Chapter 19 Justin Blanchard stared out the window, watching the early dawn. Everybody knew about Willman's meeting several days before. He'd called his whole staff in after curfew, giving all of them night passes, and since then all of them looked glum. One of his aides had cut himself and had to go for treatment, and came back telling everyone about how they all sounded like they were going to a funeral. It worried Justin. Willman probably had some problem with the staff and overreacted as usual, but Willman had treated his aide. He'd taken a blood sample, too. The aide had remarked that the Doctor was as glum as the rest. What if it wasn't just an overblown problem? What if he knew something he wasn't sharing? Did they have a changeling hiding among them? Was there a traitor who was expecting favors from the ships above if he betrayed the rest? Justin wished they could have skipped the days adventure. Things were too tense and the risk was too high. But he and Jaro had messed up the last test. If they didn't try again now, there might not be another chance. Jaro knocked on his door, entering silently. "The doctor is looking for those who wish to train as medics. He especially wants anyone with training. Why now? Why not before harvest and winter prep, with all the injuries?" "He expects they will be needed. I know the man well enough." Jaro was nervous. "Should we do this? Is it worth the risk?" Justin had wondered the same thing, but chose to put aside the fears. "We must. It could be our last opportunity." Jaro was plainly spooked by Willman's sudden odd behavior. "Perhaps it no longer matters." "Then we must go ahead." Jaro was still hesitant, but picked up Justin's coat and handed it to him. "Then we must get to breakfast soon." The plan was simple, drawn on the same model as the last expedition. First, they would take breakfast in the warehouse. Then, returning to their lab, they'd wait until the appointed time. Zale had left a short note in Jaro's jacket the day before confirming the time and place. And when the time came, they'd slip into the hills again for the next part of their test. Zale was waiting when they met him at a small cave. He would be their lookout. None of his cooperative friends knew of the days events, so none could betray it. Today's task could not be rushed. They had hurried too fast before, not taking the proper care that things be done correctly. This time the mixture *had* to be perfect. Neither was willing to chance a third test. This time the measurements would be double checked, and rechecked at each stage of the project. They could not waste time, but with all the care that must be taken it would use up the whole afternoon. But they had scarcely poked their heads out of the lab for the last few weeks, and if nobody saw them from morning to very late in the evening it would not be much of a surprise. Their aides had been warned that they should wait on meals and strict orders that they were not to be disturbed were in place. Jaro slipped into the small cave first, Justin checking the pathway for signs of traffic. It was mostly rock, so footprints were not noticeable. Zale found a hiding place far enough away he could see the path without drawing attention to the cave, and made sure the bush that covered the entrance was in place after Blanchard slipped inside. Jaro already had everything in place. He'd put the chemicals as near the opening as possible, the only ventilation in the small cave. It would be a problem, but there was too much risk of discovery if they tried it in the open. Justin had brought along the one mask he had been able to hide in figures, hoping it would help enough. They stared working immediately. As soon as the chemicals were opened, the musty scent of the cave disappeared in the mixture of vague odors, but it wasn't bad. Justin elected to wear the mask, working in the deep end of the cave where the ventilation was the poorest. Jaro was nearest the cave's opening, a small breeze diluting the fumes. At first, there was little problem. The first few mixtures had a minor odor, and required little handling. They were the inert basis of the formula that kept it from leeching out of the soil. Tarlan peaked out periodically, taking a breath of fresh air and simply keeping watch. Justin struggled with the hot mask, but put up with it. But the cave was near a warm underground creek, and it was getting hot. Justin tried to work with the mask, but it made it hard to see what he was doing. Reluctantly, he pulled it off, intending to wear it again, later, after he'd cooled off a bit. The next step was more complicated, mixing several chemicals together outside the machine and adding the mixture. They were combined in a basin. The stench filled the cave. Justin tried the mask again, but it was still too hard to see with it on. His head was already pounding, and his throat burned. Neither spoke, but