Chapter 18 Walter Vance prepared for bed, and as he had done in the last few months, he removed the chain with his old tag from his neck and hung it on a peg across the room. He rubbed his neck were the other had been put, and wondered if they would notice. Then he would turn off the light, and go to bed. He had little trouble sleeping anymore. The nightmares came, but not so often. He had taken to daring them every night to return and make him wear it. He knew they had already done that. But there was such frustration, and even if it was a meaningless gesture, he felt a little better for doing it. He could remember the places he'd lived as a boy and the people who were trying to survive. He could always leave and go home to comfort and plenty. But he'd spent as much time with the survivors of war and famine as at home in his safe, comfortable colony. His playmates had learned to make small victories, and Walter had made them too. Sometimes he dreamed he still lived in the camp with his father, running with the children of the survivors. Even then, he'd known that it was different when you could leave. He didn't do much anymore except eat and visit his friends. Ray and Tara lived near by, and after sharing breakfast they meet at their little hut and spend the day. When the deck was open for food, less and less as the days grew progressively colder, they would spend the rest of the day there, but at the warehouse they hurried their meal and went home. Walter disliked the place. In his mind he could still see the machines lined up in their neat rows, and it reminded him that the dream had been stolen. But meals were served there. It was better than having to sit in the cold, so he put up with it. He had new friends. Ray and Tara were an odd pair. Ray was the only survivor of the Antelope crew. Tara had worked for one of the shops at the station, making a marginal living selling various curiosities to visitors. He was comfortable with them, and they reminded him of the boy he'd been who already knew the world wasn't kind or fair, and you had to make your own way with it. Neither of them were all that sociable, but they liked Walter. When their roommate moved out Walter was planning to move in. None of it was official, but nobody paid that much attention to where people lived. It would change only one part of his routine. He would no longer removed the tag. On the off_chance it wasn't an empty protest, he would not endanger his friends. He would live with the frustration instead. But it wasn't so bad, when he considered Blanchard and his new friend. Zale had given him a few dark looks, but he was acting too sneaky and smug. He and some of the others were engaged in acts far less symbolic than Walters missing pin. A part of him cheered them on. But it scared him, too. Thanks to Justin and his friend, life had become miserable. Justin showed no sign of regret on the few occasions he'd seen his old partner. But it hardly surprised Walter. Justin never abandoned anything he had made a commitment to. After spending so many years talking, Walter had learned to listen. He'd always listened for the clues to what his audience wanted to hear. But this was different. People didn't say much, but enough. Justin probably thought he was saving them, but would have been astonished at how much he was hated. When there was no where to go, when one didn't dare poke their head out at night, it was the unknown experimenter that the anger was aimed at. He had, singlehandedly, succeeded at making the reality obvious to even the most positive of the residents. When Justin had first suggested hiding the things, Walter had been uneasy about it. But he'd been won over by the glory of resisting. In his neck was token of that, and he knew someday the hidden things would catch up to Justin. And everyone else, he reminded himself. Maybe he was Willman's Chandler, but this Chandler wouldn't be alone. How would Justin act after they stabbed him in the neck? Would even that make Justin regret what he'd done? ***** Sisko watched his staff troop into his office with more stacks of documents, all with the distinctive green Ag stamp on the front. Blanchard and his staff had been busy. But he was still not quite done with the post_harvest paperwork. Sisko wondered what possible use there was for all the detailed reports on the harvest, except that it made it impossible to keep anything to themselves. They knew exactly how much food they had, of what type, and how long it had been stored. He was very uneasy about the implications. But the price of more supplies for another harvest was a completed report from this one, so Justin continued to pour out reports and Sisko continued to process them. Having a harvest at all was too important. It was in this turmoil of papers and boxes that Willman dropped his bomb. He had arrived unexpectedly, with a few reports as an excuse, and had shut the door himself. Sisko looked up from his now automated process of report handling. "Welcome to the mess. If those aren't Ag reports I'd put them over there," he said, pointing at a table. Willman slowly walked towards the table and sat his reports down. He came back towards Sisko's desk and moved some papers off a chair