Title: Redjac Was Here
Author: Paula Stiles (thesnowleopard@hotmail.com)
Series: TOS/DS9
Part: NEW 1/1
Rating [R] (I think)
Codes: B/Ez, Sc


Summary: Dax, Bashir, and Scotty discover that three is company, but fourteen's a
crowd while chasing down a serial killer on a pleasure planet. Sequel to my story
"Split Personality" and TOS ep...well, that would be telling. Set about a year after the
end of the seventh season.

Disclaimer: ROTFL! Paramount owns everything, including the original ep (which
should have belonged to the original author). What they don't own is the backstory to
the ep, which is true, and this story, which I wrote. I sincerely doubt they'd want it,
anyway. 

Archive: Yep.

Warning: This is violent. Very violent. There is also sex. It's not explicit, but it's not
overly healthy, either. This story is not for kids.

Many thanks to Victoria Meredith and Valerie Shearer for their valuable suggestions
about this story.




					REDJAC WAS HERE


Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus
To the lepers in your head?
U2, One


     The Wheel spun below him. The souls tied to it sometimes struggled to be free,
more often fought to stay on it. They couldn't have escaped, anyway--not without a
supranatural effort. The Wheel held them tight. Oddly, the souls who were ground
under its base clung to it as desperately as the souls on top. But then, those positions
were always changing, so maybe the souls did that only out of habit. They glowed like
jewels, colored differently according to their personalities and sins. 

     What was *his* color. Blue? No. Red. Definitely red. Rust red. Bright splashing ruby.

     The universe flipped but his stomach failed to follow. He retched and closed his
eyes. When he opened them again, the rusty fan on the ceiling above his head was
still rotating. So, why was it so hot? He gagged again, and tried to turn over. Some
heavy weight lay across his body. When he tried to shift it, pain stabbed from one
temple to the other and rebounded. He groaned.

     The weight shifted on its own, turning out to be Ezri Dax. She lifted her head and
said groggily, "Whaa...Julian?"

     Julian Bashir (at least, he was pretty sure he was Julian Bashir, at this moment)
tried to lift his own head, and felt a lot more pain. He grimaced and lay back down. He
touched his head where it hurt worst. His hand came away covered with blood.

     Ezri rolled off his stomach and crawled up to lie face to face with him on the bed.
There were rusty brown patterns painted on her face.  "Julian, are you okay?" she said.
"OhmiGod. What hap--waitaminute. I *hit* you."

     Bashir tried to sort through the memories from last night--his and Ezri's first night on
Argelius. Most of them didn't seem to be his, which might explain why they were so
foggy. Who had been in control? Jules? Vantika? Neither of them seemed to be about
when he tried casting around in his head for them. Well, *he* certainly hadn't been in
the driver's seat.

     "What happened?" he finished her question.

     "You don't remember?" Ezri said, looking uneasy. Clearly, she was remembering
the whole night just fine now. What the Hell had he done?

     "Not really." Bashir licked his lips. "I'm...not quite sure who I was, last night. It's pretty
hazy."

     "Never mind that," Ezri said briskly, pushing herself off the huge, brass-framed
bed. She *was* uneasy. "We need to get you to a hospital."

     Bashir started to argue with her, then decided he didn't have the strength. So, he
laid his head back down on the bed while she pulled on her trousers, yanked up her t-
shirt to fasten her bra, tied up the drawstrings of his pants and pulled down his shirt.
Then, she helped him off the bed and slowly, painfully, they left their hotel room for the
medical facility down the street that he had puttered through just yesterday. He
decided not to think about what the staff there were going to say when he and Ezri
staggered in through the doors.




     Under better circumstances, Ezri would have been amused by the Argelian doctor's
efforts to figure out who had done what to whom. When Ezri and Julian had first
stumbled in, she had appeared quite convinced that Julian was the aggressor. With
very little sympathy for him she had set Julian up for a neurological scan and palmed
him off on a stony-faced male nurse. Then, she had taken Ezri aside for a chat.

     "Excuse me, but I must ask these questions," the doctor had said politely. "Is this
man your sexual partner?"

     Ezri nodded. "We've been together for almost a year, now."