Jaro was breathing rather hard, coughing a little now and then. Jaro slipped out, standing in the tree, and came back in. He moved to Justin, taking his hand. "My turn. Go outside and clear your lungs." But Justin could feel the tightness in his chest. His ears were ringing and the headache was overpowering. A few clean breaths wasn't going to fix it. "No. Take care with yourself. I must do this myself.' Jaro hovered for a minute, but relented. Justin stopped a cough, breathing hard for a moment while he regained his breath. He sampled the mixture as he proceeded, and this time it was right. Jaro edged closer to the cave's opening as the full force of the noxious odor filled the cave. Justin couldn't smell it. He couldn't smell anything, and his lungs were starting to ache. He managed to put off the coughing until later, when it wouldn't ruin the work. He didn't bother with the mask. It was too late for it to help anymore anyway. When the mixture was complete, Jaro moved forward, handing Justin the funnel with which they would fill the machine. There had been an automatic system, but that required too much work to build. Justin almost collapsed when he allowed himself to sit, holding the funnel firmly in place. Jaro would pour in the mixture. Justin pointed at the mask, hoping Jaro could be spared the intense burning. To his relief, Jaro put it on while he scooped the first stage of the mix into the machine. It was after that that disaster struck. A second mix was created with a slightly different composition, and it floated on the surface of the other until it mixed as it dispersed. This was the moment of final reaction where the harshest acids were formed. They needed two basins, but there was only one. Jaro made Justin sit by the cave entrance while he sponged out the last sludge of the mixture, but it was impossible to get it all. This slight contamination had been figured in the mix, but the fumes it produced would be terrible. They dragged the machine and the basin as close to the entrance as they could. Justin made sure that Jaro had the mask fit right, and let him do the mix. But as the chemicals combined a faint gas was released, and Jaro had to take frequent gulps of outside air to finish. Justin held the funnel while Jaro filled the machine. Once, suppressing a cough, he nearly dropped it. Jaro stopped before he was done and discarded the mask, its filtering already contaminated. It was done. The machine was capped so no more of the stench could escape. Jaro dragged Justin outside, risking discovery, and both collapsed by the rock. They stayed for a little while. Their clothes were contaminated, and they changed to the clean ones they'd brought for the purpose. They didn't have to be back for awhile. Justin was exhausted, but the clear air made it easier to breath. His lungs hurt, and his head pounded, but he could make it home. By late afternoon, they were well enough to go home. Zale disappeared after reaching the cave they'd met at, and they slipped unnoticed into the lab. After showering, they collapsed on the cots Justin had put in a side room for those nights when work went past curfew. It would look bad if they didn't get dinner, so Justin had an aide retrieve their meals. But neither could stand to eat. The bowls were dumped, and they went to sleep. In the morning, Jaro looked pale and his head hurt a great deal. His throat burned and he couldn't eat more than a few sips of the breakfast brought to them. Justin had already developed a hacking cough and did not touch his breakfast. He could not get enough breath. The test would be done in one week. Both men were too ill to try any sooner. It could have raised questions neither could answer, but at the time nobody noticed. In an odd irony, the arrival of the first cases of the first Dominion virus saved them from immediate discovery. ***** Less than a week after Willman's meeting, the first distinctive case of a respiratory virus which did not match any known cause was formally discovered. Slowly, the pattern of the disease emerged. It began with a sudden, severe illness, with fever and breathing problems from swollen tissues. This stage lasted only a few days__in most cases, at least, and was replaced by a cold_ like period which resembled a severe cold. Then came the final, most debilitating part, when the body rid itself of the still hidden virus in the tissues, and there was sudden weakness and great aches. The first few cases were going to recover. One of them had been tracked and worked in supply. Willman assumed he'd been contaminated early, possibly when the first exposure had occurred. These first cases were cared for in the isolation area set up at the hospital. The final stage also left patients more vulnerable to chance infections. Later that wouldn't be possible, and opportunistic infection was going to be the greatest danger. There hadn't been a lot of cases, and