so he could sit. Sisko could not help but notice his demeanor and stopped the flow of paper and sat himself. He was glad he was sitting when Willman made his statement, with the deceptive calm that Sisko had come to understand as extreme stress. "I think I know why we haven't had any visitors from the sky." "Yes," he asked, worried. "I've been doing blood screens for months for possible infections. In the last few months I've noticed a growing number of anti_bodies against something in the blood samples, but the patients get well and the virus that's causing the reaction has hidden in the cells. Bashir thinks it's imported. It's not human, Bajoran, or Cardassian. But whatever it is, when it goes off we are in for a major epidemic of something." Sisko just sat still, staring at the doctor. "You're absolutely certain?" "Both of us. I have no doubts, and your doctor has more than confirmed it. In fact, we've isolated the virus. He's trying to find something that effects it so when the epidemic hits we may have a chance." "Who knows?" asked Sisko cautiously, suddenly worried about a panic. "You, me, and him. And of course whoever introduced the virus." "Is there anything you can do? Do you have any idea how it was brought in?" Willman shrugged. "Food, or supplies. Something was contaminated and it probably became airborne. It's gone now, except that it's already exposed almost everyone here. And no doubt when people get sick it will get the ones it missed before. We're doing all we can. When I have something more to say about it I'll let you know." Willman looked grim. Sisko looked him in the eyes. "How bad will it be?" Willman shook his head. "I can't say. That depends entirely on how bad They intend it to be." Willman mumbled that he had to get back to work, but left the door closed. Sisko numbly picked up the Ag reports and began the process again, but he couldn't look at them. All he could do was try to bury the anger again, and stop himself from shoving the entire mess on the floor and trampling it. ***** Willy stared out the window of his cramped quarters, watching the setting sun. He'd gone home early that night, needing to be alone. Somehow, telling Sisko about the virus, and his stunned reaction had made the nightmare it promised to bring all the more real. He had tried so hard. He had made himself the one they feared so it might keep them in line. He had lost all his friends, and the man they had all called "Willy" was gone forever. And it was all for naught. Instead of the Jem'Hadar, They had sent a tiny, but far more terrible form of punishment. The virus would probably leave the healthy alone, but he had no doubt it would kill the weak. It was so cold, and somehow he had never expected it. He could deal with the excesses of the Cardassians or the Jem'Hadar. He could understand that. But this was so impersonal an act, one of expediency. Fewer to feed, he told himself. Or perhaps it was a preparation for some future plan. If any of them had wondered what they were to the Dominion, it was quite plain now. Or at least in time it would be. He found it curious that Bashir was so accepting of the implications. He'd seen their handiwork before in the Blight. He was a hero to these people, but did not consider himself to be. Willman expected anger at being the victim this time, but only saw resignation and much bitterness.. He'd hoped for more. Somehow, he'd thought Bashir would fight back. But all he'd suggested was to find a way to reduce their losses in the plague to come. He wondered if Bashir had ever let anyone inside his own nightmares. The Starfleet doctors must have debriefed him. Willman had been debriefed himself after their release from Cardassian captivity, but only time had dimmed the memories. Even if it wasn't the reptilian demons sitting above them, he was having trouble keeping back the hopeless wall of grief that threatened to overwhelm him every time he let down his guard. And Bashir *knew* these people, especially how ruthless and cold they were. He'd had to live as their prisoner. What about that place had he kept strictly to himself? Willman had things he'd kept private, memories so bad he could not bear to speak them or they'd become real again. But the Cardassians were brutes. They were cold and ruthless, but they liked what they did. This enemy felt nothing more than his own kind once did when they looked at the creatures in their labs. He was so tired. All he wanted was to drop his act, to go back to being just Willy. But he knew that was not possible. He had made an image of himself that was too strong, and should he suddenly change it would be too clear a signal that something was wrong. He has sworn Bashir to secrecy, and had to pretend that the solid respect the two men had built quietly in the lab did not exist. He would have to continue to be Dr. Willman. There was no choice, not now. Still, some things would change. He wanted a better team of medical aides, those who could take care of those only marginally ill, so the others would not be so busy. This would leave more time for the worse cases, he thought. He would have Bashir work on this, as he had always wanted to. There were other things for Bashir to do as well. He would