Chapter 4

How long had she been sitting here in a turbolift in near-absolute darkness, with only the interminable, hypnotic hum of equipment behind the wall and the sounds of two people breathing? What kind of technical problems had caused this isolation, and what other problems were they causing?

Kira had no way of knowing the answer to either question.

Meanwhile, she also had no idea what might be happening between her homeworld and the Federation. She had no idea what Ross had called her about, other than it seemed to directly involve Bajor. She had no way to contact First Minister Shakaar, no way to get back in touch with Admiral Ross, no way even to reach anybody in Ops to find out what was being done to deal with the current situation.

Kira fought down impatience and frustration. There was nothing she could do from here, she reminded herself – she couldn’t even pace in the close confines of the turbolift. She’d probably just stumble over her officer if she even tried. She had to have faith that her crew was doing everything that could be done; she had to be confident that it would only be a matter of time before the situation was resolved. Nog knew his job, and he knew every inch of the station and every relay and circuit in it. She just needed to relax and give him time.

She needed something else to think about.

She needed something to take her away from this trapped, closed-in space, and this cold, heavy silence. It was a cage, a prison. That was the way to look at it. She’d been in prison before, captured by the Cardassians. She knew how to take herself from such places, mentally.

Closing her eyes against even the faint light remaining in the turbolift, she tried to meditate on the morning’s worship service, and Ranjen Shayl’s exposition on Zocal’s Ninth Prophecy. Her back against the wall, she let her head rest against the lift railing, the fingers of one hand lightly wrapped around the bar. The solidness of the wall and the metal were a starting point. She breathed deeply, deliberately focusing her restless thoughts. The ranjen had caught them all up in his words, and she had discovered such a sense of profound peace from his assurances. The fountains of the Prophets restored with the coming of the Emissary, waters of renewal poured forth --

Something clunked.

Her eyelids jerked open. She sighed heavily, frustrated. Her effort to regain her serenity had once again been disrupted by whatever was wrong with the station.

There had been a time she could go so deeply into her thoughts that no Cardassian noises or blows could have shattered her concentration.

Through clenched teeth, she blew out a Bajoran curse with the breath. Almost instantly, she regretted it, fully expecting that Alden would make some sort of smart-aleck remark in return. Frankly, after the events of his first week, being stuck here and talking to him was very close to the bottom of her wish list of things to do at the moment.

Nothing. Unless that change in his breathing meant something.

She waited.

Not a word.

Just as well, she thought.

When had she lost the ability to close out the world’s impact on her, yet still be aware of it? Was it when Sisko left, or before? She tried to meditate every day, but she had to admit, she’d been so busy these last few months, it had been hard to find the time. She had to make more of an effort --

Something shuddered.

Kira found herself reflexively clutching at the railing and the floor as the walls of the turbolift rumbled around her. Something shook again, ever so slightly, the vibrations through the floors sending little shivers all through her body. She froze, staring up at the ceiling for no particular reason, holding her breath.

We’re moving, she thought to herself, more hopefully than realistically. But has Nog got things repaired, or does this just mean we’re about to fall?

Tentatively, Kira reached for her commbadge.

“Kira to Ops.”

Nothing. Again. Just like before.

She leaned back against the wall.

The light flickered. The lift jerked and creaked.

Her fingers tightened around the railing; she blinked against the brief flashes of light. Then the light returned.

And stayed.

After the hours in the darkness, it was too bright. Kira had to shield her eyes with her free hand for a second. The other was still wrapped tightly around the bar. Squinting, she finally tapped her combadge.

“Kira to Ops.”

“Colonel!”

Thank the Prophets, a familiar voice! “Pryen Maki, what’s going on up there?” Maki had been a close friend since her resistance days. Hearing Maki was exactly what Kira needed.

“We had some technical problems, Colonel, but Nog’s got things almost back together. We should have you out of there in a short while....” The engineer sounded as relieved as Kira felt.

Kira couldn’t help a reflexive, elated grin in Alden’s direction. Was he haggard, or was that just the effect of too many hours in a turbolift with no idea what was happening around them? Well, she was sure he would be as happy to get out of here as she was.

“Get us out of here as soon as you can, Maki. But let Nog finish his miracles first.”

“We’ll do that, Colonel.”

Almost immediately, the lift began to move. Only a second later, it seemed, the door slid smoothly open, revealing Ops and what seemed like half the engineering and maintenance staffs of DS9.