     "Has he struck you or forced sex on you in the past?" the doctor continued, her
brown, gypsy face solicitous.

     Oh, damn. How to explain this without getting both herself and Julian thrown into
jail? "Umm. He didn't hit me, or rape me. I hit him. And then we had sex."

     "I beg your pardon?" The doctor's sympathetic mask slipped just a bit. "Perhaps, Ms.
Dax, you're confusing events a little. Your partner has a serious concussion. While I
can see why you struck him in self-defense, he would not have been physically
capable of the sexual assault afterwards."

     "I know," Ezri admitted. "He was pretty dazed by the time we had sex. I hit him
twice."

     The doctor paused for a long time. Then, she wet her lips with her tongue and said,
slowly, "Now, let me understand this: he attacked you. You then hit him--twice--and
then you initiated sex with him while he was unconscious, or nearly so?"

     "Well, pretty much." *Talk fast, Ezri. She's looking very unhappy.* "You see," Ezri
pressed on. "I used to be married to a Klingon. Klingons treat the sex act like a battle--
they like it that way. Julian and I just decided to try out some things that my, um, ex
husband and I used to do. You know, to liven things up a bit."

     Ezri hoped that the doctor wouldn't notice that she was lying through her teeth. That
had most certainly *not* been what had really happened. What had happened, purely
and simply, was that Joran had gotten out. 

     Julian had started it, though--Ezri still wasn't very clear about that part. All she
remembered was walking out of the bathroom and seeing him come at her with a
knife. She hadn't recognized the look in his eyes at all--he wasn't home, but neither
was Vantika, or Jules. She'd dodged, and had gotten hold of an iron statuette off the
nightstand that she'd picked up in the local Artisanat. But, he'd still managed to knock
her down and pin her on to the bed, kneeling over her.

    She wasn't sure if she'd have been able to get free at that point. All she knew was
that just when he'd been about to stab her, Julian had hesitated. It had only been for a
second, but the hesitation had given her enough time to summon up Joran and slam
the statuette against the side of Julian's skull.

     Julian had dropped the knife and half-fallen on her. She'd pushed him off, but then
a cold, red, reeking haze had descended on her and Joran had taken over. Instead of
checking to see if Julian was okay or calling for help, she had rolled him onto his back,
pinned his wrists, and kissed him.

     Julian had come back to life then, and tried to buck her off. A wrestling match had
ensued, which had ended when Ezri had grabbed hold of Julian's hair and banged his
head against the frame of the bed. After that, his eyes had glazed over and his body
had proven much more cooperative. She hadn't much cared about his mind, at that
point.

     The doctor went back into the examination room where Julian was lying curled up
on his side. Ezri saw that he had designs painted on his face. She remembered
making those designs. She had rubbed her fingers in his bloody hair and then traced
the lines on his lips and nose afterwards. Then, she had traced the same design on
her own face before getting up to look in the bathroom mirror. It had been chilling
seeing Joran's face reflected instead of her own. The worst part, though, had been the
creeping feeling that it wasn't really Joran she was seeing, but someone else,
someone she didn't recognize.

     The conversation in the examination room was becoming quite animated, at least
on the doctor's side. Julian, for his part, shook his head wearily and waved her away.
The doctor looked very unhappy, but let him get up and limp out to Ezri.

     "I'm ready," he told her. "Let's go home."

     Ezri went up to him and put an arm around him, ignoring the doctor's glare. "Are you
okay? Are you sure you don't want to stay here for the night?"

     Julian shook his head, then winced. "I'm fine. The nurse fixed up my head. I've got a
prescription for the swelling. Now, all I need is a shower and some bed rest. Let's just
go."

     As they headed out the door, the doctor followed, like a persistent gadfly. "Mr.
Bashir, I think you should reconsider your decision." Julian ignored her. Ezri helped
him outside to the autotaxi and eased him into it. She thought the doctor might try to
stop her getting in with him, but instead the woman just stood in the doorway, scowling
as the taxi pulled away. Clearly, this was way out of her area of expertise. Maybe she'd
just decide that the two of them deserved each other and not bother to report it.

