistake.  He knew that Sloan would have persisted with or without Sisko.  It wouldn't have really made much of a difference.  Sisko had called him a monster.  It had touched something deep inside him.  Once, in his own eyes, he had been one.  He had learned to respect what he was.  But it hurt that Sisko had come to that conclusion. 
    He decided he would not be a monster.  He would not be a party to the destruction of Sisko or anyone else.  But he would do it very carefully. 
    Shutting out his emotions, he considered what Sisko had revealed.  He began the report with his physical condition.  "Subject was very tired, and had difficulty concentrating."  He was being torn by dual loyalties, but was not disloyal to either.  "Subject expressed doubts about the stability of the situation."  He wanted it to work out, somehow.  "He expressed hopes that a solution could be found."  But he'd given no details.  If decisions had been made, Sisko hadn't given a clue.  "However, subject did not reveal any details of his meeting that can be used to validate any analysis of his outlook."  He read it over again.  Sisko had said he was cold-blooded.  The report certainly sounded that way.  He added the finishing touch, in case anyone thought he wasn't interested in his job.  "It is recommended that the trends noted be pursued by further observation." 
    He closed the log and transmitted it, and went to sleep without any difficulties.  He was not alone.  His last thought as he fell asleep was that now he shared far more with Sisko than anyone he knew. 

    Garak was smiling as his visitor viewed the suit, currently being worn by a mannikin.  The young man was in civilian clothing this time, and was smiling as well.  "Mr. Garak, you've outdone yourself.  It is most impressive.  I'm not sure he'll really notice, but his daughter will be very pleased.  And very surprised.  His idea of clothes is the first plain replicator pattern he can find." 
    "I'm most gratified," he said.  At least he could be sincere about that.  If there was a daughter and a wedding, he cautioned himself.  He wasn't used to humans being as manipulative as he was. 
    His customer handed Garak a padd.  Garak took it cautiously.  "I'd like something for myself.  I sort of put this together.  If you think it could be improved ... " 
    Garak studied the image.  "It is quite appealing," he said.  It was a little too much like the sort of thing Bashir had picked out, but Garak kept that to himself. 
    "I'll be back through here in a week or so, if you could have it ready then."  He was still smiling. 
    "I believe so," he answered.  But there was a sound, almost inaudible, and his visitor stopped smiling. 
    He handed Garak another padd.  "When I pick up the outfit add this to it.  We need this information as soon as possible but it isn't wise to transmit it at this time.  So include it on the padd.  That's all you need to do." 
    Despite his long training, Garak was privately surprised by the abrupt change in mood.  "I may be able to get it sooner," he said, testing the man. 
    "Can't be helped.  I must stress this is very sensitive material.  Take great care how you get it.  It must not be traced to you.  I trust you have your own resources."  The tone was cold as a dead sun, and Garak wished he would simply bring the padds.  That way he wouldn't have the orders to remind him of the growing feeling of being as trapped as the doctor. 

    Sisko rose early, having been notified that Ross would be calling that morning.  It was unfortunate it was in person.  He found he didn't want to deal with the man across a desk.  Subspace transmissions gave him a little room, even if it was only in his mind. 
    He was prepared.  He had not said a word about the meeting to anyone, aware the walls had ears, but would tell Ross.  He didn't trust the admiral, but it would suggest that he was going through official channels.  It was important to be proper.  Ross wasn't going to like what he heard. 
    The elected government of Bajor had considered the petition.  They had voted to request official answers before negotiations regarding Federation membership proceeded any further.  Sisko hadn't really been asked.  Ross vastly overestimated his influence.  But he knew he'd be blamed.  He intended to come across as Captain Sisko this time.  He had argued that negotiations should continue, but others had disagreed.  He had tried.  But he had not, admittedly, said a word against the request. 
    He knew the sort of things Ross would bring up.  His position as the Emissary, his derailing of the first unification, and his release of the letters counted against him.  But Ben Sisko still considered himself a loyal member of the Federation.  He intended that to come across to the admiral. 
    Ross arrived late, and he'd been busy with the ever present pile of reports when his visitor was announced.  Sisko wished he'd had more warning, but he believed he could manage. 
    Ross hadn't bothered with any banter.  They'd hardly sat down in the conference room before he asked.  "What happened, Ben?" 
    Sisko was being very official.  "They are going to request answers to the questions raised by the petition.  The vote is official."  He watched as Ross got more tense.  "They get answers or there won't be any more negotiations." 
    Ross looked glum.  But he recovered faster than Sisko expected.  "How firm is the support for this?" he asked. 
    Sisko privately wondered if he already knew.  "Very firm.  I did support continuing the negotiations, but minds were already made up."  If Ross did have private information, nothing he'd said would contradict it. 
    "Can they be dissuaded?" asked Ross, thoughtfully. 
    "Perhaps I'm not being clear," said Sisko.  "I don't believe the Bajoran government wants to refuse membership, but they just want some answers.  If it appears that the Federation is unwilling to cooperate, they may choose to reject membership.  But it isn't anywhere near as bad a situation as it looks." 
    Ross shrugged.  "Well that's not my job.  But I'll tell the politicians."  He looked at Sisko, thoughtfully.  "You're being quite reasonable.  What happened?" 
    Sisko was privately worried that the politicians would give all the wrong answers, and Bajor would never be a part of the Federation.  He didn't want that to happen.  Somehow, he could still find a hope of compromise. 
    But Starfleet had to trust him.  He had to make sure they understood that Bajor could not be convinced by rhetoric.  He didn't know who Ross worked for, but he had some sort of influence.  Perhaps if he could convince Ross there might be a chance. 
    "I just gave it some thought.  We've had a lot of people die in the last year.  I'd like to think they died for something." 
    Ross got very quiet.  "I'll never forget how many people I've sent to their deaths.  I don't want to see it all fall apart now that its end is in sight." 
    Ross understood.  There was more to it, but Ross would accept that as a good enough reason.  If he was lucky he'd make his own people listen.  For Ben Sisko knew that in the end if it didn't work, he would still stand with Bajor. 

