LEGACY 

             An Alternate History of the Dominion War

                              Year 1

                    Part 4 _ Interesting Times

Chapter 15

In perhaps an hour, the sun would rise.  The earliest glow of dawn was lighting 
the small window of his inner office.  Benjamin Sisko had not gone to bed that 
night.  He'd written the old Chinese curse on a scrap of paper and laid it in the 
carefully printed papers he'd finished a little while earlier. 

"May you live in interesting times," it said.  He had found a small piece of hard 
paper to attach it to, and would leave it on his desk as a reminder. 

But he couldn't stop staring at the two official decrees to be announced in a 
few hours.  Grimly, he picked them up again to make sure there were no 
mistakes. 

He read the first slowly.  It would change their way of life.  The curfew had been 
an informal rule before.  People genererally respected it by staying inside at 
night, but now and then there were emergencies.  Even then, a reasonable 
explanation was all that he needed to excuse them. 

But tomorrow, all that would change.  Written permission would be required to 
break curfew, and there were few acceptable reasons.  Those in violation could 
be restricted to their quarters for as long as Sisko chose.  In the summer heat 
this would be miserable, and they would be forced to eat the cakes in original 
form.  They would be excluded from the community and the community soup 
pot.  

Sisko hoped it would be enough. 

Willman wanted more, but it was as far as Sisko was willing to go now.  It was 
tough enough to insure that people knew he was serious.  From what he'd seen 
that evening, after the rumor had spread about the machine,  there wasn't 
likely to be any trouble.  There had been very little conversation of any kind.  
They were stunned and scared, the used machines a reminder of those who  
watched from above.  Everybody was waiting for the Jem'Hadar to come. 

He finished reviewing the first, and started on the second.  That decree would 
change much more of the daily routine. While it was technically against the 
rules, people still took walks into the rolling hills above the settlement for 
solitude, or variety, or just to have something to do.  This would now be strictly 
forbidden, and heavily enforced.  The only way the area could be entered was 
with special permission from his office. He knew how unpopular it would be, 
even with the fear.  He intended to enforce it, however, with a heavy hand. 
Those caught sneaking into the hills would be confined to quarters for a month 
on the first offense, and be denied community soup privileges for three.  He 
was determined to curtail any more experiments. 

*****

Willman had not slept well.  He'd been waiting for something like this.  He 
knew, eventually, the Jem'Hadar would come and life would resemble that he'd 
lived years ago at the mercy of the Cardassians.  The memories had come back 
that night in a dream, one so vivid it was hard to tear himself away. 

But something else bothered him about the way things had gone.  It had been 
a suspicion before, but now it was a certainty.  He hadn't wanted to say 
anything to the others, but Ben had to know. 

He dressed and walked slowly in the emerging dawn.  Knocking on Ben's 
quarters there was no answer, but the office door was opened at his knock. 

Ben had been going somewhere.  Instead he walked back to the little office he 
used for private talks.  Neither said a word while Willy sat and took the papers 
from Ben to read. 

Ben picked up a piece of stiff paper and some glue, sticking a piece of paper on 
the cardboard.  He folded it and sat it on his personal desk, turning it towards 
Willy. 

"Appropriate," said Willy. 

"Maybe I should post it on the door." 

"I think these will do fine."  Willy sat them down on the table, staring at the 
sign.  "They'll get the point without your sign." 

"I certainly hope so."

Willy took a deep breath, looking Ben in the eyes.  "They expected this.  More 
than that, they hoped it would happen." 

"I know.  We've had enough experience with them before to know that this sort 
of thing wouldn't be tolerated.  They just want to weed out the troublemakers.  
We haven't tried to resist, or they'd have done a lot more." 

Willy said grimly, "No, that isn't why." 

Sisko was reaching for the baseball but stopped.  "Explain." 

Willy shook his head.  "It's been so obvious, if I'd ever put it together before.  
You see, Walter was desperate for sponsors.  He wasn't particularly careful who 
they were, and I'm quite certain that he didn't ask any questions.  And when 
we needed something that was hard to get, it was always so *easy* to get it 
from our friendly sponsors.  If you hadn't shown up, I'll bet I'd have even gotten 
that medical replicator I needed." 

"You think the Dominion set this place up?"

"I'm sure now.  Think about it.  You know the way they behave.  The Cardies 
were bad, but they're worse.  We'd all be dead now, or shipped off to some labor 
camp where nobody left alive if they didn't have a real good reason to look the 
other way." 

Sisko picked up the baseball.  "I've wondered why we've gotten such special 
treatment.  But everything about this project of Vance's is illegal by their laws." 

"As it was.  I know that Walter once said his *sponsors* had ask about 
simplifying it.  I guess they suggested that it would be even more useful if it 
didn't need all the machines.  That's what they did here.  They made Justin 
create a version that didn't need them because he didn't have them.  All the 
rest of us were just incidental." 

Sisko rolled the baseball around in his hand.  "So, what happens now?" 

"They got what they wanted.  I'll bet they sample the test site themselves, just 
to make sure it works.  Of course, now that Walter had bailed and Justin might 
kill himself if he tries it again, they might not wait." 

"How?" asked Sisko, curious.

"His chemicals are very toxic.  If he and his friend try it somewhere there isn't 
enough ventilation we'll be able to tell." 