Willman had asked Bashir to the lab to discuss what they knew. Bashir sat on a chair with his leg propped up on a stool. He looked drawn and exhausted. Willman didn't want to know how bad he looked. "So far, we're pretty lucky," said Willman. "So far," said Bashir. "For most it's relatively mild. The recovery time will be extended, but this winter that should be manageably." He paused, his face grim. "They wouldn't want the slaves not able to work come spring." Willman chose not to comment, but he agreed with the sentiment. Eventually, the ones who survived the epidemic would figure out what they were. "For most, unfortunately not all." "Class two reactions," said Bashir as he recorded the notes. "Susceptible patients are those already ill, the very young, or simply *susceptible*." He put down the pen. "Chosen for removal," he muttered. "Why?" asked Willman. "Some genetic quality they wish to eliminate." Bashir picked up the pen and sat it down. "They created the Vorta and Jem'Hadar from creatures they found useful. Why not use us the same way?" Willman wished for the Cardassians. They had been vicious, but far more direct. People would have not dared take the chances they had with the Dominion's distant, velvet chains. "I suppose we should get back to our notes," he said. "Symptoms of class two reactions," said Bashir as he wrote the words. Willman followed. "Intense, sustained fever that appears to be untreatable. A progressive infection that begins in the sinus cavities, spreading to the bronchial tubes and then into the lungs. The final stage is pneumonia, the only cases so far likely to recover. But permanent damage has occurred to the lungs, and the patient will not properly recover." Bashir opened his mouth to say something but stopped. Willman hoped he wouldn't have to ask him to keep the comments to himself. Willman simply couldn't deal with it anymore. Bashir finished recording the notes. "That sums up what we know so far," he said. "We'll need better procedures when the main epidemic hits," said Willman, nodding. "Normal shifts will be suspended and staff will be required to work as long as possible. We don't have enough staff and I should have started finding medical techs a long time ago." "A lot can be done without training," said Bashir. "We might want people to deliver food to those who've recovered so they can rest, and just generally help where they can." Willman stared at his leg. "How are *you* doing?" Bashir hesitated a little. "Better. Or maybe I'm just used to the pain." But he looked at Bashir with curiosity. Aside from the exhaustion, he didn't seem as bad. He was experienced in emergencies. Perhaps he had chosen to ignore the pain. Willman certainly hoped that was it. As soon as they could, he was going to schedule another casaba trip, one with plenty of time to spend in the grove, and he'd make short work of the pain for him. He deserved it. After the disease, Willman was willing to take the risk. Despite Sisko's worries about the hidden stash in the cave, he wasn't in any hurry to destroy it either. And he really didn't want to know who'd put it there. He could even forgive Blanchard a little. Both he and the Bajoran were showing signs of the disease anyway. Maybe it would keep them safely in their lab testing plants. ***** Bashir rubbed his eyes, loosening the brace as he propped his leg on a pile of pillows. He'd practically fallen asleep that morning, and Willman had sent him home for a rest. He was to be back in four hours. That was all the time that could be spared. The respite had been very brief. The day after their meeting the hospital was swarmed with patients. Most were mildly sick, and once that was confirmed were sent home for their families to care for. But there were too many others who weren't. Nobody had died yet, but there was plenty of time for that. As he was the expert, Lonnie had been given charge of the home care unit. Some of the people were trained and some weren't, but they brought food, made sure someone could care for the sick, and sometimes took children home that parents couldn't care for. A few were trained enough that they could check on the patients, and that was their sole duty. Anyone too sick to be at home would be moved to the hospital, but it was already full. The staff had been augmented by volunteers who did whatever they were told, from washing patients to sheets. But the staff was still taking the brunt of the work. Lonnie had fallen asleep in her chair that evening, having worked all day and then half the night. She was officially knowledgeably enough to treat the milder cases, so she did double duty, along with her home care people. But she looked pale and tired and hardly said a word to anyone. He could tell the difference between his own surviving staff and the rest. The short war with the Klingons had toughened them. Lonnie and the others were having a harder time of