Chapter 2

The memorial was smaller than he'd imagined it.

For some reason, a part of Bashir's mind had conjured up a picture of a forest of columns stretching out in all directions until it faded into the dusty air. Some preconception of the mystical quality he'd picked up from reading about this place, he supposed.

Now, walking carefully among the formations, he could see that the memorial covered two, maybe three housing plots. Pillars of random size and shape rose up between house foundations, fragments of low walls and walkways, almost as if they'd grown there. There was no false grandeur or majesty about it.

But the place had a quiet dignity all its own. The structures seemed to close around him as he entered, drawing him away from the rest of his surroundings. Even the footsteps and muted voices of his team several paces behind him had slipped further into the distance, somewhere beyond this inner world where he found himself. Stepping from the road to these grounds felt like walking into a sanctuary -- and in a way, he realized, he had.

There weren't many people here -- little more than a handful of Cardassian citizens gathered in the morning haze. They stood together in groups of three or four, young and old alike, heads bowed slightly, their faces hidden from him. Bashir heard their voices very faintly, as if from a distance, merging together into a steady, gentle pulse of sound.

A ritual chant, he remembered. The names of the dead.

Several of the Cardassians glanced in the officers' direction, eyes silently questioning, then returned to their vigil. Behind him, he heard Lausten shift his feet, obviously uncomfortable.

"Doctor...?" he whispered.

"Just keep... inconspicuous," Julian murmured back. The command was awkwardly put, but he was adamant. "Don't bother anyone." He stopped for a moment, scanned the landscape in front of him, connecting images with written descriptions, orienting himself.

One of the formations caught his attention somehow, and he gazed at it, trying hard to make the connection. Larger, wider, more complicated than some of the others, clumsy at first glance. It seemed to be made up of seven or eight pillars that curved in abstract shapes to meet at a sort of spine at the top. It was tall enough to walk through, sturdily built for its seemingly random design. Symbolic of a shelter of some kind, perhaps - a temple, or....

Memory stirred. Motioning the others to stay where they were, Bashir approached the structure. It seemed to lean forward and up, reaching toward the morning sky; at its highest end, there was a smoother shape that turned out to be a face -- a mask, gazing upward with clear eyes beneath the graceful ridges of its forehead.

Abruptly, the image clicked into place. Not a temple -- a creature. A face, a body, two thicker columns near the front stretched out to the ground like wings, weak daylight spilling over its surface to the ground. Bashir paused, just outside the protective embrace of the creature's arms. Garak had told him of this. He was amazed that he hadn't recognized it immediately. Kneeling, he trailed a hand over the weathered stone, marked with faded bloodstains of countless past rituals. A slender flowering plant had curled its tendrils around the base of the pillar, and he reached out to cradle one of the light red blooms.

“I must say I'm surprised, Doctor -- I never thought of you as much of a religious man.”

The familiar voice, out of nowhere, sent Bashir scrambling to his feet, startled disbelief scattering his initial embarrassment. Simply appearing nearby almost without a sound, rumpled and dusty and much thinner than Bashir remembered -- but it really was him.

Elim Garak, waiting at a respectful distance with his arms held easily at his sides, a somewhat amused expression playing across his features. "Considering studying the ancient faith, perhaps?" he continued serenely.

Bashir waited a long moment to gather his wits about him before answering. "No, not exactly. Although I was thinking of trying my hand at botany."

"A noble profession," Garak agreed thoughtfully. Then he dropped all pretense and laughed, dispelling the surreal atmosphere just that quickly. In three quick strides, he crossed over to the doctor and clasped his wrist warmly. "What a pleasant surprise! I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you again."

In spite of everything, Julian had to return Garak's wide smile. "And you. I've missed our conversations, Garak.”

"I look forward to engaging in them later, believe me, Doctor." The tailor glanced over his shoulder to where Blake and the others stood stiffly, looking quite out of place in their surroundings. "I'm glad I found you here. A few minutes later and we would have missed each other completely."