have to be able to handle any procedure. He was already capable of almost all of it, but one procedure was still the grist of nightmares to the young doctor, and it was time he get over that. ***** Bashir could walk well enough, but not stand for any time, and it surprised him when was assigned to assist Willman in a procedure. He'd been on his feet too much already that day, and had to be dragged reluctantly out of bed. The orderly explained it was an emergency. He followed the orderly in an unsteady gait up to the door of the surgery section. He waited for a moment, trying to calm his nerves. He seldom went in the room unless he had to. Lonnie emerged, looking worried, and pulled him in, pointing to the wash_up area. "He said hurry up. It's important." She was using her nurse voice, but ended it with a quick look of encouragement. Hobbling to the basin, he balanced himself carefully while he washed. A few minutes later he limped to the open door of surgery. He froze in place, unable to move. He knew what they were going to do. The patient was already sedated, her pus covered arm already in the harness. He stared to back up, remembering the stomach ache from reading about it. He was afraid he'd get sick if he had to watch. "Not so fast. I said I needed you here, I need you here. Get in." It was his department supervisor's order. His leg began to throb with the memory and he nearly lost his balance. "I don't think I could stand very long," he pleaded, still holding back. "You don't have to stand. Look, Doctor. It's restrictions for a week if you don't get in here now." Willman was determined and he gave up. He made it a few steps into the room and stopped. Lonnie guided him to a chair next to the woman and he sat down. He looked away from the table. Willman stood next to him. Placing Bashir's hand around the woman's, he spoke very quietly, looking the terrified doctor in the eyes. "This is Leanne. She fell on a sluice a couple of weeks ago and we haven't been able to keep the infection from spreading. She's going to die eventually if we don't do this. She's scared, just like you. She needs someone to hold her hand and be there for her. That someone is you. You know how to do it. Now, what she doesn't need is your fear. You have to keep it from her. Just hold her hand. She will still feel something, and when she needs comforting you have to give it. We'll be too busy. Put this in." It was a fold of cloth, and Bashir numbly tilted her mouth open to place it between her teeth. She didn't react. He took a deep breath and looked pleadingly at Willman. "Don't make me do this. I'll watch, but not this way." "No. You keep your own fears in check. I know you can. Someday you'll have to do the procedure yourself and what are you going to do then?" He swore to himself that he would never do this unless it was the very last chance for the patient. "Get the basin in place." A rounded basin was fitted under the harness. He tried not to look at it but could not look at the woman without seeing it. He silently cursed Willman's existence. The syrup was brought in a small basin with a brush. Willman began applying it slowly just to the wounded area. It immediately reacted with the skin, pulling fluid from the wound and reddening the diseased skin. It was white. Somehow he'd imagined it to be blood red in his nightmares. He watched as it began breaking down the surface, opening breaks in the damaged skin, then sinking into the wound. His horrified fascination with her arm and what was happening to it was interrupted when she began to squirm. He leaned over her, interlacing her fingers with his, squeezing back hard as she gripped his hand. She didn't open her eyes, but her head moved about. She whimpered through the cloth, biting it hard. He stroked her hair gently with his other hand. His leg was throbbing from the weight he was putting on it and the memories but all he saw was the woman. "Sleep, just go with the pain," he whispered into her ear. She gripped harder squirming against the restraints, and abruptly fainted. He slumped back into the chair, laying his forehead on her shoulder, closing his eyes against his own memories. In a minute he got himself under control and lifted his head and looked again, tears streaming from his eyes. The wound had begun to weak openly. Puss and fluid was running down her arm into the basin. It left her health skin pink. He continued to hold her hand and stroke her hair even if she didn't know he was doing it. The syrup slowly dissolved into the wound. He was surprised how long it took. He remembered how sick he'd felt when he'd first read about the procedure, about how that had brought on the nightmares. Now he could not take his eyes off her arm. The arm was rinsed with clear water, and he saw the shattered bits of skin left behind. He tried to block the image in his head of his leg, especially the second time. He tensed, watching the basin slid out of the lower harness and the clean one that replaced it slip up so that it contained her arm within. For a second he closed his eyes. The only part of the second procedure he remembered, from which he had nearly died, was this. The pain had been so bad it had reached through all the drugs and