Chapter One

TEROK NOR. Its name was as dark as its corridors. He

actually found himself seeking the light, but carefully.

Oh, so carefully. Sometimes his cloak malfunctioned,

and he was seen. Partially, like a heat shimmer across

desert sand, or an electronic memory buried in an old

computer. But he was seen.

    He didn't dare make that mistake here. The Gener-

al didn't tolerate mistakes from his agents.

    He stood in the shadows just to the left of the main

entrance to a place called Quark's Bar. The area the

Ferengi bartender had called the Promenade lay be-

fore him, turning away to the right, bending with the

shape of the station design. The walls were gray, the

floors gray, everything was gray. The Cardassians had

made no effort to decorate this place. Even the bar

seemed dismal.

 He shuddered and drew his cape around his body.

He was glad he wouldn't have to stay here too long.

This Terok Nor reminded him of his prison cell. He

had lost too many years of his life there. He had

spent too much time staring at gray metal walls,

dreaming of escape. The metal walls, the ringing

sound of boots against hard surfaces, the stench of

fear--impossible to hide, even though the Cardassi-

ans kept their Bajoran prisoners separate from the

rest of the populationapermeated the place. If he

shut his eyes, his other senses would find nothing to

distinguish Terok Nor from that hideous cell, from

that prison he had finally left. The prison had

changed him--made him bitter, made him wiser,

made him more careful.  Oh, so careful.

    Two Cardassian guards walked the wide passage.

Their gray skin matched the depressing decor. The

only thing that seemed wrong to him was the heat. By

rights this station should have been as cold as its

walls, but it wasn't. The heat was thick and nearly

unbearable. He didn't know how anyone could stand

being here for long. The heat also accentuated the

smells: the processed air, the unwashed bodies, the

Rokassa juice wafting out from the bar. The sensa-

tions were almost too much for him.

    He reminded himself that Terok Nor was the per-

fect testing ground. Two races, living in close prox-

imity, with others coming and going. Their petty

differences didn't matter. That one race kept the other

prisoner, that one made the other labor in uridium

processing were merely details. The important factor

was much larger.

  Terok Nor was the perfect testing ground for the

General. A closed system, for the most part. But any-

one entering the systemmor departing the system~

would leave a record. A trail he could follow, should

he so choose.

 He didn't choose at the moment.

Now he was most interested in Terok Nor itself.

To his right in the bar, crowds of uridium freighter

pilots and crews shouted and laughed, the sounds

echoing off the high ceilings. A few moments before,

he'd been in there sitting at the bar, watching.

  Waiting.

    Trying to stay cool and block out the uridium smell

with the odor of one of the pilots' Gamzian wine. But

it hadn't helped, and besides, he couldn't see that well

or hear that clearly with his cloak on.

    A clang from the far end of the Promenade caught

his attention. One of the Cardassian guards had

dropped his phaser pistol, then grabbed the wall as if

for support. The other guard bent over him, then

glanced from side to side, as if worried that a Bajoran

might see and take advantage.

    He was too far away to hear their words. The first

guard shrugged the other off. The second guard

picked up the pistol and spoke on his communicator.

Two guards who had apparently been patrolling just

out of his line of sight ran toward the far end of the

Promenade.

    The first guard put an arm around the second, who

again shrugged him off. The second tried to stand,

and nearly collapsed. The first guard supported him,

and together they walked along the walls, keeping as

far out of sight as possible.

    He felt excitement flash through him, and he

tamped it down. He couldn't let his emotions inter-

fere with his observations. This might be nothing. It

was a bit early to see results. He hadn't expected

anything so soon.

    The guards passed him. He had to press himself

against the gray metal so that they wouldn't brush

him. They weren't conversing, although he wished

they would. He wanted to know exactly what had

happened.

 He needed to know.

    He had moved to follow the guards, but the Prome-

nade gave him no cover. So he remained in the

shadows.

    He would wait here, in the heat and the stench, just

as he had done in his cell. He was good at waiting,

especially when he knew it would end. And it would

end.

  Soon he would get his answer.

Chapter Two

"I TELL YOU, BARTENDER," the drunk Cardassian

freighter pilot was saying, none too softly, "someone

has been sniffing my Gamzian wine."

    "You don't sniff Gamzian wine," Quark said for the

eighteenth time. He loaded up another tray, carefully

balancing the Saurian brandy bottle in the center so

that Rom wouldn't drop the whole thing. As if train-

ing his brother weren't enough of a headache, Quark

had a bar full of pilots and crew--mostly Cardassian,

all of them drunk, and none of them more annoying

than the pilot at the very edge of the bar, nearest the

door. He had been complaining about hearing sniffing

sounds, which, Quark had to admit, he had thought

he had heard too. But they had been coming from an

empty chair beside the pilot. They were probably an

acoustical trick, caused by loud voices and even

louder laughter, not to mention--

    A crash echoed through the bar, and all the noise

stopped as everyone looked at the table closest to the

Dabo game. Quark couldn't see what was going on,

but he knew. He knew even before his brother Rom

pushed his way out of a group of Cardassians, looking

like a misbehaving child trying to find his way past a

group of annoyed grownups. Rom was bowing and

apologizing and moving quicker than Quark had ever

seen him move.

    Rom darted behind the bar, just as a Cardassian

stood, drenched in Romulan ale. The blue liquid

coated his neck ridges, making him look as if some

fanciful person had decided that he needed a spot of

color.

  "Ferengi!" he barked.

    Rom was cringing behind the bar, clinging to

Quark's legs. Quark kicked him off.

  "It wasn't my fault, brother," Rom said.

  "Sure looks like it to me," Quark said.

    Rom peeked over the bar, then ducked quickly,

narrowly missing the tray Quark had just filled. The

Cardassian was heading toward them. He looked

bigger than most Cardassians, if that was possible,

and meaner too.

Quark shook his leg, but Rom wouldn't let go.

The Cardassian shoved two patrons aside as he

reached the bar. "You!" he said, grabbing Quark's

collar and lifting him against the bar itself. Rom was

still clinging to his leg, and Quark felt as if he were

being stretched so hard that he might actually snap.

  "Me?" he asked, trying to sound innocent.

     "You!" The Cardassian pulled harder. Quark shook

 his foot desperately. They were going to break some-

thing or worse--he'd be tall as a Bajoran when they

were done.

    "Me?" Quark said again, still shaking that foot.

Rom was like a tube grub.

    "You!" the Cardassian said, and yanked. Quark's

foot slipped through Rom's grasp, and he overbal-

anced the Cardassian, who fell backwards, pulling

Quark with him. Quark grabbed at the bar, then a

customer, then a table to catch his balance. Instead,

he bounced on the Cardassian's chest.

    The man smelled so fiercely of Romulan ale that

Quark nearly sneezed. He apologized and rolled off

the Cardassian, resisting the urge to scramble behind

the bar as Rom had done. Quark had learned, in his

years on Terok Nor, that the best way to handle

Cardassians--usualty--was to act as if their most

unreasonable behavior were normal.

    He braced himself on a chair, got to his feet, and

tugged his shirt in place. The Romulan ale smell had

followed him, and he resisted the urge to glance down.

Once that stuff was on someone's clothing, it never

came off. He didn't want to add a ruined shirt to

Rom's list of errors this night.

    "Much as I enjoyed our game," Quark said to the

Cardassian, "I must get back to work. Is there any-

thing I can get you?"

    The Cardassian held a hand to his head. Quark

couldn't tell if that was because the man had hit it or

because the liquor he had consumed was finally

making itself felt.

    "Get me the Ferengi weasel whom you use as a

serving wench."

"Wench?" Quark heard Rom's voice from behind

the bar. This was the wrong time for Rom to take

offense, at anything.

    "You must mean my brother," Quark said, trying to

think of a way to placate the Cardassian. "He's filling

in tonight. He has never worked in a bar before--"

    "That's obvious," someone said from behind

Quark.

    "-so if he's offended you in some way, let me

make it up to you. I could refill your ale, or give you a

half hour in one of my holosuites, or find someone to

clean and press your uniform--"

    "I want the Ferengi," the Cardassian said. He was

sitting up on one elbow, his face prayer than Quark

had ever seen Cardassian skin look.

      Quark glanced at the bar. Rom would pay for this.

All of it. The entire day. The entire week. 

"I'm a Ferengi," Quark said.

    "I'm not blind," the Cardassian said. "I want the

other one!"

    Quark closed his eyes for a moment. He would

never get into the Divine Treasury. Never. Certainly

not with Rom on Terok Nor.

  "He's behind the bar," Quark whispered.

  "What?" the Cardassian said.

    "Behind. The. Bar." Quark opened his eyes. His

eleven-year-old nephew Nog was watching him from

the stairs, the boy's round face filled with a mixture of

sadness and anger.

    The Cardassian got to his feet. "You, you, and

you," he said pointing to three other Cardassians. He

certainly wasn't big on names. "Get that little maggot

out here."

    Quark held up his hands. "I really don't approve of

bloodshed in my bar."

"I am not interested in blood," the Cardassian said.

The three Cardassian crewmen pulled Rom out

from behind the bar. He was kicking, shaking his

head, and apologizing all at the same time.

    "Hold him there." The Cardassian pointed at the

chair Quark was standing near. Quark took a few

steps back, sneaking another glance at Nog.

    The bar was silent except for Rom's protests. Nog

mouthed, Help him, to Quark, who promptly turned

away.

    The Cardassians did as they were bid, placing Rom

on the chair. Their ale-covered leader grabbed the

Saurian brandy off the tray.

    "Wait! Wait!" Quark said. "That's rare and pre-

cious and--"

    The Cardassian was staring at him, the stench of

Romulan ale coming off him in waves. "And?"

    Quark bowed slightly so the Cardassian couldn't

see his expression. "And I hope you enjoy it very

much."

    "I will." The Cardassian uncorked the brandy and

poured it slowly, lovingly, over Rom's head. A roar of

laughter went up in the bar, and then all the other

Cardassians piled forward to pour their drinks on

Rom.

    Quark scuttled through the crowd and made it back

to the relative safety behind the bar. He used a napkin

to mop the ale off his shirt, and winced as another

roar of laughter filled the place. The mixed drinks

were turning purple on Rom's skull. He was splutter-

ing, using his free hand to wipe at his nose and mouth.

    "Stop them." Somehow Nog had found his way

behind the bar. If Quark had thought his brother

annoying, he had been mistaken. Annoying was this

kid who seemed to think he knew everything, even

though he believed his father was worthy of respect.

    "After all the glasses Rom has broken today,"

Quark said, "I think I owe him one."

    "You owe him one," Nog said. "They do not.

They're making a fool of him."

    "He made a fool of himself," Quark said, and

moved to the edge of the bar.

    The lone Cardassian pilot still sat there, staring at

his Gamzian wine. He was muttering. Quark hurried

away.

  Laughter again rose from the group.

  "Why aren't you doing anything?" Nog asked.

    "I am doing something," Quark said. "I'm making

more drinks. Everyone will be out in a moment."

"How can you?" Nog said. "He's your brother."

"Don't I know it," Quark said. Rom was still

standing on that chair. No one was holding him any-

more. His head was covered with a sickly yellow

liquid; his clothing was drenched; and it looked like

his shoes were melting, even though they couldn't be.

The drinks, even mixed together, weren't toxic

enough.

  But the shoes could be cheap enough.

    The Cardassians were standing around him, shout-

ing and laughing each time someone poured a drink

on Rom, but more and more the Cardassians were

noticing that they were running out of liquor. A few

were already bellying up to the bar to order more.

Then a few more came.  And a few more.

  Suddenly, he was swamped. "Nog?"

     He turned. The boy was gone. Nog was as bad as his

 father and as worthless, too.

    Quark moved faster than he had in a long time,

mixing drinks, trying to keep the drunken Cardassi-

ans from tearing up his bar further. Rom would have

to clean up those drinks before anyone fell. Quark

didn't want to think about the damage that a falling

Cardassian could cause. He didn't want to think

about money at all. Right now, all it would do was

make him mad.

    Even though he was raking it in at the moment.

Maybe he shotfid hold a "Drench the Ferengi" contest

once a month. The only catch would be that the

customers would have to buy the drinks that they

poured on Rom. And it would have to be on Rom. He

wasn't good for anything else.

    He had been that way since he was a boy. Useless.

No business sense. Quark had sold Rom's birthday

presents, swindled him in his school ventures, even

made Rom pay a toll to get into his own room, and

still Rom had not learned. Not even by example.

 Not even when he was young.

    Quark shivered. And now he was stuck with his

brother. His brother and his nephew, both of whom

managed to inherit Quark's father's business sense, or

rather his lack of it.

    The traffic at the bar was slowing down. Quark

looked up. Nog was helping Rom off the chair. Rom

was shaking himself like a wet dog, drenching custom-

ers on either side. Fortunately, they were still too

pleased with themselves to care.

    With Nog's assistance, Rom squished his way to the

bar. Quark slid a pile of towels across the bar. "Go

clean up your mess," he said to his brother.

    "My mess? Brother, they assaulted me and you did

nothing."

    Quark set his lower'lip. He had had enough of

Rom's whining. If this new relationship were to

work--and part of him truly wished it wouldn't--

then Rom would have to learn a few things.

    "Nog," Quark said. "Clean up the spill before

someone slips."

  "No," Nog said. "My father--"

  "Nog," Quark said with some force.

    Nog glared at him, then picked up the towels and

headed back to the sodden chair.

  "Come back here," Quark said to Rom.

    Rom squished his way around the bar, leaving

prints. A few Cardassians watched, still chuckling.

The rest had gone back to their drinks and their Dabo

game.

    When Rom made it to the side of the bar, Quark

grabbed him by the ear and dragged him toward

the stairs leading to the holosuites. The tables were

empty, and no one was looking at them.

  "Ow!" Rom said. "What was that for?"

    "For being stupid enough to dump Romulan ale on

a Cardassian pilot. I'm lucky you didn't dump it on

Gul Dukat. He'd close us down."

  "It was a simple mistake, brother. I--"

    "If I had a strip of latinurn for each stupid mistake

you've made since you arrived on the station, I'd be a

rich man," Quark said. He had been quiet as long as

he could. "You brought this on yourself, and you're

lucky it wasn't worse."

    "Worse? Didn't you see what they did? The Visscus

vodka and the Itharian mol~ turned into a fizzing

powder that--"

    "I saw what they did," Quark said, lowering his

voice so that Rom had to lean forward to hear. "And

if you had dumped that ale on Gul Dukat, you'd be in

the brig now. Or worse."  "Worse?"

    "Worse." Quark crossed his arms. "I let them pick

on you for your own good. Maybe you'll learn to be

more careful. This is a dangerous place. You can't go

around being your happy-go-lucky self. You have to

watch everything you do."

    "Yes, brother," Rom said, meekly. Then he added,

"And here I thought you were just mad at all the

glasses I broke."

    "That too," Quark said. "I'm going to start deduct-

ing the price of everything you break from your

salary."

  "But brotherre"

    Quark held up a hand. "I'm doing you a lot of

favors, Rom. I didn't have to give you a home and a

job when Prindora's father swindled you out of all

your money."

    "You weren't going to bring that up again," Rom

said, glancing over his shoulder for Nog. The boy was

still wiping the floor. Those Cardassians had poured a

lot of liquid on Rom.

     "It's kind of hard to forget, Rom. What kind of

idiot fails to read the fine print in a contract?"

"It was a marriage contract," Rom said.

    "So?" Quark asked. "How is that different from a

regular contract?"

    "It was even an extension of the marriage contract.

I read the first one."

    "Twelve years ago," Quark said. "And I'll bet you

forgot the terms, didn't you?"

 Rom swallowed and looked down.

 "You loved Prindora, so you trusted her."

 Rom nodded.

 "She's a female, Rom."

 "She was my wife," Rom said miserably.

    "At least she remembered the Sixth Rule of Acqui-

sition."

 "That's not fair," Rom said.

 "What is it?" Quark asked. "Do you even know?"

    Rom straightened his shoulders. "'Never allow

family to stand in the way of opportunity.'"

    "Good," Quark said. "Then you should understand

why I let the Cardassians pour drinks on you. I made

money, and that's more than I've done since you

showed up."

  "I'm sorry, brother," Rom said.

    "You should be. Now go put on some clean clothes

and get back out here. There's a lot of work to do."

Quark glanced over at Nog. "And your son isn't a

very good substitute."

  "He's just a boy," Rom said.

    "Go," Quark said, and Rom ran for their quarters.

Quark shook his head and returned to the bar. Some-

times even he forgot the Sixth Rule of Acquisition. If

he had remembered it, he wouldn't have allowed Rom

here in the first place. But Rom had looked so pathetic

when he arrived, dragging Nog behind him. Quark

had actually felt sorry for them, although that emo-

tion was quickly fading now~ Every time he heard the

sound of shattering glass.

    "Nog!" he yelled. "When you finish that, I have

some other things for you to clean."

    The boy looked at him for a long moment. There

was something in Nog's eyes, something a bit too

rebellious for Quark, but then it disappeared as if it

had never been.

  "Yes, uncle," Nog said.

    Quark nodded curtly, then leaned back and sur-

veyed the bar. The Cardassian freighter crews were

thinning. Drink had forced some of them to leave.

The remaining ones weren't as rowdy as they had

been earlier. The muttering pilot at the far end of the

bar was still staring at his Gamzian wine. The glass

was as full as it had been before the trouble started,

but the Cardassian was an odd shade of green.

    "And I thought the gray looked bad," Quark mur-

mured. He frowned. A few of the Cardassians around

the Dabo table were also faintly greenish. He had seen

a lot of drunk Cardassians in his day, but he had never

seen them turn vaguely green before. He had always

thought that a hu-man trait.

    Maybe they were all from the same ship. Or maybe

the greenish tinge was being caused by something

they'd eaten. Or maybe they were from a part of

Cardassia Prime that made them look that way natu-

rally.

    "Or maybe that's how Cardassians look when they

tan."

 "What, uncle?"

    Quark jumped. He hadn't realized Nog was beside

him. "Do those Cardassians look strange to you?"

Nog peered at them. "They all look strange to me."

Quark nodded. Nog had a point. Maybe Quark had

been here so long that everything abnormal was

beginning to look normal.

    What a frightening thought. He shuddered one

more time, and then went back to work.

Chapter Three

THE LIGHTS IN THE MEDICAL LAB seemed dimmer than

usual. Gul Dukat stepped inside, hands clasped be-

hind his back. He was used to being here when

colleagues and subordinates were wounded, but he

felt uncomfortable here in cases like this. Illness.

Especially unrecognized illness. The very idea made

his skin crawl.

    The displays were flashing, the monitors constantly

recording various bits of information. In the main

section, the physician assigned to Terok Nor, Narat,

sat at his desk studying a screen before him. On beds

hooked up to the monitors were two of Dukat's

guards. Their skin was an odd greenish color, almost

the color of a body shortly after it begins to decay.

    Dukat raised his head slightly. Through the door of

the second, smaller room, he could see the blanket-

covered feet of the two Bajoran patients. Their doc-

tor, Kellec Ton, stood beside them studying a Cardas-

sian padd as if it were in a strange language. It looked

odd to Dukat to see Bajorans here. They belonged in

the medical part of the Bajoran area. It wasn't as well

appointed as this, but then, they were workers. They

didn't need all of this equipment.

    He wouldn't have allowed them up here if Narat

didn't believe that the disease the Bajoran workers

had was related to the disease these two guards

seemed to have.

    Dukat took another step into the medical lab. Narat

turned. He was slight, and his neck scales were hardly

prominent. His eyes almost disappeared into his thin

face. They were always bloodshot, but they seemed

worse now. His thinning hair was cut short, almost

too short, and stood straight up. He wore a lab coat

over his uniform, and it gave him a scholarly air.

    "Ah, Gul Dukat. I appreciate you coming here so

quickly."

    Dukat glanced at the patients on the bed. He felt

uncomfortable, so he wasn't going to give any lezway

to Narat. "I don't like to have Bajorans up here."

    "We have a forcefield at the doors, just as you

recommended," Narat said. "But they're not going

anywhere. They will die here, probably within a few

hours."

 He sounded certain.

 "I'd like you to see them."

    Dukat frowned, glancing again at the guards. One

of them moaned and thrashed, clutching at his stom-

ach. Narat uttered a small curse, then found a hypo-

spray and shut off the quarantine field around the bed.

He stepped inside, restarted the quarantine field, and

administered hypo to the man's neck. The guard

calmed slightly.

  "What about them?" Dukat asked.

    "In a moment," Narat said, as he let himself out of

the quarantine field. "Let me tell you this in my own

way."

    He led Dukat to the second room. They stopped at

the door. The forcefield Dukat had insisted on was

more for the Bajoran doctor than it was for the

patients, but Dukat didn't tell Narat that. Dukat

wanted Narat and Kellec Ton to work together as best

a Cardassian and a Bajoran could. He just wasn't

going to take any chances.

    As if he knew that Dukat was thinking of him,

Kellec Ton looked up from his padd. He had the wide

dark eyes that Dukat found so compelling in Ba-

jorans. His nose ridge set them off. His face was long,

but didn't give an impression of weakness like Narat's

did. On Kellec, the length accented his bone structure

and gave him a suggestion of power.

    Dukat had been careful around this Bajoran doctor,

and had limited his access to the Cardassians. Women

found him attractive, and Dukat didn't like that.

Kellec Ton had the kind of charisma that could be

dangerous if allowed to run free.

    Dukat couldn't study him any longer. He had to

look at the patients.

    The Bajorans on the table were not a strange shade

of green. In fact, their color was normal. Better than

normal. If he hadn't known better, Dukat would have

thought them the picture of perfect health.

    It was the stench that made their illness dear. The

pervasive odor of rot clung to everything, as if there

were food spoiling along the floors and walls of the

mom-4ood and unburied bodies decaying in a pow-

aeful sun.

    He resisted the urge to bring his hand over his face.

~11ec Ton was watching him, as if measuring Dukat's

te~onse. '~gusting, isn't it?" Kellec said. "You

~hould go into the Bajoran section. The smell is so

overpo~ there I have no idea how anyone can

~t2' 17ae~ he tilted his head slightly. "Not that

~here's much to eat in the first place."

    Dukat would not get into political discussions with

this man. He was on Terok Nor because Dnkat cared

for his Bajoran workers. He was here because a

healthy worker was a strong worker. The more

uridium the Bajorans processed, the better for all

concerned.

  "What is this disease?" Dukat asked.

    "If I knew, I might be able to help them." There

was a controlled frustration in Kellec's voice. "So far,

we've lost twenty Bajorans, and these two aren't far

behind. They look good, don't they?"

Dukat nodded, then asked, "What is the odor?"

KeUec glanced at Narat, who nodded that he should

continue. Kellec set the padd down on the instrument

table. "Exactly what you think it is. Their bodies are

decaying internally. I keep them sedated, but this

disease, whatever it is, is incredibly painful. Some of

the others broke through the sedatives before they

died--I couldn't give them enough medication to

ease the suffering."

    Somehow, he made that sound like Dukat's fault.

But Dukat had done nothing to cause this disease.

Some Bajoran had brought it onto the station. He had

left it to the Bajorans to cure. They handled their own

health. That was why he allowed them Kellec Ton. If

 they needed specific supplies, Kellec Ton was sup-

 posed to act as liaison with the Cardassians.

     "You should have notified us sooner. Perhaps Narat

 has something that will--"

  "No, I don't," Narat said.

    "Well," Dukat said, "I don't like diseases that

destroy my workers. You should have brought this to

me before it got out of control."

      "The disease first showed up a day and a half ago,"

Kellec said. "I've been a bit busy since then."

  "And it will only get worse," Narat said.

    Dukat turned to him. Narat's face looked even

more pinched than it had moments ago. "Why is

that?"

    He took Dukat's arm and led him to the edge of the

nearest guard's bed. Up close, the greenish color was

mottled. The ridges around the guard's eyes and down

his neck were flaking, and a pale gray liquid lined his

mouth and nostrils.

    Dukat kept his distance, even though he knew the

guard was surrounded by a quarantine field.

    "This does not look like the same disease to me,"

Dukat said. Narat had told him earlier, when asking

permission to have Kellec and two Bajorans brought

to the medical lab, that the Cardassians were now

infected with the disease that was killing the Ba-

jorans.

    "It doesn't look like the same disease," Narat said,

"because you are looking at the symptoms. If you

were looking at the disease itself on microscopic level,

you would see that it is the same virus--even though

it attacks Cardassians differently than it attacks Ba-

jorans."

  "So you'll be able to cure them," Dukat said.

    Narat shook his head. "Not unless we discover

something quickly."

    "But if you know its cause," Dukat said, "then you

should be able to find a counteragent."

    "Should," Narat said, "and probably will." He

glanced at Kellec Ton, who was standing near the

door. Neither of them seemed as certain as doctors

usually did.

 "But?" Dukat asked.

 "But we don't have the time," Kellec said.

    "The disease progresses rapidly," Narat said.

"That's a trait it shares in both Barjorans and in

Cardassians. These guards came in complaining of

dizziness and lack of coordination. Now they cannot

sit on their own. The mucus that you see--" and he

pointed to the grayish fluid leaking out of their eyes,

noses, and mouths. Dukat grimaced in spite of him-

self "mis filling their lungs. They will drown by

tomorrow if we do not find a way to stop this."

    "Drown?" Dukat repeated. He couldn't imagine

anyone drowning on Terok Nor. If he had to predict a

way his people might die here, it would not be by

drowning.

  "That's the net effect," Narat said.

    "This is not possible," Dukat said. "Bajorans and

Cardassians cannot contract the same diseases. We

have known that--" he caught himself. Kellec Ton

looked at him, eyes sharp. The Bajoran doctor did not

need to know how much information the Cardassians

had gathered on the Bajorans. "We have known that

for a long time."

    "We have," Narat said. "But this is something

new."

  "Brand new," Kellec said.

    There was something in his voice that annoyed

Dukat, a faint accusation. Dukat approached the

door. The stench seemed to have grown.

  "What are you suggesting?" Dukat asked.

    "I'm not suggesting anything." Kellec's expression

was mild, but his eyes were not. They were intense,

filled with something that Dukat recognized.

  Hatred.

    Good. Let the Bajoran hate him. He wasn't compet-

ing in any popularity contests.

    "But," Kellec continued, "I have heard rumors that

this disease is the result of a Cardassian experiment,

designed to rid the universe of Bajorans. What better

way to get our planet than to destroy us all?"

    Dukat felt rage rush through him, but he did not

move. He waited until the first wave of anger had

passed before responding. He didn't want the Bajoran

to know that his comment had hit the mark.

    "If that were the case," Dukat said, making certain

he sounded calm, "then this disease would not be

killing Cardassians."

"It would if someone made a mistake," Kellec said.

Their gazes met for a moment. They both knew the

Cardassians were capable of this. Then Dukat said,

"Your job is to find a cure for this disease--both

versions, Cardassian and Bajoran."

    "You're feeling compassion for Bajorans?" Kellec

asked, with great sarcasm.

    "I prefer to have my Bajorans alive and working,"

Dukat said. "Not straining the medical resources of

Terok Nor."

    He turned away from Kellec, no longer willing to

look at the man. "If this disease progresses as rapidly

as you say," he said to Narat, "then we have to isolate

it. We don't want it spreading through the station."

    "I'll do what I can," Narat said. "But we have a

problem here. We are, essentially, in a floating tin can,

sharing the same air. I can have the computers filter

for an air-borne version of this virus in the life-

support system and neutralize it, but the disease

might not be spread that way. We don't know enough

about it."

    "Isolate anyone who comes in contact with it,"

Dukat said. "I don't want this spreading."

    "I won't be able to do that, treat these patients, and

find a cure," Narat said. "You'll have to issue the

order."

 He had a point. "All right," Dukat said.

 "It's probably too late," Kellec Ton said.

 They turned to him.

    Kellec shrugged. "If this disease has a long incuba-

tion period, then it could have been spreading all over

the station long before any symptoms appeared."

  "Then we'd all have it," Narat said softly.

    Dukat felt his skin crawl again. He couldn't help

himself; he shot another look at the ill guards. He

would do anything not to end up like that.

    Then the door to medical lab swished open. Two

Cardassians Dukat didn't recognize entered. They

were wearing the uniform of the uridium freighter

crews. The woman was hanging on the man, barely

able to walk. Her skin was green.

  "You the doctor?" the man asked.

    Dukat took a step backwards even though they

hadn't come near him yet. He was standing near the

second door.

    "No," he said, and he sounded alarmed, even to his

own ears. "I'm not the doctor."

    "I am," Narat said, walking toward them as if this

thing didn't bother him at all. "Quarantine protocol."

    The quarantine field went up around the newcom-

ers. Dukat let out a small sigh.

    "Don't relax yet," Kellec said to him softly. "All it

takes is a moment to get infected. One small breath of

air. A touch."

  Dukat whirled.

    The Bajoran was watching him, that maddeningly

calm expression on his face.

  "Then find the cure," Dukat said.

"I plan to," Keltec said. "For my own people."

"I command you to find it for both." Dukat raised

his voice. The new patient and his companion were

looking at him, along with Narato

 "Why should I help your people?" Kellec asked.

 "Why should I help yours?" Dukat asked.

    They stared at each other for a moment. Then

Kellec said, "You want our services and our planet."

    "You cannot survive without us," Dukat said. "Not

anymore."

 "We could survive just fine," Kellec said.

    There was a crash behind them. Dukat turned. The

woman had collapsed. The man who had brought her

was clutching the wall as if it gave him strength.

  "I need some help over here," Narat said.

  Dukat remained where he was.

  "Open the force field," Kellec said.

  Dukat looked at him.

 "Open it, and I will help them," Kellec said.

    Dukat brought the force field down. Kellec hurried

to the others, demanding that Narat drop the quaran-

tine field on that end as well. Both doctors picked up

the female patient, helping her to a bed. Then they

helped the male patient. They bent over the patients,

lost in their work.

    Dukat watched them for a moment, feeling itchy

and cold. He glanced at his hand. The skin was its

normal grayish color. Healthy. He was healthy.

  For the moment.

    Kellec wasn't looking at him, and Dukat didn't

want to go any closer to taunt him. But Dukat knew

Kellec, knew his kind. The man was a doctor first. He

would heal a patient and then look to see the patient's

race. That was why Dukat had Kellec brought to

Terok Nor. For all his Bajoran patriotism, Kellec

would save Cardassians if he had to.

    In fact, he had just demanded to be allowed to.

They would work together to solve this, Cardassian

and Bajoran, because they had no other choice.

Chapter Four

DocroR KATHERINE PUL^Sm stood in the sickbay of

the Enterprise. She was alone. The four medical staff

members who were supposed to be in the area had

honored her request and granted her the last few

moments here alone.

    She sighed. The instruments were on their trays,

just as she liked them. The monitors were in their off

positions. The desk was neat, but all of her personal

experiments were gone. Sickbay was tidied up and

ready for the new doctor.

    Or the old doctor, as it were. Pulaski was being

replaced by the doctor she'd replaced, Beverly Crush-

er. Which was as it should be. Dr. Crusher's presence

had never entirely left this sickbay. No matter what

Pulaski did, she had a sense of Beverly Crusher's

presence. Part of it was the very layout of the bay. Of

course, much was standard on each starship and

Pulaski had served on a number. But there were items

left to each doctor's discretion--where to put the

experiments, for example, or the way the desk was

situated in the office. Pulaski had always meant to

move the pieces around, to make the sickbay more

efficient for her type of medicine. But the demands of

being the chief medical officer on a starship--particu-

larly an active starship like the Enterprise, a ship with

a demanding captain--had never allowed her enough

free time to reorganize.

    That wasn't entirely true. There had been down

periods where she had had some free time--once she

had even helped Data in his Sherlock Holmes holo-

deck program--but she had generally used those

times for resting. Making big changes like rearranging

sickbay would have required a lot of effort, not just in

moving of furniture but in retraining the staff. Effort

she was now relieved she hadn't expended.

    She tugged at her blue shirt and glanced at her

travel bags. She had already removed personal items

from her quarters, and all of her experiments and

notes were already on the shuttle that would take her

to Deep Space Five. She wasn't sure what her new

assignment would be--Starfleet was being cagey

about it, as always, which usually meant they were

considering her for several missions and that she

would get the one that rose to the top.

    Still, she would miss the Enterprise. She loved

starships and the challenges they presented. On star-

ships she saw diseases no one else had seen; injuries

whose treatment required a knowledge of the most

current techniques or the most primitive, depending

on whether she was aboard ship or on a hostile planet;

aliens whose physiology was so strange that she didn't

know what they looked like well, let alone if anything

was wrong with them.

    She hoped she would get reassigned to a starship,

but she doubted that she would. If Starfleet Medical

had its way, she would be heading to some starbase

where she would squire newly minted doctors through

their residencies.

    If the truth be told, she'd rather stay on Deep Space

Five than do that.

 Her combadge chirruped.

     She sighed. She would have to leave now. She

wasn't ready. But she pressed the badge anyway.

  "Pulaski."

    "Doctor, sorry to bother you before you leave, but

we have an emergency." Geordi La Forge sounded all

business. "One of the crewmen got caught in an

explosion in Jefferies Tube Three. There was a local-

ized fire. We put it out, but he's severely burned."

    Burns. She hated them. The trauma to the skin

could continue long after the fire was actually put out.

    "Beam him directly to sickbay," she said. She hated

the transporter, thought it an infernal device, but it

had its uses. Right now, she needed speed more than

she needed caution.

    The crewman shimmered into place on one of the

biobeds. His blue shirt was in charred ruins around

his badly burned skin. He was human, which made

her task just a bit harder. Vulcans and Klingons

handled burns--indeed all painmbetter than hu-

mans.

    He wasn't conscious, for which she was grateful,

but he was moaning. Burn pain was excruciating. She

hurried to the biobed, with the fleeting thought that

the sickbay wouldn't be in order for Dr. Crusher. Ah,

well. Reorganization simply wasn't Pulaski's strong

suit. Dr. Crusher would understand.

    The smell of burned skin filled the sickbay. The

biobed was giving his vitals, but she wanted more

information. She picked up her medical tricorder and

ran it over him, watching the readouts confirm the

information she was already receiving.

    No deep trauma, no internal injuries. Just burns.

The crewman would live. But she didn't slow down.

First she eased his pain and put him into a deep,

restful sleep. Then, for the next five minutes she

carefully repaired the burned skin, one area at a time.

    Skin repair was delicate work, but something she

had done all of her career. She was quicker at it than

most, but that was partly because she disliked it so

much. Burns, she often thought, were the worst injury

of all.

    After she had finished, she stood, brushing a strand

of hair from her face, and checked his readings again.

Still resting comfortably. She'd keep him that way for

a few hours to give that new skin time to heal. And to

give his mind time to deal with the memory of the

pain. Sometimes in cases like this, the memories were

the hardest to heal. Much harder than the skin. She'd

have to let Counselor Troi know before she left.

  "Nice work, Doctor."

    Pulaski started. No one was supposed to be here,

and she didn't recognize the voice. Had someone

beamed in with the crewman? She had been too

preoccupied to notice. She turned.

 Beverly Crusher stood in the center of the bay,

where Pulaski had been just minutes earlier. Her long

red hair cascaded around her face. She looked thinner

than Pulaski remembered.

  "Very nice work," Dr. Crusher repeated.

    "Thank you, Doctor." Pulaski smiled. The eompli.

ment meant a lot. Dr. Crusher was one of the best

doctors in the fleet. Picard had told her she would

always have a berth on the Enterprise, so when she

decided that heading Starfleet Medical wasn't for her,

she requested her old job back. Picard gave it to her

without hesitation, even though--as he had solemnly

told Pulaski--their current chief medical officer was

one of the most talented physicians he had worked

with. Picard was a diplomat, so Pulaski knew he

might be exaggerating slightly, but he was also the

captain of a starship, and he didn't give out idle

praise.

    Dr. Crusher looked around the main area of the

sickbay as if she were a blind woman just recovering

her sight. "You know, there were days at Starfleet

Medical when I never thought I would ever see the

inside of one of these again."

 Pulaski smoothed her hair with one hand.

 "I missed it a great deal."

    "I imagine you did," Pulaski said. She felt her

shoulders stiffen. She would miss it too.

    "I'm sorry, Katherine," Dr. Crusher said. "You

were doing an exceptional job here. I wouldn't have

asked to come back to the Enterprise if it weren't for

Wesley."

    Pulaski nodded. "I had a feeling from the first that I

was merely keeping this place warm for you."

 "It looks like you did more than that." Dr. Crusher

nodded at the crewman. His vitals were closer to

normal than they had been just a few moments

before. "I've never seen such quick work on a burn

patient. I doubt I could have done as well."

    "I've studied your logs," Pulaski said. "You've

done as well or better."

    Their gazes met, and an awkwardness that had been

reflected in their words seemed to grow. Finally Dr.

Crusher tossed her long hair back--such a girlish

move from such an accomplished woman--and

laughed.

    "I'm sorry about this," she said. "I didn't realize it

would be so uncomfortable."

    Pulaski frowned just slightly. If Dr. Crusher was

referring to their meeting, she should have known. It

was an unwritten rule among chief medical officers

that they never share a sickbay--at least not on a

starship. The new officer replacing the old officer

would wait until his or her predecessor was off the

ship before entering sickbay.

    But Pulaski said nothing. An unwritten rule was a

tradition, yes, but it wasn't as if Dr. Crusher had done

much more than been slightly impolite. It was some-

thing easily overlooked.

    Apparently Pulaski's silence went on too long. Dr.

Crusher's smile faded.