"I took a risk," Bashir agreed. "This is the only place in the city where I knew I might be able to find you. We haven't been able to contact anyone since we arrived here."

Garak shrugged lightly. "Communications interference - it's been an ongoing problem. So...." and he gestured over his home with a sweep of his arm, "what do you think?"

Bashir hesitated, looking across the memorial grounds once more. As the morning light strengthened, the air was clearing, ever so slightly. The formations, now in stronger focus, began to look less alien, more familiar. Comforting. He shook his head, bemused. "I can't believe you built this."

"I only started it," Garak corrected. "And even that was not an entirely conscious effort. After that, it just evolved." He leaned over to pull the bloom Bashir had touched free of the stem, smiling proudly. "Though I will indulge myself in the success of my orchids. They're thriving here, against all odds -- Tolan would be quite pleased."

"I'm sure he would," Bashir replied gently.

Garak brushed his fingertips over the delicate twist of the orchid's petals, then handed the bloom to Bashir, tipping it into his outstretched palm. "In his memory," he said simply.

The doctor felt a bit awkward as he took it; he wasn't sure if the statement had been explanation or homage. Still, the gesture was a warming one. "Of course," he replied, for lack of anything better to say.

Garak shrugged, allowing the moment to pass. "I was rather surprised when I heard you were here. I honestly didn't think you'd succeed in making it this far."

"Really." Bashir laughed slightly. "Well, that's encouraging ...."

His friend chuckled, waving the implication aside. "I should be more specific. I knew you'd be doing everything you could to help us; I just wasn't expecting the Federation to cooperate so completely." He tipped his head in the direction of Bashir's team as he spoke.

Bashir thought back on the events of the past few days and decided he'd tell Garak about it later. "I like to pretend they agreed because they saw the wisdom behind it, but I can't help but feel that they just didn't want any more of my communiqués covering their desks."

Garak's smile widened, surprisingly free of complexity, at least for now. "Well, you're nothing if not tenacious."

The doctor shook his head wryly. "More like bullheaded, Garak."

"As you choose." Garak angled a glance over his shoulder. "Well, if you and your team are ready, I can take you to our relief clinic of sorts. I was getting ready to walk over...."

Bashir reached for his comm badge. "Do you know the coordinates? The Nightingale can beam us directly there."

The Cardassian paused for a moment, perhaps considering his friend's enthusiasm, then dipped his head in a slight nod. "Very well." His smile returned. "We'll have a walk later, when things have settled down. I have a lot to show you."

"I'd like that," Julian responded, and was glad to realize that he meant it, wholeheartedly.

* * * *

“There.” Nog leaned back from the open hatch of the communications console, feeling a droplet of perspiration worm down the back of his skull. Why does Ops have to be so hot all of a sudden?

He suspected that he knew the answer to that one, but chose to ignore it. “Try the signal again, Caryn.”

Lieutenant Bilecki sat at the engineering console, gazing at it intently as she tapped the command directly into the system, trying to hail any ship in the area. She shook her blonde head. “The signal failed again, sir; it didn’t get anywhere near being sent out. Looks like we’re back to square one.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Nog muttered as he leaned his forehead against the console, although it was very tempting to utter some of the words he’d learned from O’Brien. He’d lost track of how long he’d spent trying to get communications up and running – too long. Everything he’d tried so far had failed, but he refused to give up. His engineering crew up here in Ops, Colonel Kira and Commander Alden – he would not give up and heap even more problems on these people. He pushed himself to his feet.

“Status report: Maki, Korak – any luck with restoring the power?”

Maki turned to face him while the Benzite continued to work, the dishevelled look of her uniform indicating to Nog that she was also uncomfortable in this heat. “Not yet.” The frustration and anger in her voice was evident. The feeling was only emphasized by the same tones in Korak’s voice.