into the near_coma. Willman poured the clear fluid into the basin and Bashir watched as it covered her arm. He banished his own memories as best he could when she jerked. She had her mouth open and the cloth was slipping. He pulled it out. She began to scream. The fizzing sound filled the room and his memories. He held her hand, encouraging her to let out the pain. He wasn't even aware that he was standing on his bad leg. He had not screamed. He had been lost in a nightmare where they wanted him to. He wished he had. She was handling it better. She suddenly stopped screaming and collapsed. His eyes locked on her face and arm, the fizzing growing less, he slumped back into the chair, his face covered with fresh tears. He remembered he had gone into shock and checked her condition. She was breathing a little shallow, but enough, and while her pulse was racing, she felt warm. He nodded to Willman's question and stroked her and squeezed her hand. "It's almost over," he told her even if she couldn't hear him. The fizzing had stopped. The basin was lowered and withdrawn, and he looked at the arm closely. The damaged skin was white and drawn. The redness had gone. Another basin was placed just under her arm and a jet of water washed the destroyed skin from the wound. It left a curved red line where the cut had been. She didn't respond at all. Willman said, "Thank you, Doctor. You did a very good job." Bashir didn't say anything, but put his head on her shoulder again, feeling the slight grip she still had on his hand. He didn't watch as it was bandaged, but closed his eyes and tried to separate himself mentally from her. When they were done, he managed to keep hold of her hand while she was moved to her bed. He sat with her for hours until he fell asleep. When he woke up he was in his own bed, and Lonnie was sitting next to him. He shook his head to clear the fog from his mind. She looked at him and spoke very softly, tears starting to form. "I know," she paused for a moment, " I know how hard it was for me to do that, especially knowing it was the second time, and I can't image how bad it was for you. When she's awake you should go see her but not yet, not until your ready." She looked at him, the tears wetting her eyes, but nothing more. She had already learned to keep it inside. He'd known how before, and now that the memories were changed he could again. He had always seen a theater of blood and horror. Now, he could fix that. And Willman was right. He had to deal with his memories or he'd never be a doctor again. "Take my hand," he said. He sat up, intending to tell her how he understood. But instead she put her arms around him. "You did very well," she said softly. "But you have to let out all the pain too. Don't try to pretend it isn't there." He looked at his leg. She'd removed the brace, and he could see the scars around his ankle. It hurt as it always did. He couldn't tell how much anymore since it the only difference was how bad the pain was. He could feel the tears come. Maimed and ruined, his leg was a symbol for everything else lost. She pulled him close and he buried his head in her shoulder and let them come. They didn't last long. If he let the pain out for too long, he'd lose that tenuous control that could push it far enough away to stand it. When she let him go he was surprised to see her face was wet too. "I have to go," she said, calmly and without any rush. "It's getting late." "Thank you," he said. "Congratulations, Doctor. You passed." He watched as she left. She hadn't called him "doctor" before. She'd proved herself in the harsh life they had to live, and from her, it was great compliment. Willman would need him in a little while, and her. When the time came, today's exercise would only be passing memory. He was a doctor. It was time he stared acting like one. ***** The post harvesting processing finally done, and the boxes of reports completed, Justin Blanchard had gone back to his lab and his greenhouse with renewed energy. Jaro had already compiled a list of the most promising plants and they had confirmed they could be grown from seed. They were moving into the next stage of their test, which was to explore how much more productive the plants would be in terraformed soil than a mixed or natural one. Jaro had already designed a small push_cart like plow that should break up the ground with minimum effort on the part of the operator. There were others who could refine it, and they intended to ask them, but that was best a task for the winter when they would be less busy. Along the way, they had also established a very reliable pattern for themselves. They spent most of their time in the lab, from early morning to evening, occasionally spending the night. It was not uncommon for them to have lunch brought in by an aide. They worked alone, and were seldom bothered by anyone now that most of the years work for the department was done. If one knew the right time to slip out of the building when no one was looking, and they didn't dawdle, it would be easy to slip into the hills and back without anyone ever knowing they had gone. Three days before Jaro had hidden a short note in a small loose part of a shelter. Then he had accidentally bumped