Chapter 21 Julian Bashir wondered if anyone would notice the odd shaped lump in his inner coat pocket the first time he'd brought it to work, but no one had. He was working many hours now. Since Lonnie had taken ill a few days after he'd come back to work, he had been supervising her home visit teams as well. She had organized them well, and they mostly ran themselves, but it added more hours to his already long day. He still worked with the critical cases, both adult and children, and had spend more than a few nights in a last ditch effort to save someone. A few patients were alive due to his single_minded dedication. Each was a life snatched away from Them. But the cost was measured in pain. His leg was in constant agony__or it should have been. The odd shaped lump made short work of that. He didn't limp when he had numbed the leg, but had discovered a way to adjust the brace where it forced one, and seldom allowed the pain to become real anymore. He knew he was risking discovery, but if it enabled him to save a few more people, if his mind was clear because there was no pain, it was worth taking the chance. One of the smaller rooms at the hospital dispensed meals now. His were always rushed and irregular. Lonnie was too sick to eat. She was not considered critical, but needed far more care than he had. She was still in her quarters, but was not left alone. He stayed with her when he could, but he didn't have much time to spare. Most people had already had the virus. A few had escaped it, but came down with it much later. All of those were much more serious, as was hers. She'd been left in her quarters to isolate her from the new wave of patients with various kinds of infections. When he visited, he just held her hand. Sometimes when she was awake, she would weakly squeeze his thumb. A breathing tube had been inserted into her throat before the swelling became too great to place it. She often didn't respond at all when he came, but she must have known he was there because she relaxed a little when he talked to her. He knew the danger she was in. No one knew if she would improve after a few days, or get much worse. She was stable, no worse or no better. When Willman asked him into the office it was a surprise. He'd behaved and was working hard. There were no cases so critical that scarce resources policies might be applied. But there was the lump in his pocket. He knew it was keeping him going, but wished, again, that he'd left it in the cave. But all Willman did was ask him to sit. The papers on his desk were piled in sloppy stacks. Lonnie usually did most of the prep on it, and in her absence Willman was having to do it himself. Bashir remembered her complaint that he hadn't even been looking at the forms before he signed them. Perhaps the cloud of gloom in the room came from having to think about it. "How are you doing?" ask Willman. "I'm very tired," he said, avoiding mentioning his leg. "How's the leg?" Willman had to ask, he thought. He shifted it to the side. He winced a little when his foot hit the floor. He'd used the device in the morning, and most of the effect had worn off. "I'm managing. I've got plenty to do that keeps it off my mind." Willman didn't look convinced. "Are you using anything to help it?" Bashir didn't show the sudden fear that invaded his mind. After the dead lookout, he knew that Willman would have to act if he was caught. "Sometimes a little of the casaba salve," he replied. If they wanted to look, it was true. The brace rubbed a little too hard the way it was adjusted, and the skin got sore. "That wouldn't do much. I'll authorize something more useful. And I want you to use it." "If you insist, Sir," he said. It was reasonable, he thought. Willman wouldn't wonder why if he started to walk more freely that way. "I do. And I'm altering the duty schedule. We're busy, but I can't afford to have you get too run down and relapse. I want you to take the evenings off for the next week. I'll be on call, and if they need you you'll be near by." Willman was right. The recurring infections were a greater danger to him, with his mangled leg, than others. And he was exhausted. "Thank you, Sir," he said. In the lab he would have been much more informal, but the room was too official a place. "There's more. You have an assignment." Willman looked and sounded tired, but relieved as well. "Lonnie's doing a lot better, but I want someone staying with her evenings. The morning staff can check during the day, but I'd like her to get a more uninterrupted rest at night. I thought you'd like to keep her company." "I owe her," he said. "And if there is a problem, you can handle it better than an attendant." "Should I start tonight?" he asked. "Yes. I'll have the authorization for the meds by the time your off shift." ***** She still couldn't swallow very well, and her meal was a slow process. She fell asleep after a few sips sometimes. But he patiently waited for her to wake, and fed her a few more spoonfuls. She still couldn't talk, but it was enough to just be with her. He'd taken Willman's meds, and as long as he was resting it helped a little. It wouldn't have done much during the busy days. But he left his devise in his own quarters, not wanting to put her in danger as well. During the day he had started hiding it, in case anyone got curious. She needed him now, and he was unwilling to risk being caught with it in his pocket. Each day she was a little stronger. The swelling in her throat was gone in a few days, and she could manage short conversations, if they were in the mood. It was his turn to tell her about the daily events, and keep her up on the latest rumors. Despite the remaining weakness, she was already bored. Willman had promised her when she was strong enough she could work on some of the long unfinished paperwork, and she was even willing to do that to have something to do. He ate dinner with her, but brought his other meals as well. It was so much better than hurrying them in the little commissary. She was improving, but slowly. He didn't let on how sick she still was, or how near critical she'd come. She could find out about that later. But every shared meal was special now. Sometimes he thought of his lunches with Garak, and how much he wished the Cardassian had survived to still share them. He didn't want to lose another lunch companion. The device could take all of that away. He would let Willman's medication dim the pain enough that he could manage. The evenings were restful enough, and the hospital a little less busy. But he wanted to rid himself of the temptation entirely. Even if Willman got word the device was in the box, there would be no chance of it being used again. That afternoon, rather dark and gloomy, he'd been evaluating a home care patient and Willman had asked him to deliver some documents to Sisko's office as well. He could walk near the box. It was cold, and the lump in his jacket would be indistinguishable from layers of warm clothes. It was a relief that Sisko wasn't there when he took the documents in. He didn't think he could face his old commander. He took a leisurely route back towards the patient, nearing the box. It had