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