the ex_aide who was assisting them. The next day he found a message inside his pillow, again, giving them a time and place. That morning, just after breakfast had been delivered and the path towards the hills was clear, they had slipped out into the narrow opening that led them past the first row of hills. Their friend was waiting. He led them along the shortest route to the cave system, and to the stash of equipment. Jaro did not take the time to marvel at the outer cave that time. He followed Justin into the larger area, setting up the replicator to make the individual chemicals they would need. They had considered simply replicating the mixture, but if it took too long to return and do the test, it would deactivate and possibly damage the container. They had to be back before lunch today. The chemicals were hurriedly replicated and stashed in the outer cave, along with the machine they planned to use, and they slipped, unnoticed back into their lab in time to appear busy as their aide asked if they wished to have their lunches delivered. Justin and Jaro declined and went to lunch themselves. Even their guide was sipping his lunch, quite visibly if anyone wondered where he'd been. The rest of the day they spent in the lab, and took their dinner in the office. Jaro didn't make it home that night, having stayed too late, but that was not unusual. Both men, however, felt much more confident about their next journey into forbidden territory. ***** Julian Bashir had fallen the day before, and his leg hurt so much he could barely stand to walk on it. Willman examined it, and concluded that in a week or so it would heal. In the meanwhile, he had forbidden him to use the crutches. Bashir had been using them more and more as the days got longer and the pain worse without any rest. But the pathways were getting slippery and he had fallen because of them, and it was just going to get worse. Willman claimed he had a surprise, but all Bashir wanted was to stay in bed. He left work early because he was hurting too much, and he was hoping to be left alone all afternoon. He was sleeping when Willman arrived. His boots had been tossed across the room when he'd got home, and he was lying on his side, resting his throbbing leg on pillows with the brace only loosened. It was getting cold and he was wrapped in a blanket. Willman didn't bother to knock. "Your not ready for our walk." Bashir stirred, still half asleep. He ignored Willman. He had no intention of going for a walk. Willman brought him his boots and coat. He picked up the book on Willman's personal treatments he'd been reading earlier. "It's good to see your reading but it's walk time. Come on, up we go." He removed the book from the bed. Bashir reluctantly sat up. He tried to change Willman's mind, but knew that was a hopeless case. "Could we do this next week? This just hurts too much." "Can't. I've got the permit for today, so today we go." He tightened the brace and Bashir winced. "You should let me try something to help the pain." Bashir was resigned to have to go on his walk, but was not in a good mood. "Not unless it's necessary." Bashir was starting to look resentful. "You need to lose that attitude, Doctor." Willman was in lecture mode. "It may not help a lot, but you need to be able to manage your work, and as far as I can see you're not doing all that well," he said, glancing at the crutches. He gave up. Resigned, he said, "All right, I'll get ready. But I don't know how far I can manage. It gets too bad we turn back." "You can make it. It's really not that far. But it's very pretty." Willman sounded almost cheerful. That meant that later on he'd get over it and be depressed. "Pretty doesn't exist on this rock." "Attitude, Doctor. Remember. Perhaps it's time to talk to Captain Sisko again." ***** Sitting on a rock, trying to catch his breath, he wondered how far away "far" would be. He had sat on his own. He was considering turning back, too, even if he took the risk of falling. Willman reappeared, motioning him to come along. "All the obstacles have been moved. Nothing to trip over now. Time to go." He was serious about staying put. He was at his limit. "I just can't, Sir. It hurts too much." Willman came over and offered his arm for support. "It's only fifteen minutes away. I want you to see this." Letting Willman's arm take most of the weight, he limped forward. He was astonished when they arrived. It was a little cove, formed by the rock face of the nearby hills. A babbling brook ran through it, and it was green. There were a few trees as well, especially one which looked like two circles side by side. Willman helped him down. "I thought you needed to see this. Renew your spirit a little." He was impressed. "I didn't know anything like this existed here. You didn't plant this did you?" "No, these are native plants. I'm thinking of testing them for pharmaceutical qualities. You never know. If we could grow some of the casaba trees near home it would be a lot more convent than coming here to get to them. We don't have enough water there for these species, but all we need to do is divert a stream and they'd grow fine. Interesting even Blanchard has decided to see what we can do with the native plants." "Isn't