snowed the night before, just a little, but footprints would be quite visible leading directly from Sisko's office. He hesitated, worried that the box might be watched. He looped around, making the direction of the visitor uncertain. Reaching into his pocket, he almost went to the box. If it was gone, he couldn't hurt anyone else by having it. He could be more honest with Lonnie and let Willman's attempts at friendship perhaps come to something. But Willman's potions did little more than let him sleep. He hadn't used it for most of the week, and after this long, cold walk, how would he handle the throbbing pain? He looked at the virgin snow. His limp left a distinctive print in the white fluff. Would it be obvious who had gone to the box? Once, he would have felt secure taking the chance, but the dead lookout had changed that. Nobody knew what the rules were anymore. He couldn't take the chance of being identified. Walking past, he shoved it as far down into his pocket as he could. He would find some other way to rid himself of it. ***** For Keiko and her children, the fear was also very real. Each time the alarm was given, they would retreat to their hiding place and wait, never knowing if this was the time it would end. The Jem'Hadar had been seen just down the mountain, and the secret warning given. Molly knew it well, and had already taken her brother to the hiding place and sat clutching him when Keiko arrived. It was a hidden storage room with only one way in, and with that blocked they sat in the dark, waiting. It seemed like an eternity. They had come here other days, and yet it never got easier to wait. The thick walls muffled most sounds. Until the door opened, they had no way of knowing what was going on outside the room. But something unusual was happening. The muffled thumps were not normal. Keiko held her breath and put her arms around her children, afraid of who would open the door. The sounds moved progressively down the living area, as if someone was searching. As time passed, she began to wonder what would happen to them if the Jem'Hadar took the village and missed them. Would the entrance be blocked? Would their hiding place become a tomb? Several hours had passed, and the children fell asleep despite their terror. Even Keiko started to doze. They woke instantly when there was a sound near the door. It creaked open and a strong light flooded the room. She grabbed the children, holding them close, as their eyes widened in terror. Blinded by the bright light, she could only make out shapes__tall shapes that were carrying heavy weapons. "Please," she said "don't hurt my children." The brightness of the light dimmed and she could see details. The Jem'Hadar was motioning them to move. She nudged the children, still with a firm hold on both of them, and they walked out of the room. Outside, the reason for the thumps was obvious. The caverns had been torn apart, with stacks of stolen merchandise piled high. Numbly, she and the children walked between the two armed guards. As they proceeded through the caverns, there was nothing but destruction and Jem'Hadar. Please don't hurt my children, she pleaded silently, her mind appealing to whatever deity might be listening. Eventually, they reached the outside and the snow. In the village square, there was a pile of bodies. She could not help but look at them. She saw most of the men. And a few of the women lay there as well, including Marlan Sira. The guard nudged her with the butt of his rifle. In the square, near the bodies, sat a small transport. Stunned, she stumbled forward holding the children so tight it was hurting them. She stopped at the door, suddenly afraid. Where would they go? What would the enemy do to them? The cabin was full of people, mostly women and children, a few from this village, but most not. But they wore the local style of clothes, so they must have been taken earlier. The guard shoved them inside, and she almost fell. Someone near pulled Molly to the side, and stopped her fall. Then the door shut behind them and velvety darkness pressed against them again. ***** Keiko sat on the floor of the transport clutching her children, too scared to move. The others around them were in shock, no one speaking. Despite the amount of children, there was no noise. She has no idea how much time passed before the pressure changed, and they lifted off. They landed soon after, and when the door opened it was dark outside. A Bajoran appeared and called a list of names. Keiko and the children were left inside. The others, all Bajorans, slowly dragged themselves to their feet and passed into the unknown. Then the door was shut, and the small ship hovered off the ground again. There were three other stops. Each time a Bajoran stood by the door and more names were called. She tried to look out, but all that was visible was snow. In the end, only Keiko and another woman, and the five children between them remained. The Bajoran woman held a young baby. When the door opened, this time a Jem'Hadar pointed his gun and motioned for them to move. Gathering their children together, the two women silently herded the children between them as they stepped hesitantly out the open door. It was dark. There was a Vorta and several Jem'Hadar standing near the transport. The Vorta stepped back and the Jem'Hadar First spoke to the Bajoran woman. "Full name of yourself and your children," he demanded. She was frightened, but answered in an even voice. "The names of the fathers of these children." She answered the question with her late husbands name. "And this one?" he said, pointing at her baby. "My husband, Lt. Jackson Wright." "Where and when was your last contact with him?" "Deep Space 9, last spring," she answered calmly. "Wait over there," he ordered, pointing to a nearby gate and several more armed Jem'Hadar. He asked Keiko the same questions and she gave her answers. Taking the woman's lead, she tried to remain as steady and calm as she could. The two women and their children were ushered into the gate as the force field was turned off to allow them to enter. It reappeared with a whine after they were inside. ***** The first stop was a small room with a table and chairs. They sat around the table. A Vulcan and a human came into the room. They introduced themselves briefly as Salek and Kester. "Keiko O'Brien and Marka Wright?" asked the Vulcan. "That will do" said the Bajoran woman. "Has anyone told you where you are?" "No," said Keiko. "We were taken from the village we've been living in since spring and put on the transport. No one said anything." "This is an official residential district for foreign nationals. Now, don't be scared. It's really not that bad. We get treated a lot better than the Bajorans they took with you," Kester shrugged. "What about our husbands?" asked Marka. "We were told they would be evacuated." There was silence. The Vulcan finally spoke, "Your husbands and the others on Deep Space 9 were indeed evacuated. However we believe they did not make it to Federation space. We have had no word about the families of other's brought here with relatives left on the station." Kester spoke quietly. "Are you aware of