"There is Tarlan."  Sisko sat the ball on his desk next to the little sign. 

"And he has a whole family on Bajor.  I'll bet that they're all safe and sound 
right now, and when it comes the time to say yes he'll understand that if he 
wants them to stay that way . . . . " 

Ben nodded.  "If Jake was on Bajor, that would be a hard question to say no 
to." 

"But you'd want to.  So will he, after they get through with the others." 

"Like us," said Ben.

"Probably."

"What do you suggest?"

"Hope they like the project.  I'll bet once it's right we'll have plenty to do here.  
But it won't be the same." 

Willy thought about how the Cardies had forced his men to work, and beaten 
them when they didn't.  There were a lot of people here, enough to run a 
chemical plant.  If they died off from the fumes they had plenty of 
replacements. 

Ben picked up the sign and crumpled it.  "When do we cross the line?  I did 
this to stand between my people and Them.  Now, you're saying that I may 
have to condemn my people to save them." 

Willy didn't answer.  Ben talked to the Vorta and could make a better guess.  
The Cardies had let certain privileged prisoners run things for them.  Once the 
line was crossed, those who stepped over it owed everything to the masters. 

"I hope not," he said.

Ben shuffled the decrees around, setting them face up. "Or have I already?" he 
asked.  Then he pushed the papers away.  "We didn't have this conversation." 

"No, I am glad you're headache is better."  Willy watched as Ben stared at the 
decrees that he'd written, slipping a little more with each word to a point of no 
return. 

He let himself out.  The trip back to the hospital was very quiet.  No one had 
ventured outside, despite the rising sun.  

Moving up the hill, he took a deep breath and Willy disappeared again.  Sisko 
had not stepped across the scratch in the sand, but deep inside, he knew he 
already had. 

*****

The announcements were posted that morning, copies distributed to each area.  
People disappeared with their copy to read, vanishing silently to the shelter of 
home.  But there was no real safety anymore.  The new rules were not 
discussed.  Those who had nothing to do drifted out for lunch, then 
disappeared inside again as if they might hide.  Tomorrow it would sink in 
when they'd wanted to step out to get a little fresh air, but could not,or when 
they stood at their doors in the morning wondering if it was all right to leave. 

The deck was deserted.  Just past, one could find ways to the hills, and now it 
just reminded them of the fear.  Instead, they sat outside their homes, doing 
nothing.  

Children and family were kept near.  What if the Jem'Hadar came and they 
were separated? 

The same subdued atmosphere greeted Sisko at the meeting of Department 
heads he had called that afternoon.  Nobody offered any comments.  In a quiet 
voice, which betrayed only a little of the fear inside, he explained their part in 
enforcing the new rules.  He was asking more of them than ever before, and 
this time there was no way out. 
"Anyone found in violation of normal working rules will automatically go on 
restrictions.  This is no longer at your discretion.  Those in violation will be 
placed on lock restriction.  How long is up to you, but if there is a repeat of the 
violation you also have to answer for it." 

They looked pale, and none would look at him.  But the rules would be obeyed.  
There was no longer any option.  No matter what was thought of him, he would 
try to protect his people against the unknown terrors that threatened. 

But what if Willy was right?  What if this was only the beginning?  If the 
teraforming project had saved them from something far worse, would his rules 
make that much of a difference?  Or was he, like Tarlan, only buying himself a 
place he did not want to have? 

Still, he had to pretend.  Blanchard sat like the others, his face impassive and 
scared.  Blanchard knew how to pretend, too.    He wished he could tell them 
about the Vorta's warnings.  He wondered if Blanchard understood this was all 
his doing, but saw no evidence of regret.  When the Jem'Hadar came, would he 
finally  understand?  Sisko did not want to catch Blanchard in the act  and be 
forced into the ugly decision that would demand, but there must be no more 
experiments.  

Unless Willy was right, he thought.  Would it be better to let Blanchard and his 
Bajoran friend keep trying, but confidently never catch them?  Would that buy 
them more time? 

What if Blanchard figured it out?  Would he destroy what he and Tarlan had 
done?  Would that be better or worse? 

Studying Blanchard's detached expression, so unlike the miserable looks of the 
others, he doubted it would matter.  The project mattered so much now that 
Blanchard no longer care. 

"Any questions?" he asked.  There were none.  

Now he could make his third announcement, one that was to be a pleasant 
relief but now would require yet more accommodations.  Anticipating the cold 
weather to come, he had authorized the empty warehouse where the 
terraforming equipment had been stored to be turned into a kitchen/serving 
area.  It would be open late for those with night duty, but now they would need 
special passes.  It was not the way he had wanted to announce the news, but 
Blanchard had ruined that. 

As they filed out of the room, lost in their own thoughts, he noticed Dax was 
watching him.  She was sitting wrong, and the look of bitter resignation was all 
Curzon.  He might have asked for her to stay, knowing that Curzon would 
understand, but wasn't in the mood for conversation. 

When he'd had time to think, he'd find her for dinner.  Perhaps she could join 
him tonight.  After he'd spent the day looking at the reports that hid nothing, 
he'd welcome Curzon's cynicism. 

But he was alone now.  The days edicts, and the terrible knowledge Willman 
had passed on to him would set him apart.  No matter what he did it would be 
very bad.  But if he could keep back the darkness just a little and save some of 
them from grief, he'd have to pay the price of being alone. 

