TITLE:  Paying the Piper, Part 3 - Endings and Beginnings 
SERIES TITLE: Destinies, Section 3 
Author:  Valerie Shearer 
Contact: thenightbird@earthlink.net 
Series:  DS9 
Rating:  PG 
Codes:  Character death 

Summary: 

This is a sequel to Seduction and Shadowdance, the third part of the story which will eventually include a fourth story concluding the series.  It is advised that the reader read Seduction and Shadowdance first as it all related. 

This story also uses as background Paula Stiles "Isolation".  It is now available in the a.s.c archive.  

In this part, new futures await the chief players in the game, as the war continues to take it's toll. 

note on timeline:  This is an alternate timeline, but this ends as the Federation loses the Chintaka system from the Dominion. 

Note to a.s.c Archivist:  Permission is given to archive this story. 

Note on Distribution:  This story may be passed onto others provided this entire header is left intact and my name and e-mail address goes with the story.  No permission is granted for its publication in fanzines.  Permission must be obtained before it is posted on fanfic websites, and if permission is given all parts of the story must be posted. 

Note on Feedback:  Please let me know what you think.  Posts in the newsgroup are very welcome as well.  Constructive comments are welcome but flames will be ignored.  Reply at thenightbird@earthlink.net.   All reasonable mail will be answered.  If you are missing parts of this story, e-mail me and I'll gladly send them.  If you tell me which kind of word processor you use I'll send it in that format.  When the series is finished I plan to offer a printed version at my cost. 

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction.  Julian Bashir, Miles O'Brien, Ezri Dax, Ben Sisko, William Ross, Elim Garak, Luther Sloan, Kira Nerys, Kai Winn, Worf, Jules, Kukalaka, Quark, Vic, Odo, William Ross, Kassidy Yates, Damar, Jake Sisko, DS9 and the cannon portions of the trek universe are the property of Paramount Studios.  Jaro Sarre, Garak's "customers", Dr's Rand, Halbert, and Russel, Lt. Barnes, the man in the new suit, and the planet Zas'sanna are mine. 

I wish to offer a special thanks to my beta readers, Paula Stiles, Matt Edwards, and Cathrine Hansen, who offered many good suggestions which have made this complex story better.  



                         Paying the Piper 

              a sequel to Seduction and Shadowdance 

                        by Valerie Shearer 

Part 3  - Endings and Beginnings 

    For any who watched, Julian Bashir was behaving, doing the job he had been given.  He watched Sisko.  He kept the monitor on for long enough to satisfy whoever was keeping tabs on him.  He had already determined the feed didn't go beyond his quarters, and most of the time when he could observe, Sisko spent reading a book.  The captain had a lot of visitors from Bajor, but he was secretly pleased that his suggestion of giving the man room had gotten through.  Ross had kept away, and except for a perfunctory question now and then, Starfleet had left him alone. 
    After a month of watching, he no longer saw anything unusual about his activities.  He still occasionally went to Vic's, but spent most of his off duty time by himself.  He felt as if he had little in common with the others anymore.  For their part they left him alone.  Miles had found someone else to play darts with. 
    He had come to admire Sisko.  He still could not quite excuse the order to join Section 31, but it was done.  Sisko had enough problems of his own.  Starfleet had stopped pushing, but the Bajoran's hadn't.  He had not taken any position on the matter.  In typical Bajoran fashion, the arguments had split into distinct factions and all of them wanted Sisko on their side. 
    For himself, the decision was done.  Perhaps if he'd acted earlier he might have found a way out, but he'd waited too long.  He'd gotten used to it.  His carefully worded reports went unquestioned.  Perhaps in his own way he was helping. 
    Some day, he knew, they would ask much more.  He would have to make some sort of decision then.  But he understood the way it worked now.  The killing of the agent had been an initiation designed to break him, and taking Garak through the ordeal on Zas'sanna had been the proof it had worked.  He hadn't even talked to Garak since the time after the hearing.  
    It had been a difficult decision to draw Garak into the test.  He'd miscalculated with the safties, but it would have been the same.  He had betrayed Garak, with or without safties.  It had cost him a friend, along with the rest of his life. 
    He wondered, now and then, if it would be easier now.  Then, only his certainty that Garak would pass had allowed him to go through with it.  He could not remember the man who had made that decision anymore.  He belonged to them now, no matter what he told himself. 
    This evening, Sisko had decided to be a chef.  He'd replicated a counter full of ingredients, and Bashir had watched as he created a masterpiece.  He'd ask the replicator for the same dish, but when Kassidy arrived he'd turned it off.  Both men knew what it meant to be caught between two opposite interests, but Sisko was lucky.  He had his son, and Kassidy.  Bashir had no one.  He identified too much with Sisko to want to be reminded of his isolation, and couldn't watch.  It would hurt too much. 
    He finished his meal in private, remembering the dinner parties Sisko used to give.  He no longer did that.  He was friendly with his top command, but there was a distance there hadn't been before.  Bashir didn't belong to this place anymore.  But then, neither did Sisko.  He let that be his solace as he ate the last few bites and gathered a stack of latinum to get Vic to himself. 

    Garak had a stack of padds before him and three outfits to do.  He'd gotten behind.  Starfleet was sending more, and the two he'd received last were marked urgent.  He worked on them first.  The other had been delivered by a grim looking visitor who'd ordered a suit.  It was always the same suit, like the one he'd made for his original contact.  This man would be back in a week, and there had been a hint of threat in his tone.  Garak remembered when no one would have dared threaten him.  But now was different.  He still didn't know who he was dealing with.  This was the third suit since that first one.  Each had been a different customer.  They wore humorless expressions, and showed no sign of emotion at all.  They were perfect agents, he realized, people no one would remember.  He was ever more certain he did not want to work with them.  He had been a professional, practical and loyal, and very good at what he did.  But he didn't think he'd been as cold.  Tain had been that way.  Perhaps that was why he'd ended up here, he mused, as he laid aside the padd he was decoding. 
    He was not having much success with his plan to escape.  He knew what he had to do.  The trick was passing the information to Sisko at the right time, without it being traced to him.  He was leery of tapping into Sisko's communications, especially since his discovery that someone else already had.  It must not get back to *them* that they were being betrayed.  He had kept tabs on what happened to some of the people on whom he'd given information. 
    One had been a middle aged Bajoran, active in the resistance, who had pushed for ending negotiations with the Federation.  He wanted no part of their joining.  But once, when he was younger, he'd killed someone believed to be a traitor.  If the boy had betrayed them or not no longer mattered.  One of the chief sponsors of the petition was the boy's grandfather, and he believed the boy had died at Cardassian hands.  That mattered a great deal. 
    A week after Garak had passed on the information, the man was found dead.  He had been executed in the same manner the resistance had killed its traitors.  Garak believed his murderer had been manipulated into the act, for there had been no compromise on his victim's radical point of view.  It had caused quite a stir.  Garak was quite sure he'd meet a similar fate, in whatever manner these people used to execute those who betrayed them.  If they caught him after he had completed his revenge didn't matter as much.  But he was taking even greater care than normal not to slip. 
    But he was near.  Sisko would receive a very secret transmission from Starfleet intelligence, a report concerning the fate of the biomemetic gel.  The Dominion had used it against two more targets since Quark had passed on the information.  Sisko would be devastated.  He hoped it would still effect Bashir.  He still watched, but sometimes the doctor reminded him of the grim faced robots who ordered suits more than the man he'd known. 

    It was a Friday, and Ben Sisko had hated Fridays.  It was bad enough that the murder of the Bajoran was still fresh in everyone's mind, and they all distrusted each other.  But the war had heated up again, as wars would, just when it looked to be nearly over.  This time Ross had not said a word about the Bajorans.  He'd been all business.  They would be moving more ships and more supplies through DS9, and the logistics had to be in place before they arrived.  Sisko had almost forgotten about the petition for a little while. 
    The Cardassians were fighting hard, small rebellions breaking out here and there, while still resting the Federation and its allies.  But rebellions would not spare Cardassia from the vengeance of the victors.  Even if Damar himself switched sides it wouldn't help, and the Cardassian's knew it.  Nobody was deluding themselves about the cost of taking Cardassia, but they would succeed no matter how high it was.  With the Jem'Hadar continuing to be bred in record numbers, and the desperation of the Cardassians, that cost would be very dear. 
    The war had slowed--almost paused--for a time.  But a week ago, Friday's posting of names had been twice as long as the previous week.  This Friday it had doubled again.  Ross had mentioned, in passing, the thought that perhaps Bajor could contribute some troops for the end.  He thought that perhaps some might find the chance to invade Cardassia quiet pleasing.  Sisko was to propose it.  He was almost certain that it would be accepted.  The darkness would touch everyone, alter their lives and futures.  He had told only Kira, but she agreed.  She had surprised him.  He was so tired of the names that it would be enough to have it over.  He didn't want anything more.  But everyone else was to get their revenge.  Why not Bajor?  He wondered if that was all that was left to take. 

    Elim Garak looked at the padd, wearing a grim smile.  He was ready.  He'd established a patch into Sisko's secure communications.  As far as Sisko was concerned, the document came from Starfleet Intelligence.  As soon as it was sent, the patch would disappear.  
    Staring at the padd, he considered the irony of it.  Sisko had pushed Bashir into joining them, and instead of the doctor spying for him he was instead spying on Sisko.  Garak was sure Sisko had somehow intended to expose them.  He was sure the good Captain would appreciate Garak's betrayal, had he not been one of the targets.  In a way Sisko was getting his desire.  It just wasn't going to turn out quite the way he had planned.  
    He loaded the file, now correctly encoded, and sent it.  It would bear a false transmission time, accounting for the normal lag in reception.  But only the most careful examination would reveal any oddities.  He was sure, once the subject was revealed, that Sisko would want no one to see it. 
    He'd updated it with the most recent information he could find.  Sisko would find out just how high the cost of Romulan participation had been.  And he would have to keep it quiet.  
    Even if Bashir had given up caring he'd get Sisko.  Bashir would have to note the growing instability.  Bashir's employers would take it from there.  They would push Sisko too far.  He knew the captain.  He would simply react, as he had after the holosuite disaster.  They would fail, and failure carried a high price.  Those who had stolen his friend would pay. 
    Garak wanted to escape them.  Perhaps he would have that chance.  But should that not be possible, he would still be satisfied.  

    It was early evening, and Bashir was puzzled over the readings on his bio-monitor.  Sisko was deeply distressed.  The odd part was there was nothing to account for it.  It wasn't Friday.  There had been no bad reports of losses that day.  Even the Bajoran problem was stalled in political bickering, as Bajor planned to send some of its own to help dismantle Cardassia. 
    But Sisko was in deep emotional turmoil.  Bashir had abandoned his usual pursuits and come to watch the monitor.  Usually there was noting of note to keep his attention.  But tonight it was very different. 
    Sisko was drinking, something from a dark bottle.  He'd eaten alone, rather early, and the remains of his half-finished meal were still sitting on the table.  The first few drinks had been with dinner, but he'd kept on drinking.  He was already drunk when Bashir started watching.  Sisko stared at the table, looking at a small padd he had just picked up.  Suddenly he slammed it down, throwing it on the floor.  He took a large gulp, spilling the drink on himself and the chair.  He slowly lowered the bottle and stood up.  Kicking the padd out of the way, he started to pace.  "I know I said I would live with it," he said, "but I don't know how anymore." 
    Julian decided not to go to Quarks tonight.  Sisko picked up the bottle, and drank directly from it.  He wasn't gulping anymore, but consuming more as he paced around the room.  
    "Computer, open personal log," said the drunk Captain.  "Stardate, whatever," he mumbled.  "It's been, what?, since the Romulans came in," he muttered to himself.  "I thought it would get easier.  It just doesn't.  That Romulan, I'm sure the rest of those on board didn't want to die.  Damn Garak."  More sloshing, and desperate gulps from the bottle followed.  He started again.  "All those people he blew up just to get the senator." 
    Bashir stared at the wall.  He knew Garak would do that kind of thing.  Once, he hadn't wanted to know, but that time was past.  He had no illusions about the Cardassian now.  But Sisko had been in on this scheme.  For the man he had despised to be a part of this would not have surprised him, but his view of Sisko had changed.  The man knew better, or at least the man Bashir thought he saw should have.  He watched as Sisko finished the bottle and opened another.  Sisko nearly tripped over a chair and stopped pacing.  He retrieved his drink and went back to mumbling.  
    "And that gel.  I can't even confront Garak.  He didn't know.  Nobody knew.  But I do now."  He drank a little more, his tone softer.  "If Bashir discovers what happened, I don't know ... "  He broke down.  "He didn't want to.  I made him.  And now, all those people."  Sisko stopped muttering and drinking and spent the rest of the evening staring at the monitor, occasionally wiping away tears.  Bashir had never seen him look so lost. 
    Bashir sat, stunned, looking at the monitor.  He didn't know what had become of the gel, but whatever it took he would find out.  He didn't turn it off, just sat and stared at Sisko, appalled.  Sometime before he fell asleep, Sisko remembered the log and had the computer erase it.  But the damage had been done.  Bashir had to know, and if it took all of Sloan's little devices he would succeed.  And no one, especially not Benjamin Sisko, would be allowed to get in the way. 

