Plural 
DS9 - G/B/O'B - R
Kathryn Ramage
October 1998

-=*)]![(*=--=*)]![(*=--=*)]![(*=--=*)]![(*=-

If you want a nice, long story featuring lots of 
bitchy Garak-O'Brien quarrels that are *really* always 
about Bashir, then you've come to the right place.

Summary: When Bashir, O'Brien, and Garak return from 
investigating a mystery on an outpost in the DMZ, some 
discrepancies in their reports lead Sisko into another 
mystery, and a tale involving a telepathic alien device 
which reveals suppressed emotions.  

Rating: R for several corpses, some violence, and a 
number of m/m situations, though there is no actual
sex.

Setting: Near the end of the 3rd season.

Paramount owns Star Trek, DS9, and the characters 
except for the Vorta Ozyam and the Dreasil, who belong 
to me. This story was written for personal amusement 
and should not be taken as intended copyright 
infringement.

-=*)]1[(*=-

"State your full name and rank for the record, please."

"Julian Subatoi Bashir, lieutenant."

"Your position on Deep Space Nine?"

"I'm Chief Medical Officer."

"Doctor, what can you tell me about the incident on 
Pryderi XII?"

"On stardate 48902.1, Chief O'Brien and I were assigned 
to investigate the lapse of all communication from the 
science station on Pryderi XII. Since the Pryderi system 
was one of those systems exchanged by the Federation 
treaty with Cardassia and the outpost was Cardassian in 
origin, Commander Sisko-" Bashir spoke impersonally, for 
the record, as if Sisko were not seated across the table 
immediately before him, "suggested that Garak accompany
us as an advisor."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Another quarrel.  Didn't they ever stop?  If it wasn't
who was more capable of dealing with the technological
problems they were likely to face on the former 
Cardassian base once they reached Pryderi XII, then 
it was a debate on the political ramifications of the 
DMZ.  Or else they were accusing each other of trying 
to take over the mission--as if *he* were not the 
ranking Starfleet officer aboard this runabout and 
this wasn't primarily a rescue mission.  *He* was 
ostensibly in charge here, and O'Brien and Garak were 
along for support.

Not that he was able to order either of these men about.
O'Brien was ten years his senior, and Garak...who knew?
Both had had hard experience while he was still in 
school. Each, in his way, was a mentor; Bashir admitted 
to it. It seemed impudent of him to tell them to stop 
sniping at each other.

This time, the fight was over a game of jshak-mati.

"Now *that's* an illegal move!"

"Really, Chief, if you're going to accuse me of cheating
every time I capture one of your pieces..."

"You *are* cheating!  That flank of infantry was clearly
blocking the standard-bearer--you'd have to take out at
least two men before you could capture `im."

"Perhaps I'm simply a better player."

The game was ferociously competitive, without that spark 
of good humor that either showed when they played games 
with him.  They did not play against each other for fun, 
but in earnest, as if it truly mattered who won.

"There is a Cardassian game of strategy called Kotra
that you might enjoy more, Chief.  Perhaps I could teach 
you how to play it sometime?"

Bashir sighed and picked up the datapadd he had brought
with him to pass the time on this trip.  The fight
stopped abruptly when he headed out of the cockpit.

"Where are you going?" asked Miles.

"To read my medical journals in the aft compartment.
I'd like a few minutes of peace and quiet--after all,
we'll be seeing a lot of each other the next few days."

By the time he reached the door to the aft compartment, 
they had begun to argue over whose churlish behavior 
had driven him out.

It was going to be a long mission.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"When we arrived at the science station, we found it- 
er- dead.  All 17 people serving on the outpost were 
dead.  My initial examination indicated that they had 
all killed each other."

"They did this to themselves?"

Bashir nodded.  "Every one of them had either been
murdered or committed suicide--for what reason, I was
not immediately able to determine."

"You didn't contact DS9 right away." 

"No, sir.  There was interference.  We discovered the 
problem when we tried to beam back up and we weren't 
able to contact the runabout.  Our commbadges were 
useless, and we couldn't send any kind of message via 
the station's comm system.  I believe the scientists 
on Pryderi XII experienced the same communication 
difficulties before they died--my examinations revealed 
that their deaths occurred hours *after* the station 
went silent. Garak suspected that someone had infiltrated 
the station and tampered with the communications as well 
as the environmental controls--they had been shut off 
when we arrived.  

"While I continued my investigation into possible 
medical reasons for the deaths of the scientists, 
Chief O'Brien tried to repair the comm system. Garak 
conducted his own search for signs of intruders."

"And what did you find?"

"Our investigations turned up nothing conclusive, but
there were intruders, sir.  It was the Dominion--*they* were 
responsible for what had happened.  They made their 
presence known to us approximately forty hours after 
we arrived..."  

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Julian had fallen asleep to the sound of footsteps in 
the corridor as Garak patrolled the station one last 
time, and he woke to a series of loud thumps and a 
strange voice shouting commands.

"There is a third!  Where is he?"

The door to his quarters was tried, and then there was 
another thump just outside.  Wide awake now, Bashir 
tumbled out of bed and grabbed his uniform, which was 
lying on the floor.  A second thump: he'd locked the 
door last night, and it would take a few seconds before 
the intruders could break it down.  It gave him time to 
act.

Now where could he go?

He scanned the room, and found a ventilation duct in 
the wall at the foot of the bed.  Small, but perhaps he 
could fit.  As he dropped to his hands and knees to pull 
off the panel, the door burst in and a pair of JemHadar 
soldiers shoved their way into the tiny room.  

Instead of urging him to his feet, one of the soldiers
simply grabbed his ankle and hauled him kicking and
shouting out of the room.  

He lay sprawled in the corridor, pinned by the weapons 
pointed at him. A second pair of JemHadar were at the 
end of the corridor, their weapons trained on Garak and 
O'Brien, who stood with their hands up behind their heads 
and undisguised fear on their faces--O'Brien actually 
tried to push forward to help him before the muzzle of 
a weapon jabbed into his chest and stopped him.

A Vorta, tall and unusually slender, stepped out from
behind his friends and the JemHadar and advanced
swiftly toward Bashir.  He smirked down at him, but 
he spoke to Garak and O'Brien as well.   

"Gentlemen, you can't keep a secret from me--not here."  
Then he addressed the JemHadar : "Take the prisoners."
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"We were captured and taken to their base, which was 
cloaked in the hills above the science station.  They 
were experimenting with what the Vorta called a `tele-
psychosis device'--the Dominion had appropriated it
from a race named the Dreasil.  Some of the Dreasil
scientists were there with them, under JemHadar guard. 
This device of theirs generates a field which suppresses 
normal emotional restraints.  Certain species, when 
subjected to it, behave irrationally, even violently."

"The scientists on Pryderi XII were subjected to this
device?"

"Yes, sir, and they destroyed themselves because of
it." Bashir's voice became choked with anger. "It was 
a weapons test, Commander.  The Vorta, Ozyam, explained 
it to me.  He was delighted by the success of the 
experiment."

"Were the three of you exposed to this telepsychosis 
field?"

"Yes, sir.  We had a few fights, but we escaped before 
we experienced the full effects of the field by- ah- 
altering its frequency.  The Dreasil were affected, or
else they simply took advantage of the situation and 
began to rebel against their JemHadar guards.  

"We hiked back to the science station.  The atmosphere 
on Pryderi XII is very thin..."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
As they climbed over the top of the last ridge, he
could see the curved glinting surface of the station's
dome on the plain ahead.

"It's not much farther," O'Brien said.  "Not more than 
another half-kilometer.  We can be there in ten minutes
if we don't push ourselves--Julian, you're all right?"

"I'm fine," he answered.  "I'll make it." 

He crouched and, with his hands behind him, propelled 
himself to slide down the sandy slope on his heels,
bringing half the hillside rolling with him.  He landed 
at the bottom in a cloud of dust.  

Without waiting for his friends, who were climbing down 
on either side of the landslide he had left in his wake, 
Bashir rose to his feet, coughing, and strode forward 
in the direction of the silvery half-globe.  He had 
walked about twenty meters before his head spun and he 
stumbled.  A hand caught his outstretched arm.

"Doctor?"

Julian turned at Garak's voice--which sounded so far
away even though he knew that the tailor must be 
standing right next to him--then completely lost his 
sense of balance and fell to his knees.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"I collapsed before we reached the station.
  
"When Ozyam spoke with me, he inadvertently revealed 
that the sub-harmonic carrier wave for the telepsychosis
field also blocked standard communications frequencies.  
I had mentioned this to Chief O'Brien during our escape, 
and he made adjustments to the station communications 
equipment. He contacted the runabout and beamed us back 
up, then we set our course for home."

There were a few more questions, and then Commander Sisko
dismissed him.  

Bashir went down to the Promenade to find O'Brien
sitting at the bar in Quark's Place, nursing a beer;
the doctor ordered another and joined him.

"It's all right," he said.  "I didn't tell."

-=*)]2[(*=-

"State your full name and rank for the record."

"Miles Edward O'Brien, chief petty officer."

"And your position on Deep Space Nine?"

"Chief of Operations, sir"

"Chief O'Brien, what happened on Pryderi XII?"

"Well, sir, I could tell even before we beamed down
that something was wrong..."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"Any response to our hails yet?" Bashir asked.  He
stood close behind O'Brien's chair to peer out at the 
gas giant Pryderi XIII, which loomed before them in 
the forward windows of the runabout.  Pryderi XII was 
a mere speck of dust in comparison.  At this point, 
when their orbits brought the two into proximity, the 
smaller planet might easily be mistaken for a satellite 
of its enormous neighbor.  

The base on Pryderi XII had originally been established 
by the Cardassians as a military outpost.  Although the 
strategic importance of the system had disappeared with
the establishment of the DMZ, the unusual location of 
this habitable planet still made it of scientific 
interest.  The Federation had maintained the base as a
research station.

A larger, ghostly pale image of the planet appeared on
the monitor over O'Brien's head.  

"It's worse than that," he told Bashir.  "We're close 
enough now, we should be picking up energy signatures. 
All I'm getting is a low-energy reading from the bio-
sphere and something from a second power source 
approximately 5 kilometers to the northeast. There are 
17 people on that science station--I should be reading 
much higher levels."

"Could they have left the station?" the doctor wondered.
He leaned on Miles's shoulder as he viewed the readings.
"It's a class-M planet."

"Only marginally," Miles answered tersely, uncomfortable 
with Bashir hanging over him and breathing in his ear--
not that Bashir would ever notice.  "There's no life to 
speak of.  The atmosphere's thin, not much oxygen. You 
could go out on the surface for awhile with no protection, 
but you'd probably pass out if you were out there too 
long." 

Garak was seated at one of the auxiliary panels near
the back of the cockpit, watching them with an arch
expression which O'Brien found more annoying than 
Bashir's nearness.

"There can only be two possibilities," the tailor said.  
"Either your scientists must have left the station, 
voluntarily or against their will, or else they are...
still there."

"Dead, you mean." Miles scowled.  The Cardassian's
presence had made this trip a misery for him.  He 
didn't see why they had to bring Garak along in the 
first place; he was more trouble than he was worth.  
Bloody sneaky, sidewise--the man never came out with 
anything directly. Why couldn't he just *say* he
thought they were all dead if that's what he meant?

"I didn't want to suggest anything so alarming until
we had more indications of what really happened, dear 
Chief."

He hated this kind of subterfuge--as if he couldn't see 
what Garak was really after under all the lies and word 
games! 

Pryderi XII was a large, grey shape before them now.  
O'Brien swung the runabout into orbit as Bashir 
mercifully moved off to pull up a closer image of the 
science station on the barren landscape, an arcing 
silvery-glinting bauble set within the familiar, gothic 
Cardassian support structure.

"Their shields are down," O'Brien announced as he 
checked the readings again.  "No life signs."

The doctor threw him an anxious look.

A few minutes later, they beamed down into the biosphere.
The corridors within the station were dim, lit only by
the pale, natural sunlight that came in through the 
tinted, transparent dome.  The air was close, warm,
uncirculated, and tainted with the unmistakable odor of
death. 
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"We found the first bodies on our way to environmental
control."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
A woman's body in medical blue.  She lay with her back to
the wall, her knees drawn up and her head resting on one
arm as if she had merely fallen asleep there.  Two others,
both male, were a few feet farther down the corridor in 
a heap; the hands of one corpse were still locked around
the throat of the other.

"What the hell happened here?" O'Brien sputtered.

Bashir dropped to one knee beside the woman and brought 
out his medical tricorder. "She died two days ago," he 
announced after a moment.  "It looks like asphyxiation
--cause undetermined."  He scooted to the other two.  
"They died at approximately the same time. One strangled, 
the other looks like heart failure following...some sort 
of energy burst to the back.  A phaser shot, I would 
guess."

"But if *she* shot him, where's the phaser?" Miles
wondered. "And how did the woman die?  The air's still
breathable--she couldn't've suffocated.  Or did one or
the other smother her, and then someone else shot *him*?"

"It's too early to tell," Julian answered.  "I have to 
examine them all more thoroughly before we can draw any 
conclusions." 

While the doctor had been examining the corpses, Garak 
stood over him--quiet for a change, and looking up and 
down the unlit corridor nervously. Now, Bashir rose and 
started away; Garak stepped after him.  

"Doctor? Where are you going?"  

"To find the- ah- others. There were 17 people stationed 
here."  

"Not yet.  Wait until Chief O'Brien has restored the 
environmental controls, and we'll all go together."

This struck Miles as an odd thing for Garak to say;
something was up.

"But we have to find out what happened to the rest of 
the crew," Bashir protested. "Some of them might still 
be alive." 

"Unlikely, my dear doctor."

"There were no life signs," O'Brien found himself
agreeing with Garak. "What do you think it is?" 
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"He suggested that someone had done this deliberately
--interfered with the station's systems and killed
the scientists, though he wouldn't say who he thought
it was.  At that time, I thought Garak was trying to 
warn us that his own people might've left the station
booby-trapped somehow.  Later on, it seemed more that
he was being paranoid.  When we couldn't contact the
runabout, he took it as evidence that there was 
something more going on than mass insanity, and then
Bashir couldn't find a more logical reason for the 
scientists' deaths.  

"I stayed in the comm room most of the first two days 
we were on Pryderi station, trying to figure out what'd 
gone wrong.  There was no malfunction I could find; the 
comm system just wasn't sending messages.  It was as if 
there were a dampening field over the station. We couldn't 
even use our commbadges.  

"While I was working on the system, Garak went looking 
for signs of his intruders.  He was beginning to be 
spooky about it, but it turned out he was right.  

"The JemHadar showed up the next morning, when Garak 
and I were getting our breakfasts..."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Garak was already in the mess hall; Miles hesitated at 
the door, then entered the room warily. 

"G'morning," he mumbled.  

"Good morning, Chief." 

In spite of these efforts to be polite, he gave Garak's 
table a wide berth on his way to the replicator, and 
Garak turned in his seat to remain facing him as he 
went around.   

The tailor raised his half-finished glass of muddy red 
liquid.  "You were right about the food programs--I 
was fortunate enough to find rokassa juice still in 
the menu."

"Fish juice," said O'Brien.  He ordered a large mug
of coffee for himself, sipped, and found it repulsive.
"Ugh.  Well, it couldn't be worse'n *this*."

Garak smiled.  "It is all a matter of taste." Then he
asked, "Dr. Bashir is not up yet?"

"I didn't hear him in his quarters.  He's locked the
door."

"A wise precaution, under the circumstances."  

"Yeah...well, I thought I'd let him sleep in."  The 
orange juice and pastries he produced on his second 
attempt were more palatable.  "Yesterday was rough
on him."

"This situation has been particularly trying for our 
doctor," Garak agreed.  "Seventeen corpses is more than 
enough for anyone to handle, without the additional 
difficulties we..."

Just then, they were surrounded by shimmering columns 
of multiple transporter beams and found themselves in 
the middle of a quartet of JemHadar soldiers, weapons 
already raised, with a Vorta accompanying them.

The Vorta stepped forward.
  
"Gentlemen, I am Ozyam, and you are my prisoners. Now, 
where is the third member of your party?"
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"They beamed in right on top of us. We didn't stand a
chance. Julian--Dr. Bashir--was still asleep.  We were 
hoping they wouldn't know about him, but the Vorta
knew that there were three of us and had the JemHadar 
hunt `til they found him. They dragged him out of his
room. Bashir put up a fight, and they shot him, stunned 
him.  They took us back to their base and these green-
skinned aliens called the Dreasil gave us some kind of 
medical scan, then we were all shut up together in one 
cell. Dr. Bashir was incapacitated most of the time we 
were prisoners. We did what we could to make him 
comfortable, and made our plans to escape."

"Bashir mentioned a device which generated a tele-
psychosis field," Sisko said.  "He reported that the
Vorta described it to him when Bashir was in his 
office."

"Er- yes, sir.  Each of us was taken out of the cell in 
turn the morning after we were captured.  Bashir went 
first. Ozyam interviewed him, and when he was brought 
back, he told us about this telepsychosis device up in 
Ozyam's office.  Garak went up next and, while he was 
outside, managed to tweak something in the security 
system.  When it was my turn, he lowered the forcefield 
on our cell door from the inside. I was up in the Vorta's 
office next, and while the JemHadar were busy looking 
for Garak, I- uh- took care of Ozyam and fiddled with 
the controls for the device until it began to affect 
*them.*  I was surprised how quickly it took them over
--or maybe they were just eager for revenge--the Jem-
Hadar were shooting, but the Dreasil were killing them
off the JemHadar as if they'd just been waiting for the 
chance.  They didn't even notice us.  We got Bashir and 
hiked back to the science station.

"It was about five kilometers, and downhill most of the 
way. We were all light-headed for lack of oxygen by the 
time we got there.  Julian fainted."

"One of you had to carry him," said Sisko.  "Who was it?"

"Garak did, sir.  Now before he passed out, Bashir told 
me that he'd heard Ozyam say how the telepsychosis field 
blocked our comm transmissions. It seemed important to
me that we get out of there right away, with the field 
still in effect, so the first thing I did when we got 
back into the station was go to the communications room 
and readjust the frequency.  It only took a minute, and 
I contacted the runabout and beamed us up.  Bashir was 
conscious by then.  We agreed that there was nothing 
more we could do on Pryderi XII by ourselves, so I sent 
a message ahead to DS9 to report the basic facts about 
what happened on the science station, to us and to the 
scientists, and we set a course for home."

"Thank you, Chief."

"That's all, sir?"

"That's it.  You may go."

-=*)]3[(*=-

"Please state your full name for the record."

"Garak."

"Not `Elim Garak'?"

"If you like."

"Mr. Garak, I want to hear your version of the events 
on Pryderi XII."