it because they'd never been in this place. Even at the beginning, with the hospital filled with the injured from the Antelope, so many had never really had a chance. He didn't want to get up. He was too tired to really sleep. His leg throbbed even without removing the brace. But he *had* to. Over a hundred dead were still owed their revenge. But he could make the pain go away. The device from the cave had been carefully hidden away, and he'd promised himself he would leave it alone. But when he'd worked too many hours and his leg was on fire and he had to sleep somehow, it made the difference. He only used it before he slept. The sudden rush of relief was enough to send him into a deep sleep. He never used it before a shift, worried that someone would notice. But the effect had not entirely worn off when he woke from his short rests. His walk would not be noticeable that way. He knew the danger of keeping the device, but could not bring himself to let it be destroyed. Daily, he worked for hours treating people sick with a virus with which they had been deliberately infected, and he could not express the fury inside him. If he had to break Their rules to save Their victims, he'd do it. Later, when the epidemic was done, he might put it in the box. But now, each time he made the pain melt away, he knew a satisfaction that no danger could erase. ***** While the epidemic was just beginning to rage, another disaster befell them, one that would be remembered in nightmares for years to come to those closest to it. Miles remembered it in sharp clarity for a long time, even its beginning. Cary Larson stood in his office looking frustrated, playing with his jacket as he talked, "It's done, all of it, except for that one big rock. So far nothing has worked. Letting the freeze crack it will help, but it's still going to be real hard to get out." Miles had an idea, and even if it was farfetched he wondered if it might help. "The Ag people have some high acid chemicals they were left as fertilizer. Could you extract enough acid to break down the rock?" Miles had had another idea as well, but that had been destroyed with the illegal equipment, which made it about as practical as most of the ideas they'd had. Larson nodded. "That might help. I'll talk to them." Miles would never forget the next moment, as Willman pushed open the door uninvited. His eyes communicated the urgency of his mission perfectly, as well as the desperation. He looked at Miles, then Larson. "Cary, I think we're done. Why don't you go?" Larson got the message and hurried out of the room. Willman didn't move from the doorway. "You've got to go *now*. They took off this morning but they were spotted this time. I've got someone following them, and your guide is outside." Miles was already getting his coat, his heart pounding with anticipation. "What about Jadzia?" he asked hurriedly. "She left already," he said as Miles hurried out the door. ***** Sisko stared at Willman, digesting what he'd said. "You should have at least warned me." He wasn't sure if he wanted to chew out Willman for taking matters in his own hands, or thank him. He didn't really want to think about the possibility that they might actually catch Blanchard and his friend this time. He hoped that Willman's quick action might be in time to stop them before they could do whatever they were planning. Willman looked at him impatiently. "There wasn't time. They were seen, and we could follow them. What did you want me to do, just let them go? Remember what you said the other night about the Vorta, that warning he gave you?" Sisko replied steadily, "I haven't forgotten." The day before the first active case of the virus, the Vorta had called for an audience. There hadn't been any point to anything that was said except the last part, which had been unusually straight forward. After the "official business" was done, Glebaroun had ceased to look bored. "These things could be a lot simpler if we didn't need that sort of fill," he said offhandedly. "But just in case I've not been clear before, you must get better control over your people. The contraband and the subversion must end now. I can't protect you forever." Sisko had been thinking about that ever since. All he'd felt at the time was an intense hatred for the people who had exposed his own to the unknown virus. And the first cases had just made the frustration worse. But the warning had been inescapable. Whatever experiment they were conducting with the virus wasn't in response to the problems. The Jem'Hadar would be the result of that. Blanchard was playing with the lives of everyone on Cyrus. "We have to *stop* them Ben. Whatever it takes. I don't like it any better than you do." "I know. And I know what has to happen if it comes to that. I'd prefer to believe that we avoid that possibility, if you don't mind," Sisko snapped at him. Willman was too tired to react. "I've got