    Sisko had said little all day.  He had come into his office early, and worked on reports without comment.  He had returned to his quarters for lunch.  He couldn't face conversation.  It was too loud anyway, and he didn't have much of an appetite.  He put up with the hangover rather than let it show. 
    Early in the afternoon, he'd had to talk to a couple of Bajoran officials.  The first one had wanted to discuss the Federation.  He had politely and formally been sent away.  The second was coordinating the Bajoran force joining the allies in taking Cardassia.  He couldn't avoid that discussion. 
    "I've had a good response," said the Bajoran general.  Sisko remembered that this particular general had chosen to have nothing to do with the petition. 
    Sisko nodded, "Starfleet should be pleased," he said quietly.  But it still sounded too loud. 
    "It's ironic, I suppose," said the General.  "Some of the same people who worry the Federation will ruin our culture are the most enthusiastic about joining their attack." 
    "I think I'd rather be us right now than Cardassia," mused Sisko quietly. 
    "Yes."  He paused, looking at Sisko.  "Is something wrong?" 
    "No, just too many names.  Tomorrow will be another list."  Sisko thought about the padd and his expression turned very grim. 
    "I wonder," said the general.  "When your list contains our names too, will it make a difference?  Or will they forget?" 
    Sisko thought of the padd again.  He couldn't deal with all of it.  Ross had mentioned the need to keep pace with the Romulans.  "I wish it were that simple," he said.  "Right now, all I can handle is today." 
    The general nodded with understanding.  "I know.  I remember.  I'd hoped not to be reminded of it quite so soon." 

    Garak watched his visitor leave, carrying the suit.  He'd handed the tailor two new padds this time.  Nothing had been said about a new order, but he was sure there would be one.  But he didn't mind so much anymore.  The seed had been sown.  He wondered how soon the results would start to show. 
    Bashir had kept to himself in the last few days.  But it wasn't much of a change.  Garak had decided to risk tapping into Sisko's logs.  Sisko had been a little more withdrawn than normal, but the new events in the war could well be responsible.  He was certain his plan would work.  If Sisko hadn't been affected enough, he'd have to make sure a few more reports found their way to the captain. 
    There was risk.  The people watching Sisko might well discover the intrusion.  But it was necessary.  Both Sisko and Bashir hid things too well.  The moments they hid from view mattered much more than the facade. 
    It was the vital part of the plan.  Sisko would not suspect, were he to maintain a proper enough facade, how much danger he was in.  It would give his reactions just that much more power at the end.  And while Garak was certain that his plan would work, he was still uncertain how it would come about.  He didn't dare alert Bashir.  Even with Quark's device, he couldn't risk it.  He would simply have to hope that Bashir had not been completely lost.  He chose to ignore that his revenge might destroy all that was left. 


    Julian Bashir had believed he was losing his ability to feel.  Even during the day, being a doctor, he felt the distance.  He had already separated himself from the life on the station.  He kept to himself, but people got used to it and nobody really noticed. 
    But the last few days had been different.  The ghost of that gel followed him all day, and he'd eaten his lunch in his office.  He'd used the audio monitor for the first time, but it had showed him nothing.  He'd been very quiet all day, and one of the nurses had asked him if he was all right. 
    "I'm just tired, long night," he'd said.  That part was true at least.  He'd lain awake most of the night, haunted by the legacy of that gel.  He knew it had been used for a weapon, probably biological.  And it had killed.  Sisko had forced him to release it.  He didn't know why, but would discover that in time. 
    He had turned on the monitor immediately when he arrived.  But Sisko wasn't there.  He kept it on, watching, until he actually entered his quarters. 
    He was carrying a bottle.  He didn't eat any dinner.  He just started drinking.  
    Someone had found a way to break him.  Bashir wondered who, but didn't care.  Because Sisko had made him release the gel.  Because he still remembered signing the order for it to be packaged wondering if he should obey it.  Because he could have stopped it.  Because people were dead.  Because now he had more blood on his hands, except this time it was Sisko's fault. 

    It was another Friday.  It had been a week since Sisko had learned about the gel, and as he posted the list he wondered if selling his self-respect had been worth it.  He'd had plenty of time to think about the ramifications.  The disease they created had been used to take a planet, with hardly any need for the Jem'Hadar.  It had been used to crush a resistance movement, and just the threat to have another sold to the occupiers.  
    There had been rumors that the Founders were ill.  Sisko wondered if they were like the solids they despised.  Would they take revenge in kind?  Had the Romulan's joining the war simply altered the means to an end already written in fate? 
    It was a very long list, and there were a number of Bajorans on it this time.  Many Bajorans were waiting to look, wearing the same guarded expressions the Starfleet people had for weeks.  He stepped back, just watching. 
    Miles came in, Ezri training after him.  He could tell from their faces that the news was bad.  They paused near him.  "A couple of friends, from my old ship," she said softly.  "I dated one of them."  
    Miles looked gloomy.  "I noticed an old friend."  He looked up as Bashir entered the room.  His expression became darker.  "I don't have new friends," he muttered. 
    Sisko watched as Bashir entered, walking past O'Brien and Dax as if they weren't there.  He studied the names for a few minutes and paused on his way out.  Sisko noticed the way Bashir glanced at him, just briefly.  His expression was unreadable, but Sisko wished he'd leave.  He moved along a little, pausing near the door, just looking at the crowd. 
    O'Brien and Dax were watching him.  O'Brien had said nothing.  Ezri said softly, "I miss him."  She ruffled her hair with her hand.  "It's harder to lose friends this way than on that list." 
    O'Brien gazed at the doctor for a second.  "Yeah, right now having friends can be dangerous." 
    Sisko watched as they walked past him, neither noticing the other.  Bashir looked up one more time, and this time the look was unmistakable.  It wasn't the cold look he'd worn before, but one of barely contained anger.  Perhaps O'Brien had seen it too. 

    Garak watched Sisko's face as he left his disjointed log.  Parts of it were missing or unreadable, but there was enough.  That morning he had posted the "list".  There had been so many more names.  He had known a few of them, and it made them all real. 
    Garak noted that he was drinking.  He had had quite a bit already.  He sat for a while, and regarded the stars.  He was quiet after that, sipping the drink slowly.  "I just can't help but wonder when we'll have other names," he said softly.  "From epidemics this time.  Or would we be in Dominion hands already without the Romulans?  I wish there was an answer." 
    He got up, walking slowly around the room.  Garak could see his face quite clearly.  "And then there is Bashir.  That look he gave me today was chilling.  So much anger there ... " 
    The feed grew fuzzy, and he lost the sound.  But it was enough.  He knew.  Bashir had taken the bait.  It was time to withdraw, smile at his various customers and compatriots, and let time do its work.  He only hoped the sense of alarm would fade with it. 

    It hadn't taken Bashir long to discover what had become of the gel.  It had gone to the Dominion.  The biological weapon they had made had been used against several places already.  
    He knew now that he should have refused the order.  But even more fundamentally, Sisko should never have given it.  He knew the danger in releasing the gel to an unknown party.  He could not be excused just because he was suffering for it now. 
    He was not the same as Sloan.  Sloan would never have questioned the need, never agonized over the results.  Sisko was devastated.  But he had made the decision to trade potential disaster for something.  And he had lived with it for at least a time.  Perhaps, once Sloan had started that way, but one too many compromises had just made him cold. 
    He had to know why.  He was sure there were no official records.  It had something to do with the Romulans and an explosion on one of their ships.  He could guess.  But Sisko wasn't the only one who knew.  Garak had been his partner in crime.  This time he wanted to hear it from Garak. 

    Garak had been very busy.  With the increased demands on his time from Starfleet, and his other employer, he was often in his shop late in the evening.  That night, he was in the back, finishing up the decoding of an urgent padd for Starfleet.  When he heard his visitor he stored the padd and walked into the shop. 
    He was astonished to see Bashir standing there.  He noted the severe black dress, something the doctor had not worn for weeks.  Garak understood how Sisko must have felt that day, when Bashir looked at him.  Bashir was staring at him, and he could see the brewing anger that Sisko had mentioned.  He grew very composed while inside every sense warned him of danger.  He had once felt a trace of guilt about using him to destroy the others.  But it vanished when he saw the look.  This man resembled his friend, but all the rest was gone.  That theft was the reason for this, he reminded himself. 
    He picked up a shirt off a display.  "I'd like to try this on," he said.  Garak watched as he went into the special dressing room, and despite his outer ease, still hesitated.  His tone was as calm as Garak's but it held an enormous undercurrent of anger that worried the tailor. 
    But it would be worse to ignore him.  Hesitantly, he entered the dressing room.  Bashir was standing still, watching.  He had brought something with him in a case.  The shirt was on the floor. 
    He knew Bashir was fast and strong, even if he seldom showed his full potential.  Before he could react, Bashir had come up behind him, and shoved him on the floor.  His forehead resting on it, he felt Bashir's grip on his wrists.  He tied something around them, too tight.  Garak forced himself to be calm as his feet were shacked as well.  He stayed where he was.  
    Bashir said suddenly, "Sit up." 
    Garak did as he was told, aware of the barely controlled rage in the voice.  Bashir yanked him to his feet and shoved him against a wall.  He carefully opened the case and removed the gun it contained.  The Zas'sanna patrol had carried them.  Bashir appeared to carefully load it.  It was a chemical weapon.  Odo's normal scan would not detect it unless it was fired.  Garak could not help but to stare at it, something Bashir noticed. "I would appreciate if you'd explain.  This is most undignified."  Garak hoped it sounded reasonably normal.  
    "Quiet," said Bashir.  Garak felt the room grow warm and his heart was pounding.  Bashir picked up the gun and pointed it at his head.  The doctor moved closer, until it was inches away from his eyes.  Nothing was said.  Abruptly it was removed and Garak relaxed a little.  "Turn around and face the wall," snapped the doctor.  Garak moved carefully, lest Bashir misinterpret something he did.  He was breathing in shallow, quick breaths.  He could not think straight.  He didn't bother trying to pretend he was calm anymore. 
    "What do you want to know?" asked Garak with no bravado. 
    Bashir shoved the gun into his back, pushing him against the wall.  From behind him, he heard Bashir's voice, his tone almost mocking.  "Garak, you know why Sisko wanted the biomemetic gel." 
    Despite the gun and Bashir's tones, Garak thought this would work out well.  He wanted Bashir to know.  It would insure he would blame Sisko.  "Yes," he said as softly as he could, trying to calm himself. 
    "Tell me," said the man with the gun.  
    Garak suddenly wondered if Bashir felt the same about him as he did about Sisko.  The gun was moved to the back of his head.  "It was in trade for a special device, one we had no other way to get."  He tried to keep the edge of fear out of his voice.  
    "And what did you need this for," asked Bashir, now moving the gun to his temple. 
    Garak calmed his breathing.  "To prove to the Romulans that the Dominion was going to turn on them." 
    "I see," said Bashir, pulling Garak closer.  "And did they believe it?" 
    Garak was nervous, for Bashir had not moved the gun.  If anything he was holding it more steadily.  "No," he whispered.  
    Bashir stood still for a moment, loosening his hold by a fraction.  "They still switched sides.  Why?  You killed someone, and let the Jem'Hadar take the blame." 
    Garak was growing more concerned.  Bashir had the whole story now.  He was still pointing the gun at him.  "The Romulans believed, that's what mattered," he whispered. 
    "True," said Bashir, his hand still quite steady.  "It had to have been your idea." 
    "The details," said Garak steadily.  "But Sisko came to me with the idea.  He could have stopped it at any time.  But he didn't.  He could have refused to order you to sign over the gel, but he didn't.  He wanted it to work." 
    Bashir did not release him, but pulled back the gun a little.  "He's paying for it now."  He pulled Garak closer.  "How did Sisko learn about the gel?  Nobody in Intelligence has told him." 
    Garak wondered if Bashir would blame him as well.  "Perhaps the report was sent by mistake," he said. 
    For an eternity, the doctor held the gun still and said nothing.  Garak told himself he would be all right.  If he was going to use it he would have already.  Bashir had gotten what he wanted.  He didn't dare leave any mysteries.  Then he shoved it hard against his temple.  "Don't forget," said Bashir, and Garak heard it fire.  He collapsed and landed on the floor.  He looked up as Bashir dropped a key by his feet, and a small blade in the Cardassian's hand.  "You should be able to cut yourself loose with this.  Don't hurt yourself."  
    His tone had been mocking, as if he was amused.  Garak didn't move until he was gone.  He positioned the small knife to cut the cord, and eventually freed himself with only a small cut, which he treated himself.  He had to finish the padd, but couldn't concentrate.  All he could think of was the certainty that he was going to die when the gun had fired. 

    Sisko arrived late that day at his office, already depressed.  Kassidy had left again, all business and efficiency.  He had tried taking her name from the rotation of pilots flying supplies, but she had made it quite plain she wasn't happy.  He wanted her safe, and it was a dangerous job.  He'd lost one wife that way, taking her into war, and didn't want to lose another.  He hadn't asked her yet, but as soon as she returned he was going to take her to one of Quark's holosuites to watch a baseball game between the best players in the history of the game.  And when it was done he would propose.  It was the one bright spot in the dark shadows that surrounded him. 
    He tried not to compare her with Jennifer.  It had been so different then.  She had been a part of his life, but he had not needed to get used to hers.  Kassidy didn't remind him of his first wife, as he had come to think of Jennifer.  She had a full life of her own, and refused to allow him to protect her.  When she was gone, he was almost afraid to look at the lists.  He didn't know if he could stand finding her name on Friday's list.  
    He loved her.  He'd come to understand, reluctantly, that part of that love was of her independence.  He could not deny that to her, for it would be denying what made her so special.  But that morning, watching her ship as it left dock and disappeared with the others, he was afraid.  So many ships never came home.  He knew it wasn't fair, but if anyone survived it had to be her.  He could not stand his life without her. 
    He would have been content to sit alone in his office with noting but the stars to contemplate, but someone interrupted his solace and changed everything.  