"There is a reason that I'm here early," she said.

Pulaski felt some of the tension leave her. The

breach of etiquette had bothered her, even though she

had just been trying to convince herself that it hadn't.

She felt Dr. Crusher's returning as a slight rebuke,

almost as if she weren't important enough to remain

on the ship. She had known that the feeling was

 irrational and, in her better moments, had forgotten

 all about it. But it had been a thread, an undercurrent,

 during the whole last month, since she'd finally

 learned that she would be leaving.

  "I hope it's not too serious," Pulaski said.

    Dr. Crushefts mouth formed a thin line. "Starfleet

Medical wanted me to tell you there's a problem on

Bajor."

    Whatever Pulaski had expected, it wasn't that. She

fought to keep her face impassive, not to let her

emotions show. Dr. Kellec Ton, after all, was her ex-

husband, and as much as she cared about him, she

had known that this moment could come. She had

urged him to leave Bajor, knowing that with his

temperament, he couldn't be safe under the Cardas-

sian occupation. But he had refused, just as he had

always refused to do the sensible thing during their

marriage, citing his loyalty to his homeland and its

great need for him in time of crisis.

    "Why did Starfleet Medical believe they needed to

inform me of this?"

    Dr. Crusher's gaze held hers. "There are rumors

that a plague on Bajor is killing both Cardassians and

Bajorans."

    Pulaski threaded her fingers together and held her

hands over her stomach, as if the pressure would keep

her nerves from getting worse.

    "That's not possible," Pulaski said. "Their systems

are too different. Viruses cannot be spread from

Bajoran to Cardassian and back again."

    "I thought the same thing," Dr. Crusher said softly.

"But Starfleet Medical is taking the rumors seri-

ously."

 Rumors. If they only had rumors, they wouldn't

know who died. For all they knew, Kellec was just

fine.

    Suddenly Pulaski knew why Dr. Crusher was telling

her this. "They want me to contact Kellec for them,

don't they?"

    Dr. Crusher nodded. "A message from Starfleet

might put him in jeopardy. A message from youm"

    "Would seem normal. Or somewhat normal." Pu-

laski let her hands drop to her sides. She was on good

terms with Kellec, as she was with her other two ex-

husbands. But she didn't like talking with him. She

had loved him a great deal, but his stubbornness had

frustrated her--and it continued to frustrate her,

even now.

    "Starfleet Medical believes that Dr. Kellec Ton can

confirm or deny the rumors."

    Pulaski nodded. "As long as I present my questions

in a way that won't put him in any danger."

    "From what I understand of Kellec Ton," Dr.

Crusher said, "he's probably already in danger, at

least the political kind."

    "He never could remain quiet about things that

bothered him," Pulaski said.

 "When was the last time you spoke with him?"

 "A month ago." They had fought, as they often did.

 Kellec had agreed to go to a Cardassian space station

 to take care of their Bajoran workers. He hadn't

 explained his motivesmhe didn't dare on the un-

 scrambled channels he could get out of Bajor--but he

 didn't have to. He would take care of the workers' ill

 health, document the atrocities he saw, and do what

 he could to promote the resistance movement from

 the inside--maybe even destroy the station, if it were

 within his power.

     She had argued against the assignment, attempting

 to use medical arguments that couched her larger

 objections. But they had both known what she was

 talking about. And the argument had ended, as they

 all had, with Kellec shaking his head.

     Katherine, my love, he had said. Our fundamental

 problem is, and has always been, your unwillingness to

 let me make my own mistakes.

     She was letting him make his own mistakes. But

 she'd had to divorce him to do so.

  "Can you contact him again?" Dr. Crusher asked.

     Pulaski nodded. "I believe I know where to find

 him."

    "Good," Dr. Crusher said. "I'm sorry to bother you

with this, especially now. But it is the best way for us

to handle this potential crisis."

    There was something that Dr. Crusher wasn't tell-

ing her, something that Starfleet Medical was very

interested in, something that they were willing to risk

a high-profile contact with Bajor over. But Pulaski

had been military for a long time. She knew better

than to ask for information that she had not been

given. If it had been something she needed to know,

Dr. Crusher would have told her.

  "Well," Pulaski said, "I guess it's time."

    She glanced at her last patient on the Enterprise.

The crewman's readings were mostly normal, his new

skin looking pink and healthy. She went over to him

and drew a blanket across him. He was sleeping

peacefully. He wouldn't even remember his treat-

ment. He would think Dr. Crusher had taken care of

him, and even though she would probably correct

him, he would never really know what had happened

 But Pulaski would.

    "I'm sorry it's such a mess. I had planned to leave it

tidy for you."

 Dr. Crusher smiled. "Medicine is rarely tidy."

    Pulaski nodded. That was a fact she knew all too

well.

Chapter Five

A MIST HAD FORMED at the base of the mountains. Gel

Kynled felt the chill, even though he stood in the

shadow of what had once been an excellent restau-

rant. It was Cardassian now, with the former restau-

rant owner working as a waiter and forced to suffer

daily humiliation from the occupying army. Gel

hated watching that. He hated so many things about

Bajor these days. So many Bajorans simply took the

Occupation as their lot in life. They looked away

when their friends disappeared, mourned when their

families died, but did nothing.

  He couldn't stand doing nothing.

    He had his arm wrapped around the waist of

Cadema Hyle. She was too thin for him. Her clothing

was baggy and barely hid the signs of starvation that

had been so prominent a few months ago. Cadema

had managed to escape from one of the camps--

probably because the Cardassian guards had left her

for dead. She had climbed out of the mountains,

surviving on roots and berries before she made it back

to their resistance cell. She never spoke of the experi-

ence, not after that first day, but it had changed her.

    Like him, she was willing to do anything to get rid

of the Cardassians. Anything at all.

    It was nearly curfew. Most of the Bajorans who

were on the streets were hurrying toward their homes.

The people left in this area had nominal freedom, all

of them knowing they could lose it with a single error.

Staying out past curfew could be that error.

    The Cardassians passing him were no longer on

duty, but they weren't in a hurry either. Gel resisted

the urge to check the time. He and Cadema were

standing casually, looking younger than they were--

because they had always looked younger than they

were--and pretending to be in love. Idle youth, not

caring about deadlines or curfews or Cardassian sol-

diers. But it was getting late, and Gel didn't dare call

attention to himself. He needed his freedom, and so

did Cadema. In fact, Cadema said she would do

anything she could, anything, to prevent being cap-

tured by the Cardassians again.

     He felt her shift ever so slightly. Her movement

 wasn't noticeable to anyone watching, but it was a

 sign that she was getting nervous too.

  "A few more moments," he said softly.

     She smiled at him, tilting her head upward, a

 lovesick look that didn't make it to her eyes. He

 smiled back, so fond. Lovers, taking the last few

 minutes of precious daylight to be together.

     Someone coughed a few meters away, a loud, honk-

 ing cough. It was their signal. Cadema tensed. Gel slid

 his left hand behind his back. His fingers rested lightly

 on a stolen Cardassian phaser tucked into a belt,

 holding it against his spine. He could draw and fire

 the pistol faster than a Cardassian could raise his arm.

 Gel had killed at least ten Cardassian guards with that

 pistol over the last few months. He planned on killing

 a lot more.

     A Jibetian trader walked past, still coughing. He

 was long and lean, like most of his people, and his

 ridged cheeks were very pronounced. Gel had never

 seen him before.

    "You need to do something for that cough,"

Cadema said, her voice gentle, as if giving advice to a

friend.

    The trader stopped, his cloak flowing around him.

The movement was fluid and powerful. It also re-

vealed the weapons at his waist. A pistol like Gel's

and something Gel didn't recognize.

    The trader's pale green eyes took both of them in.

Nothing in his expression changed, but he seemed to

recognize them as a team.

    He stepped closer, so close that his words were

audible only to Gel and Cadema. "My boss does not

like being summoned."

    Gel didn't move. He kept one hand on his weapon,

the other casually draped over Cadema. As he spoke,

he smiled, so that anyone watching would think they

were still discussing cold remedies. 

"Bajorans are dying," he said.

    The trader shrugged. "You were warned there

might be some casualties."

    "Some," Cadema said. "We thought that meant

only those initially involved. Your boss misled us."

    The trader's gaze flickered toward the street and

then back to them. They were the last Bajorans out,

and there were no more Cardassians. Curfew had

started. In a few moments, they all would be in

trouble.

    "People in your business," the trader said, "should

not be soft."

    Gel's grip on the pistol tightened. He knew he was

being goaded, and he would not let the trader get to

him. All of the people he had dealt with, everyone

who worked for the person--or persons--who had

theoretically developed this perfect biological weapon

to fight the Cardassians had been as cold and unfeel-

ing and cruel as this trader. All of them. They were

only in it for the money. Gel's resistance cell had

spent the last of its reserves getting this weapon, and

now it was backfiring on them.

    "Soft, weak," Gel said, "those are all subjective

terms. We're not talking about our ability to fight, or

our own willingness to die for our beliefs. But this

disease has spread beyond our cell, to the innocents.

Our children have been dying. It's not a pretty death."

    "You didn't buy a pretty death," the trader said.

"You bought something a bit more destructive than

that."

     "My people are getting sicker faster than the Car-

 dassians." Gel had to struggle to keep his voice down.

 Cadema was looking to make sure they were still

 alone on the street. They were.  So far.

  "The disease incubates longer in Cardassians."

     "Not good enough," Gel said. "You owe us more

 than that."

  "We owe you nothing."

  "You lied."

     "What are you going to do? Turn us in? Which

 government will prosecute us for violating the local

 commerce laws? What remains of the Bajoran govern-

 ment? Or the Cardassian warlords?"

     Cadema put a hand on Gel's chest. She knew how

 close he was to killing this bug.

     "We have done what we promised," the trader said.

 "You wanted to get rid of the Cardassians. We offered

 you a way, and now they are dying. What more do you

 want?"

"The Bajoran antidote for the plague," Gel said.

The trader smiled. It was a cruel, empty smile.

"What if we turn you in to the Cardassians and tell

them you're working for the person who started this

plague?" Gel asked.

    "And who's going to tell them? You, the great rebel

leader killing his own people?" The trader laughed

again, this time louder, his voice echoing down the

empty street.

    "We have kept complete documentation of all of

our dealings with you, including surveillance of all of

our meetings."

  "You have never dealt with the same person."

    "It doesn't matter. We have the conversations and

the promises. We have it all."

    "All except the names of the people you've really

been dealing with," the trader said.

    "That's not hard to find," Gel said. He was bluffing,

but it was getting dark. He was getting desperate. He

had thought this meeting would go better. "Give me

the Bajoran antidote."

    The trader smiled. "You think you are so coura-

geous." He crossed his arms. "You believe you are so

powerful, so smart. You don't like the idea that you've

been tricked."

    Cadema glanced at Gel. He knew what she was

thinking, and he shook his head slightly, but she

spoke anyway. "We will pay for it," she said.

    The trader's ridged cheeks puffed out. Gel had

worked with enough Jibetians to know that to be an

expression of surprise. "Really?" he asked. She nodded.

 "You have no money. You used it all to pay us."

    Gel felt cold. Perhaps they had been dealing out of

their league.

    Cadema let go of him and grabbed the trader by his

long cloak. She pulled him close. She had surprising

strength in those thin hands.

    "We are losing our children, our families, the very

reasons we are fighting the Cardassian dogs."

    The trader stared at her for a moment. Cadema had

let the veneer of civility drop. She had let him see

their desperation. Gel thougilt he saw pity in the

Jibetian's eyes.

"There is no antidote," the trader said.

"What?" Cadema let him go. "There has to be."

It hadn't been pity Gel had seen. It had been

disgust. The look intensified. The Jibetian straight-

ened his lapels. "My boss hates weakness. If you

couldn't stomach the deaths, you should not have

bought our services."

    Gel brought out his laser pistol, aiming and firing as

he moved. But he didn't get to see whether or not his

shot hit its target. The Jibetian already had his pistol

 out. A shot caught Gel in the chest, smashing him

 back against the wall. His own pistol fell out of his

 grasp.

     He didn't feel any pain, not yet anyway. He knew,

 somehow, that wasn't good.

     Cadema clove out of the way, but the Jibetian

 turned toward her. The street was still empty. Why

 wasn't there anyone on the street? Why didn't anyone

 see this?

     He tried to reach for the pistol, but he couldn't

 move his arms.

    A second shot hit Cadema. She twitched once, and

then didn't move, arms splayed, legs at an unnatural

angle. The Jibetian pushed at her with his booted

foot. She didn't respond.

    Gel couldn't. His body wasn't obeying his corn.

mands. It had slumped down the wall until he was

lying on his back, his neck shoved uncomfortably

against the brick. Odd that the only discomfort he felt

was in his neck. But he really couldn't feel much at all.

And he seemed to have control of nothing more than

his face. His breathing was short and uneven. He

couldn't really take a deep breath at all. The pistol the

Jibetian had used had scrambled Gel's systems. If he

didn't get help soon, he would die here, on this street,

just like Cadema.

      Without the antidote. Without being able to tell his

resistance cell there was no antidote.  All those deaths, on his shoulders.

    The Jibetian leaned over him. That look of disgust

was in his eyes again. He nudged Gel with his booted

foot, and like Cadema, Gel didn't move.

    "Trust me," the Jibetian said softly. "I've done you

a favor."

 "No," Gel whispered.

    "Ah, but I did," the Jibetian said. "I gave you the

only antidote to the plague."

    And then he laughed. Gel closed his eyes, and the

laugh followed him as he felt himself slip away into

final blackness.

Chapter Six

THE BtOO~N MEDICAL SECTION of Terok Nor lacked

everything the Cardassian medical section had. No

quarantine fields, no biobeds, nothing except field

medicine kits set up in comers, half a dozen of them,

many of them without the most important equip~

ment. Kellec Ton had been negotiating with Gul

Dukat for more equipment when this plague hit, and

then it became a minor consideration. Ton could

barely keep up with the patients, finding them beds,

making them comfortable. He couldn't worry about

the lack of equipment.

 He didn't have time.

    The stench in this area was so foul he could almost

touch it. The uncomfortable Cardassian heat, com-

bined with the poor environmental systems, made the

smell even worse. He tried to do an old-fashioned

quarantine field: separate the sick from the healthy by

placing the sick in a large room away from everything,

but he had a hunch he was doing too little too late.

    He bent over a teenage girl in the last stages of the

disease. She lay on a cot he had found in one of the

sleeping sections. She was moaning and clutching her

stomach. All he could do was ease the pain, but even

with the highest doses the pain slipped through. It was

all he could do not to overdose these victims. He had

to cling to some kind of hope that he would find a way

to cure the disease before they all died.

    His medical assistants, also people he'd had to fight

for with Gul Dukat, had all been exposed. Kellec Ton

had a hunch it was only a matter of time before they

fell prey to this thing too. Before he did.

    He had no idea what the incubation period was for

this virus, but he knew it was longer than he had

initially suspected. What research he had been able to

dommostly by word of mouth with the people who

had fallen ill--revealed that they had felt fine for the

last few weeks, and the illness had caught them by

surprise. It was the secondary wave he was looking

for, the people who had been infected by the earlier

carriers. He had only spoken to a fewmtoo many of

them hadn't come in when they first noticed they

weren't feeling well.

    All of his training in the psychology of serious

illness had prepared him for that, but he hadn't really

expected it. If he knew something serious was hap-

pening on the station, and he felt poorly, he would

have gone to get help immediately. Most people,

however, entered a serious denial phase based on fear.

Yes, the reasoning went, my best friend has this

disease, and I took care of her, but I'm strong. I never

get sick. I am just out of sorts, making things up. I

really can't be ill.

    By the time most of the second wave had come to

him, they were so ill they couldn't talk. In fact,

someone usually carried them in. All he could do now

was watch them die.  He hated this.

    He hated it as much as he hated the thick metal

walls and the dim lighting, as much as he hated the

way the Cardassians penned the Bajorans into these

sections as if they were animals instead of people.

Most of the Bajorans on Terok Nor already had

weakened immune systems. They had been worked so

hard that they were half dead on their feet. Their

rations were meager, their hygiene poor. The close

quarters made the spread of easily curable disease

rampant. He knew that a virulent virus, like this one,

would probably have found its way through the entire

population already.

 Now it was only a matter of time.

    What he wanted was all that equipment in the

Cardassian medical bay. The bright lights, the quar-

amine fields, the chance for his people to survive.

Instead of working down here in the worst possible

conditions, on the worst possible disease.

    At least he had access to the station's computer

system. Not all of it, of course, not even most of it, but

Narat had made the medical files--the official medi-

cal files--available to him. What Kellec wanted was

the unofficial files. He had heard that the Obsidian

Order had done experiments on Bajorans, and it

seemed likely to him that this was one of those

experiments gone awry. Not in its treatment of Ba-

jorans, but in the fact that it had somehow spread to

the Cardassians.

    GUl Dukat hadn't eased Kellec's mind on that, even

though he had tried to. The fleeting look that had

crossed his face when Kellec had accused the Cardas-

sians of this acknowledged the possibility. If this were

a Cardassian experiment to destroy the Bajorans that

had gotten out of control, then Kellec needed to

know. He was better at solving puzzles when he had

all of the relevant information.

    He pulled a blanket across the poor girl. The disease

accented her natural beauty, flushed her thin cheeks.

Her hands were permanently dirt-stained and cal-

lused, but with them covered, she looked as she

should have looked at this age, a young girl who had

just finished flirting with a young man, a girl with no

cares at all.

    Just by looking at her no one would be able to guess

that she would probably be dead before the day was

out.

    The comm link that Narat had given him beeped.

That was the third time in less than an hour. Kellec

supposed he should answer it. He had been trying to

ignore it. The Cardassians believed that Kellec should

be using his considerable brain power to help them,

not his own people.

    He hit the comm link so hard that he hoped he'd

shattered it. But no such luck. Instead Narat said,

"Why haven't you been answering my hails?"

    "Because I've been treating dying patients down

here," he snapped. "I got fifteen new patients in the

last hour. Thirteen in the hour before that. I've

forgotten how many came in the hour before that. So

my hands are a bit full. What do you want?"

    "Gul Dukat wants you to come up here. He believes

you can't get work done down below."

    Kellec clenched a fist, and then glanced around the

room. People everywhere, holding their stomachs,

rolled in fetal positions. The moans were so soft and

so prevalent that he had to focus on them to hear

them. And the smell ....

    KeUec shook his head. His assistants were doing

what they could. A handful of others, brave volun-

teers, were sitting at bedsides, holding hands, com-

forting, even though they knew they were staring in

the face of death.

"Work?" Kellec asked. "What kind of work?"

"Finding a solution to this thing. We need--"

"We need some understanding. My people are

dying. Or has Gul Dukat forgotten how sympathetic

he believes he is toward the Bajorans?"

    Narat was silent for a moment. A long moment.

Then he said, "I presented this wrong. I know you're

working below. But you and I must solve this thing

together, and that takes research, I'm afraid. I have

patients too, and they're dying--"

    "Are they?" Kellec said. "Well, they're dying in

better rooms than my people are, and so far they're

dying in fewer numbers. I don't see what I'll gain from

working with you."

    "Then you're not the man I thought you were,"

Narat said.

    Kellec took a deep breath. He did know what he'd

gain. He had lied. It was precisely what he had been

hoping for a few minutes ago. Better equipment.

More access. Hope.

    His assistants couldn't do the research. Only he

could do that. And he was essentially useless here.

"You're wasting time, man," Narat said. "And we

both know how precious time is."

    "Yes, we do," Kellec said. He sighed. It wasn't that

he hated the Cardassians. He did, in theory, although

Dukat had been right when he said that Kellec would

save a life before he'd take one. Any life, even a

Cardassian life. No. His hesitation was more complex

than that. He feared that his work with Narat would

help the Cardassians at the expense of his own people.

    "Kellec," Narat said into his silence. "You are the

better researcher."

    How much that must have cost the proud Cardas-

sian doctor. To admit that he was less talented at

medicine--at his jobmthan a Bajoran. To admit he

needed a Bajoran's help.

    "I tell you what," Kellec said. "If Gul Dukat is so

set on needing my services then he must pay for

them."

    "I don't have the ability to authorize payment,"

Narat said, just as Kellec expected him to. But Kellec

didn't give him time to say anything more.

    "I want to move all of my people, both the sick and

those who were exposed, to your medical area. I don't

want them held in place like prisoners, although I do

want quarantine fields so that we can do proper work.

I want them to die with dignity if they're going to die,

Narat, and if we find a way to save them, I want to

make sure my people get treatment as fast as your

people do. I also want my assistants up there, at my

side, helping with all the work."

    "Done," Narat said. His answer was too fast. He

apparently had been going to promise that anyway.

Kellec paused. He wanted more. Some other con-

cession, something that would make him feel like he

wasn't being pulled by the Cardassians.

    "If Gul Dukat wants to keep his prisoners alive and

working in uridium processing," Kellec said, "he

needs to increase the food rations. And he can't keep

up production at its current rate. We have too many

sick down here, and if he pushes the remaining

people, the illness will just get worse. I want a

mandatory eight-hour sleep period for all Bajorans,

and a decrease in production."

  "You know I'm not authorized--"

    "Yes," Kellec said. "I know you're not authorized.

But Gul Dukat is. He's the one who makes the rules.

Have him make this one. If he does, I'll come up."

    "I'll do what I can," Narat said. "But you're

wasting time."

 Narat signed off.

    Perhaps Kellec was wasting time, but he didn't

think so. He needed to take care of his people first. It

would only take Narat a few moments to get Dukat to

agree to the concessions.

    In the meantime, he stood and stretched. He

needed some nourishment himself. He had some food

and vitamin supplies in the tiny room the Cardassians

had allotted him. It would do his people no good if he

succumbed to this disease too. He had to do what he

could to fend it off, and part of that was remembering

to eat.

    He slipped out of the medical area, and hurried

down the corridor to his room. He suspected his room

had once been some kind of storage closet. There was

barely space for his bed. There was no replicator, no

real bathroom--only a makeshift one with an old and

malfunctioning sonic showermand no porthole. Still,

it was personal space, which was greatly lacking for

Bajorans on Terok Nor.

    He reached into his kit for a supplement, and saw

instead that his personal link was blinking. He felt

cold. He had brought the system up from Bajor, and

so far the Cardassians hadn't tampered with it. Or if

they had, they hadn't said anything. On it, he kept all

his medical notes, and an open line to Bajor itself,

since he theoretically was not a prisoner here.

    His people on the surface were not to send him

messages unless it was urgent. He had received several

messages in the last few days about the plague,

messages he had forwarded to Narat, partly as infor-

mation, partly to prove he wasn't hiding anything

from the Cardassians. Most of the messages requested

that he return home. The plague had struck there, too,

and was running through areas of Bajor the way it was

running through Terok Nor.

    He had sent carefully worded messages back, saying

that he would remain on Terok Nor. Gul Dukat might

see that as a twisted form of loyalty when, in fact, it

was prudence. Kellec had not received word that the

Cardassians on the surface had been affected. They

had been here. That, plus the promise of using the

Cardassian medical files, was enough to keep him

here, for the moment. He had a better chance of

finding the solution on Terok Nor.

    With a shaking hand, he reached for the message

button. It was a notification transmission. Once he

responded, the person on the other end would be

alerted, and they could have a conversation. He sat

down and waited.

    To his surprise, Katherine's face appeared on the

small viewscreen. Her brown hair was tangled about

her face, and her blue eyes were filled with compas-

sion.

 She looked very, very good.

 And very far away.

 "Ton," she said.

 "Katherine."

 "I was worried about you."

 He smiled tiredly. "You always worry about me."

    She nodded. "I'm hearing very bad things about

your part of the quadrant."

  "We're at war, Katherine," he said.

"No," she said. "I'm hearing more than that."

He frowned. She was asking about the plague. Had

word reached the Federation then? He didn't dare ask

her directly.

  "Why are you calling me now, Katherine?"

    "I'm surprised to find you still on Terok Nor. I

would have thought they needed you on Bajor."

    "They've been requesting my services on Bajor," he

said. "But I'm too busy here. I haven't slept in two

days, Katherine. I'm sorry, but I don't have time for

small talk. Otherwise I'd ask about you and the

Enterprise and all your various adventures. But I'm

needed desperately elsewhere. Gul Dukat has de-

manded that I work in the Cardassian sickbay as well.

It seems that my expertise is now considered to

extend to Cardassians."

  "It sounds serious," she said.

    "It is." Then he paused and looked at her. They had

always been attracted, and incompatible. He missed

that soft, calm manner of hers. She had never been as

intense as he was, but she was as driven, perhaps more

so. She simply believed in conserving her energy for

important things.

 "Are you all right?" she asked softly.

    "Tired," he said, "and distracted. There's too much

I don't know, Katherine, and I have no time to learn

it."

    "Well," she said in that slow way of hers. "I wanted

to tell you that I am no longer on the Enterprise. If

you need to reach me, I'll be on Deep Space Five for a

short time. I'll let you know when I go elsewhere. I

haven't gotten my new duty assignment yet."

    So that was her ostensible reason for this contact.

Brilliant, Katherine. "Thank you," he said. "I always

appreciate knowing what's happening with you."

    She smiled. He loved that smile still, and missed it

more than he wanted to admit. "Please," she said.

"Take care of yourself."

    And then she signed off. He sat in front of his

system for a moment and forced himself to breathe.

The Cardassians would find nothing amiss with that

message, and yet he heard an entirely different con-

versation than the one they had in words. That was

the benefit of having once been married; he and

Katherine had a language all their own.

    What she had really done was ask him about the

plague. She had heard it was on Bajor, and was

surprised he wasn't there treating it. He told her that

it was bad, and that it wasn't just affecting Bajorans.

The Cardassians had it too, which was why he was on

Terok Nor. He also told her, as best he could in that

limited conversation, that he had no solutions. Kathe-

rine was an excellent physician. She would know what

that meant.

    He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. That

might be the last time he talked with her. Ever. If he

got this thing.

  But he couldn't think that way.

  He didn't dare.

    He stood. What he wouldn't give to have her here,

now. She was the best researcher he knew, and she

was up on all the current information. Her position at

Starfleet gave her access to medical information from

almost everywhere. He knew that the Federation had

dealt with this sort of cross-species contamination,

but he didn't remember where, and he didn't have the

resources to find out. Katherine would.

    She had one other asset that he couldn't discount.

The most important one. She was one of the most

creative physicians in the quadrant. She had discov-

ered and neutralized all sorts of alien viruses, and she

had a knack for discovering the right solution at the

right time. If Katherine were here, she would look at

that virus and the way it affected Cardassians versus

the way it affected Bajorans, and she would know the

detail he was missing. She would know, or she would

do everything she could to find out. Just as he was doing.

    He sighed. Even if Narat wouldn't meet his terms,

he would go to the Cardassian medical section. He

had to. Discovering how to neutralize this virus was

the only chance they had.

 And maybe the only chance his people had.

Chapter Seven

DUKAT CONSTANTLY LOOKED at his skin. It was still

gray. But he was rubbing it all the time. It had been

crawling since the last time he had been in the

medical area. He wasn't sick yet, but he had a hunch

he was infected. He had a hunch they all were.

    He didn't want to return to the medical area, but he

had to. Narat hadn't reported since Kenec Ton had

made his demands. Lower production. Eight-hour

sleep schedules for Bajorans. Kellec's people were

strong. They didn't need such precautions. Kellec Ton

was taking advantage of Dukat, and Dukat was letting

him.

    It wouldn't last long. When this disease was cured

he would make the Bajorans work double and triple

shifts to make up for the lost production. He had to.

He had quotas to fill. If he fell behind, he would lose

his position here on Terok Nor. And that was the last

thing he wanted.

    The second-to-last thing. The last thing he wanted

was to be the gul who watched an entire space station

succumb to an incurable plague.

    He stepped inside the medical area. It was jammed

with patients. All the biobeds were full. Cardassians

and Bajorans lay side by side, apparently not noticing

each other. Bajoran and Cardassian medical workers

examined the sick, carrying pads, studying readouts,

administering pain medication.

    The stench in the area was worse than before.

Dukat put a hand over his mouth and nose. He

couldn't help himself. The smell was so powerful, he

doubted it would ever leave him. He would have to

destroy his clothes.

    If the odor was that strong, did that mean the

quarantine fields weren't working? The crawling sen-

sation in his skin grew worse.

    He was a soldier. He had seen death countless

times. He could handle this as well.

    But he knew, deep down, that this was different.

This was the kind of death every soldier feared.

Impossible to resolve. Death by weakness, by illness,

not in the course of battle, not for some important

cause, but because something microscopic managed

to defeat the body because the body wasn't strong

enough to handle it.

    Dukat made his way through the rows of moaning

people to the office. He stopped at the door. Narat sat

at one terminal, Kellec Ton at another. Above them,

holographic images of the virus spun in slow circles.

Computer readouts scrolled on each side, one readout

in Cardassian, the other in Bajoran. The office was

dark except for the light near the terminals them-

selves and whatever light was given off by the holo-

graphic image.

    Dukat stared at it for a moment. Enlarged, the virus

looked like an alien species, vibrant and alive. He

didn't know much about biology--he didn't know

the terminology for the prongs, or the fat center of the

thing, or the ladder-like connectors on the sides. All

he knew was that he would see the thing in his

dreams. If he ever had time to sleep again.

"Are you finding anything?" he asked.

    Both men jumped. Neither had heard him arrive.

At least they were working hard. Narat turned to him.

Kellec took another sample vial and placed it in the

scope. He didn't bother to turn at all. "Not enough," Narat said.

 "We have found several things," Kellec said.

    "We're just not finding out what we need quick

enough," Narat said.

    Kellec still hadn't turned. Dukat closed the door.

"What things?"

    "Well," Narat said, even though Dukat had di-

rected the question at Kellec. "We have been able to

confirm that this virus was created." "Created?"

    "By someone," Kellec said. "It doesn't occur in

nature."

    "We had suspected as much when we knew that it

affected both Bajorans and Cardassians, but the vi-

rus's structure confirms it," Narat said. "See the--"

    "I trust your opinion," Dukat said. "What does this

mean?"

    "Someone created it," Kellec snapped. "Someone

targeted us intentionally, either both of our peoples or

one of them."

    Dukat suppressed a sigh. He had sent word to

Central Command and to his contacts in the Obsidian

Order. No one knew the cause of this virus, or if they

did they weren't admitting it.

    "If we could find who did this," Narat said, "we'd

probably find a solution."

 "But we don't have any time," Kellec said.

    "I know," Dukat said. The casualties throughout

the station were growing.

 "No, you don't know," Kellec said.

    Narat put a hand on Kellec's arm, but Kellec shook

it away. He faced Dukat.

    "This virus is extremely lethal." Kellec slid his

chair back and pointed to the image above him. This

time it showed small round blobs that appeared to be

floating in something. "These are normal Bajoran

cells. Now watch what happens when I introduce just

one virus."

    The virus was darker and flatter than the cells. It

had a nonsymmetrical shape, accentuated by the

precision of the cells themselves. It looked like a scout

for an invading army.

    Dukat stepped farther into the office, fascinated in

spite of himself. The virus latched on to the nearest

cell. Then the virus destroyed the cell and moved to

another. If a cell happened to divide, the virus did

too. The process was repeated cell by cell.

    "The incubation period, at least in Bajorans, is

fairly long for a virus of this type," Kellec said. "We

don't know how it's introduced to the body, but we do

know that once the virus has infiltrated the system,

the disease progresses very rapidly."

     Very rapidly. As Dukat watched, the virus de-

stroyed the last remaining healthy cell. He shuddered.

    "I don't know if we can reverse the virus's path,"

Kellec said. "It completely destroys any cells it

touches. But I suspect that we could stop it in the

incubation phase--if we could only find it."

    "This is the Bajoran version," Dukat said. "What

about the Cardassian?"

    "The virus seems to be the same, with slight

differences; but it reacts the same way to Cardassian

cells," Narat said. "It's as I told you before. Only the

symptoms are different. But I am having no more luck

than Kellec in discovering the way the virus is

spread."

    KeUec turned in his chair. His face seemed thinner

than it had before, and he had deep shadows under

his eyes. The disease was taking something from him

as well, and he wasn't even sick.

    "Actually," he said. "We're not being entirely accu-

rate. You saw what happened in my sample. If I were

to take the virus and touch you with it, either through

fluid or saliva, you would get sick and die within the

day. That is happening to some of our people. But

they are not the ones who hold the secret. The ones

who hold the secret are the ones who have incubated

the disease for days or weeks. We do not know how

many people are incubating it now. I'm testing my

own blood to see if I am, but so far I have found

nothing."

 "We do know," Narat said, "that the virus itself can

be spread by touch and through bodily fluids, but not

through the air. But it has moved into too many

people to be spread simply that way, so something

else is spreading it. We just don't know what."

  Dukat tensed.

    "We have been cautioning everyone, but I suspect

it's too late. We must not allow anyone to leave Terok

Nor, and no one should come here." Narat bowed his

head. "We have to remain completely isolated until

the disease has passed."

    Dukat straightened his shoulders. He had stopped

all departures from Terok Nor already, and he wasn't

allowing most arrivals. But the ore shipments contin-

ued, and he had been planning to allow the ore ships

that were docked, waiting for processed material, to

leave when they reached their quotas. To fail at this

would mean admitting to Central Command that

Terok Nor was crippled.

  But it was crippledwperhaps dying.

    "You haven't done that already?" Kellec sounded

shocked. "We explained how important quarantine

was."

    "I've done what was needed," Dukat said. He

wasn't about to admit that he hadn't done a full

quarantine on Terok Nor.

  "Do more," Kellec snapped.

  "You're out of line, Bajoran," Dukat said.

    Kellec tilted his head. "What are you going to do to

me? Kill me?"

    Dukat froze, then forced himself to breathe, hoping

Kellec hadn't seen the expression on his face. Kellec

had hit something Dukat hadn't realized: If the sur-

viving Bajorans believed they had nothing left to lose,

if they believed they would die anyway, they might

rebel in ways that the Cardassians couldn't stop,

particularly if his people were ill. He would become

the gul not just of a station that succumbed to a

plague, but a station in which all the Cardassians were

overthrown before the plague took everyone out.

    "I wouldn't be so smug, Kellec," Dukat said. "You

blame my people for this disease, but yours could just

as easily be responsible. Your rebels are sometimes

willing to die for what they believe in. They might

think: If a few Bajorans die to rid the universe of the

Cardassians, that is not such a great price."

    "My people aren't the ones attempting genocide,"

Kellec said. "Yours are."

    "If we were attempting genocide," Dukat said,

"your people would all be dead by now. Don't you see

that Cardassian rule is better for you than leaving you

to your own devices?"

    "I'm sure it is," Kellec said. "My people are so

happy processing your precious uridium."

    "Please," Narat said. "Please. Both our peoples are

dying. Can't we stop recriminations for a few mo-

ments and just concentrate on saving lives?"

    "It is not in Gul Dukat's nature to save lives,"

Kellec said.

    "That's right," Dukat said sarcastically. "That's

why you're on the station. Because I have not a thread

of compassion in my system."

 "Stop this!" Narat shouted. "Now!"

    Both Dukat and Kellec turned to him. Dukat had

never seen Narat so flustered. Not even when his

medical section was filled with casualties all needing

his attention did Narat look this distressed.

    "We have to find a way to destroy this disease,"

Narat said, "or we will all die. Bajoran, Cardassian, it

doesn't matter. The virus doesn't seem to care. And

neither can we. We have to work together."

    He stood. He was of the same height as Dukat, but

his back was hunched after years of studying and

researching, bending over computers and lab speci-

mens. Narat had served as a field medic, but he had

never been a soldier. His body lacked the rigid disci-

pline that Dukat's had.

    "I know you realize how serious this is," NaraI said

to Dukat, "but I don't think you realize the scale.

People are dying on Bajor as well. It will only be a

matter of time before this spreads to Cardassia Prime.

We may have spread it there in our ore freighters.

Kellec and I do not know, and we can't even hazard a

guess. We don't know how long this thing incubates.

We may have contracted this disease from Bajor

months ago, and may have been spreading it to

Cardassia Prime all this time. Or even farther. We

don't know."

    Dukat took a deep breath. He hadn't thought of

that. "I can't do anything about that," he said. "Cen-

tral Command knows we have sick Bajorans here, and

that the disease has spread to our people. They know

the extent of the disease on Bajor. They will have to

work out the rest of it themselves."

     "I'm not telling you this so that you do anything

 about Cardassia Prime," Narat said, "although if 1

 knew of something you could do, I would tell you. No.

 I'm telling you this because Kellec and I need help.

 We have been treating sick patients and trying to find

 a cure for this disease. We are making progress, but

 it's not enough, and it's not fast enough. The more

 minds we have working on this, the better."

    "You can link with doctors and researchers all over

Cardassia," Dukat said.

    "It's not enough," Kellee said. "We've contacted

Bajor as well, and the physicians there are as tired and

as stumped as we are."

    Dukat sensed they already had a solution. They

were simply preparing him to hear it. Which meant he

wouldn't like it.

    "I have heard rumors," Kellec said, "that the

Federation dealt with a virulent cross-species disease

recently, and found a way to contain it."

    "You heard this--what, a few hours ago, when you

received that wonderfully sweet message from your

ex-wife?"

    Kellec flushed. Good, Dukat thought. The doctor

had gotten a bit too arrogant for Dukat's tastes. It was

good to give him a bit of his own medicine.

    "No." Kellec was obviously struggling to maintain

his composure. "I knew of this before."

