Chapter 2

Lt. Commander Emily Hart gave a bittersweet sigh and shut down the private computer terminal in her quarters. Mail had made its way through the congested communications link in the past few days; she'd received word from her children. They'd sent her letters, data clips of recorded messages, their latest gems of schoolwork - things they knew would cheer her up. Her youngest child, Anne, had even sent her latest 3-D drawing: a rather tipsy-looking cat with vibrant purple fur. ("Shows amazing potential for a three-year-old," Emily had always declared about Anne's drawings.) Their messages were sweet and endearing and refreshingly funny. But they always carried the same question in the end, one way or another. "When are you coming home, Mom? You've been gone so long. We miss you."

Even the welcome news about Edward being considered for Starfleet Academy failed to push aside the longing in her children's voices. Listening to their stories and their questions from so far away made the cramped spaces of the Nightingale seem that much more dim and uncomfortable. She felt bad enough about being on this mission after the war had kept her away for so long; instead of returning home to her children, she had chosen to stay here, a tiny battered ship deep in alien space.

Giving the drab walls of her quarters another resigned glance, she stood up from the desk and stretched. Her joints cracked and she sniffed a small laugh. What she needed was a good long soak in the baths on Risa. Or better yet, she amended, the hot springs in Sulphur Springs, Arkansas, back on Earth. Back home.

But neither of those would be available for a long, long time. Sometimes, Emily, she scolded herself, the best thing to do when you get homesick like this is to keep yourself busy. Get your mind off feeling sorry for yourself and focus on why you're here. The thought made her straighten her spine and tug her uniform smooth. She was fortunate in that regard - there was plenty of work to be done at the moment.

"Computer, what is the time?"

"The time is twenty-two forty-nine and fifteen seconds," the computer replied politely. Just about time. She decided to head down to Engineering. If it was relatively deserted there, she could get an early start. Stretching her arms, she stepped briskly from her quarters into the corridor. And right into a familiar Asian woman with hair the color of the Venusian sunset. The collision sent them both sailing back a step.

Hart regained her balance with a nervous laugh. "Whoa, Aya! What's the hurry?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Commander!" The lieutenant looked quite sheepish as she knelt to gather the PADDs she had dropped. "I didn't notice the door open." Emily knelt down to help her, giving Aya an understanding smile.

"Don't apologize. I should have looked before jumping into traffic. Here, I think this is all of them." She handed the last PADD to Aya, then grinned indulgently. "Maybe I should have Dr. Ptacek examine my eyes - no one can miss you, with that head."

Aya smiled, reaching with her free hand to run her fingers the length of her hair. "Makes me unique. Well, I'd better get going. Sorry about the bump. I guess I'm always running around too fast."

"That's all right. Where are you going in such a hurry? It's getting late."

"I'm just headed back to Sickbay - nothing too exciting. Dr. Bashir thought it would be good to get ahead of schedule a bit, so we're compiling our info -- him, Dr. Ptacek, and I. Trying to come up with a game plan."

In spite of her best efforts, Hart scowled. "You don't have to let Bashir push you so hard, Aya. Working at standard pace should be good enough for him, just like it is for the rest of us."

Aya shook her head earnestly. "Oh, he's not pushing us, Em. He's pushing himself, I'll give you that much - the man's a workaholic." She grinned again. "To tell you the truth, his work ethic is a bit on the extreme side. But after a while it gets contagious. We should make good progress."

"Well," Hart muttered resignedly, "don't work yourself too hard. Getting ahead of the game isn't that important." Not important at all. Her expression tightened slightly - that had sounded a bit harsh. "At least not until we get to Cardassia, I mean. It's just... not possible to predict all the variables this early."

As observant as ever, the lieutenant tilted her head at Emily and gave her an understanding look. "Julian takes some getting used to, I know," she said. "And he's not exactly taking us on vacation. But he's very personable, and an excellent doctor. You'll like him, Em."

Hart thought back to meeting Dr. Bashir in the mess hall. He had been friendly - perhaps a bit too eager to please, but not without humor. Under different circumstances, she even suspected there could have been the makings of a close friend in the doctor. But now....

"Well, I won't keep you any longer," she said, pushing her thoughts aside. "I'll have some more work to do in Engineering tomorrow morning - I might not see you until the luncheon. Until then?"

"Right." Aya nodded. "1300 in the captain's ready room. I'll be there." Her slanted eyes danced merrily at Hart before she turned to go. "Should be an interesting little get-together, don't you think?"

The comment made Emily laugh. "Interesting! Yes, I guess that's one way to put it. See you later, Lieutenant."