"Certainly, Commander.  It would be my pleasure."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Garak had seen corpses in far worse condition in his 
career--and had been responsible for a significant 
percentage--but there were disturbing peculiarities 
in the deaths of these three humans, the first they 
encountered in the corridors of the Federation-
commandeered outpost.  They bothered him.  As Dr. 
Bashir examined the bodies and Chief O'Brien pointed 
out some of the oddities which Garak had already 
observed, the tailor's mind was working.

Then Bashir started to walk away; Garak stopped him.  

"Doctor? Where are you going?"  

"To find the- ah- others. There are 17 people stationed 
here."  

"Not yet.  Wait until Chief O'Brien has restored the 
environmental controls, and we'll all go together."

Bashir had protested--true to his irrepressible 
hopefulness, he persisted in believing that some of 
the others might still be alive.  Garak knew it was 
extremely unlikely and, to his surprise, Chief O'Brien 
agreed with him.  

O'Brien was watching him with a puzzled expression. 
"What do you think it is?" 

"You see as well as I do, Chief--everyone here is dead. 
Surely you must wonder who or what killed them?"

"That's an awfully big conclusion to jump to, Garak," 
Bashir said. "This-" he glanced at the bodies- "could've 
been caused by any number of things: a virus, accidental 
poisoning, some form of space-madness from being isolated 
here for so long."

It was only to be expected that the good doctor would
overlook what seemed obvious to Garak; Bashir had never 
been notably astute in putting together the facts that 
were laid out before him.  Chief O'Brien's curiosity, 
however, had been roused.

"`Who'?" O'Brien repeated.  "You think someone's been 
here, done this deliberately.  Cardassians?"

Garak scowled at this example of O'Brien's deplorable 
bigotry, but he had to concede that this *was* a 
former Cardassian outpost in the DMZ, and it wasn't an 
unreasonable hypothesis.  A standard military tactic, 
in fact: the garrison stationed here might very well 
have left a few surprises for the Federation tenants 
who had taken over this outpost. He wouldn't dream of 
admitting this to the Chief, though.

"The Maquis could have just as easily infiltrated 
this station and sabotaged the crucial systems," he 
answered, "or it could be another party entirely, 
neither Federation nor Cardassian. Regardless of who 
is responsible for this, I suggest we remain cautious 
as long as we are here, and return to the runabout as 
soon as we can."

O'Brien nodded, then said to Bashir, "We'll go to
environmental control first, then we'll start looking 
for the rest of the science crew."
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"You've heard by now that we did not return to the 
runabout that day--the problem with the communications 
equipment, which prevented the crew on the science 
station from sending messages prior to their untimely 
deaths, also prevented us from contacting the runabout 
to transport back up.  Nor could we report to DS9 about 
this mysterious situation.  To pass the time while 
we were stranded, we brought all the bodies into the 
medical lab for Dr. Bashir to examine.  The good doctor 
hoped to find some biological cause to explain the 
scientists' mass self-destruction.  Chief O'Brien 
busied himself with the communications system, the 
environmental controls, the replicators."

"And what did you do?"

"I was determined to prove that my suspicions were
well-founded."

"Did you find any evidence of sabotage?"

"Nothing at all, Commander," Garak answered cheerily. "Not 
until the persons I was seeking introduced themselves 
while Chief O'Brien and I were at breakfast the second 
morning after we arrived--Four JemHadar soldiers and 
their Vorta commander, to be precise."

"And where was Dr. Bashir when this occurred?"

"The doctor was still asleep.  But the curious thing
was that, while the Vorta knew exactly where Chief 
O'Brien and I were, and knew that there was one more
person on the outpost with us, he didn't know where
to find Dr. Bashir."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
With a few vicious but compelling prods, they were
herded out of the mess hall and down the corridor that 
led to the crew quarters.  Ozyam led the way, bearing 
some type of small, palm-held scanner.

"I assure you, Commander, we have no idea what you're 
referring to," Garak tried to lie. "There are only two
of us--my friend here and myself." 

"There is a third!" the Vorta shot back.  "Where is he?"

Garak exchanged a single glance of collusion with 
O'Brien; neither would betray Bashir's location.

While two of the JemHadar and Ozyam remained with them 
at the end of the corridor, the other two systematically
opened the doors to all the crew quarters, kicked in 
every access panel and vent cover.  Then one of them
shouted and the other ran to join him.

They had found the locked door.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Garak," Sisko asked suddenly, "why did Dr. Bashir 
lock the door to his quarters?"

"Remember, Commander, I suspected the possibility of 
intruders infiltrating the outpost long before they 
appeared," Garak explained in a chiding tone.  "I'd 
warned Dr. Bashir several times that he ought to be 
more careful about wandering around the station by
himself. It seems he took my advice to heart and took
a few precautionary measures."

"But you didn't lock your door?"

"No."

"And Chief O'Brien?"

"I don't believe so.  Perhaps we were not as fore-
sighted as the doctor.  After all, Chief O'Brien and 
I were caught completely off guard.

"Once they had captured all three of us, we were taken 
back to their cloaked base and subjected to a series of 
scans--for what, precisely, we were never informed. Our 
examinations were conducted by members of a race with 
pale green complexions and the most interesting skull 
formations.  Dr. Bashir said they were called the Dreasil, 
but not one of them ever spoke to us.  We were ignored--
their attitude suggested to me that they considered us 
nothing more than laboratory specimens.  At least the 
Vorta was a gracious host.

"I don't believe our captors had originally intended 
to take prisoners; they were ill-prepared for it, and 
the Vorta had to keep us in a single room, unoccupied 
quarters with a forcefield placed over the door."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
As a holding cell, it was roomy and quite comfortable.
Ludicrously plush for prisoners.  A set of outlets on 
one wall and dents in the carpet beneath indicated that 
some piece of furniture or equipment had been removed, 
and the door slid open whenever they approached it, 
making the forcefield just beyond the threshold shimmer.

Although he and O'Brien had searched the room for 
surveillance devices as soon as they were brought in, 
they continued to assume their conversation was being 
monitored: The door to their room was deeply set in 
and showed them only the blank wall across the hallway; 
a guard might be stationed outside, out of sight.
 
"Of course, they've been monitoring us all along," 
Garak said, "Perhaps from the moment we entered 
orbit--certainly, from the moment we beamed down."

It was late on their first evening in the cell, but
they were still sitting up, talking in hushed voices.

"It'd explain how they knew all about us," said O'Brien, 
with a glance at Bashir. Although there was a bed and 
a narrow bench, the doctor had chosen to curl up in the 
corner behind the door with his head resting on his 
folded arms; he had not spoken for some time.  "I've 
been thinking about that too. There are standard 
security scanners placed in all the public areas on 
the science station--the corridors, the labs, the mess 
hall. They aren't hidden. You can see them up in the 
corners.  But there aren't any in the private quarters."

"They've been spying on us through our own security
systems," Bashir said without opening his eyes. "Just 
as they tampered with the other systems on the station." 

Garak turned to him with a small smile. He'd assumed 
Bashir had fallen asleep.  "You believe now that my 
suspicions were correct?"

"Silly not to at this point."  The doctor lifted his
head to return the smile.  

"Why d'you suppose they came and got us?" O'Brien 
wondered.  "Why not just let whatever it was that 
made everyone at the science station want to kill 
each other work on us too, until *we* were dead?"

"Maybe they want to question us, find out why we came 
here," Bashir suggested.

"If that is what they intended, Doctor, then they have 
already had plenty of time to do it.  We've been in 
their hands all day," Garak answered.

"I suppose *you* would've gotten the information out of 
us much sooner," said O'Brien.

"As a matter of fact..."

"Garak," Bashir put a stop to it, "why do you think 
we're here?" 

For the doctor's sake, Garak consented to end the
argument before it had begun.

"Perhaps they wished to examine the effects of their 
device in a more controlled environment." He gestured 
at the walls around them. "Think, Chief O'Brien, Doctor
--How do we know we aren't still under its influence 
now?"
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"We all agreed that it was in our best interests to
escape before we came to violence.  Of course, Dr. 
Bashir had been injured by the JemHadar when we were 
captured and wasn't able to participate very much, 
but Chief O'Brien and I worked together surprisingly 
well once we had a common goal.  Our objective was 
the Vorta's office."

"You went with O'Brien?"

"No, Commander.  We were each taken to the Vorta to be 
interviewed the next morning.  After Chief O'Brien was 
taken from our cell, I gained access to the forcefield 
outside the door and took the liberty of joining him in 
Ozyam's office."

"And what about the Vorta?"

"I'm afraid it was necessary to dispatch him. We needed 
uninterrupted access to the controls for the tele-
psychosis field and Ozyam refused to accommodate us.  

It was unavoidable."

"*You* killed him?"

"Yes, I did," as if he were conceding a minor point. 
"I stood guard at the office door while Chief O'Brien 
made the necessary adjustments to the field's frequency.  
We departed while the JemHadar and the Dreasil were 
fighting with each other. 

"The poor doctor became seriously oxygen depleted on our 
hike back to the science station. I had to carry him the 
last half-kilometer or so."

-=*)]4[(*=-

After the third debriefing, Sisko remained in the ward-
room, staring over the tips of his steepled fingers 
into nothing while Dax and Odo reviewed the Chief's, 
Dr. Bashir's, and Garak's reports.  

At last, they set their datapadds down on the table; 
Sisko asked, "Well?"

"Something's not right," Dax agreed.  "There are...
oddities. Omissions.  Strange discrepancies in their 
separate accounts of the escape." 

"Garak must be lying," Odo growled.

Sisko acknowledged that this was his first assumption
too.  "But in the case of who killed the Vorta, which 
of the two seems more likely to commit cold-blooded 
murder?"

"Then Chief O'Brien is lying," said Odo.

"One of them *has* to be."

"And what about Julian's being hurt?" Dax wondered. 
"Both the Chief and Garak clearly state that the Jem-
Hadar had to stun Julian when they were captured--but 
Julian doesn't even refer to it."

"All three mention that Bashir passed out as they made
their way back to the science station," Sisko replied. 
"I didn't give it a thought when Bashir first spoke of 
it--I assumed he had simply been exposed to the planet's 
oxygen-deficient atmosphere for too long. But in light 
of O'Brien's and Garak's statement, it suggests that 
the doctor was already in a weakened condition." He 
quoted O'Brien's statement: "`Incapacitated.'"   

"Chief O'Brien said that Garak had to carry Julian,"
said Dax.  "Garak does confirm that." She tapped one of 
the padds.

"But if Dr. Bashir hiked four or five kilometers before 
he collapsed, then he might not have been injured as 
badly as the Chief and Mr. Garak imply," Odo observed.

At this, Sisko paged the Infirmary and asked the nurse 
currently on duty if the medical reports for the three
were completed.  Not yet.  

"No one talks about the two days they spent on the 
station before they were captured," Odo resumed the
discussion. "But there are indications that something 
unusual was going on:  Garak's paranoia.  Dr. Bashir's 
locked door."

"We're missing too many pieces of the puzzle," Sisko 
mused.  "What did happen at the Pryderi science station? 
Could that telepsychosis device have affected them more 
than they want us to know?"  

-=*)]5[(*=-

"I thought we were finished, sir," O'Brien said with
open perplexity--and perhaps a note of defensiveness?
--when Sisko sought him out first.  "Is there a problem?"

"No," Sisko assured him.  "I just want to clear up a 
few points."

"Yes, sir.  Anything I can do to help."

It had taken Sisko awhile to track the Chief down;
although it was now 'evening' on DS9 and O'Brien's
regular duty-shift had ended nearly two hours ago, the 
Chief was still wandering the station, looking for 
malfunctions to repair.  Sisko had found him working 
on a faulty monitor in the security office. As O'Brien 
sorted out the components scattered on the floor behind 
Odo's desk, Sisko took the chair.

"I'm curious about this injury Dr. Bashir received,"
he began.  "Chief, how badly was Julian really hurt?"

"He was laid up for most of the day after we were
captured," O'Brien answered without looking up from
his work.  "The next morning, he was a little better.  
He was able to walk out on his own when we left the
Dominion base.  I couldn't tell you what was wrong
with him in medical terms, sir--I'm no doctor."  He 
raised his head then.  "Have you talked to Julian?"

"Dr. Bashir hasn't said a thing," Sisko told him. "In 
fact, he didn't mention it in his report to me at all." 
He watched O'Brien's face as he spoke the carefully 
measured words.  "I have to wonder what he's keeping
from me.  I was hoping you'd be able to give me more 
information."

"Hm." O'Brien pulled in his lips thoughtfully. "I don't 
know what to say, sir.  Maybe he didn't think it was 
important enough to mention.  You know how Julian is
--He fusses like a mother hen when someone else is 
injured, but when *he's* the one who's hurt, he calls 
it 'nothing' and he puts on that brave, trying-to-be-
hero show of his.  He even makes jokes about it."

It sounded plausible--it was the sort of thing the young
doctor would do--but Sisko still had his doubts.

"I'd also like to know more about the time you spent
on the science station. Bashir said there were fights.
*Were* there fights?"

O'Brien sighed. "Well, sir, if you have to know--I 
slugged Garak."  

"Really?" This was the kind of information he'd been
probing to find.  "What did Garak do?"

"It was nothing at all, Commander.  You've heard what 
that device did to us. The littlest things could set us 
off. Garak said something--I wouldn't even have thought 
twice about it if it'd happened here--and I took it the 
wrong way.  The next thing I knew, I smacked `im."  
Miles sounded embarrassed to confess it.  "I'm sorry 
I didn't tell you about it before, sir."

"Was there a lot of this going on while you were all 
under the influence of the telepsychosis device?"

"A bit," O'Brien admitted reluctantly.  "It was just 
a lot of stupid quarreling, over dinner, who was going 
to sleep where. Pointless, really. That fight with Garak
was the worst of it."

"You didn't get into any tangles with Bashir, did you?"

"No, sir!"  

"What about Garak?  Did *he* fight with the doctor?"

"Not `fight,' exactly." Now, O'Brien appeared distinctly 
uncomfortable.  

"What did he do?"

"It was nothing, Commander."  He was concentrating 
on his work again. "Nothing I mightn't've done myself if 
things had gone just a little differently.   You can't blame 
any of us for what went on on Pryderi, sir.   We weren't
ourselves.  I suppose we were lucky we didn't all murder 
each other."

-=*)]6[(*=-

The tailor's shop was open later than usual.  Garak had 
occupied himself with sorting through the invoices for 
merchandize that had arrived during his absence, but 
he turned his attention away from the computer when 
Sisko came in.  And while Garak insisted that he was 
more than happy to be of assistance, the commander 
soon had the feeling that Garak was barely willing to 
admit that he'd been to Pryderi XII, and might even deny 
he was acquainted with Bashir and O'Brien if he thought 
he could get away with it.

"Commander Sisko, I don't know what more I can tell you,"
the tailor said apologetically.  

"You didn't fight with O'Brien?" Sisko persisted.  "He 
didn't punch you?"

"We had a few quarrels--more vociferous than usual, but
nothing out of the ordinary.  If Chief O'Brien has told you 
otherwise, he was exaggerating."

"And Bashir didn't get hurt during one of these `quarrels'?"

"No, that was much later." Garak regarded him indignantly.
"Surely you don't suspect that *I* hurt the doctor?"

That was exactly what Sisko was beginning to suspect--
that one man or the other had been responsible for 
Bashir's being injured long before they'd been captured.  
"I don't know what to think," he replied with a hint of 
menace.  "Mr. Garak, you wouldn't lie to me?" 

"My dear Commander Sisko, I wouldn't dream of it."

"Then you'll tell me what really happened on Pryderi
XII--how you were captured, how you managed to escape,
which one of you was responsible for the death of the 
Vorta."

"Oh, very well," Garak sighed. "If you must know, it 
was Dr. Bashir."

"Mr. Garak..." Sisko snapped impatiently. "You told me 
that Dr. Bashir was injured."

"Yes, I did. And he was.  While Chief O'Brien and I
were up in the Vorta's office arranging our escape,
Dr. Bashir was in our cell.  Just as I've told you."  
The tailor scowled.  "Really, Commander, what kind of 
answer do you expect when you're so obviously trying 
to trick me into revealing information after I've 
already given you the truth? *I* killed the Vorta.  I
have no reason to conceal it--it had to be done."

"Then why would Chief O'Brien imply that *he* did?"

"Perhaps you misunderstood him.  Why would *I* say I 
had if Chief O'Brien were responsible?" Garak countered.  
"Surely, Commander, you're not accusing me of taking 
undeserved credit for the Chief's actions?  I may have 
my character flaws, but I'm not a plagiarist."  He shut 
his computer off with an abrupt gesture.  "I think I've 
answered all your questions more than adequately and, 
if you don't mind, I'd like to close up my shop now."

As he walked out of the tailor's shop, Sisko met Dax 
on the Promenade.

"How did it go with Garak?" she asked as she approached. 

"No better than my conversation with O'Brien: they both 
sounded straightforward and frank--and I don't trust 
*one* of the answers they gave me, the Chief's any more 
than Garak's." He shook his head. "I'm being stonewalled, 
Old Man, I *know* it!" 

"Maybe Julian will crack if you put a little pressure
on him?" Dax suggested.

"I was planning to talk to him next.  Is he still in his
office?"  

"I just stopped by the Infirmary--Julian's gone to his 
quarters." She waved a datapadd  "But Nurse Oca had 
the medical reports ready and waiting."     

"What've we got?"

Dax began to read:  "All three were suffering from 
some degree of hypoxia.  Julian was the most affected.  
The medic who conducted these scans also notes electro-
magnetic residue at the cellular level, indicating the 
recent use of a dermal regenerator. Garak received some 
sort of injury at the base of his neck, and both he 
and Chief O'Brien had minor facial trauma repaired."

"They *did* fight," said Sisko.   

"The Chief also had severe plasma burns on his hands 
and forearms," Dax continued.  "From the cellular 
damage patterns, the medic concludes that he'd come 
in contact with a forcefield.  These burns were not 
repaired for some time, and they occurred much later 
than the first set of injuries."

"And what about Dr. Bashir?"

She was frowning now. "No sign of phaser burns.  
No electro-magnetic residue from a regenerator."  
Then Dax stopped suddenly, and hissed, "*Benjamin*!" 

He turned to follow her gaze back up the Promenade:
O'Brien had completed his repairs in Odo's office 
and had slipped around behind them while they were 
talking.  He reached the door to the tailor's shop
just as Garak was closing up.  As Dax and Sisko 
watched in amazement, the two exchanged a few 
words, then they headed for Quark's, whispering 
together urgently.

"What the hell are they up to?" Sisko wondered.

-=*)]7[(*=-

A little later that evening, Bashir was curled on the 
sofa in his quarters dressed in his pajamas and robe.  
A mug of barely-touched tea sat on the table before him.  
When the door chimed, he got up to answer it.