 "So why didn't you ask her about it?"

    "Because I thought someone might be listening in,"

Kellec snapped.

    "But," Narat said quickly, "the contact did give us

an idea."

     So, Narat was going to present this idea. And he

was going to present it as his own as well as Kellec's.

  "I'm waiting," Dukat said.

    "Kellec's ex-wife, Dr. Katherine Pulaski, is one of

the Federation's best doctors. She is currently not

assigned anywhere."

    "If she's one of the best, why doesn't she have an

assignment?"

 "She will," Kellec said. "The Federation is arguing

within itself. There's too much demand for her ser-

vices."

  "So how does this apply to us?" Dukat asked.

    "We'd like to bring her here. Have her work with us,

and focus on the research itself," Narat said.

    "No," Dukat said. "I will not have the Federation

here."

    "She wouldn't come as part of the Federation,"

Kellec said. "I could ask her to come for a family

emergency."

    "No," Dukat said again. "She's Federation. And I

will not have them here." How many times did he

have to repeat himself?.

    "Don't say no yet, Dukat," Narat said. "There's

another, quite compelling, reason I think we should

go with this plan."

    Dukat crossed his arms. All he needed was the

Federation to get its hooks into this place. They'd

been looking for ways for years to discredit the

Cardassians. This would be a first step. "What's your

compelling reason?"

 "She's human," Narat said.

 Dukat shrugged.

 "Chances are, she will not get this plague."

 "So?" Dukat asked.

    Narat put a hand on Dukat's arm. "Think of it.

Right now, you have Kellec and me working on a cure

for this disease. We can't keep up with both the

research and caring for the patients. If one of us

succumbs or, even worse, if both of us do, that's

effectively signing a death warrant for you, Terok Nor,

and all of Bajor."

 Dukat stared at Narat's hand until Narat moved it.

"We'll send for someone from Cardassia Prime,

then," Dukat said.

 "But would they come'?"

    Narat's question hung between them for a moment.

Dukat didn't have an answer. Or maybe he did and

didn't want to face it. What would he do, if he were on

Cardassia Prime and making decisions from there?

He wouldn't see the death, wouldn't smell it. The lives

here would be statistics, except for the handful of

people he knew, and even then, he would have to

evaluate their importance to Cardassia. Coldly.

    He closed his eyes. In that situation, he would ask

himself: Is it worth sending a needed doctor or

medical researcher off Cardassia Prime on a mission

that may or may not succeed? Or would he be better

off letting everyone die and letting the plague die with

them? Then, after some time had elapsed and some-

one had discovered a cure, sending in a cleaning crew

and beginning all over again?

    He knew the answer to that. He knew it. He would

do the most efficient job he could, the one that would

bring the best results. If Central Command saw what

this disease did, they would do anything they could to

keep it from coming to Cardassia Prime. They would

help from the surface, but they would not send help. It

would be too dangerous to send help.

    Dukat sighed and opened his eyes. "All right," he

said. "Send for the woman. But do it unofficially, as a

family emergency, just as you suggested."

 "Can she bring assistants?" KeUec asked.

    Dukat glared at him. Kellec was never satisfied,

always wanting more. Always wanting too much.

    "Assistants would be a doctor's first request,"

Narat said. "It would be yet another guarantee."

    Dukat was being manipulated and he knew it. But

he couldn't see any way out of this. He couldn't see

any way at all. At least, not a way he liked. Not a way

that ended in success. This felt like one of his only

chances.

      "I want no more than five Federation people here,

less if possible," he said.  "Good," Narat said.

    "You may not say 'good' after a moment," Dukat

said, "because I have conditions."

    Kellec tilted his head back. Narat held his position,

waiting, like the good Cardassian that he was.

    "First," Dukat said, "they will have access only to

our medical files. Second, they shall be restricted to

the medical areas of Terok Nor only. Third--"

    "That's not possible," Kellec said. "What if the

illness spreads so fast that we can't get the patients

here?"

 "We'll deal with it then," Narat said.

    "Third," Dukat said as if he hadn't been inter-

rupted, "they shall have no contact with the outside

while they're here."

    "But what if they need information they didn't

bring?" Kellec asked.

    Dukat glared at him. "I will not negotiate these

terms."

    "We can deal with special requests on a case-by-

case basis, I assume," Narat said, more to Kellec than

Dukat. "Am I right?"

    Dukat wasn't even willing to make that promise,

although he knew it was probably sensible. "Fourth, if

I suspect even one of them is spying for the Federa-

tion, none of them will leave here alive. Is that clear?"

 "Very," Kellec said.

    "If your ex-wife is willing to come here under those

conditions, then we will be happy to have her," Dukat

said. "But I do not want a Federation ship docking at

Terok Nor. I do not want one in Cardassian space."

    "Then how will she get here?" Kellec asked.

"You've just quarantined the station, so no ships can

come here."

Good question. The man was always thinking.

'Tll have one of the freighter pilots trapped here on

Terok Nor take his ship to meet the Federation vessel

at the border. I'll send a few of my men along to make

sure nothing untoward happens."

"Make sure they're all pilots," Narat said softly.

Dukat felt himself go cold. Narat was right. There

was no guarantee the pilot would live long enough to

ferry their Federation passengers back to Terok Nor.

    "Tell your ex-wife to get here as quickly as possi-

ble," Dukat said. "I'11 handle the travel arrangements

personally. And Kellec?" "Yes?" Kellec said.

    "Don't see this as a victory for the Bajoran people.

I meant what I said about spies. Your Federation help

had better be on their best behavior. I will give no

second chances."

 Kellec had the good sense to only nod.

Chapter Eight

FOR THE SECOND TIME in a few days, Katherine Pulaski

was packing her bags. She was in her quarters on

Deep Space Five. All of her possessions were scattered

about. She had just unpacked, and hadn't had time to

hang her favorite paintings or to place her few sculp-

tures. Her hardcopy books stood on a single shelf,

including the first edition of Sir Arthur Conan

Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories that Data had given

her upon her departure. It was a sentimental gift, and

it had surprised her coming from Data. Apparently

that surprise had shown on her face because he had

tilted his head in that slightly robotic way he had, and

asked, "Is the giving of parting gifts not a human

custom, especially when the recipient will be

missed?"

    "It is, Data," she had said, and then hugged him, to

his surprise and (she had to admit) to her own.

    She stared at that book for a moment, but it would

only add weight. Better to keep it here until she

returned.

  If she returned.

    She had only a few more items to add to her bag,

and very little time in which to do it. Her assistants

would be reporting here before they went to the

docking area to reboard the Enterprise. How strange it

would be to be a guest on the very starship she had

just served on.

    Her hands were shaking, but it was not from fear. It

was a release of tension. Her meeting with Starfleet

Medical had been dicey. Thank heavens the Enter-

prise was still in dry dock. She had needed Beverly

Crusher's help.

    Kellec's request had come in a few hours before. It

was less than Starfleet had hoped for. They wanted to

send in a large team to study the problem, perhaps

work on Bajor. They wanted to use it so that they

could gather more information on both the Bajorans

and the Cardassians, as well as find a solution to this

plague.

    But some Cardassian official had anticipated this.

The restrictions were severe. Pulaski wasn't sure she

could do the work with only a handful of assistants.

At first Starfleet wanted her to wait until they could

get four specialists in plagues and alien diseases to go

with her, but it would take days for the specialists to

arrive from their various posts. She didn't have days.

That was the one thing Kellec had made very clear.

    He wasn't sure he would survive this. The Cardas-

sian doctor who was looking over his shoulder as

Kellec contacted Pulaski didn't look very confident

either. The information she had gotten from them,

purposely sketchy, was awful. They did give her the

death rate on their space station, and it was climbing

by the hour.

    She played the message for Starfleet Medical. Then

she asked that Beverly Crusher accompany her, as

well as the three other ranking medical officers cur-

rently on Deep Space Five.

    Starfleet Medical turned her down. This was a risky

mission, they said. They didn't dare send that many

valued officers.

    Meaning they could sacrifice researchers but mili-

tary medical staff was in short supply.

    Meaning there was a good chance Pulaski and her

team might not come back.

    Starfleet Medical was going to try to negotiate with

the Cardassians--after all, they reasoned, this was a

medical emergency, and working together could bene-

fit everyone--but Pulaski knew that wouldn't work.

She had asked Crusher to come with her to argue for

the high-ranking personnel, which hadn't worked. But

Crusher had argued against negotiation, and on this

Starfleet Medical had listened to their former direc-

tor. They decided--and the Federation representa-

tives agreed--to let Pulaski go in with lower-ranking

assistants.

    The next argument was about whether to bring in

sophisticated equipment that would help send infor-

mation back--not medical information, but informa-

tion on the Cardassians and the Bajorans. Crusher

had proved her worth here too, arguing that such

equipment would jeopardize the lives of those being

sent it.

    "This is a mission of mercy," she had said. "We

need to treat it like one. If Dr. Pulaski and her

colleagues gain information on the Cardassians and

Bajorans as a result, they can be debriefed when they

return."

    If they return. The last sticking point had been

travel arrangements. They were going to use the

Cardassians' plans to get them to Terok Nor, the

space station that Kellec was on, but Pulaski had no

idea how they would be able to leave. She was

supposed to contact the Federation from Terok Nor

when she was ready to go, but she had a hunch that

sounded too easy. And what if she wanted to leave

and they didn't want her to? They had to have a fail-

safe for this, and so far no one had suggested one that

seemed workable.

    Pulaski finished the last of her packing. Amazing

how she could bring her life down to two little

suitcases--one a sophisticated medical kit with

everything she hoped she would need. The other

contained basics like clothing and Kellec's favorite--

hot chocolate. He couldn't get it anymore on Bajor.

    She closed the case just as someone hit the chime

outside her door. "Come in," she said.

    The door slid open and a woman entered. She was

human--all of the team was, a precaution that Kellec

had mentioned and Starfleet Medical had agreed

with. She had blondish brown hair and compassion-

ate eyes. She wore street clothes, just as she had been

ordered to do. They were flowing garments of a gauze-

like material, in a pale blue that became her fair skin.

    "You must be Crystal Marvig," Pulaski said. "Wel-

come."

    "Thank you," Marvig said. She glanced around the

quarters, her gaze falling on the books. "I didn't know

you collected real books."

    "I don't," Pulaski said. "But each of these is

personal to me, in its own way."

    "I love books," Marrig said. "Particularly

twentieth-century literature--you know the kind.

The stuff that predicts the future."

    Pulaski laughed. "I've seen it. It's amazing what

they believed would happen."

    "And how right they could be," Marvig said. She

clasped her hands behind her back. The military

posture didn't go with her relaxed attire.

    "You've been briefed on this mission, I assume,"

Pulaski said.

  "They told me it was a need-to-know."

    Pulaski cursed under her breath. She had wanted

her assistants to know what they were getting into.

"And what did Starfleet Medical believe you need to

know?"

    "That this is a highly sensitive mission, and that it's

quite dangerous."

    "Brief and vague," Pulaski said. "How like them."

She sighed. "Let's wait until Ensign Governo gets

here, and then I'll brief you both."

    "Edgar Governo? He's been assigned to this as

well?" Marvig asked.

  Pulaski nodded. "Do you know him?"

    "We've been serving together here on Deep Space

Five. He's never been on an away mission."

    "Well, this is more complicated than an away

mission," Pulaski said. "I trust they told you to pack

lightly."

    "And to keep suspicious items from my single piece

of luggage, whatever that means."

     Pulaski recited a list of items she believed could

 cause them problems on Terok Nor. Marvig shook her

head at each item. As Pulaski was finishing, the door

chime rang again.

 "Come in," she said.

    Ensign Governo entered. He was a thin young man

with dark hair and intense eyes. He wore his regula-

tion boots beneath black pants, and over a cotton T-

shirt he wore a leather jacket. The effect was retro,

and more stylish than Pulaski had expected. Seeing

Starfleet personnel out of uniform was always a sur-

prise.

    She had met Governo just after her conference with

Starfleet Medical. He was younger than she had would

have thought from his record. He had an amazing gift

for understanding alien physiology; it had gained him

awards and accolades at medical school, and he had

graduated at about the same time as Marvig, who was

older.

    Governo had a small bag slung over his shoulder.

"I'm ready when you are, Doctor." Then, before she

could respond, he saw Marvig standing near the

books. "Crystal!"

    "Edgar." She smiled. It was a warm smile, just the

kind a patient needed to see. Pulaski was glad to see it

too. Compassion and empathy were probably lacking

at Terok Nor. "It looks like we're going on an adven-

ture."

 "Yes," Pulaski said, "you are."

 "Only the three of us?"

    "No. Alyssa Ogawa will join us on the Enterprise.

She's one of the best nurses in the fleet, and I'm

pleased to have her. She'll outrank both of you, and I

want you to listen to her."

 The two of them nodded.

 "Were you briefed at all?" Pulaski asked Governo.

    "I was told that this mission would be difficult and

dangerous," he said, "and that if I had any qualms

about working with infectious disease, I could back

out now without a black mark on my record."

 "That's more than I was offered," Marvig said.

    "Well, I'm offering you more," Pulaski said. "I

want you to know exactly what you're getting into."

    She explained the situation to them, including the

rules the Cardassians placed on their visit. She als0

explained the danger, the difficulties they would have

on a station owned by a people who were not affiliated

with the Federation, and the Federation's conflicting

motives in sending them there.

    "I do not want you to spy," Pulaski said. "You will

be debriefed when you return. Remember all you can.

I'm not even sure you should record anything in your

personal logs--aside from the things you did that

day, or medical notes. We have to be very cautious.

Very cautious."

    "Why are the Cardassians even allowing us to

come?" Governo asked.

    "They didn't say," Pulaski said, "and neither did

Kellec. But I have a guess."

 They waited, staring at her.

    She took a deep breath. "I think they think this

disease is so contagious none of them will be able to

avoid it. I think they're gambling on it not affecting

us, that we'll have a chance of curing it before

everyone dies."

"Wow," Marvig said. "That's a dark view."

Pulaski nodded. "They wouldn't have sent for us

otherwise. The Bajorans have no power over the

Cardassians, and the Cardassians have repeatedly

rebuffed Federation overtures in the past. I think this

request smacks of desperation."

    "I thought we were in negotiations with the Cardas-

sians," Marvig said.

    "We are," Pulaski said, "but they're not going well,

and there are rumors they will fail. For whatever

reason, the Cardassians do not trust the Federation,

and we are representatives of the Federation. That's

why we're going in an unofficial capacity, and that's

what makes this mission even more dangerous."

 "How's that?" Governo asked.

    "If we run into trouble," Pulaski said, "we're on

our own. The Enterprise will be just outside of Car-

dassian space, but she cannot enter it without Cardas-

sian permission, permission they did not give in this

emergency to get us to Terok Nor. I can't imagine that

they would give it to get us out."

    Marvig's face grew pale. "But what if we need to

escape?"

    "We have to be creative," Pulaski said. She stared

at both of them. They were so young. Alyssa Ogawa

was young too, but more experienced. A starship did

that for its crew. "But we have to understand the

risks. The greatest risk for all of us here is that we will

not come out alive."

    "What do you think the chances are of that?"

Governo asked.

    "High," Pulaski said. "I won't lie to you about that.

I think at best we have a fifty-fifty chance of survival."

    "I don't understand," Marvig said. "If we're in

negotiations with the Cardassians, then why would

they kill us?"

 "We don't know what this disease is," Pulaski said.

"And we've never seen the inside of one of their ore-

processing stations. If one of us inadvertently comes

across information that the Cardassians see as sensi.

rive, we could all be punished for it."

    They were staring at her as if it were her fault the

mission was dangerous. Perhaps it was. Perhaps this

wouldn't be happening at all if it weren't for her

relationship with Kellec. But that didn't matter. What

mattered were all those lives being lost.

    "You may back out now," she said, "as long as you

keep what I've told you confidential."

    Governo seemed to be considering what she was

saying, but Marvig jutted out her chin.

    "i joined Starfleet so that I could do more than

practice general medicine in some human colony. I

joined it for the risks," she said. "It wouldn't do my

oath any good to back out now, just when things get

really difficult."

    Governo looked at her as if he were surprised at

what she said. "You're right." He nodded, a crisp,

military move. "I'm a healer first."

    "All right," Pulaski said. "Let's hope that all my

warnings were merely an overreaction to the Cardas.

sians' conditions."

    But in her heart, she knew they weren't. And she

wondered, as she gathered up her things, whether she

had misrepresented the odds to the two before her.

    If anything, she had overestimated their chances of

survival. If all the stories Kellec had told her were to

be believed, she would be surprised if they got off the

station at all.

Chapter Nine

KIRA NERYS STOOD in the heat, sweat plastering her

filthy shirt to her back, her feet swollen inside her

boots. A blister rubbed against the inside of her heel.

These boots were too small, even without the swell-

ing. She had taken themina gift really--from a dying

friend. Amazing, that all they had to give each other

anymore were items of clothing, bits of food, things

that they had once taken for granted.

    Her earring tinkled in the breeze. She had been

wishing for a breeze not too long ago, but it only

seemed to make things hotter. She was outside a rebel

cell, and it wasn't even her cell. That's why they kept

her here, waiting, until they made some decision

about her.

    She stared at the makeshift tents. Whoever ran this

cell didn't plan things real well. They were in a hidden

valley, one that was not on the maps but was pretty

well known in this part of Bajor. The tents were

pitched near a small creek, bone dry in the summer

heat. If she had been in charge of this cell, she would

have had them pitch their tents on the mountainside,

where scraggly trees and boulders would have

provided cover. As it was, if the Cardassians found

this valley now, they would have found the cell.

Not that she was in any position to give advice.

She was here chasing rumors. She had heard of

serious illness to the south, and had actually seen

some of the bodies in a message sent to her by

Shakaar. The problem was that neither she nor

Shakaar had seen them die. There was talk of a

disease, there was talk of a plague, but--so farmno

one in her part of Bajor had seen evidence of it.

  Not that she doubted that it existed.

    She was told that Javi's cell knew more about it,

and she had set up a meeting with one of her contacts.

It had brought her here, a long trip through areas that

weren't friendly to people like her. She was known as

a member of the resistance, and even before last year's

escapade on Terok Nor the Cardassians had been

watching for her. They didn't know she had been to

Terok Nor--the station's constable, Odo, had seen to

that--but they suspected her. They suspected her of

everything, but could never catch her.  Not for want of trying.

    She sighed and ran a hand through her short hair.

She could feel the sweat at the roots. She wished Javi

would hurry. She didn't like waiting in this heat.

    Finally, a woman slipped out of one of the tents.

She wore a ripped dark dress, stained with sweat and

dirt. The poverty here--even among the resistance--

broke Kira's heart.

  "Javi will see you now," the woman said.

    Kira wasn't sure she wanted to go inside the tent. It

had to be even hotter in there. But she climbed up the

small incline to the creekside where the tent was, and

slipped inside.

    She had been right. It was hotter here. The heat felt

old and oppressive, as if it had been accumulating for

days instead of hours. Javi sat cross-legged near his

portable computer systemrathe heart and soul of

each resistance cell, Shakaar had once called those

things. Javi was thinner than he had been the last time

Kira saw him. His skin had the look of malnutrition,

but his eyes were still bright.

    Near him sat Corda, his second in command. She

was taller than Kira and too thin as well. But on her it

looked tough, as if the dry air and the heat and the

lack of food had hardened her skin and made her

more resilient.

    "Sorry to keep you waiting, Nerys." Javi spoke

slowly, as he always had. He had been part of

Shakaar's cell for a brief time, and he had always

irritated Kira with his cautious consideration of each

decision. Apparently he had annoyed Shakaar too,

because one day Kira heard that Javi had left with

some of his own people to form a new cell. They were

on speaking terms, though, and still had the same

goals, unlike some of the resistance cells Kira had

come into contact with. There were some that fright-

ened even her, with their talk of noble suicide and

total destruction.

    "If I had known what it was like in here, Javi," Kira

said, "I would have insisted you keep me waiting

longer."

 Javi shrugged. "You get used to the heat."

    "Maybe you can get used to this heat. I certainly

couldn't."

    "Don't start, Kira," Corda said. "You're not here to

criticize us."

    "And it's a good thing, too, because I think your

campsite is too exposedmyou're putting your entire

cell in jeopardy."

    "But you're not here to tell us that," Corda said

sarcastically.

      "No," Kira said, "I'm not. I'm here because I'm

supposed to confirm some rumors."  "About the plague," Javi said.

    Kira went cold despite the heat. "They're calling it

a plague now?"

    "Hundreds dead, Nerys." Javi's voice was solemn.

"Everyone who comes in contact with this thing gets

ill."

  "Everyone?" Kira asked.

  "In time," Corda said.

  "How have you gotten your information?"

     "Do you mean were we exposed?" Corda asked.

 "No. We've been getting it the same as you have, in

 messages sent through sanitary computers."

     Kira had never liked Corda. And the heat wasn't

 improving Kira's mood. "I'm not here to talk to you."

     "You get to talk to me whether you like it or not,"

 Corda said. "I'm the one who has been following this

 thing and reporting to Javi."

     Kira glared at her for a moment. Corda glared back,

 not at all intimidated.

     "This isn't helping us," Javi said. "We need to work

 together. Nerys has come to us for information, the

 kind, I believe, that isn't easily sent."

     "But Corda just said that you haven't heard any-

 thing that we haven't heard," Kira said.

      "I did not," Corda said. "We've gotten that, and

 we've gotten reports from other sources."

   "Others?"

     "Non-Bajorans. Some of the relief teams not tied to

 the Federation. They seem to be unaffected."

    The relief teams were from charitable organizations

that went to planets they considered not as developed

to help with basics: food, medicine, clothing. Some-

times Kira appreciated their presence, sometimes she

resented them more than she could say. What she

wanted was Federation intervention, to stop this

occupation by the Cardassians. But the Federation

had rules and regulations, things she had never both-

ered to understand, and those rules and regulations

didn't seem to apply to Bajor, although some people

were telling her to be cautious with her tongue, that

some day the Federation might come through.

    She would believe that when she saw Bajorans

move around unfettered on their own planet.

    "What are they doing to stop this thing?" Kira

asked.

  "What they can," Corda said.

    "Most of them are volunteers, Nerys, with no more

medical training than we have." Javi sounded tired.

Kira wondered how much power he had ceded in this

cell to Corda, and how long it would be before she

took the group too far. "They provide comfort where

they can, but they can't do much."

    "They are sure it's a disease, then?" Kira asked.

"Shakaar wasn't. He thought maybe it was a Cardas-

sian trick to get us focused in the wrong direction."

    "It's a disease, all right," Javi said. "But it might

also be a Cardassian trick."

 Kira frowned. "What do you mean?"

    "The disease is too virulent." Javi's words hung

between them.

    KJra's chill grew deeper. She wiped sweat off her

forehead. "Not even the Cardassians would do some-

thing this monstrous," she said.

  "Do you actually believe that?" Corda asked.

      Kira wasn't sure. "If we're talking about a disease

that infects everyone who comes in contact with it--"

  "We are," Corda said.

    "--then we're talking genocide." Kira swallowed.

"The Cardassians have always made it plain that they

see us as a lesser species, as people who 'benefit' from

their rule, as slaves to work in their various mines and

processing plants. But not as creatures to be wiped out

of existence."

  "They've always wanted Bajor," Corda said.

    "Yes--but with its Bajoran population." Kira

wiped the sweat off her face.

  "Get her something to drink," Javi said to Corda.

  "Butw"

  "Now," Javi said.

  Corda sighed and got up, sliding past Kira.

     "I'm sorry, Nerys," Javi said. "I know you don't

 much like Corda. But you must listen to her. She has

 run this cell, for the most part, since last fall."

     Kira glanced over her shoulder. Corda was out of

 the tent. "I'm just worried, Javi," Kira said. "She

 didn't always understand the complexities of the

 Occupation."

     Javi smiled. "Once I could have said that about

 you."

     Kira looked at him. "Why is she running every-

 thing, Javi? What's going on?"

     "The Cardassians had me for a while, Nerys. We're

 just beginning to bring me back to health. The tents

 are here not because Corda thinks it's a good spot, but

 because my body can hardly tolerate thin air at the

 higher elevations. Even this valley is difficult for me.

 We should really move on, now that the creek is dry,

 but the cell has opted to stay with me. I've tried to

 order them to leave, but they won't."

   Kira threaded her hands together.

   "Corda loves me," he said.

    "And is making the wrong decisions for the cell

because of it," Kira said.

    Javi nodded. "We agree on that. But they're not life-

threatening. Not yet, anyway. And I'm nearly mo-

bile--I think we can get out of here soon. But do me a

favor, Nerys. Listen to her. And don't fight her. This

Cardassian threat is too great for us to be fighting

amongst ourselves."

    Kira let out the breath she hadn't realized she had

been holding. Javi was right, of course, and she knew

it. But she had disliked Corda for a very long time. It

was hard to set aside that kind of antipathy, even

now.

  "All right," Kira said.

    "Good." Javi placed his hands on the ground

behind him and rested his weight on them. "I hope

she brings me something as well. You're giving me an

appetite again, Nerys. That's a good thing."

Kira laughed. "I've been accused of worse, I guess."

"What's he accusing you of?" Corda asked as she

came in. She was carrying a tray with three mugs. She

handed one to Kira. It was moba fruit juice, and

somehow they had found a way to keep it cool in all

this heat.

    Kira took a sip, and relished the bittersweet cold-

ness. Corda handed Javi his mug, and he sat forward,

taking it in both hands as if it weighed too much for

him. Kira wondered if his prediction was wrong, if he

wasn't getting better at all.

    "He's been yelling at me to listen to you," Kira

said. "He says you've changed."

    Corda glanced at Javi as if he had betrayed a

confidence. He was looking at the mug he was drink-

ing from and didn't seem to notice.

    "Whether I've changed or not shouldn't matter,"

Corda said. "What does matter is what's happening.

You don't believe the Cardassians can commit geno-

cide. I do."

    "I didn't say that," Kira said. "I said it's not in their

best interest to kill us all."

    Corda sat down, cradling her own mug in one hand.

"But what if it is now? What if they no longer need us

for all those jobs Cardassians refuse to do? What if

they've finally found a way to automate the most

dangerous tasks?"

    Kira stared at her. It was possible. It was even

probable.

  "Now tell her the rest," Javi said.

     Corda set her mug down. "We don't know for

 certain."

     "Tell her," Javi said. "If you're going to do this

 right, tell her all you know. In every case."

     Maybe Corda hadn't changed after all. Maybe Javi

 only believed she had. Maybe he had no other choice.

 Kira waited for whatever "the rest" was.

    "We've heard," Corda said, "through less reputable

sources, that Cardassians are dying of this also."

    "That's not possible," Kira said. "They've always

1orded their superior physiology over us, saying

they're not vulnerable to Bajoran diseases. How could

that change?"

"Do you believe all Cardassian lies?" Corda asked.

"That one I do," Kira said. "I've seen Bajorans die

of horrible diseases, and never once have I seen a

Cardassian get sick like that."

"Maybe they don't allow their people to get sick."

"And maybe it's the truth," Kira said. "If they got

sick, we would have seen it. I've been in places where I

know I would have seen it." She set her mug down as

well, although she was reluctant to give up the last of

the juice. "Maybe you're the one who is believing the

lie. Maybe the Cardassians are the ones spreading the

rumors that Cardassians are getting sick. That would

make this illness look like an innocent virus instead of

something the Obsidian Order dreamed up."

    Javi smiled slightly. He was still the only one

drinking. "See why we needed to hear from Kira?" he

asked Corda. "Neither of us thought of that."

    Corda's lips thinned. "We can't operate on supposi-

tion."

 "I agree," Kira said.

    "What we have heard is that a few Cardassians here

have gotten ill, but they've been spirited away so fast

that no one can confirm that it's the same disease. A

few of the rumors say it's not. The Cardassians turn

green and their scales flake off--or so they say. And

Bajoran victims look even healthier than they did

before they got sick, so maybe it's not related at all."

 "But we don't know," Kira said.

    "That's right," Corda said. "We don't know. And I

have no idea how we could find out."

    "Where were the Cardassians taken ill?" Kira

asked.

    "In the same regions where the Bajorans were

sick," Corda said. "And a Ferengi said that he saw

some green Cardassians on Terok Nor."

    "Ferengi can't be trusted," Kira said. "They can be

paid to give false information."

    Corda nodded. "The problem is that, if my sources

on Bajor are right, the sick Cardassians here have

already been sent away."

  "To Cardassia Prime?"

    "I don't think so. But it doesn't matter. We have no

idea where they've gone."

    Kira frowned. "Just before I came here, I'd heard

that Gul Dukat just gave an order that no outside

ships were to arrive on or leave Terok Nor."

    Corda's gaze met hers. Javi set down his mug.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

    "I didn't think much of it, until you mentioned the

station."

    "Dukat wouldn't care about his Bajoran prison-

ers," Corda said. "But he would care if Cardassians

were getting ill."

    "And even if he didn't, Central Command would

order him to shut down operations if the Cardassians

had a disease that spreads the way you described."

  They stared at each other.

  "What if it's a different disease?" Corda asked.

  "What if it's not?" Javi asked.

    "It doesn't matter," Kira said. "I'd been thinking of

going to Terok Nor anyway."

  "What? Nerys, what are you talking about?"

    She turned to him and took his hand. It was cold

from the mug, but the skin was dry and his bones felt

thin beneath her fingers. He had lied to her. She had

seen starvation victims before--the ones who sur-

vived but were never really healthy again. He

wouldn't live long, and it wouldn't take a designer

virus to kill him. A simple cold would do it.

    "I've been to Terok Nor before, Javi," she said.

"Just last year, I was there getting information for the

resistance. It's dangerous, but it's possible to get

around."

  "Why would you go?"

    "I was planning to go for a completely different

reason," she said. "If the rumors of the disease among

the Bajorans proved to be true, and now after talking

with you I believe they are, I was going to Terok Nor

to bring Dr. Kellec Ton home."

  "What's Ton doing there?" Corda asked.

    Kira glanced at her. She hadn't expected Corda to

be familiar with Kellec Ton.

    "Apparently, Gul Dukat sent for him a month ago.

Dukat claimed his precious workers needed better

health care, which I think is unlikely. Dukat has never

cared for anyone. His production must have been

down or something."

    "Or perhaps this disease started on Terok Nor,"

Javi said, "and that's why he sent for Kellec."

    "Maybe," Kira said. "But it didn't sound like that. I

talked to Kellec before he went. He was going to see

what he could do to further the resistance on Terok

Nor. He was also going to use his free time to find

weaknesses in the station, maybe a way for the

resistance to get the Bajoran workers out of there."

 "We don't have the ships for that," Corda said.

    Kira shook her head. "You need to choose someone

else to lead this cell after you, Javi."

    "I don't appreciate all your insults, Kira," Corda

said.

    "I shouldn't have to tell you about the benefits of a

quick and dirty surprise operation. We may not have

big, powerful ships like the Cardassians, but we can

slip in and out of any place, and with the right plan,

we could get workers off Terok Nor."

    Corda's smile was cruel. "Just don't pick Kira to

relieve me, Javi," she said. "Kira has no idea about

the realities of war."

 "You don't know--"

    "Ladies!" Javi said tiredly. "We fight Cardassians,

not each other." He ran that thin hand along the side

of his face, tugging at his earring. "Maybe that

wouldn't be a bad mission, Nerys. Going to Terok

Nor. You could find out if the Cardassians were ill,

and if they were you could report back. But bring

Kellec home."

 "If he wants to come."

    Javi nodded. "One more thing. I've been studying

the information we've received. It's only a matter of

time before everyone on Bajor gets ill if this is as bad

as it seems. And so far, whoever has gotten ill has

died."

 Even in the heat, Kira couldn't suppress a shiver.

Chapter Ten

NOG WAS SITTING on the bar, his feet dangling over the

edge. He was kicking the front with one heel, then the

other, with no apparent rhythm at all. Quark didn't

know what was worse, the boy's idleness, his disre-

gard for the bar's rules, or the constant bang, bang,

bang echoing in his ears.

    "Do something useful," Quark said, shoving Nog

as he passed. "And get off my bar."

"There's nothing useful to do, uncle," Nog said.

"There's always something useful." Quark picked

up a dirty glass off one of the empty tables. Three

groups of Cardassians sat at various tables, but they

certainly didn't look as if they were celebrating. They

were at least drinking--to excess, always a problem

with Cardassians. Not that Quark could blame them.

If there was really a disease going around that was

going to make him turn green (which was only one

step down from that hideous Cardassian gray), he'd

probably start drinking too.

    Or leave. Sneak off. Find somewhere else where the

threat of death wasn't hanging over everything. He

might do that anyway. He'd hardly had any customers

in the last few days.

"But what, uncle?" Nog asked, still on the bar.

"For one thing," Quark said, "you can get off my

bar. Then you can polish it from top to bottom with

an earbrush."

  "You're not serious."

    "I've never been more serious," Quark said. "And

remember, you'll do that every time you sit on my

bar."

    "You could have told him that sitting on the bar

wasn't allowed, brother." Rom had apparently come

out of their quarters. He wore a hat the Volian

dressmaker had made him. It was made of some

stretchy black material and molded itself to Rom's

skull. It made his head look smaller, but at least it hid

his ears.

    "I would have thought sitting on the bar would be

an obvious mistake, wouldn't you?" Quark asked.

    "Actually, no," Rom said. "Rules are easier to

follow if they're clear."

"Like not spilling things on the customers?"

"Are you ever going to forget that?" Rom asked.

"Not as long as you wear that silly hat." Quark

brought the glass around back and set it beside Nog.

"And wash this too, while you're at it."

    Nog jumped off the bar, picked up the glass and

started for their quarters.

    "I want that bar shiny within the hour!" Quark

called after him.

    Nog didn't respond. He disappeared into the dark-

ness as if he hadn't heard.

     "I mean it, Rom," Quark said. "I want that bar

cleaned in the next hour--" "I'll do it," Rom said.

    "--by Nog. He has to learn too." Quark sighed and

surveyed the bar. He hated this quiet. The Cardassi-

ans were panicked and Gul Dukat had ordered that

no more ships of any type could dock on Terok Nor.

So not only were the Cardassians dwindling, thanks to

disease and general fear, but the others who came

through here, the suppliers, traders, and shadier types

weren't appearing either. Quark's supply of Saurian

brandy was getting low, and so were some of his more

popular but hard-to-find items.

    Rom scratched the top of his head. "Brother, do I

have to wear this hat? It itches."

    "Yes, you have to wear the hat," Quark snapped.

Then he lowered his voice. "I can't have you serving

customers with that blister on your ear."

    Rom's hand went involuntarily to his right ear and

Quark turned away in disgust. Nothing, ever, would

get the memory of that out of his brain. Rom said it

didn't hurt, but it was the ugliest thing Quark had

ever seen. It served Rom right for the mistakes he had

made earlier--and for not telling Quark that he was

allergic to Jibetian beer.

    Who knew what that horrible mixture of fluids had

done to Rom's ears, anyway? The ears of Ferengi were

their most sensitive spot. If an allergic reaction was

going to start, it would start there. And Rom's allergy

to Jibetian beer was bad enough, apparently, to have

put him in sickbay on a freighter when he was a young

man. Of course, Quark had been long gone by then

and hadn't known about it. And Rom, typically,

hadn't bothered to tell him, even when he knew he'd

be working around the stuff.

    "There aren't that many customers, brother," Rom

said. "Perhaps it would be better if you waited on

them yourself."

    "You're right," Quark said. "Perhaps it would be

better. Then I wouldn't have to pay you."

 "But brother, how will Nog and I live?"

    "Good question," Quark said. "And the answer is

not very well if you refuse to do the work you're

assigned. Now, go see if those tables need refills."

    Rom tugged the hat. Quark could see the blister

as an added lump on Rom's ear. Quark grimaced

in distaste. How the Volian had managed to make

a hat while looking at that ear was beyond Quark.

And of course, Quark had had to pay for it. Rom

didn't have any latinum yet; Quark was keeping

track of all of these expenses in his ledger, but he had

no idea how expensive the whole proposition was

going to be. Rom had arrivedmwith Nogmand then

the bar's business had dropped off. Who knew how

much an eleven-year-old would eat? And constantly.

It was as if he was going to grow as tall as a

Cardassian. Or more likely, as ifRom hadn't fed him

well before.

    Rom reached the first table. Three Cardassians sat

there, bent over their glasses as if their posture would

protect them from the virus floating around the

station. One of the Cardassians shook his head as

Rom spoke to him. Rom smiled and bobbed a little,

then backed away.

 He stopped at the second table. There the Cardas-

sian, one of the pilots who had poured liquor on Rom,

said in a loud voice, "If you're trying to protect your

skull from getting drenched, you'd better make sure

that hat is waterproof."

    "No, actually," Rom said. "I'm allergic to Jibetian

beer and--"

 "Rom!" Quark shouted.

 "--I break out--"

 "Rom!"

 "--so I'm wearing this hat--"

 "Rom!"

 Rom looked up. "Brother, I--"

    "One more word," Quark said, "and I will fire

you."

    Rom put a hand to his mouth. The Cardassian

laughed. Rom made his way through the tables and

leaned across the bar.

    "I'm sorry, brother," he whispered. "But if I can't

talk, how can I take orders?"

    "One more word about the ear," Quark said slowly,

as if he were speaking to a child. "Make up a story

about the stupid hat. A story that doesn't involve

pus."

 "Sorry, brother," Rom said.

    Nog came out of the quarters, clutching an ear-

brush in his left hand. Quark's earbrush. His best

earbrush, the one with the real scagsteeth bristles.