     Julian stayed on his feet all the way back to their room. Once inside the door,
though, he staggered straight to the bed and collapsed onto it. Ezri closed the door
behind her, and sat down next to him. Tentatively, she reached out to stroke his hair. It
was stiff with blood.

     Julian rolled onto his back and looked up at her. "She wanted me to press charges
against you."

     Ezri smiled ruefully. "I know. At first, she wanted *me* to press charges against
*you.*"

     "You should have." Julian looked exhausted and frightened. "I don't know who I was
last night, but whoever I was would have cut you into little pieces if I could have."

     Ezri felt cold. They had been working on this issue for months in therapy sessions.
Being a trained counselor and an untrained Joined Trill, Ezri had thought she might be
able to help him where no one else--even her predecessor Jadzia--could. When Rao
Vantika's old colleague, Sivan Malinka, had revived the memories that Vantika's
memories had left in Julian's head, Julian had created a Vantika personality to cope
with them. Apparently, it had not been the first time that he had begun to separate.
Jules, his childhood self, had also emerged during the incident with Malinka. Julian
had killed Malinka, finally, but Vantika and Jules had remained.

     Julian had been trying *so* hard to reintegrate all his personalities. He'd managed
to reclaim almost all of Vantika's memories, and most of Jules' in the two years since
Malinka's death. Now, it looked as if he were right back at the beginning, with a whole
new, and completely psychopathic, personality. Whoever she had fought last night, it
hadn't been Vantika, or Julian. And it certainly hadn't been Jules.

     She stroked his hair some more. It seemed to sooth him. "It's okay," she reassured
him. "You didn't kill me, and we're both here, now, alive. Will you need to stay awake
to make sure you don't slip into a coma?"

     He shook his head, and his eyes closed, briefly. "I didn't have any major swelling.
So, with the medication I should be able to sleep without any danger. All things
considered, I got off lucky. I must have a *very* hard head."

     "Well, that's not a revelation," she teased him gently. He smiled wearily at the joke.

     "I need a shower," he said. "I feel...unclean."

     "Right now?" she said.

     Julian started to sit up, then groaned, and apparently decided against it. "Maybe
later." He lay back down. "You'll stay with me?"

     "Of course." She held back tears. How could he trust her after last night? She lay
down beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. He seemed to relax. It wasn't
long before his breathing evened out. To her surprise, she soon fell asleep, as well.




     When she woke, the shower was running, and the bed was empty. She got up and
went into the bathroom. Julian was in the shower. He stood under the hot water spray,
leaning his head against the wall and slowly peeling off his clothes. They thumped
wetly on the tiles. Little swirls of brown ran down his face and twisted down the drain.
He didn't turn his head and notice her until he was completely naked. He looked at
her, then, and opened his arms. She went into his embrace, hugging him fiercely.

     "I'm sorry," she whispered. "It was Joran."

     "I know," he said.

     "I shouldn't have let him out."

     "You didn't have much choice."

     "I did, though," she insisted. "I should have been in control. I can't help you if I'm not
in control."

     "Shh," he said, stroking her wet hair. "It's all right, now. It wasn't your fault."

     He kissed her gently on the forehead. When he began to tug on her clothing, she
decided to let him show her that he'd forgiven her. Maybe it would help them both feel
better.


     Eventually, they both got clean, and ended up, exhausted and sleepy, on the bed.
The sun had gone down and the stars had come out, above the fog. The only light
came from a lamp on the nightstand next to the bed. Ezri lay on her side. She could
feel Julian's breath on the back of her neck. She shivered, unnerved. He shifted and
drew back a little. "Are you all right?"

     "I'm fine," she replied. "Your breath tickles, that's all."

     "Ah. Right." He settled down again, this time with his chin on her shoulder, one arm
was wrapped around her waist. Idly, he stroked her stomach, just above where the
symbiont was. When she and Julian had first started sleeping together, Ezri didn't
understand that this was a nervous gesture, his way of winding down, and not more
foreplay. This had caused some awkward moments when she responded in kind--not
to mention several sleepless nights. Then, she'd gotten it, and stopped. After awhile,
she'd also realized that he wasn't even aware he was doing it. It was as if he couldn't
relax from an adrenaline rush without exhausting himself in nervous habits.