to get back. If you've got anyone who could help feed people or move them I'd be grateful. I won't have enough people in a few days to treat the patients, let alone do other things." "Okay, I'll see what I can do. Look, thanks. I guess this thing will be over soon, one way or another." ***** Willman stood on the rise that overlooked the hospital, the biting chill in the air matching his mood perfectly. He wished Miles and Jadzia luck, but was no longer sure what that would be. Somehow, the experiment had to be stopped. If the worse it came to was finding and destroying the hidden equipment he would be relieved. But he feared that Sisko's worse nightmare would come true and they would be caught in the act. Blanchard and Tarlan would be turned over to the Vorta because there was no other option. But they would never know if that was enough, if the Jem'Hadar would come anyway. And should they stay away, the control would be that much more complete. Any incident, even a small one, could bring them. He knew what that kind of fear could drive one to do. He had already paid in lost friends and isolation. He didn't want anyone else to be driven to that. The virus had not yet killed, but it would. It would be selective in its victims. He wondered if the pattern would be obvious or if they would be culled on some unfathomable basis that only time might reveal. The coldness of it had changed everything. Once, he had thought Blanchard responsible, but he knew it was not that simple. It was a method of control, manipulation, and preparation for *something*, one they could neither resist or avoid. He had been thinking about Blanchard and his test. In any other circumstances it might be a great achievement. But They had twisted it into a thing of fear. He didn't know if the test would succeed but if they managed to survive this, he would shield Tarlan and his friend. It wouldn't bring back the man named Willy, but at least he'd feel a little more like him. ***** Dax was hunkered down behind a rock. At a distance, there was the sound of movement, but they couldn't see anything without being observed. The smell of the chemicals wafted on the breeze. It was too late to stop them now. The only option was to try to catch the guilty. Miles, sitting on the small rock behind the little rise where they were hidden, was trying to tell himself it would work out somehow, but hadn't convinced himself yet. They had sent the guides forward to see if they could get near without alerting the two men. The land was rather flat in the area, and it was going to be difficult at best. But both were roused from their thoughts by a shout. A voice, very loud, was giving a warning. It wasn't one of the guides. He was moving around beyond the small dune between them and the experiment. He knew the terrain. As they moved toward the noise, Miles heard one of the guides shout, "I got him." Miles had a terrible sinking feeling. What would they do with him now that they had him? Dax was in front and he couldn't see her face, but she looked very tense. Rounding a small bolder, he came upon the lookout, now face down on the ground with his hands tied, unresisting, and one of the guides watching him. He looked at Miles. "Bring him along, I guess." The guide pulled the young man to his feet and ordered him to walk. Jadzia had gone ahead, but Miles stayed behind them. He recognized the man, though not by name. He had spent every afternoon sitting at the same spot on the deck for months. Watching, though Miles, grimly, as he followed the guide and their stumbling prisoner to the test site. The prisoner was told to sit, with all three guides watching. The others were gone, having slipped around a small rock to a pathway. One of the men stood up and walked around the rock. Coming back he was in no hurry. "They could have taken any of three or four paths back, and there's no way to tell." It was obvious that nobody was in much of a mood to go after them anyway. ***** Jadzia and two of the guides had gone, taking their prisoner, and Miles and his guide had stayed to survey the scene of the crime. It was easy to see what they were doing this time. The terraformed site was obvious, the machine sitting nearby connected with a long pipe to the test area. The pipe had been connected to one buried in the ground, which had been drawn out as the fluid was allowed to soak in. It left a hole in the middle. Miles thought to himself that it was rather ingenious. He guessed that they had come up with some simplified system. It was ashamed they had to do it secretly. It was not until he tried to move the machine out of the way that the test and his problem with the rock became connected. The machine had more of the fluid in it. He had an idea, assuming the remaining guide would not be a problem. He looked around for a container that would seal. There were several empty containers they had probably intended to