“Nothing is responding – it’s like the entire system has been removed.” A puff came up from his respirator; the Benzite equivalent of an irritated sigh.

“Without main power, they might as well be,” Maki said bitterly, as Nog turned to Kalcheb and Pedorina at the main computer in the pit. He didn’t even have to ask how they were doing, their scowls told him all he needed to know. Asking Kaoron for progress would also be pointless – he would have already reported it if he’d made any. So instead, he returned to the communications circuits, knowing how important they were; ships were needed in order to evacuate the station, and that had to be his top priority.

“Ready for another try?” he asked Bilecki, hefting his tricorder.

She grinned. “Sure. Let me help you with those circuits this time; I can take readings while you make the adjustments, save us some time.”

Nog nodded, and handed her the tricorder as she joined him. “I’m glad you volunteered. I was just about to order you to help me.” He gave her a grin to let her know that it was a joke – Ferengi humour escaped humans sometimes. His uncle maintained that it was to do with their pathetically small lobes, but Nog had his doubts.

Thankfully, Bilecki understood. “You’re the Chief; you can order me if you want to,” she said with a smile, before giving him a glance. “By the way, you were right to stand up to Korak and Maki – it wasn’t fair of them to question your position.”

Nog didn’t reply immediately, carefully re-calibrating one of the primary relays. “And what do you think?” he asked slowly. “Should I be in charge of Engineering?”

“Absolutely,” she replied without hesitation. “Jensen and the others – they think that every thing depends on rank. Look at Chief O'Brien; he wasn’t an officer, he never even went to the Academy. But he’s one of the best engineers in the Federation. He had the experience. You have experience too, and you’re gaining more all the time.”

“This is certainly an experience,” Nog gritted. “Is that better?”

“It seems to be. Realign the secondary relays; they’re out of sync now.” Bilecki glanced at him. “Something else that Chief O’Brien had was good judgement – he rarely made mistakes in his work, and he could size up people in an instant. I trust his judgement that you’re capable of this position. You’re a good officer, Nog.”

The Ferengi stopped and looked up, wishing that he had an eyebrow to raise. “You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?”

She laughed at that. “If I’d stood up to the others for you, then you wouldn’t have learnt how to deal with them for yourself; you would have been right back where you started. Besides, Miles asked me to let you grow into the position – something about a little bit of adversity never doing anyone any harm, I think.”

Luckily, a call from Kaoron interrupted any thoughts that Nog was harbouring on the Chief’s interpretation of "adversity."

“Lieutenant Nog, I think you should see this.”

Pushing himself up, Nog turned to where Kaoron stood by the diagnostic boards – and groaned. The display of the boards had gone dark, with no sign any activity or flicker of life. However, Kaoron appeared to be more interested in his tricorder, holding it in front of him as though inspecting a bar of latinum. As Nog drew closer, he could see that the Vulcan’s brows were creased.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling the eyes of the rest of the crew upon him. “I take it that the diagnostic systems have failed?”

“Not only that, sir,” Kaoron said, showing him the tricorder. “Look at these readings. These diagnostic boards had been working perfectly, even after we lost power, but they suddenly destroyed themselves a moment ago. There was no sign of deterioration in the system, nor of power degradation.”

“But that’s impossible!” Nog’s eyes were fixed on the readings, though, and he couldn’t deny what he saw.

“That’s the conclusion I came to, so I performed a scan.” Kaoron reached across and pressed one of the tricorder’s index controls. “These are the results. Do you see it?”

Nog certainly did – a blip in the actual system of the diagnostic board, a blip that had completely annihilated all functions. Checking the power readings, he saw that Kaoron had been right: the system had been working perfectly until a sudden burst of increased activity, after which power had failed. But the faint murmur that showed up on the tricorder indicated that whatever had caused this was still there.

“I see it,” he breathed. “But I’ve never seen readings like these – it’s like some kind of gigantic…pulse… knocked out the entire diagnostic system.”