Kira pulled herself to her feet and stepped out, Alden close behind.

There almost seemed something in the air. Excitement? Dedication? Optimism? Whatever it was, it was far more positive than the emotions she’d seen on the faces of her crew the last time she’d been here. For all their obvious weariness, they were moving with purpose. And they were busy – most of them didn’t even notice the turbolift had opened and people had gotten out.

She didn’t want to disturb them, but she needed an update on communications.

“Kuhlman, what’s our comm status?”

The young human looked up and blinked at her. “Oh, Colonel...other systems have priority at the moment, per Lt. Nog’s instructions, but we’ll have communications back on line as soon as we can.”

“Thank you,” she nodded. “Let me know when that is – and as soon as you can, try to raise Admiral Ross and First Minister Shakaar. I need to speak with either or both of them.”

“Aye, Colonel!” He looked away, already wrapped up in what he was doing.

The situation obviously wasn’t resolved yet. Kira figured the best thing she could do was stay out of the way.

And wait. She smiled ruefully as she wove her way through Ops, heading for her office. All that time waiting in the turbolift, and now she got to wait some more....

* * * *

“We have systems to convert, people. Let's move.” Nog yelled as the team made their way through the ladder towards Ops. He let his eyes adjust to the emergency lights, drinking in the more optimistic aura of the place. He watched the rest of his team filing out of the tunnel behind him, and noted that they felt it too.

But Jensen held back.

Nog looked and saw him still holding onto the rungs, staring at him angrily.

Bilecki glared down the tunnel, hands on her hips, with a flush starting the red color in her almost pale human face. Jensen raised an eyebrow and glared back defiantly.

Still in shock, Nog cleared his throat. Lieutenant, please, I need your help. Why are you fighting me?”

Their eyes fought for a bit until Jensen appeared to give in, slowly pulling himself out of the ladder and following the team into Ops. The rest of the engineering team in Ops screamed and clapped wildly as Nog and his party emerged.

Maki, seated up close, caught a glimpse of her husband and looked as though she was fighting the urge to cry. “Bennu!” she called out, and the two embraced happily. Watching them, Nog smiled as he felt a hand clap his shoulder. He looked up and saw Kaoron, a strange grin on his face. Nog smiled back.

“I don’t know why everyone is so gleeful.”

Nog sighed, recognizing the voice. He turned and saw Jensen standing over the engineering console, glaring back at Nog.

There was a hint of desparation in Jensen's voice as he spoke. “This...officer still wants to tell us what to do. Why are we going to let someone try and run us when he can barely handle the situation in front of him?”

Nog rolled his eyes and glanced around, looking for nods or anything to show people were behind him. Nothing. Nog opened his mouth to speak.

“Jensen!”

Jensen’s head flicked to Maki’s direction, giving her a look that was almost disgust. Maki stared back just as disgusted.

But it was Bennu, noticing the eye exchange, who spoke next. “I agree with him, Maki. I don’t feel he is qualified.”

Maki looked up at her husband, eyes narrowing. “Bennu, you're forgetting Nog has been on this station longer then you have.”

Bennu looked at Maki as if she were a child. He shook his head. “That is hardly an argument. He was just a bar employee's son. It’s not like he was studying to be chief of operations.”

“He knows more of this station than you do. Be careful how you state your arguments, they might come back to haunt you.”

Nog watched the bickering couple incredulously. He never knew Bennu felt so strongly against him.

Bennu’s eyes narrowed at his wife. “He won't be in Starfleet for long. Once a Ferengi always a Ferengi. So I don’t see any reason for him to be taken seriously.”

Nog’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. It was a rather racist statement, and he wasn’t quite sure what he had done to deserve it. He never held to any of the standard Ferengi ideals, or at least he hadn’t in a long time.

“I do, and I refuse to see your side of it!” Maki stood there, face reddening.

Nog understood, then and there. It was exactly what he’d feared: racism and rank prejudice. But he looked at the faces of the other crew members, watching the Pryens and watching Jensen. They were distraught and saddened by the argument, not agreeing with either side.

Nog glanced up at Commander Alden, silent behind the communications table. The first officer made eye contact, looking haggard. Nog understood. He nodded his head. He had a plan.

He sighed. “Jensen, I’m ready to quit.”

Bennu and Maki quit arguing, while Jensen straightened. “Nog!” Maki shouted, not believing her ears.