She watched the young woman walk quickly away. Aya was so full of energy it overflowed and filled the narrow corridors of the Nightingale. Emily found herself trying to remember if she had ever been so young and full of vigor. A smile played on her lips, and she shook her head lightly; maybe, but probably not. Aya was one of a kind.

Her mind snapped back from its reverie. Patting the wallet on her uniform belt, she felt out the slim shape of a crystal computer rod with her fingers and turned in the opposite direction that Lt. Aya had gone.

The walk to Engineering wasn't far. Hart paused in front of the doors for a second, then exhaled briskly and keyed them open with a flick of her hand. She glanced sharply around; the shifts had just rotated, and there were only a few people here. She noted two engineers working in one of the far recesses of the room, all but burrowed in the innards of the electroplasma system making routine adjustments. The only other officer on duty was a younger man, Lieutenant Laird.

"Just doing some last minute checking before I turn in," she explained cheerfully before Laird could ask. He grinned and waved her in, turning back to his console. "Nothing too extensive, I hope?" he asked, not particularly interested.

"No, nothing major." She walked calmly to a computer console at the opposite end of the room and sat down, deftly palming the isolinear rod from her wallet. Pulling the chair in, she activated the terminal and accessed the main optical data network. Level three clearance was required to access the interface of the processing cores; she typed in the appropriate codes and waited for approval.

The computer blinked ACCESS GRANTED across the screen of her terminal; she opened the cache where the isolinear rods were stored and withdrew one, replacing it with her own. It locked into place with a slight click.

Hart glanced one more time over her shoulder, then leaned slightly toward the terminal. "Computer," she said softly, "begin Program Hart Gamma-486." The computer chirped, but did not vocally respond.

Everything ran smoothly and without interruption. In about twenty minutes the computer chirped again; Hart removed the rod and put the old one back in its slot. It took a while to retrace her steps and put the network back in order, but all in all the entire procedure took less time than she'd expected. Within a half hour, she was done. She pushed her chair back and stretched, yawning. "Well, I'm off. Have a good evening, Lieutenant."

Laird barely looked up. "Good night, Commander."

Hart stood up and placed the chair neatly back in position. For just a second she seemed to pause, tapping her palms pensively against the cushioned headrest; then she squared her shoulders and walked out of the room.

*****

That's the trouble with letting your work isolate you for a few months. You avoid social functions, and before long, you forget how to handle them.

The objective analysis of the thought would have done Dax proud. And, just as if it had been Ezri's gentle scolding, the explanation only served to annoy Bashir. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair for the umpteenth time in fifteen minutes and wondered if it was possible to feel any more like a fish out of water. The eleven people gathered around the table in Aaron Westfall's ready room had been chatting idly for some time now, and he hadn't been able to kindle interest in any of it, much less include himself in the conversation.

And this luncheon was supposed to be a way to break the ice!

"Still," he murmured to the plate of hors d'oeuvres in front of him on the table, "I've survived through worse."

"What are you talking about? This is a blast."

Aya's teasing voice, piping up out of nowhere over his shoulder, almost sent him crawling out of his skin. He jumped, then relaxed and rolled his eyes. "God, don't sneak up on me like that...."

She only laughed. Vak, standing at her side with his plate balanced in one hand, eyed Bashir skeptically. "Sneak up on you? We've been standing here for at least a minute, Doctor. Feeling a bit jumpy?"

"No... I mean, I'm not...." Ah, hell, he had absolutely no way to back that up. "I'm sorry. A lot on my mind."

Aya nodded understandingly, she and Vak taking seats across from him. "Don't feel bad. I don't think very many people are thrilled to be here."

"You gotta feel for Westfall, though," Vak pointed out, setting down his plate. "He tried very hard."

Bashir glanced around the room with a wry smile. The captain had certainly gone to great lengths to make this seem like an informal get-together, even though the meal was being held in the ready room instead of the mess hall. The long central table was laid with plates and silverware -there was a centerpiece of red geraniums in the middle, of all things - and an overflowing buffet table was set up near the windows. A few more comfortable chairs had been brought in and placed in strategic corners, just in case anyone wanted to sit down for a cozy chat with a fellow crewmember before they started eating. Under different circumstances, the environment might have been pleasant - cliché, of course, but pleasant.

But even with the pretense of a relaxed atmosphere, it was undeniable that this was purely business for the officers attending. It wasn't by accident that most of those gathered here were going to be leaders in the project. The brightly-colored Andorian woman seated to Bashir's right, Dr. Ptacek, would be in charge of the medical clinic in the capitol city in Bashir's absence, with Lieutenant Kato working closely beside her as a disease specialist. Lieutenant Trey Lausten would be in charge of identifying and confronting health- and environmental-related problems. Lt. Commander Hart would be directing efforts to repair equipment and get communications and power back online. And Commander Blake, as Bashir knew, would be in charge of security. The doctor noted Blake's scowl and inwardly sighed. Lovely.