He heard someone take a sharp intake of breath, and found himself looking at Pryen Maki. The Bajoran had a mixed look of surprise and confusion on her face, still standing by the console she was working on.

“Bennu said something to me earlier, after the accident at the science station. He said that while he was examining the internal systems, his tricorder registered a strange reading – he used the same word you did. A pulse; that was exactly how he described it.” Her eyes suddenly shifted to the diagnostic boards, and Nog instinctively took a step away, fearing that this pulse would have a similar effect. However, a quick scan soon revealed that the drained boards were in no danger of exploding, thank the Great River, and he regained his composure.

“Why didn’t he report it?” Bilecki asked Maki, causing the Bajoran to start angrily.

“He was injured! It was hardly at the top of his list of priorities!”

“Then he should have reported it later!”

Nog stepped in, setting his voice at its firmest. “It doesn’t matter whether he should have reported it or not; it’s in the past now. We have to concentrate on finding out what this pulse is – I’m guessing that it’s what caused most of the systems to go down in the first place, and if so, we have to stop it as soon as we can.”

Bilecki nodded. “I’m sorry, Maki, I didn’t mean to blame Bennu. I’m just concerned.”

“I know, Caryn. Me too.” Maki directed a small smile at her friend as Nog made his way over to the nearest working terminal. Although relieved that the two engineers had settled their immediate problem peacefully and quickly, he had other things to concentrate on.

“Perhaps I can trace it somehow,” he murmured to himself, as Kaoron joined him. “What links to all systems in the station, what can I trace back through…of course! The ODN lines!”

“I believe that would work nicely,” Kaoron confirmed with the barest hint of a smile. Nog grinned at him, then got to work on accessing the lines – but discovered that he couldn’t get very far.

“I don’t believe it.” Nog stared at a piece of machinery for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past few days. “I can’t access any of the ODNs in the non-functioning sytems, only those that are still operational. That can’t be right, I should still have complete access to them. It’s as if…they don’t exist anymore.”

That brought a silence down upon the crew, as Nog grabbed Kaoron’s tricorder, setting it to specifically scan the ODN. When he spoke, his voice was grim.

“That pulse, whatever it is, is destroying the ODN lines. It’s systematically shutting them down, almost as if it were eating them.”

“But,” Pedorina broke in, her Russian accent even more evident than usual, “the ODNs are critical to all primary station systems – if they are being destroyed --”

“Then we will be unable to restore power,” Kaoron finished the thought for her. “Not a pleasant situation.”

“So what should we do?” Kalcheb broke in nervously.

“We have to get rid of the pulse.” Nog shut the tricorder, gripping it in his fist. “We can’t restore power until we do; laying in new ODN lines will only result in them being eaten before we have a chance to use them. We have to get to the root of the problem. Suggestions?”

Maki leaned back against a bulkhead, unconsciously wiping her sleeve over her forehead. “What about isolating it from the main system, then purging the section we trap it in? We still have the ‘Pup’ isolated; we could do the same thing with this pulse.”

Bilecki shook her head. “I don’t think that’ll work in this case. The Pup was never as destructive as this pulse is – I’d guess that it would eat straight through anything we used to block it into one section, especially with our reduced power.”

“Besides, the only sections that it seems to be attracted to are the ones connected to the fusion generator,” Nog said flatly. “If we cut the power off, then the essential systems would be without power for days. And that includes life support.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Pedorina just sounded tired now.

“At the moment, the pulse hasn’t affected all of the ODN lines, so we still have time. I think we should try to re-route power to the non-operational lines, but we’ll have to do it manually – we don’t have enough operational systems to do it any other way.”

“And there would be less risk of the pulse spreading,” Kalcheb filled in.

“Exactly. But we need to know which lines have been eaten, and if there are any other pulses before we start, otherwise we’ll be wasting our time.” Nog included them all in his look. “Inventory the systems, find out which ones are down – they’ll be the ones affected by the pulse.”