Nog smiled, touching Maki’s arm. Bennu gave Nog a venomous look. “Maki, I really enjoy working with you, and I appreciate you standing behind me on this.”

“Lieutenant!”

“No, hear me out, I think Jensen is right, I haven't been around to lead an experienced team. You're all used to each and everyone’s unique way of getting the job done. Sure we’re half-way to accomplishing this problem, but what will I do when the next problem comes up? Run off, look for every opportunity to cut corners?”

Nog picked up a PADD with his orders from before, and, as sullenly as he could be, handed them to Jensen. Jensen glared at him, confusion in his eyes.

“I thought I could lead all of you,” Nog called out, addressing the crowd. “That’s what Chief O’Brien taught me, I thought it worked. I was wrong, Jensen was right." Then to Jensen, "Go ahead and finish it.”

Nog looked up and saw Colonel Kira, staring out one of the office windows, no doubt eavesdropping. A disapproving look was in her eyes, but Nog smiled, hoping to reassure her. Trust me, Colonel, he thought. I know what I’m doing.

“Okay, Bennu, you’re with me,” Jensen started, already getting into command mode. Bennu nodded. “Nog, you’re going to take Maki and go to the ODN juncture in access tunnel --”

Maki shook her head, resisting. “I need to stay in Ops.” She glanced at Nog. “I’m a programmer, I need to be where I’m the most useful.

Jensen looked up from the PADD, eyes narrowing. “Maki, I know if you did it my way, it would work.”

“I can’t help you, I know what we’re doing.”

Jensen pushed off the console and stood before Maki, raising his voice. “Maki, I’m in charge now, you do as I say, or --”

“Or what?” Maki replied, hands on hips.

Bennu broke in. “Maki, we’re in the middle of a crisis! We should follow the leader.”

Maki glared at her husband. “Follow the leader in time of crisis? We sure didn’t follow Nog as the leader, why would we follow Jensen?”

“Maki!” Jensen shouted, frustrated. “What are you doing? You should be helping me!”

Nog had taken Jensen’s place against the console, leaning against it with his arms crossed, watching intently. Jensen turned to Nog and pointed a finger accusingly. “This is your fault, Ferengi!”

“The problem with you, Jensen,” Bilecki piped up. “Is you’re not a team player. You don’t know how to treat people. You don’t know how to work with and adapt to a crew.”

Nog looked around at the other crewmembers, seeing them nod and agree. Thank you, Caryn, Nog thought. The arguing was getting tiresome.

Korak glanced at Nog in an apologetic manner. Nog smiled back. “I think, Lieutenant, it would be logical if we followed Nog’s lead. Nog was getting somewhere with this crisis, and it would be silly to simply change leadership in the middle.”

Kaoron’s eyebrow could not rise any higher.

Jensen glared at the crew as they expressed their agreement in silent nods again. “I can’t believe you people. Fine, maybe you’ll work under this little brat, but I sure as hell am not.” He threw the PADD to the ground and walked away. Nog hoped that meant this was over. He didn’t like all the fighting, and he hated the idea of losing Jensen like this.

Some people just don’t change.

But Bilecki wasn’t finished yet. “You didn’t learn a thing from Miles.”

Jensen turned back. “Why should I? He wasn’t an officer. He wasn’t worth learning from.”

Nog chose this time to barge in, “That was exactly what made him worth learning from. He had more years as a non-comm then you do as an officer. Time to learn so much and put that to working out problems. I rose through the ranks fast, and the only way to stay alive was to learn from the crew, the chief especially. I've been wounded by the Jem’Hadar. I can tell you what is feels like to walk on a fake leg. Will that make you think when you're engaged in battle at my side?” He suddenly felt lightheaded, a tingling in his lobes. He lightly touched his fake leg, making sure it was there to remind him of that horrible time.

“I would have been dead if I never listened to the chief and what he knew of warfare. I may have not been experienced in the length of time, but I feel I’m experienced in the quality of that time. I think the rest of you, especially you, Jensen, should appreciate being safe from what I have experienced. Starfleet is about teaching and learning, not about taking charge.”

The rest of the crew waited with bated breath for Jensen’s reply. But the reply never came.

Nog walked up to the taller human and looked up at him, hands on hips. “I need you to look out for me,” Nog said. “I don’t care if you hate me, but please be there for me, when I am down or have messed up. At least I’ll know I can trust you.”

