Chapter 16 The next afternoon, without much rest and after a hurried lunch with Lonnie, he was officially presented at Willman's office. He wore his good shirt, but the only jacket he had was the crumpled one he'd been wearing since his release. He'd noticed that Lonnie had checked for the pin as soon as she met him. He'd been tempted to leave it off, at least until just before he had to put it on. But for the first time he went to lunch and moved to the head of the line on his own, by the authority of the little pin. He didn't like using it, but it wasn't much different than letting Lonnie get his food with hers. Feeling nervous enough to not notice how bad his leg was throbbing, he stood in front of Willman. Lonnie had come in, but she was dismissed with a wave of Willman's hand. He knew the rules. He didn't sit until given permission. He waited, but instead Willman stood, taking along several files. "Follow me, Doctor," he said. It was strange, and very good, to be called a doctor again, even if it was Willman that said it. He hobbled after Willman down the corridor to the Children's Ward. They stopped by a bed where a little Bajoran girl slept, obviously fleshed with fever. He recognized her from the station, the daughter of one of the Bajoran engineers. He had treated her several times for one of the recurring viral diseases left over from the Cardassians. Willman handed him the file. Quietly, so the others wouldn't hear, Willman said, "I'm not having any luck. I'm hoping you will." Then he moved away. Dr. Julian Bashir was on his own. He pulled up a chair and eased himself into it, handing the crutches to a nurse. The girl woke up, looking him over. "Katre, do you remember me?" Her eyes focused slowly. "The healer daddy took me to when I was sick. Did you come to make me better?" "Yes, but I need you to tell me if you were sick before you came here and got better on your own." She looked scared. "Yes. Daddy was afraid to take me. Mommy made him." Bashir made a note to talk to the parents and find out what home remedy they had used. "All right, Katre, I'll be back to see you but you have to promise to do what the other doctor and the nurses tell you to, and take your medicine." She trusted him. "I promise." Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I want my Mommy and Daddy." He didn't know if Willman was allowing them to visit or not, but the girl was using Bajoran and he was almost certain that Willman didn't understand it. "I'll see if they can come. And I'll tell them you miss them." She cried, the tears rolling down her cheeks. He tried to imagine how it would feel to a child to be trapped in this place. "Now, try to sleep." She took his hand. "Please," she whispered. Willman walked up to the bed and she let go. "I'll have a nurse swab her down again. It's the only thing that helps." Katri watched as Bashir took her hand and squeezed it a little. The tears stopped. Willman said nothing. "The nurse is going to help you feel better," he told her in Bajoran. ***** A little while later, in Willman's office, Bashir was listening to his first lecture. "Now, that jacket. It's rumpled and messy. You don't go on duty like that. I'll ignore it this time since you don't have another, but when you start you'll have a jacket that must be kept in better shape than that. Do you understand?" Bashir, surprised by the lecture, said, "Yes, Sir," remembering the proper address. "As far as language goes, I'd like Standard used if possible. In this case, Bajoran was probably best for the child, but if there are other options, use something I can understand." Bashir nodded, wondering if Willman didn't trust his Bajoran staff either. "I will remember that. Sir." "And now, I'd like your report and suggestions. And a translation." First, he gave a translation of the conversation with the child, and explained he'd treated her for the same condition several times. Willman looked concerned. "Is this a Cardassian virus?" he asked. "Originally, but this is its adaptive form. As far as we know it's only mildly contagious." "To what species? What about humans?" Willman was frowning. "Humans can catch it, but it's very rare and very mild. It doesn't reoccur as it does in Bajorans. Katre isn't contagious to anyone in this stage." "Was she?" "No, not yet. It's only spread when it becomes a respiratory infection. She's not there yet." "What would you recommend? I haven't had any luck." Willman suddenly looked very tired, but there was something more, something Bashir hadn't seen before in him. It was fear, and resignation. Even his lecture hadn't had the sting he was famous for. As Bashir explained the available options, and suggested asking the parents about their own efforts, he felt more afraid than ever before for Katre and all the others. Willman was afraid of an epidemic, especially one he couldn't treat. Bashir still resented the man, but could see a little of the terror that he hid behind the mask. ***** He shared dinner with Lonnie, and she noted he'd removed the pin as soon as he left the hospital. "He won't like that. Your supposed to leave it on. He made a big point of that." "I'm still only visiting, and I wear it only when I have to until then. He said my jacket was messy too." "It is. He doesn't like the staff to look like you slept in your clothes." Bashir shrugged. "This is all I have." "I'm sure he'll fix that, and when you have a better one remember that. He will." She took a bite of her dinner, making a face. "I wonder who made this. It's tasteless." When he didn't reply, she put down the spoon and touched his hand. "How's the little girl?" "Oh, she's had this before. She'll get over it, but it will take a while. I think we found something that should work. She needs the Bajoran herbs