"Er- Commander Sisko."

"Do you mind if I come in, Doctor?  I didn't wake you,
did I?"

"No, sir.  I couldn't sleep anyway.  It's odd to be home
again..." Bashir wandered back to the sofa, picked up
the mug of cold tea, and set it down again, "after
everything that's happened.  Can I get you something,
Commander?  A raktajino?"

"No, thank you.  Not this late at night."  Sisko took a
seat in the chair on the opposite side of the table.
"'Everything that's happened'--now that's exactly what
I wanted to talk about.  I think a lot more 'happened' 
on Pryderi XII than you've told me."

Bashir sat down and sighed.  "I've been expecting you, 
sir.  Er- Miles sent me a message awhile ago, to let me 
know you were asking about our reports.  He wanted to 
know what I was going to say."

"And what are you going to say?" asked Sisko.  "I will 
keep this just between you and me for the present--off 
the record--but I want to know." His voice rumbled
angrily. "I don't like being lied to, particularly by 
men under my command."  

"I didn't lie, sir."

"You left out a whole hell of a lot!  Chief O'Brien 
lied.  Garak lied.  They're still lying." Sisko sat 
forward, elbows on his knees.  "I can think of only 
one reason they would close ranks like this.  They're 
protecting you, aren't they, Doctor?"

Bashir demurred, then lifted his eyes to meet the
commander's.  "Yes, sir."

"What is it they're covering up?  You weren't injured."

"No, I wasn't."

"You were able to participate in the escape." 

"Yes, sir.  You might even say it was *my* plan."

Sisko considered the young man seated before him.
"Doctor," he said slowly, "I think you'd better tell 
me the whole story--the truth, this time--from the 
beginning." 

-=*)]8[(*=-

"The first part of my report was accurate, sir," Bashir 
began.  "We arrived at the science station on Pryderi 
XII and found everyone dead.  The comm system wasn't
functional--the Chief tried to restore it. Garak went 
looking for evidence of intruders--he was suspicious 
from the first. 

"What I didn't tell you is that we experienced the 
effects of the telepsychosis device soon after we 
beamed down.  Garak and Chief O'Brien had begun to 
behave...peculiarly.  I didn't realize- I guess I was 
too preoccupied with my investigation to notice, and
then there were- er- others things to think about."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
A good researcher examines all the available facts
before drawing a conclusion, and that was exactly
what Bashir intended to do.  Miles and Garak could
speculate if they wanted to--it was easy enough for 
them all to let their imaginations run wild as they 
explored the dimly lit corridors of this station,
peeking into abandoned rooms and finding more dead 
bodies at every turn--but he had to have solid,
quantifiable evidence to build his theories upon.

Retreating to clinical detachment also kept the 
horror of the situation from sinking in.  Although
he preferred to examine living beings who weren't 
beyond his ability to help, he wasn't squeamish 
about corpses; he'd performed dozens of autopsies 
before, though never more than a dozen at once. It 
was the inexplicable circumstances surrounding these 
particular deaths that disturbed him.  

Since they had beamed down--had it only been seven 
hours ago?--and discovered those first three bodies, 
they'd searched for and found the remaining station 
crew, all in equally grim and mysterious tableaux 
which displayed the misery of the last moments of 
these lives, but never revealed the reasons why they 
had ended.  They'd gathered the bodies here in the 
medlab, and he had shooed his companions out--Garak's 
suspicions about sabotage had begun to work on Miles 
after it was discovered that they couldn't return to 
the runabout, and both men were reluctant to leave 
him alone; only after they had searched the medlab 
thoroughly and declared it safe would the tailor 
agree to go away and let Julian get to work.  

By concentrating on the purely medical aspects of the 
case, he didn't allow himself the time to dwell upon 
the more disturbing problems surrounding him--though 
he didn't like to admit it, he *was* spooked by Garak's 
unseen intruders too. But he could only stand here 
alone amidst the dead for so long before he desperately 
needed to take a break.
  
He took his tricorder and headed for the main lab, 
a large, circular room at the center of the station.
Whatever purpose it had served for the Cardassians,
the Federation had converted it into an observation
bay; here, the transparent dome was unobstructed by
the support structure. Open galleries rose above the 
main floor, each with doors all around to access the 
corridors radiating outward.  Ten of the science crew 
had been found here; as Bashir stepped into the room 
at ground level, the first thing he noticed was that 
the air was circulating again and that smell of decay 
which had filled the lab earlier in the day had gone. 
Rather than seeming haunted and abandoned, it simply 
appeared as if the researchers working in this area 
had all gotten up and walked out and might return to 
their places in another minute. 

He'd worked his way up to the second level and was 
crawling under a long row of work stations, when a 
door nearby whisked open, and he nearly hit his head.

"Doctor?" It was Garak.  "I thought you were in the 
Infirmary."

Julian sat down under the range of tables, careful
to keep his head low.   "I wanted to see if there 
was something here," he explained. "Some contaminant 
accidentally released or an experiment gone wrong--
*some* reason for this."

"If there is, you'll only risk exposure to it." Garak 
held out a hand to help him up.  "Foolish of you, 
if I may say so."

He took Garak's hand and climbed to his feet.  "If 
there is something here, I've already been exposed 
to it.  But you don't believe there is a contaminant." 

"I don't believe this was an accident," said Garak.

The temptation to tease his friend was irresistible.
"So, what have you been up to?" Bashir asked as he
resumed his scan of the gallery.  

"Like you, Doctor, I have been conducting an 
investigation."  While the doctor traversed half 
the gallery circle, Garak was never more than
a few meters away.  "Surely you will agree that
this universal systems failure is suspicious?"

"Miles said the environmental controls and the station 
power were simply shut off.  Anyone could've done that.  
To do...what they did to themselves, the crew here must 
have been completely demented by the end."

He hadn't finished his scan yet, but Bashir was
beginning to realize that he was going to have Garak 
at his heels until he left the lab. Without saying 
a word, the tailor was insisting he leave this 
potentially dangerous area.
 
As they walked back to the medlab, Garak paced 
beside him, deliberately keeping at his shoulder.  
Julian felt as if he had a bodyguard.

He had placed the last body he'd examined in
stasis with the others before he'd left the medlab
--all hidden from sight, but inescapably on his mind.
His preliminary notes were still on the medlab 
computer screen, and he read them off for Garak:
"Fourteen of the deaths were murders: Stabbings, 
strangulations, one suffocation, one bludgeoning.  
The rest were suicides.  From the ones I've had a
chance to examine, I've found no sign of viral 
infection, nor any toxic contamination that might 
have brought about a violent, delusional state.  
Whatever killed these people, it affected their
minds alone."

"Could this mass insanity be the result telepathic 
influence?" 

"It's possible.  I have no evidence for it, but it 
*would* explain what happened here."  He turned to 
Garak.  "So you see, you don't have to watch over 
me this way.  If I am affected, there's nothing you 
can do to defend me."

"Perhaps not," Garak conceded, "but I confess I 
feel more at ease if you are not left alone." 

Bashir had to smile; this unexpected show of 
protectiveness was really very sweet.

"I want you to promise me, Doctor, that if you must 
poke into the corners of this outpost, you will not 
go by yourself. Let me or Chief O'Brien accompany 
you." He glanced over Bashir's shoulder, and added, 
"Preferably me."

Julian turned again, and found Miles in the doorway
behind him.  

"Will you do that?" Garak insisted.

"I promise," he tried to answer solemnly.

Garak spoke to O'Brien.  "Can we infer from your 
downcast expression that we won't be returning to 
the runabout tonight?"

Miles nodded.  "We're going to be here for awhile.  
I've got one of the replicators in mess hall up and 
running. As long as we have to stay here, we can at 
least have a decent dinner."

"You'll excuse me, then, if I leave you to 'freshen
up' before we eat." With a little bow, he brushed past 
O'Brien as the Chief came in.  O'Brien frowned after 
him.

"I don't like him hanging around you like that," he 
told Bashir.  "Bloody Cardassian--he's always up to 
something."

Julian knew that Miles didn't approve of his 
friendship with Garak, but he'd never heard him
speak out against it so expressly before.

He also noticed that the knuckles of O'Brien's 
right hand were scraped.  "When did you do that?"

"It's that comm system," Miles explained sheepishly
while Julian retrieved the dermal regenerator. "I
lost my temper with the bloody thing, and punched it."

"That bad?"

"I'll you about it at dinner."

"I thought you didn't like to talk and eat at the
same time," Julian said, working quickly to repair 
the damaged skin.

"I don't, but if it's a choice between me talking
about *that* or listening to you talk about 
autopsies or Garak and his paranoia, I'll make 
the sacrifice."  Bashir had finished; he pulled
his hand free.  "Are you coming?"

"I'll be there in just one minute. I want to feed
this data into the computer for analysis."

O'Brien folded his arms and leaned against the 
wall near the door.  "I'll wait.  I don't want you 
wandering around this place alone."

Julian laughed.  "Garak said the same thing.  I 
suspect you've got more in common with him than 
you realize."

-=*)]9[(*=-

Garak had set one of the mess-hall tables and 
replicated a drink for himself while waiting for 
them, but he hadn't started his dinner.

"You said we'd be here 'for awhile,' Chief," he 
spoke as O'Brien and Bashir came in.  "I don't
suppose you can supply a more precise estimate of
long it will be?"

"Days," Miles answered bluntly.  "Could be a week
if the distress signal I sent didn't go anywhere."

"Then the system *is* functioning?" 

"It's *on*.  Everything looks functional, but as
far as I can tell, nothing I'm sending gets out."
The Chief went to the replicator.  "When I send a 
message to DS9, no response. When I try to contact 
the runabout, no response.  For all we know, the 
Orinoco's gone out of range-" He glanced at Garak 
with a quizzically upraised eyebrow. "Taken by those 
intruders we've been hearing about. The commbadges
are out too--I tried to reach you, Julian, before I
came to the medlab.  It looks like we'll be stuck 
`til Commander Sisko sends someone to find out what
happened to us."

"We'll have to pick rooms and make ourselves 
comfortable here in the meantime," said Bashir.

"Comfortable?" O'Brien responded with a little huff.
"Sleeping in those dead scientists' beds?  Creepy, 
if you ask me."

"No one died in the crew quarters," Julian answered,
smiling.  "But we'll put out fresh bedsheets, just 
in case."

The Chief did not appear to be entirely appeased by
this.  He pushed a few buttons on the replicator,
then announced, "There aren't that many selections 
in the programming. Anything in particular you'd like,
Julian?"

"No. Why don't you pick something for us?" Bashir
sat down at the set table, hands folded in his lap. 
"I trust your judgment." 

While Miles set about choosing items for dinner,
Bashir continued: "If it's any comfort, I've nearly 
ruled out the possibility of this being the result 
of an infection.  I don't think we can 'catch' 
whatever it was that killed the scientists here."

"`Nearly'?"

"Well, I haven't finished my examination of all the 
bodies yet--there are six more to go.  I'll continue 
with them in the morning."  He stretched, then rubbed 
the back of his neck, where the muscles had begun to 
ache from stooping over the medlab work tables all 
day.

Garak stepped up behind his chair; Bashir recoiled 
as the tailor's hands touched his shoulders, then 
relaxed as he began to rub gently.  "Ohhh."

O'Brien whirled around at the low moan.

"Is that better?" asked Garak.

"That's marvelous."  Julian leaned back until his
head bumped into Garak's chest.  "Very nice. Thank 
you."

"That's enough." O'Brien, scowling darkly, set a 
large bowl down on the table just heavily enough to 
draw Bashir's attention.  "Come have your dinner 
before it gets cold."

Julian sat forward. "Neck rubs, hot meals-" not to 
mention all this over-protective concern for his 
safety. "You'll spoil me."  

After this long, wearisome and unsettling day, it 
was wonderful to feel pampered. He served himself 
eagerly; he had missed lunch and was ravenous.

Garak circled the doctor's chair to take the 
seat adjacent to his and smirked at O'Brien, on
his right.  "What are we having?" he inquired
as he poked at the contents of the bowl with the
serving utensils recently abandoned by Bashir.

"Spaghetti and meatballs," Miles told him. "If
you don't like it, there're still some Cardassian 
foods left in the replicator programs. You can 
get something else."

"No, this will be fine." Garak twirled a mass 
of dripping noodles around the serving fork and 
hauled them onto his plate.  "I'm certain I'll
like this--after all, you and I have similar
tastes in so many things."

O'Brien, his mouth full, *mmfph!'d*. 

Bashir's eyes flickered, puzzled by the tension 
he sensed between them but could not define. 

Once O'Brien had swallowed, he answered, "I don't
think we do."

"Really, Chief?  Well, perhaps you do have a point.
Our interests may be similar, but our approaches
are quite different.  You're more cautious than
I am.  For example," Garak gestured to his plate
with his fork, "this sauce.  While it's very nice,
I confess I find it rather...mild.  I think it 
needs to be spiced up. It could become something 
really quite delightful if someone took the 
trouble to give it the attention it deserves."

Miles glared at him, speechless, then answered 
bluntly, "It's fine as it is. Unspoiled. I wouldn't 
change a thing."

"Miles, it's only spaghetti," said Julian.  He
had seen them engage in pointless arguments before, 
but this was getting bizarre.

"And that's where we differ," Garak went on, 
obviously enjoying this baiting. "You want what I
want, but you're afraid to take that extra step to
achieve it.  Maybe you think of it as not spoiling 
things, but the truth is you're afraid that the 
consequences of taking the risk may be too much for 
you.  You're afraid you can't handle it. It's the 
same failing you show in your game-playing.  You 
aren't bold enough, and that's why you'll lose."

O'Brien slammed his fist down, rattling the plates
and glasses.

"I'm not like you!" he snapped. "*You* have to 
corrupt everything you touch." 

"And what will you do to stop me?"

"Just keep your hands off of him, or you'll find 
out how `bold' I can get!"

Both froze at a small, choked sound from Bashir. 
The young man sat staring at them, wide-eyed with 
comprehension.  A dark blush was spreading over 
his face.

"Er- Julian..."

"Doctor-"

"I *am* naive," Bashir said, and cast his eyes down. 
"I never understood."  Abruptly, he left the table.  

He was out of the mess hall before he realized it,
walking swiftly down the dim corridors with no idea 
of where he was going.  He simply had to be away from 
*there*, away from his friends.  He needed to be alone 
to think; his mind was awhirl. He felt as if the solid 
foundation he'd always unthinkingly relied upon had 
suddenly dropped out from beneath his feet.

When he encountered one of the external exits, he 
pushed through the sealed door.

Julian stopped once he was outside.  Then, arms
folded tightly against himself, he walked away from 
the bulk of the science station and into the cool, 
still night.  The rose-colored giant Pryderi XIII 
dominated the eastern horizon as it loomed over the 
jagged silhouette of the mountains and, overhead, 
the stars twinkled; he missed that effect while 
living in space.  The quiet soothed him. The thin 
atmosphere forced him to concentrate on regulating 
his breathing--too fast, and he wouldn't draw in 
enough oxygen.  It helped to clear his head.

He began to piece things together: a hundred little
incidents, smiles, glances, jokes which had seemed
innocent at the time, the unguarded moments when
some sign of affection was inadvertently revealed.
All those seemingly pointless quarrels.  So much.
Why hadn't he *seen*?

The door hissed open behind him, but he did not 
turn to look back.  

"Julian?"  It was Miles.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."  But his arms remained tightly folded. 
"I can be a complete idiot, can't I?"

"It's not your fault.  There's no way you could've 
known."

"I've seen you and Garak argue a hundred times. I knew
there was some kind of competition going on between you, 
but I didn't realize that it was...for me." The last 
words were barely audible.

A hand fell lightly on his shoulder and he turned,
expecting to find Miles standing there.  But the 
Chief was still a few feet away; Garak had come out 
after him too.  

"Let's go back inside, Doctor," the tailor said
softly.  "You'll make yourself ill if you stay 
out here too long."

"We won't fight anymore," O'Brien promised. He was
looking at Garak; Julian could see that Miles didn't 
like the Cardassian touching him now any more than 
he had in the mess hall, but he only said, in a tone
heavy with menace, "Will we?" 

"We won't fight," Garak agreed, and tugged gently to
draw Bashir indoors.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"You didn't see it, did you, sir?"

"I think everyone's been aware of a certain amount of
jealousy between them," Sisko answered carefully. "But, 
no, I didn't know about this.  It must have come as a 
great shock to you."

Bashir nodded with a small, self-deprecating smile, as 
if he found it hard to believe he could be so childish.
"So much a surprise, I never gave a thought to *how* 
the secret came out."

"The device was having an effect on them."

"Yes, sir.  Their normal self-control was beginning 
to deteriorate.  All these hidden feelings were coming 
to the surface: Chief O'Brien's resentment had to 
bubble up when Garak was around me, and when Garak 
saw that, he just had to taunt Miles until he went 
too far--and then Miles couldn't help losing his 
temper and saying exactly what was on his mind. They 
couldn't stop themselves, you see." 
  
"But they hadn't become dangerous yet?" asked Sisko.

"No, not yet."

-=*)]10[(*=-

Bashir got up to order a fresh cup of tea from the 
replicator.

"I can see how you'd all be reluctant to talk about
this in an official report to Starfleet," Sisko said 
with an effort at leniency, "but I think you've over-
reacted by going to these lengths to conceal it.  It 
must have been a disconcerting experience, but it's 
nothing to be ashamed of.  Everyone's been possessed 
by an alien entity or under the influence of some kind 
of telepathic mind control at one point or another. It
happens to the best of us."

"But this is different," Bashir replied. "This device
brought out some *true* part of ourselves that had been
kept hidden. We weren't invaded by alien personalities
that made us do things contrary to our natures--it 
was really *us* all along."

"What happened next?"

"Well, they had promised not to fight," the doctor 
continued as he returned to the sofa, "and they kept 
that promise for the rest of the evening.  They had 
enough of their self-control left for that.  We chose 
our rooms in the crew quarters and went to sleep 
without another incident. I  felt a little awkward, 
after, but everything was fine.  
   
"The situation didn't explode until the next day."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
After a restless night in a strange bed--with even more
strange thoughts--Bashir was up early. He went straight 
to the medlab.

When Garak came in a few hours later, Bashir tried to 
focus on the report he was writing while they exchanged
pleasantries and some light banter about the dire 
situation.

Then Garak said, "I missed seeing you at breakfast, 
Doctor."

"Yes, well, I wasn't very hungry," Julian answered.
"I had a lot to do this morning." Both were true,
but he had other reasons for deliberately avoiding 
his friends.  Although he was determined not to let
it make a difference, he *was* uncomfortable alone 
here with Garak. It was hard to look at the tailor 
in the same way now that he knew how Garak looked at 
him; that remark about 'spicing' him up had echoed 
through Bashir's head half the night.