it a little late for that," said Bashir. "Not according to Blanchard. And I agree. We have to try. I've been reading his reports of the species he's tested. He's got quite an impressive little hothouse garden going. He's using the terraformed soil, but he's also going to test them in the standard soil. That is his job, after all." There was an odd tone to the way he said it. "Another attitude problem?" ask Bashir, lightly. "Of a sort. He's completely wrapped up in his research, and doesn't see anything else. I don't know what They have in mind but I think we have to keep trying. For our own sakes . . . . " Bashir thought he might bring up something he had needed to say for a long time. He spoke very quietly. "I keep thinking of the internment camp. I remember when I first woke up there, the shock, but how it became so normal after a little time," he paused. "In its own way this isn't any different. I had already sensed a *change* before we got here. But I don't recognize my friends. Jadzia smiles these little wan smiles and looks right through you. She won't talk about it. I don't know, I'm worried about her. Miles is almost the same sometimes, except he's putting up a big front. I don't know how he stands not knowing about his family. I wish I could think of some way to help but I can't." He was depressed. "Sometimes I feel like I deserted him, but I just can't relate to him anymore, or most of the people I called friends." He sighed. "I have some good friends, but it's . . . different. We sort of understand each other. We don't have to try to put things into words." He looked at Willman. "It's like everybody here is just barely coping. What happens when the virus hits?" Willman looked at him, thoughtfully. "We'll be rather busy. Back there at that camp, how did you manage?" "I played their game, I suppose. Well, mostly. I did try to get medical supplies once and discovered it was pointless. After that I stopped asking." "What got you into isolation?" "A stupid mistake. I suppose in that case there's no room for them." He thought to himself that there was no room for it here either. "It's too bad a few of the people around here haven't figured that out," mused Willman. Bashir decided it was better not to ask. He tried to shift his leg to an easier position and groaned. "I think you may have to carry me home." "With my bad back?" said Willman. He took the coat he was carrying and put it over Bashir's legs. "Look, why don't you take a rest. I want to scan some plants. I'll be back in a little while." ***** When Bashir woke up it was nearing sunset. They had to be back before curfew. He managed to get up and using a broken branch hobbled toward where Willman had disappeared. He heard a rustling sound inside the rock. If you looked just so you could see a small opening. He pushed the shrubbery aside with the branch and squeezed inside. He stopped in his tracks, forgetting about his leg. Inside there was a small light. Willman was repacking medical devices into small crates. They were most certainly banned. "Doctor," said Willman, very surprised. "I didn't expect you to be up." "It's going to be dark soon and we need to be back or both of us are in trouble. I thought you ought to know," he said, stunned. Julian had dropped down next to the box. He picked up one particular instrument. Holding it up to the light, he sighed. "This could save my life." Willman didn't take his eyes off the instrument or Julian. "Just what is going on here?" Bashir finished. "I discovered these had been hidden. I wanted to see what they had. I also want to find out who took them." "Shouldn't they be destroyed?" asked Bashir, his eyes fixed on the device in his hand. "Eventually. But if someone on my staff hid them I'd like to know who." He picked up one instrument, rather bulky and awkward to hold with the attached power pack. He looked at Bashir, and his damaged leg thoughtfully. "And perhaps for a few other reasons." He put the device down, still looking at the leg. "But your right. We have to get going. I have to get these back into the inner cave area. Just wait here." The two men's eyes met. Bashir took the device he was holding and activated it. He ran it along his bad leg. The pain ceased. "Your going to need help. Don't worry about sorting it. We have to be back in less than an hour." He held the device in his hand, looking at it. Then he put it in his pocket. Willman stared at him. "That stays here. Use it inside the cave, but leave it behind." Bashir stood up, still a little unsteady because of his balance but he managed to pick_up one of the crates. Willman got the other. "Sure, but now we have to hurry." He followed Willman into the cave. Just before Willman left he put the device in the box. As soon as he was out of view, he put it back in his pocket. ***** On the way back, making good time because his leg was free of pain for once, he wondered why he had taken the device. The risk was very real. But it was the first time since he had come to after the crash that he had not been in pain. He hadn't planned on taking it, but the relief was so enormous he couldn't stand the thought of it being destroyed. So he had stolen it, knowing it was his last chance. He had noticed