*****

Julian surveyed the Recovery building, noting all the empty beds.  Willman had 
said he would be released in a few days.  He fingered the crutches he now 
depended on, wondering how long that would be tolerated.  Willman had 
mentioned he was continuing with his therapy, and would eventually re_learn 
to walk.  He had hated the crutches at first, but depended on them now.  The 
pain was so bad, even without full weight on the leg.  He could not imagine 
how much worse it would be when he had to walk.  The crutches were a refuge, 
like this room, and he knew enough of the world he would be forced into to 
understand that all the illusions were gone.  

He would be still be an outpatient, but would have to walk to meals and the 
hospital.  The daily walk Willman insisted on now was bad enough.  He'd seen 
the world outside and was in no hurry to take his place in it.  

And he'd told himself, near the end of his daily walk when the pain was almost 
too much, that when he could do a better job of it there would be the hills.  It 
was almost pretty there.  The native plants in their sparse glory grew uncut.  
He could go there himself if he kept trying. 

But not now.  Lonnie had taken him there once, just into the area behind the 
hospital.  It wasn't far, but it was different, and uncontrolled.  And it had been 
private.  Now, it would be impossible to get away, and there was nothing 
special to look forward to.  All that awaited him was more pain. 

He hurt from the morning's therapy, and after eating alone had tried to sleep.  
But the pain was too much.  He didn't want to go for his walk.  She would be 
here soon, and the pain had finally dimmed enough to rest.  But he would 
walk, as he was told to do.  He knew better than to refuse.  If he did he would 
have to deal with Willman, and would rather put up with agony than that.  
Agony would end, and offending Willman would insure that he was never 
forgotten.  Drifting off into an uneasy sleep, he escaped for a little while.  

*****

She watched him sleeping, regretting that she had to wake him.  But it was the 
only time Lonnie could come, and she liked sharing an early dinner with him.  
She didn't see him that often anymore, dinner being one of few regular times.  
After his release there might be more time, but it wasn't likely.  And then, he'd 
have plenty of chances to walk on his own.   

She liked their walks.  She'd miss them.  He'd be busy in the mornings with 
therapy, and she had to work in the afternoons.  Then, in the evenings, came 
the curfew.  Willman would not allow any exceptions.  And on duty, personal 
matters were best forgotten. 

She almost touched his shoulder to wake him, but remembered when he had 
jerked away, and stared at her seeing someone else, someone from his 
nightmares.  Instead she bent over and whispered, loudly, in his ear.  "Come 
on, Julian, it's time to wake up."  He did his best to turn over and move away.  
"Wake up.  It's walk time.  We'll make it short." 

He was starting to stir, and opened his eyes, not yet focused.  He looked 
around, everything still blurry, and mumbled, "Make that real short, please." 

He was awake now.  And she could tell he no longer needed reminding that 
things were different.  The resignation in his eyes was enough. 

"We'll get an early dinner, and then I've got something to show you."  He was so 
tired.  She wished she could let him sleep, but he'd like his surprise. 

She moved the blanket off the pile of pillows his leg was resting on, and 
frowned.  "Julian, you have to take the brace off when your resting." 

"After the walk."  He didn't look at her when he said it.  "It hurts more then.  If I 
have to go . . . . "  His voice trailed off. 

He didn't complain often.  She gave in.  "I'll personally take it off then."  She 
helped him sit up, and got his shoes.  He put them on himself, and pulled 
himself up with a crutch.  

Miserable, he followed her slowly out the door. 

*****

Dinner had been quick, sitting in the square, Julian concentrating  on the food 
and Lonnie on the people.  She got their dinners, getting him seated at a table 
first.  It had been quick for once. 

He ate without looking up.  The stew was pretty good, and he appeared to like 
it.  To distract herself from the silence, she watched the small group of early 
diners.  

It was different now.  People were quiet.  They didn't say much in such an open 
place.  She studied him as he ate, occasionally glancing up at her as he was 
almost finished, not looking at the others.  

She needed to talk.  She had almost resumed the letters, but it was too chancy.  
She wanted him to hurry so they could see his surprise, and perhaps have 
some privacy as well. 

She finished just before he did, gathering the dishes and returning them.  She 
let him pull himself up and handed him the other crutch.  Either he was in too 
much pain or lost in his own thoughts, but he hardly noticed any of it.  Slowly, 
taking his time, he followed her back towards the hospital. 

She stopped before turning towards the collection of dwellings on the little rise. 
"I thought this was going to be quick."  He sounded disappointed. 

"It's not over yet.  Remember the surprise?" 

"As long as it's not far."  She could tell all he wanted to do was go back to sleep 
and try to banish the pain.  But she thought he would like his surprise.  They 
turned past one clutch of buildings to another, and stopped before a door.  She 
unlocked it. 

"Open it," she said, watching his puzzled expression.  "It's  yours." 

He turned the knob and used the tip of one crutch to push the door open.  
Once inside, he stood in the box shaped room and looked around.  "My . . . 
quarters, I guess," he said, surprised.  He hobbled to the other, smaller room 
and noticed the pile of things in the corner.  "Is that my stuff?" he asked, 
looking it over closely, moving towards it.  He began moving it around with the 
crutches, balancing on his good leg.  He finally discovered a small bag with a 
Starfleet logo on its side.  It was dirty, but not damaged.  Pointing the crutch, 
he asked, "Could you?" in an excited voice. 