Jensen stood there in silence, and then shook his head. “What is it you needed me to do?” He looked down again, “I’m still filing a report against you, and requesting a transfer.”

“And that is your right.”

Everyone turned to Kaoron, who was making his way to Nog and Jensen. “Though I feel the need for Lt. Nog to be honored with a commendation.”

“I do too, sir!” Maki spoke. Bilecki and the others nodded again, a smile spread across Bilecki’s face.

Bennu glared at Maki. Maki returned a rebellious stare. “You may have had it hard, but don’t deny it, Nog saved your life,” she said. Her expression changed to glance toward Nog in appreciation. “You can't tell me you aren't grateful. What are you afraid of? You might be surprised at the outcome.” Maki stared hard into Bennu’s eyes, not backing down. She sighed. “And besides, do it for me, as your loving wife.”

“That’s not a good argument.”

“It is, if you think about it long enough. Please learn from me, as I always learn from you.” She smiled.

Bennu glanced at Nog. He then glanced at his wife. Finally he sighed begrudgingly. “All right, I will do it for you.” He glanced at Nog, who smiled. Bennu looked at his feet for a moment, then looked up. "I suppose I owe you my life."

"You don't really owe me anything --" Nog began, but Bennu cut him off.

"You didn't have to do that. Save me. It doesn't mean I trust you implicitly, you understand. Just that...you didn't have to save me."

Bennu turned back to his wife, who raised her eyebrows as if to say "was that so hard?". “I still don’t know about Nog, but I trust you. We’ll see.”

* * * *

Alexis Monrow walked out of surgery, tossing her cowl and blood stained gown into the disposal bin. Her sweaty hair came half-undone, and its length hung limp against her neck. She staggered to the first empty chair and sat down, not caring if the world would come to an end if she did. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the cool bulkhead of the Defiant’s sickbay. 16 hours on a transport to get here, barely a chance to settle in, and now almost nine hours of emergency surgery. Well, at least no one died.

After threehours of struggling on board DS9, they’d finally gotten the worst cases stable enough to evacuate to the vessel. It had taken some time to transport the patients, not to mention the supplies and personnel they’d need to get the medical emergency completely covered, and then more long hours in the Defiant’s small operating room finishing the last operations. But they were finished now, and she felt like collapsing into bed just as she was, dirty clothes and all.

"Hey, no sleeping on the job," rang a warm, slightly familiar voice.

She opened her tired eyes to see Dr. Girani holding out a hot coffee mug and looking equally rumpled and bloodstained. In all the confusion of the evacuation, this was the first full sentence beyond terse instructions that Girani had spoken to her. Monrow grinned and gratefully accepted the mug. "You're a life saver."

Girani chuckled. Taking off her own smock, she pulled up a chair. "Just my way of welcoming you to DS9, Dr. Monrow," she teased.

Monrow’s own smile widened. "Call me Alex, please. And if this is your way of saying welcome, you can leave me off your Christmas list."

The Bajoran doctor only had to think a moment before remembering the Terran holiday, and laughed again. "Very well. But you'll be missing out on a great party. And if I'm calling you Alex, you'd better call me Jennel."

Monrow nodded with some aplomb and stuck out a hand, which Girani shook with mock formality. "Quite a way to make a first impression, I'd say," Alex said.

Girani grew a bit more serious. "I hear you did a good job back there.”

Monrow shrugged modestly and stretched her shoulders, taking a swallow of coffee. "It's been a long time since I pulled a shift like that, especially considering I was off duty."

"Well, out here we're never really off duty. You get used to it," Girani replied. Then her face grew rather somber. "It was much worse during the war.”

Monrow saw she’d hit a sore point, but Girani shrugged and changed the subject. "Right now, I could use a stiff drink, a small meal, and a long hot bath,” she said, grimacing at her sore muscles as she stood up. “Too bad none are readily accessible here. On the Defiant, coffee and a sonic shower are about as luxurious as you’re going to get.”

Alex tried a friendlier smile. "Well, tell you what. When we get back to the station, I’ll cover the drink and the meal. You know, to thank you for such an interesting welcome. Think you could stand a little stir-fry?”

Girani's face looked a lot less tired at the offer. "For a homemade meal I could climb around the Firecaves," she said with a smile.

"Wonderful. And in the meantime, I’d be happy to share those replicator rations with you," Monrow replied warmly.