use for samples. The guide returned, just as Miles finished positioning one of them over the nozzle of the machine. He stopped, looking curiously at Miles. He had worked on the mud channel and lived in the area that would get inundated first if the rock remained. Miles took a chance on his cooperating. He looked at the test then the guide. "You know, I bet this would break up that rock." He stood still, looking at the test and the container. Finally he said, softly, "I bet it would. Or at least make it possible for us to break it. How much is in there?" Miles shrugged. "Enough, at least it looks like it." The guide moved the container so it would be more stable and motioned for Miles to start the machine. A thick dark liquid poured out into the container. It had a strong chemical smell. They filled both containers. There was a little left in the machine, which they would soon destroy. They were concerned about burning that much of the chemical. Miles turned on the machine again, emptying the rest onto the test site. They dragged the machine far enough away it wouldn't damage the test site, vowing to remember the location to see if it worked. He suspected they might discover if it did for themselves first. They filled the machine with the flammable substance and set a delayed fuse, taking the two heavy containers before it burned. ***** Zale sat on the cot, watching his captors. They had not touched him, not even to untie his hands. He had known that his mission could lead to this, but he had not really expected it to. They had planned so well. They had been so careful to not give themselves away. But even the best of plans can go wrong, and he had done his job. They had escaped. His warning had been in time, and that was why he watched. So, in a way, he had not failed. But there was still danger. His captors were unsure of themselves. Faced with a prisoner, they had to decide if they could betray their own and give him to Them. He knew it would not change things. They could take him just as easily. But he almost hoped it would come to that. At least in his death would come their redemption. They were talking among themselves, quietly, out of his hearing. Occasionally someone would look or gesture towards him. He wondered if they were desperate enough to hurt him. He didn't care. He was confident that he would not tell them who he had been helping and would not betray his friends. Then a sudden, terrible thought struck him. Not to them, he thought. These were civilized people. They would not force him to talk. But he had heard stories about the Dominion, horrendous tales of how they could rip the memories out of your head without your even knowing. When the Dominion had him, he would tell. Not only would he betray Blanchard and Tarlan, but the friends who had helped the other times. For the first time, his confidence wavered and died. It was about then that Sisko and Willman stepped forward, staring at him. He looked at them, still stunned by his sudden realization. Willman looked at him, very sadly. "Mr. Zale, do you know what you've done?" "An act of freedom." He tried to sound triumphant, but just sounded scared. Sisko stepped forward, looking him in the eyes. "Do you have any idea what they were doing?" "No. I never asked. I just watched." He told the truth. He could guess, but had never asked them directly. He'd heard about the terraforming experiment as they were dragging him back. "And who are they?" Sisko asked. Zale gathered his courage. "I don't know that either. I just watched. Somebody else got them there, and I don't know who." "I don't believe you," said Willman. "Give us the names." But he didn't sound as if he really wanted to know. Zale was nervous, but knew he really had nothing to fear from these men. It was the ones they would give him to that he worried about. He assumed they would have no choice in the matter. "Even if I knew I wouldn't tell you." He said it with conviction. "We'll give you some time to think about that," said Willman, half_heartedly. The two men left the room, untying his hands and locking the door behind them. Hours later they came back and ask again, and he again refused. But this time they tried even less. He wondered how bad it would have been for them if he'd told. ***** The warehouse was still serving meals, but there was a strange quiet about it that evening. There hadn't been enough cases of the virus yet to keep people away, and they couldn't avoid close contact with each other anyway. But while the disease still cast a distant threat, the interrupted test was far too close a danger. He had been resting in the staff lounge, a small room with a few cots, when Willman had gently shaken him awake. While Bashir was sitting up, Willman looked at him impatiently. "I want you to go get dinner now. I'll be gone a lot this evening and I'll need you here. And take Lonnie with you. Make sure she eats." "How