    He stared at the padd Odo had given him, stunned by its implications.  It fit, though.  The doctor had recently gone from cold to the smoldering anger Sisko didn't understand.  If he'd been listening that night, and other nights since, Bashir had every reason to feel that way.  He gazed out the window, studying the Romulan ships docked at the station.  Without them, they may well have already been defeated.  But the legacy of that arrangement was leaving a trail of death and slavery behind, as the Dominion raised its new weapon against anyone who defied them.  What would the ultimate price of their survival be, he wondered. 
    Someone had tripped an alarm, without leaving a trail to follow.  Someone had been listening to his private thoughts, given only to a log he had the computer erase.  He had no doubt that was not all that was watched and noted.  His only refuge was gone. 
    Odo understood the delicacy of the situation.  He had not said a word about the padd.  But he was waiting for Sisko to suggest a better place.  Sisko found his voice, and set the padd on his desk.  "I'd like to see the area where you found this substance.  That area hasn't been used since the ore processing was shut down." 
    Odo nodded, carefully looking around.  "No, that section wasn't even repaired.  If you'd like to go now, it should be safe enough." 
    "I don't have anything else pressing right now," he said.  He didn't say it right.  But his unseen observer would already know. 

    Standing in the half-dark corridor, with the ruins of machinery all around him, Sisko wondered how he could have missed it.  Bashir had dangerous friends, and they had secret equipment that could follow him everywhere.  With all the doubts Starfleet was having about him, he knew he should have been more careful.  But the report had come as such a shock.  He had not been able to keep away the grief and horror. 
    But all of that was changed now.  He no longer had a personal life.  He would not give them the satisfaction of having anything to see. 
    Odo had said nothing, watching as Sisko poked his way around the area looking for signs of recent disturbance.  If there was anywhere on the station it was safe to talk, it was here.  Finally, haltingly, he asked, "How bad?" 
    Odo was businesslike.  "It appeared to be a momentary glitch.  I have no doubt you are under surveillance.  By whom is the question." 
    Sisko just nodded, wondering if he should tell Odo what he knew.  He'd been keeping an eye on the doctor, but Bashir was very good at filling roles and Odo wasn't overly suspicious.  "Yes, we need to be careful," said Sisko, unable to decide. 
    "You must continue to behave as you have before, and not tip them off.  My report will conclude it was equipment failure.  The trail to and from the spy is so complex it could take a long time to find.  What I have in mind is a trap." 
    Sisko listened as Odo outlined his plan.  It was a good plan.  It just wasn't necessary.  He already knew who was watching.  Eventually, the Constable finished, studying Sisko as he stood in the dim light.  
    He turned to face the Constable, his face as hard as stone.  "There will be no investigation," he said, his voice bitter. 
    Odo was frustrated, and allowed it to show.  "Captain," he said patiently, "Since I have worked under Federation laws, the one thing I have been constantly reminded of is the right to privacy.  You value this above security.  You do not allow me to work as I might have because this violated personal rights.  I have learned to manage.  But now you are going to allow someone to break all the rules and get away with it.  I do not understand." 
    Sisko watched Odo's face as he waited, aware he was not only annoyed but worried.  It was his job and Sisko was denying him the right to do it.  "You don't need to investigate," he said quietly.  "I know who it is already." 
    Odo didn't like it.  "And is it not desirable to *stop* this person?" he asked with disapproval. 
    Sisko wished it was that simple.  At least with Bashir he knew who it was.  If he forced the doctor to be replaced he'd never know.  "He'll just be replaced with someone harder to find," said Sisko with resignation. 
    Odo watched for a few moments.  "I see."  His tone was acid.  Sisko thought he had figured it out.  "I'll have to keep an eye on this person, should I discover who it is." 
    Sisko was concerned.  "If you do, be very careful.  We wouldn't want there to be any fatal accidents around here." 
    Odo exchanged a look of unspoken understanding.  It was the last that would be said of it.  He looked away.  "I see Kassidy left today.  You'll miss her." 
    It hadn't hit Sisko until then.  But the effect of Bashir's spying was worse than not having a free hand at recording his personal log.  Bashir had, and still could *watch* as he had been with her.  The conversations meant to be personal were compromised, and ruined.  The few moments of his life when he could be himself had been stolen.  His sense of violation was enormous.  "Yes," he said bitterly, "I will." 

    He'd gone back to his office.  He stood there, wondering if he was watching then.  Perhaps he did all the time, the records noted in careful time frames.  It had been comfortable before.  Now it was another room he dared not relax.  There were none of those places left, At least on the station. 
    His voice was under control as he called Kira.  "Colonel, hold all but priority messages, and cancel all my appointments.  I'd like some time."  She acknowledged his order, and he looked out at the stars again.  He would have to mind what he had to say from now on.  He didn't dare write or say anything that could reflect the wrong impression.  He could not retreat to his quarters and relax anymore.  He couldn't talk out his worries with a log he erased. 
    And he couldn't have Kassidy.  He still loved her, but he refused to have his personal life scrutinized by the doctor or his people.  He would rather be alone.  He could almost understand being watched in his office, even having his logs tapped.  But he hated the man for what he'd done to his personal life.  He needed her.  He didn't know how he'd manage without her.  He didn't know how to tell her to wait without telling her too much.  He didn't know how he'd stand it until then. 
    His anger at the doctor was rising, and he could not deny it.  Bashir would not get by with this.  Abruptly, he stormed out of his office and past the surprised faces of his crew. 

    Bashir was busy with lab results when Sisko entered.  He hadn't been in the Infirmary since the hearing, or had come in at night when someone else was there.  He was surprised and looked up at the Captain as he made his way through the room, and entered the small lab without asking.  He just stood there, staring at the doctor.  The look in his eyes was almost a mirror of the anger that lived under Bashir's outer facade. 
    "Is there a reason for you to barge into my lab?" he asked Sisko. 
    Sisko stepped forward.  Bashir remembered the look in his eyes the last time Sisko had confronted him here.  That had been one of fear.  This was anger and betrayal.  "How dare you spy on my personal logs.  How dare you invade my personal life.  You have no right to do any of these things, no matter what your present superior believes.  I will not stand for it." 
    Bashir just looked at him.  "I would take care, Captain.  You have no claim to moral superiority, not after your little arraignment with Garak."  Sisko said noting, but his anger did not dim.  "Nor did you have any 'right' to force me into my present position.  The Bajorans may have made you a god, but you are just as weak a man as before." 
    Sisko backed away a little.  "I'm not proud of what I did," he began, and then stopped.  "But we are going to win the war." 
    "No, our military may win, but 'we' lost the day you and others like you decided to sell poison to the some unknown party without the slightest hesitation.  Garak told me what he did, the lie that made your plan work.  Your plan, not his.  And you picked Garak knowing full well he'd do whatever was necessary to make it work while you could keep your hands clean.  You are a pitiful, weak little man and I despise you."  Bashir's voice was even but there was a hint of the passionate feelings underneath. 
    "I don't consider you one to be a part of this or any other civilized place anymore."  Sisko tone was intense, holding back nothing. 
    "I didn't say where I fit," said Bashir, bitterly.  "You don't deserve to be the Emissary, or receive all this adulation.  What do you say when this weapon you gave them is aimed at Earth, or Bajor, or Vulcan, or any other world?  Did they use their prisoners to test and perfect it, so they could insure it kills a wide variety of species?  Will it be used to revenge the founders?  Have you just made the kind of death a little different?"  Bashir sat the lab test he'd been holding in his hand on the table.  He held up his hands before Sisko.  "Can you see the blood *you* put there?" 
    Sisko backed away.  "I didn't intend to do that," he said softly.  "But I share it." 
    "Intent is not relevant.  And you knew.  You didn't know any details but you knew it would kill people in the end.  No matter how you act, you are no more innocent than my ... superior is." 
    Sisko must have realized his mistake.  He stepped back again, in active retreat.  "You do know this can't be discussed," he said, very tired. 
    "Of course.  Do you?" snapped Bashir. 
    "You might mention that to Garak," said Sisko, but softly, his tone hesitant. 
    "I just may," said Bashir, as Sisko retreated from the room in defeat. 

    Kira sighed as Odo wrapped his arms around her.  She yawned.  "I don't know why I'm so sleepy tonight," she said. 
    Odo shifted position as she rolled towards him.  His look was still troubled, but they were satisfied that the shapeshifter would keep quiet.  Odo's discovery had been unfortunate, but it had provided an unexpected chance to evaluate his loyalty and willingness to obey orders.  Time was running out. 
    Odo would never know how much had been riding on his decision that day.  His loyalty to the Alpha quadrant had been judged to be sincere.  But his personal standards were unpredictable.  In the absence of predictability, willingness to obey orders was important. 
    For Sisko, the slip in security had given his life a nightmarish quality.  For Odo, it had given him life. 
    Kira had ingested a mild sedative with her last glass at Quarks, and she and Odo had retired early.  There was no teasing that night, and nothing of interest to watch.  He would hold her until she fell asleep and then sleep himself, usually still in his solid form, reverting to the amber goo sometime later, still beside her.  
    Unnoticed, as he was about to fall asleep, a device was activated that prevented his transformation.  The man waiting in the shadows was patient.  Odo must be fully asleep before he began. 
    The shapeshifter said quietly, "It has been a very difficult day." 
    Kira looked at him, studying his grim expression.  "I won't ask," she said.  "But I had to explain that the Captain was not available.  I didn't tell them he was in his quarters and wouldn't respond to his combadge." 
    Odo said dryly, "He had his reasons." 
    She yawned again.  "Tomorrow's going to be busy," she said, curling up comfortably at his side.  She closed her eyes, the drug working faster as she relaxed.  Odo held her close while she fell asleep. 
    But he did not.  He was obviously troubled.  The man in the shadows had second thoughts.  His hand was on the device, ready to deactivate it, when the Constable whispered to himself, "I hope you know what you're doing, Captain."  He caressed Kira's hair and smiled as she snuggled closer. 
    A short while later he was asleep.  The man came forward, dressed in a dark grey uniform, with a small medical insignia on his collar.  He was older, but fit, his wavy white hair cut neatly.  He was holding a hypo.  He pressed it against Odo's neck.  
    The device had been switched off.  Odo twitched in pain.  His body became amber and then reformed into his normal solid form.  The stranger watched without reaction.  "Well done, Constable," he said, as Odo once again relaxed, and pulled Kira closer to him, still asleep.  The most he would remember was a bad dream. 
    The man did not immediately leave.  It was an important moment, the epilogue of his masterpiece.  He felt a moment of pity for the man who would soon be the last of his kind.  He would destroy the hypo when he left, the single dose of cure made before its secret had been destroyed. 
    "Sleep well," he said, as he disappeared. 

    In the wake of the wars explosion, Bajor and its petition was often regarded as nearly forgotten.  But not everyone had forgotten.  The Bajoran's had not, especially with the losses they were suffering.  And Section 31 had not.  Bashir reported just as he had been assigned.  Except the tone of his reports had changed, and with the security breach Sisko was now on his guard.  And a few days after Sisko's visit to the infirmary, he found the bear had once again moved from its shelf. 
    This time he was awake and ready.  But Sloan was nowhere to be seen.  He was met by several unfamiliar men, and escorted to a small office. 
    The tall one opened the meeting immediately.  "There has been a security breach.  The changeling detected something." 
    He was very calm.  "I'm aware of that.  It wasn't ours." 
    "Do you have any idea who might have been looking?" asked the short one. 
    He paused.  Garak's life was in his hands.  He could betray the man and he'd be punished, the results possibly fatal.  Or he could lie and spare him.  He was still unsure why Garak had done it, but he believed Garak to be very useful.  And he had cooperated.  "I believe it was probably Quark, or the like.  He's been known to snoop now and then." 
    "The Ferengi?  Possibly."  The short one was studying a padd.  "He deals in various extra-legal substances from time to time.  I'm sure he has his ways." 
    Bashir thought to himself that Garak owed him.  He wasn't sure how that would work.  But he would have to remind the Cardassian.  
    The tall one said, quite concerned, "Sisko has been tipped off.  We'll have to alter a few methods but I think we can get around it." 
    "It's being handled," said the short one. 
    "Sisko hasn't had much to say in his logs lately.  He's been keeping them rather formal."  Bashir didn't mention the drinking, though Sisko hadn't done much of that of late. 
    "Actually, we need to discuss the matter.  Up until recently, Captain Sisko has come across as rather reasonable.  It's just since the war erupted again that you raise some doubt about his stability."  The short one again consulted his padd. 
    Bashir was surprised.  He wasn't aware his ideas had changed.  But then Sisko had become obsessed over the war.  Even without the other news that would account for a kind of instability.  He didn't want to tell them about the other.  He said with much thought, "It's the war, the way things have gone.  I think all he really wants is to see it over.  He isn't dealing with much else right now." 
    The short one consulted his padd again.  "That is not unexpected.  But we need more precise information.  I'd like to see a lot more details in these reports." 
    Bashir realized that his reports were sent to this man.  He choose his words very carefully.  He must not sound like he'd tried to deceive them.  "Perhaps a different approach will be necessary then.  I don't have a lot of time to observe him." 
    The tall one nodded.  "We hadn't anticipated the need for more.  But I think you'll like the new arraignment.  It will block any attempts like the Ferengi's as well.  We'll discuss the details later." 
    The meeting went on, and Bashir watched his words very carefully.  He was very professional.  They wanted him to correlate the times of stress with causes.  He wondered if they were designing a test for Sisko. 
    He would have to take care.  They would not approve of his anger.  He must keep it hidden from view.  He wondered if the "new arrangement" included someone watching him much closer than before.  Now that they had taken all he had, compromised the last meaningful part of his life beyond redemption, it didn't really matter much anymore. 