His discomfort must have showed, for Garak moved a
little closer to him and said, "I'm not disturbing 
you, am I?"

"Uh- no," Julian answered. "It's just that it will
take awhile for me to get used to this...how this- 
ah- changes..."  Unless he wanted the relationship 
to become mired in awkward pauses, he would have to 
discuss this with Garak eventually.  It might as well 
be done now.

"Garak, can I ask," he plunged in, "how long you've- 
uh- felt this way about me?  I never had any idea, 
you know."

"Didn't you, Doctor?"

Julian shook his head.  "When you used to flirt with 
me, I only thought you did it to play mind-games, to 
try and throw me off balance.  It never occurred to me 
that it was anything more serious."

"And now you know," said Garak.

"Do I?" Bashir turned on his chair to look up at 
the tailor.  "I know that I'm- er- wanted."  His 
lashes fluttered down in a fresh fit of shyness.  

"What more do you need to hear?"  Garak, still 
standing over him, placed one hand on the back of 
the chair and leaned down.  "That you are constantly
in my thoughts?  That I've given a substantial part
of my attention to you for *years*?  That I would do
anything to win you, and consider you well worth the
effort?  You are a captivating creature, my dear 
Julian--extremely attractive, for a human."  He 
reached out to caress Bashir's cheek with the backs
of two fingers.  

Julian had been expecting something like this to 
happen since the truth emerged last night. He spun 
half-way around, ducking away from the touch, and 
slipped out of his chair.  "You sound positively
obsessed." 

"Or hopelessly in love.  I've never been certain
what to call it myself."  Garak took a step forward; 
Bashir stepped back and ran into the biobed.  "I 
hope I haven't offended you."

"I'm not offended," Julian answered quickly.  They 
were too close--Garak wasn't touching him, but he 
could do so merely by extending his hand.  He was 
close enough to kiss...  "I think it's rather sweet, 
really.  I'm flattered." 

"But you have no interest in pursuing a relationship 
different from the one we have now?"  

"I'm fond of you, Elim," he said apologetically.  
"You know I am. I consider you one of my closest 
friends."

"Yes, I see."

"I'm sorry-" he began, but Garak cut him off.

"Doctor, *you* have nothing to be sorry for." Garak
turned on his heel and stalked out of the medlab,
leaving so swiftly that Bashir remained up against
the biobed for several seconds before he realized
that he was alone.

After this disconcerting encounter, it wasn't easy 
for Bashir to return to his work, but he gave it 
his best effort.  It upset him that he had to reject 
Garak, but what else could he do?  True, he *was*
drawn to the enigmatic tailor--in the earliest days 
of their friendship, it might even have amounted to 
a schoolboy infatuation--but when it came down to it, 
he simply didn't feel the same physical attraction. 
He wasn't in love. If he didn't make Garak understand 
that now, it would only become more difficult later 
on.  

When he ventured out at lunchtime, he meant only to 
stop at the mess hall long enough to order something
to take back to the medlab, but O'Brien was already 
there, alone at the table they had shared the night 
before.

Julian felt suddenly shy and lost for words, but as 
with Garak, he didn't want any awkwardness to alter 
the nature of this friendship.

"Garak's not here?" he asked as he got a mug of tea
--Earl Grey; Tarkelean was not on the programming 
menu--and read through the available choices for 
food.

"I haven't seen him in hours," O'Brien answered
without lifting his gaze from the bowl of soup 
before him.  "He said he was thinking of going 
outside."  As Julian stepped toward his table, 
Miles slowly looked up meet the doctor's eyes.  
"Julian, I'm sorry about what happened last night."

Bashir realized that his friend was feeling just 
as shy and uncertain as he was; knowing that, he 
became a little more confident.  

He set his lunch on the table and sat down across
from O'Brien.  "What Garak said, is it true?" He 
pushed further:  "Miles, I can't help remembering 
that night a month or so ago when we got drunk in 
your quarters.  You said- well, you almost said-"

Miles squirmed, but at last he admitted, "I've 
thought about you, Julian.  I wouldn't've dared 
to tell you before this--I didn't even like to 
admit it to myself.  It didn't seem right, and 
there was Keiko to think of.  But she's been gone 
so much this past year, and we've spent so much 
time together.  You stopped being so damned
annoying, and I started to look at you..." He was
obviously embarrassed by talking about this, but
he had to get the words out.  "Or maybe I couldn't 
stand you before because I've been attracted to 
you all along."  He met Julian's eyes again.  "I 
never wanted you to know, but now that the secret's 
out, there's no use in hiding it anymore."

"But Garak knew?" Julian asked.  "You didn't- er- 
talk about me, did you?"

"With him?" O'Brien snorted. "Not in so many words.
I could see what *he* was after, always sniffing 
around you, and I guess he saw why I cared one way 
or the other."

"You've always understood what the two of you were 
fighting about?"

Miles sighed.  "I'm really sorry about that. 
It's that *Garak*.  He brings out the worst in me. 
He does it deliberately, you know. You heard how he
was talking last night.  The way he pawed at you, 
putting his hands all over you--I couldn't put up 
with it anymore.  Julian," he reached across the 
table and seized Bashir's wrist.

"Miles-"

"Julian, listen to me."  His voice was low and urgent, 
the look on his face intense.  "That man is dangerous.  
You don't know what he is--you're getting in way over
your head if you play around with him."  His grip 
tightened.  "Watch yourself, whatever you do."

"Yes, I will," Bashir promised, bewildered by the
forcefulness of this unexpected warning. He tried to 
tug his arm free. "Now will you please let go?" 

O'Brien released him.  As they drew apart, Garak came 
in.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting your intimate chat."

"No, not at all," Julian answered, attempting 
a light tone but not quite making it.  "In 
fact, we were wondering where you'd got to."

"How gratifying, to know my absence was noticed,"
the tailor replied.  "I have no doubt that you 
searched every inch of this outpost for me, and Mr. 
O'Brien's anxiety must have equaled your own.  Let 
me assure you, dear Doctor, that you had no reason 
to fear for my safety--after you ejected me from 
your medical lab this morning, I thought I wouldn't 
distress you any further.  While the two of you 
have been so comfortable here together, holding 
hands over your lunch, I've been exploring the 
territory surrounding the station."

Julian stared in disbelief.  He'd never seen Garak 
quite like this before; the Cardassian was hissing 
with caustic bitterness, jealousy, and barely 
contained fury.

O'Brien had picked up something else in Garak's
speech.  "What happened in the medlab?" he demanded.

"Nothing," said Bashir.  "We had a talk, that's all."

"What did he do to 'distress' you?"

"Nothing!  Miles, I'm fine."

O'Brien turned to Garak.  "I swear to god if you've 
laid a hand on him-" he was on his feet.

They were about to come to blows, Bashir realized
with increasing alarm. 

"Don't!" he cried out.  "You promised me!"  That 
was enough to stop Miles from swinging his fist.  
"I don't appreciate being fought over.  You have 
to see that I care about both of you and you won't 
impress me by pummeling my other best friend." 
He tried to restore order.  "Garak- Elim, please
join us.  Miles, will you sit down?"

"Not if *he's* sitting with us," O'Brien grumbled.

"Obviously, I'm not welcome," Garak sniffed.

Enough. "I think that if you're going to compete 
over something, you ought to focus your efforts on 
pleasing *me*," Julian said.  It was an imperious 
demand, but he had to do something to hold their 
mutual hostility in check.  If they kept at each 
other like this, someone was going to be hurt.  
"You won't sit together if I ask you to. You can't 
expect me to choose one of you in favor of the 
other. The only fair thing for me to do is go over 
there-" he jerked his chin to indicate another table 
closer to the door.  "And you can sit wherever you 
like."

He took his lunch to the other table. For awhile, 
they ate separately in sullen silence--Garak near 
the replicator, O'Brien remaining where he was. 
Each threw anxious glances in Bashir's direction
while the doctor cut up his food and sipped his 
tea with stiff-backed dignity, as if he were 
oblivious to their agitation and didn't care what 
they did next.

Then Garak threw down his fork and cursed in Kardasi.  
Picking up his tray, he advanced purposefully across 
the room toward Bashir's table.  As he passed O'Brien,
the Chief leapt up.

Garak stood over Julian's table.  "Doctor," his 
eyes were still glittering with dangerous emotions, 
but his tone was perfectly courteous. "I would be 
honored if you'd permit me to join you. May I?"

"Yes, please do," Julian replied graciously. "Miles?"
he prompted.  "Would you like to come over here 
too?"

Miles had finished his soup, but he sat down with 
them, either to show Julian that he was sorry, or
to keep an eye on Garak--Bashir didn't know which.  
The conversation was full of blunt answers and 
tense pauses, but there were no further arguments 
and, for the present, the doctor felt as if he had 
gained control.

They left the mess hall together, and went in 
separate directions. 
 
-=*)]11[(*=-

After the last autopsy had been completed that 
afternoon, Bashir sat down to analyze the results
of his research.  The need to find a reason for 
this madness was more urgent than ever, but the 
dead scientists were no longer foremost on his mind.

There was no organic or chemical cause that he could 
determine.  No hope of developing an antidote. No 
protection if they were affected by the same thing.

*Were* they being affected? His friends were behaving 
strangely, but they were under a great deal of stress: 
they were stranded here indefinitely, threatened by a 
set of inexplicable circumstances; it was making them 
all short-tempered, and Garak and O'Brien, never on the 
best terms anyway, were more inclined than usual to 
lash out.  And he only had his own curiosity to blame 
if both men were more bold in expressing their feelings 
for him--after all, he *had* asked them.  He'd prodded
them into talking about it, and he couldn't hold them
responsible if they were encouraged to take liberties. 

There were alternate explanations, and yet he had to 
face the possibility that it was all happening again.
He had to find some way for them to protect themselves.

He took up his tricorder and started out, then nearly 
ran into Garak, who was loitering just outside the 
medlab door.

"Going somewhere, Doctor?"

"Er- yes.  I wanted to have a look at the external
surface of the dome, gather some readings on the 
local environment, ambient radiation, the indigenous
lifeforms.  There may be some important factor that
we've overlooked. You were outside earlier, weren't 
you, Garak?"

"Yes, for half the morning."

"Didn't you feel light-headed?" 

"I didn't exert myself.  As part of our military
training, we Cardassians learn certain breathing 
techniques that maximize oxygen intake--it's quite 
useful on less congenial worlds such as this one.
I could teach them to you, though I'm afraid you 
might not find them as effective.  Are you certain
you wish to go out there?"  

"I have to.  It'll only be for a few minutes." 
Julian recalled the promise he had made.  "I don't 
suppose you'd care to accompany me?"

Garak smiled. "I would be delighted."

As they walked along the corridor, Bashir wondered,
"Have you been lurking outside the medlab very long?"

"Not long.  I didn't want to intrude."

"I wish you had come in.  I'd like to check you and
Miles over, compare your bioscans-" He was aware
that Garak had drawn himself up with stiff reserve
at the mention of O'Brien.  "You're not still angry 
about what happened at lunch, are you?" he asked 
tentatively.

"No, you were quite right, Doctor.  My manners were 
deplorable.  You may rest assured that hereafter, I 
am intent upon whatever pleases you.  I told you I 
would do anything."  One hand fell lightly at the
small of Bashir's back, then his arm stole around 
the doctor.

"Garak, no," Julian fended off this advance. "That's 
not what I meant."
   
"You led me to believe-"

"I wanted to keep the peace between you and Miles!"
Julian insisted.  "You can't go on quarreling--I
hoped that if you truly cared for me, you'd respect
my wishes and try to get along with each other."

"And I made the effort, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, and I appreciate that.  But I wasn't
asking for your best behavior in exchange for- er-
anything." He sighed.  While he wanted to be sensitive 
to Garak's feelings, he didn't want his actions to be 
mistaken for encouragement.  "Garak, I can't respond 
the way you'd like me to.  We've talked about this."

"I remember.  You claimed you had no idea of my 
interest in you."

"I hadn't.  I didn't know." 

They entered the wide passageway that circled the
outer rim of the station; the tinted dome curved
over them and the nearest exit was just ahead. 

"You dismissed me from the medical lab." Garak had 
fallen back, still keeping pace with Bashir, but now 
a few steps behind. Instead of feeling protected, 
Julian had the unnerving sensation that he was being 
stalked. "You were afraid of me."

"I thought you were going to kiss me."

"Would that be so terrible, Doctor?"

"No, not terrible." He stopped.  "But, Elim, I can't 
pretend-"

He got no further.  Without warning, Garak grabbed
the front of his uniform and pushed him back against 
the wall.  The breath was knocked out of him, but the 
tailor held him by the throat, thumb under his chin--
not hard enough to choke him, but firmly enough to 
keep him from falling down.  

Julian found himself staring into a stranger's eyes.

"You are a fool, Julian Bashir," Garak told him. "Do
you think you can toy with me this way?  You have no
conception of what it's like for me to sit across a 
table from you day after day, staring into your 
insipid face and listening to your smug, self-important 
prattle, while I burn with the desire to possess you."  
His fingers stretched up to brush over Bashir's cheek 
and lingered over his lips.  "*You*!" Garak spat.  
"So innocent.  So honest. So *pure*."  He made it an 
insult.  "What do you know of yearning for something 
you can never have?  You manipulate me very neatly
when it suits your interests, but you would never let 
me touch you."

"You're touching me now," Julian answered, terrified
but rallying his courage.  "And if *this* is what you 
wanted to do, is it any bloody surprise I never let 
you before?"

Garak let him go.  Julian slid down to the floor, and
the tailor crouched before him.  

"No," he said, "that's not what I wanted to do."

His fingers brushed Julian's face again.  Bashir 
flinched, expecting further violence, but Garak gently
pressed one hand to his brow to hold his head back,
then kissed him.

Bashir choked and struggled.  He fought his mouth free
to draw in one breath before Garak captured it again. 
The tailor pressed his shoulders back to the wall
and had taken one of his wrists; Julian continued to
squirm, to try and pull his knees up against Garak's
chest to force him off, but he was still stunned by
the initial assault and rapidly running out of breath.
He felt as if he were drowning in the kiss--when they 
were interrupted by a savage growl that would have 
been unrecognizable if it weren't for the Irish brogue:

"I told you to keep your filthy Cardie hands off of 
him!"

Garak broke off the kiss and Julian turned his head
to see a second stranger advancing swiftly toward them, 
red-faced in outrage, brandishing a coil spanner as if 
it were a weapon.  

"You heard me: Get away from him!"

O'Brien whammed the spanner against the wall--sparks 
flew up--and then he charged.

Julian hadn't thought Garak could move so quickly:
The tailor was crouched in front of him, half-turned 
toward Miles but still keeping him pinned--then in the
blink of an eye he was gone.  He leapt at O'Brien as 
the Chief rushed forward.  They crashed together.
O'Brien, roaring incoherently, attempted to throttle 
the Cardassian, but couldn't get his hands effectively
around the thick cartilage ridges of Garak's throat.  
The grip was obviously painful, for Garak was making
an equally infuriated hissing noise as he slammed 
O'Brien to the floor three times, four; the stubborn
Irishman refused to let go.  When Bashir tried to 
intervene, he was abruptly knocked back against the
ornamental duranium base of the dome. They were too 
intent on fighting to notice.

Julian inched back along the wall to avoid being 
crushed by their bodies as they tumbled, arms and legs 
flailing.  As frightening as this violence was, he was 
even more disturbed by the intensity of the emotions
revealed.  Stripped of all pretense, all words, all 
veneer of civilized behavior and even the defensive 
mechanisms of their own minds, they were reduced now 
to a single-minded fury beyond reason.  They had come 
down to the essence of the quarrel between them.

No, he hadn't understood. There was something so primal 
about the way they were fighting, so essentially *male*, 
like stags clashing their antlers or tomcats yowling in 
the night. The most fundamental of battles: the fight 
to win a mate.

*And what happens next?* he wondered as he scrambled 
backwards, trying to slip past them to reach the 
nearest doorway.  *The winner comes over here and 
expects to claim me as his prize?*
 
It ended when Miles grabbed the spanner he had dropped
at the beginning of the battle and jabbed the damaged 
end into the nape of Garak's neck.  The Cardassian 
jerked at the electrical shock; his eyes rolled up 
and he collapsed.  With a grunt of satisfaction, 
O'Brien clubbed him on the side of the head, then
again.

"Miles!" Julian yelped, appalled by this brutality.

O'Brien dropped the spanner and climbed to his feet, 
breathless, his face battered and bleeding, but 
exhilarated with triumph.  He turned to Julian.

"Are you all right?"

"All right," Julian answered; Miles reached for him to 
help him up. "Miles, you were-"  But as Bashir regained 
his feet, he was seized by the chin and his face pulled 
up for a fierce, possessive kiss. 

He shoved Miles off before he found himself pinned
a second time.  "How badly have you hurt him?" he 
asked.

"Just a small electric shock," O'Brien answered. "The 
spanner doesn't have more than 5,000 volts in it." 
Bashir knelt to check the unconscious figure.  
"Julian, what're you doing?  Get away before he come 
`round!"

"I have to be certain he's all right."  He leaned 
in to hunt for the pulse at the base of Garak's 
throat, and was unexpectedly yanked backwards when
Miles grabbed him by the arm.

"Are you out of your mind?  After what he did to you?"

"He's not responsible for the way he's behaving," 
Julian answered.  "Any more than you are."

O'Brien scowled.  "What's wrong with the way I'm 
behaving?"

Bashir stared up at him. Didn't his friend realize...?
"Miles," he said carefully, "you were about to smash
Garak's head in."

"It's only what that bastard deserved, the way he was
on you!"

"And what about the way *you* just kissed me?"

O'Brien drew in his lips, and looked somewhat embarrassed. 
"You won't go around telling people about that?"

"No, I won't tell.  But doesn't it seem a little odd to 
you?"

"It's been a long time coming. I suppose the heat of 
the situation just brought it out."

It was more than the situation; Bashir was certain now. 
"Help me get him to the medlab," he ordered.

With O'Brien's reluctant assistance, he placed Garak 
flat on the biobed and located his medkit.  He 
made Miles "Sit here--Don't move," while he repaired 
Garak's head injuries and the burn on his neck, then 
scanned for further damage.  He dealt with O'Brien's
bruises and contusions next, working quickly and 
efficiently.  He tried to be no more than a doctor 
mending his patients; it was the only way he could 
cope with what had just happened. Miles would have 
killed Garak, and Garak could just as easily have 
killed Miles.  

Then, with Miles watching anxiously, ready to leap to 
his aid again, he brought Garak around.