"Lead on," Girani said, offering her a hand up. Her brow quirked wryly. "A surgeon, a xenospecialist, and you cook too. Is there anything you don’t do?”

Alex snorted. "Yeah. Can't keep a man to save my life.”

"Who can?" Girani grinned, as the two headed out of Sickbay.

* * * *

Striding into the dim storage room, Bashir dropped a large crate into a corner with some force. The resulting crash echoed off the metal-lined walls, ringing around his head as he realized just how close he’d come to breaking both feet.

He shifted the smaller crate he held under his arm, feeling a corner of the metal box digging into his ribs. This was the last of the supplies for now, until they were able to replicate more. It had taken most of the day to move everything in, and it wasn't easy work. However, after spending hours receiving reports and planning the first wave of distribution all over the planet, he was glad to be able to do a little more physical. Bashir exhaled briskly and brushed the grime from his hands. Stacking crates here was much more satisfying than on DS9. Here he could see the people he was helping. Here, crate contents were more than words on a checklist. He smiled, taking encouragement from the thought, and laid the crate down on top of the larger one.

Then he stepped back and glanced around. It looked better in here – more like a hospital supply room should look. It had been almost empty the first time Garak had shown it to him. But there was still a lot of work to be done. Even with the first large shipment from the Nightingale as planet-wide distribution was authorized, the room was still only half full.

This doesn't include the supplies we had to use immediately, he reminded himself. The Nightingale had beamed down much more than this, equipment that had been desperately needed, but it had been put to good use, and already conditions had improved. The air circulators were working nicely, and the temperature had dropped to something that was comfortable to Cardassians if not to humans. Knowing his patients rested easier, Bashir had contented himself with abandoning his uniform jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

His back twinged waspishly as he walked back to where he’d been helping Dr. Ptacek and Aya set up a biomolecular analyzer. He considered stopping a moment to rest the tired muscle, then decided against it. His two colleagues still seemed fresh, only having beamed down a few hours earlier, and he didn't want to appear weary in front of them.

Ptacek was barely visible behind the analyzer, propped up on one elbow, plugging in isolinear rods. Aya's short red hair drooped across her face; she tossed it out of her eyes to give Bashir an idle glance as he crouched beside her to work on the circuitry. "Moving crates doesn't count as a break, sir."

"Just needed to stretch my legs. I'm fine," he shrugged. He made a few adjustments to his handiwork and tested the connections. The analyzer blipped obligingly, and he nodded to himself. Not exactly O'Brien's work, but it would do. Sighing at the returning stiffness in his legs, he reached for another cable and began splicing it into the portable generator.

Aya only smiled wryly and went back to configuring the equipment. He wasn't fooling her and he knew it. She was used to him enough to keep most of her observations to herself, at least.

“Dr. Bashir!”

Vak's voice made him turn, and he saw the Bolian officer walking towards him with Garak and Lausten at his side. As he straightened a bit to face them, Bashir thought Vak looked a little less lively than he usually did. Vak and Commander Hart had been working together on installing power to the first floor, and had just turned their attention to the upper level. Julian hoped they'd been professional enough to keep most of the strain out of their working relationship. God only knew what their personal relationship was going through since the foiled hijacking of the Nightingale.

Garak carried a small parcel under his arm with an air of equanimity about him. Lausten looked more exhausted than any of them, uniform jacket gone and hair in disarray.

“Trey. How is the work going?”

A tired half-grin emerged on Lausten’s grimy face; Julian knew from his tour that the upper levels were even hotter and mustier than the ground floor. “Not too bad. Vak's portable generators are working just fine, but we’ve been having trouble fitting the bio-filters in the isolation rooms.”

“We need them up and running as soon as possible," Ptacek chimed in, her antennae poking up from behind the console in almost comical fashion. "We need to move the most critical patients up there, get some sort of quarantine set up. We can’t do that until those bio-filters are in place.”

“I know. The environmental controls are still erratic too.” Lausten shrugged. “Emily’s going to work through the night with the crew she has at the moment, and with my pointers she should be able to solve the bio-filter problem by morning. The environmental controls will come next, so hopefully everything up there will be operational soon.”

“I decided to make a quick visit to check on progress,” Garak added, joining the conversation. “It’s already much better than it was, not that it would take a great deal. Cardassian engineering crews have been in short supply of late.”