is she taking it?" asked Bashir, remembering how he she had reacted to the news of the virus. "When the news came in, she went to lunch. Except she never made it there. She just went to her quarters." Bashir noted that he looked worried. "I'll drag her along. I'll even make sure she gets seconds." He paused, wondering if he should ask. "Is it true that you have a prisoner?" "Yes. One of Vance's aides, Zale, who was acting as a lookout. That's what we have to talk about tonight. I'll be back as soon as I can, but no promises." Bashir nodded, thinking to himself that he would rather face a hospital full of virus patients than that decision. Willman looked completely exhausted, and it wasn't likely to get much better. "I'll manage. I've got the crutches. It helps." Willman wasn't listening. "There's going to be a major crackdown on infractions after this. I hope it doesn't get too ugly. We've got to destroy those things as soon as we have an afternoon. With all the patients it will sound perfectly normal that we need more leaves." Then he stopped, looking at Bashir's leg. "And I want you to come. I might have a use for one before we burn it." Bashir could see the bitterness in his eyes. On the surface, since the test had been discovered, he didn't dare cooperate. But he had to do something. The bulky tool would fix his leg. But when Willman looked for it he'd find the other one missing. Would he still be willing to take the risk after that? He didn't dare put it in the box. Willman was checking on that. Any medical instruments that appeared were destroyed, but their presence was passed on to Willman. His device had been the only one of its kind in the box. He'd know who took it. But he couldn't manage without it. When they went there, he'd have to find a way to get it back in the cave before Willman found it. But he had time. They had the epidemic to get through first. ***** Lonnie stared apathetically at the food, but ate it. He wasn't particularly hungry himself, but knew there might not be too many more chances to sit and eat quietly. Once the epidemic had gone it might be better, but nobody was willing to think that far into the future. With the growing number of patients, and the expanding home care unit, food would be delivered to the hospital instead. They would have few chances to escape there, and even if the mood was as depressing here, it wasn't the same place. The epidemic was still mild. Anytime, it might become widespread and they'd have no time to sit and eat even there. But he shut all that out. Tonight, he would share some time with his friend. She'd been there for him too many times for him to abandon her now. She'd been very quiet since news of the virus. She seldom talked to anyone. At lunch, she simply stared at her food while she ate and ignored everything else. Half the time she wasn't ready for dinner when he was and they were rushed to finish. She always looked tired as if she wasn't sleeping well. He knew Willman was worried about her, and he shared the concern. She'd buried reality for a long time. But faced with a long line of sick from a disease sent to kill, it had floated to the surface. Since the late night meeting, everyone under Willman had been especially glum, but she'd wasn't coping so well anymore. She grasp at the regular routine, but it wasn't enough. She reminded him too much of Jadzia, with her distant moods. He didn't want to see Lonnie break the same way. Then had come the test, and final shattering of the illusion. Now, nobody could pretend anymore. He understood that Willman needed her to be more alert and attentive. He would try. The room was mostly deserted, so he felt safer starting a conversation. "I don't think its going to be as bad as we anticipated. That's something." She didn't look up from her food. "You mean when They come?" He'd run his own sickbay. He knew how to deal with that kind of attitude. Perhaps Willman thought it would be taken more readily from him. "I can't say. But now, we have a hospital full of patients who deserve the full attention and care of the staff, and they aren't getting it from you." She looked at the few others in the building, sitting huddled in pairs, or groups. Nobody was alone. "I know. I just can't bear to look at them. How can They be so cold to us?" "Because they are. Accept it and go on." "Is that how you managed in that camp?" she asked quietly. "Eventually." He thought about it. It hadn't taken long to get used to the place, as dismal as it was. The lack of hope had been the worst of it. She was expecting the Jem'Hadar to drop from the skies any time. When they did come, she would either learn to cope quickly or drift away. "You had your secret signal," she said quietly. "How would it have been without that?" They hadn't told him for a time. He'd wandered the grey dull corridors wondering if he'd die there. "Very hard. But you have to take each day as