      Habits like this made Ezri uneasy. They reminded her too much of the genetically
enhanced group of patients Julian occasionally worked with. Jack, especially, was a
collection of nervous ticks, pacing, flicking off meaningless hand gestures, and talking
nonstop. It was unfair, though, to worry too much about how Julian's genetic
enhancements affected his sanity. He had suffered so much trauma, yet he held a job
of considerable responsibility, had good friends, and maintained a successful
relationship with her. Jack, meanwhile, couldn't boil water without supervision.

     And she could hardly criticize Julian's sanity, anyway. She never was quite sure
who she was when she went to bed with Julian. She felt she was Ezri, but a
subconcious commentary from Dax and all of the previous hosts ran in counterpoint to
every move she made and every sensation she felt when she was with him. It felt...
crowded.

     Before she'd been joined, she hadn't slept with anyone. The art of relationships
seemed to elude her. To be truthful, she'd felt like a fraud, counseling people about
their marital and love problems. Here she was, giving them advice and she couldn't
even manage a successful date!

     Then, the joining had happened. It had been the very last thing she'd wanted--like
having her domineering mother inside her own head. Ugh. But, she couldn't just stand
by and let Dax die like that. She'd taken the same oath as Julian--to do no harm.

     Still, the aftermath had been very confusing. Everyone she'd met, and remembered,
on her return to DS9 expected her to be someone else. It was frighteningly easy to
indulge them. Poor Worf had been easiest of all. She'd known exactly who she was in
that jungle clearing, the night she'd slept with him. Jadzia had simply taken over.

     So, who was she right now? In this bed?

     "Julian," she said.

     "Mmm," he replied. He was winding down, finally. She could tell from his tone.

     "Why do you love me?"

     In the silence that followed, she thought he'd fallen asleep. But, he was only
thinking. "Well, at least you didn't need to ask me *if* I love you."

     She decided to let that one go. "But, do you love me, Ezri, or me, Dax?"

     "I love you," he replied, too quickly. "All of you--especially Ezri."

     Great, he was avoiding the question. "You loved Jadzia, too, when she was Dax."

     "You're not Jadzia."

     "Well, I know, but--"

     "Jadzia didn't love me," Julian continued steadily, overriding her protest. "She liked
me, but she never loved me." The movement of his hand across her stomach slowed,
became deliberate, and very distracting. "For a long time, I told myself that what I loved
about you was her. Then, I could convince myself that you didn't love me, either."

      Now, he'd aroused her curiosity. He usually avoided talking about Jadzia. "So,
when did you realize that you were wrong?"

     He chuckled. "Remember the turbolift?"

     Oh, the turbolift. "What do you mean?"

     "You know. We lied very brightly to each other that we were just friends. We shook
hands. We got in the turbolift. Everything seemed perfectly under control. Then, I
looked at you; you looked at me. And I remember thinking, 'Uh, oh.'"

     Ezri was incredulous. "'*Uh, oh*?'"

     "'Uh, oh.' And then we were kissing, and I knew. Or I would have known if I'd been
thinking about it."

     She digested this. "But, you never answered my question."

     "Oh," he said. "That."

     "Yes, that."

     He nuzzled her ear; the movement of his hand slowed even more. "I don't know," he
admitted finally. "I could give you all sorts of things I love about you. Your sense of
humor. Your compassion. Your spots--" She laughed out loud at this. "--but, ultimately,
I don't know why I love you. I just do. I can't help it, and I don't want to stop. And I
probably never will. As Jadzia found out, I'm quite capable of loving someone for
years, with very little encouragement. It's one of my more annoying traits. Does that
answer your question?"

     "Yes." She wouldn't cry, just because he'd been more honest than she expected, or
deserved. She needed a distraction. 

     She grabbed his hand and held it still on her stomach. "Julian, do you have any
idea what you're doing when you do that?"

     Julian propped himself up on one elbow. "What are you talking about?"

     "Well, let me demonstrate." Ezri turned, clambered over Julian and got behind him.
Non-plussed, he didn't protest. She settled down beside him, reached around his
waist and began stroking his stomach.

     "Oh, my," he said, after a moment. "Does that have the same effect on you?"