"How are you feeling?" Bashir inquired.  "No residual
aches or pains?  Disorientation?"

Garak sat up and rubbed the back of his neck.  "I 
seem to have suffered no lasting damage."  He 
glared at O'Brien; the Chief glared back.

"No uncontrollable urge to commit violence?  How 
about the desire to ram your tongue into my tonsils?"

The tailor turned to Bashir at this last question. "I 
do apologize, Doctor.  It was a momentary lapse of 
reason. A brief...weakness.  I wish I could explain 
what came over me."

"I think I can.  Whatever happened to the scientists,
it's happening to us.  Don't you see?  Half of them 
died at each other's throats, just as the two of you 
were."

"He assaulted me," Garak accused.

"*You* attacked Julian."  Miles had left his chair.

"Stop it, both of you," Julian cut them off.  If he 
didn't take control right now, this situation would 
degrade into chaos.  

"From now on, there are rules, my friends.  First:
*hands off*.  No one touches me without specific 
invitation."  The memory of their hands still burned
his throat and jaw.  His mouth still tingled oddly 
from those unexpected, rough kisses.  The experience 
had left him shaken and he did not intend to be man-
handled like that again.  

"Second: No more fights.  I won't put up with it. If 
you go at each other again, I will stun you and slap
you into restraints  `til you come to your senses.  
Is that understood?"

"I understand," Garak answered; O'Brien nodded.

"Third: I want all the phasers on this station. I'll
lock them up somewhere safe."

Only one of the murders here had been committed with 
a phaser, and that death may have been accidental: one
of the first men they had found had gone into cardiac
arrest after being subjected to a stun setting for 
an extended period.  The rest, as his friends had 
demonstrated, preferred more physical means of assault.
Nevertheless, he wanted all weapons out of their reach.

"Miles, where's the one you brought with you?"

"In my quarters."

"Garak?"

"I had it with me--I must have lost it in the outer
corridor."  He made a show of patting his chest and 
his trouser pockets.  "You can search me, if you like."

"Er- no, thank you.  I'll take your word for it."
Bashir had opened Garak's heavy tunic to treat him,
and given him a thorough tricorder scan; he was 
already assured that the tailor wasn't concealing the 
phaser on his person.  "We'll go and find it when I 
gather up the rest."

"*You'll* be the only one with access to the weapons?"
asked Miles.

"I think that's a sensible precaution--I haven't tried 
to kill anyone today."  He gave O'Brien an appealing
look.  "Don't you trust me, Miles?"

"I trust you," O'Brien answered; he was still glaring 
at Garak.  "It'd make things nice for you, wouldn't it,
Garak, if I just happened to be vaporized and you were 
left here alone with Julian?"

"Accidents will happen."

"No accidents!" Bashir added another rule to the list,
and pointedly slapped a tranquilizer cartridge into 
the hypospray.  "Understand this, Garak--if anything
happens to him, I will never have anything to do 
with you ever again.  *Ever.*  Miles, that goes for 
you too.  I don't want to have to keep you sedated, 
but I'll do it. Whatever it takes to keep us alive 
until help arrives."  

It would probably be more sensible to take extreme 
measures now, and yet he held back. Although Bashir 
knew that his friends weren't entirely responsible for 
their actions, he was growing impatient and close to 
losing his own temper--and in that dangerous frame of 
mind, he didn't trust himself to restrain them.  As 
afraid as he was of what his companions could do to 
him or to each other, he was even more afraid of what 
*he* could do to them.  If O'Brien and Garak didn't 
notice their own aberrant behavior, who knew what he 
might do--or had already done--while thinking it 
perfectly normal?

-=*)]12[(*=-

The rules weren't 100-percent effective, but they 
kept Garak and O'Brien from killing each other, and 
that was enough.  There were a few snappish incidents 
after Bashir had confiscated the phasers and anything 
else that his resourceful friends might try to use as 
a weapon:  O'Brien expressed a vehement concern that 
Garak might get hold of Bashir's phaser; the doctor 
agreed to put it away with the others, although he 
kept his hypospray close at hand.  Garak was now eager 
to hunt for the telepathic device he was certain must 
be concealed somewhere around the station, but Miles 
couldn't continue his work with the comm system--since 
Julian had taken most of his tools--and the tailor was 
too suspicious to leave his rival alone near Bashir.  
Before another fight could break out, Bashir proposed 
the peaceful solution of all three of them searching 
together.

For the rest of the afternoon, they scoured the  
station from the main lab to the outermost passage-
way, and even ventured outside at dusk. They wisely 
kept a safe distance from each other, but were
always careful to keep the others in sight.

It was Bashir's first real taste of command outside
of his Infirmary.  And while he told himself that
this *was* a medical emergency, he felt strange 
ordering these men around; a few days ago, it would
have been nearly unthinkable.  

He was also aware of an element in his authority 
over them that was not usually present in command 
situations--their sexual interest, and their desire 
to please him because of that.  He began to use it. 

His first maneuvers were only natural; if the threat 
of his disapproval would curtail the first signs 
of a quarrel, then he would threaten.  The tactic
was effective.  From there, it was easy to progress
to a preventative approach: by granting small rewards
for good behavior, he could ensure more of it. 
Miles in particular responded to a kind word or an 
affectionate smile, though under the circumstances 
it was too dangerous to risk even the lightest, most
innocent physical contact. And of course he had to 
be nice to Garak too, since any favoritism would 
start another round of childish bickering.

This uneasy peace couldn't last very long.  Bashir 
knew he couldn't hope to restrain his friends with 
threats and hopes forever--and even the most 
irrational quarrel now might result in a serious 
injury or someone's death.

He didn't yet dare to dangle the promise of more
personal rewards.  He knew he ought to use every 
advantage he had, but this seemed too cruel, too 
teasing, especially since he had no intention of 
fulfilling such a promise even if he were forced 
to make it.  

After they shared their dinner in relative quiet,
they went to bed.

"Would it do any good if I locked you both in your 
quarters?" Julian wondered as they walked to their 
respective rooms.  He knew his friends were both
adept in overriding security systems; if he did lock 
them up, he could sit out here with a chronometer and 
time whether the engineer or the spy could breach the 
seal on his door more quickly.

"You can if you want to," O'Brien answered.  "I'll
stay in for the night either way."  For this, he 
received one of Bashir's smiles.

"I'd like to continue to search awhile longer," 
the tailor announced.  

"We've looked *everywhere*," said Miles as he 
stopped at his quarters. "And we found nothing 
except that low-level energy signature up in the 
foothills--that same one I read from the runabout
before we beamed down."

"It's at least five kilometers. You can't go all 
that way tonight," Julian added reasonably.  "Wait
`til I can compose an effective tri-ox compound and
we repair a few of the respiration packs, and we'll 
investigate tomorrow."

"Oh, I don't plan to go so far," Garak answered.  
"I would simply like to inspect the station once 
again before I sleep, for my own peace of mind."

"Very well." Bashir nodded.  He had arrived at
his own door, on the opposite side of the corridor 
from Miles and a few meters down; instead of going 
on his inspection immediately, Garak lingered.

"I think we've restrained ourselves admirably
today," he told Bashir softly.  

"Yes," Julian gave the tailor a smile too.  "I'm 
very pleased."

"Then don't you think a reward is in order?" He
had stepped a little closer, but did not try to
touch.  "Perhaps a kiss before we say 'good-night'?"

"Elim, no."

Garak frowned.  "Then may I ask what I *can* expect 
to receive for conceding to your wishes, Doctor?"

"You'll have my gratitude."  He knew Garak would
misinterpret this, but he didn't care as long as the 
Cardassian continued to behave himself.  He'd deal 
with the ramifications later, when or if Garak
insisted on his being 'grateful.'  

O'Brien was still at his own door, watching them 
suspiciously.  "Hey!"

"It's all right, Miles!" Julian reassured him without
taking his eyes from Garak's.  "He's just leaving."

"Doctor," Garak leaned in to murmur close to his 
ear, "if you knew how often I have thought of 
dispatching Chief O'Brien, you would be more than 
grateful for my self-control.  Have you considered 
how much more intimate this situation would be 
without his irritating presence?

It might be a joke, but right now Julian wasn't
going to take the risk.  "No, I hadn't," he replied
in all seriousness.  "Remember, Garak--if Miles is 
injured or killed or 'disappears,' you'll never get 
me."

"And will I 'get you' if Chief O'Brien remains
unharmed?"

Julian didn't answer, but said, "Good night," and 
went into his room.  He locked the door behind 
him; it might be an ineffective measure, but it 
made him feel more safe.

He fell asleep to the sound of Garak's footsteps 
in the corridor as the tailor patrolled the station
one last time, and he woke to a series of loud thumps
and a strange voice shouting commands.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

-=*)]13[(*=-

"It would've gone differently if I had kept one of the
phasers," said Bashir.  "But at that time, I was more
afraid of Garak and Miles shooting each other than I
was of our having to defend ourselves from intruders.
You see, I didn't really believe there *were* intruders
around, even though I'd begun to agree with Garak that 
we were being deliberately influenced somehow.  As it 
was, we were captured with barely a struggle."  

"Garak and Chief O'Brien claimed that you did struggle,"
Sisko told him.  "They said that the JemHadar had to 
stun you to subdue you."

The doctor shook his head.  "I kicked and screamed
when they dragged me out of my room, but it never went
that far.  I know you think I'm- well, sir, that I'm
impulsive, but I do know better than to go on fighting
when JemHadar soldiers jab their weapons at me.

"They took us back to their camp in the foothills..."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
They were given no opportunity to talk after they were
captured.  From the moment they were brought to the 
enemy camp, they were marshaled through a series of
small, antiseptic rooms; squat humanoid aliens--a 
species they had never seen before, with pale green 
skin, some with three bony skull crests that ran from 
their brows to the backs of their heads, some ridgeless, 
and all apparently physicians or lab technicians--
examined them and ignored their questions.

Then they were escorted to their cell.

Bashir had transported over clutching his uniform 
jumpsuit, but it was several hours later, after all 
the unexplained physical scans, that he was permitted 
to put it on.  His boots, socks, and undershirt had 
been left in the room where he'd slept at the science 
station; he'd spent the day barefoot and never felt
completely dressed.

And now, as the door slid shut behind them, he felt
as vulnerable as he had all morning while wearing 
no more than his briefs.

The cell, which the Vorta had described as "unused 
quarters," was spacious, at least four meters square, 
with a toilet cubby in the corner farthest from the 
door, a single bed and a narrow bench.  There was a 
thin, vertical slit of a window high on one wall, 
well out of reach and impossible to climb through. A 
comfortable room for one person...but for three?

Julian's first thought was about where they were going
to sleep.  Under normal circumstances, he would have 
had no problem sharing a bed with either of these men.  
He could have slept beside them without hesitation, 
and only a few jokes.  But after what had happened at 
the science station yesterday, he was now uncomfortable 
at the prospect.

Garak and O'Brien immediately began to search for
hidden surveillance devices, then looked for a means 
to escape.  Miles concentrated on the access ports 
on one wall, where some piece of equipment had been 
removed, to try and reach the electronics within.  
Garak overrode the lock mechanism on the door easily,
but the forcefield was set inaccessibly outside. 

After awhile, they were fed, then they sat down on the 
floor and began to put together the pieces of information
they'd gathered about their captors.  As the last light 
from the sliver of window faded and the evening drew 
on, and no one made a move to prepare for bed, Bashir 
became increasingly aware that his companions were as 
concerned with the sleeping arrangements as he was. No 
one dared to broach the subject.

When he grew drowsy, he curled up in the corner behind
the door and listened as the talk went on and on:

"There aren't that many JemHadar to deal with. Only 
seven by my count--the First and six men."

"Doesn't it strike you as odd that there *are* even
as many as that, Chief?  The base was concealed.  
Your Federation personnel had no suspicion of their
location or even their existence.  Why are the 
guards required at all?"

"I see what you mean.  To protect the device, you
think?"

"Ah, but from whom?"

"Well, what about those other aliens?  The ones who
examined us?  The JemHadar were all over the labs
today."

"Perhaps to subdue *them*, and not us?" 

At last, Bashir could not suppress an ostentatious yawn.

"You're dead tired," Miles said with a look of plain
relief.  "I guess we all are.  Julian, why don't you 
take the bed? I'll stay up awhile and watch over you."

"That's all right, Miles," he answered as he climbed
to his feet.  "They haven't come near us in hours."

"I- uh- wasn't worried about them."  O'Brien didn't
look at Garak as he answered, but his meaning was
obvious.

"Oh, really!" Garak protested.  "Are you expecting
me to ravish him in the night?"

"I wouldn't put it past you," Miles retorted.

"If I were as suspicious of *your* motives, Chief 
O'Brien, I'd wonder at you volunteering to sit up all 
night devotedly guarding him while *I'm* asleep at 
the other end of the room."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I find your hypocrisy disgusting--*You*
setting yourself up as defender of his chastity when
you're just as eager to slip into his bed as I am. Do 
you hope he'll reward you for your protection? Haven't
you realized by now that our doctor isn't so 
accommodating?"

Julian watched them, tired, impatient, sick of this
endless bickering--and suddenly, wearily certain that 
*he* was fighting a battle he wasn't going to win.  
They might be shut up in here for days, prey to their 
basest impulses; he might hold them off for awhile, 
but it was almost inevitable that he was going to 
have sex with someone before this was finished. And 
once he realized that, he just wanted to get it over 
with. 

"That is *it*!" he shouted, putting an end to the 
blossoming quarrel.  "No more!"

And, before their astonished eyes, he began to undress.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"You didn't," said Sisko.

"I did.  I thought that it was going to happen anyway
and, this way, it would at least be *my* decision. I 
would able to channel their desires into something I 
could cope with, rather than be left at their mercy."

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"All right," he announced as he peeled down his under-
pants and flung them to the floor.  "You want me so 
badly--I'm all yours." 

O'Brien stared open-mouthed at his long, golden-
brown, bare limbs.  Garak ventured, "Doctor, which 
one of us are you talking to?"

"Both," Bashir replied.  He sat down on the bed and 
scooted back to center himself on the mattress. 
"Come on, then."

Neither moved.

"I'm not very experienced in- er- this sort of thing.  
In fact, I've never- But if it will stop all this 
fighting over who's going to have me, then I'll do it." 
Now that his first angry outburst had subsided, he was 
losing his resolve.  He grew more apprehensive as 
neither responded.  "You'll have to- ah- share," he 
blundered on into their stunned silence.  "I want to 
keep this as equal as possible."

He hoped he could satisfy them without allowing 
himself to be penetrated.  Aside from the fact that 
he was unwilling to go that far unless he absolutely
had to, it was physically impossible for both men to 
take him that way at once; someone would have to go 
first. If he chose one before the other, it'd only 
start another argument.  But if he let them settle 
the question between themselves, they would be here 
all night!

Surely there were other things they could do together?

"Miles, I don't think you've ever been with another 
man more than I have.  Elim," he raised his eyes 
shyly to find the tailor, "you know more about this,
don't you?"

Instead of answering the question, Garak said, "I 
see--I'm to receive the honor of initiating you so
that I can hand you over well-instructed for *his* 
pleasure?"

This was enough to knock Miles out of his shock.  
"Wait a minute," he protested. "You're going take him 
into your bed?  Just like that?  After he practically 
raped you yesterday?  Now, I'd rather no one touches
you, but if it's a choice of him or me, then *me*."  
Then he got to the heart of the matter: "Why pick 
*him* first and not me?"

"That's not what I said..." Julian tried to explain,
realizing too late that he'd made a serious mistake.

"And if you think I'm getting into bed with him-"

"If you think I'm delighted with the thought of 
*you* as a bed-partner, Chief O'Brien," Garak 
answered nastily, "you're sadly mistaken."

"Well, I'm not gonna take your leftovers-"

Julian had drawn his legs up close to his chest and 
wrapped one arm around his knees. "If this is how 
you're going to be about it," he said, "then let's 
forget the whole thing!"  He was mortified; as he 
tugged at the blanket to try and cover himself, he 
could feel his face, then his torso down to his navel 
grow hot and he knew he must have turned bright red 
in embarrassment.  He'd never felt so painfully 
exposed before.  

Wrapping the blanket tightly around himself from armpit
to feet, he turned to face the wall. A second wave of 
humiliation washed over him and he sobbed out loud.  
He'd overestimated his authority.  He *couldn't*  
control them; they wouldn't even allow him to set 
his own terms for surrender.

"Julian-"

"Forget it!"

While he wept, the lights snapped out. He could hear 
them shuffling and murmuring, hissing sharply once
or twice in the darkness; he tensed and waited, heart 
pounding, as he expecting someone to climb into bed 
behind him, but no one did.  He thought it would be 
impossible to fall asleep under these conditions, but
as the minutes stretched on, his weariness overtook
him and he finally slept.

-=*)]14[(*=-

He woke the next morning still alone in bed. Clutching
the blanket, he turned and sat up.

O'Brien sat asleep on the far end of the bench; Garak
slept on the floor beneath, also sitting, his temple
against the Chief's knee.  They had pressed themselves
into the corner farthest from the bed, as if they didn't
trust themselves--or trust each other--to be any closer
to him than that.

His clothes had been neatly folded and placed at the 
foot of the bed; that had to be Garak's work. Moving 
as quietly as he could, wanting to preserve the 
privacy their sleep provided, Bashir dressed and went
into the toilet cubby.

When he came out again, both men were up, waiting for 
him.

Miles simply said, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever this device is that they're using on us, it 
leaves us vulnerable to our worst impulses--all those
things that are better left unsaid and undone," Garak
added.  "And I'm afraid it's made this miserable  
situation all the more difficult for you, Doctor.  
We've placed you in an impossible position-"

"We made you *cry*," Miles interjected.  He looked
as if Julian's tears had broken his heart.

Garak continued: "No apology can be sufficient, but 
it is all I have to offer."

Julian nodded, and noted that neither had tried to 
assure him that they wouldn't fight over him again.  
They knew as well as he did that they couldn't keep 
such a promise--there would surely be other fights.  
And what would *he* do the next time?  

As nervous as he'd been last night at the prospect
of giving himself to his friends, their rejection had 
been far more awful.  He refused to abase himself 
like that again.  

Rather than dwell upon the future, he asked, "Do you 
suppose they'll give us breakfast?"

O'Brien smiled at the abrupt change of subject.  
"They only fed us once yesterday."

"And if *that* was an example of Dominion cuisine,"
Garak said, "then we are fortunate not to have more 
of it.  I can't speak for either of you, but it made 
me yearn for the replicated meals at the science 
station."

They did not allude to the incident again.
 
Half an hour later, they heard the sound of footsteps
approaching; the forcefield was lowered and a pair of
JemHadar came in.  A smooth-skulled green alien, 
who remained outside, pointed to Bashir.  "That one 
first."