that I used before, but the parents had run out. This should be pretty close." He shook his head. "It felt good. I still don't like Willman but I guess I can get used to him. He said something before he let me go. He said he was glad I was as good as they said I was. I guess this is the as close to a compliment as he comes." She nodded. She might have smiled a few days before, but didn't feel much like it with the tension at work. Willman was nervous. Something had scared him that he didn't want to confide in the staff. But despite the lecture, he liked Julian's work. "That is pure admiration. Don't be surprised if he doesn't put you on duty soon. We really need you." He slowly let out a breath. "I know. I could tell. Willman was exhausted." He paused, taking a bite of his dinner. "The only thing is," he paused, frowning, "he's going to expect more than I can give. I can only take so much of this pain before I have to rest. I don't see him worrying about that." "Tell him. Really. He'll try to find something to help. Look, Julian. He's scared and he's not too forgiving right now. Nobody likes the man he's become, but he's still a good doctor and he'll work with you if you give him a chance." Lonnie was amazed. She didn't think she could still say something so kind about Willman. "I'll see how it goes," said Bashir, noting her frustration but choosing to ignore it for the moment. "Just think about it. Please," she urged him. "I will," he said annoyed. "Let's find something else to talk about for a while. They ended up discussing the weather, and that made him irritated. Even the planet was conspiring to make life more miserable for him. Lonnie was relieved to drop him at his quarters that evening. ***** While Lonnie and Julian were having their talk over dinner, across the room, Miles watched his friend. He was depressed. Julian had new friends now. He recognized the way he sat and talked with Lonnie that they had more than friendship and was glad for him. But Miles knew he was being left out in the cold. He knew Julian was having a hard time of it. That was quite obvious. But life wasn't easy for Miles, either, and all the other times Keiko and the family had been away his friend had tried to fill the empty hole. Now he could not. There was nothing they could remember together that wasn't too painful. There were no holosuits anymore, and the old warehouse was a poor substitute for Quark's. But at least they might have been able to talk. But that wasn't to be. Miles had learned to cherish his memories. He could see that Julian could not deal with them at all, and Miles a big part of them. He would give him time, and let him find his own kind of peace. And then he would try again. He hoped it would not be too late. Miles finished his food and wandered back to his quarters. He pulled out the bags he had brought from the station, and gently laid the contents on his bed. There were a few personal mementos from his own life, including the gifts they had received when Kirayoshi was born. He remembered who had given each gift. The baby things were either left on the station, or with Keiko and the children, but he had saved the little keepsakes to remember. There was a small Bajoran charm from Neres, making him think of her somewhere on Bajor, if she was alive. He looked thought the carefully wrapped items and found the one from Jadzia. It was a small gemstone, ready to set as a surprise for Keiko when he had the time. It was her favorite color. He carefully wrapped it, thinking of the quiet, distant woman Jadzia had become, and missed her too. Julian's small knickknack, a miniature British fighter plane, brought a smile. They had been his friends, and he had lost all of them. He closed that bag and opened the one he had brought for his wife, and took out the red dress. He remembered her wearing it just for him the day of the Gratitude festival. He held it close, imagining he could smell her presence. He missed her, and still stubbornly believed she was alive, but that belief was fading. He clung to his faith that she would come back to him, as a child holds a ratty old blanket that still means security. But even children give up the blanket some day, and as news continued to leak out of Sisko's office about the Federation colony's fate he had more and more doubts. He looked at the sky sometimes, wondering when They would come and hoping that if she was dead they would take him too. ***** On Bajor, They had already come, and were, bit by bit, finding and taking all foreigners away, then punishing those who hid them. The rumors of atrocities were rampant, some true, and many in spirit if not factually. In Shatara, cut off from most areas by the steep mountains and the secretive nature of the village, the rumors took time to reach them. Their view of the invasion was delayed, and nobody really knew how bad it was or how far the Dominion had gone. Still, desperate for news, any scrap of information that reached the remote mountain village was shared instantly. The second occupation of Bajor was well underway. Except this was different than the excesses of the Cardassians. The Dominion had organized a new government made up entirely of Bajorans. They were responsible for keeping the residents under control, and only when they didn't did the Jem'Hadar appear. It had only been five years since the Cardassians had been the enemy and the Bajoran resistance had not forgotten how to fight. But since the guerilla activity had started, the Jem'Hadar were a common sight on Bajor. By fall they had even been seen in the mountains. Keiko and the children had stayed out of sight for the summer, helping where they could without being seen. She was grateful for the protection, but it was hard living like that. The caves