    The sound of Sisko's movements was playing in the background almost as if it was music.  Bashir was only occasionally paying attention.  The Captain had arrived in his quarters apparently calm, though the reading betrayed the turmoil inside him.  It was only when he was alone, or believed he was, that he'd started to pace.  It was the only outward sign of his internal distress.  Bashir knew he'd been contacted by someone high in the Federation--not Ross this time.  He'd had messages from Bajor as well.  He had been firm in his position, to everybody.  But Bashir knew he'd decided.  
    Bashir had eaten his dinner before, and had been reading while Sisko paced.  Finally Sisko gave up and collapsed into a chair.  "Personal Log," he began.  
    Bashir looked up from his book.  He picked up a padd he used for notes.  Sisko began, "I talked to politicians today.  The Federation representative wanted to know why this was occurring.  I get the impression he's doing a little research.  Maybe we'll hear more from him."  Sisko paused, ordering a raktageno.  Settled down again, he continued.  "What got me is how confused he was.  He honestly didn't understand."  Sisko shook his head.  "When did we start to delude ourselves into thinking we were gods?  When did just asking a few questions become such a major dilemma."  He took a long sip of his drink, and looked at the ceiling.  "I get the impression that he is trying to find an answer, and he doesn't much like what he finds."  Sisko finished his drink, and got another.  "Maybe," he said philosophically, "maybe Bajor was put here to save us from ourselves." 
    Bashir had put down his book and was listening.  Sisko was so calm, too calm.  Despite his use of the word "we" he had made up his mind.  He only wished his own choices were as simple. 
    But Sisko was not spared the confusion.  He sat again, with a newly filled cup, and his expression grew troubled.  "Then there was the Bajoran minister.  He doesn't understand either.  It does no good to try to explain that this is unheard of.  He thinks the Federation is stalling because the concerns are true, because they *have* no answers."  Sisko took several long sips of his raktageno.  "I wish, I just wish, I could get them to talk to each other.  Perhaps I should," he said with much thought.  "I wonder if they would balk ... "  
    Sisko was silent while he finished his cup, and got a third.  This time he drank half of it before saying another word.  "I didn't need this, not Friday.  There weren't as many names.  But they are still dying.  Fleet says we may see more resistance towards the end, more dead than before.  What happens to, to us, when the survivors come home and they don't see the illusion anymore?"  He finished his drink, this time leaving it on the table.  "Maybe then we can answer those questions, but I'm afraid it will be too late." 
    He looked at the cup and reached for it, putting it back.  "End personal log," he said.  He moved to another chair, picking up the cup.  Bashir didn't bother to find out what he filled it with.  He just turned off the monitor. 

    Garak was half-way done with the suit, and looked around his shop to find something else to do.  He'd already gotten their information, and had indeed taken care with how he obtained it.  He had expected it to be sensitive background.  But it concerned certain dangerous background elements on the Bajoran's who had sponsored the petition.  They were going to try to turn one or more of them--to change their minds.  Garak understood this sort of thing.  But why they were going to this much trouble over what was quite typical a pattern for the Bajorans?  
    He'd gone along to find out what *they* were up to, and now had a pretty good idea.  He still wasn't sure where Bashir fit in, but he was certain it had to do with Sisko.  The doctor's whole attitude toward the man had changed.  
    And if Sisko was Bashir's assignment, it made sense.  The Prophets had destroyed an invading army, and altered the course of the war.  But they had not done it for the Federation, or the Klingons, or any other of their allies.  They had done it simply to protect Bajor.  
    There had been no traffic through the wormhole since then.  Bajor and the station was a repair stop on the way to the front.  Still, Garak understood power.  Bajor had not lost any of its importance.  It had, indeed, gained a special value to all the allies who would begin to distrust each other as soon as the Dominion and Cardassia were under control. 
    The Prophets would protect Bajor.  Anyone who stood as an ally would benefit from that protection.  In the Alpha quadrant the war would leave behind a legacy of confusion and instability, and possibly more wars.  No one could guess what might come of the gamma quadrant.  But should a new invader emerge, being Bajor's friend would be very important--even important enough to break all the rules to insure. 