the treaty?" Keiko said no. The Vulcan continued. "An agreement settling the conflict was signed some months after the attack on the station. A large area of Federation territory was given over to the Dominion. We believe most of those who were evacuated from border areas were left in Dominion territory in the end." Both women were stunned. "They're prisoners?" asked the Bajoran woman. "Most of them were resettled to colonies within the territory. It's hard to tell where they ended up. We keep getting promised an accounting, but nothing so far. Don't give up." The human tried to look optimistic, but failed. "I guess we should get you settled." ***** The second stop was supply, where they got large bags of bedding and extra clothes. Each child got a toy of their choice. They held them silently, still to much in shock to understand. The bundles were placed on a cart and they followed a young woman to a small building. One of the doors had a number on it. The woman opened the door, pushing the cart inside. They followed. "These are your quarters." she said. There weren't a lot of foreigners on Bajor, so we got a relatively small area, but since they have been bringing others here from off Bajor itself, we're a bit crowded." There were three rooms, one the door opened into and two in the back. None of them were overly large. There were a few bits of furniture. In the bedrooms were a pile of heavy matts for sleeping. The young woman noticed they were staring at them. "It's because of the space. They can be picked up during the day. They really aren't all that bad. We'll get you some furniture in the morning, but it's rather late right now." Keiko noted the phrase again. People used it to delude themselves. She thought of Miles, hoping he had made it home, but worried he had not. If he'd made it to a colony, she hoped things were better for him. Or at least not any worse. The guide had not left. "If you want to leave this here, I can get you some dinner." Molly clutched her hand, and held her brother tight. The two women and their children followed their guide to dinner. ***** Miles absently nibbled on his dinner, long cold, having sat most of the evening. He hadn't had much of an appetite of late, and even less enthusiasm for the reports that had been demanded before any more shipments were sent. After the disease, he hated reports. Sometimes he had to make himself write them. But they needed the supplies. He just couldn't put the reason for the reports out of his mind anymore. It was pitch dark outside, extremely cold, and well past curfew. But with all the departments so short handed, and the reports needed immediately, they were all working late into the night. Miles glanced at Larson, who was staring at the paper in front of him, "Look Cary, go home. You're not getting anything done anyway. Get some sleep." Larson shook himself awake. "If you insist, Sir, but. . . I can finish this tonight. I just need some fresh air to wake me up." Miles wanted to get some rest himself, but had too much to finish. If Larson wanted to stay he wasn't going to argue. He wondered if something personal was bothering the young man, though, since he'd been working late almost every night for the last week. "Sure, if you want. Look, Cary, is something wrong?" "Well, Sir, it's just that my roommate has a girlfriend and, well, sometimes it's hard, especially since it's so cold and she stays all night. I just feel . . . . " Larson looked embarrassed, having gotten more personal than people normally did. Miles forgot about Larson for a moment. He thought about the red dress, still carefully wrapped, but left in its case most of the time now. He hadn't taken it out since the epidemic had started. He just couldn't deal with the memories. "Stay as late as you want, then. It's fine." Larson stood up, yawning. "Thank you, Sir. Would you like a warmer bowl? I was thinking of getting myself some." Miles poked at the food. It didn't taste all that good cold. "Sure. Take this back. I wouldn't want it wasted. Maybe they can add some hot to it." Larson waited by the door, finishing getting dressed for outside. "Sir, thank you." Miles shrugged. "Don't worry, you'll have company." Miles pulled the curtain aside and watched as Larson moved a little ways away. As soon as he was out of immediate view of the pathway, he dumped the cold soup. Cary was loyal, clinging to his job in the absence of family. Perhaps he felt more comfortable with The Chief because they had something to share. But it didn't surprise Miles at all that he would not have half_ warmed soup that night. ***** Kira eyed Narven closely, daring him to make an accusation. Her voice was calm, but the anger was evident in her stance, straight and hard, engaged in a contest of wills. He did not know her well, but her reputation was significant. She had changed, but he was unaware of that, and she let it work to her advantage. He stared at her. "You win. I'll give him another day." Kira eyed him, nodding. She said with confidence, "He'll be back." She didn't let him see her own doubts. Odo had been gone for too long, and she was worried he might have been killed or captured. Narven had other ideas. He had never really trusted the changeling. He was fully ready to assume that he had betrayed them. If there was anything Kira was certain about, it was that Odo would never have done that. She wished they could have remained unknown. But Odo had confirmed her suspicions that there was no way across the abyss, and they had been forced to contact the local remnants of the resistance. Narven didn't trust Odo. He'd made that quite plain from the start. Odo had agreed to supply them with his unique talents, and that had given them grudging acceptance. But Narven had also readied his people for an emergency retreat. He didn't go out of his way to share with Kira either, despite her reputation. His assignment was a test. She was sure that little of it really mattered If he came back, and nobody else followed, Narven might let them stay. She didn't want to go back to the old life. She already believed that it would be a mistake to resist as they had under Cardassian rule. But Narven must never know she was no longer the Kira who had killed and hated and never considered the fate of those they destroyed. ***** Odo had agreed to help the hapless little band of rebels, Kira's safety at risk should he refuse, but his help was selective. He would do nothing to encourage active resistance. He hadn't told Narven in so many words, but he didn't wish to ruin Kira's ruse. But both of them knew what the Dominion did if you fought back. He would not bring that on anyone. But he would help with food. Bajorans and residential foreign nationals did not share in the ration cakes grown and processed on Bajor unless they worked on the farms. Others were at the whim of the local harvests and occasional trading. But the cakes were a frequent target for thieves. The compact food source was one of the staples of the flourishing black market. The real irony was that those caught with them illegally were sent to the farms, where despite the harsh conditions and hard work demanded of them, they