it comes. Tomorrow anything might happen, but do what you need to do today." She played with her soup. "I have all the paperwork to do. He hardly even looks at it anymore. If I make a mistake, he won't notice." She took a bite of some mushy cubes at the bottom. When she was done she added with unexpected bitterness. "With each form I fill out I belong a little more to Them." He understood. But she had to do it anyway. "Nobody likes reports. But it has to be done. At the end of the day, don't think of all the paperwork, but remember how much you did for your patients. That is what matters." "I know. I think to myself that they survived *this*, but what about the next thing? What if the Jem'Hadar come and it was all for nothing?" He looked her in the eyes. His voice hardened, thinking of how Tain clung to life and Martok somehow managed to put up with the beatings he took, so he could last another day. "It's never for nothing. The next thing doesn't exist yet so it doesn't matter." "Live for today," she muttered into her soup. "When do you stop wondering about the future? All my life I've dreamed about what I'd have and what I could do. Now," she said, "now there's nothing but a black cloud that's always waiting." He remembered the moment he realized that he was locked inside a prison far from home and nobody would even know he was gone. She was standing with him now. "It's not easy. But you can give up or go on. And you can make a difference." "Is that how you manage to stand the next thing, and the next until the one you don't make it through?" He didn't take his eyes off her, as she turned to look at him, bitterness mixed with fear in her eyes. "Yes. It's the only way you can." She must have seen the fear he could not hold back, since she looked up at him, the apathy gone. "But not alone," she said, taking his hand. He squeezed hers. There was no need for words. ***** It was late in the evening when Willman knocked on Blanchard's door, a medkit in his hand. At the senior staff meeting held earlier in the evening, everyone had shown up except Blanchard, who had sent his chief aide. Embarrassed, the aide had explained that Blanchard was ill. The meeting had not lasted long, mostly dealing with ways to help during the epidemic, and an update on the situation with the test. But after everyone had left, Sisko had asked him to check on Blanchard and Tarlan. So he had assembled his instruments and made a house call. He wasn't surprised that Tarlan answered the door. The Bajoran did not look all that healthy himself. "Mr. Tarlan, are you feeling well?" asked Willman politely. "Somewhat fatigued," said Tarlan. He looked towards the bedroom. "I'm far more concerned with Justin than myself. He was only slightly ill this morning. He's become very ill since." Following Tarlan towards Blanchard's room, Willman asked calmly, "Has he been out at all today?" Tarlan seemed nervous, but aside from that was lying well. "No, I went for lunch late in the afternoon, but Justin didn't leave his bed." Willman warned Blanchard that he was turning on the light, and Tarlan hurried in to check on him again. Willman decided that the concern, whatever the cause, was quite genuine. There was ample reason for it. Blanchard was feverish, looking pale and apathetic, and Willman didn't have to take his temperature to tell how high it must be. His breathing was labored, wheezing now and then. Willman had brought the tricorder. He made no comment about what he found besides signs of the virus, but Blanchard had come down with it quiet recently. He had been exposed to something that had badly damaged his lungs as well, and that had immediately worsened its impact. Willman had a good idea of what that might be. Tarlan would show the same traces of the contamination. But none of this was going to help Blanchard. He didn't stand much of a chance of surviving the virus if evidence of their acts turned up or not. In any case Willman had no plans to mention it. He turned his attention to Tarlan. "He's got the virus, but you don't look well either. I'll need to examine you as well." Tarlan cooperated quite readily. He showed the same traces of chemical poisoning, but far less severe. And while he was sick, his Bajoran physiology was slowing down the active disease. He would likely have a far less severe case. Perhaps the Bajorans were less susceptible. He hoped that might be true, since he would need staff that could still work when things got bad. "I should admit Blanchard, but I think he would be better off if he stayed here. He shouldn't require a lot of care, if you're up to watching him for a few days. Then I'll re_evaluate him and see what we need to do." Willman wanted Blanchard's other condition kept quiet for now, and he really wasn't up to being moved. There wasn't much that could be done, anyway. He would survive if he would, like anyone else not already in good health. *****