    "Nice try," Quark said, "but you use your own

brush."

 "He doesn't have one, brother."

 "Then he can use yours," Quark said.

 "He does anyway."

    That was it. That was all it took. Quark's stomach

actually somersaulted.

"Or I did," Nog said, "until Dad got that--"

"Enough? Quark shouted. "Enough! No one is

ever going to mention that again. Do you hear me? No

one!"

    All of the Cardassians stared at him as if he had

gone crazy. The second group, the one that included

the pilot that had been harassing Rom, seemed a bit

bleary-eyed, and Quark realized they were drunker

than he had initially thought they were. Getting them

out of the bar would be difficult. Not that it mattered.

He hardly had anyone in the bar as it was. 

"I heard you, brother," Rom said.

    That brought Quark back to himself. He turned

toward Nog. "You, young man, you put my earbrush

back and never touch it again. I don't share ear-

brushes with anyone, and I don't let just anyone touch

them." Then he glared at Rom. "How could you? Not

buying your own son an earbrush."

    "He had one," Rom said. "He forgot it when we left

Ferenginar, and I--"

    "Didn't have enough latinurn to buy him a new

one, I know," Quark said. "Believe me, I know."

    He shook his head. How did it always end up that

he was the one who paid for everything? He sighed.

    "Get yourself an earbrush, Nog, but for now, use

your Dad's." Then Quark thought of that blister, and

all the germs it carried. "Never mind. Don't after all.

C~t a cleaning cloth. But I still want the bar spit-

polished. You understand?"

 "You want me to spit on it?" Nog asked.     ,

    "No," Quark said. "It's a military term. I just want

it so polished that it shines. Is that clear?"

 Nog nodded. Why did everything become an im-

possible task with these two? Running the bar was

suddenly three times harder.

    The first group of Cardassians got up and left their

tables, mumbling something about sleep. The second

group was still huddled over their drinks. He could

barely see the third group, but they seemed to be deep

in conversation.

    Customers leaving and none entering. Things

couldn't get any worse.

    Quark took a padd. He would inventory his alcohol

one last time, and hope it lasted--of course, with this

drop in business, it would last easily. He glanced at

Rom.

 "Just go away," he said.

    "But brother, I haven't asked the other table if they

wanted more to drink."

 "Ask them, and then go away."

"Where are the cleaning cloths, uncle?" Nog asked.

Five times more work, Quark thought. At least.

Rom walked over to the last table. The drunken

Carrussians at the second table cat-called him in soft

tones. Quark didn't pay attention to what they were

saying. He told Nog where the cloths were and was

about to get back to his inventory when a Cardassian

at the third table stood up.

    He was green, like so many others had been in the

last few days. Quark knew now that that was the

beginning of the disease. He had been denying service

to anyone who was green, but apparently the Cardas-

sian had changed shades while he was in here.

    The Cardassian raised a hand, looked at Rom, and

toppled over backwards. His companions didn't seem

to notice. Neither did the drunks at the next table.

    Quark walked over. The Cardassian was on his

back, moaning, a hand on his stomach. The other

three at his table had passed out but they, at least,

were a normal gray.

  "Brother," Rom said. "We need to call for help."

  "Oh no we don't," Quark said.

  "But, he's--"

    Quark put a hand over Rom's mouth. "I'm going to

ban you from ever speaking in this place again."

    "Bashender?" One of the Cardassians at the other

table said. "You got any blood wine?"

    "Yes," Quark said, even though what he had proba-

bly wasn't any good. He just didn't want the Cardas-

sian looking at him.

  "Get me shome," the Cardassian said.

  "Nog!" Quark shouted. "Blood wine?"

  "What?" Nog asked.

    "Blood--oh, never mind." Quark turned to Rom

and said very softly, "Stay right here, and cover his

face."

    "With what?" Rom asked, but by then Quark was

already gone. He got the blood wine, and brought it

back to the drunks.

    "You know," he said to them, "you gentlemen look

like you could use a free hour in a holosuite. Why

don't you come with me?"

    "Free?" Rom asked. "Brother, have you lost your

mind?"

    "What did I say to you about talking?" Quark

snapped. He helped the Cardassians up, and guided

them away from the sick Cardassian. He was careful

to keep their backs to him, by talking to them the

whole way, expounding the virtues of the various

programs, hoping that Nog wasn't listening too

closely to some of the programs.

    He got them up the stairs and into one of the suites,

the door closed behind them. Then he came back

down the stairs.

    The Cardassian's companions had well and truth-

fully passed out.

 "What should we do?" Rom asked.

 "Take his feet," Quark said.

 "We're carrying him to the medical section?"

    "Are you nuts?" Quark asked. "That's what medi-

cal people do."

 "Then why aren't you calling them?"

    "Why are you still talking?" Quark asked. "Pick up

his feet."

    Rom walked to the Cardassian's booted feet. "Can

we get this disease?"

  "If anyone can, you can," Quark mumbled.

  "What?" Rom asked.

  "No, we can't," Quark said.

  "How do you know?"

  "Because we would have had it by now."

    "They don't have it," Rom said, looking at the

three passed out at the table.

      "Ferengi don't get Cardassian diseases," Quark

said, although he had no idea if that was true.

 "Oh," Rom said. "Are you sure?"

 "Positive."

    "All right, then," Rom said, and crouched. He

grabbed the Cardassian's feet and lifted them.

    "Nog," Quark said. "Keep a lookout. Let me know

if you see any Cardassians or Odo."

  "Odo?" Nog asked.

    "The obnoxious shape-shifter who has been harass-

ing me"--then Quark realized that Odo hadn't been

in the bar in almost a week. "Never mind. Just let me

know if you see anyone."

    "All fight," Nog said, and bent over the bar,

continuing his polishing.

    "At the door, Nog," Quark said. "Go to the door.

Like a lookout."

  "Oh," Nog said. "You didn't say that."

  "What do I have to do? Put it in writing?"

  "That might help," Rom said.

  "Shut up."

    Nog scrambled to the door. He stood there like a

small sentry, looking just like Rom had at that age.

Sincere, honest, clueless. Quark sighed. He hoped

Nog understood what he was looking for.

    "Brother..." Rom said, still holding the Cardas-

sian's feet.

    Quark nodded. He picked up the Cardassian by the

armpits, and nearly staggered under the weight. Who

knew that Cardassians were so heavy? Or that they

smelled like this? Up close, the Cardassian's green

skin looked even more noxious. His scales were

flaking. Quark's stomach, already queasy thanks to

Rom's ear blister, threatened to revolt.

    "I don't know how much longer my back can take

this, brother," Rom said.

    Quark didn't know how much longer his stomach

could take it either. "All right," he said, "here goes."

    He stumbled backward, kicking a chair as he went.

The Cardassian's butt dragged on the ground, his

uniform leaving a polished streak mark on the dirty

floor.

    "Everything I do creates more work," Quark mum-

bled.

 "What?" Rom said.

 "Nothing. Just lift him higher."

 "I can't, brother."

"You could if you weren't holding his feet."

"What do you suggest?" Rom asked. "His knees?"

They were halfway to the door. Quark wanted this

guy out of the bar as quickly as possible. If he made

Rom switch positions, quickly might not happen.

  "No," Quark said. "Let's just keep going."

     At that moment he backed into another table. Pain

ran along his spine and he bit back a curse.

"Are you all right, brother?" Rom asked.

    "Fine," Quark said, and moved around the table.

Why did he have so much furniture in here in the first

place? What had he been thinking?

    The strain on his arm muscles was almost too

much. He felt sweat run down the side of his face, get

caught on his lobe, and work its way into his ear. It

was his own fault for thinking the day couldn't get any

worse.

    He glanced over his shoulder. Nog was still at the

door, looking out into the Promenade. Apparently he

didn't see anything, or he would have said so. Right?

  "Nog," Quark whispered. "Is it clear?"

  "What?"

  "The Promenade. Is there anyone there?"

    Nog took a step farther out, which did nothing to

bolster Quark's confidence. Then he turned back to

Quark. "Yes."

    Quark nodded at Rom. "This is the last leg," Quark

said.

    "I hope so," Rom said. "Is it my imagination or is

he beginning to smell worse?"

    It wasn't Rom's imagination. The Cardassian was

beginning to smell like a Klingon meal made by a bad

cook. Quark moved as fast as he could. He was still

looking over his shoulder as he went through the

doors. It wasn't that he didn't trust Nog. Or maybe it

was.

    The Promenade was mostly empty. The doors to

the restaurants and stores were open, but there were

no clients. The Volian sat in the window of his tailor's

shop, working on an outfit, but he didn't appear to be

looking up. Quark thought he saw something shim-

mer near the door to the bar, but when he focused on

it, he saw nothing at all.

  "Clear," he whispered.

  "What?" Rom asked.

"Is that blister making you deaf?" Quark snapped.

"I hope not." Rom brought a hand to his ear, and

the Cardassian tipped sideways. The Cardassian's

foot bounced loudly on the floor. Quark nearly col-

lapsed under his weight.

    "Will you do your job?" Quark snapped. "Pick up

the foot. Pick it up."

  "Where are we going with him?"

    "Just behind that post," Quark said, nodding in the

opposite direction from the VolJan's store. They were

getting close to the second floor balcony, but he didn't

see anyone there either. And he would have to take

the risk.

    They also couldn't leave a polished streak running

from the Cardassian to the interior of the bar.

 "Wait!" Quark said. "Nog, grab the Cardassian."

 "Me?"

 "Do you see anyone else named Nog?"

    Nog came over, rubbing his hands together. His

small face was squinched in an expression of disgust.

"Where do you want me to hold him?"

    "Where do you think?" Quark asked. "He can't be

touching the ground."

    Nog gave him the most pitiful expression Quark

had ever seen. "I can't."

    "You will or I'll make you clean the bar with your

head skirt every day this week."

 "You can't do that!" Nog said. "It isn't sanitary."

 "Then I'll make you sanitize it after you're done."

    "Don't underestimate him, son," Rom said. "Re-

member the drinks." And he reached for his ear.

    "No!" Quark said too late. The foot bounced again,

but this time Nog had grabbed the Cardassian's

midsection.

    "I want to go back to Ferenginar," Nog said.

"Maybe I can live with Moogie."

      Rom struggled to reach the foot without dropping

the other one. Quark thought his arms would break.

  "Moogie wouldn't treat me like this."

    "Moogie would hide you in a closet," Quark said.

"She has dreams of finding a better mate, and the last

thing she needs is a grandson hanging around so that

people know her age."

    Rom got the foot. He nodded. "I promise I won't

drop it again."

    "Good," Quark said. "Or Narat will think broken

ankles are part of this disease."

    "You think I broke his ankle?" Rom said. "I didn't

mean to. I mean--"

    "No, I don't think you broke his ankle," Quark

said. "But I might break yours soon."

    They carried the Cardassian into the Promenade.

Their footsteps echoed on the floor. Quark had never

heard the Promenade echo before.

    It was onty a few meters to the post Quark had seen,

but it felt like they had to travel light-years. When

they reached it, and Quark gave the okay, all three

dropped him at the same time. It sounded as if

something exploded on the Promenade.

  "Come on!" Quark said and ran for the bar.

    "But, brother, what about the medical staff?" Rom

was keeping up with him. So was Nog.

    "You call them," Quark said. "But you will not

mention the bar, got that? Tell them--oh, never

mind. I'll do it."

    They got inside and Quark slipped behind the bar.

Before he contacted anyone, he was going to wash his

hands. They felt sticky with sweat, and something

else. Germs, probably. Virus. Possible infection.

    He grimaced. He had a hunch things were going to

continue to get worse. Much, much worse. And he

doubted they would ever get better again.

Chapter Eleven

THE CARDASSIAN CREW piloting the freighter didn't

mix with its passengers. Pulaski, Govemo, Marvig,

and Ogawa were confined to a small area that had

once served as the crew's mess. The tables were bolted

to the floor. The walls were a gunmetal gray, undeco-

rated, and the room smelled of stale food Pulaski

couldn't identify. There were no portholes, so she

couldn't see the stars, but the freighter ran relatively

smoothly, so she also couldn't feel the hum of the

engines. It felt as if she were in a room on Cardassia

Prime instead of in a freighter heading toward Terok

Nor.

    Her team was already working. Governo was bent

over his research padd, reading about infectious dis-

eases. Marrig was studying Cardassian physiology,.

Ogawa was supposed to be looking in the files to see if

there was any previous history of cross-contamination

 between these two species, but she wasn't. She was

 staring at the walls, much as Pulaski was doing.

    Alyssa Ogawa was slender, with dark hair and dark

eyes, as human as the rest of them. Pulaski hadn't

planned on putting together a completely human

team, but Starfleet Medical thought it for the best.

The less the Cardassians had to object to--and they

would probably object to every species that arrived on

Terok Nor--the better.

    Pulaski was glad to have Ogawa for several reasons.

The first and most important was that they had

worked well together on the Enterprise. The second

was that Ogawa was familiar with Bajoran physiology.

The third was that she was the best nurse Pulaski had

served with in her entire time in Starfleet.

    Ogawa was also fairly level emotionally, and Pulas-

ki would need that. Kellec wasn't, and even though

Pulaski usually was, one of the things that had caused

their marriage to dissolve was that Kellec could pull

her into his moods. Ogawa would help Pulaski keep

her own sense of self. She wasn't sure about the other

two; since she had never worked with them before,

she didn't know if they would be calm or highly

volatile. Nothing in their personnel histories sug-

gested any problems along those lines, so the best

Pulaski could do was hope.

    The group had managed the trip well so far. Cap-

tain Picard had strained the Enterprise's engines

getting her to the border of Cardassian space within

sixteen hours of Pulaski's appointment. He would

continue to patrol the area, waiting for her signal, for

the next two weeks. If she didn't come out by then,

another starship would take its place. The area would

be patrolled indefinitely--or so Pulaski had been

told. She doubted that Starfleet would continue to

expend such resources for four officers, albeit good

and valuable ones, much longer than a month. She

had mentioned that to Captain Picard and he had

looked away from her ever so briefly, as he had done

when he told her that Beverly Crusher was returning

to the Enterprise.

    I am afraid I have been told the plan for the next two

weeks. The other starship will wait at least as long, but

you know as well as I do, Doctor, that things change

within our universe in an instant. Should something

happen and the Enterprise must leave ahead of sched-

ule, I shall get a message to you, and we shall make

certain you have a way off Terok Nor.

    She had thanked him, of course, but they both knew

that she was taking a great personal risk. Starfleet

could only support that risk so far, and then she was

on her own.

    She sighed and stood up. She had forgotten how

warm Cardassians liked their ships. She had forgotten

a lot about them. How big they were, on average, and

how disconcerting it was to see that gray skin--a

color she associated with illness. Governo mentioned

how reptilian he thought they were; she had forgotten

that he had never seen a Cardassian before. That was

why she gave him the assignment to study their

physiology.

    The room they placed the group in was getting

smaller by the minute. Pulaski hated waiting. The

Cardassian pilot had told her the trip would only take

a few hours. She took that to mean three. It had been

four, and she felt that was too long. She did know the

freighter was operating at its highest speed, trying to

get her to Terok Nor.

    The Cardassians on board, the pilot and the hand-

ful of others, whom she could only think of as guards,

had obviously been instructed not to talk to the

group. The pilot had looked uncomfortable just tell-

ing Pulaski their arrival time. When she had asked for

information on the plague, he had stared at her. When

she pushed, he had said, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm a

pilot, not a doctor."

    She had let the topic drop after that. She would find

out all the pertinent information soon enough.

    The door to the mess opened. She turned. One of

the Cardassian guards stood in the doorway.

    "We're about to dock on Terok Nor. Gather your

things."

    As he spoke, the entire freighter rumbled ever so

slightly. Ogawa glanced over at Pulaski. They were the

two used to being on board ship, and they both

recognized the sensation. The freighter wasn't about

to dock. It had docked.

    Governo put his pard in his duffel. Marvig closed

her research. Ogawa's was already put away. The three

of them stood. Pulaski grabbed her two bags and

walked to the Cardassian. "I guess it's time," she said.

  He nodded.

    He led them down a dark and dirty corridor, with

dim lighting that made the gunmetal-gray walls seem

black. Even the air here seemed thick and oily.

Pulaski had to walk swiftly to keep up with him.

    "Have you been to Terok Nor since the plague

started?" she asked.

 "No one's calling it a plague," he said.

 That was more than she got out of the pilot.

 "Have you?" she asked.

 "We were told we were quarantined on Terok Nor.

We were surprised to be assigned to pick you up." His

voice was flaL He wasn't speaking softly, but the net

effect, from his tone to his demeanor, was one of

secrecy. For some reason he had decided to talk with

her.

"How long have you been trapped on Terok Nor?"

"A week." He ducked into another dark corridor. It

felt to Pulaski as if they were going in circles, but she

knew they weren't.

 "That's not very long."

 "It is when most of your friends are dying."

    Ah, so there it was. The reason he was speaking to

her. "And you don't have the disease?"

    "I probably do," he said. "I'm going to die like the

rest of them."

    "Surely you can't believe that," she said. "One

must always have hope."

    "Hope?" he said. "You'll forget the meaning of the

word after you've spent a day on Terok Nor."

    He opened one last door, and pointed. Through the

airlock, she saw a series of huge, round doors, shaped

like giant gears in an ancient machine. The Cardas-

sian pressed a button and the doors rolled back,

clanging as they did so, one at a time.

    Her door opened first. She stepped through the

aifiock onto the docking platform, and then another

door rolled back, and she was in Terok Nor.

    The heat didn't surprise her, but a faint odor of rot

did. Space-station filtration systems should take care

of smells, unless the odor was so pervasive nothing

could be done about it.

    She resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder at

her Cardassian guide, but his warning rang in her ears

 like an old Earth curse: Abandon hope all ye who enter

 here.

     She did look around her for her team. Governo was

 at her side, Ogawa and Marvig were behind her. They

 looked as serious as she felt.

    Pulaski stepped out the final door into the corridor.

The ceiling was higher here than on the freighter, and

the place was clean. It was still decorated in Cardas-

sian gray, however. Didn't they understand the value

of a well-placed painting? Or even a nicely designed

computer terminal?

    The corridor did seem to extend forever, however,

despite the branches off it. Another feature of Car-

dassian design, she assumed. At least poor lighting

wasn't part of the design here. The lights were bright

enough in this corridor to show that these walls were

clean.

    Behind her someone cleared his throat. She turned.

Three Cardassians blocked the corridor. She had been

so intent on her destination that she hadn't looked

both ways when she came out the door, and she had

turned in the wrong direction.

    Two of the Cardassians stood a few steps behind the

Cardassian in the middle. He was taller than the

others, his shoulders broader, and his face thinner.

His eyes had an intelligence that made her wary. With

his strange ridges, that sickly gray color to his skin,

and those bright eyes, he looked like a particularly

charming reptile, the kind that smiled before inflict-

ing its poisonous bite.

    In fact, he was smiling now. "Doctor Katherine

Pulaski?" he asked. He had a warm, seductive voice

that seemed, to her, completely at odds with his

appearance.

 "Yes," she said.

    "I'm Gul Dukat. I run Terok Nor. We're pleased

you could come here on such short notice." As if she

were coming for a dinner party or to give a speech.

    "If you'll point the way, my assistants and I will get

right to work."

    "First," he said, "I thought we'd get you to your

quarters and give you a short tour of our facility.

Then we'll take you to the medical section."

    She drew a sharp breath. No wonder the Bajorans

hated the Cardassians. How insensitive was this man?

And then she realized what he was doing. He saw her

as a representative of the Federation first, a doctor

second. He didn't want her first impression of his

station to be one of illness and death.

    Governo stepped up beside her, and was about to

speak. She put a hand on his arm, and shoved him

backwards. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw

Marvig take him and hold him back. That answered

one question. Governo would be her impulsive as-

sistant.

    "Mr. Dukat," she said, purposely making a mistake

on his title. "I--"

    "Gul Dukat," he said in those dulcet tones. "Gul is

my title."

    "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know." She took a

step closer to him. The three Cardassians were so tall,

it felt as if she were stepping toward a forest.

    He watched her as if he had never seen a human

before.

    "I would love to see the station," she said, "but I

was led to believe the medical situation here is urgent.

Perhaps if we get this thing under control, you can

give me a tour. Right now, though, my assistants and I

would like to put our things in our quarters and report

for our duties."

    Dukat inclined his head toward her. "What you will

see in our medical section isn't normal for Terok

Nor."

    She smiled at him. It would be another part of her

job, she realized, to charm the snake. "It isn't normal

anywhere." She glanced up at him, making her look

purposefully vulnerable. "Perhaps Kellec didn't tell

you about me. I'm a doctor. I have no interest in

politics. I'm here as a favor to Kellec."  "And your assistants?"

    "Are here because they have leave and they volun-

teered."

    His smile was just a bit jaded. "And that's why the

Starship Enterprise brought you to the rendezvous,

because you're a simple doctor, volunteering your

time."

    "No," she said. "Until a few days ago, I served on

that ship. I am between assignments. Captain Picard

gave my position to his former chief medical officer,

so he owed me a favor."

Dukat clearly wasn't buying that, so she sighed.

"And besides, having a starship escort me was the

only way we could convince Starfleet to let us come.

They worry about having valuable personnel so close

to the Carclassian border."

 "You're inside Cardassian space."

    "I know," Pulaski said. "And with luck, we'll be

able to make your people well. Please, let us work

first."

 "As you wish," he said.

    "In fact," she said, "it would probably be best to

show my assistants to their quarters and lead me to

the medical area. I'm sure Kellec and your doctor

could use the relief."

    "All right." Dukat turned to his guards. 'Tll take

Dr. Pulaski to the medical section. You escort her

assistants to their quarters, and when they're settled,

bring them to the section as well."

    "Forgive me, Doctor," Marvig said, "but perhaps

one of us should come with you. We can both get right

to work."

    "Good suggestion, Crystal, but I'm used to field

medicine. None of you are. Trust me, it's better for

you to get your bearings and then come. It will

prevent burnout later." Pulaski turned to Dukat.

"Shall we go?"

    He nodded and then, to her surprise, he took her

hand and placed it on his arm. Such a courtly gesture,

and one that would certainly rile Kellec if he saw it.

Still, she let Dukat do it.

    His uniform was softer than she expected from its

design, and his skin was cooler. She wondered if the

heat in the Cardassian ship and now here, on Terok

Nor, was because Cardassians had cold blood, just

like the Earthly creatures they resembled. She was

surprised she didn't remember, and made a mental

note to brush up on her own Cardassian physiology

when she had a free moment. Every detail was

important, and things she had studied years ago that

were now lost to the sands of time might be more

crucial than she had initially thought.

    Dukat led her through the maze of corridors.

"What have they told you of Terok Nor?" he asked as

they walked.

  "Only that it's an ore-processing plant," she said.

  "Ah, such an oversimplification," he said. "Terok

 Nor is more than a simple factory. We are a vezT large

 station, and many ships come through here on their

 way to Cardassia Prime. Did you see the station as

 you came in?"

     "No," she said. "We were restricted to the crew's

 mess."

     A dark, troubled look crossed his face, and that hint

 of danger she had felt from the beginning returned.

 This was not a man to be trifled with. "They should

 have treated you better. After all, you've come here as

 a favor to us."

     "I assumed that they made room for us where they

 could," she said.

    He nodded. "Well, if you had seen us as you came

in, you would have noted the difference in design

from your space stations. We have a docking ring, and

a habitat ting, and we are at the cutting edge of

Cardassian technology--perhaps of technology all

through the sector."

    She didn't know if he wanted her to ask questions

or not.

    "We've put your quarters in the best section of our

habitat ting. If there's anything you need, you come

directly to me."

  'Tll do that," she said.

    "I wanted to show you the heart of the station," he

said. "It's our Promenade. We have restaurants,

stores, even a Ferengi-run bar, if your tastes run to

alcohol, Dabo, and questionable holosuite pro-

grams."

    "I hope I will get a chance to sample all three," she

said. "I'm sure I'll need them when we have every-

thing under control."

    "You sound confident that you can cure this dis-

ease," Dukat said. "Is there something you know that

my people don't?"

    "Perhaps it's ignorance on my part," she said,

thankful that her year with Picard had helped her

brush up on her diplomacy. "I do not know as much

as Kellec or your doctor about this disease, and they

refused to send me the specs before I arrived. But it's

my nature to be optimistic. If I weren't, I wouldn't be

a doctor. We're all a bit egotistical, you know."

    "I hadn't realized that," he said with all the

smoothness of a lie.

    These corridors seemed to go on forever. She

wanted to remove her hand from his arm, but felt she

didn't dare, not yet.

    "Yes," she said. "We are. I think it a necessary skill.

It leads us to places that aren't safe, to try things

others wouldn't think of, and never to accept failure."

"Have you ever accepted failure?" Dukat said.

    "Accepted it?" she asked. "No. Experienced it?

Yes."

    "Ah, yes, your marriage to Kellec." He didn't miss

much. Her sense of him was correct.

    "I wasn't thinking of that," she said. "I was think-

ing of death. We all lose patients, and we're never

happy about it."

    "You're bringing that attitude to my station," he

said.

    "I am, and so are my assistants. We'll do everything

we can to stop this thing."

     He paused. The corridor opened onto a larger area.

 It must have been the area he had called the Prome-

 nade. Ahead she saw lights and advertisements in

Cardassian. A group of Cardassian guards were

crowded around a post. She saw that catch Dukat's

attention, and then saw him pretend that it didn't

matter.

    "I believe you will do everything you can to stop

this disease," he said, and he sounded a bit surprised.

She frowned. Was this the real Dukat? Beneath that

reptilian coolness, was there a worded leader be-

neath? He would have to be stupid not to be. If the

disease were half as bad as she had heard, he had to be

worried about dying himself.

    "Just be careful, Doctor," he said. "Kellec Ton is a

bitter man. Do not believe everything he says."

    She smiled, even though she had never felt less like

doing so. "I know," she said. "I was married to him,

remember?"

    Dukat laughed. The sound echoed in the wide-open

space and the huddle of guards near the post all

turned in his direction. He led her into the Prome-

nade. There were shops with windows opening onto

the walk area. In one window, a Volian sat at a table,

hand-stitching a shirt. Another door opened and a

strange-looking man slipped through it. He wore a

brown uniform, and he crossed his arms over his

chest as she walked by. His face seemed half-formed,

or imperfectly formed. She had never seen anyone

from a species like that before.

    Dukat was explaining what all the places were, but

she wasn't really listening. The guards had lifted a

man from the floor and were carrying him without a

gurney in the direction she and Dukat were walking.

    "And this is Quark's," he said, sweeping a hand

toward a nearly empty bar.

She peered inside. There was a lot of light and

color, but no customers. A Ferengi stood behind the

bar. He looked nervous, but then they all did to her.

    This would probably be her only opportunity to let

go of Dukat. She slipped her hand from his arm, and

went inside the bar. The Ferengi looked at her in

surprise.

 "Care for a drink?" he asked.

    Three Cardassians were passed out at a back table,

and another Ferengi was trying in vain to wake them

up. She frowned at them.

     "A bit of hot water on the back of the neck usually

wakes up a Cardassian," she said to the bartender.

  "Really?" he asked.

    Dukat came inside. "I thought you were in a hurry

to get to the infirmary."

     "I am," she said. "I just thoughtmwell, I had the

impression that this would be the hub of the station."

  "It is," the Ferengi said. "When no one's dying."

  "Quark." That menacing tone was buried in

  Dukat's voice again. He sounded so threatening and

  yet so nice. How did he manage that?

    "Have we far to go?" Pulaski asked, walking out of

the bar ahead of him.

  "Um, no," Dukat said.

      "And I take it the infirmary is this way?" She

headed in the direction the guards had walked.

  "Yes," Dukat said.

    She couldn't look too knowledgeable or he would

get suspicious, so she slowed down just enough for

him to catch up to her.

    "What I've seen of the station," she said, "is

already impressive."

    He smiled at her, and then turned a small corner.

"Here is the medical section." A door to her right slid

open, and instantly the stench of rot overwhelmed

her. She gagged involuntarily and put a hand to her

mouth.

    "She's turning green!" Dukat said, a hand on her

shoulder, trying to push her further inside.

    She shook him off. "It's a normal human reaction,"

she said, barely keeping control of her voice, "when

faced with a smell like that."

    His call, though, had brought a Cardassian to the

front, and behind him, Kellec.

    Kellec. Too slim by half. He hadn't been eating

again. His hair was messy and his earring was caught

on the top of his ear. He had deep circles under both

eyes, and lines around his mouth she had never seen

before.

 And he looked dear. Very dear.

  "Katherine?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

    "I just don't care for the local perfume," she said,

and wrapped him in a great hug. He was thin, so thin

he felt fragile in her arms.

    He returned the hug, but she could feel him looking

over her shoulder at Dukat. So she had been right.

They were in a pissing match, and Dukat had tried--

and failed--to turn her into an issue.

    She stepped back and surveyed the room. There

were cots everywhere, and makeshift beds, all filled

with green Cardassians, many of them holding their

stomachs and moaning despite obvious sedation. The

green color was startling. No wonder Dukat had

panicked when he saw her get nauseous from the

smell. It showed that he was a lot more panicked

than his tet-me-give-you-a-tour-of-the-station demea-

nor let on.

    She made herself turn to him, even though she

didn't want to. "Thank you for your kindness, Gul

Dukat," she said. "I do hope we'll be able to finish our

tour later."

    He bowed his head slightly. "It would be my

pleasure, Doctor. And remember, if you need any-

thing, anything at all, come to me." "I will."

    Dukat glanced at the Cardassian who stood to the

side, and then his gaze met Kellec's. There was pride

in that look, and measuring, and something else,

some sort of challenge. And then Dukat left.

    "Tour?" Kellec asked. "He took you on a tour of

the station instead of bringing you here?"

    "He's afraid I'm going to send a bad report to

Starfleet," Pulaski said. "But I made him bring me

here directly."

"No one makes Dukat do anything," Kellec said.

"Oh, I don't know," Pulaski said. "You managed to

get him to bring me here." She put a hand through her

hair, wishing now that she had had a chance, a very

brief one, to stop in her quarters. Kellec always made

her feel like that.

    "Dr. Pulaski," the Cardassian who had rushed to

the door said. "I'm Dr. Narat."

    He was hunched over more by the demands of his

profession than with age. His dark eyes were sharp as

well, but his face wasn't as reptilian as Dukat's. There

was a softness to Narat, a compassion that seemed

built into him. Even though she had never met him

before, she got a sense from him that he, too, was

exhausted.

  "Thank you for coming," he said. "You are alone?"

     "I brought three assistants. I sent them to their

 quarters to drop off their things before coming here. I

 wanted to assess the situation alone."

    Narat nodded. He swept a hand toward the beds.

"This is just one area, only the Cardassians. We have

two other rooms full in the medical section and we've

had to take over an empty business space right next

door."

  "My heavens," Pulaski said.

    Kellec nodded. "If it weren't for all the deaths," he

said, "we would need even more room."

    She glanced at him. She wasn't used to him being so

blunt. At least not about losing patients. So things

were awful here. Only doctors who had seen a lot of

death in a short period of time had that fiat affect,

that way of speaking about terrible things as if they

were commonplace.

  And apparently they were.

  "How many have died?" she asked.

    "Everyone who has been sick for longer than two

days," Narat said.

    Her gaze met Kellec's. It wasn't just exhaustion she

saw in his eyes. It was deep, overwhelming sadness,

and more--a frustration and anger so strong that he

had to fight to keep it held back. He knew as well as

she, as well as any doctor, that anger only blinded. He

needed to remain level.

    "How many is that?" she asked gently. "How many

have died?"

    Kellec shook his head. "We've been too busy to

keep track of the numbers, and we have no real

assistants. It's not a relevant statistic at the moment."

  "But how have you notified the families?"

  "Niceties are gone, Katherine," he said. "We

haven't done anything except triage, palliative mea-

sures, and research. We haven't had time."

    "Maybe now," Narat said. "Now that you're here,

we can do some of those things again."

    Pulaski nodded. It wasn't like Kellec to let go of the

small details. For any reason. "You said everyone who

contracts the disease dies?"

 "Everyone," Kellec said. "Within two days."

    She glanced around the room. If something weren't

done, a solution wasn't found, all of these people

would be dead soon. And all of the patients in the

next room, and the next.

    "Cardassian and Bajoran?" she asked. "No one has

survived?"

 "No one."

    She shook her head. "I've never heard of a plague

like that," she said. "The black plague on Earth, in the

days when medicine consisted of trickery and leeches,

left one-quarter of the population alive. The Triferian

flu on Vulcan only killed half. The worst plague I've

ever heard of, the Nausicaan wort virus, which struck

a thousand years ago, killed 95 percent of the Nausi-

caan population. No plague kills one hundred per-

cent. Someone always survives."

    Kellec shook his head. "If you contract this thing,"

he said, "you die."

    "And that's why you believe this is a designer

virus?" she asked.

    "That, and several other factors. Its precision, for

one thing. And the way it works. Let us show you

what we've found so far. It would be nice to have a

fresh eye on things." He took her arm and started to

lead her toward the office.

  She stopped though, and gazed at all the moaning

patients. One hundred percent death rate. No wonder

Kellec didn't want to talk about it. That made their

job a thousand times harder. The best way to beat a

virai infection was to discover what was different

within those patients who were exposed and didn't get

sick. Or those who got sick and survived. Often their

systems produced antibodies that worked against the

virus, and those antibodies could be replicated and

placed in those patients who didn't manufacture them

naturally.

    But a 100-percent death rate completely cut the

traditional options out. The solution had to be a lab-

devised one, just like the virus itself. And that re-

quired researchers, not medical doctors. She did

research, yes, but her main focus had always been her

patients. Maybe Starfleet had been right in trying to

send the viral experts here.

    Maybe. But to do so would have meant at least a

hundred more deaths in the time it took those experts

to arrive. At least she was here now. Her assistants

could look after the patients, and she could work with

Kellec and Narat to find a cure.

    The confidence she had spoken of to Dukat had

vanished. In her entire career, she had never faced

odds like this. Terok Nor had a small population. In

order to save any of it, she and her colleagues had to

find a solution fast.

    The problem was that all the shortcuts had been

blocked off. They had to do the impossible, and she

wasn't even sure how to begin.

Chapter Twelve

HE STOOD IN THE SHADOWS next to Quark's bar, marvel-

ing at the difference a few days had made. Before

there had been laughter and shouting, games and

relaxation, but now there was silence. The Ferengi,

Quark, was complaining about the silence, still worry-

ing about his business, not realizing that soon, every-

thing on Terok Nor would come to an end.

    He had found it amusing when Quark had carried

the ill Cardassian outside the bar before allowing his

brother to report the illness. Quark still believed

everything would turn around, things would get bet-

ter, his bar would come back to life, and he would

continue to earn his precious latinurn.

 Soon latinum wouldn't be important at all.

    He had had a bad moment, though, as Quark, his

brother, and his nephew had passed, carrying the

Cardassian. For an instant, his shield had fizzled. He

had caught it in time, but Quark had turned his head,

almost as if he had seen the shimmer the malfunction

caused. Fortunately, the Ferengi was so self-involved

that he apparently thought nothing of it.

    Ever since, though, he had kept close watch on the

shield. It was his only protection here, allowing him

to go undiscovered. Not that there were many left to

discover him. The sick Cardassians had made their

way, one by one, to the medical section. The well ones

were staying away from populated areas, keeping

themselves in their rooms unless they had duties--

and sometimes even then.

    Humanolds all shared an attitude toward disease.

No matter how sophisticated the society, humanoids

still feared tiny little microbes that attacked the body

unseen. From Cardassians and Bajorans to Trills and

Klingons, the fear of illness was uniform. And all the

more amusing in societies like Cardassia's. Soldiers

seemed to fear disease most of all.

    He had enjoyed watching Terok Nor's leader,

Dukat, when he felt he was alone. The constant

washing of the hands. His reluctance to touch other

Cardassians or Bajorans. His nervous movements

every time he was about to enter the medical section.

All of them were tiny geatures, but they were oh, so

telling. And if Dukat felt that way, so did all the other

Cardassians. He almost wished the symptomatic part

of the disease lasted longer. It brought out the fear in

the unaffected--or the not-yet-symptomatic, to be

more accurate--so much better.

    He made a mental note about that, not certain if he

were going to use it or not.

    But he was here to observe, and since he had

arrived, he had observed a lot. The way the Cardassi-

ans simply kept going until they lost control; the

resigned futility among the Bajorans; the added calls

to the Prophets who, of course, were not listening: All

of this intrigued him. And pleased him, if he had to be

honest. Things were progressing better than he had

expected.

    Although that could change. Dukat's mood seemed

lighter since he escorted the human woman across the

Promenade and into the medical section. She looked

vaguely familiar, with her brown hair and calm de-

meanor. He had a moment of panic when she excused

herself from Dukat and walked into Quark's. For a

moment, he thought she was going to walk over to

him. It was as if she saw him, as if she knew he was

there.

    Instead, she had asked the Ferengi a question or

two, and then had gone on.

    He hadn't expected humans on Terok Nor. He

hadn't expected anyone associated with the Federa-

tion. He had purposely chosen Cardassians and Ba-

jorans because they had no official ties with the

Federation and so wouldn't request Federation help.

    What this woman was doing here baffled him, but

she had obviously been brought in to help find a cure.

Fortunately, a cure would prove extremely difficult. If

not impossible. Diseases did not act the way this one

did. Most doctors weren't creative enough to under-

stand something so different, so fundamentally alien.