would be assured of enough to eat. A special organization was being established to coordinate the farms and distribution of their cakes, made up of an amalgam of collaborators of a variety of species. Odo suspected it was to be much more important later, the core of a structure that would stabilize the often random ways Bajor was treated. But most importantly, rules were being established. He didn't tell Kira, but was more confident about the future. She would look on the new ruling class as traitors, and the system that would grow out of the rules as another form of the enemy. In the black and white world of an occupation they were, but the alternative was far worse. Next to the Jem'Hadar, it would be infinitely preferable. Even if the rules were severe they were at least predictable. And Narven, along with his supporters and their surviving compatriots elsewhere, was going to make it possible. Their grandiose plans for revenge, inspired by old memories of open resistance, would eliminate those places not yet under direct Dominion control. Area by area, the Dominion was replacing the installed Bajoran government as the resistance took its toll. Those who resisted were eliminated. Those who hadn't were classified and resettled in little enclaves, where the new hierarchy could make use of them. Tagged, they couldn't run. It would not be a pleasant world, but the fledgling organization would at least give some stability to the planet. In time, it would replace the Dominion and Vorta and their excesses. Children might have the chance to grow up without risking starving to death. He knew the value of freedom, but what did it matter if you were dead? ***** Blanchard lay flat on his back, vaguely watching the ceiling, hardly noticing Willman or the nurse at all. The nurse checked the IV's, while Willman ran a quick scan of the man. He had a raging infection throughout the entire respiratory track, and the beginnings of pneumonia, all the signs of the most serious form of the viral infection. He still had a fever, although he no longer needed the breathing tube. Tarlan stood back, near the door, just watching. Willman hadn't given the Bajoran a prognosis on his friend, but he didn't think he needed to. Jaro knew how small the chances were with this form of the disease. It hadn't effected many patients that way, but all had died. They had lost twelve people from the disease or its direct complications. There would be a few more. He was certain that Blanchard would be one of those. What Willman knew, and had not shared with anyone, was the lung scarring. The disease could have caused it, but Willman knew better. If he had to, he would list that as a cause. No one could disagree. But even if Blanchard was beyond his help, he was still being treated for the infections. There was a marginal chance he might improve. Willman was not inclined to let anyone go that he might help since They sent the virus. Tarlan followed him out of the room. The Bajoran looked on the verge of tears. "He couldn't breath last night. I thought . . . . " Willman put his hand, protectively, on the man's shoulder. "We've given him something to help that. It's the pneumonia." He fished into his pocket and handed Tarlan a pass. "Night pass. If there is an emergency, send somebody and I'll get some help. Ok?" Tarlan looked exhausted. "Thank you. Doctor, how long?" Willman looked into the other room. "I wish I could tell you. He's responded to the treatment somewhat. I can't tell you if it's enough." He looked closely at the Bajoran. "How are you doing? You need some rest yourself." "I'm doing fine." "You don't look it." Willman fished into the medkit and handed Tarlan a couple of pills. "Here. These will put you to sleep. I want you to go to bed now. I'll have someone check on him. But I don't want you coming down with something and having to leave." Tarlan reluctantly took the pills. When he was asleep, Willman ran a scan on the Bajoran. He hoped to find a way to counter the effects of the poison without Tarlan knowing what he was being treated for. It was too late for Blanchard, but Tarlan could be saved. Willman didn't care why he was sick. He would deny Them every single victim he could. ***** Lonnie hated paperwork. She especially hated knowing why they demanded such detail. But Willman had finally let her out of her quarters, and even if all she could do was sit at a desk and fill out forms, it was better than staring at the four dull walls of her bedroom. Julian came to share meals, but couldn't stay long. He was too busy during the day. She'd read the book he'd loaned her from his friend three times. The portrait of the grim, divided world was compelling, and she could lose herself in the complicated ruse in which Lemas was the key. The ultimate betrayal at the end didn't really surprise her. She understood that. Julian had told her, one night while he was keeping her company, about his spy holoprogram. She wondered if he saw himself as Lemas, used by everyone as a pawn. Was she his Liz? Was she to be trapped in his own nightmare? Would she die as the woman Lemas sacrificed himself for had perished? He cared about her. She knew he would never go any further than sharing a meal. He didn't dare let anyone inside. She'd had all the traces of innocence stripped away in the last year, and was content to keep it that way. She couldn't let him in, either. Some were able to take support from the other victims of this life, but she could never risk letting the pain become too real. When she learned that They had sent death in their supplies, the reports had become the hardest part of the day. If she ever had to define the storm inside her, she couldn't stand to touch them. And she couldn't take the quiet, boring days either. Even if all she could do was be Their pawn, it was better than that. Julian had been by to drop off some paperwork. He'd been in a hurry, several more patients needing his time. He was annoyed at his routine being interrupted by the side trip. Perhaps he was just preoccupied, but something was different. She noticed the odd way he was walking. His limp was wrong. Sometimes he would put only very delicate pressure on the leg, and other times would not even notice his full weight. He'd never been able to do that. In between forms she wondered about that. But it wasn't the only difference. He still shared his meals, mostly now in the office, but he was wary. Something was wrong. She remembered Jabara telling her that he'd always been hard on himself. He was finally letting Willman treat the pain, but it shouldn't have worked that well. There'd been rumors about *things*. When he told her about the days, he'd left that out. But the word was that not everything had been taken when the Jem'Hadar had come. He wouldn't do that. He was too terrified of being taken away. She told herself it must have the medicine. He'd been busy and preoccupied; he wouldn't notice the pain so much. If it was anything else, he'd learn just how scared Willman was, and how hard a man he could be. ***** Bashir had been working a long shift, and Willman had been watching the limp. When he first arrived at work it had been minimal, and