He maneuvered himself to the bed and sat down.  He grabbed the case from 
Lonnie, who stood and watched, feeling like an intruder.  Opening it, he didn't 
even see her.  

Pulling things out of the case, he set them aside.  There were a few books, then 
a small box or two _ and a stuffed bear.  He smiled for the first time in ages.    
"Meet Kukalaka," he said, still smiling, almost happy. 

"Ugh, hello," she said, uncertain as to what to say to the well worn teddy bear.  
But she remembered her charm, how she had repaired it so carefully, and held 
it when she needed to remember home.  She smiled.  "Feeling a little better?" 
she asked. 

He put down the bear.  "Maybe."  He was more serious now.  "It feels so . . . 
quiet." 

"You need a place of your own.  You'll be glad you have this in a little while."   
Lonnie was equally serious.  "You might even be able to have a private talk 
when you need one."  She looked at him, trying to say with her eyes what she 
couldn't make herself put into words. 

He met her eyes.  "We could have one now.  If you want to."  

She sat next to him on the bed, looking towards the pile of things that was all 
he had of his life, thinking of how much more she had.  "What do you dream 
about?" she asked quietly. 

He turned his head away.  "I don't think you want to know."  Looking upwards, 
he took a deep breath.  "Mostly Them.  Especially since . . . . " 

She took his hand.  She asked carefully, "What do they *do* in your dreams?" 
"I've told you.  But it's not so sharp now, there's other things.  They all mix 
together."  He sighed.  "Why do you want to know?  Do I talk in my sleep or 
something?" 

She ignored the questions.  "How do you make yourself, remember . . . what 
you dreamed?" 

He looked at her, suddenly understanding.  "How bad are they?" he asked. 

"I don't know.  I don't remember them.  But every time I hear a sound I wake 
up afraid They are here, and I can barely move I'm so scared."  She looked at 
him, pleading.  "How do you live with them?" 

He put his arms around her.  She buried her face in his shoulder and let his 
touch comfort her.  Hugging each other, the few minutes they had before the 
world intruded felt like a long time.  Finally, reluctantly, he answered, "You just 
do." 

*****

Lonnie had removed the brace when they returned to his hospital bed, and his 
leg throbbed much more than normal.  She'd also moved the brace to the 
storage locker so he couldn't hobble over and put it back on.  The room was so 
quiet, almost empty now.  Maybe he'd be used to the stillness when he was in 
his quarters.  

He couldn't sleep.  Lonnie's hesitant questions kept him awake.  She hadn't 
any idea how bad it might get.  How many others were like her, haunted by 
fears they didn't dare voice. 

In an odd way, it was comforting.  He wasn't alone anymore.  He still didn't 
share much with them, but they might have understood now.  He usually slept 
now, despite the dreams.  Eventually they'd learn that life went on even if you 
were afraid and your heart started to pound and your mind swirl in ultra sharp 
alarm at an innocent sound.  Some day they would learn that fear cannot be 
allowed to rule.  

Morning eventually came, after a short exhausted sleep.  His day was not 
improved by Willman's early visit.  Stern and officious, he knew Willman no 
longer considered him a patient with needs to be met.  It was no surprise at all 
that he would be released that day. 

*****

Lonnie stood by the bed, a small bag dangling over her shoulder.  "Is that 
everything?" she asked. 

He had a few personal things gathered in the long months confined to the 
hospital.  She'd loaded them all in the bag and was holding the crutches.  "All 
of it," he said. 

She checked the brace again.  "That looks like it's too tight." 

"It's fine," he said, wearily.  He wanted to get this over. 
She had been assigned the task of getting him to his new home, and since she 
worked all afternoon it was near dinnertime and the beginning of the curfew.  
She was waiting for him to finish with his shoes so they could go. 

He'd pulled on the last one, for his good leg.  She handed him one crutch and 
he pulled himself to his feet. 

He wasn't the last patient left.  There were three others.  He moved to the side 
of the room they occupied.  

"Don't be a stranger," said Tike.  Then he added, with a hint of a smile, 
"Doctor." 

It was so odd to be called that.  Here, Willman was the doctor.  Everywhere 
else, it had been an honor.  He wasn't sure he'd call it that in this place. 

"I'll be back.  You'll be out of here soon, anyway." 

Tike nodded.  It occured to Bashir that out there they'd use the name he didn't 
like and only a few would call him by his nickname.  "I know.  I'm not in much 
of a hurry about it." 

The other two were asleep, their injuries taking a long time to heal.  Willman 
would probably move them back to the hospital when they were left alone, 
since neither could get out of bed. 

Lonnie moved closer.  "We have to go," she said.  There was an edge in her 
voice he hadn't heard before.  "We don't have a lot of time," she added, and he 
understood.  It was getting late and she was worried about the curfew. 

She opened the door, moving out slowly so he could follow.  It was so odd to be 
leaving for the last time.  Tomorrow, Willman would find something for him to 
do.  He didn't know if it would be better to be busy or not, if he had to answer 
to Willman. 

The walk to his new quarters wasn't far, but it felt like an enormous distance.  
For months, he'd been only on the edge of this place.  Now, he'd have to live in 
the restrictive society that Willman had built to save them. 