"What d'you want with him?" O'Brien demanded, but as
they had yesterday, their captors ignored his question.

One of the JemHadar gestured for Bashir to step out, 
and when he balked, seized him by the arm--which was 
more than either of his friends could stand to see.

O'Brien simply charged forward in his defense, and was
abruptly knocked down by the other guard.  Garak tried
the more indirect approach of stealing around to strike
the JemHadar holding Bashir from behind, when the guard
raised a small hand-held baton-like weapon and stunned 
him with a light touch to the chest.

Miles was up again as Bashir was dragged out; he rushed 
to the door after him, and struck the forcefield as the
second JemHadar reset it.

Julian heard him scream, but he was being lead swiftly 
away and couldn't turn back to see if his friend was 
all right.

-=*)]15[(*=-

They escorted him to a bathing chamber, where the 
JemHadar kept a vigilant watch over him while he washed 
and shaved.  Dripping wet, he was taken to one of the 
examination chambers, where a technician with prominent 
golden skull crests scanned him thoroughly again.  He 
was given fresh clothing: a one-size-fits-all ash-grey 
set of garments designed for a shorter, more solid frame, 
and a pair of soft-soled shoes.  He could have gotten 
lost in the large pullover top, and the loose-fitting 
pants were several inches short of his ankles. 

From his escorted travels, Julian began to develop a 
sense of the base as a two-story, T-shaped structure: 
the laboratories covered most of the cross-bar on both 
floors; the crew quarters and bath were in the longer 
wing, which lay half-buried in the hillside; the cell 
he had shared with Garak and O'Brien was on the lower 
level, at the far end of this section.

The Vorta's office was up near the laboratories.

"-an interesting case."  The Vorta was speaking to 
someone via the comm-panel on his desk as the guard 
brought Bashir in.  When he saw Bashir, he finished 
his report abruptly--"We will examine the matter fully. 
Ozyam out."--and shut the screen off before rising to 
greet his prisoner.

"The other human calls you 'Julian.' The Cardassian 
calls you 'Doctor,'" he said.  "Which do you prefer?"

"You may call me Dr. Bashir," Julian answered with 
a disdainful little sneer.

"Dr. Bashir, I am Ozyam, supervisor of this mission."  
Ozyam gestured for him to take a chair.  "What would 
you like to eat?" he inquired politely.  "I believe it 
is customary among your people to have a light meal 
first thing in the morning.  I observed what your 
companions chose yesterday, but you hadn't emerged to 
make a selection yet."  He sounded as if his one regret 
in the capture and imprisonment of the three of them--
and the murder of 17 Federation citizens--had prevented 
Bashir from having breakfast.  "The other two will be 
provided with their food of choice.  And you?"

"Whatever tea you have will be fine."

A minute later, he was supplied with a steaming cup 
of...something.

"I wanted to talk to you in particular, Dr. Bashir."

"You could have questioned me yesterday," Bashir 
replied as he swirled the suspicious-looking brew of 
leaves and bark.  "When you examined us."

"The examinations should have been sufficient," Ozyam
agreed, "but they failed to produce the answer I was 
looking for."

"And what's that?"

Ozyam urged him to his feet and brought him to the bank 
of control panels on the far wall.  He gestured to one 
unlit panel and a set of tiny monitors which showed the 
empty rooms and corridors within the science station.

"This," Ozyam announced, "this is our experiment."

Julian felt sick to his stomach as he asked, "How
does it work?"

"The Dreasil would be able to give you all the technical
specifics, if they were inclined to speak. They aren't
a race that cares much for associating with other
species.  The telepsychosis device is their creation: 
when the Dominion first encountered the Dreasil, they 
were using the field defensively to dissuade intruders 
from venturing into their space, but we were intrigued
by its enormous potential as an aggressive weapon.  
They were reluctant to cooperate at first.  It took 
some...diplomatic measures, but eventually we convinced 
them to allow us to test.

"As you and your companions have surmised, this
device emits a field which directly affects the 
electro-chemical balance of most sentient species' 
brains.  It suppresses the normal restraints on a 
subject's behavior.  In addition, the sub-harmonic
carrier wave we employ for the field is irritating 
to most of the species we've tested. It makes them 
irrational and prone to violence." He sounded proud.  
"The same frequency affects most humanoid sentients
--although not the Dreasil themselves.  Of course, 
we Vorta are genetically designed to be immune to 
practically anything, as are the JemHadar."

"You mean that the field is in effect around us?"

"When the field is on, it covers a broad area centering
from this source." Ozyam patted the panel. "We are all
within its range.  And since the field also blocks most 
of the standard communication frequencies, there's been 
no end of difficultly in sending regular reports to 
*my* superior." 
  
"You tested *this* device on our science station?" 
asked Bashir.

"Your outpost was an ideal opportunity: A small subject 
group consisting of members of six different Federation 
species in an enclosed environment, completely isolated 
within the range of the telepsychosis field.  We could 
control the variables and observe the results of our
test without interference." He smiled.  "But we didn't 
expect the three of you.  You gave us quite a scare
yesterday, when you announced your intentions of paying 
us an uninvited visit.  I decided it was better if we
came to you.

"I've observed you since your arrival, you know.  Your 
interpersonal conflict has been most fascinating. Which 
one do you favor?  A partner of one's own species is, 
of course, the natural choice, but one of another 
species can be quite an adventure."

Julian didn't even attempt to answer this.  Instead he
asked the same question Miles had posed last night:
"Why didn't you wait for us to simply kill ourselves 
off?"

"Unfortunately, your little drama, as interesting as
it was to watch unfold, has skewed our data.  Given the 
results of our previous test, I fully expected your- 
ah- suitors to kill other within twenty hours of your 
arrival. All the original occupants of your outpost 
exterminated themselves in that period of time."

Outraged by this creature's callous attitude toward 
so many deaths, Bashir answered through his teeth,
"Perhaps we're made of sterner stuff."

"*You* may be," Ozyam answered.  "The telepsychosis 
field doesn't seem to have had any effect on you at
all. The Dreasil scientists can't explain why--nearly 
half the test subjects have been humans and all the 
others responded wonderfully. They've been studying
all your lab reports on the other humans quite 
diligently, and I intend to look into it further 
myself.  

"As far as your friends are concerned, I think they've 
survived because they're caught between conflicting 
impulses.  Each wants the other dead--you can be sure 
of that--but each also want you badly enough that they 
don't dare kill the other and risk your disapproval. 
You haven't favored either yet, have you?"

"No."

"And you're not going to give them what they want."

"I really don't think that's your business-"

"It puts them under your control," Ozyam said gleefully.  
"You can contain their behavior by making them wait for 
you, *beg* for you.  Do you think it's occurred to either 
of them that if they worked together, they could easily 
rape you?"

It may not have occurred to them, but it had occurred
to Julian.  Since Garak had pinned him, the possibility 
had never been very far from his thoughts. 

That first restless night, after the truth had come 
out, he'd lain awake imagining what it would be like
to make love with another man, with Miles, with Elim.
In those tentative speculations--he couldn't quite call 
them 'fantasies'--he'd imagined tender kisses, the 
comfort of lying in the arms of someone stronger than 
himself; he barely dared to let his imagination
venture into more erotic exchanges.  Whatever he had 
imagined, it had been gentle. The touch of lovers.

Since that incident in the corridor, when he'd seen 
his friends' capacity for brutal possessiveness, he'd 
been haunted by more violent, vivid images: strong 
hands holding him down, pinning him helplessly, 
muffling his cries, forcing his legs apart.  He
imagined pain, and a violation that went beyond the
physical invasion of his body.

He had had the protection of knowing that one
man would always stop the other if it went that far
--but what if they did decide to join forces?  Could
he fend off both?

He shuddered at the thought, and answered, "They 
wouldn't hurt me." 

"I think you're right. Not together, at any rate. They 
can't unite in a common cause--all that jealousy and 
anger gets in the way--and yet you keep them from 
dispatching each other.  *You* keep them alive.  You 
must be an extraordinary creature to inspire such 
devotion."  His eyes traveled down from Bashir's face 
to his chest, as if he could see through the shapeless 
grey garment.  "I am frankly intrigued."
  
In that stunned moment, Julian wondered detachedly
why he had wasted so many years chasing after women 
who'd never given him a second thought when he could
attract men without even trying. 

"What would you say if I offered you the freedom of 
your friends in exchange for the opportunity to 
discover what is it that makes so remarkable?"

"I wouldn't believe you," he answered defiantly.

Ozyam was undeterred. "I'll give you some time to think
it over.  You'll be here in my custody for awhile, and
you may change your mind after a few days.  I can wait."
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Was it true?" asked Sisko.  "You weren't affected by
the telepsychosis field?"

"That's what Ozyam  told me, sir.  There are
indications that he wasn't lying: I *wasn't* as 
susceptible to violent and irrational impulses as
Garak and O'Brien were.  I had a few moments of...
odd behavior while we were on Pryderi XII, but those 
could have been the result of the stress I was under.  
It was a very trying situation."

"To put it mildly," Sisko agreed.  "Can you think of
any reason why you might have been immune, Doctor?"

Bashir hesitated, then shook his head.

-=*)]16[(*=-

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
As the JemHadar returned him to the cell, he could hear 
the voices of his friends:

"...doing to him?"

"I'd rather not speculate on-"

Their voices stopped when the foremost guard reached 
the doorway and lowered the forcefield.

Julian stepped through into the cell; Miles was lying 
on the bed, and Garak sat at his feet. The doctor gave
them a small smile of relief, pleased to see that they
not only hadn't killed each other while he'd been gone,
but had actually been in an unheated conversation.

Garak rose to his feet.  "Doctor, you aren't hurt?" 

"I'm fine."  The forcefield shimmered into place behind 
him, and the JemHadar retreated.  "The Vorta only 
wanted to talk to me--I haven't been harmed. Garak, 
you're all right?" 

"I am uninjured." The tailor brushed down the front of
his tunic, where the stun-weapon had touched. "Although 
I will be overjoyed if I am never again subjected to an 
electrical shock."  

Julian went to the bed.  "What about you, Miles?" He 
sat down where Garak had been a minute before.   

"Burned."

"Let me take a look."  Julian examined O'Brien's hands 
and forearms where he had come into contact with the 
forcefield: the skin was red, cracked and peeled, and
small blisters had formed at the base of his palms. "I 
wish I had some sort of painkiller to give you, but I
left my medkit back at the science station."

"It doesn't hurt so bad," O'Brien gave him one of those
brave smiles that told him it probably hurt like hell.

"I'll do what I can."  Aware that he still held Miles's 
hand, Bashir lay it gently on the bed, injured side 
up.  He tore a long, thin strip of cloth from all the 
way around the bottom of his shirt--there was plenty 
of material to spare--then took another, smaller piece 
off one sleeve.  "Garak?"  He turned to find the tailor
seated at the end of the bench closest to the bed,
watching them closely, and held the smaller piece of 
cloth out to him.  "Will you run this under the water, 
please?  As cold as you can."

He split the long strip in half, then bathed and 
dressed O'Brien's injuries, doing the best he could 
without medical equipment.  

He had just completed the bandaging when the JemHadar  
appeared and took Garak out; in light of Bashir's
safe return, the tailor went with them calmly.

"It'll be me next," said Miles.  He regarded Julian
with undisguised worry.  "And when they come for me, 
you'll be alone here with *him*."

"I'll be all right," Bashir assured him.

"After what happened at the science station?  And what 
about last night?  You *know* what he would've done to 
you if I hadn't been here 'n' you stripped yourself and 
got into bed for him."

"What if *he* hadn't been here?"

O'Brien lifted his eyebrows.  "Now don't you know 
you're irresistible?"  He reached up--with some pain, 
but undaunted--and tried to pull Julian down.  

Julian took his wrist.  "Miles, careful."

"Come down, then."  He drew his arm sharply back to 
his chest to tug Bashir toward him.

"All right," Julian yielded, if only to humor an 
injured man.   

As he cautiously placed his hands on either side of his 
friend's shoulders, O'Brien's arm stole around him and 
yanked him down firmly.

"Miles, let go." 

"You said you would come down."

"I have." Julian squirmed and pushed against O'Brien's 
chest.  "I will. But I want you to put your arms at 
your sides--you're badly burned and I have no way to 
repair the damage. I don't want you to aggravate your 
injuries."  He tried again, then threatened:  "If you 
don't put your arms down, I'll get up and I'll sit on 
the other side of the room until Garak comes back."

O'Brien put his arms down.

Keeping his side of the bargain, Bashir shifted to rest 
his head on his friend's collar and to slip his own arms 
beneath O'Brien's and around his chest.

"You don't need to be afraid," Miles told him. "I'm in
no condition to do anything."

"I'm not afraid," Julian answered. "But I don't like
being grabbed."  He *was* comfortable here, with his 
upper body pillowed by the warm, solid torso beneath 
him and O'Brien's heart thumping close to his ear.  
This was more the way he had imagined being with Miles. 

"I'm sorry," said O'Brien.  "If Garak's right and these 
aliens are using some blasted device that brings out 
the worst in us, I don't suppose I could help myself if 
I wanted to."

He lifted his hand to stroke Julian's hair; the doctor
could tell by the change in his breath and the tensing
of his muscles that it hurt O'Brien to do this, but 
the impulse was stronger than the pain.  "Miles..." he
warned.

The caress stopped, but O'Brien did not lower his hand.

"You asked a question the other day," Miles said after
a moment.  "In the mess hall before Garak came in. 
Remember?"

"About that one night we got drunk in your quarters?
Yes, I remember."

"I never gave you a proper answer. It's 'yes,' Julian. 
I do."

"You-?" Julian lifted his head.

"It's not the way I love Keiko," Miles added quickly.
"She's my *wife*, the mother of my child.  I don't 
know how I'd go on without her.  But then there's 
*you*--Arrogant, smug little bastard.  You drive me 
crazy.  There've been times when you annoyed me so 
much I wanted to put you over my knees and paddle you 
`til you couldn't sit down for a week.  And then you'd 
look at me with those eyes of yours--shining just the 
way they are now--and I thought I'd die if I didn't 
kiss you."  

How could he hear that oddly roundabout but heart-
felt outpouring of affection and not be moved? Poor,
dear Miles. Julian felt he had to do something for
him.  On an impulse, he braced his arms on Miles's 
chest and stretched up to give him a kiss. 
Well, what harm could it do?   

Miles made no move to repeat that rough kiss of the 
day before; instead of crushing him close or forcing 
his tongue down his throat, O'Brien shut his eyes and 
responded only lightly, letting Julian take the lead.  
It was brief, sweet, tentative, almost chaste--and then 
they sank back against each other.

O'Brien's fingers moved slightly, tickling the nape 
of Bashir's neck.  "That was a mercy kiss, wasn't it?"  

"You do mean a lot to me, Miles," Julian answered, 
"but I don't feel that way about you."

"I know." Miles sighed and sent a hot blast of breath 
across Julian's brow.  "I suppose it's just as well.
I mean, we couldn't very well go off to Risa together, 
could we?"

Bashir chuckled.  "I'd send you running back to Keiko
within a month."  He reached up behind his own head to 
lift the hand from his hair and ducked under to sit up.  
"That's enough for now."  He gave Miles a second kiss--
a quick press of his lips against the other man's mouth
--then replaced his hand on the bed. "Try to rest."

-=*)]17[(*=-

Garak returned a short while later, wearing identical 
grey clothing which fit him better.  Bashir was seated 
again at the foot of the bed, where he'd been when the 
tailor had been taken out, and watching O'Brien sleep.  

"You weren't gone very long."

"It doesn't take that long to have a bath," Garak
answered, "even a much-needed one."

"Weren't you scanned again?" Bashir asked.

"Once of those pale-green persons did give me another 
examination.  It only took a few minutes."

"And didn't he talk to you?"

"Who?"

"Ozyz-Whatsis, the Vorta."

"Yes, we spoke briefly, about you. Evidently, Doctor, 
he finds *you* a far more fascinating subject than I."

O'Brien was awake now and listening to their 
conversation.  "What does he want with Julian?"

"He didn't confide in me. He asked how well I knew our 
doctor, what I had heard of his personal history, that 
sort of thing. I believe I also detected a note of 
prurient interest in his questions--although we know 
so little of the Vorta and I may have misinterpreted
his tone."  But Garak was watching Bashir as he spoke.

"Julian, what did he say to you when you were being 
interrogated?" Miles asked.  

"It wasn't an interrogation," the doctor replied. "He 
told me about the device they've been testing on us, 
the thing responsible for all of the deaths on the 
science station."  Bashir described the telepsychosis 
field and the Dreasil's part in this grisly Dominion 
experiment. Then he asked, "Have either of you noticed 
that I don't seem to be as- ah- affected as you've 
been?"

"I did notice," Garak answered.  "I assumed it meant 
that you didn't have the same intense, emotional 
responses that Chief O'Brien and I were experiencing.  
There was no one here you lusted after."

"No one you wanted to kill," Miles added.

"Yes, well, Ozyam wants to know why. *He* thinks that 
the telepsychosis field has no effect on me, and that 
I'm keeping us all alive."

"You are," said Miles.  "We wouldn't've made it
through that last day on the science station if 
you hadn't kept us on such a short leash."

"Ozyam told me that the scientists on the station 
destroyed themselves after being exposed to the field 
for twenty hours." 

"And we were there twice as long," Garak observed.
"Is that why we were brought here and examined?"

"I think so," Julian answered.  "Although they 
also knew we were planning to investigate that 
power source we detected."

"The cloaking shield around this base," O'Brien
interjected.

Bashir nodded.  "They had to act quickly to stop us, 
to bring us here under controlled conditions before
we stumbled in through their back door.  Miles, you 
were right: they used the station's security to 
monitor us."  He was beginning to develop a plan.  
"But I don't believe we're being monitored right now.  
When Ozyam interviewed me, he asked me questions which 
would have been unnecessary if he'd been watching us 
all this time.  He asked me..." he blushed suddenly.  
"He didn't know what went on here last night, and he 
didn't seem aware that the two of you had been injured 
by the JemHadar this morning. I think we can speak 
freely."

"What did you have in mind?" asked Miles.

"Ozyam keeps the telepsychosis device in his office.  
He showed it to me.  There's also a master-control 
panel for the power grid, the cloak, and all the 
forcefields. I can get back in there. Ozyam is- um- 
curious about me, my immunity."

Garak was watching him carefully again.  "Doctor,
is that all there is to it?"

"Yes, that's all."

"Are you sure?" Garak persisted. "The Vorta did sound 
particularly interested in you."

"I don't know what you mean."  But he could feel
his face growing hot.  He couldn't meet the tailor's 
eyes.

O'Brien was also growing suspicious.  "You're a
poor liar, Julian," he observed. "He wants some-
thing more from you, doesn't he?"