    A single human woman would make no difference

in this laboratory. He would worry only when teams

of scientists came in. Federation scientists.

    And by the time they arrived, it would be too late.

No matter how light Gul Dukat's mood, the fact was

that Terok Nor was doomed.

    He had done the projections before he came, a

timetable assuming everything went according to

plan--which it had, much to his surprise. It was now

time for him to leave. His cloaked ship would pick

him up shortly.

    And probably just in time. According to his projec-

tions, Terok Nor had very little time left.

Chapter Thirteen

/

SHE WAS CRAZY to have come back to Terok Nor. What

had she been thinking when she offered to come here?

Certainly she hadn't been thinking very clearly.

    It no longer seemed like the risks that she took

getting here in her small rebel ship, keeping it hidden

from Cardassian scans, and then beaming aboard,

were going to be worth it. It had been harder this

time, because Terok Nor was closed to almost all

ships. She wasn't sure if the beam-in had been de-

tected; she doubted anyone was scouting for security

breaches in the middle of this internal crisis.

    Kira stood in the center of the Bajoran section. It

looked nothing like it had a few months ago, when she

had come here to get a list of Bajoran collaborators

from a chemist's shop. She didn't like to think about

that visit, and how close she had come to becoming a

true prisoner of the Cardassians.

    She ran her hands over her arms. She had goose-

bumps despite the warmth. This place smelled like

rot, and if she hadn't known better, she would have

thought it like one of the prisoner-of-war camps on

Cardassia. Dukat had always prided himself on keep-

ing a clean, well-run station, where he treated the

Bajorans "fairly."

    There was nothing fair about this place any longer.

Not even the most delusional could miss that.

    Ill Bajorans lay on the floor, their cheeks rosy, their

eyes too bright. They held their stomachs and

moaned, while family members tried to take care of

them. Others were on blankets or coats that someone

had given up. There were no Cardassian guards in

sight--it was as if the guards had forgotten the

Bajorans were here.

    Not that it mattered. The Bajorans were too busy

dying to think of revolution.

    She had had no idea the disease was this bad. If she

had to guess, she would estimate that half of the

Bajorans she saw were in some stage of illness.

    And she saw no sign of Kellec Ton at all. No sign of

any doctors, no sign of any help. How could Dukat

allow this? How could anyone?

    There had to be someone that the Bajorans looked

to for leadership, someone who took control of vari-

ous situations. But she didn't even know where to

look. The fine web of corridors and large rooms that

had served as the Bajoran section no longer had any

order to it at all. The sick lay everywhere, even in the

eating areas, and there were a few bodies stacked near

the entrance to the processing plants.

 Bodies. Stacked. She had never expected to see this.

 She didn't even know where to begin.

    She wanted to roll up her sleeves and help, but she

knew nothing about medicine, at least this kind of

medicine. Give her a patient with a phaser burn and

she could treat it, or a broken arm and she could set it,

but to die like this, moaning in excruciating agony

while everyone around was busy with their own

deaths, was something completely beyond her.

    Two Cardassian guards walked through the corri-

dor. They stepped over the ill and dying Bajorans as if

they were simply rocks lying in their path. They were

talking in low tones, their conversation impossible to

hear.

    Kira tensed. If they saw her, they might bring her to

Dukat. And that was the last thing she needed.

    She slid down the wall, and buried her face in her

knees. She couldn't bring herself to moan, to feign the

illness so many others were dying of. But she kept

herself immobile.

    As the Cardassians passed, their conversation be-

came clearer.

    "... so desperate that he's allowing the Bajoran

doctor to work on Cardassian patients."

    "That's not what I've heard. I've heard the illnesses

are related, and if they find a cure for one, they find a

cure for both."

 "It's a Bajoran trick."

 "What makes you think that?"

    "They designed this virus to kill us, but it back-

fired. It makes them sick as well."

    "Surely if that were true, Dukat wouldn't let that

Bajoran anywhere near the medical section."

    "Dukat is smarter than you think. Perhaps he wants

Narat to catch the Bajoran infecting Cardassians..."

    Their voices faded. Kira raised her head just

enough to be able to watch them leave out of the

corner of one eye. So the rumor about the Cardassians

was true; they were dying of this disease as well.

    And of course, the lower-level guards believed that

the Bajorans were behind the illness, not realizing

that the Bajorans no longer had the capability to do

anything like this. Bajorans were struggling just to

stay alive.

    She hadn't expected it to be so easy to discover

where Kellec Ton was, though. He was in the Cardas-

sian medical section, helping save Cardassians. She

would never have believed it of him. He had to have

some other plan in mind. But she wasn't sure what

that would be, nor was she certain how to reach him.

It would mean leaving the Bajoran section. Some

Bajorans did, she knew, but very few. And they were

usually collaborating somehow.

    She had been outside the Bajoran section last year,

when she went to the chemist's to steal that list of

collaborators, but everything had gone wrong. She

had had to kill the chemist, and she had gotten

caught. She managed to lie her way out of it, though,

and escape with her life.

  She wasn't sure she'd be that lucky this time.

    But if the Cardassians were sick too, and the guard

levels down here were any indication, she might have

an easier time of it. The entire station seemed to

be preoccupied with itself, turned inward, not out-

ward. Maybe no one cared any longer about collabo-

rators and the resistance. Maybe all anyone on Terok

Nor cared about was surviving from moment to mo-

ment.

    She waited until she was certain the guards were

long gone. Then she rose ever so slowly, looking both

ways. As she did, the wall at her back moved.

    She gasped and turned. What she had thought to be

a small beam attached to the wall turned into a liquid,

then formed itself into a man. The security chief. Odo.

    She swallowed. He had caught her the last time, and

nearly tried her for murder. But she had convinced

him that she hadn't killed that Cardassian chemist

and he had helped her escape. She hadn't expected to

see him again.

    "Kira Nerys, isn't it?" Odo said, as his shape

solidified.

 She didn't answer him, just watched him.

    "I wondered who would be foolish enough to beam

aboard a quarantined station."

    She swallowed hard, but lifted her chin in a defiant

movement.

    "Or didn't you know that everyone is dying here?"

He tilted his head. He was such a strange creature. His

features weren't completely formed, and yet she could

see something in those eyes. A sadness, perhaps.

 "You're not dying," she said.

    "I'm not Bajoran or Cardassian." Odo crossed his

arms. "You do realize that I should tell Gul Dukat of

your arrival."

  "I thought you said everyone is dying."

    "It was only a slight exaggeration. Dukat, so far,

seems fine."

  "That's no surprise," Kira said.

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means those guards had this whole thing back-

wards. The Cardassians designed this plague to kill

Bajorans, and now it's backfired on them."

    "Do you actually believe that?" Odo asked. "You

always struck me as such an intelligent woman be-

fore."

    She felt herself flush. "So you believe the Cardas-

sian version?"

    "Actually, I have a feeling that there's something

else going on entirely. Your people and the Cardassi-

ans are so focused on your hatred for each other that

you can't see beyond yourselves."

  She frowned. "What do you know?"

    "Nothing, really. It's just a hunch." He tilted his

head toward her. "Just like my hunch says it's no

coincidence that you're here, now. What are you

coming to do? Start a rebellion now that the Cardassi-

ans are weak?"

    She swept her hand across the floor, indicating all

the ill people. "As if that would do any good. Why

isn't anyone taking care of them?"

    "Believe it or not," Odo said, "someone is. It's just

there is so much sickness on the station that each

patient can only expect a moment or two of personal

attention a day."

    It was sadness she saw in his eyes. He was as

helpless as she was. "Kellec Ton?" she asked. "He has

been coming down here?"

"Is that why you're here? To check up on him?"

She couldn't answer that. Much as this shape-

shiftefts demeanor made her feel like trusting him,

she had been in this situation too many times to trust

anyone in authority. "Is he still alive?"

 "I thought you overheard those guards," Odo said.

"He's in the Cardassian section, trying to find a

cure."

 "Is he having any luck?"

    "i'm riot privy to'the medical discussions, but from

what I've seen, no. If anything, the plague has gotten

worse."

    She shivered ever so slightly. Kellec hadn't gone

crazy, had he? He hadn't started the plague, as those

guards accused him of doing?

    Of course not. What was she thinking? Kellec Ton

wasn't that kind of man. No matter what circum-

stances drove him to, he would never voluntarily take

a life, let alone hundreds of lives.

    "Is it as bad as they say?"she asked, not able to help

hersetfi

 "What do they say?"

 "That anyone who catches this disease dies."

    He looked away from her, at the moaning people

around them. He seemed smaller than the last time

she saw him, as if the suffering had diminished him

somehow. Or perhaps everyone seemed smaller in the

face of this kind of anguish.

    "From what I have observed," he said slowly, "any

Cardassian or Bajoran who is exposed to this disease

eventually gets the disease. And anyone who gets it,

dies."

 "So I'm at risk," Kira said.

 "I'm afraid so," Odo said.

    They stared at each other for a moment. Then he

said, "I'm going to have to locate your ship and warn

its crew away from here."

    She almost told him that she was in a scout ship,

and that she had come alone, but he didn't need that

information.

    "They left anyway," she lied, "just after they

brought me here."

      "I'm going to check anyway," he said. "Because you

made the biggest mistake of your life coming here."

  "Are you threatening me?" she asked.

    He shook his head. "I wish it were that easy. But

this station is under quarantine. Anyone who comes

here cannot leave, not until the quarantine is lifted,

and I doubt it will be lifted anytime soon."  She look at him.

    "I will keep an eye out for any illegal transportation

devices, and in fact, I think I'll recommend to Gul

Dukat to raise the station's shield so that no one can

leave via transporter."

  "Then I will die here," she said.

    "You chose to come," he said. "It was a bad

decision." Then he gave her a compassionate look. "If

you stay in the Bajoran section, you'll be all right."

  "And if I choose not to?"

  "I can't vouch for what happens to you."

    "Why should I care what happens to me?" she

asked. "From what you say, I'm dead anyway."

    He sighed. "I have hope," he said, although his tone

belied his words, "that someone will find a way to end

this thing."

  "You don't seem like an optimistic man."

    He inclined his head toward her as a sort of

acknowledgement. "I'm usually not. But your friend

has brought his ex-wife aboard, and it took some

doing. I have to believe she has the skills to help with

all of us."

    Kellec Ton's ex-wife? What had Kira heard about

her? Not much, except--she was Starfleet. The Fede-

ration. That had to take some doing.

    "What makes you think one person will make a

difference?" Kira asked.

    "I'm looking at it from a practical standpoint," he

said. "She's not Bajoran or Cardassian."

    "And so has no stake in developing the disease

further?"

    "Actually, no," he said. "She has a chance of

staying alive long enough to develop a cure."

Chapter Fourteen

PULASKI'S EYES ACHED from the strain of staring at the

Cardassian computer monitors. The LTDs here were

set on a different frequency than the Federation

mandated. These settings were not designed for hu-

man eyes, and were creating a serious version of eye

strain. She leaned back in her chair and with her

thumb and forefinger massaged the bridge of her nose.

    Ten hours of work, and it felt like only a moment.

Ten hours. She thought she might have something, but

she wanted to rest for just a second, to allow the hope

to diminish.

    The mood on Terok Nor, the hopelessness, had

infected her more than she wanted to admit. She had

tried to get KeUec to leave the medical section, but he

refused to go. She thought of actually giving him a

sedative so that he could sleep, but she couldn't do

that. They might need his clear thinking.

    At least she had convinced Narat to rest. What she

wanted to do was to place the three main doctors on a

rotating schedule, two on and one off at all times. This

might continue for days, and it would do no good for

Narat and Kellec to court illness by shorting them-

selves on sleep.

    When Narat returned, she would convince Kellec

to go. No matter what it took.

    She would be doing the same in their shoes, though.

One of the reasons she wanted to set up the new

system was so that she ensured she would get some

rest. Right now, she was the fresh one, seeing things

with a new perspective, but over time that would

change. She wanted all of them to have an advantage.

    She sighed and stood, stretching. Even the chairs

were poorly designed, at least for her human form.

Apparently Cardassians had the assumption of height

working for them. She had to rest her feet on the base

of the chair instead of the floor, and that was playing

havoc with her back. She turned and looked out the

office door at the medical section's patient areas.

    Ogawa was taking care of the Bajorans in the

medical section, offering kind words and comfort.

Marvig was below, in the Bajoran section, working in

the corridors with the people too sick to make it here.

Eventually, they would switch places. Pulaski had

seen the Bajoran section on one of her short breaks,

and it had been the worst thing yet on Terok Nor.

Dozens of sick and dying people, with no one to care

for them except their own familieswif they had any

families left.

    Some of them were already weakened from years

spent as Cardassian prisoners or as workers in the ore-

processing area. Pulaski had no idea what working

with uridium did to the immune system, but if

uridium was like any other ore, it weakened every-

thing it came into contact with.

    Governo was ministering to the Cardassians. His

bedside manner was gruffer and blunter than either

Ogawa's or Marvig's, and the Cardassians seemed to

appreciate that. They were the kind of patients who

wanted the unvarnished truthmrather like Klingons

in that respect--so that they could make decisions

from there. Only the Cardassians were too sick to

attempt to die with honor, as a Klingon would have

done. Or perhaps it wasn't part of their culture. She

didn't know. She had never really made a point of

studying Cardassian social habits.

    "Are you all right?" Kellec was behind her, his

voice soft in her ear.

 She nodded. "I needed to think."

 "Staring out there helps you think?"

 "There's nowhere else to look," she said.

    "Up on the Promenade, there are windows that

look out to the stars," Kellec said. "I go there if I need

a moment alone."

    "I'11 remember that," Pulaski said. "But that wasn't

the kind of thinking I needed to do."

    "You've found something," Kellec said. He knew

her so well. They had spent years apart, and it felt as if

they had only been away from each other for a few

hours.

    "I think so." She turned away from the door and

came back to her chair. She put her hands on it

instead of sitting in it, more out of courtesy to her

back than any other reason. "Let me show you."

    She ran her fingers across the flat control board,

punching up two holographic images. They were of

the virus, its perfect form sinister to her, as if it had

already imptinted itself in her subconscious as some-

thing evil.

    Kellec stood beside her, stating at the images. "You

see something here that I've missed."

    "Yes," she said. She lowered her voice. "These are

not the same virus."

    "Katherine," Ton said. "I've been studying them

for days. They're exactly the same."

    "No," she said. "I double-checked your work and

Narat's. You examined the viruses at first and thought

they were the same. The computer reported that they

were as well. From that point on, you've only been

working with one form of the virus, pulled from the

same culture."

    He frowned at her, then peered at the images. He

touched the control pad, making the images larger. "I

don't see the difference."

    "It's subtle," she said, "and this system, sophisti-

cated as it is, isn't calibrated for such tiny differences.

Apparently, Cardassian medicine is a lot more

straightforward than the types we practice in the

Federation."

He glanced at her, obviously not following.

"These systems," she said, "are designed for Car-

dassian physiology only. And why shouldn't they be?

Even though several species come through Terok Nor,

most everything here is geared toward Cardassians.

On starships, and throughout the Federation, we're

dealing with a wide variety of species all the time.

Small thingsminfinitesimal things--can sometimes

mean the difference between life and death."

    "All right," he said. "What infinitesimal thing have

I missed?"

    She pointed to the image on the left. "This is Virus

B, the virus that's killing the Bajorans." She punched

in a label that ran across the bottom. Then she

pointed to the image on the right. "This is Virus C,

the one that's killing the Cardassians."

    Kellec peered at both screens. Then he made them

larger. "I must be tired," he said. "I can't see the

difference."

    "You are tired," she said. "This is why I want us all

to have a few hours of sleep a day. But that's beside

the point. Look here."

 She pointed to a single strand on Virus B's DNA.

    "Now," she said, "compare it to the same strand on

Virus C's DNA."

    He closed his eyes and brought the heel of his hand

to his forehead. "How could I have missed that?"

    "You weren't looking for it," she said. "They look

so much alike--'"

    "Don't make excuses for me, Katherine. I should

have caught it."

 "Why? You thought the viruses were the same."

 "But they manifested differently."

    "Yes," she said, "and that's completely logical

given the differences between Cardassian and Bajoran

physiology."

    "But Cardassians and Bajorans don't get the same

diseases. We all know that."

    It wasn't like Kellec to go into recriminations. He

was exhausted. She had to get him focused on some-

thing else. "You brought me in here for a new perspec-

tive."

 "Yes," he said. "I did."

 "Well, I have more."

    He frowned. "This is the part you were reluctant to

tell me."

    She nodded. "And frankly, I'm relieved Narat isn't

here. Are you sure we can talk here without being

overheard?"

 "No one out there is listening," Ton said.

 "And Dukat?"

     Kellec shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think he

would be. It's not the way he usually does things."

  "Good," she said.

  "Why?"

    She took a deep breath. "Because Virus B, found in

the Bajorans, is mutating into Virus C and killing

Cardassians."

    Instantly Kellec's face went white; then he did the

same thing she had been doing. He quickly checked

around him to make sure no Cardassians had heard.

If this information got out, Pulaski didn't know what

Dukat would do with the news. But from the reports

she had heard, she doubted he would stop short at

wiping out most of the Bajoran people to stop this.

    "How can you be sure it's not the other way

around?" Kellec asked.

    She punched up a different image. "Watch," she

said.

    She had a time-lapsed image of the Bajoran cultures

that Kellec and Narat had been using. Over a period

of a few days, the Bajoran virus mutated. She high-

lighted the new viruses in red.

  "What made you look for that?" he asked.

    "I saw how closely they were related. I knew we

weren't dealing with a coincidence. Kellec, you and

Narat are right. This is an artificially created virus."

    "You mean it's designed to go from Bajoran to

Cardassian?"

  She nodded.

    He gripped the back of the nearest chair. "If the

Cardassians find out about this--"

    "They'll wipe out every Bajoran they can find," she

said. "And it will kill the Cardassian source of infec-

tion."

  "You can't condone that!" he said.

    "Of course not. But the Cardassians strike me as

the kind of people who can justify such a thing."

    Kellec sank into his chair. "I don't know what we

do now, Katherine. We need this information to find

a cure. But I want to wipe it all off the system."

    "I already have," she said. "These are my files,

coded to me only."

    "That's precisely the thing that will get you in

trouble with Dukat."

    "I know." She touched the screen and the images

disappeared. "But since I destroyed the material, he

can't accuse me of spying, now can he?"

  "Katherine, we needed that."

    She shook her head. "It's enough to know it. The

comparisons are gone, that's all. We have the knowl-

edge. Now we have to use it."

  "Swear to me you won't tell Narat."

 "I wish we could," she said. "He has a keen mind."

 "It's also a Cardassian mind."

    "I know that too. And for that reason, I won't say a

word."

 Kellec squeezed her arm. "Thank you, Katherine."

    "Don't thank me yet," she said. "We haven't found

a cure."

     "But we're one step closer than we were before you

arrived. Narat and I never would have found that."

  "You would have," she said.

    "Just not in time." Kellec pushed his chair closer to

the console. "At least now I have a bit of hope."

    She prayed that that was enough to sustain him.

Because the mutation of the virus worried her. She

would have expected it to go the other way. She had

actually been looking to see if the Cardassian form

mutated into the Bajoran form when she found that

she had the process exactly reversed.

    She wasn't sure what that meant yet, besides the

obvious results that Kellec envisioned, should the

Cardassians discover how the virus traveled. But she

didn't like what she was thinking, and she didn't

know how to clear the suspicions from her brain.

    Were an oppressed people wrong in doing anything

they could to get rid of their oppressors?

    She turned back toward the patients in the outer

rooms, and got her answer.

    Yes, they were. Some prices were too high, no

matter what the cause.

Chapter Fifteen

QUARK RUBBED HIS LEFT EAR with the back of his left

hand. It felt as if something were tickling the edge of

his lobe, and not in a pleasant way. He leaned across

the bar and surveyed his business.  His empty business.

    He hadn't had a customer in hours. At this rate, he

would be broke within the month, faster if Nog and

Rom continued to spend all his latinurn. No wonder

Prindora left Rom. He could go through money faster

than anyone Quark had ever seen.

    Quark peered into the Promenade. There was no

one there either. The Volian's shop was still open, but

he hadn't had a customer since Rom needed his new

hat. Several of the restaurants had closed, and most of

the stores were closed as well. No one even wandered

the Promenade, as if just moving around the station

made a person vulnerable to disease.

    Quark rubbed his ear again. All of this worry was

making him break out. And of course, it would

happen on the most sensitive spot on his body.

    He heard a clang above him and he glanced up. Nog

came out of the first holosuite, a bucket in his left

hand. He set the bucket down, scratched his ear, and

then picked up the bucket. Quark felt cold.

    He turned and leaned toward the mirror behind the

bar. It wasn't a pimple that he was scratching. He

hadn't broken out since he was a young Ferengi just

hitting puberty. He leaned closer. The reddened area

on his left ear looked more like... a blister.

  "Nog!" he shouted.

    "Coming, uncle," Nog said. He clanged all the way

down the stairs. Quark had had to look all over his

quarters to find a bucket, but when he had found one,

he gave it to Nog with the instruction that the boy

scrub the entire bar, including the holosuites. It was

just a way to keep him out of the way for a while, so

that Quark could think. Quark had hoped he would

come up with ways to save the business, but that hope

had been in vain.

      Nog reached the bottom of the stairs. He set the

bucket down, and absently scratched his ear again.

  Quark's eyes narrowed. "Come here, Nog."

    Nog looked up. He came toward the bar, and

smiled at Quark. When he reached the edge of the bar,

Quark grabbed him and pulled him close. Nog's smile

faded.

  "Turn your head," Quark said.

  Nog did.

  "Not that way. The other way."

  Nog looked in the other direction. Sure enough,

there was a reddish spot on Nog's right ear. A reddish

spot that was swollen and had a pus-filled tip. A

blister.

    "You little grubworm!" Quark said. "I should have

known better than to use my earbrush after you

touched it."

  "What?" Nog asked. "What did I do?"

    "Your filthy hands had germs on them from your

father's ear infection, and you touched my brush and

you spread those germs to me. And now I'm in agony.

Look!" He turned his ear toward Nog and leaned

toward Nog's face. Nog grimaced and strained back-

wards, but didn't get very far because Quark was

holding him.

  "I'm sorry, uncle. I didn't mean to--"

    "You didn't mean to. Your father didn't mean to.

You're an entire family of Ferengi who have no idea

how to take responsibility for anything. Well, ! do."

Quark shoved Nog backwards. "Get your father."

  "What for?"

  "Just get him."

  "Don't fire him, uncle. You're all we have."

    "Yes," Quark said. "I am reminded of that sad fact

daily. Now get him."

    Nog backed out of the bar, bumping into a chair,

then turned and ran for their quarters. Quark leaned

across the polished surface and stared at all the empty

tables. No customers. No latinurn. And an ear infec-

tion spread by his careless brother. And that hunch of

Quark's was still playing.

 Things were going to get worse.

    Nog came out of the quarters, dragging Rom by the

hand. Rom was trying to shove his hat over his head.

Quark came out from behind the bar, plucked off the

hat and threw it over his shoulder.

 "But brother," Rom said. "The customers!"

    "Are you seeing customers?" Quark asked. "Be-

cause if you are, then there's more wrong with you

than that ear infection."

    Rom glanced around, his movements jerkier than

usual, like they always were when he was nervous. "If

there are no customers, then why did you have Nog

come to get me?"

    "Because," Quark said, "you've managed to infect

all three of us through your carelessness."

    "I thought you said it was my carelessness," Nog

said.

    "It was both of you!" Quark snapped. "Now come

with me."

    He took them both by the hands and dragged them

out of the bar.

 "Where are we going?" Rom asked.

    "To the medical lab," Quark said. "We're going to

get this solved."

    "But they have dying patients," Rom said. "Why

would they help us?"

 "Because we have latinum," Quark said.

 "Dr. Narat doesn't take latinum," Rom said.

 "And you know this how?" Quark asked.

    "When we first arrived, I wasn't sleeping. I went to

him for--"

    "For what?" Quark stopped in the middle of the

Promenade. It was empty.

  "For--for a sleeping draught."

    "A sleeping draught. And you offered Dr. Narat

latinum."

    "Of course," Rom said. "That's how business is

done."

 He seemed so proud of himself.

 "And he didn't charge you anything?"

    "No," Rom said. "He gave me something to help

me sleep and then he laughed when I offered him

latinurn, and said that Cardassians don't take pay-

ments from Ferengi."

 "Well, that's a blatant lie," Quark said.

    "Is there a point to this, uncle?" Nog asked. He

stared down at Quark's hand, which was wrapped

around his wrist.

 "A point to what?" Quark asked.

 "This conversation about latinurn?"

    "Not really," Quark said. "Except that I was won-

dering where my brother was going to get the latinum

to pay the good doctor."

    "Well, you said that we should make ourselves at

home. I figured you wouldn't mind that I was going to

take care of myself."

    "You figured. You figured. Just like you figured this

boil on your ear would go away?"

    "It's just an infection, brother, caused by the

drinks."

    "It's an infection that your carelessness has spread.

And we're going to stop it." Quark dragged them

down the hall. The stench coming from the medical

area was stronger than he had expected. He had been

smelling the rot for a week now and ignoring it, like he

did in butcher shops on Ferenginar, but here it was

nearly impossible to ignore.

  "I don't think I'm going in there," Rom said.

    "Yeah," Nog said. "They probably won't have time

for us."

    "They'll probably be happy to have something they

can solve," Quark said with more bravado than he

felt. If his ear didn't itch so badly that he wanted to

scratch it off the side of his head, he wouldn't go into

that place either. But he couldn't stand itching, espe-

cially on as sensitive a place as his ear.

    He shoved Rom and Nog ahead of him, and the

door to the medical lab opened. The smell was even

worse. A hundred voices moaned.

 Rom shook his head. "Brother, I--"

    And Quark pushed him forward. Nog followed him

in, and then Quark brought up the rear.

    "Whatever it is," Dr. Narat said as he passed, "it

will have to wait."

 "It can't wait," Quark said.

 "Are you dying?"

 "No."

    "Then it can wait." And Narat disappeared

through a door.

    "See?" Rom said. "We have to wait. Which means

we should leave."

    Quark caught him by the sleeve. Quark wasn't too

happy about being here either--he'd never been in a

room filled with green Cardassians beforerebut he

wasn't about to leave now. For one thing, he might

never make it back. And then he'd have to scratch

until his ear bled, and the infection would grow

worse, and his lobes wouldm

    He couldn't allow himself to follow that train of

thought. He shuddered and headed toward the office.

    "I wouldn't go in there," a human woman said. She

had long dark hair and beautiful eyes.

 "Who are you?" Quark asked.

  ~Alyssa Ogawa," she said. "I'm helping here."

  "We have a problem, and it needs some attention."

  "Let rne see what I can do," she said.

    She slipped through the office door, and Rom

turned to Qtmrk. "She's beautiful, brother."

    "She's hu-man, Brother," Quark said. "You can't

trust a hu-man."

  "Ah, but you can look at them," Rom said.

    "Women are not your strong suit," Quark said.

"Stop thinking about her."

    She came out the door with Kellec Ton. He looked

exhausted. "I don't have much time," he said. "What

do you need?"

    Quark leaned forward, pointing to his ear. "Look at

this. Look at this. My brother got--"

    "Couldn't this have waited?" Kellec Ton asked.

"We have a real crisis here."

  "We know and we're sorry," Rom said. "We'll leave

nOW?'

    Quark pulled him closer. "No, we won't." He

~anced around the room. "I admit, our problem is

nothing like theirs--" and he shuddered a little at the

very thought "--but it is uncomfortable."

    "You can live with discomfort," Ketlec Ton said.

"Now, if you'll excuse me."

    "No," Quark said. "I won't. Don't you understand?

This itches."

    "And I'm very sorry," Kellec said. He was holding

the door like it was a lifeline. "But I don't have

time---"

    "These are our ears," Quark said, his voice going

up. "It would be like you getting an infection on

your--"

    "Brother!" Rom said, breathless with shock. "Re*

member Nog."

    "I know about their---" Nog started to say, but

Rom clapped a hand over his mourn

    "I'm sure the good doctor will help us when he has

time," Rom said. "Now let's go."

    Ketlec Ton let out a small laugh and shook his head.

"All right," he said. "You made your poinL l.e,t me

look at that."

    He bent down and turned on a sma[[, handhold

light. "IFs an infe, ction all right," he said, looking at

Quark's ear. Then he examined Nog's and then

Rom's. *'And it's deafly transmittable, probab~y

through the pus. Let me give you some antibacterial

cream that should ease the itching and clear this right

up."

 "Thank you," Quark said.

 "Yes," Rom said. "Thank you very much."

    The doctor went into the office, and rummaged

through a drawer. Rom teav~ed over to Quark. "1 still

think we shouldn't have bothered him."

    "Shut up," Quark sat& "We're getting help, aren't

we?"

    "Yes," Rom said. "But he's right. There are people

dying here?

    Quark nodded. He had to admit that he did agree

with Rom, but for entirely different reasons. He

wished they hadn't come here. Before it had seemed

entirely personal. The Cardassians got sick a~d no

one came to the bar. But it wasn't personal. In fact, it

was so impersonal that it hurt. No one came to the bar

because everyone was afraid of this---turning green,

scaly, and the stench! And then dying.

    Quark shuddered. He would have to start planning

his future, a future that didn't include Terok Nor. He

wasn't sure what he'd do, because once the word got

out that Terok Nor was the site of a plague, Quark

wouldn't be able to work anywhere--at least not have

a bar. Customers didn't like hearing about contagious

diseases in their bartender's past.

    "Here you go," Kellec said, placing a tube in

Quark's hand. "Follow the instructions. Your prob-

lems should ease by the end of the day."

    "Thank you," Quark said. "We didn't mean to

interrupt. If we had known--"

    "No," Kellec said. "It's all right. You did me a

favor. You reminded me that there's an entire uni-

verse out there. Even if things on Terok Nor and

Bajor..." He shook his head. "Anyway. I needed to

remember that life does go on."

  "Yes, it does," Rom said. "And--"

  Quark kicked him. He shut up.

    "We do appreciate it," Nog said. "We won't bother

you again." He scurried for the door. Quark followed

a bit more slowly, the tube cool against his right hand.

He was staring at the Cardassians on the beds and

makeshift cots. He recognized a number of them, had

served them drinks, listened to their problems. And

they would all be gone soon, if something didn't

change.

    He sighed and slipped outside, where Rom and Nog

were waiting for him.

    "Well, brother," Rom said. "You did the right

thing. Now all we have to do is apply that cream to

our ears--"

 "No," Quark said. 'Tll apply it to my ears, and I'll

give you your own dab of it. I'm not touching any-

thing you touch ever again. Is that clear?"

  "Perfectly," Rom said.

"Does this mean I get your earbrush?" Nog asked.

Quark stared at him for a moment, and then he

sighed, unwilling to fight them anymore. "I guess it

does," he said.

Chapter Sixteen

NEARLY TWENTY-FOUR HOURS without sleep. Pulaski

felt it in the grit of her eyes, the sluggishness in her

arms and legs. She had pulled all-nighters hundreds of

times from college on, and she'd hated each and every

one of them. Of course, she had to admit that this one

she didn't mind, because the work needed to be done.

    She bent over the culture she had been working on.

She took a dropper and placed a small sample of

solution on it, then glanced at the screen. Narat stood

beside her. They watched as the solution moved

through the viral cells, destroying them. It left all the

other cells alone.

  "I think we've got it," Narat said.

    Part of it, anyway, Pulaski thought--but didn't

add. She and Kellec hadn't told Narat about Virus B

and Virus C and how that discovery had led them to

this formula, which might actually be a cure. Kellec

was testing a slightly different form of solution on

Virus B, although what she and Kellec had told Narat

was that Kellec was merely doing a double check.

    Narat trusted them. He hadn't looked too closely at

either experiment.

    "The next step is to use test subjects," Pulaski said.

She wiped a hand over her forehead. "But we don't

have any."

 "Just the patients," Narat said.

    "I hate injecting an untried solution into some-

one," Pulaski said.

    "I have to agree with Narat on this one, Katherine,"

Kellec said. "They're going to die anyway. We have to

see if we can stop it."

    She nodded. She knew. She had done the same

several times in crisis situations, the last time on the

Enterprise. But each time her scientist's brain warned

that one day they would inject the wrong substance

into the wrong patient, and that that patient would

die too soon.

    "Why don't you and Narat try the Cardassians?"

Kellec said. 'TII try the Bajorans."

    "It might not work on one group or the other,"

Narat said.

    "We'll deal with that when it happens," Pulaski

said. She took a deep breath. "Let's at least try a

couple of patients before we inject everyone."

    Narat nodded. "That much caution I can accept.

Let's take three: one who is nearly gone, one in the

middle of the disease, and one at the beginning."

     "Get Edgar to help you find the patients," Pulaski

 said. "And Alyssa is among the Bajorans."

  She sat down. Something was bothering her about

 the cure, she wasn't sure what. But it would come to

 her. Eventually.

    Kellec was working among the Bajorans, moving

beds so that they were closer to the office, injecting

hypospray on the three patients. In the cultures, the

results had happened quickly. Pulaski wasn't sure

what would happen in an actual body.

Narat was doing the same with the Cardassians.

Ogawa looked excited. A strand of hair had fallen

from her neat bun, and she was smiling for the first

time since they had reached Terok Nor.

    Governo seemed solemn. He probably wasn't cer-

tain this would work. The entire trip had been hard

on him--first-time away missions often were for

medical personnel, and this one was particularly

difficult. Failure here would be worse than anything

any of them had ever faced before, except Pulaski,

and right now even she would be hard-pressed to

remember an occasion worse than this.

      Kellec finished with his few patients and sat down

beside her. "How long do you think this will take?"

  "If we're lucky, twenty minutes," she said.

    They both knew what would happen if they were

unlucky. They watched Narat work with the Cardas,.

sians.

    "If this works," Kellec said, "it's only going to work

on the virus. People will still catch it."

    "I know." He had put his finger on what had been

bothering her. "Maybe, though, it'll be like catching a

cold--not anything to worry about."

    "Maybe," he said. "But it bothers me that we

haven't found how this thing incubates. You know

how pernicious viruses are."

     She did. Viruses mutated, often after medicine was

introduced. She shivered. "Don't even think it."

  "I have to," he said. "I'm worried."

    "Dr. Kellec?" Nurse Ogawa called from the Ba-

joran section. "You need to come here."

    Kellec cursed. "It backfired. We should have known

better than to try this untested--"

    Pulaski put her hand on his arm. "Shhh. You're

jumping to conclusions."

    They both went into the next room. The patient

nearest the door, a young Bajoran girl, looked tired,

her skin sallow. She sat up, with a hand on her head.

"I'm hungry," she said with a bit of surprise.

    Pulaski opened her tricorder and ran it over the

girl. There wasn't a trace of the virus in her system.

Kellec was confirming the information on the biobed

readouts.

  "She's cured," Pulaski said.

He examined the readings another time.

"Which one was she?" Pulaski asked Ogawa.

"The least sick," Ogawa said. Her smile had grown

bigger. "And look, the next is losing some of that

healthy color."

    How odd that they were celebrating the fact that

their patients were looking less healthy, but it was

part of the disease to look that way. And part of the

cure to go back to the way they had looked before,

when they were subjected to all the difficulties of

Terok Nor.

    "Katherine," Kellec said softly. "We did it." And

then he flung his arms around her, pulling her close.

"We did it!"

  She hugged him back and let him dance her around

 the room. Finally, she put a hand on his arm. "Kellec,

 we have a lot of people to inject with this cure."

     "Yes," he said. "You make up a large batch, and I'll

 get going on injections."

     "I'11 take some down to Crystal in the Bajoran

 section," Ogawa mid.

     "Help her down there," Kellec said. "She'll need

 it."

     Ogawa smiled and left. Pulaski went into the office.

 The Bajorans were cured, but she didn't know about

 the Cardassians. Her heart stopped when she saw

 Narat.

    He was standing over a bed, his hands covering his

face, his body so hunched that he looked as if he were

in pain.

    "My god," she whispered. What had saved the

Bajorans had killed the Cardassians. And she had

been so careful to make sure they had the slightly

different injection.

      She went to the other room and put a hand on

Narat's shoulder. He was shaking.  "Narat?" she asked.

    He raised his head. "I didn't think we'd--I didn't

think--Look!" He pointed down. The Cardassian on

the bed, whom Pulaski recognized as one of the

guards, was his usual gray. His scales still flaked, but

they didn't look as irritated as they had. And his eyes

were bright.

    She ran her tricorder over him as well. The virus

was gone.

    "Narat," she said. "You gave me quite a scare. I

thought it hadn't worked."

    "Oh, but it did, Dr. Pulaski. Thanks to you, we're

all going to survive."

    "I think we all had a part in it," she said. She put an

arm around him and felt him lean against her. He

wasn't a Cardassian to her anymore. He was simply a

fellow doctor who had given up hope and didn't know

what to do now that hope had been restored.

    "Edgar," she said to Governo. "Start injecting our

Cardassian patients. Dr. Narat will help you in a

moment."

    Governo nodded. He took the hypospray out of

Narat's shaking hands. Pulaski led him into the office

and helped him to a chair.

  "I should be helping," he said. "I shouldw"

    "You have enough to do," she said. "Edgar can

handle things for the moment."

    Narat looked at her. "What do you mean I have

enough to do?"