were secret and as safe a place as existed for them, but she wanted to feel the sunshine and smell the breezes. She was curious about the plants near the village, and yet could not go to them. It was likely that if anyone saw them the information would be passed on and they'd be betrayed. But there was a way to fix that. Humans didn't look that different than Bajorans, if you discounted the nose. She was standing near the opening in the cave, just looking at the trees as they swayed in the breeze when Marlan Sira ask her to come. Around a bend in the cave, she had a small retreat where she could meditate. Keiko was motioned inside. "I see your distress. And it is hard for the children. But I have an idea." Keiko watched as Sira touched the bridge of her nose. "Are you suggesting altering us to look like you?" "Yes. There is some danger involved since we cannot do it ourselves. There is a Healer who we can trust, but he will not be here for a few months. You must stay inside until that." Keiko slid her finger down the graceful tilt of her nose. "Wouldn't they detect us with DNA?" "If they used it. There are enough of your species here that have chosen to join with them they can't really tell. No, what we must do is get you proper identification. We must establish a name and identity for you and the children that comes from before." "A different name," said Keiko, hesitating. She hadn't considered that she might lose her own identity. "There is no other choice," said Sira, taking her hand. "We hear that foreigners are being interned. We do not know the conditions, but given the history of these people it does not bode well." Keiko touched her nose again, wondering how it would feel with the ridges covering it. "If we have to. My eyes, what about that?" "We shall fix that," she said. "If this could be done tomorrow I would pursue it. But the Healer cannot be brought so soon. I fear that waiting will be most dangerous." "We have to keep out of sight," said Keiko. "Completely out of sight." "Yes." Keiko took her hand. "We can wait." But she saw the fear. This enemy could hide anywhere. Both knew that the plan might be too late. She returned to the recesses of the cave, needing to be alone. She didn't want to become someone else. They knew the station had been evacuated. Miles had been forced to leave. She had so little of his, just a few things she'd taken when they were sent to Bajor for safety. She pulled them from her small bag, holding them tenderly. He might be dead. But she had to believe that one day he'd come to take them home. In the dark days to come, she would hold onto that hope. Somehow, even if she took another name, she would not lose him forever. ***** Kira Neres, in great frustration, studied the map. Dahkur province was still so far away from here. Each known concentration of Jem'Hadar was marked, and the problem was that there were far too many of them. She had not yet found a way past this rugged stand of mountains that did not involve crossing through an occupied area. Odo had gone ahead in the hopes of finding a way, but she didn't have much hope. She was almost out of food, and if Odo didn't return soon would have to risk contact with the local resistance. She could not travel openly. The danger of capture was too great, and she knew too much to take the chance. But she could not stay here forever. She had already ventured out at night, and quickly retreated back to her hiding place. There was someone nearby. According to the tricorder she carried they could be Jem'Hadar. She needed to go home, but knew her journey might already be done. When Odo returned, perhaps they could vanish together somewhere until they could try again. ***** There was no real basis for the hope, but Ben Sisko was trying to believe that somehow, things might get better. If they were lucky, the incident with the terraforming equipment would be the last, and somehow they might save themselves. But the newest rumors made that harder to believe. Blanchard was not the only one who had hidden something. Others had stashed a few things that might, someday, be of help. Most had probably been hidden in the caves, but Willman's mysterious sources had told of things slipped back home. The area had been too easy to slip through for too long. No telling how many people had snuck back to retrieve their little stashes. His new policy was working, but it didn't help if there were things hidden in the little colony itself. It was useless to pretend They didn't know. The Vorta had left no doubt about that. His hints were quite direct. Jadzia came to share dinner nearly every night now, and he'd told her about the warnings one cold night. But she had an idea. People were scared. Perhaps they could be convinced to give up their hidden things if there were no questions asked. Perhaps the Vorta would find it sufficient that the things were destroyed. It was the only chance they had to save themselves. The box would be announced soon. There would be no penalty for breaking curfew if something was left in the box. No questions would be asked. Jadzia would destroy what had been collected in the morning. If it didn't work he could order a search himself. His own people would do the work of the Jem'Hadar, and mark themselves forever as traitors. It would mean crossing a line neither he nor his people could ever erase. The box was a better idea. He didn't want to know who'd taken things, as long as it had disappeared. Dax had already placed the box. Quiet word had been spread about the offer. He'd pulled all the security from the area it was placed, and left a clear path. It might not work, but it was the least dangerous thing he could do. If people were scared enough, perhaps he could save them. ***** Zale sat eating his