as the day grew longer, it had gotten worse. An hour ago he had noticed Bashir resting, and had mentioned to one of the nurses that they needed some supplies. He noticed that Bashir hadn't offered to get them right away; he had waited until Willman was supposedly our of view. But soon enough he was on the way to the supply cabinet. Willman waited until Bashir had entered the room. He tested the door and wasn't surprised to find it locked. He used his own key to open it, and entered the room, standing in front of the door. Bashir had something in his hand which he slipped into his into his pocket. Willman watched as he slowly seemed to react and turned around. He didn't expect to be interrupted and didn't cover the surprise. "Sir, I was getting the supplies for Jabara. She had to help a patient." Willman stared at him, annoyed, allowing himself to slip back into his hard nosed persona. "Your lying. She was taking a break. She said you had some other things to pick up. Of course, you weren't lying about that, at least." Bashir stood his ground. "I thought she looked busy. I was trying to help." He sounded defensive. Willman watched his hands closely, and the way he was working his right hand under his coat. "Doctor, get over by wall." Bashir seemed wary but moved. Willman stepped forward and studied him, still staring. "Now I want your hands in front of you, palms up." Bashir complied, but was worried. There was a small spot of ink on his right hand, reddish blue in color. "How did you get the ink on your hand?" ask Willman. Bashir started to say something but saw he ink stain for the first time. He looked genuinely surprised. "One of the pens must be leaking." His voice had lost the confidence it had before, however. "Take off your coat." Willman spoke very quietly. The coat was removed. "Drop it." It landed on the floor with a thud. "Now, turn around and put your hands on the wall." Bashir hesitated, and Willman thought he might try to run. But there was nowhere to go. He again complied. Willman searching him. It didn't take long to discover the heavy, rectangular device in his right pocket. Removing it, he took care not to smear the ink spot he had put there. When he stepped back, Bashir did not move. "Sit down on the floor." Seating himself, he noticed that Bashir was throughly cowed, and although it was cold in the room, made no move for the coat. Willman kicked it away. He pulled up a chair, and sat, staring at the young doctor. Deeply disappointed, he didn't hide his anger at the younger doctor for betraying a trust. For a time, he just sat and stared. Bashir looked at his feet, moving his bad leg occasionally. In the cold room it must have hurt more. Finally, Bashir miserable, he said quietly, "You didn't get a chance to use it, I see." Bashir only shook his head, not looking up. "I've been suspicious for some time, but had to find your hiding place. I did earlier today, and waited. I guess you didn't notice the ink." Bashir looked at the ink spot on his hand. "No," he said slowly, his voice dragging. "I was busy." Willman shifted his chair where he was closer, and then stood directly above him. "I'm extremely disappointed. I thought you knew better. Why?" Bashir said nothing. "I want an answer," he demanded. Bashir talked to his feet. Very hesitantly, he started, "I didn't intend to use it, only when the pain got too bad. But we were so busy, and I couldn't have managed without it a few weeks ago." Willman's voice had softened a little. "I see. Go on." "I tried to put it in the box that day I took the documents to Sisko. But it had snowed and I would have left a trail. And I wasn't sure I wouldn't be watched." Bashir sighed, adding softly, "I don't know what to trust anymore." For a second, Willman was sympathetic. But they couldn't afford such risky behavior. He was going to have to scare Bashir. He looked at the young doctor, gazing at him sternly. "Fine, but that doesn't explain why you have it hiding in this storeroom now." "I tried to ignore it. But as long as it's there it was . . . too tempting. I've only used it when I really needed it. I even tried to destroy it myself, but I couldn't. I was going to return it to the cave when we went back and make sure you destroyed it." "How did you plan to do that?" ask Willman harshly. "I'd have gotten the devices for you, or something. You wouldn't have missed it then." "But you would," said Willman. "I was hoping you could use the other one." Willman studied his captive. He stared at the wall as if seeing nothing. "I hoped to do just that." He looked the device over closely. "Was it ever used on a patient?" Bashir shook his head. "No. I never let anyone see it." He sounded resigned it was all over. Good, thought Willman. Sounding annoyed, Willman asked, "Now I know why you took so long to ask for help for the pain. I should have insisted. Actually, I should have had your quarters searched when I first suspected you'd taken something." Bashir froze. Willman was aware of the implication of a search. Bashir must have believed he would have actually taken a chance on the device being publically known. Finally, he replied in nearly a whisper. "I was going to. But I was worried you'd find it odd that I needed it all of a sudden." Willman was frustrated, especially that it had gone this far. He had no intention of turning in his young doctor. But he knew the punishment had to be very severe. And for a little while, Bashir had to wonder if he'd turn him over to Sisko and then Them. "You're suppose to tell me about problems that keep you from working." His tone was ice cold. "It never had to get this far." The silence was enormous. Bashir almost collapsed against the wall he was leaning on. He was staring at the wall now, eyes fixed on the corner of a shelf. Willman could tell how scared he was. He mostly mumbled, "I didn't think you'd listen." "Not to excuses. But if it's a real problem, then I'd do what I could to help. But you don't want that. You want the easy way. Do you know what you have done to me, to Lonnie, to the patients, and everyone in this hospital who didn't do this? Do you think you're the only one they are going to question when they come and search?" Bashir had turned pale. Willman continued to push. "You told Lonnie about the Cardassian, but not me. I want all the details, now." Bashir closed his eyes and looked even paler. "They killed him," he finally said after a long pause. "How did they kill him?" asked Willman quietly. "They beat him. They tortured him too." Bashir spoke softly, distantly. "How did they decide who to beat to death?" asked Willman, sounding very somber. "I don't know. Maybe they were in the mood for a Cardassian. Maybe since they'd just," he stopped and whispered the next word, "finished with me. I was sure I was next." He was on the verge of losing control. Willman moved closer, sitting on the floor next to him. He didn't touch but made eye contact. "You don't think they can tell from the EM signatures that something illegal is being used?" He shook his head. "And according to Sisko you were such a smart doctor." "I didn't think about that. And there is the tricorder. I just knew it