The effect of the order was instantaneous: every crew member present either activated a working terminal , or took scans with their tricorders, adjusting them to long-range sweeps. Nog himself began tracking the damaged ODN line in the diagnostic board, determined to trace it back to where functional lines still existed, but the subsequent reports of his crew were depressingly distracting.

“All transporters and turbolifts are non-operational.”

“Environmental controls are down. So is waste disposal.” There was a collective groan from the engineers.

“Docking ring and pylon systems aren’t responding.”

“Industrial replicators have broken down.”

“Onboard isolinear system is -- ”

“Wait!” Nog held up his hand, as a pattern formed in his head. He turned to Kaoron, who blinked at him. “You said that the industrial replicators are down – what about food replicators?”

Kaoron checked the computer he was using. “Food replicators appear to be fully functional.”

“What in the name of the Prophets does that matter?” Maki asked in irritation. “We’re in the middle of a crisis, and you’re hungry?”

Nog ignored the last comment. “Don’t you see? Those replicators are Cardassian!”

“So?”

“All of the systems that have broken down are composed of Federation equipment! It only eats non-Cardassian systems – that tells us how to beat it!” He looked at her with shining eyes, saw the sudden hope in hers. “The Cardassians built the ODN lines into the system when the station was first built. But when the Federation took over, the Cardassian ODNs weren’t removed; they were preserved as back-ups and had Federation ODNs built alongside them. So all we have to do is restore power to the Cardassian ODN system and shut down the Federation one. Because the old lines are still intact, we’ll have enough power restored to evacuate the station and rebuild the Federation lines.”

“But our computers aren’t configured to the Cardassian system,” Korak pointed out.

“But we can manually convert them – it’ll be pretty rough, and not a permanent solution, but we’ll have time to send out an emergency message and evacuate the station. After that, it’s just a matter of isolating the Federation lines, cutting the power, and de-bugging the system.” Nog grinned at them with sharpened fangs.

At first, their faces reflected mixed emotions: thoughtfulness, skepticism, and hope all mixed into one. Then, to his immense delight, he saw them beginning to return his grin.

“I think it’ll work,” Korak said slowly. “I really think it’ll work.”

“Of course it’ll work; it’s a good plan!” Maki scolded, looking at Nog with a trace of gratitude. “It’s certainly better than anything you could have come up with, Korak.”

“I don’t know about that - ” Nog began, but the Benzite interrupted him.

“No, she’s right. You have a better knowledge of this station’s systems.”

Maki nodded with an agreeing smile. “I guess so.”

As much pride as Nog took from their sudden confidence in him, he knew that there was little time to spare. That pulse was undoubtedly continuing its spread through the station, shutting functions down, putting people at risk. He was painfully aware that there were beings trapped in various locations, and that included his station commander and first officer.

“All right,” he said aloud. “Kaoron, Maki you two will lead the team up here – I want you to start converting the programs. Bilecki, Korak, Kalcheb, Pedorina and I will restore power to the Cardassian ODN lines, and shut down the Federation lines. Let’s get to work.”

As the crew snapped to their duties, Maki approached Nog. “What about Bennu?”

“We still don’t know if they’re in danger or not,” Nog started.

“Lieutenant, we know something exploded down there -- they could be hurt.” Then she drew herself up. “With your permission, I want to go down there and find them.”

Nog sighed. “Maki, you’re one of the best programmers I know. My best people need to be in the appropriate positions. If you’re not where I need you, my job could take longer, and we’ll have a lot more people in danger. But should we find their turbolift -- I’ll go after them myself.”