The only people in the room who weren't to play so high a role were Lieutenant Rudavich and Ensign Milne - both security officers under Blake's command, a tall, dark young woman and a shorter, stocky man seated close to each other at the other end of the table - Ensign Vak, and Jake Sisko. Hunched thoughtfully in a chair in an isolated corner, jotting notes into a PADD, Jake was the only one in the room who seemed like he was enjoying himself. The rest of them just looked... tired.

Bashir could certainly relate to that. But organizing the leaders of the effort in Cardassia City was important - they'd be working together under hard circumstances and they had to start off on the right foot. He only wished he could have a chance to talk with the officers that would be heading up efforts in other cities across the globe, but he wouldn't interact with any of them until they arrived. If at all.

"Well, at least the food is all right," Aya remarked, breaking through his chain of thought. She speared some mostacolli with her fork, then glanced curiously at Bashir's barely touched food. "You aren't eating much."

He grinned crookedly. "Not very hungry."

Vak raised an eyebrow. "Can't imagine why."

Captain Westfall's discrete cough interrupted Bashir's reply. The older man shot a quick glance at the officers from his place at the head of the table, then directed his attention toward Bashir. "The other ships of the fleet sent some current data to us early this morning, Doctor," he noted, an amiable smile warming his Mediterranean features. "I trust it got to you all right?"

The captain's telling look wasn't lost on anyone; Bashir met his gaze over the bright red flowers and acted like the hint was just idle conversation. The sound of silverware clinking against dishes paused, then resumed more carefully as the rest of the officers pretended to be intrigued about what he had to say. It was a masterful performance by any standard.

From his chair in the corner, looking on from the wings so to speak, Jake shot Bashir a knowing smile and deliberately positioned his writing instrument over his PADD.

"Yes, it did, sir," Bashir replied evenly. "I looked it over a few hours before I came here - it will be useful."

Ptacek, seated next to him, tilted her head thoughtfully. "I didn't get a chance to look at it, Doctor. What kind of data was it?"

"Crude mortality rates, mainly." God, it felt so callous to be "chatting" about something like this. "The most recent estimates from the area within a fifty-kilometer radius of the capitol."

"Daily?"

"Yes."

A lull followed; Commander Blake shifted in his seat, looking impatient. Westfall's next prompt was weakly disguised at best, but it kept the conversation moving in the right direction. "So how exactly does this data fit into your research for the effort?"

Bashir hesitated for a moment, taking a breath. A part of his mind was already there, on Cardassia, seeing their work stretched out before them; all he really had to do was bring it into focus. Figures of population displacement, epidemic investigation programs, environmental conditions, statistics of resources, statistics of mortality, statistics, statistics.... Patients. People, innocent people dying, one after the other, again and again and again. Bashir pushed his emotions away, face tightening slightly. No time for that.

"A post-war situation of this magnitude is obviously complicated," he said slowly. "But we've tried to narrow it down to a few main areas. Field assessment, nutritional status, available resources, and so forth. So far we have enough initial data to begin forming predictions; any information we don't have can be collected via scans of the planet's surface once we get there."

Vak glanced at him thoughtfully, glass held in midair for a moment. "So from what you've seen already, Doctor, can you give us a clearer picture of what we're dealing with?"

Images again. Faces behind the numbers. And Elim Garak's voice, speaking clearly from his letters to Bashir, as clear as if the tailor was whispering in his ear. ...A "liberated" Cardassia, a Cardassia haunted by the souls of the countless billions slaughtered, who have taken the collective form of this dust cloud that constantly swirls and shrieks across this wasteland....

"What we're dealing with is a shattered population." His voice felt gravelly; he cleared his throat and continued. "I'm sure you've all seen the news reports of conditions of the capitol city since the end of the war, and those are bad enough. Conditions in the lesser cities of both hemispheres are at least that severe - and in many cases, they will be worse."

Commander Hart glanced at him with an unreadable expression. "Worse...."

"Yes, sir," Bashir replied stiffly. "When the Jem'Hadar began to exterminate the population in Cardassia City, the buildings were bombed one at a time, rather than all at once. Central Command and the surrounding buildings were more or less left standing, to protect the Founder. But in the smaller cities, such a precaution wasn't necessary." It was impossible to keep the anger completely out of his voice as he went on. "In those cases, the Jem'Hadar simply wiped out the entire city at one blow. If there were any survivors, there was nothing else - no buildings, no vegetation. Nothing but ashes." There were other words to describe it: empty, barren, lifeless... gone. Just gone.

Ensign Milne thought this over for a second. "So it looks like we may have a bit more to work with than teams in other areas."