Willman holding the other instrument, watching him, and wondered if he had been tempted to use it to disable the damaged nerves. His own device simply blocked them for a time. But it was such a relief to be able to move freely that, for the moment, he didn't care how long the relief lasted. Perhaps Willman would give into the temptation, but for now, he would be able to sleep. Willman had said nothing the entire way back, but just before they came into view of the settlement he stopped and turned. "Limp," he said, looking at Bashir's leg. "Thanks," said Bashir as he began to limp again. He would have to remember that. ***** By the time they arrived back for dinner, the serving area was almost deserted. The call for seconds had already been announced, and he and Willman got their food before it was gone. Willman headed towards one of the offices, and Bashir stood, trying to find Lonnie. But she was already gone. He was about to sit down by himself and hurry his dinner, but he heard someone calling his name. It was Jadzia. He hadn't seen her for a long time. She was withdrawn, but oddly untouched by everything else. They shared a table, exchanging small talk. Neither was very good at it, and he was in a hurry to finish, hoping for seconds. When he had the chance, he hurried up to the server for his second bowl. When he returned, she was looking at him rather oddly. "I guess long walks agree with you. Your leg seems to be much improved." He realized he had forgotten to limp. "I guess it's really limbered up," he said, trying to think of an excuse. She didn't buy it. She looked him in the eyes, almost like the Jadzia he remembered would have done at such a lame excuse. "Julian, I know what was there. Please, be very careful. There is a lot at stake. Don't ever forget the danger." Her gaze saw right through him and he almost reached for the device to see if it was still there. But he kept himself from doing that. She was deadly serious. He realized that he had made a very big mistake and should do something about it before he couldn't stand to give up his secret. She left soon after, looking him over as if she could figure out where it was hidden. Walking back home, he stopped near the "box" and almost put the device inside. But he still was filled with a deep relief and euphoria. He just couldn't bring himself to do it quite yet. Tomorrow, he thought. He was barely going to be back before dark anyway. ***** Sisko was waiting for Willman. The doctor sat his food down and scooped up the minced bits at the bottom, largely "meat" but a few vegetables. Sisko waited. After a few bites, Willman said quietly, "They have quite a good selection. Damn, I wish I could use them. Something there that would make life liveable for Bashir in a way I never could. If it hadn't been so late, I was tempted to do it right there . . . . " Sisko looked concerned. "They haven't been destroyed?" "Not yet. It's too easy to get there from our residential area. I'm sure it was put there by people on my staff. I'd like to know who." Willman took a few more bites, and Sisko rolled the baseball around in his hand that he'd been playing with when Willman entered the office. Sisko was still unhappy. "Doctor, you do understand the official policy is to find the contraband, not those who took it." Willman ate a little more of his dinner. "Sir, I have no intention of turning them in. I just need to know who can be trusted. It's that simple." Sisko stared at him with very hard eyed. "How do you propose to do this?" he asked. Willman wasn't sure about that. He thought it would be possible to see who took an unscheduled walk to the cave. Or perhaps he could do another gathering expedition and mark them with something which would stain the culprits fingers. Then he'd destroy the things. And perhaps he'd have Bashir come that time, and they'd leave enough time to fix the damaged nerves. He'd find some reasonable explanation for the records. Or he'd "treat" him on his own and take the credit. He doubted that Bashir would care how they managed it. "I'll keep track of my people. I have some ideas." It almost surprised him that Sisko bought it. His reputation as the fire breathing dragon must be better than he intended. But Sisko relented for the moment. "Just be careful. As soon as your spies know who put the stuff there it gets destroyed." Willman shrugged. "Sure. I assume they'll check on it pretty quick. If not, I'll take care of it." He finished the last of the soup. Sisko was still playing with the ball as he left. When he passed the "box" he noticed someone was standing nearby. He hurried past so they wouldn't be scared off. ***** Lonnie had been working all afternoon on patient reports, and she was hoping to take a break for an early dinner. But it did not look like she was going to get one. Willman had always tried to keep up on things. But in the last few weeks, since he and Bashir had done the survey, he had gotten behind. His written reports were sloppy, the handwriting hard to read as if he had not really been paying attention. Oddly, he had done multiple blood workups on nearly everyone. She remembered what Julian had said, and it worried her terribly. He had come into the office to sign some