hurt too much. I'll do whatever you and Sisko want." The resentment was gone. Willman was sure he'd gotten through. He was certain Bashir was thinking about the one caught with the machines. For a second, there was a flash of anger in Willman's eyes. "We won't be bothering Captain Sisko with this. From now until I decide to end it, your are under lock restrictions. If your not working you're in your quarters. And you won't be doing double shifts, either. Get your coat, it's time to go home. By the way I'm your superior. Your suppose to call me Sir." ***** When they reached his quarters, Bashir hobbling along the best he could in the cold, he waited outside his door while the locking mechanism was set. Willman then unlocked the door. He entered the small, dark room. Willman followed him in, and watched as Bashir climbed into bed, wincing when he moved his bad leg. He had taken off his shoes, leaving the coat and most of the clothes, along with the brace. "Your not wearing that when you sleep, are you?" Bashir said grimly, "I've just been loosening it. It's hard to get on." "But it's terrible for the circulation." Willman unsnapped it and removed it from Bashir's foot. He didn't sit it down or give it back. Then he headed for the door. "I'll be by to look over the leg tomorrow. You have three days of in_quarters restrictions, so consider yourself lucky. You have a good reason to need it." The door shut and his brace left with Willman. He lay in the dark room, his leg throbbing, wondering if he hadn't called disaster down on them. Willman wouldn't turn him in, but someone else might. The night dragged on, and he finally fell asleep. But the Antelope crashed in his dream, and he wondered if those who died in the crash were lucky. No matter what Willman did, or how much contraband Sisko destroyed, when the Jem'Hadar came it wouldn't really matter anymore. ***** After nearly two months had passed, the viral epidemic was officially over. There had been no new cases, and all those with active cases were recovered. There had been no more deaths. But in its wake the virus and the secondary infections had left people tired and cold and weak. There were still plenty of patients. They were not suffering from severe ailments, but due to weakness were just as sick. The most common was what should have been a very mild flu. Willman and his staff were being kept quite busy. Life had started to return to "normal". But it was nowhere near the same. Most departments were open, but with much of the staff still out sick were running at a very minimal level. Sisko did not insist on anything that was deemed unnecessary, and insisted that nobody work long hours. Walter Vance had moved in with his friend's early that winter, and they had cared for one another since then. They all had colds and were supposed to stay inside, and whoever felt the best carried in the food from the moving cart which now delivered it. Willman was sure that Vance had nothing to do with the experiment. But he was sure he'd help hide the machines. When they came, they'd take Vance too. He permitted Bashir to work one shift a day. He'd removed all his books from his quarters for the first week, giving him time to think. At first, if he wasn't on shift he was locked inside. Later, seeing the apathy in his eyes, he'd allowed him his books and then given permission for him to eat his meals in the hospital commissary. But he wasn't permitted to speak to anyone or his privileges would immediately be withdrawn. Lock restriction was a very serious punishment, and despite extreme curiosity, no one knew t what he'd done to deserve it. The cover story was missing drugs, and the implication was that Bashir had been treating himself for the pain without permission. If anyone asked, the supply report had been amended to back up the story. Bashir had been doing much better at work, too. Perhaps it was the rest, but Willman suspected a great weight had been lifted from his mind. The device was gone now. He didn't have to be afraid someone would find it. He wouldn't be off restrictions for a long time, but Willman thought he might relax them a little at a time. First, he needed more casaba leaves and had gotten a permit to get them. Bashir needed exercise, and there was no one else he could trust to help. ***** He had been on "lock restriction" for two weeks. He was done with his shift and meal, and waited outside Willman's door to be escorted back to his quarters and locked in. He'd seen a few glimpses of Lonnie that day, but as they were forbidden as part of the restrictions, didn't expect her to say anything. He knew he'd been lucky, considering the alternative. Usually he was more than ready to return home, since Willman's medication did little to relieve the pain. Willman finally opened the door. Bashir had been leaning against the wall, taking the weight off his leg, and shifted himself forward where he was standing before Willman noticed. He followed the doctor out of the hospital and to the little cluster of cubicles where home had come to be. He waited at the door, still without saying a word, as it had been every day since the first. When Willman opened the door, he went in. This time, however, Willman followed him inside. Bashir had already started getting ready for bed when Willman came into the bedroom. "Is the new brace working out better?" he asked. Except when necessary Willman hadn't said a word to him in two weeks _ in fact, no one had _ and he was surprised by the conversation. "Yes, it's much easier to put on, and it's not so tight." Willman had devised a different design, this one with a small spring that allowed his foot to bend slightly and an easy "snap" opening that he couldn't adjust as he had the other one. But he could put it on himself with no trouble. "Good. I'd like to look at the foot," he said. Without comment, Bashir let Willman remove his brace and socks. He studied the scarred area around his foot. Bashir was ready to go to sleep, and didn't pay much attention. Willman suddenly hurrumped. "If I were to disable the nerve here," pointing at just above his ankle, and here, pointing near his knee, I could still give you the mobility of the joints, but this part of the leg would be permanently numb. Could you live with that?" Bashir looked at him oddly. "Don't you mean cut the nerve?" "No. We'd have to take another walk to cut some leaves first." He looked worried. "We've got something to destroy. But we need to get all the useable leaves we can to replace what we've used. I suppose I could adjust this for you when we were done." He held up the brace. Bashir knew what he was considering. It was usually done to temporarily relieve pain before repairs to damaged tissue could be done. It would have to be done in the cave. "I think I'd enjoy a walk," said Bashir. "One other thing. When you done tomorrow come by and pick up your key. Your off full restrictions in the morning." "Thank you, Sir," said Bashir, carefully. He didn't know what he was thanking him about most. It got very cold at night, and he wore his other jacket to sleep in. He took off the nice one, sliding his foot on the floor, as he heard Willman leave