Julian rubbed his forehead. “That’s great news. You should go back to the Nightingale and get cleaned up now, Trey; get some rest. There’s no point in pushing yourself too hard, not when there’s so much work ahead of us. But thank you for helping out the engineering team.”

“No problem,” Lausten replied. “I had to wait for some of my ship-side guys to finish their scans and the computers to finish number crunching. We'll be able to get underway with the real environmental work tomorrow. I might as well help out wherever I can. Are you coming too?” he asked, motioning towards the door.

“No, I’ll be here a while yet; there’s still a lot of equipment I want set up by the morning. So I’ll see you then.”

Lausten barely swallowed a yawn. “Yep. See you in the morning.” He tapped his comm badge and disappeared in the shimmer of a transporter beam.

Garak was left to watch Bashir work with feigned interest. After several long moments he leaned over the doctor's shoulder as if to inspect his progress. “That was excellent advice you gave Lt. Lausten about not pushing yourself too hard. The sort of advice a doctor should follow, as well as give out.”

Julian scowled slightly, keeping his attention on the cables in his hands. “If you’re about to tell me that I should return to the Nightingale, don’t bother. I'm a little busy right now."

“I have no intention of telling you to return to the ship, my dear doctor. It would be a good idea, but I know that you’re far too stubborn to follow that particular piece of advice.” Garak met his annoyed expression with an impassive smile. “I was merely going to suggest that you take a quick break for some food.”

“I don’t need a break,” Bashir said tersely. He truly didn't need as much rest as everyone else did. Why did everyone keep insisting he take a break?

“On the contrary: not even you can sustain this type of work rate without taking in some food and having regular breaks. And I know for a fact that you haven’t eaten.” The doctor blinked at this; Garak went on to explain. “I took the liberty of asking the rationing officers at the kitchen – the only source of food in this building, may I add. And according to them, you haven’t been near there all day.”

"I ate something back on the Nightingale earlier," he protested.

"Sure, about fifteen hours ago," Aya remarked with her usual tact. She gestured to the circuitry. "I can finish this, Doctor. I'm almost done here. You go ahead."

Garak leaned in closer. “Let’s not turn this into a long, drawn-out discussion; by your own admission, there are things that need to be done. You need food, even if you aren’t hungry – and it won’t take long.”

If he hadn’t been trying to dodge advice like this all day long, Julian would have smiled at the tailor’s persistence. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Oh no; a wise young doctor once told me that I should never give up, even if the outlook appears to be hopeless. Just before he attempted to shoot me.” The teasing note was evident, as Garak took a step back, displaying the package he held. “I have a few provisions of my own, and I thought you might join me in sharing them. I believe that the supply room would be an excellent place for a quiet meal. Dinner is always so much more pleasant when you have a companion and good conversation.”

Bashir pulled himself to his feet with a sigh, giving Aya a scolding look which she blithely ignored. Garak led the way and he followed. “Very true," Julian replied. "And in case you’ve forgotten, I did shoot you. There was no ‘attempt’ about it.”

“Well, it was an excellent aim.”

“What did you expect?” Julian felt some of the tension dissipating as he walked into the supply room. It felt good to be talking like old friends again. Garak shifted two small crates towards a bigger one until he had created a table and two chairs. He placed the bundle of cloth down on the table and waved the doctor over.

“Please, take a seat.” He unwrapped the bundle as Bashir complied, laying the folds of material out like a tablecloth. “I’m afraid that the only items I could spare were a loaf of rifka bread and a few slices of dried meat, as well as a bottle of clean water, of course.”

“Rifka bread? I haven’t heard of that before.”

“No, it was never readily available on Deep Space Nine, so I never had a chance to introduce it to you.” Garak moved deftly, fashioning two crude sandwiches and rationing out water for both of them. “It’s supposed to have healing properties, you know. The Cardassian equivalent of chicken soup.”

This time, Julian did manage a smile. “At least I won’t get a cold.” The bread looked to be slightly stale despite Garak’s best efforts; it had probably been in a storage cabinet for a week or so with the rest of his personal hoard of food. As he was handed the snack, his stomach gave a faint rumble at the scent of the sweet bread -- perhaps he was hungry after all. He began to eat.

“Unless it’s a Cardassian cold, of course,” the tailor corrected, sipping his water as if it had been the tea they'd shared countless times at the Replimat. “Although I don’t know if the human immune system would be susceptible to Cardassian – oh, Doctor, I am disappointed in you.”