of the documents she had prepared, and she could not help but notice that he was hardly looking at them. He had always been very particular about that, reviewing everything on the document before he would sign it. The most he was doing was scanning them quickly, and some not even that. It was as if it didn't matter anymore. To Lonnie, who knew him better than anyone in the department, he had not been himself since his trip to the hills, but recently others had started to notice. He had always been fair, even when the fairness had been to be hard on everyone. But he had been very inconsistent lately. He would snap at people over nothing, and nearly ignore other, much more serious things. She looked up and noticed he had stopped signing the documents, and was just sitting there, staring at one of them. "Is something wrong, Sir?" she asked cautiously. He looked up, as if he'd just noticed her. "Look, why don't you get Bashir and get dinner. I've got more than enough to do here. Don't worry about hurrying back either. This is going to take a while." For a moment she couldn't say anything. It wasn't the stern, often unforgiving Willman she heard, but the man she had come to know long before, that had been a substitute father, and who had abruptly disappeared when the Dominion had come. She missed him. But she heard something that he managed to hide in his official persona, a resignation and a hopelessness that scared her more then anything else she had seen. She wanted to comment, but knew there was no point. "Thank you, Sir. I'll get him." Willman looked up from the document he had started to read. "I need you back, though. I'm calling a meeting this evening." She looked at him, curious. "But Sir, that's after curfew." "I'll give out passes." He sounded very tired. "Top level staff only. Look, go enjoy dinner. Take a walk. Spend some off_duty time with your friend. No telling when you'll be too busy to be able to." He looked at her sadly. She fled the room. ***** She tapped on the door of the lab, waiting for permission to open it. Since the problem with the specimen, the rule had been that nobody opened that door without permission. Bashir, rather quietly, said to come in. She was already shaken by Willman's sudden change, and what she found unsettled her even more. He was sitting at a table covered with specimens. He was doing some kind of mass screening and hardly heard her when she said she'd been told to take him to dinner. He pulled out the specimen he'd just been examining and slid the next one in place. She sat next to him. "What are you looking for?" she asked. "You might as well know now. It's going to be announced at tonight's meeting. We're screening for high anti_body counts." "From what?" she asked, very tense. "From what was on that specimen that almost got exposed a while ago. Something we've been tracking since before then." She looked at him, and saw the same kind of resignation that she had seen in Willman. "What is it?" she asked quietly. "I don't know. It's Theirs. It's been around for a while but nobody's actually gotten sick. Not yet anyway. But soon, if these tests hold. I'm just rechecking what we did before, just in case we missed something." She had been anxious to go to dinner, but now she didn't have much appetite. There was another tap at the door. Willman asked why he was still there. Bashir explained. Willman looked at her, questioning. "I already told her," said Bashir. Willman nodded, and motioned him out of the chair. "Look, I'll check the rest. I can't stand looking at another one of their damn reports." Bashir hesitantly rose, walking a little stiffly, but better. He took Lonnie with him, half_dragging her out of the room. She had said nothing since he had explained, but looked rather pale. Getting their coats, he dragged her out of the hospital. They stopped at his quarters and he went inside his bedroom and closed the door. She waited, still very quiet. He came out in a few minutes, having changed his jacket. She was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. "I'm not hungry," she said. "It doesn't matter. You're not skipping a meal." He said it like it was an order. "Why?" she asked in a whisper. "Because in a week," he said bitterly, "you may not have the time to go to dinner. It's a way they punish people." She looked at him. "That bad?" That evening the rest of the senior staff discovered what she had that afternoon. ***** She did not sleep well that night. Her dreams were haunted by oddly vivid images, of the hospital more full of patients than it had ever been before, of drifting through the day in an exhausted haze, of a room with bodies waiting to be removed. The images, dark and disturbing, danced in her head and she could not shake them. She woke with the residual memory of the last dream still in her mind, of being cold, and hungry and lost, and so tired... The next afternoon, she did more reports. Willman was making a valiant effort to get caught up. He seemed more like the man she'd known before. It was important to maintain a reasonable facade for the others. The task of finishing the records was no longer a boring way to pass an afternoon, but a reminder of the deep darkness that surrounded them.