    "You need to reach Gul Dukat," she said. "We have

to get this cure to Bajor." It was time to explain one

thing to him. Otherwise nothing would work. She

crouched. "Narat, I made a slightly different antidote

for the Cardassians than for the Bajorans. It had to

take into account the differences in physiology. I was

afraid the Bajoran cure would make the Cardassians

sick."

    "It worked," he said, and she let out a small sigh of

relief. He didn't ask any more questions.

    "I'm going to continue to make up batches of the

antidotes," she said. "The Cardassian version will be

in the blue vials."

    He nodded. Then he took a deep breath. "I didn't

expect to react this way. I've never reacted like

this--"

    "Have you ever been faced with something like this

before?"

 He shook his head.

    "Then give yourself a moment," she said. "Doctors

have feelings too, even though we pretend not to."

    She stood. Governo was injecting Cardassians all

over the medical section. It was nice to see two of

them back to their normal gray. The other test case

wasn't bright green either. His skin color was a

greenish gray that she assumed would become gray in

a short period of time.

    Kellec was smiling as he worked his way through

the Bajorans. She had forgotten how good-looking he

was when he smiled.

    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Narat stand.

He went to the console and pressed a section with his

palm. Dukat appeared on the small screen.

"I have good news," Narat said. "We found a cure."

Dukat closed his eyes and turned his head. Pulaski

moved so that she could watch the entire interaction

without being seen. Dukat let out a breath and then

seemed to regain control of himself. He again faced

the screen.

    "If we move quickly," Narat said, ignoring Dukat's

reaction, "we can save every life."

    "Then what are you talking to me for?" Dukat said.

"Do it."

 "I don't just mean on the station," Narat said.

    Dukat sucked in his breath. Pulaski threaded her

fingers together. This was the key point.

    "We need to get the information to Bajor, and

Cardassia Prime, in case the plague gets there. The

faster we do it, the better off we'll be."

    "Can they manufacture this antidote themselves or

must we make it for them?"

 "Both," Narat said. "Some areas may not have

anyone with the skills. I figure we take care of Terok

Nor first and then send supplies to the planet below.

Before that, though, I'll need to send the information

to both planets."

    "All right," Dukat said. He looked visibly relieved.

"Is there anything else?"

    Narat shook his head, but Pulaski stepped forward,

and put her hand on his arm. "If I might intrude,

Gul," she said.

     Dukat looked surprised to see her. So, in truth, did

Narat. He had apparently forgotten she was there.

 "Did you find the antidote?" Dukat asked.

 "All three of us did," she said.

    "We wouldn't have found it without her," Narat

said. "She brought a fresh perspective to the work."

    Dukat ternpied his fingers and rested the tips

against his mouth. He was contemplating her through

the screen. It made her as uncomfortable as he had

when they first met.

    "We have found the cure for the virus," she said,

"but we don't know how long the virus incubates.

People will still catch it, until we figure out a way to

stop it before the symptoms appear."

 "But they won't die?" Dukat asked.

 She nodded. "They will no longer die."

 "Good. Then what do you need?"

    "This is a designer virus," she said. "Someone

made it. If we could find out where it first appeared,

then we might be able to find who created it. Or at

least, figure out how it is transmitted in its nonviral

state."

    "I'm afraid I'm not a doctor," Dukat said. "I didn't

follow that."

    "You see," Pulaski started, but Narat put his hand

on her arm.

    "The virus has several stages," Narat said. "We've

caught it in all but the first stage. We're looking for

that one still. If we find that one, we can prevent this

virus from ever infecting us again."

 "So what do you need from me?" Dukat asked.

    "Permission to search for the source of the virus,"

Pulaski said.

 "And you believe that it's on Bajor?" Dukat asked.

    "I believe nothing," she said. "It could easily be

here. But we must cover all of our bases."

    "/believe it is on Bajor," Dukat said. "I believe the

Bajorans infected themselves so that they could pass

the disease onto us. They just didn't realize how lethal

it would be."

    "In my experience of the Bajoran people," Pulaski

said, "I have never seen such behavior. It violates all

of their beliefs2'

    "Forgive me, Doctor," Dukat said, "but your expe-

rience of the Bajoran people is of one rather eccentric

Bajoran doctor."

    "It seems you haven't read my file as carefully as I

thought you had," Pulaski said.

     Dukat shrugged. "I will not give you or your

assistants permission to go to Bajor."

"If we find the source--"

     "I said, I will not give your people permission to go

to Bajor. I'm bending the rules to allow you here."

  She took a deep breath. "It's important--"

    "I understand that," Dukat said. "Narat will send a

Cardassian team to Bajor in the next day or two. That

will suffice."

 No, it wouldn't. It wouldn't suffice at all. They

would be looking for the wrong things. They would be

looking for proof of Dukat's theory, that the Bajorans

started this disease.

    "I think an impartial observer would be best," she

said.

    "And we have none, as you have just indicated,

Doctor. You and your people seem closer to the

Bajorans than I'm comfortable with." He smiled at

her. "I am very pleased with your work so far. Don't

spoil it."

    Narat's grip on her arm was firm. "We'll do what

you say, Gul Dukat," Narat said. 'TII have a team

ready."

    "Good. Prepare my announcement. I want to send

those messages to Bajor and Cardassia Prime within

the hour," Dukat said. Narat nodded.

    "One more thing," Dukat said. "I don't mean to

sound insensitive." He paused and as he did, Kellec

entered the room, but remained outside of Dukat's

sight range. "But I am getting pressure about the

decreased ore production. When do you believe we

can get our Bajorans back to work?"

    The question was directed at Narat, but Pulaski felt

herself start to answer. Narat's fingers dug so hard

into her arm that she nearly cried out in pain.

"A few days," Narat said.

    "A few days is a long time, Narat," Dukat said.

"We're already disastrously far behind."

    Narat smiled. "Look at it this way," he said. "Just

an hour ago, you were worried about surviving. Now

you're worried about your future. Things have im-

proved."

    Dukat laughed. "So they have," he said, and signed

off.

    "Cardassian dog!" Kellec said, closing the door

behind him. "All they think about is how much slave

labor they can get out of us."

 Narat stiflened beside Pulaski.

    "Not all of them, Kellec," Pulaski said gently.

"Narat has a different perspective."

    "If you had a different perspective," Kellec said,

"you wouldn't have made that promise."

    "And what would you have had me do?" Narat

said. "Tell him nothing and let him make the deci-

sion?"

    They stared at each other for a moment. Finally,

Kellec looked away. "Katherine," he said, "I need

more of the antidote. I'm going to help with the work

below."

 "You've finished here?"

 "For now," he said.

    She nodded. "I have a batch already made up. I'll

have another by the time you get back."

    He picked up the vials she indicated, and then

shook his head. "If there weren't lives at stake, I

wonder if I would be doing this. I certainly don't

want to be the agent that forces our people back

into slave labor." And then he left himself out the

door.

    "He talks a big game," Pulaski said. "But he'll do

what's right."

 Narat nodded. "He's a good doctor."

    They were both silent for a moment and then

Pulaski said, "I'm afraid I don't think a Cardassian

team will do us any good."

"It's all you're going to get," Narat said. "We can be

impartial, you know."

    She didn't know that. She didn't believe it either.

That comment Gul Dukat made had angered her as

well. She hadn't realized that she was closer to Kel-

lec's beliefs than Narat's. But she said nothing. She

made herself smile at him. "Well, then," she said, "I

guess we have work to do."

    "Good work," Narat said. "We're back in the

business of saving lives."

    "Thank heavens," Pulaski said. She wasn't sure

how much more death she could take.

Chapter Seventeen

THE STENCH IN THE BAJORAN SECTION seemed worse

than it had just a few hours before. Kellec entered the

main corridor. The nightmare he had alleviated

above still existed down here, the sick people all over

the floors, the awful moaning, the heightened skin

color. He wished it all would end.

    He was carrying his kit with him. In the mess area,

Ogawa and Marvig were inoculating the sickest pa-

tients first. Bajorans who had no symptoms or who

had very few were helping find the sickest patients

and getting them treatment first. It looked like an

efficient system and Kellec wasn't going to interfere

with it.

    Instead, he went as far from that area as he could, to

a room he wasn't even supposed to know existed. The

Cardassian guards never came here; they thought it

was a supply closet, not knowing that the Bajorans

had long ago taken over the closet and made it a base.

    There were sick people lining the corridors here,

too. He bent over the nearest person--a young man,

barely into puberty, and gave him a hypospray. It

didn't take long for an older man to crouch beside

him.

 "Kellec," the man said.

 "Rashan," Kellec said. "Is Ficen Dobat still well?"

 "Well enough," Rashan said.

 "Could you find him for me?"

    Rashan nodded and disappeared down the corri-

dor. Kellec went from patient to patient, inoculating

each one, working as fast as he could. Soon he would

have to go back to the med lab to get more of the

antidote. He wasn't sure how he could look at Narat.

    Katherine was right, of course. Narat was a good

man who did what he could within the system. But

Kellec believed a man should do more than "what he

could within the system." If the system was flawed, a

man had to work outside it. But Kellec said nothing to

Narat. It would do no good.

    Katherine didn't know that yet. Kellec wished he

had arrived at the office just moments earlier. He had

been too far away when he saw her step near the

monitor. He had hurried to the office and held the

door open ever so slightly, hearing her every word.

    If only she had spoken to him first, perhaps Dukat

might not have noticed if she disappeared off the

station for a while. Kellec might have been able to

smuggle her to Bajor, for her and her crew to witness

the horrible conditions on the planet. Dukat would

never agree to that. And Kellec wished Katharine

hadn't told him her suspicions--all of their suspi-

cions actually--that the disease had originated on

Bajor.

    Dukat chose to look at that as a sign that the

Bajorans were infecting themselves so that they could

make the Cardassians ill. But Katherine was right; the

majority of Bajorans would find such a practice

abhorrent. Though there were deviants in every

group--he'd met a few in the resistance--they were

always dealt with by the group leader. The crazies

never got the upper hand.

    No. Kellec understood what had happened. It was

subtle and it was scary. The Cardassians had planted

the virus, just as he had always suspected, and had

done it on Bajor to make sure it would look like the

Bajorans had created the disease. He found it suspi-

cious that the disease hadn't made its way to Cardas-

sia Prime. It was just like the Cardassians--but not

the Bajorans--to sacrifice a few of their people for the

good of all of them. If only he could get to Bajor, or if

he could get someone there he could trust, he would

be able to prove this.

    At least Katherine had seen Dukat's true colors. He

wasn't worried about losing Bajorans. He was worried

about the drop in production. If Terok Nor failed to

meet its quotas, Dukat could lose his comfortable

position. And once the threat of death was removed,

that was all he cared about.

    He had moved far from the corridor he had started

in. He was almost out of the antidote. He would have

to go back to the medical lab in a moment. He

couldn't stall much longer. He didn't see any Cardas-

sian guards, but he couldn't assume that there weren't

any. The Cardassians would leave guards down here

until they were all dead. There just weren't as many as

usual, because the sickness had depleted the Cardas-

sian ranks as well.

    Kellec stood and put a hand against his back. The

moaning had quieted, and a few of the patients were

looking brighter-eyed than they had a short time

before. He smiled. At least he had been able to do this.

His work rarely gave him satisfaction anymore--he

was always repairing wounds that would never hap-

pen if the Cardassians didn't occupy Bajor--but this

did satisfy him. Just that morning, he had thought

everyone on Terok Nor would die. Everyone but

Katherine, her team, and those silly Ferengi.

    Rashan reappeared, silently, a talent of his. He put

his hand on Kellec's shoulder. "Is there anything I can

do?" he asked.

    "Check on the patients near the area where I

started," KeUec said.

    Rashan nodded. As he passed, he said under his

breath, "There are three Cardassian guards at the

mouth of the corridor. Have a care." And then he was gone.

    Kellec resisted looking in the direction Rashan had

indicated. Instead, he examined his kit to see how

much more antidote he had. Enough to stall for a few

more minutes.

    But he wouldn't have to. As he looked, he realized

that someone was standing beside him. He turned,

and found himself face to face with Ficen Dobat.

    "I understand you need a bit of help," Ficen said.

He was a small man, the kind who disappeared easily

in a crowd. Even when he was noticed, most people

couldn't describe him well--a Bajoran of average

height, brown hair, brown eyes, not very remarkable.

But Ficen was remarkable. He currently led the

resistance on Terok Nor, and he frequently accom-

plished the impossible.

  Kellec smiled. "We found an antidote."

    "Not a moment too soon," Ficen said. "We've

already lost some good people."

    They crouched near the kit. Kellec found a second

hypospray and pretended to fill it. He didn't dare let

Ficen use it--the man was untrained--but if those

Cardassians poked their heads in this corridor, it

would look as if he were helping Kellec.

"I have a favor to ask," Kellec said.

    "Anything," Ficen said. "You've saved us, once

again."

    "Remember that when I make this request," Kellec

said.

 Ficen frowned.

     "I need someone to go to Bajor for me. I need to

find the source of this disease." "The source?"

 "Where it was first reported."

 "And you think that was on Bajor?"

    Kellec met Ficen's gaze. "I need to know, to clear

this completely from all of us."

    "Our people--" Ficen began, but Kellec held up a

hand.

    "I think the Cardass'runs started this and tried to

make it look like we did it," Kellec said. "That prob-

ably means it started in a resistance cell somewhere,

probably a place that's fairly centrally located."

    "No resistance cell could be infiltrated by the

Cardassians," Ficen said.

 "Are you implying that we did this, just like the

Cardassians say?. Do we have cells that desperate?"

Kellec said.

    Ficen frowned. "Desperate times call for desperate

measures."

    "But this?" Kellec said. "Surely we wouldn't do

this." He swept his hand over the corridor.

    Ficen shook his head. "Of course not," he said.

"But we know what it's like here, and it's easy even

for us to contemplate the idea. Imagine how easy it is

for the Cardassians."

    "The ones who aren't already in the know," Kellec

said.

    Ficen sighed. "I don't think sending one of our

people there is a good idea."

    "I don't see any other choice," Kellec said. "Dukat

is sending a team of his own to Bajor to investigate

this. You know what he'll find."

    Ficen cursed. "If they believe we did this, they'll

retaliate."

    "That's why we need real information, gathered by

our own people." Kellec glanced over his shoulder.

No guards so far. "But it has to be people we can

trust."

 Ficen nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

 "Not good enough," Kellec said.

    Ficen stood and handed the hypospray back to

Kellec. "All right then," he said. "I'll let you know as

soon as our team leaves Terok Nor."

 Kellec smiled. "That's better," he said.

Chapter Eighteen

KIRA WAS VIOLATING HER AGREEMENT with Odo, but she

had to. Ever since she had heard that a representative

of the Federation was on Terok Nor, she'd been trying

to figure out a way to make contact. And if Odo's

report was accurate, she had to do so quickly. She had

been exposed to the virus, and didn't have a lot of

time left before she would have to seek out medical

attention. She had heard that Kellec and his team had

found a cure to the disease, but only after sonleone

already had symptoms.

  She wasn't looking forward to that.

    She was in the habitat ring, near the quarters

assigned to newcomers. It had taken her most of the

evening to find where their rooms were located; she

couldn't ask anyone, and her computer skills, while

good, weren't good enough to find all of the alarm

triggers the Cardassians had built into the system.

    The only thing she had working for her was that as

many Cardassians were sick as Bajorans. There were

very few guards, and the ones she had seen were more

preoccupied with the state of their own good health

than with keeping an eye on Bajorans. Kira made sure

she was wearing tattered old clothes, and she kept her

hair tousled, so that she looked as if she were strug-

gling-either with ore production or keeping her

family alive somewhere.

    She was struggling; that much was true. All of her

contacts here were either ill or dying. She still hadn't

found Ficen and she didn't know how to ask for him.

Most of the Bajorans in the Bajoran section were

preoccupied with their own families; they couldn't

keep track of anything else.

    Since she had arrived, she had been uneasy, fright-

ened. She wished she could see Kellec Ton, but that

was clearly becoming impossible. She thought of

approaching the Federation assistants who were

working in the Bajoran section. She had even come

close to them once, close enough to overhear their

discussions and to realize they weren't in charge of

this mission. They were all on their first assignment

outside Federation space, and were as baffled by it all

as new recruits always were when brought into their

first resistance cell.

    No. She was in this corridor because she had no

other choice. She hoped no one had found her tracks

yet in the computer system. She had looked up several

things, just in case someone was trying to find her,

and had buried her request among half a dozen

others. She figured it would give her time.

    It had also given her the access code to the visitors'

quarters' door. She hoped the Federation doctor

wasn't paranoid enough to change her locks when she

arrived. This would be the test.

    Kira moved away from the wall and turned to the

door. She punched the access override code into the

1ockmand heard the door shush open. One more step

completed.

    The quarters were dark. Apparently the doctor

liked to sleep in total blackness. Kira stood com-

pletely still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust.

  They did.

    She listened, and heard deep, even breathing from

the next room.

    This was her first opportunity with the Federation

doctor. The woman hadn't come to her quarters until

very late. As Kira's eyes got used to the light, she saw

clothing scattered on a nearby chair. Kira had heard

that the woman had been awake for thirty-five hours

straight. When she got to the room, she probably

couldn't wait to get to sleep.

    Well, Kira had no choice but to interrupt that sleep.

She knew the layout of the quarters. It was like all

others in this side of the habitat ring: a large main

room, with a sleeping room to the right, replicators

and the bathroom to the left. Kira slipped into the

bedroom, and said softly, "Computer, low-level am-

bient light."

    She wasn't sure if that gambit would work, but it

did. Apparently the computer was programmed in the

guest quarters to accept commands from any voice.

The lights came up just a little, relieving the complete

darkness and adding a very faint golden glow to the

room.

 The bed was in the center of everything. The

woman who had been sleeping there was older than

Kira had expected, and she wasn't particularly beauti-

ful-which struck Kira as odd. With Kellec Ton's

natural charm and good looks, she would have as-

sumed he would have found a gorgeous mate. Appar-

ently he was attracted to nice-looking women with a

lot of brains.

    "Who're you?" the womanmPulaski, wasn't it?-

asked. She was amazingly calm, given that she had

just awakened to find a stranger in her bedchamber.

    "My name doesn't matter," Kira said. "And I don't

have a lot of time, so please listen to me."

    Pulaski sat up in bed, adjusted the blankets around

her, and pushed brown hair out of her eyes. "Comput-

er," she said, as if Kira hadn't spoken, "how long have

I been asleep?"

"One hour, three minutes, and forty-five seconds."

She sighed and leaned her head against the head-

board. "One hour, three minutes, and forty-five sec-

onds. I was hoping for at least two hours." She looked

up at Kira. "This had better be good."

    "I would like you to come with me to Bajor," Kira

said.

    Pulaski frowned, just a little. "I've already been

through this with GUl Dukat. I'm afraid I can't leave

the station."

      "He doesn't have to know," Kira said. "I'll smuggle

you down there and I'll bring you back." 

"How is that possible?" Pulaski asked.

    "I was on Bajor just two days ago. There are ways,"

Kira said. Her hands were damp. She was nervous. "I

understand you've found a cure. They don't need you

up here right now--"

    "On the contrary," Pulaski said. "They do need

me. The cure is only effective if someone is sympto-

matic. That means this disease can still spread all

over the quadrant because we haven't found a way to

take care of it in its incubation phases."

    "But that's not urgent," Kira said. "Taking you to

Bajor is."

    "And why is that?" Pulaski asked. "We've already

sent them the formula for the antidote, and we're

sending some live cure down in shuttles. I'm not

needed."

    "You are," Kira said. "Not as a doctor. As an

observer. We've been trying to get Federation repre-

sentatives to Bajor for a long time, to see the condi-

tions the Cardassians have imposed on us during the

Occupation. Please. I'll take you to a few places, and

we can do it quickly. No one will know you're gone.

There are rumors of Federation negotiations with

the Cardassians. We--"

 Pulaski held up her hand. "I'm sorry," she said.

    "No." Kira clenched her fists. "I won't take no for

an answer. I won't. We need you."

    Pulaski closed her eyes for a moment, then leaned

her head back. It seemed as if she were making a

decision. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at

Kira.

    "Now it's your turn to listen to me," Pulaski said

softly. "The Cardassians didn't want us here. We had

to agree to a lot of terms before we could arrive."

    "One of them was turning your back on Bajoran

suffering?" Kira asked.

    "That's not fair," Pulaski said. "We're here because

of Bajoran suffering."

    "And Cardassian. I guess those rumors were cor-

rect. You are working with the Cardassians."

    Pulaski shook her head. "I am here as a consultant

on this disease only. I have strict orders to stay out of

the political fights. In fact, I have to."

    "Have to." Kira took a step forward. How many

times had she heard that argument before? "Of

course. You have to. So you won't see the atrocities

being committed under your nose. So that you have

deniability."

    "I didn't say that." Somehow Pulaski's voice was

still calm... what would it take to get this woman

riled up? "What I did say was that in order to come

here, we had to agree to terms. Or we wouldn't have

been able to come at all."

"What does that have to do with me?" Kira said.

"Everything." Pulaski got out of bed. She was

wearing a nightshirt, and her feet were bare. She

grabbed a robe from her suitcase. She apparently

hadn't even had time to unpack. "If the Cardassians

find out that I was meeting with a Bajoran in my

quarters, I would be reprimanded at best."

    "You're afraid of a reprimand from Gul Dukat?"

Kira couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice.

    Pulaski shook her head. "One of the terms we

agreed to was that if one of my team got caught

spying--or there was a suspicion of spyingrowe

would all be killed."

"That's traditional Cardassian rhetoric," Kira said.

"You don't believe they'd do it?" Pulaski asked.

"Oh, they would if they caught you. But right now

they're not going to catch anyone. So many of the

Cardassians are sick, and those that aren't are con-

cerned about staying well. It's a perfect scenario. Like

I said, they won't miss you."

    Pulaski's smile was small. "I wish I had your

confidence in that. But I'm responsible for three other

lives, and I'm not willing to risk them."

    "How Starfleet of you," Kira said. "Your lives are

so much more important than ours."

    "You have quite a temper, don't you?" Pulaski

asked.

  Kira felt a flush build.

    "It prevents you from seeing clearly." Pulaski took

a step closer to Kira. They weren't that far apart now.

Pulaski was slightly taller, but Kira was in better

shape. She could kidnap the lady doctor and get her

on that shuttle with no trouble at all. 

"I see clearly enough," Kira said.

    "Then you understand why I don't risk my team,"

Pulaski said.

    "Because you are afraid of violating an agreement

with the Cardassians." Kira spit out that last.

    Pulaski shook her head. "We've had the privilege of

coming to Terok Nor. As far as I know, no other

Federation group--official or unofficial--has come

here. I have spent most of my time in the medical lab,

but my assistants have been all over the station, caring

for Cardassians and Bajorans. The majority of the

work two of my team members have done has been in

the Bajoran section."

    Pulaski stopped there. The words hung between

them. Kira was beginning to understand where Pulas-

ki was going, but wasn't sure she wanted to join her.

    Pulaski's face was filled with compassion. "The

Cardassians have worked hard to keep up their little

fiction that everything is going well. But they've been

having trouble doing so. As you said, there are very

few guards and very little security right now. And my

teams have had to venture into areas that I'm sure

would have been off-limits otherwise."

"It's not the same as seeing Bajor," Kira said.

"No," Pulaski said. "It's not. But it will have to do.

We'll be debriefed when we leave. And we'll be

honest. We won't have to make anything up."

    "You're trying to pretend that you sympathize with

us when you make agreements with the Cardassians."

    Pulaski's shoulders sagged. "If I were a Cardassian

sympathizer, do you think I would have been married

to Kellec Ton?"

 "But you aren't any longer."

    "That's right," Pulaski said. "Yet he's the one who

asked for my help. There are many qualified doctors

in Starfleet--and many unaffiliated ones all over the

quadrant. Why do you think he asked for me?"

    Kira crossed her arms and turned away. The wom-

an had a point. A good point. Kira was letting her own

disappointment blind her. She wanted the Federation

group to come to Bajor so badly. She needed someone

there. She felt if there were outside observers, things

would change. They had to change--

     She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked back to

see Pulaski's calm eyes measuring her.

  "You could do us a favor, though."

  "Us?" Kira said.

  "Kellec and me."

  Kira frowned. "How?"

    "I tried to get permission to go to Bajor today. Gul

Dukat refused, understandably. He's as afraid of

letting me go down there as you are desirous of it.

And probably for the same reason. He's worried

about what information I'd take back to the Federa-

tion."

 "I know," Kira said. "If youw"

    "Please," Pulaski said. "Let me finish. We need to

find the source of the virus."

 "I thought you had a cure."

    "We do, but it's not as effective as we'd like. We'd

like a cure that destroys this virus completely. I don't

know if you've been told, but this is a designer

virus--"

 "I know," Kira said.

    "Then you understand that someone created it and

someone planted it somewhere, we're not sure where.

I wanted to go to Bajor to search for the source of the

disease, but Dukat said no. He assigned a Cardassian

team to conduct the search."

    "Cardassians!" Kira pulled away. "You know what

kind of search they'll do. They'll search until they

have enough to prove that Bajorans did this thing,

and then they'll use it as an excuse to slaughter

hundreds of us."

    "That's what I'm afraid of," Pulaski said. "So we

need a pre-emptive strike. If you would go to Bajor

and get this information on where the virus started

before the Cardassians do, then we have two chances.

The first is to find a solution that neutralizes this

disease completely, and the second is to prevent the

very scenario you're describing. If I can go to Dukat

with proof that the virus started somewhere and it

was brought inwor, even better, we can find the

virus's designershe'll have to call off his team. He

wouldn't dare slaughter Bajorans in revenge. Not in

front of a Federation observer."

    "No," Kira said bitterly. "He'll wait until you're

gone."

    "And by then, the Bajorans at risk will have disap-

peared, won't they?" Pulaski asked.

    Kira frowned. She had completely misjudged this

woman. No wonder Kellec Ton had been attracted to

her. Beneath that calm exterior, she had the courage

of a Bajoran.

 "Yes," Kira said slowly. "They could disappear."

 "Good," Pulaski said.

    "Before I go, I'd like to check with Kellec Ton, see if

he agrees with the plan."

 "Then do so," Pulaski said.

    Kira shook her head. "It's not that easy. I can't

move about freely in the Cardassian sections."

    "Then I'll make certain he's in the Bajoran section

in~what?mforty-five minutes?"

    Kira should be able to make it back by then.

"That'll do."

    "Good," Pulaski said. She headed back toward the

bed. "I understand your need to check up on me. But

you'll find I'm on the level. I'm sure Kellec will have

no objections to your trip to the surface."

    "If you send Cardassian guards, I'll shoot them,"

Kira said.

     "If I send Cardassian guards," Pulaski said, "you

have every right to shoot me." "Don't think I won't."

    Pulaski smiled. "l know better than to double-cross

a person like you," she said. "After all, I was once

married to one. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll contact

Kellec, and then try to catch at least another hour of

sleep."

    Kira nodded. She couldn't quite bring herself to

thank Pulaski--things hadn't gone as well as Kira

had hoped. But they were still moving forward. And

Kira felt as if she were being useful for the first time

since this plague began.

    And for her, being in the fight was always better

than standing on the sidelines watching.

Chapter Nineteen

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT WENT WRONG," Kellec said. He

was in the office staring through the door at the green

Cardassians staggering in and the Bajorans brought

up from below. Pulaski was at his side. She had never

felt so discouraged in her life.

    "Obviously something did," Narat said, and Pulas-

ki could hear the blame in his voice. The two of them

got along fine when things were moving well, but now

they weren't getting along at all. They were taking the

problems out on each other.

    Reports of illness had started to come in only an

hour ago. Now they had an official run on the reed

lab. Patients who had been cured ten hours ago were

coming back, the sickness obviously in its early

stages. A few had waited until the early stages were

long past, and so, Pulaski believed, continued passing

the disease on to others.

    "Something did go wrong," she said without turn-

ing around. Governo was handling the Cardassians as

he did before. She had instructed him to give them

another dose of the antidote. Marrig was still in the

Bajoran section, but Nurse Ogawa had come up with

some of the sicker Bajorans to get them better treat-

ment in the med lab.

 "You know what it is?" Narat asked.

    Pulaski nodded. Kellec was looking at her too. She

let the door between the office and the main room

close.

    "If you think about it, you know just as well as I

do," she said. "We haven't found how the virus starts.

We have succeeded in preventing these patients from

dying, but they're clearly reinfecting themselves."

"Or picking up the virus elsewhere," Narat said.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Even when a

patient caught the disease from the virus--and could

prove that it wasn't incubating--that patient took at

least two days to show signs of illness. These patients

are coming back within ten to twelve hours."

    "That means," Kellec said, "that the infecting

agent isn't the virus."

    Pulaski nodded. "Perhaps if we run some cultures,

we can imitate the course of this reinfection in the

lab."

  "It should work," Kellec said.

    "We should examine some of our older cultures as

well," Narat said, his irritation with Kellec obviously

forgotten.

  "Good idea," Kellec said.

    "It's not quite as hopeless," Pulaski said. "At least

we have a point to work from."

     The office door opened. Governo peeked in. "May I

see you for a moment?" he asked Pulaski.  She walked over to him.

    'Tm doing what you said," he said softly, "but I'm

a little worried about reinjecting these Cardassians

with the antidote. I mean, we don't know what this

will do in high quantities in the body."

 "The boy has a good point," Narat said.

    "Yes, he does," Pulaski said. She put a hand on

Governo's shoulder. "Just continue for now, Edgar.

Whatever happens, it's better than dying for these

poor people."

    He nodded and went back into the main room.

Pulaski closed the door again and leaned on it. The

exhaustion she had been trying to fight was coming

back, worse than before. "We're going to have to

notify Bajor and Cardassia Prime."

    "I suspect they already know," Ton said. "Let's not

waste our time on that."

    "No," she said. "We have to. What if they've sent

patients away, thinking they were cured, and they

can't get back to a medical facility?"

    "They would have done it twelve hours ago, Kathe-

rine," Kellec said. "We have to focus our efforts

here."

    "Kellec is right," Narat said. "At this moment,

everything we do should go toward finding the correct

solution."

    Pulaski nodded. But something was flitting around

at the edge of her consciousness. Something she

vaguely remembered--

    "One of us should be doing as your assistant

implied, Katherine." Kellec was standing near his

console. "One of us should see if there are detrimental

effects from too much antidote. We have to know

where our limits are."

    She looked at him. She knew he was going to

suggest that Narat do it.

    "You two found the cure in the first place," Narat

said. "I'm not the researcher that you both are. You

continue your search for the virus's origins. I'll inves-

tigate the effect of the antidote."

    Pulaski let out a breath she hadn't even known she

was holding. She made herself look away from Kellec,

afraid that she would show her relief too clearly.

    "All right." She walked over to the console. "Still,

something more is bothering me. Something I feel I

should know--"

    "There were rumors," Kellec said, "that the Fede-

ration dealt with a similar plague, but I don't know

the details."

    "Of course," Pulaski said. "That's why this is

bothering me."

    "That was one of the reasons I asked permission to

get you to come here. I figured you would know."

    "I do know," she said. "The Enterprise, the ship I

was on, dealt with it. But I never read the files. I

always meant to--in fact, I was supposed to go

through all of Crusher's logs, but I simply didn't have

time. I looked at the overview and went on with my

day-to-day work."

    "That's not going to help us, Katherine," Kellec

said. "You--"

    "What is the meaning of this?" The office door

crashed open and Dukat strode inside followed by

three guards. One of them could barely stand. He was

a light gray-green.

    All three doctors glanced at each other. They had

agreed moments ago to stall telling Dukat as long as

possible.

    "We told you, sir," Narat said, "that we can only

treat a patient once the symptoms appear."

    "Do I look like an idiot to you?" Dukat asked. His

voice was lower than it had been a moment ago, and

seemed a lot more menacing. "I have sent newly

infected people back to the med lab for their shots.

Those people are fine. But Linit here nearly died

yesterday of this disease, and now he's got it again!

You told me this was a cure."

 "I know," Narat said. "But--"

    Pulaski put a hand on his arm to quiet him. Narat

seemed panicked by Dukat's anger, and panic would

not do in this circumstance.

    "When we told you about the cure," she said, "we

also told you that it wasn't complete."

    "You didn't tell me this would happen," Dukat

said.

    "We didn't know. We hoped the cure would hold

once it killed the virus. But our patients seem to be

reinfecting themselves." "Themselves?"

    "Yes," she said. "It's coming from within. That

may sound bad to youmand I must admit, none of us

are too happy about this turn of events--but it is

good news in a way. It gives us something to base our

new research on. It gives us hope."

    "Hope! We had hope when we thought we'd gotten

rid of this disease."

    "We can get rid of it," Narat said. "For a few hours

anyway."

 "What good will that do?" Dukat asked.

  "It'll prevent anyone from dying," Kellec said.

      Dukat's lips thinned. He turned away from Kellec.

"I'm very unhappy about this," Dukat said.  "We all are," Pulaski said.

    "Yeah," Kellec said. "You would save us a lot of

grief if you would just ask your people what the

source of the virus was."

  "Kellec!" Pulaski said.

    "No," Dukat said. "That's fine. He can accuse us all

he wants. It covers his Bajoran tracks. You're reinfect-

ing everyone, aren't you, Kellec? That way no one gets

off this station alive, and the Cardassians get the

blame."

    "You know better--" Kellec started forward, but

Pulaski grabbed him.

    "Both of you, stop it," she said. "You're acting like

children."

    She glanced at Narat for help but he hadn't moved.

He was looking terrified.

    "Fighting won't get us anywhere." She kept her

hands on Kellec, but stepped between him and Dukat.

"I've been with Kellec all day, and he hasn't done

anything to reinfect your people. He hasn't had the

opportunity. And you," she said, turning to Kellee,

"can't you see how terrified he is? If he knew how this

thing started, he wouldn't be this afraid."

"I am not afraid," Dukat said.

    Kellec had the common sense to say nothing. Only

grunt.

    Dukat's eyes narrowed, but he also said nothing.

Narat's gaze met Pulaski's. "She's right, you know,"

he said. "This is a time when we have to put aside our

differences."

 "It's getting very hard to do," Dukat said. "You

gave us all hope yesterday and today it's gone. That's

worse than having no hope in the first place."

      "But I already explained what this means," Pulaski

said. "It means we have a chance."  "I don't see it," Dukat said.

    "There's one option we haven't tried," Kellec said.

He eased himself away from Pulaski's hand. "Kathe-

rine and I were discussing it when you so nicely

knocked and asked if you could come in."

  "Kellec," Pulaski said warningly.

    "And what's that?" Dukat asked, obviously choos-

ing to ignore Kellec's tone.

    "Katherine says the Enterprise dealt with some-

thing similar over a year ago. Remember when I asked

you if she could come aboard, I told you there were

rumors about this?"

    Dukat turned his flat gaze to Pulaski. "So you have

records of this?"

    "No," she said, "and that's the problem. What I do

know of it is very sketchy. But it wouldn't take long to

get the information. The Enterprise is the ship that's

waiting to pick us up, just outside Cardassian space."

    "What a wonderful opportunity to bring a starship

to Terok Nor," Dukat said, and to Pulaski he sounded

just like Kellec. She took a deep breath, forcing

herself to remain calm. They deserved each other. All

this fighting and lack of reason. No wonder no one

knew how to solve the problems between their two

planets.

    "I wasn't suggesting that," she said, working very

hard to keep her voice level. "I would like to contact

the Enterprise and have them send the records here."

    Dukat frowned, as if her response surprised him.

Then he said, "I will contact the Enterprise."

    "I'm sorry, Gul," she said, slipping back into her

diplomatic mode, "but they won't give this informa-

tion to you. You're not a doctor." "Then Narat--"

    "They'll wonder why I haven't asked," she said.

"It's a simple request, really. You can monitor it."

    Dukat's reptilian smile filled his face. "That would

work. You may make the request, from my office."

    "Katherine, I don't think that's a good idea,"

Kellec said.

    "Do you want the information or not?" Dukat

asked.

    "1 think we need it," Kellec said. "I just don't see

why she can't send the message from here."

    "Because," Dukat said, "it will interfere with your

work. Yours and Narat's. You may come up with a

solution on your own, while she's gone."

 "It's all right, Kellec," she said. 'TII be fine."

    "You don't know what this man is capable of,"

Kellec said.

    She sighed. "I think, at the moment, we all have the

same goals."

     Dukat tilted his head, and smiled mockingly at

Kellec. "I think your wife--" "Ex-wife," Kellec said.

    "--is telling us we can resume our loathing of each

other when the crisis is past."

    Kellec crossed his arms. "Thanks, but I plan to

continue my loathing all the way through the crisis."

    "Then 1'11 remove you and place you back in the

Bajoran section," Dukat said.

    "Oh," Kellec said. "I promise the loathing won't

get in the way of my work. But, unlike you, I can't

shut off my emotions when dealing with others. I see

the consequences of each action."

    Pulaski put her hand on Dukat's arm and started to

lead him out of the office. "Each moment we delay is a

moment that we need," she said to him.

    He let her guide him into the main room. Cardassi-

ans were returning at a rate of two or three a minute.

He grimaced at their green skin, the flaking scales,

and she felt a shudder run through him.

    "I would hope," she said, because she couldn't keep

silent, "that you watch Kellec's actions, instead of

listening to his words."

    "I'm keeping a close eye on his actions," Dukat

said. "I know what kind of a man he is."

    They stepped into the Promenade and Dukat re-

laxed visibly.

    "What surprises me," he continued, "is why you

married him."