lunch, in the same place he always did, near the secret way only he and a few others knew to enter the hills. He ate his lunch here every day, and usually brought his breakfast there as well, despite the cold mornings. Since the test, he and his friends had been much more careful, but they watched just the same. It would, indeed, have been considered unusual for him to be anywhere else than his spot. But it was a carefully chosen location. From there, he could see the edge of the original section, and the small, nearly invisible place where one could slip past the first row of hills unnoticed. He could also watch the general movement of Sisko's guards. He knew when they would be looking elsewhere. Tarlan Jaro had passed a note to him several weeks before. They wanted to know if it was possible to get into the hills undetected. Tarlan had found a note in his pillow two days later to confirm there was, and a timetable would be worked out as to when was safe. He didn't want to know anything more. Tarlan had stood next to him in the breakfast line the next morning, by accident bumping him and spilling his soup. It was the acknowledgment. When they were ready, he was. All he was waiting for was a message that it was time. Sometimes he watched Vance, usually sitting with his new friends, and wondered what had happened. Vance's refusal to have anything to do with the installed government was their inspiration, and it disappointed him that Vance had gotten so quiet after that. For a long time he stayed by himself. For Zale, it was a final betrayal. He didn't understand why Vance was suddenly so afraid of Them that he dared not misbehave. But when there was nothing else to do, he watched Vance. Once the man had been his hero. Now, he dared not trust him. He'd looked in vain for a sign of defiance, or the bitter refusal to go along. But something had taken that away, and Zale and his friends did not trust such sudden changes. But his failure had only made them stronger. The small group of his former aides had vowed acts of resistance. They had, as yet, not come up with any ideas for themselves, but were happy to help Blanchard and his Bajoran friend. All he knew was it had to do with terraforming. Beyond that, he didn't care. It was against Their rules. That was all that mattered. Even if it cost his life, at least his death would have a purpose. ***** Jadzia was amazed at the variety of things people had hidden away. Transferring the items to the container to destroy them, she marked off symbols on a list. As she marked them, she couldn't help but wonder what sort of hopes these things had represented. Now, all of that was gone. What had once been a seed of hope had become a symbol of fear. She felt little as the devices were destroyed, neither satisfaction nor regret. It was something that had to be done. It would not save them but if they were lucky it might prevent a little of the misery. Nothing could keep away the darkness that awaited them. But it did not touch her. She was not to be a part of it. She had known since her visit to Julian, just as she had known she would never see Worf again. It was knowledge that had come to her in a single moment as she had taken the soup to Julian, a flash of disorientation that had been as cold as space. Her life would end__all her lives. Ben and Miles _ even Julian _ belonged in this place. It would warp and change them forever. But she would not be touched. She would be dead long before there was time for that. She would not die alone. Many others would be claimed, both then and in time. There would be a kind of victory someday, but for those here now, and their children, life would alter and twist and change them, and these things she had destroyed would be forgotten and left behind in the dust of memory. She didn't tell Ben about these things. He knew their chances. He might have stopped trying so hard if he knew it would make no difference. For he had to try. The Dominion wasn't going to destroy them. If they wanted to there already was ample reason to have done it. She was tired. She didn't know why these people were alive, but something was keeping them safe. As long as Ben cooperated and the Vorta could tell he was trying, tomorrow and the darkness to come would wait. ***** A large box had been set out in a relatively secluded area the first evening, the word spread that the area would not be watched. There was a top fastened securely with a flap that could be opened. The box was deep enough it would be impossible to reach in and take something without considerable effort. And if there was any sign of tampering, everything was off. Another rumor had spread that if that happened there would be a colony wide search by Sisko's own security people. Sisko spent half the night awake, wondering if it would work, and fearing it wouldn't and the second option would be needed. The next morning he came in early, still half_asleep. Dax arrived before anyone else. She knocked and he left without comment, moving towards his small private retreat. Sisko waited for a minute, taking the baseball and squeezing it tight. Then looking at Jadzia impatiently, he asked, "Well?" Jadzia handed him a list. The words were a shorthand of sorts, not easily readable, but it gave them a record. It was several pages long. Most of it was agricultural equipment, or household things, but there were a few tricorders in the box too. She sounded pleased. "I'd say we're a success." "If that's what you could call this," said Sisko, both pleased at the willingness to turn the things in and surprised by the selection. "Is it?" he asked. She nodded. "As soon as I counted it." Sisko let out a deep breath. "A little less potential trouble." "It's set up for tomorrow." "Good. Maybe we have a chance