The Andorian doctor frowned. "We may have more net resources to begin with, yes," she said, "but that won't make our job any easier. Population displacement will complicate our efforts considerably."

"That's right," Bashir agreed. "There has likely been considerable migration toward the capitol in recent months; the number of patients we'll be dealing with may have grown significantly from earlier estimates. When news spreads that we've brought new supplies and are rebuilding in certain cities around the globe, all those cities will experience a population surge."

He could only imagine the insanity that must have replaced the eerie stillness in the capitol since he'd last been there. It took a few deep breaths to dispel that image. "Because of this, we'll need to continually gather updated population surveys to maintain accuracy. Total displaced population, age and gender proportions, concentrated areas, things like that. So many people in one area have put a large strain on resources - we'll be dealing with severe malnutrition and a higher rate of disease transmission."

Lt. Lausten's brows creased in displeasure. "Don't forget, we also have to cleanse the atmosphere, the soil, and water supply as soon as possible.

"We don't have the resources or time to worry about ecology," Ptacek almost snapped, her blue skin darkening slightly in frustration. "We're going to be hard pressed as it is to keep people alive and fed. Environmental programs will just have to wait."

Lausten scowled angrily. "It isn't that simple and you know it. We need to get these people self-sufficient as soon as possible, and we can't do that if they're constantly relying on our resources." He pushed his plate aside to lean forward, jabbing the table with one finger to emphasize his words. "We can do a much better job controlling disease and setting up nutritional programs if a majority of the population can take care of itself. And they can't do that if they can't breathe! We need to get them to the point where land can be cultivated again."

"And the Cardassians can't cultivate unless they're able to stand up," the doctor snorted. She turned to give Bashir a determined glance. "We have to get the Cardassians to some semblance of health before we can worry about scrubbing the atmosphere and reclamating soil."

Lieutenant Rudavich broke in before Bashir could reply, looking more than a little irritated. "Are you suggesting we coddle them back to health using just our resources? That could take months, and I doubt we have enough to go around! Look, there are a good number of Cardassian citizens capable of doing work - maybe if they put out an effort instead of squabbling over politics they could make some headway. The sooner we can have them taking care of themselves, the sooner we can get out of here."

Lausten gave a hard nod. "Damn straight."

Several people at the table murmured in agreement; Hart seemed to shake her head slightly.

Bashir saw frustration flash across Ptacek's face and held up a hand to stop her retort. The last thing he needed was arguments breaking out between the factions competing for scarce supplies. "I'm sure we'll be able to work something out for the time being. Perhaps the relief effort on the part of Cardassian citizens has had more luck restoring farmland."

"I doubt it," Lausten protested. "Cardassia was too harsh for extensive farming before the war. We can't expect...."

I know, I know.... A dull ache was beginning to throb behind Bashir's eyes. He shook his head, trying to think up some generic response to placate their concerns until they had more concrete information - until he could wrap his mind around everything. "Lieutenant, I - "

Abruptly his concentration dissolved, and he trailed off uncertainly. A vague sensation, little more than a chill up his spine, warned him of a shift in his surroundings, a slight change in the muted sounds and movements of the Nightingale's engines. "What the hell...."

The distraction in his voice made Aya glance at him questioningly. "Doctor?"

He hesitated, confused. "We've just dropped out of warp."

"He's right." Westfall had felt it too. It was almost strange how quickly the amiable note could vanish from the captain's voice. He listened intently for a second longer and made a move to tap his combadge.

But there was no need to confirm it with the bridge - the following slight lurch of the ship coming to a complete stop was unmistakable. The room erupted in a flurry of activity and startled voices. As if to secure the knot of apprehension in Bashir's stomach firmly in place, a forcefield shimmered into life over the doorway before he could even jump to his feet.

But Commander Blake was already standing to counter his movement. And for some illogical, maddening reason, that didn't surprise Bashir at all. Even the phaser trained on him wasn't that much of a shock.

"Not another move," the security officer said smoothly. And Bashir obeyed him, if only for the fact that his feet were rooted to the floor. From behind Blake's broad shoulder, Jake locked gazes with Bashir, eyes wide.

Westfall blew out a ragged breath, angry, amazed. "Commander, what the hell are- "

"Please do as he says, Captain." It was her voice, her action that silenced every other movement in the room. Emily Hart pushed her chair carefully away from the table as she rose, her own phaser in hand. For a moment, a shadow of doubt seemed to flicker over her face, and then it was gone. "We don't want anyone to get hurt."

Blake received her nod of acknowledgement, took confidence from it. The gaze he returned to Bashir was almost cordial. "I'm afraid," he noted, "you won't make it to Cardassia after all, Doctor."

Chapter 3