He understood Willman's reasons, though Willman probably didn't realize it, 
and he wasn't going to tell him.  But this was the Dominion.  They'd kidnaped 
Bashir and locked him in a cage.  For complaining, they'd put him in isolation 
for what felt like a lifetime. 

Willman's reign of terror wasn't going to save anyone.  It just made life a little 
harder for everyone else.  Or, perhaps, he thought, it was easier to fear 
Willman, who was there, then someone who never showed themselves but 
could destroy everything. 

Lonnie gave him his key, and watched as he unlocked his door.  She waited 
outside while he pushed open the door, and hopped inside. 
"May I come in?" she asked. 

"Of course." 

She stepped inside slowly.  "I remember when I saw mine for the first time.  It 
was very small." 

"Not small," he said, pulling himself to the bed.  "Not large either.  Just 
personal." 

"Well, it is yours."  Away from Willman, she sounded bitter.  

He watched as she put his things near the bed, on a small table which she 
pushed where he could reach it. 

"How soon do we have to be in?" he asked. 

"We have time for dinner.  I arranged to have it brought today.  We didn't have 
time to walk there." 

He looked at his leg, the brace keeping his ankle from twisting.  Eventually the 
muscles might get strong enough to hold it but no one could say.  The serving 
area wasn't that far for most, but for him it was an ordeal.  "What about 
tomorrow?" 

She shrugged.  "We'll see how it goes.  For now, you have to get there once a 
day.  Doctor's orders.  You pick the meal." 

He pulled his leg onto the bed, wincing as he rolled to the side to put several 
pillows underneath.  She didn't help. 

"Not breakfast," he said, suddenly exhausted. 

"Maybe lunch."  She loosened the brace, then started pulling it off.  He didn't 
argue.  It wouldn't matter if he did.  He could navigate without it around the 
small quarters with his crutches.  But the throbbing that came every time she 
took it off was already starting. 

There was a tap on the door.  She left, returning with two bowls.  She handed 
one to him. 

"Can you stay a little?" he asked between bites. 

She checked the time.  "Not long."  She fished around in her pocket and pulled 
out a book, putting it on the table.  "It helps when you can't get to sleep." 

He finished his food and handed her the bowl.  "I might need it tonight." 

She took the bowls, stacking them together.  "I have to go.  Try to get some rest.  
They'll be here for therapy right after curfew." 
He was trying to arrange pillows and get the blanket loose.  She had him roll to 
the side and retrieved the blanket, then piled his pillows for him. 

"Thank you," he said. 

She stopped.  She didn't hear that much with her job.  "Rest well," she said. 

She left quietly, and he picked up the book.  On the first page was a small note.  
He even recognized the handwriting. 

"To Julian Bashir, secret agent, in memory of better times." 

He smiled a little.  Miles didn't get by to see him often, but he came when he 
could.  But the book said everything. 

His leg hurt too much to read long, but he opened the first page.  "The Spy Who 
Came in From the Cold" it said. 

Once, he'd played like one.  Miles was always Falco, one of the bad guys.  
Sometimes Odo played, and he'd even introduced Garak to his private little 
world. 

But he'd almost killed his friend.  Now he was dead.  Miles was too busy being 
a pawn, and Odo might be dead.  But even if the world they came from was 
gone, he could still remember it. 

He read the first page of the book.  An agent named Lemas was waiting for his 
contact to cross into the western side of the divided city of Berlin, but he was 
late.  

Bashir settled down in his bed, reading the first chapter.  Lemas was met by a 
woman with bad news.  His contact had been betrayed.  He was going to cross 
at a different place along the Wall.  But in the end, the man fell to an East 
German guard. 

He'd played in Berlin.  He'd crossed the Wall once in an adventure, and it had 
been just a place.  But now, it was much more.  Their Wall was longer not so 
solid, but just as real.  He hoped that somewhere there was a Lemas waiting in 
a ship for his man, and like the one in Berlin, this one would fall some day as 
well.       

He pushed the book away, dropping it on the table.  Across the room, his 
things sat arranged neatly on a shelf.  

But the room was too quiet, and he missed the sounds of other sleepers.  The 
bed was bigger and more comfortable, but not the same.  Slowly, he took a 
crutch and dragged himself to his feet. 

He explored the place.  It was so plain.  Only his one little shelf of things broke 
the monotony.  But he'd always traveled light.  When the station was left 
behind, he'd taken all that really mattered.  This place was no more empty than 
his quarters on DS9 had been.    
But there was a difference.  He stopped at the door. He couldn't see the sky 
from his window, but wondered if the stars were shining.  Was it forbidden to 
just open the door and look out, or did one have to leave the room to be in 
trouble? 

It was too small a place to be locked inside.  Willman would put him on 
restrictions, even if he wasn't really part of the staff yet.  He turned around, 
making his way to the bedroom and hefted himself into the bed.  The pain was 
terrible, but it was better than the reality outside. 

Julian Bashir, secret agent, played again that night.  But this time the enemy 
found him, and he woke to the sound of guns. 