    Ben Sisko entered his quarters, wondering where they had hidden the device.  He knew he would never find it, and if he did they would simply replace it.  He should never have pushed Bashir into cooperating.  Perhaps he would have died, but it might have been preferable to the man he'd become.  Between his intelligence, his seething bitterness, and the tools he had available, Bashir had become the dangerous man Starfleet was afraid of. 
    Or, he corrected himself, Bashir had been molded into one.  He didn't excuse his part in the process.  Bashir might have had a fatal accident if he'd refused them, as Sisko knew he would have on his own.  But Sisko had changed that.  He had, in one unthinking moment, given the young doctor to them.  They had turned him slowly, piece by piece.  Bashir was still an excellent doctor, and his patients accepted his reserved manner.  He wondered how long it would take before everything was gone. 
    But Ben Sisko would pay for that moment.  Bashir could only have learned what he did if he'd been listening to that log, when the report had first come and he'd been overwhelmed.  What else did the man know?  And most worrisome, what did he want? 
    Life had changed for Sisko.  He watched what he said no matter where he was.  He read or listened to music when he went home at night.  His logs were very brief and to the point.  This had been home, but it had been stolen.  It occurred to him that Bashir was taking revenge in kind. 
    But it wasn't just Bashir.  These people operated on their own, but in the interests of the Federation.  Ross had not mentioned Bajor in a while, but he knew they still wondered.  Starfleet didn't entirely trust him.  For now there was the war, and he was important.  But eventually the war would end and they would want an answer. 
    He already knew what it was.  He just wasn't ready to let anyone know.  If he'd had any desire to stay with Starfleet it had disappeared in the last month, especially knowing he was being watched.  He would help win the war, but then he wanted to go home.  
    No, he decided, Bashir's revenge was almost complete.  In the end, he would have nowhere.  Ben Sisko still had a home.  It was all that kept him from giving up. 

    Garak looked at the two padds.  They was no longer any pretense.  This time he recognized the man, but he'd have known anyway.  They were all the same, cold and official.  These padds would be replaced with more.  He knew they didn't trust him, not really, but made use of him just the same.  
    It was Friday, and after his contact had left, he decided to check the list.  He didn't know many people, but was curious.  He watched while Sisko entered and set up the list.  Waiting in the back, he studied the Captain. 
    Sisko hated this duty.  He completed his task each Friday with a combination of grief and honor, and it was no different this time.  The list was very long, and a number of Bajorans were waiting to check for friends.  Sisko usually waited around, watching the crowd.  This time he did the same, watching the crowd with a lost expression.  Someone made accidental eye contact, and the expression disappeared. 
    Garak watched with interest.  Sisko had changed.  He had always been controlled, but he'd become cautious.  He chose his words carefully.  He said nothing unless he had a reason.  He glanced around each room he entered. 
    Sisko knew, or suspected, that he was being watched.  He'd keep himself under control, and it would change things.  But it would not prevent them.  Garak moved forward, taking a quick look at the list.  Miles and Dax had moved away, and he noticed how depressed they looked.  Most people hurried away, but they moved towards the back of the room, near Sisko. 
    But Garak was distracted by the new visitor.  Bashir entered, looking preoccupied, and studied the names.  He didn't take long.  Garak wondered why he bothered.  He had pushed away all his friends.  Bashir finished his review of the names, and made his way for the door. 
    Garak moved out of the way.  He did not know the man who had held a gun to his head.  He blended back in the crowd just watching people as they looked for names.  Bashir had seen him, and glanced his way.  But he left quickly.  Garak waited long enough for Bashir to be out of sight, and escaped back to his shop.  There were three dress orders to be filled.  The padds could wait.  He spent the afternoon sewing, wondering how long it would take for the nightmares to disappear. 

    Julian Bashir moved through his life as if it were a play, and he was an actor.  None of it was real.  He practiced medicine as if he was a doctor, but even that had taken on a slight air of unreality.  He ate his meals alone, even if he went to the replimat.  Once in a while he still went to see Vic, but there was no comfort to be found there either.  He used the new devices he'd been given with clinical efficience.  They recorded Sisko's activities during the day, within a time frame.  If something had been stressful he could examine the event.  If something had relaxed him he studied it as well.  His reports were those of a professional with a patient.  He never noticed that when asked for an interpretation it was no longer in Sisko's favor. 
    He knew the use they intended for his reports.  But he was too tired to fight them.  They'd stolen too much.  He didn't belong to this place anymore, or these people.  He had nothing but the events of the day to define his life.  
    Every Friday he looked at the list.  He'd seen several names of people he knew.  He wouldn't call them friends.  He'd had few real friends in his life.  But somewhere in him he was sorry they were gone.  It was a little connection to his past they hadn't yet erased. 
    He noticed even Garak came to look at the names now.  Everyone did.  Mostly they came in groups, and when they left they offered each other support.  They had lost so many friends that it didn't hurt as much, but they still felt.  He envied them.  He had buried all his feelings, even his horror over the gel.  It didn't matter anymore.  Nothing mattered.  His life was no longer his own, and he no longer cared what came of it. 
    Garak was avoiding him.  He remembered how it had felt to threaten the Cardassian.  He had been responsible for the gel too.  It was a small measure of satisfaction that Garak had collapsed when he'd pretended to shoot.  When he was done with his daily report on Sisko he felt relief, but didn't analyze it.  He refused to acknowledge the satisfaction when he considered that Sisko might pay too.  The psychological profile he was helping to write would make Zas'sanna simple by comparison. 
    He'd looked at the names, and surveyed the crowd.  For a moment his gaze had lingered on Garak, but he wanted to leave.  He wasn't welcome here.  He looked and left, as he'd done other Fridays.  For just a moment he'd shared with the others, but it had been so brief.  Now it was over and the play went on.  He only wished for the last page of the last act to come and it all to end. 

    Before he posted this Friday's list, Ben Sisko had carefully reviewed it.  It was the longest list he'd ever posted.  Everyone was hit hard, but for the first time there were a lot of Bajorans as well.  One of them was a good friend. 
    The general had started out as someone he couldn't avoid, when they had arraigned the deployment of troops from Bajor in the attack on Cardassia.  There had been many problems, and he and Sisko had had to work them out.  Kira had sat in on many of the discussions, and all three had become friends.  When the Jem'Hadar had destroyed his ship with no survivors it had hit both he and Kira very hard.  
    He had posted the list quickly, and only watched for a little while, staring at them with a lost, blank look.  Kira had already seen it, but had come in with O'Brien and Dax.  Both had gone away saddened.  Kira had joined them as they turned to leave, each with their private loss.  
    He had been thinking of the man, his friend, as he watched the survivors of this terrible war.  As the casualties mounted, revenge against the Cardassians wasn't nearly as satisfying.  He and Sisko had shared their sorrows over spring wine one night, and he'd found a man much like himself. 
    The general had talked about the Starfleet people, and how they didn't look so odd to him anymore.  They'd been tempered with the sorrows of too many losses.  They'd been hardened by too much violence and loss.  He didn't think of them as strangers.  He didn't think their perceptions were as unlike Bajor's as they once had been. 
    He was a lone voice in a wilderness of distrust.  Yes, he'd said, Bajor will have to compromise.  But it was time to join the world.  The Federation would have to learn with what it had lived through as well.  Perhaps Bajor could help. 
    People had listened.  Not many, but it was a start.  Now he was dead and only the separatists and nationalists had a voice.  He feared for the future. 
    He had stayed away from the dispute, keeping his point of view open.  The Federation had ignored the petition with the coming of the Cardassian invasion.  Looking at the room full of devastated people, of all species and cultures, he decided it was time to act.  
    Someone had to speak out, take the general's place.  He decided, in sudden, committed passion, that it would be Benjamin Sisko. 
    He would have to be careful.  His watchers would be very curious.  But he must try, for the sake of his friend and his home.  
    He would need an alley, someone who could quietly help.  As Kira parted from Dax, the two sharing a moment of quiet, he touched the colonel on the shoulder. 
    She looked up, still preoccupied.  "Could you come to my office?  I'd like to talk about something." 

    Bashir reviewed the meeting for the third time, wondering what Sisko had in mind.  They were discussing the Bajoran who'd served as commander of their troops, killed recently.  He'd become friends with Sisko and Kira and they were reminiscing.  
    "He was our 'voice of reason'," she said.  "We needed him." 
    Sisko didn't have much to say.  He'd made personal references but kept away from politics entirely.  But they had things to do, and she was about to leave when Sisko's tone had suddenly changed.  "Nerys," he asked, "could you set up a few private contacts for me?" 
    There had been a look between them of understanding, and she had said, gently, "Of course." 
    He had reported it the next day, and the bear had been moved that evening.  The meeting was quick, but urgent.  He was to find out what contacts she'd made.  He'd reviewed everything, but Sisko was careful.  There was no sign of a record anywhere.  He knew they would ask again and he needed some sort of answer. 
    Sisko had made a surprise visit to Bajor the day before, and gone back again today.  But there had been no clue of what he'd done. 
    But he knew who could get the information.  One of the shirts Garak had sold him had been damaged, and he brought it with him. 

    Garak was busy with a dress when Bashir arrived.  He had avoided the doctor completely since the last visit.  Bashir was still in his uniform, but carried a shirt.  Garak came to meet him.  "Is there something you need?" he asked, not really bothering to pretend anymore. 
    Bashir showed him the shirt.  "It got torn.  If you could repair it I'd appreciate it." 
    Garak took the shirt.  "It should be relatively easy.  I should still have the proper measurements."  
    But Bashir wasn't going to go away.  Standing behind Garak, he moved toward the special dressing room.  Garak was nervous, but didn't show it. 
    "You owe me," said Bashir flatly.  "I didn't tell them or you'd be dead.  They don't like the way Sisko is hiding." 
    "I have no idea what you mean," said Garak.  It didn't sound very convincing even to himself. 
    Bashir didn't come near.  "Don't try it again.  They will find you and I won't protect you this time." 
    "I have no need to," said Garak, simply. 
    Bashir ignored him.  "I need you to find out something for me," he said. 
    Garak was surprised.  "Perhaps I could," he said carefully. 
    Bashir stared at him.  "I know who you're working for.  I know you have the contacts.  I just need it kept quiet." 
    It was the first real admission that Bashir knew.  Garak had no reason to go anywhere near Sisko.  Should Bashir happen to "discover" it ...  He looked at the doctor.  He could hardly tell him from the grim faced men who brought the padds.  "What do you need to know?" he asked. 
    "Who is Sisko meeting with on Bajor?  And whatever else you can find out.  I need it tomorrow."  Bashir didn't raise his voice, or hint at a threat.  But one existed none the less. 
    "Your shirt will be ready then," said Garak.  
    "Make sure of it," said Bashir flatly, and he left. 
    Garak would have it ready.  He told himself it was to pay back Sisko. 

    "Everything's arraigned," said Kira.  "You should be back tonight." 
    Sisko nodded, suppressing a little smile.  He imagined whoever was watching was annoyed.  In the last few weeks he had made a number of sudden unannounced trips to Bajor.  Kira had made all the arraignments.  He never discussed them while on the station, except in a private code they had created. 
    Making it a kind of game made it possible to live with it.  The station had been home, but had ceased to feel that way.  The out of the way places he went on Bajor made up for it.  Bashir and his people had only accelerated the transformation of Benjamin Sisko from Starfleet officer to a man of Bajor. 
    The war continued to take its terrible toll.  The allies were winning, but it was costing unprecedented numbers of lives.  He still posted the list on Fridays, and the station had come to be notably quiet that day.  He still remembered the lesson he'd learned during the siege at AR-7.  Even those he didn't know were no longer just names.  Someone mourned them.  Children would grow up without knowing a parent, gone away forever.  He still hated Fridays.  But he had found a balance to all the death. 
    He had embraced his role as Emissary.  Bajor, like everyone else, had been hard hit with the war's toll.  The cost had been the fragile unity the petition had created.  Someone needed to bring the opposing sides together.  Someone had to make them see that in the end they shared the same goal.  Someone had to keep Bajor strong enough that when the war did end, it could speak with a single voice.  The general had tried.  But the Emissary had the clout to make it work. 
    He made small, quiet trips when needed to put out fires.  He used all the power he was granted by his position, and had become a central part of Bajoran politics.  He knew Starfleet didn't like it.  But that no longer mattered.  What mattered was that he had something to belong to, and a way to counter the darkness that had filled his life before. 