 She smiled. "He's brilliant man."

 "He's a fool."

    "He hates witnessing pain. The Cardassians have

caused a lot of pain on Bajor."

    "The Bajorans brought it on themselves," Dukat

said.

 "I don't think the Bajorans would agree with that."

    "What do you know?" Dukat asked. "You haven't

observed our people."

    "No," she said, "and I'm not trained in the subject.

All I see is hatred on both sides. One day that will hurt

you all."

 "If we live through this plague," he said.

    "That's my responsibility," she said. "I plan to see

that you do."

Chapter Twenty

THE IMAGE OF DOZENS OF DEAD bodies piled on top of a

cart like so much deadwood came back again, super-

imposed on the image of the stars she was gazing at

through the Ten-Forward window, and pushing the

voices of the Enterprise crew into the background.

But this time Beverly Crusher didn't try to push the

image away the way she usually did. She let herself

remember the limbs jutting awkwardly, the tags on

their toes, and just the sheer number of dead piled

high in the Archarian hospital because there was no

more room in the morgue.

    That was Crusher's first view of the plague on

Archaria III and the image that stayed burned in her

mind. Thousands more died before she had found a

cure.

 But the image of those bodies never went away.

    Neither did the memory of sixteen of her crew-

mates, including Deanna Troi, suffering the intense,

crippling pain that seemed to twist from the inside,

eating them alive like a monster Crusher couldn't see.

And at the time couldn't fight.

    It had taken Crusher some months to stop having

nightmares.

    But now the nightmares were back. The situation

on Bajor seemed so similar to Archaria III. And she

had helped Dr. Pulaski to walk into it basically alone.

If only she had been able to go along, that would have

been better than waiting here. But her request had

been denied.

    And she had been relieved .... She didn't want to

face another plague. Not again. Not so soon. She

didn't think she could handle another roomful of

bodies piled on top of one another.

    A gentle touch on her arm brought her back to

the stars and the muffled conversation in the lounge.

She turned and smiled at Captain Jean-Luc Pi-

card, whose hand was resting comfortably on her

arm.

    "She's a good doctor," he said. He could still read

her clearly. She had been annoyed at that a year ago.

Then she discovered, in her short stint at Starfleet

Medical, that she missed it.

    Crusher nodded. Dr. Pulaski was. But even the best

needed help at times. And it felt so frustrating not to

be able to be there giving that help, instead of sitting

here sipping Earl Grey tea.

    "I know she's good," said Crusher. "That's not the

problem. The problem is me. I hate waiting."

 "Don't we all," the Captain said.

    He was waiting too, waiting to hear from Pulaski.

And he had served with the woman for the last year.

He had to be worried. But in typical Jean-Luc

fashion, he didn't say anything. He was willing to

listen to her.

    Over the last few days Ten-Forward had become

Crusher's haven. Dr. Pulaski had left the medical

areas in better shape than they'd been in a year ago,

and it had only taken Crusher a day to get settled

back in. Since the Enterprise was simply standing by

on the Cardassian border, waiting for two weeks,

there was very little for her to do. Being alone just

wasn't what she needed at the moment, so she often

sought company from whoever she found in the

lounge. She didn't always talk. Sometimes she just let

the buzz of conversation flow over her while she

drank tea.

And thought of that pile of bodies on Archaria III.

She smiled at the captain, then took a sip of her

tea, letting its perfumy flavor push the image of death

back for a moment. "Thanks for joining me," she

said.

    He shrugged slightly. "We missed you last year. I

missed you. I thought we might take this opportunity

to get caught up."

She laughed. "And so I sit staring out the window."

"Sometimes," the captain said, "that's the best

kind of catching up."

    She smiled at him. She had missed him and the

Enterprise a great deal. She had used Wesley as her

main reason for returning, but in truth, there were

many reasons.

 "Dr. Crusher," Data's voice broke into the moment

over the comm link. "You have an emergency incom-

ing call from Dr. Pulaski on Terok Nor."

    She was on her feet and headed for the screen built

into the wall of Ten-Forward before she answered.

"Put it through to here."

    A moment later she had dodged around two tables

and was at the screen as Dr. Pulaski's face appeared.

Behind her stood a stern-looking Cardassian.

    Crusher managed not to gasp at what she saw. In

just a few short days Pulaski looked as if she'd lived

a dozen years, all without sleep. A week before, a

neat, polished doctor had turned the medical area

over to her; now Pulaski had deep circles under her

eyes, her hair looked like it hadn't been combed in

years, and a dark smudge of something streaked her

neck.

    And her eyes seemed almost haunted, as if she were

seeing things no human should ever see.

    "Dr. Crusher," Pulaski said, her voice level as

always, "I need your help."

    "Anything," Crusher said as Captain Picard moved

up behind her.

    "I need your records from the plague on Archaria

III. It seems we may be dealing with something

similar here."

 Crusher nodded. "I was afraid of that."

    "Can you send the records?" Pulaski asked. She

was wasting no time. Crusher knew exactly how that

felt.

    Crusher glanced around at the captain, even

though he would have nothing to do with this deci-

sion. The records of the plague on Archaria III were

classified and under the direct control of Starfleet

Medical. And since she was no longer in charge of

Starfleet Medical, it was no longer her decision as to

whether or not to release those records.

    "How bad is it?" Crusher asked, trying to buy

herself a little time to think. To get a message

to Starfleet Medical from this distance could take

a day, maybe more. And there was always a

chance--a strong chance, considering the location

of the plague--that they might turn her request

down.

    "It's bad," Pulaski said. "I wouldn't be making

this request if I didn't think those records might

help."

    "Understood," Crusher said. "I'll need to--" The

image of the bodies on Archaria III floated back to

her mind. She had been about to say she would have

to get clearance from Starfleet Medical, but in that

time how many on Bajor would die?

    How many deaths would it cost for her to follow the

rules exactly?

 Even one was too many.

    She would get permission from Starfleet Medi-

cal after the records were sent. She had a few favors

she could call in yet. She'd make them under-

stand.

    But that would take time. Time Dr. Pulaski didn't

have.

    She faced Pulaski directly. "Doctor, the encoded

records will be downloaded to you within the next

minute. Please stand by on this channel."

 Pulaski's relief was obvious. "Thank you."

    "Is there anything more we can do?" she asked,

half-hoping Pulaski would invite her to Terok Nor.

Crusher wanted to be busy. She could always say that

the situation forced her to disobey the initial orders

from Starfleet Medical.

    "This just might be enough," Pulaski said. "Stand-

ing by."

 The image went blank.

    Crusher tapped her combadge. "Data, please down-

load on the open line to Terok Nor all medical

information from the Archaria III incident. Medical

only. Let me know when you are finished."

  "Understood," Data said.

  She turned to the captain.

    'I know I didn't follow procedure. I'll make it right

with Starfleet Medical, though. It won't be a problem

for you, Jean-Luc."

    "I'm not worried about that, Beverly." His tone

was warm. "I would have suggested you take the

course of action you chose. It's clearly very bad

there."

 "How can you tell?" she asked.

    "The Cardassian behind Dr. Pulaski," the captain

said. "That was GUl Dukat himself."

    Crusher instantly knew what the captain was say-

ing. The image of the Archarian bodies came back.

Crusher hadn't been able to save her, but maybe this

time the bodies wouldn't be so numerous that they'd

have to pile them in Terok Nor's infirmary.

  "Data to Dr. Crusher."

  "Go ahead," she said.

 "All records have been sent."

 "Thank you," she said.

    She looked at the captain. "Now I guess it's time I

faced the music with Starfleet Medical."

    "We face the music," he said, taking her arm and

heading her toward the door. "I was on Archaria III

also. Remember?"

    The image of the dead bodies came back again.

Crusher squeezed the captain's hand in thanks. "How

could I forget?"

Chapter Twenty-one

AH, THE SOUND OF CONVERSATION and laughter in his

bar. Quark leaned against the back wall and closed his

eyes. How he had missed this. It wasn't just the sound

of the Dabo wheel and the silly girl's voice crying

"Dabo!" or the clink of glasses, or even the silent

accumulation of latinum as it made its way from his

patrons' hands to his pockets. No. It was the feeling

that he was in a viable business once more.

    He was almost grateful to the plague. It had been

such a traumatic experience that those who felt they

had dodged it were coming into Quark's, wanting to

drink themselves into oblivion. He was going to let

them.

 "Brother."

    Of course Rom wouM interrupt Quark's reverie.

Any time Quark felt that things were going his way, he

had to be reminded of the presence of his stupid

brother.

    "What?" Quark asked, opening his eyes. Five more

Cardassians were coming into the bar, laughing and

slapping each other on the back.

 "Brother, I have something to tell you."

     "Well, it can wait," Quark said. "See those five?

They're new customers and they need to buy drinks."

  "Brother--"

    "This is about making profits, Rom," Quark said.

"Remember. 'A Ferengi without profit is no Ferengi at

all.'"

    "Brother, please don't quote the rules to me," Rom

said. "I have something to tell you."

    Quark leaned forward. "I'11 make you recite every

one of the rules if you don't get to work."

    "Ah, yes, brother." Rom scurried toward the center

of the bar, balancing a tray precariously on one hand.

    Quark shook his head and began to make drinks.

He already knew what three of those Cardassians

would have. They were regulars, at least when they

were well. And they were well now.

    A Cardassian stood up in the back. Quark frowned.

He had seen this before. He had a sinking sensation in

his stomach. Maybe the lighting was bad. Maybe the

Cardassian had sp'filed his drink. Maybe. There had

to be some other explanation for the green color of his

skin and the way he was swaying.

    Quark slid out the side of the bar and hurried

toward the Cardassian. If he got the Cardassian out of

here before the man collapsed, there might be a

chance that no one else would notice. Some kind of

chance.

 Any kind of chance.

    Quark was halfway there when the Cardassian fell

backwards.

    All noise in the bar stopped. The Cardassian's

companion stood and looked down at his fallen

friend.

    "This can't be right," he said. "He just got over the

plague."

    It was enough to start a stampede to the door.

Quark grabbed at customers. "Don't believe them,"

he said. 'Tm sure they misunderstood. Maybe he had

been misdiagnosed. Surelyre"

    But no one was listening to him. They streamed out

as if they were afraid they would suddenly topple over

backwards, their skin a lovely shade of lime green.

Even the Dabo girl had disappeared. "Brother," Rom said.

    Quark held up a hand. "Don't say a word to me. I

don't want to hear it."

    He headed back to the bar. It had taken five hours

to fill the place up again, and only two minutes to

empty it out. Except for the Cardassian on the floor.

Moaning.

 "Call a reed team, would you, Rom?"

    Rom gaped at him. "But brother, last time you

made us--"

    "I know what I did last time," Quark said. "There

was no one in the bar then. Unless it was my imagina-

tion, we had a full bar this time. There's no hiding this

one."

    "All right, brother." Rom let his tray drop as he

stared at the Cardassian.

 Quark stared at Rom.

 More specifically, Quark stared at Rom's ear.

    On the lobe was a shiny pimple, with a whitehead

that looked as if it could burst at any moment.

    "Tell me, Rom," Quark said slowly. "A Cardassian

dumped a case of Jibetian beer on your head."

    "No, brother," Rom said, turning to him. "Well,

not since the last time. No one has dumped anything

on me."

    "Then do you want to tell me where that pimple

came from?" Quark asked, pointing.

    Rom clapped a hand over the offending lobe. "I was

trying to tell you."

    "You were trying to tell me in a full bar. Now we

have an empty bar. How did you get that--pustule--

on your ear?"

 Rom shrugged. "It grew there."

 "Like hair."

 "Or skin."

    Quark nodded slowly. "And you're comfortable

with that?"

    "No," Rom said. "It itches. I was going to ask you if

you had any cream left."

 "I have some cream left," Quark said.

 "I would like to borrow it," Rom said formally.

    "And after you've applied it to your ear, you'll

what? Scrape it off so that you can return it to me?"

    "No," Rom said, obviously flustered. "I mean, I

would~"

 "You want me to give it to you," Quark said.

    "Yes," Rom said. "But not all of it. Since you need

it too."

 "I don't need it," Quark said.

 "Yes, you do," Rom said.

    "No, I don't," Quark said. "I healed days ago.

That's why I'm wondering what happened to you."

    "The same thing that happened to you, brother. It

came back."

     Quark reached both hands up slowly and clapped

his ears. Beneath his right hand, he felt a lump.

 A pimple.

 A pustule.

 "What did you do to cause this?" Quark asked.

    "Nothing," Rom said. "Maybe the cream didn't

work."

    "Obviously the cream didn't work," Quark said.

He sank into a chair. "Not that it matters." He stared

at the moaning green Cardassian on his floor. "No

one will ever come here again."

    Rom stared at him for a moment, then sat down

beside him. "Things are bad, aren't they?"

 Quark nodded. "And they're getting worse."

Chapter Twenty-two

PULASKI WAITED UNTIL KELLEC and Narat were seated

in the small medical office's only two chairs. Governo

and Marvig stood against the wall, and Ogawa was

just coming in. The room was hot and stuffy, like

almost everything on Terok Nor. With six of them, it

was going to do nothing but get worse before this

short meeting was over.

  "Leave that door open," she said to Ogawa.

    "Thank you," Governo said. Pulaski could see he

was already sweating.

    She had called this meeting the instant she got back

to the medical area with the information from the

Enterprise. It had taken fifteen minutes for them all to

gather from different parts of the station, enough time

for her to go over the data quickly. She didn't like

what she saw, especially the final conclusion Dr.

Crusher had put in the notes after the crisis was

over.

 "Ready?" She glanced at everyone.

 "Do it, Katherine," Kellec said.

    She nodded to him. In all the years she had known

him, she'd never seen him this worried. Or this tired.

The human faces around her all had deep worry

carved in them, and Narat was now starting to look

more afraid than anything else. But Kellec looked so

strained she would have thought him seriously ill if

she hadn't known what he had been through,,

    "Here's what the Enterprise was dealing with on

Archaria III." She brought up the information sup-

plied by Dr. Crusher on the screen in front of them.

The three-dimensional image of a virus slowly spun,

showing all its sides.

    "That's very different from what we're dealing

with," Kellec said.

     And it was. Its shape bore no resemblance at all to

the viruses she had spent the last week studying.

  "Completely," Narat said.

    "At a glance, I agree," Pulaski said. "This partic-

ular virus would be harmless to any Cardassian or

Bajoranmor human, for that matter. This one

wasn't designed for Cardassians or Bajorans or hu-

mans. It was designed to strike at cross-species

breeds."

 "Designed?" Narat asked.

    "Designed," Pulaski said, "just as the virus we're

dealing with was designed."

    "Did they ever discover who created that one?"

Governo asked.

 "No," she said. "They didn't."

  "Too bad," Marvig said.

    "So why is this important?" Kellec said. "I see no

possible connection."

    Pulaski knew when her ex-husband was getting

impatient and might just rudely leave.

    "I'll get to that in a moment, Kellec," she said.

"There is a tie, believe me."

  He made a face, but remained in his chair.

    She took a deep breath and then touched the

console. "This is how the Archaria virus was

formed." She set the screen in reverse motion.

    The screen showed a computer image of the DNA

of the virus shifting, breaking apart, until finally all

that was left was three prions, the smallest life-form

known to science. Prions were so tiny that not even

transporter biofilters could remove them, so light they

could blow on a slight breeze, and strong enough to

live through freezing cold.

    "The three prions are harmless separately," Pulaski

said, "but when all three were present in the body of a

cross-species humanoid, they merged and somehow

rewrote their own DNA to form a deadly virus. Watch

again."

    She set the screen in forward motion and the three

prions joined, changed, and formed the deadly Ar-

charia virus.

 "Amazing," Kellec said.

    "So if the virus was killed," Narat said, "but the

three prions remained in the body, the patient was

reinfected."

 "Almost at once," Pulaski said.

    "Which is what we're dealing with here," Kellec

said.

 "This is pure evil," Marvig said.

    "Again," Pulaski said, "I need to caution you all

that our patients getting reinfected is just a similar

symptom. There might be a completely different

cause, we don't know yet. But at least this gives us a

starting place we didn't have before."

"So our next step is what?" Governo asked.

Pulaski pointed at the tables where the sick were.

"We take a few patients, both Cardassian and Ba-

joran, and cure them of the virus. Then we watch the

prions in their blood to see if this pattern, or some-

thing similar, occurs. Once we know that, we might be

on the track to a permanent cure." "We can hope," Kellec said.

"You'd better do more than hope, Doctor."

The voice spun Kellec and Narat around.

Marvig stepped further away from the door.

Pulaski had seen Dukat come in just a second

before Kellec spoke. The Gul now stood in the

doorway of the medical office. He nodded to her.

    "Fighting has broken out in a dozen places on

Bajor," Dukat said, not waiting for a response from

Kellec. "If it spreads here I don't have enough healthy

guards to contain it. And if I can't contain it, the

Cardassian fleet will."

    "They're getting afraid back on Cardassia Prime,"

Kellec said. "I thought the mighty Cardassian warrior

never showed fear."

    "Kellec!" Pulaski said, making her voice take on

the command authority she'd learned over the years.

"Now is not the time."

    Dukat nodded to her. He didn't even bother to

smile. He was worried now, and not at all interested

in baiting Kellec.

 "You'd better listen to her, Bajoran," Dukat said.

"At the moment I am the best friend you have. Find

the final cure and find it fast. The Cardassian govern-

ment will not allow this to reach Cardassia Prime."

  Dukat turned and strode from the room.

    Pulaski turned to say something to her ex-husband,

but then stopped. His face was as white as she'd ever

seen it. Narat was hunched so far over that he looked

as if he were going to be sick.

    Kellec glanced at Narat. "He means it, doesn't he?"

Kellec asked.

 Narat nodded.

  "Means what?" Governo asked.

"Yeah," Marvig said, "what was that all about?"

"The Cardassian fleet will destroy this station and

everyone on itwand all of Bajor--to stop this,"

Kellec said.

    Again the Cardassian doctor nodded, as if destroy-

ing an entire planet's population was something they

talked about every day.

 For all Pulaski knew, maybe around here they did.

Chapter Twenty-three

KIRA SLIPPED INTO THE SECURITY OFFICE, looking both

ways before dosing the door. No one saw her go in,

which was good. Very good.

    The office was empty, of course. The constable was

everywhere except where he was supposed to be. She

didn't know how to summon him. Create a ruckus on

the Promenade? Who would notice now that the

disease was back? Only it wasn't really back--at least

that's what one of the human medical assistants had

told her.

 It had never really left.

    At least they had found a way to keep everyone

from dying. That was a step in the right direction.

    She made her way behind the desk and stared at the

security console. Cardassian design, of course; but

there had been modifications, modifications she

didn't entirely understand. She threaded her fingers

together, then eased them forward, cracking the

knuckles. Since Odo wasn't here, she would just play

with the console until he arrived. That would get his

attention, and she might learn a few things in the

process.

    She placed a hand over the screen, wondering

where to start.

    "Touch that," Odo's gravelly voice said, "and you

will spend the rest of your life in the brig."

    "Oh, you frightened me," she said, but she moved

her hand. Then she looked up. He was standing before

her, his brown uniform trim as always. The door was

closed, just as she had left it. Had he slid in under it?

Or hadn't she heard him enter?

  "You like to take chances, don't you?" he asked.

    She gave him a half smile and shrugged. "One gets

used to a certain level of danger."

    "Maybe you do," he said. "But people who play

dangerously around here more often than not get

killed."

  "Is that a threat?"

    "From me, no," Odo said. "But if Dukat were to

know you were here, then it would be. You need to be

more cautious."

"Actually," she said. "That's why I'm here."

"You want me to teach you to be more cautious?"

He actually sounded surprised. And then she realized

he was making a joke. Not a very funny one, but it

was at least an attempt.

 "No," she said. "I need your help."

    "Well," he said. "Isn't that an interesting turn of

events."

 She wasn't used to being a supplicant, especially

with someone in a position of authority in a Cardas-

sian government. "I need to get off the station."

 "I thought we discussed that," he said.

    "We did," she said. "That's why I'm here. I need

your help to leave."

 "Why should I do that?"

     "Because," she said. "Kellec Ton has asked me to

go to the surface to help him with the research."

  "Kellec Ton?"

 "And his ex-wife Pulaski."

    "Why would they want you to go, when Dukat has

already sent a team below?"

    She stared at him for a moment. He worked for the

Cardassians but he had always struck her as different.

How different, she didn't know. And she couldn't rely

on a guess.

    "They need independent confirmation of the Car-

dassian findings."

    "They don't trust the Cardassian findings, you

mean," Odo said.

    "And with cause," Kira said. "The Cardassians

started this thing."

     "It seems to me," Odo said, "they shouldn't trust

the Bajoran findings either." She stared at him.

    "But then, it would be the prudent course to get

information from both sides and compare. Some-

where in the middle they would find the truth." He

tilted his strange head at her. "Do you have written

permission from Kellec Ton to leave the station?"

    He was playing with her again. Why did this shape,

shifter always make her feel off-balance? Because she

had never encountered anyone like him before? Or

because he knew how to get to her when no one else

did?

    "Of course I don't have written permission," she

said.

    "Then how do I know you're not making this up?"

Odo asked.

  "Why would I make it up?"

    "Why indeed." He frowned, musing. "I suppose I'll

just have to check with Kellec."

  "Okay," she said. "And Dr. Pulaski."

  "And Dr. Pulaski," he said.

    He didn't move, though; he didn't try to use his

console or leave the room, either. He just watched her

for a moment and then, to her surprise, he attempted

a smile. It looked as if he didn't make that expression

very often. It came out as half a grimace.

  "All right," he said. "You may go."

  "As easy as that?" she asked.

  "As easy as that," he said.

  "It's too easy."

  "It's what you wanted."

  "Yes, but you didn't check."

    "You weren't worried about it. That's confirmation

enough for me."

    "What about the quarantine?" Kira asked. '%ren't

you worried I'll fly off somewhere else?"

    "Why should I worry about that?" he asked. "Even

if Cardassian space weren't so heavily patrolled, you

would never try anything like that."

    "Just two days ago, you were worried that I might

leave here and infect someone else."

    "Two days ago, there wasn't a Cardassian fleet

surrounding Terok Nor and Bajor. You couldn't go

anywhere besides Bajor if you were the most cunning

pilot in the quadrant."

    Kira sank into the constable's chair. "The Cardas-

sian fleet? What are they doing?"

"Think about it," Odo said. "The plague is back."

"And they don't want it to spread to Cardassia

Prime." Kira pounded a fist on the console. "Those

bastards?'

 Something beeped beneath her hand.

    "I would prefer it if you take your anger out on

something a little less sensitive," Odo said.

    "Well, then, I guess my mission becomes even more

urgent," Kira said.

    "It would seem so." Odo rounded the desk. 'TI1

give you clearance. Then the fleet won't give you any

trouble."

    She looked at him. Those eyes. So sad. She won-

dered why she always thought of him as sad.

    "That's the second time you've done me a favor.

Why?"

    He shrugged. "Maybe I'll ask for repayment one

day."

    "Maybe." She slipped from behind the desk. "Any-

way, thanks."

    "You're welcome," he said. "But be careful. If this

disease is a designer virus, like they're saying, finding

information about it won't be easy."

 She nodded. "Thanks for the warning."

 "And it might also be dangerous."

    "That one I figured out on my own." She glanced at

the door. Two Cardassian guards walked through the

Promenade. "I hate to impose on you one more

time," she said, "but do you think you could beam me

to my ship from here?"

    He sighed. "What's one more violation among

friends?" he asked, and pressed the console a few

times.

    As the transporter beam caught her, she saw him

look up. His expression was unguarded--and wor-

ried? No. That had to be her imagination. She vowed

to shut that imagination off while she conducted her

investigation on Bajor. She couldn't afford to indulge

in speculation.

    Especially since that's all her Cardassian counter-

parts would be doing.

Chapter Twenty-four

DISTANT PHASER FIRE ECHOED throughout the station.

Quark had the doors to the business shut and bolted

and was still hiding behind the bar. His ear was

swollen and covered with blisters. It itched so bad he

couldn't think, and he was doing everything he could

with his hands to keep them from scratching.

    "That's the last of it, brother," Rom said as he

came out of their quarters. His right ear was bleeding

again. Quark shook his head. If the bar had been

open, if he had had any customers, if he had still been

serving drinks, he would have forbidden Rom to

come out in public. But none of that mattered any-

more.

    The Bajorans had started rebelling in the Bajoran

section, shooting the remaining Cardassian guards.

Gul Dukat didn't have the forces to keep the Bajorans

in check. It would only be a matter of time before they

overran the station--and then Quark really didn't

know what he'd do. The Bajorans weren't well known

for having a lot of latinum.

    Nog entered the bar behind his father. He was

wearing the cap the Volian had made for Rom,

attempting to follow Quark's edict not to scratch.

    Quark sighed. He had hidden away all of the

latinum, and had made Rom and Nog hide the

expensive liquor. Now there was nothing he could do

except m

    "Aeeiieee!" He clapped a hand over his left ear and

fell backwards. The itching suddenly got so intense

that it was painful. Rom hurried to his side. 

"Let me see, brother."

    "You're not touching me with those infected

hands," Quark said and rolled over, pressing his ear

against the floor.

 "I'11 wash them first," Rom said.

    "Just let us see, uncle," Nog said, crouching beside

him.     Slowly Quark rolled the opposite direction so that

they could see his left ear.

  "Oh, my," Rom said.

  "Oh, my?" Quark asked.

  "Oh, my, my, my," Rom said.

  "Oh, my, my, my, what?"

  "Oh, my, my, my, my, my."

    With his free hand, Quark shoved his brother.

"Stop it! What do you see?"

 "They're too big to be blisters," Nog said.

 "What are?"

    "The lumps, with pus, traveling toward your ear

canal."

    "Brother, you know how sensitive ear canals can

be. If one of those gets down there and bursts..."

    They all stared at each other. Then Quark got to his

feet.

    "I don't care who is shooting at whom, we have to

get to the infirmary."

 "People are dying, brother," Rom said.

    "They're not dying anymore, stupid," Quark said.

"They're just sick. And they aren't threatened

with--" he couldn't suppress the shudder "--loss of

ear function."

    Rom's eyes got bigger. Nog put a hand on his hat.

"That won't happen, will it, uncle?"

    "Yes, it will," Quark said, "and it'll happen to me

first. Let's go."

     They walked to the door of the bar and peered

through the glass design. The Promenade was empty.

  "I think you should stay here, Nog," Rom said.

  "Why?"

 "It might be dangerous out there."

    "No more dangerous than in here," Nog said,

tugging on the hat.

    "I want him treated too," Quark said. "I don't want

to be reinfected."

    He hit the door release and the glass doors opened.

The silence was short-lived. He heard more shots and

a few screams coming from far away.

    "Follow me," he whispered. He motioned them out

and let the doors close and lock behind them. He kept

to the wall and crouched; at this level, no one would

mistake them for Cardassians. Or Bajorans for that

matter.

 It took only a few moments to reach the infirmary.

 The stench was as bad as it had been before. Maybe

worse. Quark let himself inside, and saw patients

everywhere, mostly Cardassians, leaning against the

wall in a semblance of a line. At the end of it, the male

hu-man assistant was attacking them all with a hypo-

spray.

    A few Cardassians sat on beds, clutching limbs with

phaser bums. Dr. Narat came out of the office and his

gaze met Quark's.

"I don't have time for Ferengi nonsense," he said.

"Look," Quark said, shoving his ear in Narat's

direction. "The infection has gotten worse. It's head-

ing for the ear canal and when it gets there--"

    "I don't care," Narat said. "You can wait. It's not

life-threatening."

    "Well, that depends," Quark said. "If this contin-

ues, my quality of life will be dramatically lowered."

    "It's a minor problem," Narat said. "Go back to

your bar. When things settle down, we'll worry about

your ear infection."

    "Ear infection?" The hu-man female stood in the

office door. She wore clothes and looked much too

efficient for a female.

"Yes," Narat said. "I'm trying to get rid of them."

"Let me see," she said. She walked over to Quark,

who tilted his head up so that she could examine his

ear.

    Her fingers were gentle on his 1obes~ If he weren't in

so much pain--

 "Kellec," she said. "Come see this."

    Kellec Ton came out of the office and frowned at

her. "What?" he said. "It's just an ear infection. I

treated it before."

 "You did?" she asked.

 "Yes, with some antibacterial cream."

 "How long ago was that?"

 "A few days."

 "And it's come back, worse," Quark said.

 "When did this start?" the female asked.

    "When the Cardassians poured drinks all over me,"

Rom said, a bit too eagerly.

 "When was that?" the female asked.

    Rom frowned. "About the time that Cardassian

turned green and--"

    "About the time the plague started," Quark said.

He didn't want Rom to admit they had carried a sick

Cardassian out of the bar. Hu-mans, Bajorans, and

particularly Cardassians wouldn't take well to that.

     "Really'?" the female said. She bent over his ear

again. "Was it this bad when you saw it, Kellec?"

 "No," he said.

    Narat joined them. "What you're thinking is not

possible," he said.

 "What are you thinking?" Quark asked.

    "A third species," the female said, not to him, but

to the other doctors. "And of course it manifests

differently. And not as seriously."

    "That we know of," Kellec said. "This could just be

the early stages."

"Are you saying we have the plague?" Quark asked.

"Come into the office and let's find out," the female

said. She sounded remarkably cheery about the whole

thing.

    Rom grabbed Quark's arm. "Brother, I don't want

to die."

 "It's not high on my list either," Quark said.

    "It's better than being green for the rest of your

life," Nog said, looking around. Rom shushed him,

and shoved him forward.

    "We won't die, will we?" Quark asked Narat as he

followed him into the crammed office.

    "Oh, you'll die," Narat said. Then he smiled.

"Someday, anyway. You just probably won't die of

this."

    "Some bedside manner," Quark mumbled, and

clenched his fists so that he wouldn't scratch his

extremely itchy ears.

Chapter Twenty-five

Tm~ SOUNDS OF PHASER FIRE Off in the distance echoed

through the heat and choking stench of the Bajoran

section. Kellec Ton had never thought he would ever

hear the sounds of battle here. Clearly a few Bajorans

had managed to get Cardassian guns and were holding

off the Cardassian guards. All the Cardassian guards

had been driven from the Bajoran section of the

station. For all he knew, the fighters might even be

making headway into the Cardassian section. But it

wasn't a headway that was taking them anywhere

except closer to their own deaths. And his too.

    He had no doubt that if the final cure wasn't found

quickly, the Cardassians would destroy the station.

And possibly even Bajor.

    Yet he wasn't going to tell the fighters that. They

were Bajorans, fighters against Cardassian rule. As

 long as there was one of them left to fight, there was

 still hope.

     Kellec moved quickly from one sick Bajoran to

 another, inoculating them with the temporary cure.

 It would get them back on their feet for at least ten

 hours. Then they'd be back sick again as the virus

 reformed and tore them apart. But at this point, ten

 hours was a very long time.

     With luck Katherine and her people would find a

 final cure by then.

    He checked his hypospray as he leaned over a young

boy whose mother held him in her lap. She looked as

flushed and sick as her son. He injected her first, then

the boy. He had enough injections for a few more

hours at this pace. He had brought supplies from the

Cardassian medical lab, and his Bajoran assistants

were helping him make more serum in the Bajoran

medical area. But down here the process was much

slower, the equipment nowhere near as good. There

was no way they could keep making enough to main-

tain all the Bajorans alive until a final cure was found.

    Since he'd come into the Bajoran section, the

fighting had expanded from isolated sections and now

covered the entire area. Most of it was between his

position and the Cardassian medical lab. He doubted

he could get through at this point; he'd face that

problem when he completely ran out of serum.

    Again, phaser fire echoed through the wide corridor

as two Bajorans carrying another headed toward him.

"Doctor," one of them said, "can you help him?"

For an instant Kellec didn't realize the man they

were carrying wasn't sick. He was wounded. A phaser

had caught him in the left shoulder.

    "Stretch him out here," Kellec said, motioning to

an open place in the hallway beside the woman and

her son.

    They did as they were told, and quickly he in-

spected the wounded soldier. Phaser burn. Shock. But

he would live, given a little time and care, assuming

the entire station lived through this.

    Kellec quickly gave the wounded soldier a shot

against the virus just to be sure, then glanced up at the

other soldiers. "Get him to the medical area. He's

going to be fine. I'll check in on him in an hour or so."

"Thanks," the soldier said.

    Kellec watched them carry him off. How crazy was

this? He was temporarly curing his people of a deadly

desease so they could keep fighting and dying. Some-

times it was hard to keep straight just why he was

doing this.

    The young boy took a deep shuddering breath, and

then started to cry softly.

    Kellec glanced at him. Both he and his mother were

clearly recovering quickly, regaining the pale, hungry

look of a normal Bajoran worker here on Terok Nor.

More than likely, they were recovering for the second

time.

    He watched the mother comfort the child, then

nodded. There was one of his reasons. The child.

Kellec was fighting for a future for that child beyond

working in an uridium-processing plant for a Cardas-

sian dog. He'd keep his people alive long enough to

see the Cardassians beaten, even if he had to die along

with many others trying.

    He moved on, injecting the temporary cure into

Bajoran after Bajoran scattered along the wide hall-

way. And with each patient, he tried not to think

about the fact that their only real hope for survival

and winning this battle was Katherine and her crew.

    They had to find the final cure and find it fast. But

if there was anyone he trusted to do it, it was

Katherine.

Chapter Twenty-six

IT HAD TAKEN KIRA LONGER than she expected to set up

this meeting. She had been back on Bajor for more

than a day, and three times she'd had to scramble for

her life. The fighting here was intense and getting

worse by the hour. The Bajorans saw weakness in the

Cardassians and were fighting more and more di-

rectly, facing Cardassian guards head-on. She had

never seen such ferocity in her own people--and she

had always thought of them as extremely fierce--nor

had she seen such desperation.

    She had been feeling a bit desperate herself. Every

time she stumbled, every time she felt even the

slightest bit light-headed, she worried that she was

getting sick. But so far, the disease had eluded her.

She hoped it would continue to do so. There was no

guarantee she would survive it if she caught it.

 The plague was moving too swiftly. Too many

people were dying. They either didn't have access to

the temporary cure, or they hadn't initally believed

the cure was temporary and had disappeared back

into the hills. Cardassian guards had taken to haunt-

ing medical areas, looking for resistance leaders,

hoping to arrest them when they came in for the cure,

and that was stopping people from seeking help as

well.

    The farther away from a city center she got, the less

frequently she encountered anyone with a cure at all.

    So many Bajorans believed their faith would pro-

tect them. So many thought this plague was a lie

invented by the Cardassians. And so many more

believed that if they just stayed away from other

Bajorans while the contagion was on the planet they

would be all right. All of that served only to increase

the death rate.

    And now Kira was a little too far away from the

medical facilities for her own comfort. But she had

been tracking information on the origin of this dis-

ease, and she had come here.

    She loathed this part of Bajor. It was barren scrub

land, so unlike most of the planet that sometimes she

felt as if she weren't on Bajor at all. If she squinted

she could see mountains in the distance--or perhaps

she just imagined them and their comfort.

    The resistance cell that operated out of this area

was known for attempting to organize the other cells.

It didn't work, but it did mean that the information

that flowed here was usually reliable. "Nerys?"

    She turned. An old man stood behind her, his arms

open. She slipped into them and hugged him hard.

"Chamar," she said. "It's been a long time."

    "Too long." He backed out of the hug. "You're

looking well."

    "For now," she said. "But I don't like what I'm

hearing."

    He nodded. "The plague. It is the final sin the

Cardassians will commit against us."

She took his hands in hers. "Where are the others?"

His eyes were sad. "They have scattered. Some to

their families in this time of need, and others to fight a

more direct war against the Cardassians. There are

only a few of us left here, and I am the one who

offered to come meet you."

 "You're well?" she asked.

    "For now," he said, echoing her words. He took her

arm and led her down a thin path into a copse of

dying trees. Behind them was a sturdy hut that had

been there as long as she remembered. And the nice

thing about it was that unless you knew it was there,

you couldn't see it.

    He pushed open the door. The interior was neat. A

single room with a table and some comfortable chairs,

and a small area set aside for sleeping.

 "Would you like something?" he asked.

     "Whatever you have," she said, knowing she didn't

dare push him. Chamar did things in his own time.

 "You have been traveling."

    "All over Bajor," she said, deciding not to mention

Terok Nor. "I'm helping in the medical effort."

    "You have become a doctor since I saw you last,

Nerys?"

    She laughed. "No," she said. "I'm doing research

for them, which is why I'm here."

 "To the point so quickly," he said, setting a mug of

juice in front of her. "You young people can wait for

nothing."

    So even in attempting to wait, she hadn't taken long

enough. "I'm sorry, Chamar. It's just that every

moment this disease lingers, we lose more Bajorans."

    He nodded, looking tired. Then he closed his eyes.

There was something he knew, something he didn't

want to say. "What have you learned, Nerys?"

    "That the first outbreaks happened at three differ-

ent places on Bajor. The only things those places had

in common were their space ports, the fact that they

routinely sent ships to Terok Nor, and their high

concentrations of Cardassians."

  Chamar opened his eyes. "What else?"

    "I heard rumors that Gel Kynled was behind this,"

she said. "I can't believe it. A Bajoran wouldn't do

this."

  He stared at her for a long time.

  "I've met Gel," she said, "have you?"

      "Once," Chamar said. "He wanted to serve in our

cell. We threw him out."  "Why?"

    "Because he walked up to a Cardassian guard and

shot him at point-blank rangerain front of witnesses.