*****  

Winding his way around the supply building in the dark, pushing open the 
door after unlocking it, Michael Emery found the stillness so spooky he hurried 
his business there so he could get back to the quiet noise of the night food 
crew.  They had a surprise in mind, and didn't want it to show up on the 
regular supply list, so he was making this unusual trip to Supply in the middle 
of the night.  There had never been many people up this late, but since the 
official curfew there was almost no one.   Most departments had eliminated all 
nighttime activity.  Supply was one of the few departments which could not, 
though most people didn't really want to work the few remaining night shifts. 

He had volunteered to be assigned permanently to the closing shift, still 
working with the food crew__his crew, he thought.  They had become his best 
friends.  He was officially responsible for the accounting of the supplies they 
used.  But in reality he did a little bit of everything except the actual cooking.  
He always helped with the preparation, and usually served the food to the 
occasional security person who showed up for dinner.  He liked this life so 
much better than the one with nothing but reports to prepare.  

Back then, he had volunteered to do closing as often as he could.  The isolation 
appealed to him.  Since they had moved into the warehouse, the preparation 
area and his small corner office had been sectioned off, and they worked 
entirely on their own.  They had managed to preserve the informality of the 
original colony.  He was an official, but people liked the food and they enjoyed 
making it taste a little better.  When they make an especially good meal it 
offered everyone a little cheer.  And in an odd way, working at night made it 
easier to sleep.  Most people worried that They would come at night, when 
everyone was asleep.  At least his crew would have some warning.  

Gathering the supplies and boxing them, he hurried out of the  building, 
locking the door.  On his way back he passed a security guard, and reached for 
the pass in his pocket.  The guard, a young man who savored his breakfast 
after his shift was done, just waved him on.  It occurred to him that he liked 
the night so much better.  He didn't see much of the day anymore unless there 
was a meeting he had to attend, but didn't enjoy it much.  Everybody on his 
crew knew their chances, but they were not giving into the gloom.  Depressed, 
there were fewer jokes, often mean ones, and they were just as afraid.  But over 
the minced food and copies of lists, they talked.  
Noting the serving area was empty, he wandered back into the prep area and 
handed the spices to the cook, who nodded.  "They keep track of what we ask 
for," said one of the women, "trying to guess . . . ."  She grinned briefly.  "It's 
almost worth getting up early, just to see the reaction." 

"I have to go to a meeting," said Michael.  "I'll fill you in."  The thought of the 
meeting depressed him.  "You're lucky.  You don't have to listen to the 
excuses." 

"What kind of excuses?" asked the chef.  

"All these things done for our benefit, so They won't turn on us.  It's supposed 
to help.  I wonder if they really believe it." 

Silence descended on the room.  One of the women was visibly pregnant and 
especially quiet. He thought her name was Shandra.  She asked, "What 
happens when they come?"  The chef stopped stirring.  The women stopped 
mincing.  Emery was sorry he'd brought it up.  For a moment they were just 
like the rest, trying to find a way around the words they couldn't say.  

Finally the chef broke the silence.  "I think we'll do a plain serving too.  If you 
don't like spices it wouldn't be much of a treat."  The rest of the night the 
conversation never veered from the food.  

*****

James sat on the floor, choosing colors for the children's hair.  It was the third 
day in a row he had worked late, and he had added very little to the children 
since then.  He found the shadow world very disturbing.  There was a fear he 
saw in those around him, but he didn't allow it to touch him.  He couldn't wait 
to go back to the bright, living world that was existed in this room.  

But as he began painting the children, wildly tumbling in the park, the 
shadows faded to non_existence.  All he could see were the children, and hear 
their playful noise.  It filled his mind with joy, and remembered memories of his 
own childhood in that park.  But it was late.  He put down his brush and 
paints and finished the daily routine, and went to sleep with the children's 
sounds still filling his head.  

Morris came in the morning, knocking on the door, and James was ready.  He 
was happy.  In the distance, he could still hear them.  He ate his food, hardly 
noting the taste.  The children were louder here, calling him.  He followed 
Morris to the office, and took his stacks of papers to the records room to file.  
There was a small window.  As he came closer to it, the sounds of childish play 
grew louder, and he looked out the window.  Instead of the greyish shadow 
world, he saw the children.  The grass was green, blending with the buildings 
which belonged to the shadow world.  They waved at him, and returned to their 
games.  

Later, at lunch, he heard them clearly as if they were just outside the door of 
the warehouse that had become a restaurant.  He looked around the grey, 
ghostly world inside the building and it no longer touched him.  He did not 
even feel their unease.  They existed, but in a grey reality he no longer belonged 
to.  In his world, he was happy, and theirs was a shadow filtered through the 
bright colors of his own.   

*****

Sisko could feel the excitement in the words, as Justin Blanchard described 
the tests he had done on his plant samples.  He was accomplishing wonders on 
the project.  He had even gotten Tarlan to write his own reports, even if the 
Bajoran was not officially attached.  If only, thought Sisko wistfully, that was 
their only project.  He understood Willman's insistence that the two not be 
questioned.  He was sure that Blanchard had put the same single minded 
devotion into his other project as well.  He only hoped he had finished his 
terraforming and discovered what he needed to know.  

The only mention of terraforming from the scientist had been a note that he 
and Tarlan were assembling a history of the project.  There was nothing Sisko 
could see wrong with that.  Blanchard and Tarlan ate lunch and dinner 
together every day, and had not gone anywhere near the hills.  Sisko could not 
help being angry at the two men for what they had done.  But still, unless they 
forced things, he did not want to catch them.  He was not ready for that.  