    Garak looked up impatiently at the doctor.  "You're late.  I'm almost finished." 
    Bashir sounded almost normal.  "We had an emergency, but I made it." 
    Garak wondered if he was pretending things were almost normal again.  Bashir re-established their regular lunches several weeks before, when he'd supplied the doctor with information the first time.  Garak only wished things were the same.  "I can't stay for too long," said Garak.  "I've got quite a lot of work to do."  Starfleet had been back with three padds marked urgent.  But then Bashir knew that. 
    Bashir was scanning the crowd.  "I did enjoy the book.  We'll discuss it next time, when we have more time." 
    It occurred to Garak that either he'd not read it at all or he'd changed too much.  The last time he'd given the novel to Bashir he'd admitted complete confusion.  "It is lesser known than the others, but many consider it a great novel in the Cardassian tradition." 
    Just then a group of people came into the Replimat, off-duty troops taking leave on DS9.  They were an amalgam of Federation and allied species, and yet all of them wore the same sort of hard, tired look.  Bashir said quietly, looking at them, "Or what was Cardassian tradition." 
    Garak thought he saw a hint of real feeling in the doctor.  It occurred to him that these people didn't look much like the model Starfleet liked to promote either.  But he didn't dwell on the comparison.  "Yes," he said.  "Quite true."  He had to get back to work, and finish help dismantling what was left.  He handed Bashir the padd.  "This one is longer, but is said to be a little more uplifting.  I haven't had time to finish the book you gave me," Garak lied.  He'd read it again, just to see if there was some point he'd missed.  That brief look in the doctor's eyes had given him hope that perhaps a little of the man who'd tried to explain with a book was still there. 
    Bashir took the padd, with a new Cardassian novel to read and the encrypted data on Sisko's activities he wanted.  He was still looking at the off-duty people, sitting in a group by themselves.  "When you're done, perhaps I'll read it again." 
    As Bashir made his way carefully and quietly through the crowd, Garak wondered which he identified with now--the hunter or the prey. 

    Friday had come again.  There was a strange quiet even before the list was posted.  The Dominion/Cardassian fleet had set a trap, and the death toll had been stunning. 
    The station was now the major supply route for everything from fresh bodies to new boxes of rations.  The unused portions of the station, never finished by the Cardassians, were full of supplies.  Bajor was the site of more warehouses.  There were always people around, both leaving and arriving.  A special medical unit had been set up for receiving overflows of casualties on the station, and the worse were sent to a hospital on Bajor. 
    The war had been distant for a long time.  Now, it was making up for lost time. 
    Sisko posted the list, a crowd already waiting, and fled.  He was so tired of the death and loss and silence.  He yearned to go back to Bajor, even if it meant sitting for hours listening to two sides argue about points he would have once never even been able to define.  But he came when called.  No one had called to take him away from the misery. 
    He wished he could talk about it in his log.  But he didn't dare.  He had given Starfleet a brief explanation, but no details.  After posting the list he retreated to his office and asked to be left alone.  It wasn't really privacy, but it was the best he could get. 
    The last thing he wanted was to hear from Ross.  He'd asked all communications be held.  He was sitting silently in his office, watching the stars and he twirled his baseball, when the message came in. 
    The screen cleared, and Ross's face appeared.  The procedure was wrong, he thought.  "Ben, we need to talk," said the Admiral. 
    "I asked for communications to be held," said Sisko cautiously. 
    "This is a special secured line.  What are you doing, Ben?" 
    Sisko watched him, curious, for a moment.  He chose his words carefully.  "I just posted the longest casualty list of the war, and most of the people on it are dead.  I just needed some time." 
    Ross looked slightly perturbed.  "That's not what I mean.  Why are you going to Bajor so often?" 
    "I've been going to Bajor for seven years," said Sisko.  "I haven't felt the need to explain myself.  But if you must know, I'm trying to keep everybody happy so they'll continue to support the war.  After today that's going to be a little harder." 
    "Everybody's lost a lot," said Ross. 
    "Bajor doesn't have a lot to lose.  The Cardassians took most of it already," said Sisko, a little annoyed.  "You want them to stay with the Federation.  They'll need a stable government to do that.  They'll listen to the Emissary." 
    Ross was watching him, "I hope this works.  Be careful, Ben." 
    Sisko was tired and wanted to get away.  He wondered if Ross was one of them, or if they were just using him.  "It won't if you get in the way," he said. 
    Ross looked nervous.  "I'm just the messenger," he said. 
    "You delivered your message," Sisko said with finality. 
    "Take care," said Ross as he faded.  Sisko watched as the familiar background appeared.  But the timing was off.  It didn't come through the same sort of channels as his other messages. 
    He had a hunch.  He decided to take a walk.  On his way out, he spoke quietly to Kira.  "Thank you for holding all my calls," he said. 
    "Certainly," she said.  He was sure now.  
    He knew in a day or two someone would want his counsel.  He wasn't entirely sure what he'd say if they asked if he trusted his own government anymore. 

    Garak had been ready to leave for dinner, ready to go home, when he entered.  Bashir was tense, and pointed to the special dressing room.  Curious, Garak followed. 
    Bashir wasted no time.  "I was contacted.  There is a meeting being arraigned on Bajor, and Sisko will be there.  We are to work together." 
    Garak nodded thoughtfully.  "This is official?" 
    "Yes," said Bashir.  Garak wondered why he was so nervous. He was leaving something out.  For a moment he hesitated.  Bashir didn't have to say it, but both of them knew that he must have known.  "You'll be sent some information after the meeting.  It goes to me." 
    Garak realized that for once, Bashir wasn't putting up a front.  The reality of the situation had sunk in, and he was trying to deal with it.  "Lunch, then?" asked Garak. 
    "Yes," said Bashir.  "That would be the best way."  He saw something of the man he'd known.  But time was growing short.  He hoped a little of his friend would survive. 

    Ben Sisko was the last to arrive at the meeting.  He had left the station at the last minute, taking  a careful route.  The meeting wasn't likely to remain secret, but the location might at least stay hidden for a time. 
    There were ten participants.  Each had a special interest in the future of Bajor.  Each had their own point of view.  Later, they could argue membership in the Federation.  But first there was a more pressing matter. 
    Sisko did not come as the commander of the station.  He had left his uniform behind.  He would not speak for the Federation today, even if he believed it should be supported. 
    Bajor had lost a lot of people in the war.  There was worry that the cost of revenge was too high.  A lot of people wanted out.  Some of them mattered enough to make it happen. 
    Sisko had sat up half the night thinking of what to say.  It looked like he was catching up on a mound of paperwork, but it had been a convenient excuse.  He had to appeal to something they all shared.  
    Sisko said little at first.  It was unnecessary as the others were more than willing to talk.  He wanted them to all have their say first, in the hopes that they might listen to him once they were done. 

    While the arguments filled the room, nobody noticed the older Bajoran sitting near the center had put his hand in his pocket, feeling a slight tingle in his hand.  The listening device was working.  Glancing at the others, he took care that it continue to work.  He was afraid of *them*. 
    For Jaro Sarre, it had been a slowly emerging nightmare.  First, the report of an execution of a boy had come to him.  The death had been years before, and he might have dismissed it except for the name.  He had always believed his grandson had been killed by the Cardassians.  But it had been a lie, carefully cultivated to save the executioner.  He did not believe the boy was a traitor.  He had been very careful that the execution of his murderer was done quietly. 
    But then *they* had returned.  This time their news was more devastating.  It was taken from the Cardassian archives left on Bajor when the invaders had run.  It was proof that his grandson, the child of his only son, had sold his people to the Cardassians. 
    It had been seven years since they had run, but that was not long enough to forget.  He would have killed the boy himself if it had been known.  He owed these people a life, and would give his should he be discovered. 
    Then *they* had returned.  They had a device he was to carry.  It would record the entire meeting, and he was to stay within a certain distance of the Emissary if possible.  He didn't ask for an explanation.  He took the device, hoping that this would be enough to make them leave him alone.  But he doubted it.  They would return for more.  He understood how power worked. 
    There was one other duty, and he did not understand it.  He was to confront the Emissary, question his loyalties.  He did not want to do it, but did not want to die either. 

    The arguments had died down.  The Emissary had finally found enough quiet to make his speech.  It was early afternoon, and the room was warm, the humidity growing uncomfortable.  The door had been opened but the breeze didn't help much.  This spring's crop of insects were taking refuge in the relative coolness of the room. 
    Benjamin Sisko began his speech.  "I am honored to be here today.  This place has become my home, and I will and have defended it with my life.  I know there is much concern about the amount of loss we have suffered in these last few weeks, and I believe it to be a legitimate concern.  Bajor cannot continue to lose those men and women who are needed to rebuild the society from Cardassian ruin." 
    The flies were buzzing.  One of them bit the Emissary and he was distracted.  The others were making it hard to listen.  A tall, well dressed man stood.  "Emissary, I believe we ought to retreat to the garden.  Our visitors dislike the breeze." 
    "That is an excellent suggestion," said Sisko, and he picked up his notes and headed out the door. 

    Jaro hesitated.  He had placed it at the center of the room, where it would be most useful.  He had kept close enough to Sisko that the tingle never stopped.  It would be obvious if he was to move the device.  But he worried about the results more if he didn't. 
    He stood, moving toward the hidden device.  He gazed up at the windows, apparently lost in thought when he tripped and fell.  While he was picking himself off the ground he retrieved the small device and stuck it in his pocket, noticing the tingle was gone.  He would have to see where Sisko chose to stand first before he planted it again.  
    They had all gone to the neatly arraigned garden, sitting on the benches scattered throughout.  Sisko picked a spot near a small running stream, with a scattering of plants around him.  He sat and waited for the rest to settle. 
    The Bajoran moved near the others, seeing no good place to drop the bug.  He was careful, aware of the risk, but wasn't satisfied by the place it lodged.  But it would have to do.  He didn't dare move it now. 
    He ran his hand into his pocket, wondering, but found no tingle.  He feigned discovering the bench was damp, and moved forward.  The tingle was still gone.  He remembered that it had to be started and was fumbling with it when the Emissary resumed his talk. 

    Sisko began, speaking softly.  "I believe everyone here wants Bajor to stand strong and proud.  Each of you has concerns, and these concerns shall not be forgotten.  But each of you has a responsibility as well, to Bajor and its people.  We agreed to work actively with the Federation and its allies in the closing days of this war.  We cannot back away from our promise.  In time, the war will end.  Cardassia and the Dominion will be defeated and everything will change.  Those standing with the victors will win.  Those who retreat before it's over will find themselves left out when the spoils are divided." 
    He had their attention.  One of the men, older than the rest, was fiddling with something in his hand, but Sisko wasn't distracted. 
    "I believe," he said, relieved to be past the hard part, "that Bajor can do a great deal for the Federation without the loss of so many.  We can offer much more support than we do now, without losing our future.  It is in this way that we must proceed if we are to make the biggest difference for *both* Bajor and the Federation." 

    Jaro had finally gotten a signal, taking care not to look too obvious.  He pulled a small vial out of the pocket, holding it in his palm.  He held it to his face to breath the vapors.  The Emissary looked at him.  "Are you all right?" he asked. 
    "I shall be fine," he said.  He realized this was a good time to complete his assignment.  "But I have a question." 
    The Emissary nodded, "Certainly," he said. 
    "Do you say these things as a Starfleet Captain, or as our Emissary?  If we bring in more and more Federation entanglement in our culture, are we making it impossible to refuse when the time comes to choose? 

    Sisko was taken aback by the question.  It was almost the same question Ross had asked him, and he didn't appreciate the reminder.  He considered what to say, glad he didn't have the persistent worry of being misinterpreted.  "I believe that Captain Sisko would say much the same as I have.  But at the moment I do not represent the Federation.  I want Bajor to show it follows through with its commitments.  If we choose independence we must show we are strong and can be trusted.  We will need to prove ourselves.  Open cooperation--to the extent we are capable of providing--will stand us in good stead at the end when we choose which path to follow.  But more importantly, backing down will only prove that we are the weak society the Cardassians always claimed." 
    He looked them over.  The last part had hit home, he thought.  He started to relax.  It was a beautiful spring day, in a garden filled with flowers, and even the war seemed to fade a little for awhile.  

    Jaro felt better.  He'd done his duty, and asked his question.  He even liked the answer that was given.  He hoped they would be satisfied.  He put his vial back in his pocket, and didn't notice that the tingle was only intermittent at best. 

    Bashir had nothing to do that night.  Sisko was away and he had no file to review, no analysis to make, no report to write.  He had, instead, time to think. 
    He knew something bad would come of this.  It had been written in the eyes of his contact, who had beamed into his quarters just long enough to give his message and leave.  They didn't make contact like that unless it was very important.  He was sure they knew he'd been using Garak for information.  Apparently they didn't mind, although he was sure it would matter to someone later.  He couldn't think about the future.  He didn't want to know what it would cost him. 
    Instead of writing a report, he read back through the one's he'd already done.  He wondered who had written them.  They were so dry, so clinical, so cold.  They were not about what had driven Sisko, but about what he'd reacted to.  He knew they were accurate enough for Sloan's use.  He knew Sisko would slip and they'd catch him in their web.  He had no idea what become of Sisko when they were done. 
    He couldn't pretend anymore.  He couldn't run.  All he could do was hope it would end soon. 

    Everyone knew where Sisko had been.  The grapevine did not include any details, but the meeting itself was no secret.  Sisko attended to the stations business as if nothing at all had happened.  No one mentioned the meeting around him, but everybody looked.  
    It was late in the day, and he had caught up with the necessary things.  He needed company.  He'd arraigned for lunch with Kassidy but she was busy.  Jake had gone to cover some story for the Federation news service.  He looked at his son's picture, and realized he was very proud of him.  He had assumed that as the son of a Starfleet officer Jake would share his choices.  For a long time, Jake had almost disappointed him.  But now, looking at the path he had come to take, he appreciated his son more.  He looked forward to taking his son to the sheltered valley he'd fallen in love with near the meeting area, and talking about the things they'd never had time for.  Jake would be back in perhaps a week.  He would make arrangements ahead to visit, lest he attract undue attention. 
    He still needed some conversation.  Leaving his office, he stopped by Kira.  "Have you had lunch?" he asked.  "I'd like to review a few things from yesterday." 
    She nodded.  "I'll be there," she said.  He noted that the everyone near enough to hear was trying hard to pretend they weren't listening. 