and the door lock for the last time. Hanging it up, he noticed an odd lump in the pocket he had his gloves. Pulling out the gloves, he found something else at the bottom, wrapped so that its shape would not be obvious. He was grateful to Willman, not only for keeping it from Sisko, but for taking the device. He couldn't destroy it himself. Willman had done him a favor. Looking at the pocket, he dreaded what he would find. Tearing off the wrap, he discovered his instrument had been returned. He would have to find a new hiding place. But for that night, he hid it beneath a stack of clothes and went to bed. Only later, when his throbbing leg wouldn't let him sleep, did he get out of bed and numb his leg, hating the device he thought he'd rid himself of. ***** It had been almost a month since he'd done his last detailed examination of Blanchard. By all standards, he was still a very sick man. But he had surprised Willman. The series of severe infections had almost all improved. Blanchard was relatively aware and could answer his questions again. He coughed continuously, and Willman noted there was some lung damage from the disease this time, in his report. There was much more than that wrong with Blanchard, but those symptoms hadn't shown up yet, and Willman didn't expect him to last long enough for it ever get that far. But for him it was a victory, and if by some miracle Blanchard did survive, he would find some other cause. Jaro, however, did not look well. His symptoms could be attributed to any of the current maladies going around and his health was not badly damaged. So Willman hoped to leave without questions this time. But Jaro did not cooperate. "Doctor, I'm very concerned about something," he said, hurrying after Willman and catching him by the front door. "It's Justin's mind. He doesn't seem to remember a lot of things." This was very bad. The poisoning had been worse than he'd thought. But he told the Bajoran it was probably from the fever; he couldn't say if he'd remember later or not. Jaro looked worn out. Blanchard needed a lot of care. Willman suggested sending a medic to stay the night, so he could sleep. But Jaro refused and Willman didn't ask any questions. Blanchard had been lucky, but it couldn't last forever. Eventually, Jaro would have plenty of time to rest. ***** Lonnie watched the way he walked, placing most of the weight carefully on his good leg, and only as much as he could stand on the other. She had missed him when he was on restrictions. Since he'd been allowed a few hours of free time, he'd been more quiet than normal, and even his work was marked by resignation. He wore a nicer face for his patients, but even that was worn and tired. He'd hardly said a word during lunch, explaining he hadn't slept well the night before. But he didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep since he had been taken off restrictions. She'd heard the latest rumor of medical contraband, and was sure it hadn't been supply drugs that had gotten him in trouble. He'd been walking far too easily, and now was back to the labored limp he'd had before. Willman had deliberately kept it quiet. He could so easily have been gone by now. He must have spent hours alone thinking about how close it had come. She would let him choose when to talk. He knew he was lucky, but gave him room. He had to know how lucky he was. As for Dr. Willman, she simply tried to be a little extra considerate to him. It was the only way she could say thank you. ***** Jadzia gazed out the small window of Ben's small inner office. Ben had quietly sipped his lunch, finally breaking the silence with the worse question he could have asked. "I presume you've heard the rumor about the device Willy found." He looked depressed. "And you're not going to ask him about it." Ben stared at the table. "If I did I'd have to ask him who he got it from. The way I heard it, he found it on somebody. It's not too hard to figure out who that was." Jadzia shook her head, "I wondered, one day. He wasn't limping. I warned him to be careful." Ben said, very thoughtful, "Right now, I'd rather be me than him. Willy can't protect him from Them, if they want him. I just hope we don't find anything else. The Vorta is running out of patience. When he starts making demands," Sisko shrugged, "what do I do?" Jadzia watched his face. "What you have to. Whatever is left." "That is what I'm afraid of," said Sisko. ***** Sitting in the small filing room, James watched out the window. The snow lay in fluffy, picture perfect piles in the square, giving the trees a white, powdered look. The birds had gone for the winter, but some of the children were playing. He didn't know where the others had gone, but since his life had been disrupted by his ghost_life some had never come back. He was not unhappy, but he missed them, and with the painting complete he was making a special border. He was decorating it with birds and flowers, but especially with the children who had left. And since the great disruption, so few of them wanted to play. It was so quiet now, too quiet. He was used to their boisterous noise, and open joy. But the children who rolled in the snow and chased each other in long white trails did not make so much noise, and moved away quietly when hushed by the adults. He tried to bring them back with the pictures on the frame, but he knew they were merely memories committed to paint. He did not know how to call them back to his world, and the joy he had taken in his portal had been tempered with a grief he could not quite deal with. He had never gotten back the same routine, and had come to only sit for a short time after painting, and often not at all before sleep. If he was lucky he could find some of them in his dreams. But the dreams ended when he woke, and he would have to remember they were gone all over again. ***** Sisko had said good bye to Jadzia, and gone back to work. He was trying to catch up a little, aware of the warning that if the proper paperwork did not come in soon, supplies would be cut. They couldn't afford that, no matter how much he hated insisting on the completed reports. James came back into the room to get another stack of papers. He had been much quieter of late, again, but Sisko thought he looked sad. But there were so many that looked that way now. It was probably something he was simply expecting to see. At least in his world, James was allowed to be happy. ***** In the week since his initial improvement, Blanchard had started to fail again. Willman knew without looking at any reading that it wasn't a virus that was gradually going to end his life. But there were many terms that would work. It would make no difference to Blanchard, but perhaps it would help Tarlan once his friend was gone. Willman had finally insisted on a nurse in attendance. The nurse's assignment was as much to care for Tarlan as the dying Blanchard. Tarlan had begged him to reconsider, but Willman had made it a condition of not admitting Blanchard and he had relented. He had come to care about the Bajoran who had lost everything he had and now was going to lose his only friend as well. He hoped fate might be a little kinder to