We had to risk good people to get him out of here. He

was reckless."

    "Yes," Kira said. "He was reckless. And he was

dumb--he didn't have the ability to start anything of

this magnitude."

    "That's right," Chamar said. "If he were to spread a

disease, he couldn't have created it. He would have

had to buy it."

 Kira felt as if someone slapped her. "You mean the

Cardassians sold him the virus and he released it? Not

even Gel is that dumb."

     "Was that dumb," Chamar said. "Some of the

earliest reported deaths were in his cell."

"So he died of this thing?"

    "No," Chamar said. "He was shot at curfew by a

Jibetian trader about two weeks ago."

    "A Jibetian?" Kira said. "I didn't know the Carrus-

sians worked with the Jibetians."

     "Some Jibetian traders are little better than merce-

naries, Nerys. They sell both sides against the other."

  "Do we know who this trader is?"

    "No," Chamar said. "And we've tried to find out. I

don't think we're going to be able to find the creator of

the disease, at least not this way."

 "And the Cardassians won't give him up."

 "If he is, indeed, a Carrussian," Chamar said.

 "Why do you doubt it?" Kira asked.

    Chamar shrugged. "I believe the Cardassians are

evil, and a threat to our people. But I also believe they

are the most self-centered people in the quadrant.

They would never sacrifice themselves to a greater

cause."

    "But what if it was an accident? What if they didn't

know it would affect them?"

    "Nerys, from what I've heard, this virus is insidi-

ous. Would someone who devised a killing machine

like that not first make sure it wouldn't kill him?"

    She leaned back in her chair. "I don't like what

you're saying."

    "I don't either," he said. "It's easier to believe the

Cardassians would do this. And that is what we will

tell our people, once this is solved."

    "I had hoped I would be able to give the doctors

more information than this," Kira said.

    "If they are true researchers, each piece of informa-

tion helps," Chamar said.

    Kira shook her head. "You think someone sold Gel

a biological weapon against the Cardassians and he

actually chose to use it?"

    Chamar stared at her for a long time. "Nerys, if I

gave you a weapon, and told you that with only one

use you could destroy the Cardassians forever, that

Bajor would be at peace forever, would you use it?"

"I'd like to think not," she said. "That's genocide."

"Is it?" Chamar asked. "What lengths would we go

to in order to get rid of the Cardassian menace? How

many Cardassians have you killed for the cause?"

  Kira flinched.

  "What's a few more?"

    She hadn't touched her juice. Now she pushed the

glass away. "Are you saying Gel was right in what he

did?"

    "Gel wasn't a man who understood subtlety, Nerys.

And he was given an opportunity. I don't know how

many of us, having seen our loved ones die horribly

and knowing that everyone we love might suffer the

same fate, would let such an opportunity pass us by."

  Kira stood slowly. "You're scaring me, Chamar."

  "I scare myself sometimes, Nerys. But I have had

  years to think on this, and every time I do, I realize

  that we are not as noble as we believe."

    "I would never kill my own people to get rid of the

Cardassians," Kira said.

    "I don't think Gel would have either," Chamar

said. "Which is why I believe there was an outside

agent. Think on it, Nerys. The promise of no Cardas-

sians, a fanatic like Gel, and a weapon. Only what the

creator of that weapon doesn't say is that it is a two-

pronged weapon, which kills both sides."

 "That's too hideous to contemplate," Kira said.

    "Yes, it is," Chamar said. "Which is why I hope

you--or someone--finds the creator of this disease."

    She nodded. "First we have to stop it. I need to get a

message to Kellec ~lbn on Terok Nor. Do you still

have communication equipment?"

"In a safe place," he said. "Let me take you there."

He got up slowly. Kira watched him. The informa-

tion she got wasn't much, and yet it felt like a lot.

Almost too much. She thought she was used to the

lengths people went to, used to the cruelty in the

world. And then she was surprised, like this after-

noon, when she discovered that someone could go a

step further.

    Chamar made his way to the door. Kira followed

him. She would send the message to Terok Nor, and

then she would go back to her own work. Before she

joined the fighting, though, she had one more task.

She needed to round up the sick and get them closer

to the medical areas, to make sure they got treatment

when treatment was available. And she knew the

treatment would become available. She had to believe

Pulaski and Kellec Ton would find a solution. They

had to.

    She sighed. Why was it so easy to destroy? And so

very hard to rebuild?

 She didn't know, and she doubted she ever would.

Chapter Twenty-seven

PULASKI STOOD AND FORCED HERSELF to move a little,

loosening tight and tired muscles. She was sweating

slighty in the heat of the contained room, and her eyes

felt strained from far too many hours staring at data.

"Got to pace yourself," she said to herself.

    She did a few slow stretches, then moved over

toward the door. Through the window of the office she

could see most of the medical section. Her team had

been the only ones still working in the area since

Kellec and Narat had left, a few hours before. Pulaski

hadn't wanted them to, but they'd both felt it was

important to distribute the temporary cure to their

people, keeping each side at least going for the short

term.

    But that left all the research on her. And she had

felt the weight of it the moment Kellec left.

Ensign Marvig bent over a Bajoran, carefully moni-

toring the progress of the three prions with a medical

tricorder. Her hair was pulled back and Pulaski could

see a rip in one leg of her uniform. Marrig hadn't had

time to go back to her quarters in the last thirty-six

hours. None of them had. And with the fighting going

on around the station, Pulaski doubted they could

even make it now.

    After getting the information from the Enterprise, it

had taken them only a few hours to discover that it

was three prions forming the virus that had cause this

epidemic, too. Pulaski knew that was too much of a

coincidence. More than likely, the same virus design-

er who had created the Archaria III plague had

created this one. Who this designer was had to be

solved later, although she wished it could happen

now.

 Who would do such a thing?

 And why?

    But she couldn't focus on that. Right now the focus

had to be on stopping the virus's formation here and

now.

    Nurse Ogawa moved from Cardassian patient to

Cardasian patient, doing basically what Ensign Mar-

rig was doing--monitoring the progress of the three

prions to see if they formed the virus again. Just

twenty minutes ago they had decided to try the same

idea Dr. Crusher and the Enterprise crew had come

up with at Archaria III. They would know shortly if

the Enterprise cure, as they were calling it, was going

to work or not. For some reason she didn't think it

would this time, since this was the work of the same

designer. If she were designing a virus, and she hoped

she would never go that crazy, she would make

certain it didn't fall prey to the same cure a second

time.

    Still, she had to try. Maybe this one had been

unleashed at the same time, but took longer to incu-

bate.

  Or longer to reach Bajor.

  Although she doubted it.

    Two of the Ferengi were still in the medical area,

sitting on a lab table. The older one, named Rom,

looked nervous while his young son seemed both

defiant and very interested in everything around him.

Ensign Governo was monitoring them for the same

prion reformation. Somehow, Pulaski knew the an-

swer was with the Ferengi. She just didn't know how

they were involved. She knew the Bajorans infected

the Cardassians with the prions that caused the virus.

But who had infected the Ferengi? And why did it

only give them blisters instead of killing them?

    She shook her head and then stretched again. Too

many unaswered questions.

    A faint explosion lightly shook the floor, and Mar-

vig glanced up, a look of fear in her eyes. Pulaski

nodded at her in a reassuring way and Marvig half

smiled and went back to work. Too bad it wasn't that

easy with all these patients.

    She just hoped Kcllec was all right. She had no idea

how bad it was out there, but at the moment, as long

as the fighting didn't come in here, she didn't care.

None of it was going to matter unless she found the

cure for this virus.

    Nurse Ogawa glanced over at her and shook her

head no.

    Pulaski moved out into the patient area. "Not

working?"

    "Virus is forming. The Enterprise cure isn't stop-

ping it or even slowing it down."

    "I'm afraid it's the same with the Bajorans," Mar-

rig said.

    "And the Ferengi," Governo said. But he didn't

take his eyes off his medical tricorder.

    "You mean we're still sick?" the older Ferengi

asked, clearly panicked. He put his hand to his ears, as

if he could protect them from the infection. The

younger Ferengi put a hand on his father's leg to calm

him down.

    "I'm afraid so," Governo said, still studying the

tricorder intently. "But just stay put and don't worry.

We'll find the cure."

    Pulaski wished she could be as sure as Governo

sounded.

     "Dr. Pulaski," Governo said, his voice sounding

unsure, "this is really odd." "What is?"

    She was about to step toward Governo and the

Ferengi when Narat stumbled through the door of the

medical area, another Cardassian slumped over his

shoulder.

    Narat looked faintly green and very weak. And it

took her a moment to understand who the other

greenish-tinted Cardassian was. Gul Dukat.

    Acting like a well-trained trauma unit, her crew

sprang into motion. She and Governo went to help

Narat and Dukat while Marrig and Ogawa helped two

Cardassians who were not as sick off the biobeds.

    She took Dukat and levered him over and onto his

back on the bed. He tried to help, but was clearly so

weak his effort almost made it more difficult. Cardas-

sians were heavy enough.

    Governo grabbed Dukat's legs and lifted them onto

the bed as Pulaski started the scan. The virus was

throughout his system, extrememly far advanced.

  "Why didn't you come in here earlier?" she asked.

    The look of terror in Dukat's eyes surprised her, but

he said nothing.

    "Have you been injected with any of this cure

before?"

    He shook his head no, then closed his eyes for a

moment at the effort.

    She upped the dosage slightly and injected him.

"Now stay still and try to rest."

    His hand came up and grabbed her sleeve. "The

permanent cure?"

    "I'11 find it if you let go of my sleeve," she said.

"Now rest. And that's an order."

    For a moment she thought he was going to get

angry, then he nodded, let go of her, and closed his

eyes.

    On the bed beside Dukat, Narat had just gotten his

injection of the temporary cure from Nurse Ogawa.

He looked up at Pulaski. "Anything?" She shook her head.

He sighed. "I was hoping." Then he closed his eyes.

She stared at the two Cardassians for a moment,

then turned to Ogawa. "Monitor them closely. I want

to know the moment the virus is clear from their

systems."

 "Understood," Ogawa said.

 "Crystal, you continue monitoring the Bajorans."

 "Yes, Doctor," Marvig said.

 Pulaksi did a quick medical scan of Dukat. The

temporary cure was already attacking the virus. Irt

fifteen minutes he'd be back to his normal, overbear-

ing self. But that gave her fifteen minutes of time in

which to work.

    She turned to Governo. "Okay, what were you

going to show me with the Ferengi?"

 On the lab table, the older Ferengi actually flinched,

Chapter Twenty-eight

PULASKI WATCHED THE MEDICAL MONITOR as if it might

blow up at any moment. The Ferengi named Rom

squirmed on the biobed, even though no one was

actually touching him. She was instead looking at

what was happening in his body. Governo had no-

ticed an odd reaction just before Dukat had come in.

But with the disruption of the now sleeping Dukat,

they had missed the timing on whatever Governo had

seen.

    So they got the quivering Ferengi's permission to

reinfect him and then heal him again. It had taken

both the younger Ferengi and Governo a good twenty

minutes to convince him it would be safe. It wasn't

until the boy Ferengi offered to do it that the older one

caved in.

 "Dukat's starting to come around," Ogawa said.

 "Give him a light sedative," Pulaski said. "I want

him resting for at least another thirty minutes." Plus

she wanted that long until she had to deal with him

again.

    "See it?" Governo said, his voice excited. He too

was monitoring the ongoing prion activity in the

Ferengi body.

    "I did," Pulaski said. But she wasn't sure exactly

what she had seen. It had happened so fast. But this

time it was recorded, visual and all other data.

    They both continued to monitor the forming of the

virus until it was at its full stage, then she said, "Let's

watch this on the screen in the office." "Um," the Ferengi said.

    Pulaski turned to him. She had learned in the last

few moments that Rom was not very assertive.

 "Um, would you mind curing me first?" he asked.

 "Of course not," Pulaski said.

    She nodded toward Governo, who hyposprayed the

Ferengi. "There," he said when he was done. "ALL

better."

    The Ferengi's hands immediately went to his ears.

His grin was wide enough to split his face. "Thanks."

    Pulaski glanced at Narat. He was standing beside

Dukat, monitoring his sleeping commander. Narat's

color had returned to its normal healthy gray, just as

Dukat's had. But Narat's stage of the infection had

been nowhere near as advanced as Dukat's. With the

gul, she was going to be safe.

  "Narat, are you up to seeing something?"

  "I think I should remain here," he said.

    "All right." She was a bit relieved that he wasn't

coming. She had kept so much from him in this

research that she didn't want to blurt it out at the last

minute. Still, she had to offer.

    She followed Governo into the office. Right now

Pulaski wished that Kellec were here. This was just

the kind of thing she could use his knowledge on. But

at the moment she was going to have to go it alone.

    She quickly set the screen to start right before the

strange event in the Ferengi virus formation, then

started it slowly forward. Nothing seemed different.

Three different and harmless prions were drawn to-

gether, just as in the other two races.

  "Coming up right about now," Governo said.

    As the prions started to join and alter their DNA,

something different suddenly happened. The virus

was formed, but also a fourth prion was formed and

quickly expelled.

    She froze the image on that prion, quickly isolated

it and ran a computer diagnostic. The moment the

data appeared, she glanced out the office window at

the Cardassian doctor. Thank heavens he hadn't

accepted her invitation.

    "Amazing," Governo said, staring at the data.

"That means what I think it means, doesn't it?"

    She nodded. "That prion is the key prion in the

Bajoran virus, which then mutates into the Cardas-

sian virus."

    "The Ferengi are carrying the catalyst priori that

restores viral functioning even after it's cured." Gov-

erno said.

    "Don't say that too loud," she said, glancing at

where the nervous Ferengi and his calm son sat on the

biobed, then at where Dukat still slept, with Narat

standing beside him.

    "Sorry," Governo said, his face white at what she

was suggesting by the warning.

 She stared at the data again. Her hunch had been

right about the Ferengi being critical elements in this.

But that still didn't answer the question of how to

stop the prions from forming the virus.

    Out of the corner of her eye she could see Dukat

starting to stir.

    "Ensign," she said to Governo, "I want you to

remain in here going over this data again and again.

We need to find a way to stop those prions from

coming together in the first place. No one else is to see

this unless I give permission. Understand?"

  "Yes," he said.

    She headed out toward Dukat, who was now sit-

ting up.

 "Are we going to live or not?" the Ferengi asked.

    "You're going to be fine," she said. "Just stay there

and keep calm."

    Then she turned to Dukat. "And how are you

feeling, Gul?"

    "I've been better," he said. His voice was raspy and

his eyes were bloodshot. Some of his scales were still

flaking, but he didn't seem to notice. "How's the

research going?"

    "We're making progress, but we haven't found a

final cure yet."

    He dropped down off the biobed and stood up

straight, towering over her. For a moment he tested

his own balance, then took a deep breath and nodded.

Finally he looked at her. "Doctor, I need to talk with

you for a moment. Alone."

    She nodded and indicated the door of the medical

area leading out into the wide hallway beyond. Nor-

mally she'd have escorted him into the office, but

Governo was working in there, and she didn't want to

disturb the ensign.

    Dukat glanced at Narat, then turned toward the

main door, leaving the Cardassian doctor looking

puzzled.

    Pulaski followed Dukat, watching his steps gain

confidence with each stride.

    In the corridor he turned to face her. Then with a

quick glance around to make sure no one was close

by, he said, "Doctor, I'm not sure how much longer I

can contain this situation."

  "I'm not sure I follow you," Pulaski said.

    "Before I fell ill I managed to hold off the Cardas-

sian fleet, saying we were on the verge of a final cure.

They are expecting it soon."

    "And if we can't come up with it we die," Pulaski

said.

    "I'm afraid so, Doctor," he said. "All of us. And

more than likely all of Bajor."

    For an instant the corridor seemed to spin. She took

a deep breath and it stopped. "I had better get back to

work and you had better try to buy me a little more

time."

    He nodded and without another word turned and

headed off down the corridor, his stride long and sure.

    She watched him for a moment, doing her best to

keep her entire body from shaking. She had known

coming here titat she and her team might not get back

alive. She had accepted that. But she had never

expected also to have to save an entire planet.

    Finally, she turned and headed back toward the

medical office, ignoring Narat's stares. That extra

prion in the Ferengi held the secret to the cure. And as

Dukat had just made very clear, she didn't have much

time to find it.

Chapter Twenty-nine

BAJOR FILLED THE VIEWPORTS of the docking ring as the

sounds of fighting echoed down the corridor. Kellec

Ton knelt in the hallway and quickly wrapped the

burned arm of a Bajoran fighter, then injected him

with a quick painkiller.

    "You'll be all right," Kellec said, patting the man

on the leg.

    The man nodded weakly, as Kellec moved and

crouched next to the woman leaning against the

bulkhead two steps away. Plague, in its middle stage.

The woman looked to be about Kellec's age and her

skin had the rosy glow of the disease. Her face was

dirty and she was starting to smell of rot. He quickly

injected her with the temporary cure, and then moni-

tored her as the medicine started to work. She was

going to make it, at least for another ten hours or so.

"Rest here as long as you can," he said, and she

nodded.

    He stood and checked the level of his hypospray. He

had enough for another thirty or so, then he'd be

forced to try to make his way through the fighting to

one of the medical labs.

    Down the hall to his right the fighting was raging, as

the Cardassian guards tried to retake this area of the

docking ring. So far his people had held them off, but

it didn't look as if that would last long. He'd been

forced here by following the wounded and sick work-

ers. It was like following a never-ending road of blood

and death.

    With the fighting echoing behind him, he moved

down the large hall. A low moan caught his attention,

coming from an alcove. Three Bajoran workers lay in

the dark, against the wall. The smell in the small area

made it seem as if they'd been dead for a week, but he

could tell that two of them were still breathing.

Barely.

    He scanned them quickly. The two who were still

alive both needed to be in one of the medical areas,

but at the moment that wasn't possible. With all the

fighting there was no one to take them there and no

way to get there.

    He gave both survivors full plague shots, then

quickly checked them again. They might make it. He

didn't have much choice but to leave them and keep

helping others. At this point he'd done everything he

could for them. They were so far gone that if they did

recover they wouldn't even remember him being here.

    He went back out into the main hallway, as a group

of seven Bajoran workers moved past and turned into

one of the docking-bay corridors. Two of them carried

Cardassian weapons, while the others carried iron

bars. Three of them looked as if they were in the early

stages of the plague.

    "Hold on," Kellec shouted. He ran up behind them

and quickly injected one of the men who he could tell

was quickly getting sick.

    "You Kellec Ton?" A man with a bloody rag

wrapped around his arm stepped forward.

    "I am," Kellec said. Kellec pointed at the other one

clearly coming down with the plague. "You need

this." He held up his hypospray.

    The man nodded and moved up to where Kellec

could inject him.

    Then Kellec looked at the rest of them. "Have the

rest of you been given the plague cure in the last four

or five hours?"

 All of them nodded.

    "We're getting out of here," the man with the

bloody arm said. "Heading for Bajor. Help with the

fighting there. You want to come along?"

"You won't make it," Kellec said, shaking his head.

"Sure we will," the man said. "That's a Cardassian

ore freighter right there, and we have two pilots

among us."

    "And there's a very large Cardassian fleet sur-

rounding the station," Kellec said, pointing out the

viewport.

    "That's what the Cardassians want us to think," the

man said, laughing. "We'll just drop right straight

down and be on Bajor before what ships there are out

there even know we've moved."

  Kellec shook his head. "Don't waste all your lives."

    The man with the bandaged ann stepped right up

into Kellec's face. "We're going home and no Cardas-

sian sympathizer is going to stop us."

    The blow caught Kellec squarely in the stomach,

sending him backward onto the deck gasping for

breath. He couldn't believe the man had hit him.

    "See you, Doctor," the man said, motioning for the

men to turn around and head into the freighter.

    Kellec tried to shout no, but there was no breath

left in him. His stomach felt as if it were holding his

lungs in a death grip. No air was going in or out. His

shout came out as more of a choking gag.

    By the time Kellec could even get his lungs to take

in a small amount of air, the men were in the freighter

and the lock had rolled closed.

    Kellec stumbled to his feet and moved over to a

viewport just as the freighter disengaged itself from

the station and turned toward Bajor. The planet

looked so close, so large.

  Maybe they would make it.

  Maybe he had been wrong.

    Three seconds later the ship exploded as two shots

from Cardassian warships blew it apart like a child's

balloon against a pin.

    "No!" Kellec shouted, then dropped down onto the

deck, his head in his hands.

    He sat there for a few moments, until the sounds of

fighting grew in the corridor to his right. He had to

keep going, to keep curing people for as long as he

could.

     He pulled himself back to his feet, facing Bajor and

the expanding cloud of wreckage from the ore ship.

  "Stupid fools," he said.

 Beyond the wreckage, against the blackness of

space, he could see three Cardassian warships. He

knew, without a doubt, there were a lot more than

that surrounding the station at this moment. He

knew, without a doubt, those warships would blast

this entire station if a cure wasn't found soon.

    He picked up his hypospray and checked it to make

sure it was still working, then headed in the direction

away from the sounds of the fighting.

    "Hurry, Katherine," he said to the walls and to the

image of Bajor below him. "Hurry."

Chapter Thirty

PULASKI STARED AT THE IMAGE of the three prions on

the screen. They seemed so harmless. The smallest

living things known. She'd studied them in medical

school. Everyone had. They were mostly of interest

only because they were so small. Yet these three

prions in front of her could mutate into a deadly virus

when joined. They were far from harmless.

    And one of them had been created by a biologically

manufactured mutation in a Ferengi's body. It was no

wonder the incubation period for this plague had

taken so long. That special prion had had to travel

through air or fluids from the Bajorans, then to a

Ferengi, and then to a Cardassian, where it combined

with two other naturally occurring prions to form a

deadly virus.

    Then that virus mutated into a deadly virus for

Cardassians. Amazingly complex.

 Yet it was an elegantly simple way to wipe out two

races.

 And so far impossible to stop.

    Whoever had designed this had thought of almost

everything. Even if the Ferengi were removed from

the station and Bajor, the special prion was already

here and multiplying in Cardassian and Bajoran

bodies. She had no doubt that with the long incuba-

tion period it had already traveled to Cardassia. The

Ferengi had been the start, but they were now no

longer needed in the final deadly result.

She stared at that fourth prion. It revealed nothing.

She shoved her chair back and rubbed her eyes. She

couldn't remember the last time she had slept or even

eaten much more than a handful of nuts and a glass of

water. But from her conversation in the hallway with

Dukat two hours ago, she might not need to eat or

sleep ever again. She didn't know how much time

they had left, but she bet it wasn't much.

    Behind her Governo, at another monitor, let out a

long sigh.

 "Nothing?" she asked.

    "Nothing," he said. "I just don't understand what

draws the three prions together. There has to be some

sort of molecular attraction."

    Pulaski looked at her assistant for a moment,

letting what he had said sink in. He was right. There

had to be something working between the prions that

drew them together. And if she had to wager, she

would bet that attraction was in that special prion

created by the Ferengi mutation.

    She'd been focusing all her energy on trying to find

a way to kill the prions, not on why they went

together. It hadn't even occurred to her to look in that

area. It was lucky Governo had.

    "There's just no way to isolate what that attraction

might be at such a small, microscopic level," Governo

said, "at least not without months of trial and error."

    "We don't have months," she said. She doubted

they even had hours left.

  "I know," Governo said.

    She stared over Governo's shoulder at the image of

the prions on the screen. They were slowly working

their way toward each other in the solution.

    "I think the attraction comes from this one," Gov-

erno said, highlighting the prion with a red glow.

Suddenly, staring at that red glow, Pulaski had the

solution.

  "What happens if we coat it?" she said.

  "What?" Governo said, turning to stare at her.

  "See the red highlight you have on that prion?"

  He glanced around at it. "Yes?"

      "You said you think the special prion is attracting

the others in some unseen way. Right?"  He nodded.

    "So what would happen if we coated all the prions

somehow, and try to block the attraction, whatever it

might be."

    Governo nodded. "It might work. But first we have

to find something that will stick to them."

    Pulaski moved quickly to the door and out into the

lab area. Narat was working over a sick Cardassian.

Ogawa and Marvig huddled over a badly injured

Bajoran.

    "Listen up everyone," Pulaski said to her team. "I

need at least a dozen blood cultures from all three

races, virus-free but full of prions, set up at once. And

then I need another dozen being set up right behind

the first dozen. Make it fast."

 "Did you find a cure?" Narat asked.

    "We don't know yet," she said, heading for the

nearest Cardassian to start drawing samples of blood.

"And until we get these cultures set up, we won't

know. You want to help?"

    Narat had the common sense not to say anything

more. But he instantly went to work beside her.

    It took them thirty minutes to get everything set

and ready to go for the first tests.

    And another twenty minutes and seven failures

before they found a molecular cousin of an iodine

derivative that actually stuck to the prions, turning all

of them the same shade of sickly brown. It was as if

the prions had been dipped in dye.

    "Now," Pulaski said, staring at the monitor in the

office, "we need to find something that will ride on the

iodine carrier, something that will block the attrac-

tion."

    "I don't think we're going to need to," Governo

said, his voice an octave higher than she had ever

heard it. "Look at this!"

    She watched the monitor where he was pointing.

The sickly brown prions in the solution were moving

past each other, not seeming to even notice. The

attraction between them seemed to be gone.

    "Color?" Pulaski said. "Could the attraction have

been something as simple as color?"

    "Or maybe they hate the derivative," Governo said.

"At such a microscopic level, anything is possible."

    They both stared at the prions for a few more long

moments. But unlike what had been happening in

previous tests, these prions were no longer interested

in each other. And without that interest, they

wouldn't form the deadly virus.

    Governo looked up at her, his smile filling his face.

"It's working. It's actually working."

    Pulaski stepped back quickly into the medical lab.

"How many more cultures from all three races are set

up?"

  "Six each," Ogawa said.

    "I want to use all of them to test the iodine

derivative. Quickly. Everyone monitor the cultures

and put the computer on them as well. We don't want

any prions to join."

    Ten minutes later the tests, with the entire team

watching closely, seemed to be conclusive. But she

had to be sure--and at this point all normal medical

procedures were long out the airlock.

  "Now we try it in patients," she said.

    Narat looked at her. That hesitation was built into

both of them. But they had to get past it. They had to

work quickly, or they would lose every chance they

had. If the Cardassians blew up Terok Nor and then

killed everyone on Bajor, they still wouldn't have

stopped the plague. They would have committed

genocide and a few days later gotten sick on Cardassia

Prime.

     And they would have unknowingly killed off their

best chance to a solution. Narat nodded.

    Pulaski quickly mixed the iodine derivative with

the cure and injected it into two Cardassians and two

Bajorans, plus the older Ferengi.

    Eighteen minutes later she had enough faith in their

cure to call Dukat.

 His face appeared on the screen. He wasn't the

strong, confident Cardassian leader he'd been when

she'd arrived. Now he looked more like a tired street

fighter. And when he saw her he didn't even smile.

 "We have it," she said.

 "And you're sure it's permanent this time?"

 "As sure as I can be under these conditions."

    He nodded. "Get some to Narat and start the

distribution. I'll see what I can do to convince the

ships outside."

 "I will," she said.

 He cut the connection.

Behind her Governo said, "Not even a thank-you."

She dropped down into the chair and took a deep

breath. "Not yet," she said, staring at the blank

screen. "If we survive the next few hours, then he

might thank us."

    She glanced at the Cardassians who were getting

this new version of the cure, and the Bajorans, who

were walking around again, and the Ferengi, who was

clapping his ears and jumping up and down, dearly

gleeful that he felt better.

    Governo followed her gaze. She smiled at him

tiredly, and said, "I think we have all the thanks we

need right here."

Epilogue

IT TOOK TWO WEEKS. They were smarter than he

thought. His observers had reported back, saying the

virus had been defeated yet again.

    He was glad he was doing test cases. He had

underestimated the intelligence of his foes. But he

wouldn't do that again. He would be very careful next

time. And, if it took a few more attempts, he would

make them. He wanted to do this right. He would do

this right.

 And one day soon, he would succeed.

    When someone said lack of pain was the best

experience in the world, Quark had never understood

them. But after this week, he did. His ears no longer

itched and, more importantly, the pustules were gone

from his ear canal. The female doctor had pro-

nounced him well before she left--and her casual

fingering of his lobes had proven that he still had ear

function.

    His ears were operating in another capacity now.

They were reveling in the sound of a full bar. The

fighting had stopped, which was too bad for the

Bajorans but did ensure that Quark's black-market

business would kick back up soon. Cardassians

crowded the Dabo table, spending hard-earned

latinurn. They were drinking to wonderful excess, and

a few were so happy to be alive they were splurging on

expensive liquors, many of which Rom did not even

know the names of.

    Rom would come back to the bar, tray in hand, and

mangle an order, often so badly that Quark would

have to go to the table himself to clarify. But he was in

too good a mood to be angry. He'd let Rom get away

with his incompetence today. Tomorrow would be

another story. Tomorrow, Rom and Nog had to start

saving their salaries for another gold-plated ear brush,

one Quark had had his eye on for a long, long time.

    They would give him the funds, of course, or even

better, he would never pay them and use the money

for that brush. Which he would then keep locked

up--and he would wear the key around his neck. He

didn't want to risk cross-contamination again.

    No matter what that female doctor and Kellec Ton

had said. They believed that someone, or something,

had actually brought the virus to the bar. They

believed that the Ferengi had been infected first.

Quark had begged them and even tried to bribe them

to prevent them from sharing that insight with Narat,

and in the end they had agreed. Kellec Ton, to

Quark's surprise, negotiated the bribe: He wanted

Quark to help with the Bajoran resistance on the

station. In small ways. Funneling in messages or

supplies, or helping someone escape Odo's eye. Quark

refused, until Kellec Ton reminded him that they

could easily reinfect the Ferengi--and make certain

the virus didn't spread beyond Quark, Rom, and Nog.

    Quark didn't believe the threat. He didn't think

Kellec Ton was that sort of man (and the hu-man

female's attempt to hide her laughter reinforced that)

but, on the off-chance that the threat was real, Quark

agreed to those terms, for a time of limited duration.

He suggested a week. Kellec suggested a month. They

had compromised on two weeks.

    Which was good enough for Quark. It protected his

bar, his livelihood, and, much as he hated to admit it,

his family. For it looked like Rom and Nog weren't

going anywhere soon. And that meant that Quark had

to teach them to be at least mildly competent.

    "Brother," Rom said. "Gul Dukat would like a

vodtini twisted."

    "A what?" Quark asked, turning toward his

brother.

 "A vodtini twisted."

 "And what is that?" Quark asked.

    "A hu-man drink, suggested by the good doctor.

Apparently she said that generations of hu-mans

drank it after their workday was over to relax."

 "A vodka martini with a twist?" Quark asked.

 "That's it!" Rom said.

    Quark looked over his brothefts head at Gul Dukat.

He was sitting at a center table, looking exhausted,

but he was managing to laugh with a few of the

guards. "Does he know what vodka does to Cardassi-

ans?" Quark asked.

 "How should I know?" Rom asked.

    "Tell him that if he wants to drink it, he has to take

it outside. Tell Zhim that the fumes are too much for

my other patrons." Quark shook his head. "Who'd

have figured the hu-man was a practical jokesten"

  Rom frowned. "Jokes, brother?"

    Quark nodded. "Vodka and Cardassians," he said.

"If they've never had it before, it turns them green."

    "That doesn't seem very funny to me," Rom said,

and went back to Gul Dukat's table.

    Quark watched him. What he didn't want to ex-

plain to his idiot brother was that sometimes the

point of practical jokes wasn't humor. Sometimes the

point was to teach someone a lesson.

    Apparently the lady doctor believed Gul Dukat had

some lessons to learn.

    How many times would she have to say good-bye to

the Enterprise? Pulaski leaned back in her chair in the

captain's ready room. The fish were swimming in

their aquarium, and Captain Jean-Luc Picard had a

clear glass on his desk filled with perfectly brewed

Earl Grey tea. The faintly flowery smell of the liquid

permeated the room.

    Picard was standing behind his desk, looking out

the portholes to the stars. The ship was heading back

to Deep Space Five at full warp. Apparently someone

there had a new assignment for Pulaski and wanted

her to arrive on the double.

 Just what she needed. More work.

    Beverly Crusher sat beside her, nursing an old-

fashioned cup of coffee. Pulaski was having one as

well. It wasn't Cardassian or Bajoran. It was an Earth

beverage, with a taste of home.

 She couldn't believe she was leaving. Even when

she, Ogawa, Governo, and Marvig had boarded a

Cardassian transport ship she hadn't believed she was

going home. The trip to the Enterprise had been very

different from the trip bringing them to Terok Nor.

They were being treated like royalty, each with large

cabins even though they weren't staying long enough

to sleep in them, and the captain was treating them to

a lengthy meal filled with things Pulaski had never

seen before.

    It all made her feel vaguely guilty about her parting

recommendation to Gul Dukat. Even Kellec had

given her a funny look when she gave it.

    And it all sounded so innocent: a vodka martini

with a twist. But she had done so because Dukat had

annoyed--no, perhaps the correct term was an-

gered--her, with his insistence on quotas and return-

ing the station to normal. She had overheard him

ordering double shifts and punishment for any Ba-

joran who still claimed weakness from the illness. He

had also ordered harsh measures for the prisoners

who had instigated the fighting.

    He was putting Terok Nor back together the old

way, ignoring Kellec's contribution and refusing to

see that Bajorans were people, just like Cardassians.

    It had riled her temper. And so she had sweetly told

Dukat of a way he could rest at the end of his day.

    At least she could be sure he wouldn't get sleep for

one night. Maybe more. And if she ever saw him

again, she could claim ignorance of vodka's effects on

Cardassians.

    "Are you sure you've told us everything?" Crusher

was saying, her tone sympathetic. She had been

through one of these plagues too and she had said,

when Pulaski got off the transporter pad, that she

would be there any time Pulaski needed to talk. "You

have a strange expression on your face."

    Pulaski smiled just a little. She wouldn't admit to

the vodka remark, not in front of Captain Picard, but

she did say, "I guess I am a bit surprised by the level

of hatred between the Cardassians and the Bajorans."

    "I think I can understand the Bajorans' reaction,"

Picard said, returning to his chair. "After all, the

Cardassians have been occupying their planet for

some time now."

    "Yes, but they worked together on Terok Nor for a

brief time, and then even that fell apart." Pulaski

sighed. Not even the coffee was helping her bone-deep

exhaustion. "And now both sides are blaming the

other for the plague. The situation has grown worse

instead of better."

    "I can't help but wonder if that wasn't the design-

er's intent," Crusher said.

  "What do you mean?" Picard asked.

    "Well, we can assume that this plague is related to

the one we dealt with on Archaria III," Crusher said.

"It almost seems like a second trial of an experi-

ment."

    Pulaski looked at her. She had had the same

thoughts.

    "After all, it didn't respond to the same solution,

and the stakes were escalated. There were three spe-

cies involved. There was a new method of delivery.

And--" Crusher paused to look first at Pulaski, then

Picard "--this one had the added benefit of destabi-

lizing a precarious region. So if this second trial

failed, perhaps the designer saw a benefit in worsening

the Cardassian-Bajoran situation."

    Picard picked up his glass cup. "Who would do

such a thing?"

 "A monster," Pulaski said.

 "But why?"

    "I don't know," Crusher said. "And I'm not sure I

want to find out."

    "Surely you want to catch this person or persons,"

Picard said.

 "I do," Crusher said, "but on my terms."

 "Terms?" Picard asked.

    Crusher nodded. But before she could respond,

Pulaski spoke. "I understand what Dr. Crusher is

saying. We weren't able to track the designer from the

scant information we received from our sources on

Bajor, and I take it, you had no more success on

Archaria III."

 "That's right," Picard said.

    "Which means that the only way we'll be able to

track this monster down..." Crusher said.

    "Is if there's another plague," Pulaski said tiredly.

"Let's hope that his experiment is over and he leaves

us in peace."

 "Unpunished?" Picard asked.

    Pulaski nodded. "Unless we can find him before he

causes more deaths." She closed her eyes. "I don't

want to see any more death."

    She felt a hand on her arm. She opened her eyes to

see Crusher looking at her with concern. "You really

should rest before you go to your next assignment. If

you want, I'll contact Starfleet Medical and ask them

for a leave--"

    "No." Pulaski smiled. "Work is always better for

me. But if you both will excuse me, I do think I'll go to

my quarters now. I hope you won't be offended if I

sleep most of the way back to Deep Space Five."

  "Not at all," Picard said.

    "We'll wake you so that you'll have enough time to

get your notes together before the briefing with Star-

fleet Command on Deep Space Five," Crusher said.

    "No need." Pulaski stood. "They're already togeth-

er. I like to finish my tasks before going to bed. I sleep

better that way. Good night all."

    She heard them say good night as she stepped from

the ready room to the bridge. Commander Riker sat

in the captain's chair, and he smiled at her as she

walked past. Data said hello and Geordi, who was at

the engineering station on the bridge, asked her if she

was doing all right.

    "I'm fine," she said, and stepped into the turbolift.

What she didn't tell them was how much she'd miss

them, just like she would miss Kellec. It seemed as if

her life was about moving away from the people she

cared about.

    She sighed. If there was one thing she had learned

in all her years in Starfleet, it was that every time she

left one group behind, she found another--different

but just as good--ahead. She knew that. But it

seemed as if she would never find a group quite like

this one again.

    Or perhaps she was just tired. Things always

seemed better after she got a little sleep.