     "Judging from the way your breathing just changed, I'd say yes."

     "Oh," he lay back down. "Sorry. I didn't realize...You're not going to stop now, are
you?"

     Ezri smiled. She should have done this months ago. "Not if you don't want me to,"
she said.

     He turned to her. She resigned herself to yet another sleepless night. Well, the
evening was still young. Maybe they'd get some sleep yet.

     As she reached for the light switch, she noticed something glittering in a corner, half
under a rug. It took her a moment to recognize it as Julian's knife from the night before. 
It must have fallen there after she'd hit him. Shivering, she quickly switched off the
light. Fortunately, Julian didn't notice.




     Julian was going to be difficult, today, Ezri could just tell.

     For one thing, he had shown up at breakfast in a gray, fatigue shirt that had
"Property of the Dominion," stencilled on the back. Fortunately, the phrase was in
Dominionese, which Ezri trusted nobody here on Argelius could read. 

     It was a little joke of Julian's. She'd found it in his closet one day and asked him
about it. He'd said that he'd always felt the least the Dominion could have done when
he was their prisoner was to provide him with clothing instead of making him wear his
old uniform, day in and day out. So, after he'd escaped from Internment Camp 371,
he'd designed a Dominion POW uniform for himself. It was a very, very sick joke. And
whenever Julian started wearing it around his quarters, Ezri knew it was time to tread
very warily, indeed. It was not a good indicator of his frame of mind. 

     On the other hand, considering that he'd been a prisoner of the Dominion three
times, and replaced by a Changeling twice, she couldn't really criticize him for it. If that
was how he chose to deal with his POW experience whenever it threatened to
overwhelm him--well, it sure beat huddling in a corner of a padded room, drooling and
whimpering in terror.

     She wished he hadn't brought it on vacation, though. He must have been expecting
trouble.

     She eyed him as he leaned back, eyes closed, on his cushions, ate spicy,
scrambled magwoon eggs and planned her strategy for the day. Should she try to
cajole him into a brighter mood? Or should she tell him to get his act together and go
find some appropriate clothing? An image of him standing up, stripping naked, and
strolling back to their room for "more appropriate clothing" leapt to her forebrain. Hmm,
maybe not.

     She could just stand up, herself, and leave him there, but that struck her as overkill.
The message on his shirt was aimed, not at her, but at the happy vacationers
chattering around them in the dimly lit restaurant. She knew that their arrogant
innocence irritated him. 

     To be honest, it irritated her, too. How could these people have been so untouched
by the war? True, Argelius had dropped out of the main flow of space traffic over a
generation before. If the Dominion had had no interest in destroying a popular resort
like Risa, why go after an ageing port like Argelius? 

     Still, most of those surrounding the low tables on cushions scattered across the
floor were not Argelians. They were Bolians, Ferengi, Andorians, Orions, Humans,
Klingons, Tellarites, even a Vulcan sitting quietly eating in a corner by herself. Despite
the losses to Starfleet, and the participation of all those worlds in the War, these
people clearly had not been directly involved in the carnage. They knew nothing of
being replaced by Changelings, or defending lonely outposts from hordes of
Jem'Hadar, or being murdered by Pah'Wraiths (Ezri winced at the unbidden memory),
or being forced to evacuate a ship in the heat of battle. They didn't know, and they
didn't care.

     Certainly, the loudly dressed Bolian couple sitting next to them didn't care. The man
was saying, "Three billion credits, the Federation Council wants from us for post-war
aid. Three *billion.*"

     Sometimes, Ezri longed for the days before Universal Translators. It had been so
much easier, then, to ignore these kinds of conversations.

     "Oh, dear, let's talk about something else," his wife twittered. "Why don't we go
down to the Artisanat today and see if we can't find some nice Borshaa silk from the
western island-continents?

     "But, Mayzi, it's just insufferable," the man replied, not missing a beat. "Three billion
credits. That will raise our yearly taxes by 2 percent! Just what do those lightpen
pushers in Starfleet think they're doing with our money? If you ask me, they just went
to war to protect their investments in the Gamma Quadrant. I'll bet the Alpha Quadrant
was never in any danger. They just made things look that way to scare everyone into
forking over more credits."