*****

Justin surveyed the dinner crowd, noticing their rather depressed look.  He 
missed the conversation, and the companionship he had felt with them not so 
long ago.  The test had changed that.  People no longer talked at meals.  They 
just ate and left.  And, worse, he and Tarlan were no longer a part of them.  He 
had seen the way Sisko looked at him, and noticed the mixture of sadness and 
anger.  He knew they were marked men.  If They were displeased nothing now 
would save them.  

But the tinge of regret he felt at meals vanished in those scarce moments when 
he was free to work on the new project.  They had already found a number of 
plants which were edible, and grew readily in their small indoor test garden.  
Sisko had even asked to see the garden.  It was something they needed, 
thought Justin, a small chance at independence from Them.  And for him it 
was a chance to make up for what the test had done.  He believed that even 
Sisko appreciated that.  

A few days before, that would have been enough.  But Jaro had discovered a 
record of the chemical mixture for the test, and before it was hidden away, 
Justin had reviewed it.  He almost wished he had not looked.  The test would 
have failed, and they might not have known why.  But he had, and now they 
must try again.  The mixture had been off by only a little, but it would have 
been enough to ruin it.  They had failed.  

He was not blind to the danger in which they had placed the colony.  Jaro was 
particularly depressed, but was too scared to show it.  He himself was having 
difficulty getting to sleep.  He often thought about the insidious nature of their 
captivity while fulfilling his official duties, recognizing the tentacles of control 
that reached into their lives.  He would have waited to do the retest until the 
next spring, when it would be much easier to do, but there was too much 
uncertainty about the future now.  

He had considered another gathering expedition, but he was certain they were 
being watched.  And it was almost harvest time anyway.  His absence would be 
too noticeable until harvest was done and the records were completed.  That 
left winter, and somehow before the ground froze, he and Jaro planned to slip 
into the hills and make one final test of their obsession, no matter what it cost 
them.  The need to know could not be denied.  

*****

Julian's life had fallen into a new routine.  Each morning Lonnie arrived to 
walk with him to breakfast.  She'd threatened to tell Willman that he was 
leaving on the brace, so now he carefully removed it before bed.  It hurt, but 
Willman had spared him any duties yet.  His official responsibility was his 
therapy and to gain strength.  Now and then he had a file to read, and was 
asked for his opinion, but he hadn't been made to see any patients, and did not 
have to wear the despised little round pin. 

He found he liked having more mobility, despite the pain it brought.  He was 
always ready for Lonnie's arrival in the morning.  The dull grey's of the ground 
and the utilitarian buildings were hardly inspiring, but he hadn't realized how 
good it felt to be outside.  The people trapped here were quiet and resigned, but 
he enjoyed their company. 

Lonnie left the serving area without him.  If the weather was good, breakfast 
was still served outside, but much of the time it had moved to the old 
warehouse.  For him, it was a long walk, and Lonnie allowed him to sit while 
she got the food.  There was usually a line, but she didn't stand in it.  People 
with limited time to eat__those with little round pins__were permitted to move 
ahead of the others, and Lonnie had to be on duty soon.  He had to be at his 
therapist later, but she brought his as well. 

It was the same food they had gotten at the hospital, although often it had 
more flavor than the batch sent to patients.  It was still soup.  By dinner it 
would be thick and the broth would have become a gravy, but in the morning it 
was mostly broth.  At least it didn't take long to eat. 

Sometimes, he would follow Lonnie back on the long pathway towards the 
hospital to his therapy, when his leg hurt more than normal. It hurt all the 
time, and worse than ever.  But his therapist was very pleased.  With all the 
walking, he was suddenly doing much better.  He had even been able to stand 
and take a few steps without the crutches.  For him it was mostly pain, but he 
had tried it alone in his room.  

Willman wanted him walking as soon as he could manage.  If it rained or 
snowed later, the crutches could easily slip.  But for Bashir, his success was 
double_edged.  He wanted to be a doctor, even in Willman's world.  But he had 
nightmares about the pain. 

It was mid_morning by the time his therapy ended.  He let the crutches move 
him to get home, loosened the brace and slept.  
The best time of the day was the early afternoon.  The pain had lessened 
enough he could drag himself back to the upper deck.  His friends, those he'd 
spent so many months with confined at the hospital, would meet and sit 
together. 

A lot of people sat on the deck in the afternoon.  The little group from the 
hospital had claimed a spot they occupied each day.  Some with jobs, like 
Duncan, only came for lunch, but the rest enjoyed the afternoon breezes and 
the company.  Sometimes they talked, but often they simply shared memories. 

He had to stand in line for his own lunch.  But he came past the busy time, 
and seldom waited long. 

Sometimes he just watched the people.  He'd known a lot of them in the other 
life, but seldom made any contact.  He was still different than they were.  He 
hadn't had to sit in the square and listen to the Vorta.  He hadn't had 
Jem'Hadar rifles pointed at him all afternoon.  He'd lived in a protective cocoon 
for too many months, and had not yet quite taken in what life in this place was 
like.  Sometimes people said hello, but he was polite and they left. 

He couldn't deal with the loss.  He'd wiped out the other life as if it was a 
dream.  Most of them had as well.   

But that afternoon was different.  His friends had drifted away and his leg hurt 
too much to leave quite yet.  He didn't even notice Miles at first, lost in a dream 
world where pain was an illusion. 