    He had reviewed the things from the day he'd missed with Kira, and served their lunch.  It was their usual arraignment when he'd been to Bajor.  But somehow today it was different, everything was different. 
    She must have noticed.  "You must have enjoyed yourself," she said. 
    He knew they were listening, and every word would be studied for some sort of meaning.  But he didn't care.  With the meeting done its location was hardly a secret anymore.  "I took a walk at sunset around the valley," he said, dreamily.  "It's so beautiful.  How could there be such devastation and ugliness in one place, and not too far away, such beauty?" 
    "I've never been there," she said.  "But I've heard about it."  
    "When he gets back, I want to take Jake there.  I want him to understand."  Sisko left all the rest unsaid. 
    Kira smiled.  "In time, he will." 
    "I know.  Do you know how upset I was when he said he didn't want to go into Starfleet?  It was unthinkable.  But I can see, now, how he would never fit.  If I can learn, maybe he can too."  Sisko sighed.  It was as if a giant weight had been lifted.  He was almost looking forward to Ross's next talk.  So many things were clear now that had not been before. 
    Sitting in that garden, after all the talking was done, he'd come to realize that he was home, and he couldn't wait for the charade to end so he could stay. 

    Garak had had another visit from one of the faceless grim men, this time with several padds.  He was to pass them on directly to Bashir.  The visit had been brief.  He had no interest in the contents and picked them up before leaving to meet the doctor for lunch. 
    Bashir was already there.  He had gotten his food but didn't seem to have much of an appetite.  Garak had the impression he was depressed.  It was refreshing to see his friend had not gone as cold as the man who brought the padds.  
    He thought of the book.  "I've nearly finished your book, if you'd like to read it again.  In the meanwhile, I thought these might be of interest.  They are rather long, but one follows the other." 
    Julian took the padds.  Garak noticed that he didn't look at them.  "I'll do my best," he said, and the Cardassian could hear how tired he was.  "I think I'd like to try some much lighter reading, actually," he said, glancing at the padds. 
    The rest of the lunch was filled with meaningless small talk.  But Garak knew it was nearly over, and suspected the doctor did as well.  He hoped there would be another lunch, but did not make any plans.  Everything depended on the actions of Benjamin Sisko now. 

    Julian Bashir sat in a small room staring at the bio-monitor.  He didn't know where they had put Sisko, but it was obvious he was being put through some kind of personal hell.  There had been no hint this time.  Kukalaka had remained on the shelf.  But one of Sloan's underlings had awakened him from his sleep that night. 
    The man had handed him a black uniform.  "Get dressed, we need you," he'd said.  Bashir, numb with the realization that they'd probably taken Sisko, dressed in a fog.  He'd been beamed to the ship, and taken immediately to the room. 
    Sloan had been nowhere in sight.  But his guide was informative.  "We need to know if the stress level becomes life-threatening." 
    "What are you doing to him?" he'd asked. 
    "Just a test," said the man as he headed out the door. 
    Had someone been watching with his test, or Garak's? 
    It took over an hour.  The physical effects of the psychological torment came in peaks and valleys, but never ended.  He didn't try the door to see if it was locked.  He didn't want to know.  He couldn't stop what they were doing. 
    He didn't want to watch but there was nothing else to do.  Then, quite suddenly, all the readings dropped to nothing.  The program had ended.  He watched with fascination, wondering what happened next.  Sisko's slow, steady heartbeat seemed to fill the room. 
    Abruptly the door opened and his guide reappeared.  "Time to go to work," he said. 
    Bashir followed him, concluding that even if the door had not been locked, he could not have found Sisko.  He was escorted into an outer room of the medical section, and found Sloan waiting for him. 
    "He's still unconscious, but when he wakes up you can give him this.  It's the same drug you were given."  
    'Not quite,' he thought.  But then Sisko didn't need the viral suppressant they had given to him. 
    "He knows you, and that you work for us, so he won't see any new faces this way.  When he's stabilized we'll send him home."  Sloan wore that same odd little smile he had when Bashir had been released. 
    "So he passed," he said, almost to himself. 
    "Yes," said Sloan.  "Despite your misleading profile.  That will have to be discussed." 
    Bashir forgot the looming threat when he walked into the next room.  Sisko lay on the biobed, his body limp.  Bashir picked up his arm where it had fallen over the side and Sisko cringed. 
    He stared at the man in horror.  He could not allow himself to think of how his reports had defined the inner Sisko.  He checked the monitor and discovered Sisko was starting to wake. 
    He opened his eyes, trying to focus.  He groaned and dropped his head back to the pillow.  
    Bashir gave him the drug.  "This will help," he said, feeling a great emptiness.  
    Sisko fell into a relaxed sleep.  He woke an hour later, gradually opening his eyes.  They narrowed at the sight of Bashir standing there.  "You ... " he said. 
    Bashir said nothing.  Sisko was still in shock, though the physical effects had ebbed.  He though of Sloan's threat and shivered a little.  
    He rechecked the readings.  "It's time to go home, Captain," he said. 
    Sisko was staring at him, but he didn't think he was all that Sisko could see.  The drug took a little while to work.  "Just tell me why," said Sisko in a lost voice.  "Or are you too much a coward to do that?"  Something caught his attention, a figment of his nightmare come to be real.  
    Bashir remembered how Kukalaka had followed him until Sloan had sent him away.  He walked out of the room slowly, forcing himself not to hurry.  "He's ready," he told the guard. 
    He didn't know if Sloan was going to discuss his reports then or later, but felt the still unfamiliar tingle of their transporter, and found himself back in his own quarters again.  Still wearing the black uniform, he picked up his bear, wishing he could remember what it meant to believe in something. 

    Sisko was in his quarters, apparently asleep.  Bashir hadn't looked further.  He couldn't bear to look.  He couldn't stand the thought that his observations had made this possible. 
    He'd taken off the black uniform and carefully hung it up.  He didn't want to.  But he was used to hanging his clothes neatly.  He looked at the outfits he'd put together to fake the uniform.  He hung the real thing next to them. 
    The last time he'd worn one, Sloan had taken it back.  He understood this time it was his to keep.  They had stolen everything now, even his medical integrity.  He wondered what sort of punishment he'd be given for his analysis being so faulty.  He was afraid, but somehow he could not stop the thought that any punishment would be inadequate. 
    He dressed for bed.  In a few hours, he'd have to get up and pretend again.  Unable to sleep, he stared at the darkened walls. 
    A sound alerted him that Sisko had receive a message.  He ignored it.  Staring at the shadows, he drifted into a brief, dreamless sleep ended too soon by the day.  

    Benjamin Sisko was not sleeping.  His head ached, and he felt dizzy, but he could not close his eyes.  
    If he tried, the images came back to him.  He'd checked the time and date in his quarters when his kidnappers had returned him.  It had only been a few hours.  But in his mind the time had been much greater.  In his mind, the Dominion had not been stopped.  They had taken the alpha quadrant.  It was the nightmare that had pushed him to break every rule and compromise his own soul.  He did not know how it worked, but it didn't matter.  It had been too real.  The images had mingled into a series of flashes, each moment too real to forget.  
    He remembered the way Garak had stared at him, without saying a word, when he'd come into the infirmary.  And the way Bashir had been so sick he nearly died.  He concluded it could have been worse.  Physically he was fine.  But that had been by their choice. 
    He wanted to talk to Garak, even Bashir, and ask how long the intense feeling of it being real lasted.  But he didn't dare tell.  That much was obvious.  If he had to he could ask Bashir for help, but he'd rather suffer than do that. 
    He could not forget the image of Bashir standing there, clad in that black uniform, just waiting for him to wake.  He would always wonder when they'd come for him again. 
    Bashir knew about that.  It was worse for him.  Someone had forced him to go with the people who'd kidnaped and tortured him, Sisko thought glumly.  Well, Bashir had paid him back now.  They were even. 
    He'd already made the decision.  When Jake returned, he was going to take him to Bajor, and establish a home.  He would still command the station until the war ended, but stay only when he had to.  That part of his life was already over.  It had ended when they had ... 
    He didn't want to remember it.  It had been the ultimate proof of his loyalty, and had probably meant he came home.  Bashir had said he passed.  He didn't want to consider what came of those that didn't.  
    He picked up the picture of his son, taken just before he'd left, with his arms around his new girlfriend.  The image flashed in his mind, the last image they'd given him before he passed out.  There had been so much blood.  He had been so still.  He couldn't see the picture for the image in his head. 
    The com system beeped, alerting him to a message.  It would attract attention if he didn't answer it. 
    He initiated the contact.  He looked away when Ross's face filled the screen.  But he caught the expression.  He'd expected gloating, or something that might suggest a threat.  But instead, Ross looked somber. 
    "I didn't want to wake you so early, but I wanted you to hear the news privately."  He sounded tired and depressed, and grieved. 
    "I wasn't sleeping," said Sisko.  He knew Ross worked with them.  But he didn't know what they'd done.  Obviously they didn't trust him that far. 
    "Ben, there was series of attacks near the badlands.  A group of civilians was being evacuated.  The Jem'Hadar destroyed everything.  Jake was on one of those ships.  Nobody survived the attack."  He paused, "It would be in the morning briefing with a casualty list, but I wanted you to be notified personally before you discovered the name."  He looked up at Sisko.  "I'm sorry Ben.  He was a very wonderful young man." 
    Sisko could not take it in.  He remembered all the blood, how still he'd been.  He could see it so clearly.  It would always be the last sight of his son.  "Thank you," he said. 
    As Ross disappeared, he patched an audio only message to Kira.  "I don't think I can come in today.  You'll see why.  I would like to be left alone." 

    Within hours, everybody had heard.  But Garak knew there was more to it than that.  Sisko wasn't given to withdrawing.  Bashir had looked terrible, as if he'd had no sleep.  The haunted look in his eyes was worse.  Garak was sure something had happened.  The plan had worked.  All that remained was for the last few pieces to drop and spring the trap.  Garak wished he could check, but that would be too dangerous.  One of the dominos was falling and would take the rest with it. 
    But Garak planned to be elsewhere when that happened.  He was leaving his shop and all the padds behind.  He had already arraigned his escape.  All that was needed was his signal. 
    The shop had been deserted most of the morning, but he heard a little chime to indicate a customer.  Reluctantly, he went to the front. 
    He knew who the man was with at first glance.  But there was more than the drab clothes.  He was not just a massager.  He usually sent them.  "Well, Mr. Garak.  I finally get to meet you.  I'd like to order a suit.  You'll deliver it in a few days, we'll tell you when.  Here are the specifications."  He handed Garak a padd, and Garak looked it over.  It was nothing more than a pattern and measurements. 
    "That should be possible," said Garak. 
    "Make sure of it," said the man, and Garak understood there was no room for negotiation.  His visitor walked around the room, looking at the clothes.  "I've been told you are a fine tailor.  I like your work.  We'll have to see what else you're good at."  The man smiled.  The smile reminded Garak of Tain. 
    "Would you care to look at anything else?" asked Garak, with just a hint of nerves in his voice. 
    "No, they'll be plenty of time for that."  The voice was so pleasant.  Tain could be that way if he wanted to.  Abruptly it hardened.  "About your travel plans.  You should reconsider.  Captain Sisko's son was lost yesterday from a Jem'Hadar attack.  I can assure you that ship you leave the station on will meet much the same fate.  I would keep this in mind."  
    Garak watched him walk out of the shop.  It wouldn't matter if they knew where he was going.  They could still take him.  He would be staying longer than he planned. 