him than his friend. Perhaps, in the end, the only thing that would save them was some still hidden fate. But he was no longer optimistic. ***** Julian couldn't have moved as fast as he did along the still half frozen pathway, without his leg being numb, but Willman pushed him faster. He was furious. Something very bad happened and he had cornered Bashir, telling him they had to go for a walk. There had been one other matter. He wanted to know where his leg device was. "I know I confiscated it and I know it disappeared. Where did it disappear to?" he had demanded of Bashir. Willman was determined to find it. Bashir gave up in the face of his determination. "I hid it." "Where?" "Not in the hospital." "At least that's good. In your quarters?" There was a glum silence. "That was stupid of you. But at least it will be easy to find and bring along." Willman had followed him by a few steps all the way to his quarters. He had continued inside. Bashir retrieved the device from its hiding place. Willman never took his eyes off of it. "Show me." Bashir held it up. "How does your leg feel?" "It hurts. I don't use it unless I have to." "Good," said Willman, "Better make it numb now." Bashir ran it up his leg, from his foot to the knee, the relief washing over him. Willman took the device. "Here's your leaf bag." Bashir silently took the small container and went out the door. He didn't have to ask where they were going. But Willman wasn't done. "How did you find it?" Bashir knew he was in trouble. Something had happened to scare Willman into taking the risk of going to the cave without a real reason to be there. "I didn't. When you let me off restrictions, I found it in my pocket that evening. I don't know who took it. I wasn't intending to look for it." Willman stared at him. "You should have told me. Perhaps this situation would have been prevented. Get going." He pulled on his gloves a few minutes later, keeping his hands warm, but he was sweating underneath the warm coat. It wasn't entirely due to Willman's fast pace. Willman had been very civil to him since he'd gotten off restrictions. Something else must have happened. He knew Willman well enough to be able to see that he was scared. He wondered what else they would find besides the casaba leaves. Arriving at the cove, taking the time to catch his breath, Bashir waited where he'd been told. His heart was pounding. Willman was examining the opening to the cave. "Someone was here. They didn't get it put back right but they tried. He glared at Bashir who looked anywhere but at Willman. "In, now," he said. Bashir went in first, nearly slipping on the ice near the entrance. Willman caught him and he waited until Willman was inside. He followed him to the inner cavern. Near the opening he was ordered to sit. He couldn't see what Willman was doing but he could guess. Willman abruptly stood up and walked towards where Bashir was sitting. He said very slowly, so that every word might sink in, "There are at least twelve instruments missing, probably a few more." Bashir knew he hadn't had anything to do with that. "I didn't take them," he said looking at the ground. "I haven't been back here since we got the last supply of leaves." He sounded miserable enough that Willman almost believed him. "You know what happens when the send in the Jem'Hadar to punish people." "Yes." Bashir seemed to choke on the word. "If you didn't take them you know who did." Bashir was angry. He didn't know who to direct it at, but Willman was accusing him of a lie. "No. I do not know who took them. I took the one device, that's all. I didn't tell anyone where they were either. So go turn me over to Sisko if you want, but I didn't do it." He didn't shout, but the repressed anger was evident. Abruptly, Willman sat down next to him, looking hopeless, the anger gone. "Someone did," he said softly. "I found one of them today hidden in the hospital. I suspect if I look harder I'll find the rest. But I can't do that because that would raise suspicion. So your going to do the looking." "I'll be very careful about it." He was as subdued as Willman. "We need to destroy what's here too. I don't know if there will be another chance. Stay put." Willman looked as devastated as he had when Bashir had first confirmed the origin of the virus. Bashir sat where he was, wondering what Willman was doing with the box of instruments, rummaging around in it. "It's not here," he said finally. "I was going to fix your leg since we might not have another chance, but the instrument isn't here. If, no *when* you find it I'll find someplace to do it. It should give you more reason to look." Bashir didn't say anything. He was carefully observing what Willman was doing with his device. He saw him place it back in the box. He watched as Willman turned to retrieve a second box of smaller items, piling them together. He could see it was tilted and would spill. He began to get up, slowly. The box began to slip in Willman's hands. Balancing on hands and knees he quickly reached behind Willman and took the device, shoving it into his coat pocket. He sat back, taking some of the spilled instruments, and filled the box. Willman mumbled a thank you, picking up the last of the spill. He put the now damaged box on top of the other without looking inside. He lifted them up, telling Bashir to stay where he was. Standing, he disappeared deeper into the cave, returning with another box, this one wooden. By that time, Bashir had hidden the device where it could not be accidentally discovered. Willman would still treat him for the pain, never knowing that the real relief didn't come from his drugs. He sat the other two boxes in the larger wooden one and pulled a small bottle from his pocket, dumping the entire contents of it in the box. A long cord was buried inside the box, held down by a rock. The cord was laid along the cave floor, Bashir following him out as it stretched outside the cave. Willman lit the cord. He didn't reassemble the opening right away. Bashir took the bag given him and headed towards the casaba trees. A few minutes later, while they were pulling the last leaves off the trees to replace some of the badly needed medicine, they heard the explosion. It was very muffled, but both men stopped to listen. Anything in the box would have been reduced to pieces. "You won't have to worry about that device anymore," said Willman. Bashir only nodded, grateful that he was looking the other way, still wondering why he'd taken it back. They gathered leaves for an hour. There wasn't much to gather and they were difficult to reach, but the effort might save a few more lives. Willman finally looked at Bashir, "I'm going to have to tell Sisko about this. Anyone hiding things might go to Them." He looked broken, thought Bashir, ashamed of what was in his pocket, but not daring to do anything about it. Leaving, Willman looked around at the valley, and the two round trees. "There's going to have to be a very big crackdown now. More Ag stuff has appeared too." He looked back at the trees, "You know, Doctor, if They are coming I wish they'd just hurry up and get it over with." ***** end,Legacy,Year 1,Part 1_4,Chapter 21