Julian paused, the bread lifted halfway to his lips, hoping that Garak wasn’t about to tell him that there was something wrong with it. He’d already eaten nearly half of the sandwich. “What?” he asked suspiciously.

“You’re bolting your food down again. Really, I thought I’d cured you of that habit.”

The doctor laughed dryly. “Obviously some instincts are harder to beat than others.”

“Obviously.” Garak leaned forward across the bench, voice mock soothing. “You can relax. No one is going to snatch away your food.”

Abruptly, Julian's stomach tightened. He remembered with a clear inner picture the gaunt people outside in the square, and he lowered the bread. “Some might, if they had the chance. This isn't one of our 'normal' lunches, as much as I'd like it to be, Garak.”

“I’m quite aware of that, Doctor.” Then Garak paused and regarded him carefully, and the cool edge that had crept into his voice was gone by the time he spoke again. “Forgive me, Julian; I know you're just as concerned as the rest of us."

Bashir sighed, laying the rest of his sandwich onto the crate. "I know -- and I didn't mean to be short with you, everything's just... needed some getting used to."

"That, I understand completely," Garak smiled gently. "You'll cope, I assure you. The situation is far from hopeless."

"It is," Julian agreed; after all, he couldn't expect to fix an entire world in just one day. He trailed off for a moment, touching on a memory. "Before you found us, I ran into a group of children playing near your home -- or they ran into me, more precisely...."

Garak chuckled. "They're a joy, aren't they? Sometimes I don't know how they manage it."

Julian grinned at the memory, then sat back with a thoughtful expression, his mind falling into the meditative tone that Garak had always seemed to evoke in him from the first day they'd met. "It's funny: one of them, a girl -- she asked me why I was here. She was probably speaking generally, but it felt like the question was directed at me. Only me. I didn't know what to tell her. I mean, I know I'm here because I'm a doctor, because I'm a Starfleet officer...."

"Forever dedicated to be a light of hope for the rest of the galaxy," Garak intoned, a note of teasing grandeur coloring his voice.

"Right," the doctor smirked, shaking his head. "But it didn't seem like that's what she meant. It felt deeper than that, more... personal -- I'm not making any sense."

"On the contrary, my friend, I know exactly what you mean." Garak regarded Bashir silently for a long moment, then spoke clearly. "Why are you here? What are you looking for?"

The change in tone was subtle, and still Julian had to quell the urge to shiver at the words. He felt like Garak had managed to capture the essence of the young girl's questions and then focus it as if through a lens, even more abstruse and disquieting. Then Garak shrugged, smiling ruefully, and the sudden tension was gone. "Questions many of us have been asking ourselves in recent months. I'm afraid I only have a vague idea how to answer them for myself, much less help you figure it out."

Julian gave his friend an amused glance. "Some sort of complex inner quest, eh? Maybe I should write a book."

"I'd certainly be interested in reading it," Garak laughed. "If we had more time, I could help you begin a first draft...."

"Doctor?"

Bashir glanced up. Aya stood at the doorway, her expression apologetic. "I don't mean to interrupt, but Director Rekel is here asking for you. She says she's here to escort you to a meeting. I told her you'd be right there."

"All right. The biomolecular analyzer?"

"Finished," Aya grinned. "Just like I said."

"Thank you. I'm on my way," Julian said, then gave Garak a resigned glance. "Looks like I'll be cutting the break short after all."

The tailor nodded graciously, gesturing across the relative cool and quiet of the storeroom. "We take our refuge when we can, Doctor." He pushed himself up and came to stand by his side. "The council certainly assembled with record speed."

"Where are you going? You haven't finished your meal."

Garak waved a dismissive hand. "I'm more worried about the ruling council taking a bite out of you. Understanding subtlety is not your strongest point."

"Hmm. So you're saying I need an advisor…. Who do you suppose is best suited for the job?"

Garak cleared his throat.

The doctor smiled. "You know, you're absolutely right."

Garak beamed and gave an "after you" gesture.

Bashir nodded a thank-you and preceded Garak through the door, exclaiming "Jake!" He snapped his fingers. "Jake would be perfect."

Julian was gratified to hear an exasperated sigh behind him. No understanding of subtlety, indeed. He'd be happy to demonstrate just how much he'd learned over the years. After all, he'd had the best of role models.