     Ezri thought of Kellin, taking a Jem'Hadar disruptor blast meant for her on AR-116,
and felt an uncontrollable urge to join in the conversation.

     As she opened her mouth, however, Julian opened his eyes and said sharply,
"Ezri." His tone stopped her cold, but it also caught the attention of the Bolian couple.
They looked over at Julian.

     He bared his teeth at them and said pleasantly, "I'm sorry. My girlfriend became
very interested in your conversation and started to join in. I was concerned that you
might think us rude to do so. She's Starfleet. She was on the front lines in the War, you
know. At least, that was when she wasn't caught *behind* them. She likes to believe
that she fought for something besides...investments." His lips twitched around the last
word.

     Ezri smiled sheepishly and gave the couple a little wave--Look, I'm harmless, it
said. The wife looked alarmed.

     Her husband, who was not as bright as his spouse, said, "Well, I can understand
her devotion to Starfleet. They do train them to be that way in the Academy." Ezri
seethed at being referred to in the third person, but kept smiling.

     "Still,"  the husband continued, oblivious of Ezri's rage, "Starfleet never tells its
people the whole story about anything. You should try to enlighten your girl a little
more about the way the universe *really* works."

     Julian raised his eyebrows, but only said, "Well, I would. But, you see, I'm Starfleet,
too. In fact, I was usually stuck out there on the front line with her--when I wasn't
fighting somewhere else."

     The husband looked non-plussed. This glimmer of enlightenment gave his wife time
to intervene.

     Shooting a bright, frantic smile at Ezri and Julian, she tugged on her husband's arm
and said, "Why don't we go down to the Artisanat now, dear, and let these young
people eat breakfast in peace?" She got him to pay the bill, then pulled him away from
the table and chivvied him out the door.

     "Bye-bye," Julian called after them, and waved. Ezri thought she saw the wife shove
her husband a little harder at that.

     "Thanks," Ezri said, after the couple was gone. "I was about to make a really big fool
of myself. I could just tell."

     Julian sipped at his raktajino. "Well, you're usually the one who has to cover for
me," he said. "I thought I'd do the honors this time. It only seemed fair."

     Ezri smiled wryly. And here she'd just been wondering how to get *Julian* to be
reasonable today.

     "I know that they don't know any better," she admitted. "It's just that they're so...so..."

     "Smug? Insufferable? Patronizing?" Julian said helpfully.

     "Yes! And they just make me feel so..."

     "Frustrated? Homicidal?" Julian finished, too helpfully. "Like making them wish that
the Dominion and the Breen *had* conquered them? I know, love. Believe me, I do
know."

     Ezri glared at him. "You're not helping."

     Julian sat up, picked up his fork, and stirred his cooling, purple, magwoon egg
omelette. "Oh, come on, Ezri. Admit it. They drive you mad. They drive *me* mad. They
drive Miles barking back at the Academy. And they put Nerys into warp drive everytime
some idiot bureaucrat from Starfleet calls her up on subspace and starts complaining
about her dodgy filing system."

     He speared a curd of flourescent egg and waved his fork at her. "Face it, Ezri.
They're rude. They're ignorant. They're obnoxious, and worst of all, they're ungrateful."

     He stuffed the egg into his mouth, talking and chewing at the same time. His power
eating was one of his less endearing habits that she'd sworn she'd get used to,
someday. Today wasn't the day.

     "And," he continued, oblivious to her distaste. "They outnumber us by a million to
one--even in Starfleet. On a planet like this I'll bet they outnumber us more by four
million to one, than not."

     Ezri ground her teeth. "So, tell me again why we came here."

     Julian smiled. "Don't you remember, dear? We came here because we both were
tired of social interactions that began with, 'So, how many engagements were you in?'
Or, 'How many times did you get wounded/lose a ship?' Or, 'How many friends did you
lose in the War?' Or, 'Do you still have bad dreams?' Since Risa is currently flooded
with shell-shocked veterans, we both decided to try out a less...overcrowded resort.
And so, here we are."