He didn't see Miles very often.  Since he'd moved, he'd had a chance in passing 
to thank him for the book, but nothing else.  His old friend was standing above 
him, hesitant to interfere. 

His leg feeling a little better, Julian was watching a family a little distance away 
with several children, wondering what kind of life this place could give a child.  
Lonnie had said there were a number of pregnancies.  Some women wanted to 
end them, or ask for some form of birth control, but she could not help them. 
They had drugs for ordinary conditions, but nothing to keep children from 
being born.  

It was another thing they couldn't do.  He knew Willman had special interest in 
him since he was a surgeon.  He could do what Willman couldn't.  But most of 
it was impossible here.  Perhaps he was hoping that Bashir would find ways to 
do more as he had done.  

He was deep in this thought when Miles sat next to him.  "It's good to see you 
up and moving around," said Miles.  

Julian broke out of his mood, looking towards Miles.  "I guess."  It was 
impossible to explain the relief and the fear.  "I was watching those children.  
This is no life for them.  Even now." 

Miles glanced at them. "That's Jackson's family.  I don't know about the kids, 
but he has a reason to go home at night." 
Julian realized what he'd said.  "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking.  I guess you'd 
rather have them here than there." 

"I'd just settle for knowing if they're alive."  Miles decided to change the subject.  
"Have you had dinner yet?  If you want I can get it?" 

Julian was still staring at the people in the square. "That's all right.    I'll get it 
later." 

Miles looked towards the second bridge and the lump of rock that was being 
filled with holes that had hindered the plans for the mud channel, located right 
at the edge of the deck. "I sure wish we could have finished that.  Now it's going 
to have to be done as early in spring as we can, hopefully before the snow 
melts." 

Julian shifted his gaze in that direction.  "Why all the holes?" 

"We fill them with water and when the freeze comes it should break it up.  At 
least that's the theory.  We can't budge it otherwise.  It's that or dig around it.  
We don't have time for that."  Miles sighed, again, adding, "It's going to be a 
real mess next year if we can't fix it in time.  It's just going to funnel all the 
mud out on this area." 

Julian looked back at the people.  "I missed it this year.  With luck I'll miss it 
entirely."  He tried to think of more to say, but he just didn't relate to Miles 
anymore.  His friend had changed so much, and yet now and then was the 
same.  Julian couldn't deal with the reminders of all they'd left behind that 
those moments represented.  

Looking at the time, Miles took his leave, "I really have to get back to work," he 
said with a tone Julian recognized as relief.  

His friends were coming back.  He realized that while Miles still mattered these 
people mattered to him more.  They belonged to the world he lived in.  Miles 
carried too many ghosts.  

It was a warm day and he stayed in the square all afternoon.   By dinner it was 
beginning to fill up again.  People still preferred the outdoor arrangement over 
the warehouse.  He was reading a book in the shade by himself when Lonnie 
found him.  She was off for the day, and he let her get their food. 

He always ate dinner with her.  His friends understood. Breakfast was far too 
rushed to enjoy, but dinner only had to be finished before dark.  It was the 
closest to private time they had.  

He couldn't define what she was to him.  Their letters had formed a special 
bond.  They could talk without having to say all the words.  She had to live in 
Willman's little hell, and he would have to as well.  Their private code words 
made the difference.  He could never tell her how much the letters had 
mattered. 

She sat down, putting his food next to him.  Something was wrong.  She didn't 
sigh in relief that the day was done. 

"What happened?" he asked cautiously.

Dinner was good, the chunks of ration and vegetables thick and soft.  The 
seasonings had soaked in and he wished he could just sit and enjoy his meal. 

But Lonnie was too tense.  She ate a little of her dinner, staring across the 
deck towards the hospital.  But finally she put down her spoon and looked at 
him.  "Dr. Willman wants you in his office tomorrow afternoon after lunch.  You 
are supposed to wear this."  She pulled a small staff button out of her pocket.  

He looked around at the square and the people.  "Do you know what he 
wants?" both resigned and relieved.  Willman was going to pull him inside 
eventually. 

"No.  But he stressed you were to wear your staff button.  I think he wants you 
to look at a patient.  We have a couple of cases who aren't getting anywhere.  
Maybe you'll enjoy it." 

"Perhaps."  He couldn't say right then, staring at the little round pin he was 
going to be forced to wear.  

They finished their food in silence.  Before they made their way back he tried to 
find one of his friends to tell them he wouldn't be able to come, but they'd gone. 

She found his better clothes for him, putting them out for him to wear, and 
attached the little pin to the collar.  "Make sure you don't take this off," she 
reminded him. 

He said nothing, letting her take off the brace.  "I'll be ready," he said. 

It would be different tomorrow.  They could be friends here, but inside they 
would have roles and rules to follow. 

"Any idea who I'm going to see?" he asked. 

"A little girl, I think." 

It would be all right, he told himself.  Even if he had to put up with Willman, to 
be a doctor again . . . . 

She said good bye as she left quietly, needing to hurry because curfew was so 
close. 

His leg hurt.  He could see the little pin on his shirt from across the room.  It 
was going to be a very long day.  But just the same, he realized he was looking 
forward to the morning. 

*****
end, Legacy, Year 1, part 1_4, Chapter 15