after all." He pulled a list with a series of symbols listed along it. He took the scribbled list and checked off the items and placed it back in his desk. Dax took the list and placed it in a medical disposal bag. "Have you had breakfast yet?" he asked. Jadzia shook her head. "I'm hungry. Let's get some food." "Sure." Morris was there already. He disappeared for a moment to find a junior aide to get an extra breakfast. Sisko returned to his small office and closed the door, opening it when the food had arrived. They ate slowly that morning, drawing out the moment. Sisko stared at his bowl and muttered, "You know what I'd like. I'd like to ask the Vorta just what they are up to and get a serious answer. And if I don't like what he says, I'd like to quit." She nodded. "A lot of people would like to do that." She looked down at the floor, not meeting his eyes. "I'd like to know *when*. If I knew when it would be easier. I just wonder each morning if it's the last." She traced the patterns of the shadows on the table, ignoring her food. Sisko looked up at the sky. "You could be wrong." "No, Benjamin, I'm right. I can still feel it. I can still *remember* it. It was ... my death. But there was something else there. Something very bad. It was as if it was warning me." She shook her head. "I hope we've made it a little better with this." She held up the bag. "Old Man, I hope you're wrong. I don't know what I'd do without you. I think your the only one that can remember Benjamin Sisko." He slumped back into his chair, defeated. She looked up at him, for once more like the Jadzia he remembered. "I've heard things. They don't realize that I'm listening, but ... I think I know what you mean. People have noticed that I'm a little too close to you." She shrugged. "I didn't want to do that to you." Sisko was still slumped, depressed, in the chair. "I couldn't have told anyone else, Ben. I knew I'd never see Worf again, but I've lost others. This is different. Dax would always go on, and with Dax a little bit of me. But now not even Dax will continue." She grew very quiet. Sisko looked at her, saddened. "We'll just have to make the best of whatever time there is." They sat in silence, both finishing their food. It was getting late. People would miss them. Sisko sat up, noticing the time, and straightened himself, putting on his face. Jadzia looked up, her expression almost confident. They left the room, wearing the masks that served their survival. ***** Just as Lonnie had predicted, several weeks later Bashir's long, quiet days were done and Willman officially added him to his staff. He was issued several shirts, for on_duty time only, and a new jacket for work, and ordered to wear his staff pin. He'd come to see the child every morning after his therapy, and she was doing better, but that had been voluntary. Now he was under Willman's thumb, and no matter how hard he tried to hide his dislike of Willman, he could not quite manage it well enough. His day began early, rising and bathing, ready for Lonnie when she appeared for breakfast. He was still using the crutches, but could walk without them for short lengths. She would fasten the brace tighter, and sometimes start all over when he hadn't quite lined up the straps. They shared a hurried breakfast. She still got his food without going through the line, but there was little conversation. He had learned to lift his bad foot on the return trip, reducing the pain and making faster progress, but they still slipped in the back of the room for the staff meeting most of the time. They weren't late, but Willman still noticed. He expected promptness at staff meetings. It began at the same time every morning, and was important in several ways. For the staff, it was the chance to measure Willman's mood. If he was in a bad mood, everyone knew to be on their best behavior. Occasionally he was relaxed and they could be less harried. That day, his manner was more normal, almost distracted as if he had plenty on his mind and little time to spend there. Willman always discussed the supply shortages, which effected which procedures were allowed that day unless it was an emergency. If someone had been behaving badly Willman might make an example of them. Bashir had been the example already and was trying to be careful, at least in front of Willman. The meeting sometimes lasted nearly an hour, but usually were brief, and he and Lonnie would go to work. He worked with her. She was far more familiar with the available medicines and instruments, in terms of recent hands on experience, and he with medical background, so together they made a useful team. Katre was one of their patients. She was doing much better. He had started to teach Lonnie a little Bajoran, and when Willman wasn't around didn't use Standard with the girl. And there were others, too many others. He knew about the great limitations of medicine there, but had underestimated how bad it was. There wasn't enough staff. In Willman's place he'd have started training more aides and technicians, but he knew Willman didn't agree. He reluctantly kept his feelings to himself, unwilling to risk Willman's distrust. But it bothered him. He only worked half a day, and was very tired by the time lunch arrived. But he still went to the deck to join his friends. It was an escape. Slowly, they were drifting apart, but for now they could give a silent support without having to voice things that could not be said in public. Sometimes there was a long line, or he hurt to much to stand long, and he'd use his staff status to go to the front. He didn't like doing it, but there was little difference between that and letting Lonnie do it for him. But the gathering ended early now. It was getting too cold by late afternoon to sit in