    Kira had seen the name as soon as she looked at the list.  It was alphabetical, and remembering the tone of Sisko's message, she had looked at it immediately.  But she hadn't expected it to be Jake.  The tall young man had grown up on the station, and was well liked.  Sisko worried about his son, checking on his destination before he left.  Jake had patiently put up with it. 
    He wasn't supposed to be near the badlands.  He must have been re-assigned before he got home.  It had come as a surprise. 
    She could not believe it.  It was easier to accept death when it was near and visible.  As hard as Jadzia's passing had been, there had been closure.  They had been lucky.  The small group that Sisko had adopted as family had survived in-tack for a long time.  They had mourned together.  They had said good bye. 
    It had been harder with Worf, before his last minute rescue by a passing ship.  His escape pod might never have been found.  He might have died a slow death in the tiny tomb, or been picked up by the enemy.  There was little evidence of prisoners being taken.  It had given all of them a feeling of  lingering doubt, most of all Ezri.  She had come close to taking a runabout and looking for him herself, but security had stopped her.  Miles wondered if she ever forgave herself for not succeeding. 
    But it would be different with Jake Sisko.  Worf had been a soldier.  He might have vanished during many other missions.  Jake had gone away one day and would never come back.  There was nothing, not even a body.  The chances he was alive were so small they didn't really count, but she knew that Sisko would always wonder. 
    She knew about that kind of death.  The Cardassians had taken people out in the fields or along the roads.  They simply never came home.  What became of them was usually never known.  It made it harder to grieve, even if death was a reasonable assumption.  In this war, it was too common a way to die.  People in the Federation were learning how to live with the lingering uncertainty. 
    It was reasonable that Sisko would have allowed himself private grief over the death of his son.  But something else was wrong.  She knew him too well.  Solitude was not the way he dealt with pain.  He pushed himself harder.  That evening, after she was done with most of the day's work, she paid him a quiet visit. 
    She didn't know if he'd let her in.  But he opened his door at her ring. 
    She walked in, not knowing what to expect.  He had Jake's pictures sitting together, and copies of his writing sorted in a stack.  But he was just sitting, staring out the window. 
    "I was going to ask you to come by," he said, his voice halting.  "I just couldn't ... " 
    She came closer, and tentatively sat down.  "I have no idea what it feels like to lose a son," she said.  "But I know how hard it is when someone you care about just disappears, when you never have a chance to say good bye.  If there is anything I can do," she said. 
    "You don't understand," he said, his voice without any inflection.  "I saw him die.  I'll always see him die that way.  I made him die." 
    Kira said quietly.  "The Jem'Hadar killed him.  You didn't put him there." 
    "No, but someone did."  He paused, motioning her closer.  He took her hand, looking her in the eyes.  "I have to tell someone.  But you can't say anything.  Do you understand?" 
    She was shaken by the eyes, dull and stunned, seeing things she could not.  She had seen that look before, in those liberated from the Cardassians.  "I understand," she said. 
    "You can tell no one," he insisted again. 
    "I'll keep it to myself," she said. 
    Staring out the window, his hands shaking as he talked, Sisko told her of a disjointed nightmare, with a different outcome to the war, where Jake had become a pawn between the Dominion, Sisko, and a Vorta who wanted answers.  He had kept silent, and Jake had paid the price.  He had awakened, dizzy and disoriented, later to discover that he'd only been gone a short while.  But he did remember one thing quite clearly.  Bashir had been there. 
    "What are you going to do about it?" she asked, shaken.  She meant Bashir, but Sisko had no interest in that. 
    "I have composed a message to Starfleet," he said, and gave her a padd.  She read it twice. 
    "Have you transmitted this?" she asked.  
    "In the morning.  I just want some time for myself right now," he said. 
    "What about Bashir?" she asked. 
    "There is nothing I can do.  I was warned not to say anything.  There are others that matter to me too.  I don't want to lose all of them." 
    "You can't let him walk around here, after he's been a part of that ... " she paused, trying to think of an adequate description. 
    His voice was no longer flat.  He actively insisted she keep out of it.  "No, I can't do anything, and you won't either.  I need your promise." 
    She sighed.  It didn't sound right, but she knew he'd keep insisting.  "I won't say anything," she said. 
    "You'll be in command," he said abruptly.  "I want you to be prepared." 
    "I'm sure I can do it," she said, not certain what he meant. 
    "You'll have to deal with Starfleet.  Keep an eye on Ross.  He isn't to be trusted." 
    "Does he know?" she asked. 
    "No, they don't trust him that far.  But he has unsavory friends."  He shifted around in the chair.  "Beware of them.  They did this to me.  Bashir watched for them." 
    She remembered the meeting, after Bashir had been kidnaped by a secret organization that was a part of Starfleet itself.  Sisko had pushed him into joining as a spy.  "Are these the same people who kidnaped Bashir a few years ago?" 
    "Yes," he said.  "They wanted him, and they found a way to make him theirs."  She heard regret and resignation.  "Do what I should have done then.  Let him make his own decisions.  Just leave him alone." 
    She was still angry at Bashir, still found his actions unthinkable for the man she'd known.  But she understood.  For Sisko it was done.  He just wanted to leave where he might find some peace.  "What will you do?" she asked. 
    "Oh, I'm sure they can find something for the Emissary to do." 
    "All Bajor will welcome you," she said. 
    "I hope not.  I think I'd just like some privacy right now," he said. 
    Kira felt a little better.  It would be hard, but he'd get over losing Jake.  He'd learn to live with the torment he'd been subject to.  Benjamin Sisko was no longer lost and alone.  He was going home. 

    He had not seen Sisko except for an occasional glance since the fateful night.  He knew too much about Sloan's "tests" and didn't want to know what the details had been.  He'd seen what it had done to Sisko.  But he had passed.  Sloan would never have sent him back if he hadn't. 
    But that morning there was a note from Sisko, asking him to come to his quarters.  Bashir was curious, and wary of Sisko's belligerence.  But he found something much different. 
    Sisko said, "Come in, Doctor," when he rang the bell.  Bashir was suddenly worried for the man.  The last time he'd heard anything like the defeated tone was after Jadzia's death.  He stepped in cautiously, and found Sisko packing.  He was in civilian clothes.  Before he could say anything, Sisko said quietly, "You'll be the first to know.  I transmitted my resignation from Starfleet this morning.  It was accepted." 
    Bashir said carefully, "It's an important time for Bajor.  I thought you'd be staying." 
    Sisko continued packing.  "I am.  On Bajor." 
    Somehow, Bashir realized, Sloan's plans had backfired.  He hadn't been asked to discuss his reports yet.  He had once made Sisko's life miserable.  Now it was Sisko's turn to return the favor.  "You would have more influence here," he said. 
    Sisko stopped his packing and walked towards Julian, silently handing him a padd.  "My official notification," he said softly. 
    Bashir read the short report.  "My sincere condolences, Sir," he said quietly.  Jake Sisko and seven others had disappeared while on a small shuttle.  The debris in the area matched the ship.  It was assumed that all on board had been killed.  Survivors might have been captured, but none were likely given the state of the wreckage.  He handed the padd back to Sisko, his face a mask of nothingness. 
    Sisko put it with a small pile of personal items.  Then he turned and looked at Julian.  "I just want you to know the sort of people you work for," he said bitterly.  "I had to watch my son die in that--game of his.  But I was warned to watch what I said and did.  I agreed, so I would be allowed to leave.  But," he said, pausing, staring at Bashir, "I have given it much thought.  Jake is dead because of that man.  It was a warning." 
    Bashir didn't react, at least outwardly.  Sloan would have done that, but not when Sisko was behaving.  Sisko couldn't disappear, but he could be punished.  But they would wait until there was a good reason.  "Jake's death wasn't planned.  You're proving to Sloan that he was right if you leave." 
    "I don't believe you.  You were tapping my personal logs.  I have no reason to trust anything you say."  Sisko was too defensive, too bitter to be lying.  Bashir told himself that Sisko was wrong, that he had not become the man Sisko described. 
    "Believe as you will, then," he said, uninterested in an argument. 
    "I intend to keep Bajor away from the Federation.  I've always believed it would be best to join, but I didn't know what lies we were taught to believe then," said Sisko, his tone flat and determined.  "I will not be a part of anything which condones the sort of crimes your people commit.  That includes the Federation and Starfleet."  There was anger in his tone.  "I think this conversation has ended." 
    Bashir nodded.  "There is nothing else to say." 

    Garak had made the suit.  Starfleet intelligence brought him more padds, and he decoded them.  The others had asked nothing of him.  He looked at the suit, each morning, as he came to his shop.  Bashir had retreated into himself, barely speaking to anyone aside from work.  But he was nervous.  Garak was most reluctant to admit he understood. 
    He had not given up the idea of leaving.  But the man he'd made arraignments with had mysteriously met with an accident.  Garak was sure any others would have the same fate.  His nightmare had returned as well, except now the executioner was faceless, just like the men who ordered the suits. 
    One sleepless night he considered his options.  He'd ruled out running away.  It would just make things worse.  And he had no real objections to their kind of work.  He'd done it all before.  It was another of his best talents. 
    It was the reminder of his past that hurt.  Tain had exiled his own son as a punishment for betrayal.  The Order could no longer trust him.  *They* would not trust him either.  He saw no reason for their interest except as a someone expendable, to be manipulated at will. 
    Perhaps, he thought.  He still believed they had seriously underestimated Elim Garak.  It might prove to be most challenging. 
    He was almost looking forward to the suit being delivered. 

    Sisko's resignation had come as a great shock.  The Bajorans reflected a variety of views, from dismay to a rather smug attitude.  A special meeting had been called for all Starfleet officers on how to deal with the subject.  They were not to make things worse.  Bashir was hardly listening.  Command of the station now passed to Kira, and she was clearly in Sisko's camp.  From the looks he'd gotten from her he assumed Sisko had explained more than the public reasons.  She had not been at the meeting.  No Bajorans had been invited. 
    But he had to talk to Sisko one last time.  Sloan would be pulling him out soon, he assumed.  Sloan still needed to discuss his reports, and he doubted he'd ever see Sisko again after that.  He could not let it remain so unresolved. 
    Sisko's door was open, and he was talking to Kira.  Both looked up as he stood by the door.  Kira shot him a look of pure venom.  "I think you should leave," she said. 
    "I just wanted a private conversation," he said.  He tried to sound calm and reasonable.  He hoped the arrogance had been banished.  
    He realized Sisko was looking at him, grim and bitter.  "It's ok, Nerys."  But his tone was hard. 
    She nodded, and left.  On the way out she gave him another look of disdain.  
    He stepped inside and the door closed.  He just stood, letting Sisko have the opening shot.  Finally, after looking Bashir over, he said, bitterly, "I'm not interested in anymore lies, Doctor." 
    Bashir stepped forward.  It was hard to drop the mask he'd made for himself, but somehow the man had to understand.  "I should have not made any judgements.  It might not have changed things, but I should not have encouraged any misinterpretations."  He said it quietly, leaving out unnecessary details. 
    "You tapped into my private logs," said Sisko coldly.  "You spied on me, and probably still can."  Sisko picked up a picture of Jake.  "You gave me to that," he paused, walking up to Bashir, standing very close, "than murderer you work for."  He stepped back, hurt and angry.  "Don't try to make amends.  There aren't any to be made." 
    Bashir kept his own feelings under control.  "I checked.  Jake's ship was one of seven hit in the same area.  Sloan didn't have anything to do with it." 
    "He probably didn't," said Sisko reluctantly.  "And there were twelve ships hit.  Three of them survived.  Two were probably captured.  You should have checked a little further." 
    Bashir guessed Sisko knew about his enquiry.  "I don't know if you can believe me, but I condolences are sincere.  I liked Jake very much.  I'll miss him." 
    Sisko was holding back his grief, and nodded.  "I believe you.  But it doesn't change the way I feel.  Losing Jake was the last straw.  But your ... superior ... made it impossible to stay." 
    Bashir wasn't really surprised.  Sisko could not abandon Bajor and would have eventually done the same.  Sloan had just speeded it up and made it an act of bitterness.  He had probably made it worse with his own anger.  He owed Sisko.  But then, Sisko owed him too. 
    "You aren't innocent either," he said.  Sisko watched, warily.  "You gave me to Sloan." 
    Sisko turned his head away.  Bashir wondered what sort of stress readings he'd get out of this conversation.  Finally the former Captain turned towards him with a haunted look.  He spoke a little above a whisper.  "I had much on my mind then.  I never considered ... " 
    Bashir moved closer.  "No, you didn't," he said bitterly.  "Sloan used what amounted to torture before.  You expected him to just smile when I said I'd work for him."  His own voice was shaking, the anger spilling out.  "I had to prove myself, and if I hadn't he'd have let me die.  After that there was no longer any choice.  But you already knew the sort of man he was when you gave that order." 
    Sisko tried to turn away, but Bashir moved with him.  He finally spoke, slowly, sadly.  "If you had refused Sloan what would have happened?"  His voice was very quiet, and so tired. 
    Bashir said, calmly, "He would have tried again.  Perhaps he would have found some way of making my life miserable enough he'd be acceptable.  But I would never have accepted, at least not that easily, if I hadn't been ordered to."  He took a deep breath and let it out.  "What would have happened in the end?  Perhaps the same, but we'll never know.  Not now ... I'd have liked to think I tried to refuse him at least." 
    The anger was spent.  Sisko looked exhausted, and Bashir had finally said what he had wished.  Sisko sat in the closest chair.  "I meant what I said.  I won't remain in service to a government who sanctions people like Sloan.  I'd hate to have to include you in that." 
    "And what do you expect me to do now?" ask Bashir, feeling very tired himself.  "I can't quit.  He'd kill me, probably in some very special way as an example.  I hated you enough that I got used to him.  I'm not the man you knew."  He looked at Sisko, his voice hard.  "All I have left is Sloan." 
    Sisko looked at him, equally cold.  "And I have Bajor.  But now it's what's left."  
    Bashir understood, even if he didn't want to.  "I can't forgive.  I hated you.  It was so intense I lost myself.  I can't forget that, what you took from me." 
    Sisko looked away.  "In his little play Jake died too.  It made his real death very personal.  I keep seeing that ... moment.  I'll always think of it when I miss him.  You can't tell me Sloan would have done that if you hadn't made sure." 
    Bashir wasn't sure, but it wouldn't change Sisko's mind.  "I don't expect forgiveness.  I'm not asking you to absolve me of anything.  I just didn't want this to end in anger.  We both lost our way." 
    Sisko nodded, "And we'll continue to pay for it.  I wish you luck, Doctor.  Try not to lose all you were." 
    Bashir nodded back.  "If any of it is left," he said softly. 
    Sisko eyed him.  "There is.  A little at least.  You came here tonight." 
    "I should go," said Bashir, suddenly uncomfortable.  He'd already considered what made him go there.  Perhaps a little was left.  But not enough to survive long, he knew.  He made his choice when he's put Sisko in the spotlight.  He'd confirmed it while watching the stress readings during Sisko's mind game and keeping quiet.  That had been the final betrayal of what he was.  "Good bye, Sir," he said at the door.  