"Well," he admitted, "I didn't want you to know.
Ozyam *is* interested in more than my possible 
immunity.  He's watched the way the two of you have 
been fighting, and he told me he'd like to- ah- 
find out what all the fuss is about."

"That's it!" Miles exploded.  "I'll kill that 
bastard with my bare hands!"

"For once, Chief, I agree with you completely,"
Garak said darkly.  

"And that's exactly why I didn't want to tell you,"
Bashir said.  "I knew it'd only make both of you
angry.  That won't help matters--I need you to 
keep your heads.  Ozyam told me he would consider 
an exchange--my cooperation for your release."  
Unconsciously, he threw back his shoulders and 
lifted his chin.  

Miles realized what he intended to do.  "Julian, 
you're not!"

"Surely you don't imagine he'll trade you for our
freedom?" Garak asked incredulously.

"No, I don't trust him.  I doubt he would've been so
eager to tell me all about their experiment if he 
thought we'd ever have a chance to relay that 
information.  He has no intention of letting us go.
But if I say I agree to his terms, I can get into his 
office.  I have an opportunity to access the controls.  
I can shut off the telepsychosis field, or alter its 
frequency."  He went to the door, which slid open at 
his approach.  "Perhaps I can lower this forcefield 
and give you a chance to escape."

"And what about you?" asked Miles.  "Do you think
we'd leave you behind?"

"No," said Julian, "not even if I give you an order.  
And this is an order: if I can give you the chance, 
*go*.  Get out of here and don't look back.  Don't 
wait for me."

"You'd sacrifice yourself for our sake?"
  
"It's only what any good commander would do--place
the lives of his men before his own personal safety.
You *are* my men." Bashir dropped his gaze, very much 
aware of the double meaning.  "I'll be all right, 
Miles.  Don't worry. I'll try to follow you out as 
soon as I can."

O'Brien struggled to rise from the bed, consternation 
clear to read in his face. "Are you going to let him 
do that?" he demanded, glaring at Garak for not 
physically restraining Bashir.

"Am I?  Chief O'Brien, what makes you think I have 
more influence over him than you do?"

"He doesn't," said Julian.  "It's my decision. Now 
will the both of you please shut up and let me do 
what I need to to get us out of here?"

He tapped the forcefield to make it shimmer; several
minutes passed before a guard came to the door.

"What is it?"

"I would like to talk to your Vorta. Tell him I agree 
to cooperate."

"I will convey your message."  

But when the JemHadar returned with another, they took 
O'Brien away. 
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Sisko began to look puzzled.  "Doctor? I was under the
impression that Mr. Garak lowered the forcefield, and
Chief O'Brien gained access to the controls for the
telepsychosis device while *he* was in the Vorta's
office."

"No, sir.  That's not the way it happened. Chief O'Brien 
and Garak were never in Ozyam's office.  I was there, 
twice, alone.  I reset the telepsychosis field."

Sisko sat back and let out a surprised *whuf* of breath.
Although he'd strongly suspected that Garak and O'Brien 
had omitted Bashir's part in their activities for some
reason, it had never crossed his mind that the entire 
escape story they'd given him had been a fabrication.
For O'Brien to agree to that level of collusion...

He took a guess; it was the only answer that made 
any sense.  "And you killed Ozyam?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

-=*)]18[(*=-

After Miles had been taken out, Garak turned to the 
doctor.  "This foolish desire of yours to be a hero 
*will* get you killed eventually," he said. "Are you 
really determined to do this?"

Bashir nodded solemnly.  "I don't see a better way 
to get back into Ozyam's office, do you?"

"I wish I did. Tell me, Doctor--When you told Chief 
O'Brien you would follow us out, were you simply 
attempting to soothe his fears, or is there actually 
a chance that you'll be able to escape as well?"

"There's a good chance, if I'm successful," Bashir
answered.  "I have every intention of getting out 
of here alive, and I'll join you as soon as I can. 
But I meant what I said: Don't risk yourselves to 
try and rescue me."  

If he were talking to anyone but Garak, he would have 
asked that his companion be certain that O'Brien 
followed his orders just this once and see that the 
Chief did leave here safely, but Bashir knew he 
couldn't rely on Garak to do this, any more than he 
could ask Miles to watch out for Garak.   

"I won't let Ozyam touch me," he continued bravely, 
"not if I can help it.  If I can't help it... Well, 
it's a small price to pay for your freedom and 
Miles's."

Garak regarded him, eye-ridges wide.  "What a little 
slut you are!" he said with frank amazement. "For all 
your virginal posturings, you won't hesitate to use 
your body if it gives you an advantage."

The remark stung; his hurt must have shown on his
face, for the tailor quickly added:

"It wasn't mean to be an insult, dear Doctor, merely 
an expression of my surprise.  I never realized that 
you could be so...practical."

"So you don't mind what I'm going to do?"

"Mind?" The Cardassian's face darkened ominously.
"I object to the idea of letting you go to that 
creature as much as Chief O'Brien does, but I am a 
practical man myself.  I recognize the distasteful 
reality that circumstances sometimes force us to do 
things we don't want to.  There is no other way for
us to escape. In spite of my personal feelings, I 
have to allow you to carry out your plan. 

"But, Doctor," Garak stepped closer, "it would be 
unforgivable of me to let you go without at least 
telling you how sorry I am for all the indignities 
you've suffered at my hands lately." His voice had
grown soft.  "If you will permit me, I would like 
to show you that I have more to offer you than 
jealous ravings.  We have a little time to our-
selves before Chief O'Brien returns.  I suggest 
we take full advantage of it."

He tried to take Bashir by the shoulders, but the
doctor jumped back out of his reach.

"Damn it!" Julian shouted.  "Is this what you're 
really like when all the barriers are down?  My 
friends--I look up to you, and all the time you're 
only thinking about getting your hands on me!"

As he listened to this outburst, Garak's eyes 
gleamed with sudden comprehension, and a flash 
of anger.  "O'Brien touched you, didn't he?"

Julian nodded.

"We agreed that we would not approach you in each 
other's absence."

"*You* haven't kept to that agreement."

"Why should I," Garak replied, "if *he* hasn't?"

"Because I ask you to," said Julian. "'Hands off'-- 
It was one of my rules, remember?"

"I thought those rules of yours were revoked last 
night, when I received an invitation to make love 
to you."

"And you refused."

Garak chuckled. "My dear boy, you caught me entirely
by surprise.  I won't be such a fool the next time--
provided, of course, I have the privilege." His tone
grew dark again.  "You have held me off for days 
with your infernal protestations of indifference and 
inexperience, but you can't continue to hide behind 
that now--not after you've consider surrendering 
yourself to our captor before me."

"You said you understood!"    

"Yes, I understand, and I don't blame you.  My issue
is with Chief O'Brien. Last night, you said you would 
share yourself equally between us, and now it seems 
that *he* can enjoy your company, while *I* am kept 
at a distance.  I call that grossly unfair."

"All right," Julian sighed and consented.  The last 
thing he wanted was another fight when Miles came 
back.  He couldn't leave them angry.  "I will give 
you exactly what I gave Chief O'Brien."

"What did you give him?" Garak inquired with a 
small, triumphant smile. 

"A couple of kisses, and we cuddled for a few minutes 
before he went to sleep." He stepped forward shyly 
to deliver on this bargain.

"Surely with the Chief's injuries, you were not 
standing in the middle of the room during this 
interlude?"

"No," Julian answered, "we were on the bed.  I had 
just dressed his wounds."

"It must have been a great comfort to him to receive
such caring attention."  Garak took him by the arm 
and escorted him to the bed.

Julian felt as if he were digging himself in more
deeply with every move, but he didn't resist.  He 
knew that Garak was right; they might never have 
another chance.  Once he was in Ozyam's hands, he 
might regret denying Garak now.  Besides, he had 
managed to keep control of the situation with 
Miles; surely he could do the same with Garak? 

Garak lay flat on the bed in the same position Miles 
had been.  "I want you to show me exactly what he
did with you," he directed, "and then I want to do 
it better."

Julian took him by the hand, and showed him.  He
allowed the tailor to draw him down, just as O'Brien
had done, but as he prepared to repeat that previous
cuddle, Garak twisted suddenly and he found himself
lying on his side, back against the wall, staring 
into intense blue eyes.

"This isn't what Miles did."

"I feel certain he would have if his injuries had
not prevented him.  You realize that he wants you 
as much as I do?"

"He told me he loves me."

"I don't doubt that he does.  I see how he watches 
you, that longing in his eyes.  I know what it's 
like to look at you that way.  I know what he 
dreams of doing with you. But he would never have 
dared to confess it before this."  

"You said he wasn't bold enough." Julian recalled
that 'spaghetti' conversation.

"He's a coward," said Garak.  "He's too afraid of 
what might be in you, untapped, if he troubled to 
discover it.  Or what he might find in himself.  
It was far safer for him to leave things as they 
were.

"Although it seems that this crisis has given him
new courage.  *He* has already held you here, as 
I hold you now.  He's kissed you. Spoken his words 
of love.  And you responded." Another twist, and 
he was on his back.  "'Love'--is that the word you 
need to hear to make this acceptable?"

"You can say it if you want to," Julian told him, 
"if you mean it."

"I will."  Garak kissed him, tongue flickering at 
his lips to tease them apart.  "But I want to hear
it from you as well."

"Even if *I* don't mean it?"

"Are you still insisting that you don't care?" He
went on kissing--a series of swift, open-mouthed 
caresses that were light but insistent--until 
Julian pulled his head up, his mouth away.

"I do care," he answered breathlessly.  "I care
very much for you.  I care for Miles too, but it's
not what either of you wants from me."  

He could give them his body if it came to that, but 
they both wanted so much more than that physical 
possession, things he couldn't give: His heart and 
soul.  His exclusive attention.  They wanted him to 
respond with that same terrifying depth of emotion--
a depth he barely understood, let alone felt himself. 

"I told Miles the same thing just now," he went
on as Garak continued to nip gently at his throat 
and collar, exposed by the loose neckline.  "He 
understood."

"He would," Garak replied; his hands slipped up 
beneath the doctor's shirt.

Julian didn't mind being kissed like this, but
Garak was going too far.  He had to put a stop to 
it before he lost whatever control he had over the
situation.
 
"Garak, stop.  We can't. If we do, Miles will know." 
His shirt was pulled up; Garak tested a nipple with 
experimental licks, gently sucking kisses, a sharp 
nip that sent an unexpected, thrilling jolt through 
his body.  "I'll have to share myself."

"He can't have you." Garak turned his attention to 
the other nipple.   

"It's only fair.  I refuse to- ah!- refuse to create 
any further points of contention between you. I won't 
give you anything to flaunt over him."  

He spoke under the guise of fairness, but now that 
he knew Garak didn't want other men to have him, he 
hoped the threat of equality would inhibit the tailor's 
advances.  Would Garak be so eager to take him if it 
gave O'Brien precisely the same privilege?

Garak hesitated, then lifted his head to stare hard
into the doctor's eyes.  

"Those are my conditions," Julian said firmly.  "You 
laid down the new rules yourself, Garak--whatever you 
do with me, he does too."  

"Very well," the tailor answered after some 
consideration, practicality winning out over
territoriality.  "If that's how it must be."  

He shifted his weight so that he could tug open 
Julian's pants and--with a few surprised sounds from 
Bashir--slipped his hands down inside; reaching 
around the slender hips to cup each buttock with a 
firm, fingers-wide grip, he repositioned himself 
lower.  His tongue probed the doctor's navel--a 
completely new, and strangely arousing sensation.  
Bashir could feel his sex stirring in response, and 
knew that the Cardassian must be able to feel it as 
well.

"You're no longer protesting, my love," Garak
observed, purring in satisfaction.

"N-no."

"You don't want me to stop?"

"No."  Garak's breastbone rubbed against his 
erection through layers of cloth, and he lifted 
his hips slightly to increase the sensation. He 
was still reluctant to be penetrated, but if 
Garak intended to perform oral sex on him, he 
could allow that. Women had done this to him 
before; a man's mouth would not be very different.  
Yes, he could do that.  He wanted that.

Garak's tongue slid along the thin line of fine, 
dark hair that led down from his navel, teasingly 
slow.  Bashir spread his legs and squirmed to get 
out of his pants--but the waistband had caught 
stubbornly on the very body part he wanted free 
of clothing.

"Elim, please!"

The tailor obligingly reached for his waistband--
when the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside 
made him stop. He sat up.

Miles came back in, wearing the same grey outfit.  
At the sight of them, Garak sitting there, cool 
and smirking, hair a little mussed, and Julian 
lying, panting, half undressed, the Chief's mouth 
fell open. His face went red.  A growl began deep 
in his throat and he flew across the room to tackle 
Garak.  "Son of a bitch!"  He banged the tailor 
into the wall, and both crashed to the floor.

"Miles!" Julian was up, pulling his disheveled 
clothing into place.  He shouldn't have let Garak 
go so far; this was exactly the kind of thing he
had tried so hard to avoid.  "Miles, stop it!"

The fight didn't go on very long.  Garak had only 
to seize one of the Chief's bandaged hands and 
press hard on the blistered skin of his palm to 
make O'Brien fall back and scream.  He forced him 
to the floor.

"There's no reason to be so upset, my dear Chief,"
Garak said pleasantly.  "You'll have your turn too."

This only sent Miles up again, mindless of the pain,
to try and throttle him.

"Stop it!" Bashir shouted from the bed.  

"What does he mean, 'my turn too'?" Miles demanded.

"Just what you think he does. I won't play favorites
--it's neither or both."

"You little slut!"

It had stung when Garak said it; it hurt worse to hear
the word coming from Miles.

"What if I am?" Julian shot back.  "It may be the only
thing that saves us."  With an angry jerk, he pushed 
himself up and leapt off the bed.  He tugged his shirt 
down briskly.

They sat on the floor, staring up at him. "You're not
going to see that Ozyam!" O'Brien protested.

"Why not? I'm a slut, remember?  You both seem to 
agree on that.  I might as well put it to good use."  
He was hurt, humiliated once again, and ashamed of 
himself for letting Garak seduce him and instigating 
this last battle. He'd done everything he could to 
keep them all alive and sane--and *this* was how they 
treated him? His rules had been ignored, his threats 
disregarded; he'd been reduced to granting sexual 
favors.  Did they even appreciate the lengths he had
gone to for their sake?

"I've tried to be reasonable about this from the 
beginning, and you just won't let me.  You'd 
obviously rather fight--Don't look so innocent, 
Garak!  You've been egging him on and you know it.  
The two of you have a harder time keeping your hands 
off each other than off me!"  *That*, he had the 
satisfaction of observing, made them let go of each 
other immediately.  "I won't waste my time trying to 
stop you.  The only thing I can do to get us out of 
here before we all go mad."  He went to the doorway.  
"Guard!"

The guard had lingered outside, enjoying the show.

"Did you take my message to your Vorta?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

The guard flashed a grin.  "He will see you."

-=*)]19[(*=-

As the guard brought him to Ozyam's office, the 
Vorta was once again at his comm terminal, but he 
terminated the connection as Bashir came in.

"Dr. Bashir, welcome back!" He gestured for the 
doctor to have a seat.  "I'm so pleased you've 
decided to cooperate."

"I don't have many other choices." 

"You're right--you don't.  Nevertheless, everything 
will proceed much more smoothly if you don't resist.
It will be easier for me, and much easier for you.
Now, let's get to business, shall we?"

"Yes, all right," Julian answered, with more nervous-
ness than he would have liked to reveal.  "What
do you want me to do?"

"I think you've done all you can for the present, 
unless you can tell me the secret of your 
imperviousness to the telepsychosis field?"

From what Ozyam had said earlier about the Vorta
and JemHadar immunity, Bashir could conjecture
one possible reason for his own ability to withstand
the field's effect.  He wasn't eager to reveal that
possibility to Ozyam now. 

"I wish I could tell you," he replied, "but 
unfortunately I haven't the faintest idea why it 
is myself."

Ozyam nodded.  "The equipment our scientists have 
here isn't designed to detect subtle genetic or
molecular differences, particularly in an alien
species.  We'll be able to conduct more extensive
research once we've returned to Dominion space."

Julian regarded him with growing horror.  "You want
me to go with you?"

"You're a fascinating specimen--I can't wait to run 
a few trial experiments to see what makes you unique."

"But that's not what I agreed to," Bashir protested.
"I thought you were interested in-" 

"I admit, your companions' attachment to you has
roused my curiosity, but we'll have time to explore 
*that* later.  First things first."  Ozyam was 
entirely focused on the business at hand. "It will 
be several days before we can expect to conclude 
this phase of the experiment.  Once our transport 
arrives, we will depart this planet within a few 
hours, level this base, and leave nothing behind 
except a mystery for your Federation to solve.  
But we will take away so much more of value."

"What about my friends?"

"They are of no scientific interest.  The standard 
procedure is to have them killed, of course, but 
I suppose that if I do *that* now, you'll only be 
difficult. I want you to be comfortable, and 
cooperative, while you are in my custody.  One of 
the guards will escort you to your new quarters--I 
have a few important matters to attend to to prepare 
for our departure, but I promise I will come to visit 
you later this afternoon."  He reached for the comm-
panel on his desk.

Bashir leapt forward without thinking.  If he 
were going to act, he had to do it now.

Before Ozyam could summon anyone, Julian sprang
up onto the desk and, kneeling on the slightly 
slanted surface of the comm-panel, held Ozyam off
by placing one hand against his chest.  "Surely
your business isn't *so* important," he suggested 
in as seductive a tone as he could manage in his 
desperation.  "Why wait `til later?"

Ozyam grinned.  "Why indeed?"  He took Bashir by the
shoulders, then ran his hands slowly down the length
of the doctor's torso, tracing the shapes of bone
and firm muscle beneath the too-large shirt.  Julian
held his breath and tried not to tense up at the 
exploratory touch.  He kept his eyes on the Vorta's 
and did not glance at the sidearm dangling at his belt; 
he had to keep Ozyam distracted until he could reach 
it.  His opportunity would come soon.

"Oh, you *are* remarkable!" Ozyam told him approvingly.  
"I can see you providing me with a wealth of 
information, as well as hours of amusement.  There 
is so much to learn about your species!" His 
hands were now at Bashir's hips, pressing him down 
and forcing his legs out from beneath him until he 
sat on the desk.  "This relationship of ours will be 
most rewarding.  How I will treasure you!  You'll be 
well cared for--You'll stay with me until we are safely 
aboard the transport.  I wouldn't dream of leaving you 
unattended for one moment, especially in my quarters, 
or here, in my office."

*He knows*, Julian realized with a sudden, sickening 
sense of dismay.  