    Bashir took his time, studying the notes he'd made before beginning his log.  Sisko had used the word "we" in regards to the Federation, but despite the frustration there had been little stress.  If Federation politicians failed completely, and Bajor rejected membership, Sisko would be more concerned with Bajor than the Federation.  He wanted it to work, but if it didn't he would find a way to manage. 
    But Sisko was still vulnerable.  What happened later would matter to Sisko, but for then it was a distant event.  What mattered now, even as he was monopolized by preparations for the future, was the war.  He still posted a list every Friday.  The names had stayed real.  It was a nightmare shared with many others, but one which Sloan could easily make use of.  
    For a long time he looked at the padd, wondering how to handle it.  Then he erased it.  There would be no evidence left of what had been said.  He retrieved the other padd, and let it scan his finger before it opened the file.  He keyed in the date and his identification code, and pushed everything away.  
    The words were dry and clinical.  Sisko was always referred to as the "subject".  He briefly summarized Sisko's concern that the Federation would fail to take it seriously and things would go wrong.  He even mentioned Sisko's idea, in passing, of a face to face meeting between the politicians.  "Recommendation is made that this be encouraged in some way."  He paused, hoping it helped.  Sisko might not like the method, but he'd appreciate the results. 
    Taking a deep breath, he got to the hard part.  In case they were tapping into the device, he had to explain the stress.  He stated that Sisko remained loyal the Federation, and believed that Bajor should be a part of it, but that his influence was limited.  Sisko's understanding of Bajoran's reactions should also be respected.  He gave the Captain a chance to pull off his game. 
    Perhaps, if Sisko could do it so could he.  He still didn't know what to do, except he wanted out.  But they would leave him with nothing.  Sisko was just as trapped, but at least he had something to believe in.  In the end, should the illusion fail, Sisko would still have a home.  He'd already lost his. 
    Wording it carefully, he cautioned that Sisko found the endless questions intruded on his daily duties, for his primary concern was with the war.  Sisko believed priorities were out of line.  Bashir recommended, very cautiously, that they back off.  Sisko had handled it well, but the strain was growing.  It was most important that he continue to act with the care and moderation.  
    He closed the log, and inserted it into the device that transmitted it.  But he was worried.  He hoped he had not alerted Sloan to Sisko's distress over the war, and its ultimate costs.  Should anyone tap into Sisko's deep seeded guilt, he would be theirs. 

    A little over a week since his last brief visit, Garak contact arrived for his suit.  Garak was more cautious than normal, but the man didn't notice.  He took the suit and went to a dressing room to try it on.  A few minutes later he called in Garak.  There was an odd *feeling* in the room. 
    "As I said, you are a wonderful tailor.  And your information is very good."  The man didn't smile.  He was as cold as he'd been before.  
    "It wasn't easy to get," he said. 
    He handed the padd back to Garak.  "This is slightly different, but also very sensitive.  We need it as soon as you get it.  Procedures are on the padd for this one." 
    Garak found that he liked the fake banter better.  At least it sounded like he had a way out.  But he tucked the padd into some supplies without comment.  Instead he studied the suit.  "It fits perfectly," he said. 
    "Yes, and I'll wear it," said his visitor in a more conversational tone as the odd feeling went away. 
    Garak gathered up his other clothes, and packing them hoped to find some clue.  But they were just clothes.  He handed them to the man outside, as he was admiring the new suit. 
    "Will you be ordering more suits?" asked Garak. 
    "I just might," said the man, but he didn't bother to smile.  "I'll let you know." 
    Garak didn't follow him out.  He never wanted to see him again.  There had been no pretending this time, just business and orders.  The abrupt change disturbed Garak.  It reminded him too much of the change in Bashir.  These men had taken away his only friend, and turned him into nothing.  It was galling that he'd fallen into their trap as well. 
    He had to find a way out.  It wasn't that he couldn't do what was asked, but that he didn't want to.  He didn't want to save the Federation.  They must have known, but would use him anyway. 
    Or, he corrected himself, he would allow them to.  Using Quark's device, he'd tapped into Sisko's private log.  But someone already had.  Bashir was staying in his quarters later, only showing up at Quark's late in the evening.  Since then he'd started looking at Sisko with what Garak would almost call understanding.  It wasn't certain, but he was sure enough to take a chance. 
    Later that night, in his own quarters, he reread the padd Quark had given him.  Sisko would be devastated by the news.  If there was anything of the man he'd known left, Bashir would blame Sisko for his part, this time there being nothing to forgive.  Whatever reports he was sending would be influenced by his bitterness, especially if he kept it to himself. 
    They believed Sisko to be a key man in relations with Bajor, and would do whatever was necessary to keep him on their side.  He was certain that Sisko would not enjoy it.  All they would do was push him away.  Their plan would fail, and it would take the thief with it.  It might take Bashir too, he noted to himself.  But they'd already done that.  
    And while the pieces were falling apart, Garak would find a way to slip in the darkness and away. 

end, part 2