* * * *

Crossing the Promenade had never taken so long. Ezri gritted her teeth, sidling through the press of the crowd and casting about for someone to report to. Everyone was moving so quickly, shouting frantically until her head swam from the confusion. Finally, she made out the blue and gray material of a Bajoran medical uniform, and a moment later she recognized Jabara. The older woman's hair had become unpinned, and the long blonde braid swung over her shoulder as she snapped her head around, shouting orders. She had a tricorder in one hand, and in the other, a crying four-year-old patient with a nasty-looking gash on his face. Ezri called the nurse's name as she moved quickly to her side, and Jabara glanced up wearily.

"Constable Emyn is gathering others to help out and will be here soon," Dax said breathlessly. "What can I do?"

Jabara smiled tightly in thanks, waving toward the medkits before Ezri was even finished speaking. "If you get started on taking care of the minor wounds so we can get some of these people out of here, that would be a great help."

"All right." Dax grabbed one of the kits and clutched it tightly under one arm, breathing a prayer before darting out of the Infirmary. Her eyes focused on the chaotic dark, and her stomach tightened. There were so many of them, huddled on the floor or wandering dazedly -- she didn't know where to start. Her feet felt just a little unsteady as she started toward a man whose forehead was bleeding.

Then she saw a nearby movement from the corner of her eye, one that seemed faster and more controlled than the others, and Ezri turned toward that person. A dark-haired woman in loose civilian clothing had emerged from the crowd, and she was kneeling next to a Bajoran woman who lay sprawled on the floor. Without hesitation, she touched the patient's forehead and began sliding an arm under her shoulders, as if intending to lift her up.

"Don't do that!" Dax ordered, running toward the two.

The woman stopped and looked at her sharply, still holding the wounded patient in her arms. Dax knelt next to her and put a restraining hand on her wrist. "I know you want to help. But you shouldn't move someone without them being checked by a medic or a doctor."

At least to Ezri, the words sounded kind and unthreatening enough. And the woman still looked at her as if that was the most outrageous statement she'd heard in weeks. "I am a doctor," the woman stated, every word precise and clipped.

"What?" Ezri sputtered. She looked her over again - Human, with straight black hair tied back and a commbadge hanging crookedly on the tunic of what looked like black silk pajamas. Then she realized, and her brow furrowed in a mixture of embarrassment and suspicion. So this was temporary replacement. "You must be Doctor Monrow."

"Must be," Monrow said shortly. "May I use that, please?"

It took Ezri a moment to remember the medkit. She handed Monrow the case, and the doctor popped it open and grabbed the tricorder without a second glance. Ezri smiled a little, looking again at the doctor's attire. "Hell of a wake-up call," she noted.

Monrow frowned at her, then seemed to realize what she meant and looked a little irritated. "I wasn't asleep, Counselor...."

The tricorder chirped urgently, regaining her attention. Whatever the instrument told her made her forehead crease with worry. Monrow half-rose, made eye contact with someone nearby. Her orders snapped out over the crowd. "Nurse, we have internal bleeding here -- she's going to need immediate surgery. Get me a stretcher here, stat. And have an operating area standing by!" she called out as the nurse ran to comply.

In less than a minute, a team arrived pushing an antigrav stretcher in front of them, and Monrow positioned herself as they took their places around the injured woman. "Count of three, we lift. You," she said, jerking her head toward Dax. "When we have her lifted, put the stretcher underneath, got it?"

"Got it," Ezri replied.

Monrow shifted her arms to hold the patient's head completely still. "One, two, three," she said, and as one the team lifted the woman straight up. She moaned slightly at the movement. Ezri shoved the stretcher into place, Monrow counted again, and the team lowered her gently. "Take her to the Infirmary, let them know she needs to be prepped for surgery and I'll be right there," she said. The team nodded and carried the woman off.

"Anything else I can do to help?" Dax asked, gathering up the kit.

The doctor glanced at her coolly, climbing to her feet. "Why don't you check on everyone's psychological well-being? That is in your job description, right?" Then she spun on her heel and darted off, leaving Ezri to wonder if there was a little more than the tension of the situation fueling that curtness.

Chapter Three

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