    Sisko left the next morning, taking a special shuttle.  Even the Starfleet people came to see him off.  Most of them, at least.  Bashir had stayed away.  Once he was gone Kira had come into the infirmary.  She stood near the door. 
    "Are you ill?" he asked. 
    She was staring at him.  "We got this an hour ago," she said, holding out a padd. 
    He took it from her, avoiding her look.  He studied the padd.  It was his transfer orders.  As of that day he was transferred to a small research facility in the middle of nowhere.  But he recognized the name.  "When does my replacement arrive?" he asked. 
    "Today, Doctor," she said in an icy tone.  He wondered what Sisko had told her, if he'd told her too much.  
    Someone came in the room, someone he recognized from Sloan's ship.  Except now he was dressed in a Starfleet uniform.  "I'd like to go over your cases before you go," the man said cordially.  Sloan's new operative didn't hold any grudges, he realized.  He wouldn't make the same sort of mistakes.  "I'm Doctor Russell.  I've worked where you're going.  I think you'll like it."  
    Bashir watched as Kira stood by the door.  "I presume you'll get my quarters.  Why don't you bring your things?"  Kira finally drifted away. 
    "Certainly," said Russell, though that wasn't his name.  He was very personable.  Bashir was sure in a few months nobody would believe he was spying on them. 
    Russell followed him into the room.  "Impressive," he said, "I think I'll like it here."  But he pulled out a small dampening device and initiated it.  He looked at Bashir.  "I'll need the tricorder." 
    Julian knew what one he meant.  He handed the man the one that read Sisko.  It read nothing now, because Sisko was too far away.  But it would be passed on.  Eventually someone would discover it had started to malfunction.  By then the alterations he'd made would look like they were accidental.  They'd make another, but he'd bought Sisko some extra time to make his private peace.  Bajor had saved him once, and he only hoped it would again.  But nothing would save Julian Bashir.  
    "There won't be much time to discuss more than current cases," he said, keeping up the fiction as he had to.  "I suppose if something comes up on another case I'll be available to discuss it.  You can find me."  He suddenly realized he'd miss this place, and his patients.  He hoped whatever else Russell was he was a good enough doctor. 
    "Not really, but we'll manage," said Russell, with a look that meant to keep quiet. 

    Garak was restless, unable to sleep.  Sisko had already gone, and he'd watched Bashir leave earlier.  Few of his friends said anything.  Garak almost had, but changed his mind.  Bashir was too preoccupied.  But he had been revenged.  
    Garak was a little sorry he'd driven away his friend.  But that relationship had ceased the second the doctor had decided to lead Garak into the holosuite.  It was not so much that it had been a betrayal of trust, for he understood that kind of thing.  But Bashir wasn't like that, not the man that had been his friend.  Sisko had paid for his part in the theft, and some unknown agent with the ultimate responsibility for the disaster would pay as well.  Perhaps Bashir would pay too, but the man who mattered was already gone.  The ruins that were left didn't count. 
    He had the suit in his quarters now.  He didn't like the reminder each day as he entered his shop.  Nothing more had been asked of him--yet.  But he knew they were patient. 
    He was certain they didn't know of his revenge.  He would already be dead if they did. 
    He had no desire to go out.  He looked at the book, the last one Bashir had given him, and picked it up.  He ordered Kanar from the replicator, and settled down to read for a time, sipping the drink. 
    He didn't even notice how fast he passed out. 

    Garak was aware of the light, and the dizzy headache.  The headache was from some sort of drug, he thought vaguely, still light headed.  The dizziness was odd, unique.  He couldn't explain it.  But he knew he'd been taken somewhere.  The light and the bed were wrong.  He remained as still as he could, hoping they wouldn't notice he was conscience. 
    A voice he recognized cut through the illusion.  "Wake up, Garak.  We don't have a lot of time."  His *friend* with the orders, he thought glumly.  Did they know, he wondered.  Was the program going to end a second too late this time? 
    He opened his eyes to the too bright light.  The man was dressed in solid black.  Bashir had dressed like that now and then, when he'd been in a bad mood.  He thought he understood now.  "Could you turn down the light?" he asked, trying to ignore the headache as he sat up. 
    "Sure," said the man cordially, and the light dimmed.  "You'll feel a little dizzy.  You get used to it." 
    'Really,' thought Garak.  "More unusual technology, I see." 
    The headache dimmed a little.  Someone came in and gave him a shot and it disappeared.  "It's time for you to meet a few people."  He carefully followed the man, noting the ships design.  It was Starfleet, but ... different--more functional perhaps. 
    His host entered a security code with his palm.  A door opened to reveal a very plain room with table and chair. 
    The man sitting at the table was wearing the suit he'd made.  The man who had ordered it was sitting nearby.  He kept his face calm.  But deep inside he knew he'd failed.  Tain had been right.  He should have left them alone. The man looked up, and came forward, shaking his hand.  "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Garak.  If your other talents are as good as tailoring we are very lucky indeed.  I'm just new here, though, so we'll have to get organized.  My predecessor was, ah, transferred." 
    Garak realized he'd managed to revenge both of his targets.  Somehow it didn't feel nearly as good as he'd hoped.  
    "I'm pleased with the fit," said Garak.  
    "Please, sit," urged the man.  "We have a lot to review tonight.  We have big plans for you." 
    Garak knew he would cooperate.  He had no choice.  There was little he hadn't done already, for Tain and Cardassia.  His exile was over now.  The Order had served Cardassia, but had kept certain things for themselves.  These people were no different.  He'd manage. 
    Perhaps some day he and Bashir would meet again.  He wondered if he'd recognize the doctor anymore. 

    That evening Bashir boarded a small ship headed towards his new assignment.  He shared a cabin with two others, and while they slept he couldn't.  He remembered what had happened to those on another ship, and how Sloan had dismissed them handily. 
    It didn't surprise him when the transporter pulled he and his things from the cabin.  But nobody missed him.  It was assumed he'd gone to the medical bay when the Jem'Hadar ship fired.  

    Miles wandered out of the room.  It was too crowded to stay, with the length of the list.  But this time it was worse.  Julian Bashir was one of the names, presumed killed.  Miles had hoped, right up until the end, that he'd change his mind.  Now it was done.  Now all that was left was memories. 
    He hadn't had lunch, and found Ezri sitting by herself.  She was staring at her food.  He wondered how many of those she'd declared fit for duty had been on this Friday's list.  She didn't say a word when he sat down next to her. 
    She was picking at her lunch, lost in her own fog.  "I'm sorry," she finally said.  "He was a good friend.  You'll miss him." 
    Miles had been thinking about the last conversation he'd had with Julian, sitting alone at Vic's.  Julian would never come back.  But it was an excellent chance to disappear.  "We had some good times," he said.  "Not so many since the war.  I think I'll try to remember him from before." 
    She was looking at the people in the room.  "I don't know if I'll miss this place or not.  I'm being transferred." 
    He sighed.  He'd gotten to know her, and appreciated the friendship.  Now she'd be gone too.  "Good luck," he said, not quite knowing how to say good bye. 
    "I'll be working in a real hospital.  Trauma cases, but maybe we can do a little more for them.  If only we could just send them home."  She sounded relieved.  Perhaps someone else would have to make the decisions there about who to send back to the fighting. 
    "I wonder if anyone really can go home," he mumbled, thinking of Julian.  
    She avoided looking at him, and he remembered her shattered family.  "They'll find something."  She paused, and added softly, "Some of them." 
    He felt sorry for her.  There had been a wistful look in her eyes when she said it.  He didn't know how he'd cope without his family. 
    "I got a letter from Keiko's family, asking about the kids.  I guess she won't talk about it, but they're worried.  Molly said some things about what happened here.  They didn't want her to come back."  He wondered to himself if he shouldn't have had them stay. 
    "That's between you and Keiko," she said. 
    "I know, it's just ... " he paused, unable to put it in words.  "How do I tell them about here?  They've never been off Earth.  I don't *want* my kids here, but we were all miserable before they came back." 
    "You're lucky," she said.  "You can have them with you." 
    "Still ... " he said, looking at the others in the room, wondering how many had families they missed.  He wondered who had made the best choice. 
    Ezri looked uncomfortable.  He didn't want to impose on her.  She had enough troubles of her own.  "I've really got to go," she said. 
    "Thanks," he said, leaving it at that.  He missed Julian.  He had no one left to talk to.  He retreated back to his job. 

    He had just finished one list of requests when his communicator beeped.  It was Kira.  "I need you in my office," she said.  Her tone was official, and he worried as he went up the steps to the office that had been Sisko's. 
    It looked different.  She had changed nothing, but the baseball was gone.  Perhaps that was it.  He sat in the chair before her desk.  She looked tired, he thought. 
    She had a padd in her hand, and he took it from her reluctantly.  "You have new orders," she said.  "I've been informed that Starfleet is reassigning all personal with combat experience.  Your new assignment is in combat support.  The padd has the details." 
    He glanced at it, but only briefly.  He'd promised Keiko he'd not leave her again.  Now he had no choice.  "When do I leave?" he asked quietly, wondering how to tell her. 
    "Tomorrow.  I'm sorry about the short notice, but they just told me."  She didn't like it, but couldn't do anything to stop it.  "There are others, so you won't be alone." 
    He could be ready, but didn't want his family to be rushed home.  "What about my family?" he asked. 
    She sighed.  "I have an offer.  You should be able to get occasional leave.  I'll set it up where they can stay here if you want.  You should be able to see them now and then." 
    He realized it wasn't one everyone got.  Overwhelmed, and unsure of what to say, he stumbled over the words.  "I'll talk it over with her." 
    She smiled, as a friend.  "I wish I could do better," she said. 
    He nodded.  "I'll let you know," he said.  He didn't rush out the room, but he was in no hurry to tell his wife either. 

    Kira Nerys had spent the day before dealing with transfers.  She was tired and wanted to rest, nestled in the quiet of Odo's arms.  But that was not to be. 
    Ross had arrived without any notice, and wanted to see her in the ward room.  The wall of names was still there.  She tried not to look at it. 
    She didn't like him.  She knew Sisko didn't trust him, with his connections to the wrong people.  She still had to deal with him.  She was in command of the station now.  But as he dropped into a chair, the grim news written in his eyes made her forget her personal feelings. 
    He was exhausted, ready to collapse.  "Colonel, I have some bad news.  We lost the Chintaka system.  It's worse than that.  The Breen have a new weapon.  We lost most of that fleet too.  For whatever reason," he said, the bitterness evident in his voice, "they left most of the survivors alive this time.  They'll be coming through here in the next few days.  We'll need a full triage and immediate treatment for the worse injuries.  And we may need to keep some of them here for a little while.  I'm sure you can see to that." 
    She was stunned.  It had been such a hard won victory, more meaningful to this place because they had been a part of it.  "What about repair?" she asked, not wanting to think about the rest.  "O'Brien was transferred and we need him." 
    "Transfers will be delayed for now."  Ross looked up at her, feeling her out.  "One of the ships lost was the Defiant.  I believe most of the crew survived, but that's not official.  We will replace her as soon as we can, but I can't say when." 
    Kira wondered what Sisko would have said.  For the moment it didn't much matter what Bajor wanted.  If things were as bad as they sounded there might not be a Federation to join.  "I'll tell them," she said slowly. 
    He stood up, pushing something towards her.  "One other thing," he said.  "Since you are in command of this station you command Starfleet personal.  So there won't be problems in the future, we are taking preventative action."  
    She retrieved the package.  It was a Starfleet uniform.  He handed her a padd.  "A Starfleet Commission?" she asked. 
    "Special circumstances.  You can resign later if you want, if there is a later."  He stared bitterly at the report on the battle he'd loaded, showing the extent of the losses. 
    She understood.  Bajor and the Federation had ceased to matter for the moment.  It didn't matter what uniform she wore if the Dominion won.  "I don't anticipate any problems, but if this helps, I won't argue."  
    He sat again, hardly moving, "I'll also need quarters.  My ship is ... somewhat damaged." 
    "If you're done I'll find you some," she said.  He usually put on a good act.  This time all she saw was a stunned survivor.  
    He nodded.  "If it doesn't fit, I'm sure Garak can adjust it.  But that's all for now." 

    "Carry him," ordered the man in the new suit.  Unconscious, Bashir was half-carried, half-dragged into the cell.  He didn't move once he was fully inside.  His companion sat on the floor, rearranging the limp body to a more comfortable position.  
    He said nothing as the door closed, locking them inside.  Bashir was already warm, his skin showing the pink tinge of fever.  Leaning against a wall, he watched as the sedative faded, and the doctor slowly stirred.  He rolled himself to his side, burying his eyes under and arm.  He slept, too sick to fight the nightmares.  
    Time went by.  A handful of rations fell on the floor, dropped in through a slot.  The other man retrieved them, moving slowly.  He was already sick.  He began unwrapping the rations while one of them had the strength.  He stared at the door for a while when he was done, nibbling on one of them.  He looked at the sleeping doctor. 
    "Wake up, Doctor," he said, his voice very tired.  "We still need to discuss that misleading report." 

    Ross had been settled in guest quarters and most of his crew moved to other ships.  Kira finally tried on the uniform.  Odo watched, saying nothing.  It fit rather well. 
    It was either an end, or a beginning.  At the moment she was too tired to care.  She changed, settling back in Odo's arms.  Even with the exhaustion, she could not sleep.  "Odo," she said, hoping he was awake. 
    Odo was staring at the wall.  "I can't sleep either." 
    "I tell myself we have to believe we'll win, just like we did in the resistance.  But there are an awful lot of them, and with only the Klingons ... " 
    "You believed then," said Odo.  "You have to keep believing." 
    "I know."  She understood.  It was the only way to survive.  But she could not forget the darkness and the pain that came before, and the price of survival.  If it was a beginning, she feared it was the wrong one. 

End, Paying the Piper, part 3