the square, and he slowly made his way back to his quarters. When Lonnie finished the paperwork she had to do, she'd join him for dinner. She always made sure the brace was off. He didn't know if he'd have done it himself. It always hurt twice as much when she pulled it off. She usually didn't stay long. He was hurting too much and didn't want visitors. But he hoped that Willman didn't put her on a shift where she couldn't come. He was too tired to say awake. But a few hours later, he would awaken, the pain too much for sleep. He would lie there, waiting for it to dim, and think about his life. To be a doctor again was very important to him, but the limitations were so enormous there. Willman valued him as a surgeon, but with so much missing, would it be more like butchery? Others had gotten use to it. He didn't think he ever would. How could he leave patients maimed as he was? How could he condemn them to a life of pain in the name of survival? He was trying to adjust, but the pain was getting in the way. The end of therapy spared him the worst of it, but he could only stand so long before it hurt so much he wanted to defy Willman and go home. He didn't because they needed him, not to escape Willman's intimidation. But he resented Willman, and knew that it showed. He tried to keep it private. He needed what little he had of a personal life, and that would be taken away. Each time he had to stop himself from making a comment, or breaking a rule he reminded himself of the deck and his meals with Lonnie. The hardest part came when Willman would drop the mask and let him see the fears that haunted him. For he understood. He knew about the enemy, too, and how quickly everything could change. He didn't like Willman's reign of terror, but knew why. The worse part was holding it all inside. There could be no letters. Lonnie had buried most of her feelings. It would be so much easier for him when he could do the same. ***** Seven month old Calla, ever curious and ever moving, was closing in on her brother's creation. Jeffery had stacked the blocks with great concentration, intent on making the perfect fort, and was not watching his sister as she neared. Still crawling, she let out a burst of speed and the fort fell down. Jeffrey was patient, putting up with the fascination his baby sister had with his toys, but there was a limit. "Daddy, make her leave me alone. They're my toys." Jeffery was beginning to whine. It was the first sign that he had been bothered enough and would take matters into his own hands soon. Jackson picked up his squirming daughter. Jeffery deserved a break. For a five year old, he was being very good. He went back to his fort. He was very careful to build it like the one Calla had ruined, except this one was taller. He giggled as he finished it and then carefully smashed it back into a pile of blocks. Then he gathered them up, again, and started on a bridge. Carl wished he could enjoy the wait as much. Calla, after initial struggles, had curled into a ball and fallen asleep. Jackson checked the time. They had been there nearly an hour. Normally, Cheryl would have taken the children, but she was sick, and he had used his day off to exchange the winter clothes his children had outgrown. Calla had been a month old baby when they had been issued, and her winter clothes wouldn't fit now. Both his children were taller than average, and in a few months, when they were really needed, they would be too small. Jeffrey was in the midst of a growth spurt, and nothing he had really fit anymore. Jackson had helped organize this exchange, where parents would bring their children and the clothes that they could not wear to trade for what would fit. He had just not counted on it taking so long. Calla had snuggled into the crook of his arm, and it was growing numb. Jeffrey, ignoring the little boy who was watching him, had gone back to forts. This one was very intricate, and Jeffrey was hunched over his pile of blocks oblivious to everything. The din in the enclosed space of high pitched voices at play was getting to him. He wished it had been warm enough to have an outside play area, but the weather had started to turn cold quite suddenly. It was supposed to be a quick process, but it was taking much longer per family to finish. Most of the adults looked bored. The children were taking advantage of all the playmates and the level of noise grew in proportion to the time they'd waited. There were others as well, with nothing to exchange. A woman sitting near him, watching little Calla fondly, was notably pregnant. He thought she was on one of the food crews. He looked at little Calla, who had been born the day after their arrival, and wondered what sort of life awaited the children born here, and if they would ever know a different one. He was jarred out of his melancholy by his name, called loudly but still barely audible. Jeffrey had just finished smashing his latest castle, and was still gathering his blocks. Calla was comfortable and started to fuss when he moved her. The woman smiled, and offered to hold the sack for the blocks as Jeffrey slowly found them. Eventually, Jackson and his two unhappy children, and two bags of clothes made it to the exchange. Later in the winter, when the cold hit in earnest, he would think of the noise and the blocks, and cherished the memory. ***** The staff meeting was brief that morning, Willman hurrying through everything but the supply reports, which he emphasized with care. He didn't mention anyone's attitude, though he was clearly in a bad mood. Finally the meeting was over, with two exceptions. "Bashir and Broadman, you are not dismissed." They were sitting in the back of the room, and this was not a surprise. The room cleared quickly and they were alone