At his stunned expression, Ozyam smiled.  "Did you 
really think you were deceiving me, Dr. Bashir?"   

He had fully expected Ozyam to betray their bargain, to 
kill his friends at the first convenient opportunity 
no matter what promises were made for their lives, but 
Julian hadn't anticipated this. Ozyam's proud display 
of the telepsychosis device, his flirtatious offer--it 
was all a baited trap, and he'd boldly walked straight 
into it.  He thought he'd been so clever, attempting 
to manipulate *this* man with his newly-discovered 
powers of allurement, and it had worked no better than 
when he tried to manage Miles and Elim.  In fact, the 
results this time were far more disastrous.

He tried to fight himself free, but the Vorta was wiry, 
slippery, his joints far more flexible than a human's; 
Julian couldn't get a secure hold on him, to his ever-
increasing panic.  

Ozyam, on the other hand, was amused by their struggle.  
He seemed to enjoy it--certainly, he was in no hurry 
to call for a guard or even to use his sidearm, which 
was always, frustratingly just out of Bashir's reach.  
And he had no trouble keeping a hold on Bashir. Ozyam 
was still smiling as he seized the front of Julian's
baggy shirt and tore it open. 

This attempt at rape touched on Julian's worst fears
of these past few days, but his fear gave him the 
strength to act.  After being grabbed, fondled, and
manhandled so often, he had had more than enough.  

In a flash of outrage, he shouted "No!" and kicked as 
hard as he could, both feet landing solidly on the 
Vorta's chest.  Ozyam was flung violently back into 
the power control panel. The upper surface gave as he 
slammed into it.  Something cracked. The sidearm had 
fallen from its holster and Bashir scrambled off the 
desk to retrieve it.  Without worrying about the 
weapon's settings or the niceties of aim, he pointed 
it and fired.

The weapon must have been set on stun, for Ozyam did
not dissolve away.  The force of the energy beam sent 
him backwards, and a shower of sparks spit out from the 
control panel as he struck it again. Energy from this 
second power source engulfed him; a plasma-flux limned 
Ozyam's body in brilliant blue, and he spasmed--back 
arced, mouth a full circle--

And then the power went out and he fell to the floor.

-=*)]20[(*=-

Julian tucked the weapon into the waistband of his 
trousers and rose, shaking.  It hadn't happened quite 
the way he'd planned, but he *had* been trying to get 
hold of Ozyam's sidearm and he'd intended to shoot.  
If the weapon had been set to kill, he would have 
vaporized him.  Nevertheless, he felt a little unsteady
as he gained his feet. 

Stepping gingerly over Ozyam's body, he went to examine 
the controls on the telepsychosis device.  The monitors 
above the panel were still on, the only source of light
in the now-dark room; evidently, the machine was 
powered separately from the rest of the base. 

Once he had altered the frequency of the telepsychosis 
field, he turned to leave. He had only a few minutes 
before the JemHadar came to investigate.  He hoped 
Garak and O'Brien had found their way out of this 
place, and hoped he could find his own way.

As he stepped over Ozyam a second time, the Vorta
groaned and reached out to capture one of his ankles.

Bashir yelped out in surprise and tried to leap away,
but the dazed Vorta's grip was desperately tenacious,
the final act of a fading life.  Julian lashed out 
frantically, first landing kicks on the hand encircling 
his leg, then at Ozyam's head and shoulders--then, when 
he lost his balance and tumbled atop the Vorta, he 
snatched the sidearm from his waistband and clouted 
Ozyam with that.  He struck out in fear and fury until 
Ozyam finally released him, and even after that, until 
he was quite certain his enemy wouldn't move again.

Panting, Bashir crawled off the crumpled body and
hunted for vital signs at the points which were common 
to most humanoid species--the throat, the temples, 
wrists, upper chest--but he could find nothing like 
a pulse.   No heartbeat.  No signs of breathing. The 
wide-open eyes were glassy; there was a deep gash on 
the temple and dark bluish marks on both cheeks and 
brow.  

For an eternal moment, he sat frozen, staring at the
pale, damaged face, until the sound of footfalls 
echoing in the corridor, approaching, prompted him 
to move. 

With one last kick, he scrambled free of Ozyam and 
crouched behind a corner of the desk.  He waited, 
trying to quiet his rapid breathing, listening as the 
sound grew louder.  The footsteps stopped just outside.
Bashir inched forward, weapon ready, as the office door 
was forced open, and the silhouetted form of a sturdy- 
looking humanoid tried to push its way in.

He fired; a bright, white burst of light dazzled his 
eyes as the shot struck the half-open door, and the 
shadow-shape darted back.

A voice ventured in from the safety of the corridor.

"Doctor? Please, put that thing down before one of
us gets hurt."

"Garak?" Bashir lowered the weapon and crawled out 
of his hiding place.  As he climbed to his feet, the 
last of his rush of rage-induced adrenalin evaporated 
and he suddenly felt weak at the knees.  He would have 
fallen against the tailor if Garak hadn't caught him 
by the forearms.

"I heard you cry out. You haven't been...harmed?" Garak 
asked and studied him in the faint light from the 
monitors. His eyes dropped to the battered body on the 
floor behind Bashir.

"I'm all right." Then Julian felt a twinge of irritation.
"I told you to leave.  Where's Miles?"

"Waiting for us at the emergency access shaft, standing 
watch over the exit. His injuries made it difficult for 
him to climb up from the lower level, and I convinced 
him that I could find you more quickly without his
assistance."

"You weren't supposed to find me at all."

"You have been a hero, Doctor," Garak told him sternly. 
"Don't be a fool.  Come with me--we don't have much 
time."  He was still holding Bashir by the arm; with
a tug, he pulled the doctor toward the door, and Julian 
let himself be led out.

The emergency lighting had come on in the hallway; 
yellowish strips which ran along the floor against each
wall were glowing just brightly enough to let them see 
the length of the empty hall and the dark recesses of 
the doorways.  As they walked swiftly toward the faint 
natural daylight at the far end, Julian could hear 
the furious shouts and thumps of two JemHadar trapped 
within the inoperative lift, and more sounds of 
commotion in the laboratories.  Either the power outage 
had thrown the imperturbable Dreasil into a panic, or 
he had managed to hit the right frequency to irritate 
this race, and they were extremely susceptible to their 
own device.  

From somewhere below, there came the sound of a 
weapon's discharge, and the shouts of the JemHadar 
in the lift changed from cries of rage to shrieks of pain.
Then they were silent.

When they reached the emergency shaft, Bashir climbed 
up the ladder first at his friend's insistence. There 
was an exit hatch at the top, left open, and O'Brien 
stood over it, brandishing a lengthy piece of metal in 
his bandaged hands and peering down at them anxiously.

"Thank god," he said as he helped Julian up onto the 
roof, then his expression darkened at the sight of the 
torn shirt with bright flecks of blue blood on the 
sleeves.  "What did that blasted Vorta *do* to you?  
I'll kill him if he's dared-!"

"That won't be necessary," Julian cut him off.  "It's 
already been taken care of."

"You-?" Julian could see O'Brien glance over his 
shoulder with a perplexed expression, and he turned 
to find Garak behind him, shaking his head, warning 
O'Brien not to ask.

Miles didn't ask, but that shocked look did not leave 
his face. 

"It was the only way," Bashir told them.  "He knew 
what I was planning.  I had to stop him.  The Vorta 
are- er- extremely resistant to plasma shocks."

Garak nodded and simply accepted this.

"You got a chance to adjust the telepsychosis field's 
frequency, didn't you?" Miles asked.  "We thought so--
When the lights went out, all those Dreasil scientists 
went crazy.  The JemHadar guard had to go and subdue 
them."  

"They're still fighting downstairs," Bashir said. "The
Dreasil don't seem to like the JemHadar much--they're 
killing them off, by the sound of it."

"No one even noticed us walking out."  O'Brien kicked 
the hatch closed and used the metal bar to jam it tightly 
shut. "I don't think they care one way or the other about
us--They won't notice we've gone."

"Whether they notice or not," Garak added, "I 
suggest we not remain here any longer then we have 
to."

They began to walk.

"Where do we go?" Bashir wondered.  From their vantage 
point on the slope that partially covered the base, 
they could look down the scape of barren, rugged hills 
to the flatlands.  Except for the distant, silvery 
glitter of the science station, there was nothing in 
sight. 

"The only place we *can* go is back to the biosphere," 
said O'Brien.  

"If the JemHadar survive, that's the first place 
they'll look for us," Garak objected.

"Maybe, but we can't stay outdoors for very long."

"We can contact the runabout once we get there," said 
Julian, and then told Miles about the carrier wave 
blocking standard transmission frequencies.  "You'll
have to use something atypical, but now that we know 
what the problem is, we can fix it and beam back up.  
We shouldn't stay at the station any longer than we 
have to."

From there, it was a long climb down.  The loose dirt 
eroded easily, sliding out from beneath their feet at 
unexpected moments and forcing them to move cautiously 
lest they tumble down the steep slopes.  Although their 
instincts urged them to run to the station, the air 
was too thin to allow them that much exertion.  They 
had to pace themselves: Garak resorted to his breath-
control techniques and O'Brien paused often.  Bashir 
pushed himself a little too hard, wanting to put the 
base, the planet, and this entire incident behind him 
as soon as possible.

At last, as they climbed over the top of the final 
ridge, the curved surface of the station's dome glinted 
tantalizingly before them on the plain.

"It's not much further," O'Brien said.  "Not more than 
another half-kilometer.  We can be there in ten minutes 
if we don't push ourselves--Julian, you're all right?"

"I'm fine," he answered.  "I'll make it." 

He crouched and, hands behind him, propelled himself 
down the sandy slope; half the hillside rolled with 
him.  He landed at the bottom in a cloud of dust and
without waiting for his friends, who were climbing
down on either side of the landslide he had left in 
his wake, rose to his feet and strode purposefully in 
the direction of the silvery half-globe.  The dust was 
making him cough.

He had walked about twenty meters before his head spun 
and he stumbled.  A hand caught his outflung arm.

"Doctor?"

Julian turned at Garak's voice--it sounded so far away 
even though he knew that the tailor must be standing 
right next to him--then he lost his sense of balance
and slipped out of Garak's grasp.

He heard Miles cry out, "Julian!" and O'Brien was 
suddenly at his side, catching him just as he fell to 
his knees.  One solid arm was around his chest,
and Miles was frowning at him anxiously as he 
tried to draw him back to his feet.

Julian tried to focus on his friend's face, but Miles
was dissolving into a pale blur before his eyes. Dark
sparkles swirled up to obscure his vision.  

"Remember about the sub-harmonic carrier wave," he 
murmured.

"Hush now," O'Brien said gently, cupping the side
of his face with one hand.  "Just try to breathe."  

He *was* breathing, gasping to draw in air--
there just didn't seem to be enough of it.
 
Miles spoke to Garak:  "Help me with him."  

He was lifted into someone's arms.  It had to be 
Garak; Miles wasn't strong enough to carry him, 
couldn't be in this thin air.  The Chief must be as 
breathless and dizzy...

And then he swooned. 

-=*)]21[(*=-

He could hear their voices.

"-raise the oxygen content? Do you need help with that,
Chief?"

"No, I'm fine.  I've got it.  Just hold on a minute."

"You're not light-headed yourself?"

"No," Miles answered indignantly.  "He didn't pass out 
because he's human.  Look at that skinny chest of his--
the boy's got no lungs. He was running, frightened, 
short of breath even before we left the base. He wasn't 
drawing in enough air."

"Can't we do something to bring him around?" Garak's 
voice sounded nearer to him, and distinctly fretful.  

"How do I know?  I'm not the doctor."

"I'm well aware of that. Isn't there a resuscitation 
technique where I breathe directly into his mouth?"

Miles snorted.  "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Arguing again.  Didn't they ever stop?

"That's only for someone who's stopped breathing,"
Miles continued.  "He's breathing...isn't he?"

Fingers gently cupped over his mouth and nose. "Yes."
The touch retreated slightly, lingering to stroke the
curls clear of his brow.  

"Good," O'Brien sounded relieved. "Then all we can do 
is make sure he keeps on breathing.  I've raised the 
oxygen level by 5 percent--we'll all be bloody giddy in
another minute.  We'll have to send a message to DS9, 
to let `em know we're still alive."  There was a long
silence, then Miles asked, "Garak, what're we going to 
say?"

"To whom?"

"When we get back to DS9, Commander Sisko will want a 
full report on this incident.  We ought to get our 
stories straight.  You don't want to tell him how we 
spent the last three days trying to bash each others' 
skulls in over who'd get a piece of Julian's tail, do 
you?  And, never mind what *we* did--Do you want every-
body on the station to know what Julian did to keep us 
in line? How he practically prostituted himself to 
that Ozyam for our sake, and- well- what happened after 
that?"

The caressing touch on his brow paused, then Garak said, 
"I think we can agree that our first priority is to protect the 
doctor."

"So what're we going to say when we get back to DS9?" 

Garak only answered, "Ssh, Chief.  I think he's waking
up."  A hand patted one cheek, then the other, briskly.

It was an effort, but Julian opened his eyes.  His
vision was blurred.  A large, grey form stood over
him; he could make out no more than that. They 
were all still wearing the same clothes.

Miles' voice emanated from this grey blur.  "How're
you feeling, Darlin'?"

The 'Darlin'' made him smile. "Better," he answered.
He blinked hard once, twice, and his sight cleared.
To his surprise, he was lying on a reclining seat in
the forward compartment of the runabout--not a bed at 
the science station, as he had imagined.  He leaned 
up on one elbow and looked around to find Garak in 
the upright seat just behind his head. "You're both 
all right?"

"Everything's fine," Garak said reassuringly.

"We'll be home soon," O'Brien added.  "Don't worry 
about a thing, Julian.  We're going to take care of 
it."
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

-=*)]22[(*=-

"Before you came in, I was thinking of how little 
I really know," Bashir concluded.  "About my friends. 
About myself. We *were* like strangers on Pryderi. I
see us all differently now.  I know how much I mean 
to two men who mean a lot to me. I've seen their 
jealousy and possessiveness and cruelty, their tender-
ness, their loyalty.  I know I am loved--I haven't 
seen too much of *that* in my life. I know everything 
they're capable of where I'm concerned--and it scares 
me--but I've also discovered what *I'm* capable of 
doing when I have to. And that scares me even more."

"How are you coping with it, now that you're home?"
Sisko asked.  "Have you- ah- spoken to either of them 
about what happened between you?"

Julian nodded.  "Miles has been apologetic, as if he's 
taken advantage of me.  He's so afraid that this will 
damage our friendship, and I think he's worried that 
when Keiko comes back, he'll have to tell her about his 
feelings for me, or maybe that she'll see it without 
his saying a word. Garak," he couldn't suppress a small 
smile, "wants me to come and have dinner with him some 
evening.  I told him I'd think about it.

"I know you have every right to come down hard on us, 
Commander, but they were only trying to protect me. 
I hadn't told them the details of what had happened 
with- er- Ozyam yet, but they knew- they assumed..." 
Julian plucked at the front of his robe as if he were 
still wearing the torn shirt. "No one else would ever 
hear a word about it. They were both quite determined 
about that.  They were going to defend my reputation--
Oh, *they* may have called me 'slut,' but no one else 
would have a chance to.  When they sat down to decide 
what to tell you, they were working together.  I'd given 
them a common cause, and for once they weren't 
arguing.  There were only a few things they couldn't 
agree upon."

"Such as who was responsible for Ozyam's death?"

"Garak insisted that *he* was the logical choice, 
but Miles wanted to take the blame for me.  I thought 
they'd settled that.  They- ah- told me I didn't need 
to lie. I'm not a very good liar, and they wanted to keep 
me out of it.  I let them do it, Commander.  I agreed 
not to say anything to contradict their story.  You 
see, I wanted to protect them too."

Sisko listened to the end of the story with an 
impassive expression, chin resting on one fist, eyes 
thoughtfully on the younger man who sat before him,
anxiously awaiting his judgment.

"It must have been a difficult situation for you,
Doctor," he said at last. "You have my sympathy. I can 
understand the reasons behind what you did." He could 
even understand their desire to protect one another.  
"It would've been easier if you'd told me the truth 
about Ozyam's death right away.  No matter *how* it
happened, it was an act of self-defense. I could have 
let you off with a reprimand--but there's too much more 
to it now. The three of you falsified official reports. 
Maybe *you* didn't tell me one thing that wasn't 
technically the truth, but the deliberate gaps in your 
statement are just as deceptive as outright lies!" His 
voice was rising. "I can't just overlook this." 

Bashir had flinched when Sisko began to shout, but he
answered quietly, "I understand.  I'm the one that's 
responsible, Commander." He straightened his shoulders 
and braced himself.  "I'll take whatever punishment I 
have coming to me."

"You'll face have to disciplinary measures," Sisko told 
him. "It will be hardest on you, as the ranking officer 
on this mission, and it'll be hard on O'Brien. There's 
not much I can do to Garak. I want you to submit a 
revised report--*everything* that happened on Pryderi 
XII, just as you've told me. I'd like to get O'Brien 
and Garak to revise their reports as well, and I want 
you to help me convince them it will work in their 
favor if they tell the complete truth now.  I may have 
to justify my decision not to have Garak thrown off the 
station and the two of you drummed out of the service."

"Yes, sir," Bashir murmured. "Thank you.  Er- sir- 
there is one thing I would like to keep confidential--
just between you and me."

"What is it?" Sisko frowned.  "If you're worried
about the rest of it, what happened between you, 
I don't believe there's any reason for all of that to 
become a matter of public record."   

"No, sir, it's not that."  Bashir ducked his head, 
hesitated, then made one last confession.  "When I 
readjusted the settings on the telepsychosis device, 
I didn't actually know what I was doing. It was an 
alien technology I'd never seen before--I only altered 
a few settings and hoped for the best.  But, Commander, 
I am certain of one thing: I had to turn the machine 
on."

"Turn it on?" Sisko repeated. "You mean it was *off*?"

Bashir nodded.  "As far as I can tell, we were never 
under the influence of anything after we were captured.
Perhaps because Miles and Elim believed they had no 
control over their impulses, they felt more free to 
act upon them, but whatever happened in that cell, 
they did it themselves. I'd rather they didn't know 
that yet--You won't tell them, will you?"

-=*)]END[(*=-

Sig altered to keep the spam-bots away;
remove the asterisks.

Kathryn Ramage        kramage@e*r*o*l*s.com
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
The following tale of alien encounters is true.
By true, I mean false. It's all lies, but
they're entertaining lies--and, in the end,
isn't that the real truth?  The answer is no.

Leonard Nimoy, hosting The Simpsons
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
"Gentlemen didn't fight over men in those days."

Cary Grant,  "The Grass is Greener."
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+