* * * *

Kira hadn’t left her office since her crew got the turbolifts working again. She told herself she wanted to be immediately available if they received another call from Ross, and needed to be quickly located if any problems arose with the station evacuation. She also admitted ruefully to herself, when she thought about it, that she didn’t want to risk any more long hours stuck in the lift, until Nog could assure her that the technical situation was under control -- especially now, with the station emptying fast.

At some point, she fell asleep, head on her crossed arms.

“Colonel?”

Kira woke with a start at hearing Kuhlman’s voice, and discovered she was lying halfway across her desk.

“Colonel, we have a signal from Bajor. It’s First Minister Shakaar.”

“It’s about time,” she muttered. It was unkind, she knew. Right about now, the colors of dawn would just be tinting the eastern sky over Peri’ketra. If he still held to his old habits, Edon would already be awake and dressed, ready for the day. “I’ll take it here, in ten seconds.”

“Yes, sir.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and blinked sleep out of her eyes. No time for even a glass of water, but then, he wouldn’t be able to see her breath, so that wasn’t important.

The screen on her desk brightened, and Shakaar’s face appeared. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. “Colonel.”

“Minister.”

“This channel is secure?”

“Of course.”

“How’s the evacuation proceeding?”

“It’s under control. I didn’t know you were that up on our activities here.”

“Under the circumstances, my aide brought it to my attention ... along with other things. I understand you received a rather harried communique from Admiral Ross.”

“Yes, I did. Something about wanting to know what Bajor was doing, and a reference to a joint something or other – but then our comm system went down, along with just about everything else on the station, it seems.” She shook her head. “But I won’t bore you with that just now. Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Shakaar’s expression was wry. “Yes, Nerys, I think I do.”

He paused long enough to take a sip of something, and Kira realized he was probably taking time to talk to her over breakfast. She felt guilty at that thought – if she felt exhausted at running the station sometimes, how must he feel, dealing with everything on Bajor, during this time when there was no kai, and the Emissary was gone? He put down the cup and seemed to consider for a few seconds.

“You remember the relay in the Gamma Quadrant?”

“Yes,” she affirmed with a nod. “The unmanned transmitter array that collected data from all the Federation listening posts and scanner arrays, just before the war. The Dominion destroyed most of them when they came through, and knocked out the array.”

“You know how important that relay was – we want it rebuilt.”

“Of course. It’s vital to our security, not just from the Dominion, but from anything else that might come through.” She frowned. “I thought Starfleet had committed to re-establishing those posts as soon as possible.”

“They did, after a fashion. Unfortunately, as soon as possible, to them, appears to be at least a year, maybe two, from now, before they can even consider it.”

“A year or two! That’s ... that’s incredible! That’s not acceptable! We can’t be that exposed! Don’t they realize how vulnerable that could leave us?”

“I know. And so does the Chamber of Ministers. That’s why we’re discussing building our own station in the Gamma Quadrant.”

“Our own --” The thought sank in. Kira couldn’t help smiling. “Our own. Why not? We could do that --that would let us --”

“The Federation has already expressed concerns about us ‘taking sole control of the Wormhole,’as a certain ambassador put it to me rather strongly last night.”

Ah, so that explained why Shakaar looked like he hadn’t slept – he’d probably been talking to diplomats and military officials all night.

“I suspect that’s why an admiral is contacting you so unexpectedly, and with such concerns. That’s why I need to talk to you, Nerys – about the relay, and about Admiral Ross and ... other things,” he continued. “I understand you’re in the midst of evacuating most of your personnel and you can’t leave the station in the middle of that, but I’d like to come aboard, when everything’s up and running again and you can handle guests.” His mouth quirked in a little grin. “And as soon as I can set it up and get away.”

“Of course, you’re welcome here anytime, Edon, you know that.”

“Thanks, Nerys.” Another quick smile flitted across his tired features, and vanished. “But for now, I’ve got another meeting with the Ministers. I’ll have Sarish contact you.”

“All right. I’ll see you then. And Edon? It’ll be good to see you again. Take care.”

He smiled warmly, then signed off.

Kira leaned back in her seat, frowning a little. This could change everything....

“Colonel?”

“I’m still here, Ensign,” she replied, preoccupied.

“Message coming in from Starfleet Command. Wanting a progress update on the evacuation.”

She waited a long few heartbeats, then deliberately drew a deep breath. “I’ll take it here. Give me a summary of progress in the last hour....”

Chapter Five

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