with Willman. He looked up and studied his victims. Lonnie was upset, but hiding it better. Bashir was barely concealing the his resentment. He began reading from a prepared document. "This is an official disciplinary action, presided over by Dr. Leonard Willman, department head, Medical unit. In violation of department guidelines regarding use of medications, a procedure was performed by Dr. Julian Bashir and Medical Assistant Lonnie Broadman which did not meet the necessary requirements for that procedure. Following the testimony of the principles, disciplinary action shall be detailed." He looked up at them. Lonnie was stunned, but Bashir was clearly angry. "Broadman, first." She stood, a little shakily, and came forward, standing before his desk. She had a written statement prepared which she handed to him. He read the short paper while she waited. "You believed that the patient was in sufficient distress that the procedure was justified, despite the scarcity of the medication used." "I did, Sir," she said nervously, intimidated by the tone. "And was this belief based upon your own experience or that of Dr. Bashir?" She paused. "Both, Sir." "Did you have any previous experience in the procedure?" he asked, watching Bashir's rising resentment. "No, I did not." He noticed her quick glance toward the back of the room. "Sit down." She returned to her seat still shaking a little. "Your turn Bashir." He rose, walking slowly without the crutches, limping slightly, concentrating on each step. He stopped where Lonnie had stood. He did not look at Willman. Bashir put his written statement on the table. He stared at the wall above Willman's head while Willman read the short statement. "Do you intend to stand by this statement?" asked Willman, sharply. "I do," said Bashir, then, almost as an afterthought, "Sir." Willman did not appreciate the tone. "At the time was the patient's life at risk?" he asked patiently. "No," replied Bashir, "But in my medical judgement, the procedure was justified." "You are aware of department regulations in regards to scarce drugs?" Willman watched the younger doctor closely. "I am. In this case the patient would have been put at risk by not performing the procedure," Bashir said, obviously confident about his judgement. "In your view. But you do admit violating department rules." Willman spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. "Yes. In this case the rules are wrong." He said it defiantly, daring Willman to prove him wrong. Willman had heard all he was going to listen to. He put down his pen and looked up. "Dr. Bashir, you are put on restrictions for a period of two weeks, during which you will be inside your quarters alone if you are not on duty. Your meals will be in the form of standard rations. You will, furthermore, be sent to Captain Sisko for a discussion of you general attitude as soon as possible. If your attitude does not improve, you'll be put on long term restrictions. Do you understand?" Willman spoke slowly and clearly. Bashir said nothing at first. "I will abide by the restrictions," he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness. Willman looked at him. "Doctor, if you have differences of opinion you discuss them with me, you do not take your own actions. Is this also understood?" "Entirely," said Bashir, still openly defiant. "Broadman, you are on restrictions as well, same conditions, for a period of one week. This starts now. I want you in your quarters in fifteen minutes." "Yes, Sir," she said, waiting for him to let her go. "You may go now," he said. Looking at Bashir, he said, "stay where you are. I didn't say you could sit." Bashir stood, trying to balance his weight on the good leg. The door closed behind her as Lonnie retreated. "As to you, I'm issuing a warning. Either your attitude improves drastically and soon or you will be very tired of looking at the inside of you quarters. And I am interested in your medical views should you take them thought proper channels, but any further procedural infractions will be dealt with in a similar fashion as you attitude problem. As of now you are off_duty and will return to your quarters until your told it's time to go see Sisko." He could tell how much the leg was hurting by the limp, but Bashir was still mad enough he didn't seem to notice it too much. He hoped a couple of lonesome weeks would correct the problem. They needed him. And all he was going to get with that attitude was trouble. ***** Bashir went to his quarters, as ordered, and collapsed on the bed. He had been there since his return, ignoring the "lunch" he was brought. He was angry at everyone. It was perhaps easiest to be angry at Willman. He was personally responsible for this. Julian still believed that he had made the right decision, and would do it again. Willman was so blinded by his rules that he could not see when they would do harm. There had been a lot of things he held other views about, but they had not been worth the risk. This was. Willman would never see his point of view, but it didn't matter. The patient came first. But as he lay there, wondering what he was going to do with himself for all that time, he saw that Willman was just a convent target. Willman was trying to do the best he could with what he had, but it was Them that had created this nightmare. Willman disagreed about philosophy, but he cared. They did not. And yet the fury he felt for the Dominion was trapped within. He could defy Willman's policy, and spend a little time on restrictions, but They could not be openly defied. The only targets were those, like Willman, who had to live with the restrictions and enforce the results. It had made him feel better to break a rule, but he knew it wouldn't change anything that mattered. Except for one. He felt guilty about Lonnie. She would have to spend a week on restrictions because of his decision. If Willman would listen, he would take the responsibility as he should have from the start. Eventually he got up and tried the tasteless cube of chewy something. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be but he was certain that when the two weeks were over, he'd never want to see one in that form again. ***** It was late afternoon before someone knocked on his door to escort him to Sisko's office. He almost brought the crutches. But for his own pride he left them at home. He was depressed by then, not only over the punishment, but the reasons behind it. His anger had already gone, overwhelmed by reality. His leg ached from the walk all the way to Sisko's office, and his mood had not improved from the exercise. Taking a deep breath, and identifying himself, he knocked softly and waited until he was ask to enter. One of Sisko's aides finally opened the door and told him to go in. He had not seen Sisko in a long time, and remembered the man he'd known on the station. He'd received a few lectures then. In his mind that was what he would get today. But the man sitting at the desk looked tired and used, and haunted by desperation. Struck by the difference, the last of his anger vanished. He knew he had to wait and be asked to sit, and glanced at the chairs in front of him. He didn't have quite the confidence to ask. "I've been hearing some unsettling things, Doctor. Dr. Willman seems concerned about your attitude." "He has discussed the problem with me, Sir," he said. "And apparently you haven't been listening." He almost sounded like the commander of DS9 for a moment. He seemed to be expecting an answer. "No, I haven't, Sir. Not until quite recently." "I remember a few times that you went against my advise," said Sisko softly, but then his voice hardened again. "However this is not Deep Space 9 and this situation is not of our own personal choosing. In this case, you are a member of Dr. Willman's staff and it should not be necessary for me to remind you that you are required to obey the orders of your direct superior. Do you understand that, Doctor Bashir?" The last part was spoken slowly with Sisko watching him closely. He took a deep breath. "Yes, Sir, I do." He nearly said Captain. He had been warned about that. Very sternly, Sisko continued. "I certainly hope so. I don't think you understand how dangerous this situation could become. Your attitude creates a danger for both yourself and your department, and that is unacceptable. You've had time to adjust, given your long hospitalization, but that is up. Either your attitude and actions will improve, or you will be put on restrictions until they do. Is that clear, Doctor?" He didn't think he could stand to see that much of his quarters. "Very clear, Sir." ***** Tom Rafferson watched the doctor leave the office, limping badly, but clearly stunned by the lecture. There hadn't been many talks of that sort, and Rafferson hoped that had been the last. Each time, Sisko had gone into a depression, and his staff kept out of his way for the next few days. Rafferson had just closed the door when Sisko came out of his office. He looked devastated. Rafferson remembered that this one had been on the command staff at the station, and knew him well. It must have been harder than the others. He had a stack of documents in his hand. "Tom, I need these run over to Medical. Could you? Just take off for the day. There isn't much going right now." Sisko's voice was as calm as ever, but very quiet, and there was so much sadness in his eyes. Rafferson took the papers. "Certainly, Sir. I can come back if you'd like." Tom kept his voice as normal as possible. "No, that's fine. They go to Willman, but whoever's in his office will do. And, thank you, Tom." He looked as if all he wanted was an empty office. Tom grabbed his coat, and left. He didn't like going to the hospital. It was impossible to pretend there, with the odd sectioned areas and the scattered beds. He found Willman's office and handed the papers to the Bajoran woman sitting there and hurried out of the area. It was chilly, and most of the people on the upper deck had left. But he noticed someone he knew, just sitting by himself, and thought of Sisko and his friend. Zale had been one of Vance's chief aides, and had been one of the first to quit when Vance had refused to cooperate. He and Rafferson no longer spoke. Rafferson rarely had the chance to take a leisurely dinner, and today he would, so instead of avoiding Zale he tried to hurry past him. "Still selling out, I see. Nice little pin." Zale's voice trailed off as Rafferson stopped and turned back towards him. Normally he would have ignored it, but remembering Sisko's devastated face, and the doctor's stunned look he couldn't today. He turned and looked at Zale. "I suppose if Mr. Vance had stuck around you might have been one of the sellouts too." Zale stared at him. "Vance," he said with distaste, "is too scared to open his mouth. He's worse than Sisko. He knew better." This surprised Rafferson. "And I suppose your not scared." "I wouldn't call myself one of the sheep like most of these people. But then I'm not one of the wolves either." He sounded smug, thought Rafferson. Odd, he though. He was getting chilly. He wanted to get to dinner before the line got too long. Sisko didn't approve of his people getting a quick meal with their pins. Rafferson looked at Zale, feeling rather sad. "Live in fantasy land, then. I'm cold and going to get dinner." Zale didn't reply, just stared at Rafferson. When Rafferson was almost past hearing it, he chuckled. Rafferson felt sorry for his friend, and the smug delusions that made up his reality.