     "I know. I hear what you're saying, Julian." Ezri rubbed her face. "It's just--nothing
ever *happens* to people, here. They're too sheltered--like that idiot who sabotaged
the weather system the last time we were on Risa. They think the entire universe is just
like this, and you can't convince them otherwise."

     Julian shrugged. "It's easier to be a cynic on a full stomach. Nobody can look up a
loaded disruptor barrel and not fervently hope for life after death and a higher
judgement."

     "I just wish I could wipe those self-satisfied looks off their faces, sometimes," Ezri
sighed. "Make them see what it was really like. That's all."

     Julian considered this, then swallowed his egg. "So. You want them to suffer the
way we did?"

     "No!" Ezri leaned her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. "I just want
them to be more sympathetic. I want them to understand what we sacrificed for them."

     "Be careful what you wish for, love. You'll get far more of it than you want."

     "Pardon me," said a man standing next to the Bolian couple's table. "Are ye Ezri
Dax and Julian Bashir?"

     *Oh, God,* thought Ezri. *Did that doctor report us?* But, when she looked up, she
saw only an elderly human male in civilian clothing. He looked familiar.

     "Ye-es," she ventured cautiously. "May I ask who you are?"

     The man beamed and stuck out his right hand. "Montgomery Scott at your service,
lass."

     Julian dropped his fork. Both he and Ezri jumped at the sound. A moment later, they
were scrambling to their feet, standing at attention, and saluting the man. "Captain
Scott!" Julian exclaimed, sounding flabbergasted.

     "Sir," Ezri hurried to explain. "We didn't recognize you at first. Please accept our
apologies." Good gods. Captain Montgomery Scott, legend of Starfleet, standing right
in front of them. What was *he* doing here?

     Scott let his hand drop and looked from Julian to Ezri, and back again. He frowned,
looking puzzled. "You two are Starfleet?"

     "Lt. Julian Subatoi Bashir, M.D., Sir," Julian replied instantly. "Currently CMO at
Bajoran space station Deep Space Nine."

     "Lt. j.g. Ezri Dax, Station Counselor, also at DS9, Sir," Ezri added.

     Scott looked bemused. "Ye can drop the military protocol now. I retired from service
a very long time ago." He stuck out his hand, again. "Let's just shake hands and sit
down, shall we? Me poor bairns are all worn out."

     Scott's voice sounded somewhat like Julian's, but much thicker and more
colloquial. Ezri glanced sideways at Julian. "Bairns?" she whispered.

     "Feet," he shot back. Then, they both were hurrying to shake Scott's hand. Everyone
sat back down, Scott with much puffing and groaning. He was a portly, grandfatherly
figure--silver haired, with a bushy mustache.

     "Aigh," he sighed. "I never did get used to sitting on the floor like this, the last time I
was here."

     "You've been to Argelius before, sir?" Julian asked.

     "Ay, laddie, I have," Scott admitted, looking grim. "And call me Scotty, please.
Everyone else, does. In fact, it was something that happened on my last visit that
prompted to me to come back.

     "But we'll leave that for the moment." He lowered his voice. "Have ye heard about
the murders that've happened in the city the past few months?"

     Ezri was horrified. Julian looked shocked. "Murders?" he said. "We haven't heard about any murders."

     "Well, they've been keeping it all quiet, y'see, so as not to scare the tourists. But, I
knew what to look for in the planetary government database. Their police force is all up
in arms about it."

     "How many murders have there been so far?" Ezri asked.

     "There've been 22 incidents in the past year and a half," Scott explained. "All
couples. No history of previous violence. For some reason, one killed the other, and
then committed suicide. Except for the Klingon couple; they killed each other."

     Julian suddenly looked very ill. "How...did they do it?"

     Scott looked him in the face, then at Ezri. "They each used a knife."

     Ezri dug her fingernails into the table and wished she hadn't eaten her breakfast.
"You said there were 22 murders in the past 18 months. When was the last one?"

     Scott smiled sadly. "The last one? I doubt that one has happened, yet, lass. For a
year there was only one murder/suicide every other month. Then, there was one every
month. Then, this past month, it happened weekly--until this past week. This past week
has seen a murder every night, except one--the night before last."

     Ezri glanced at Julian. He was shivering, and his face had turned pale. She was
shaking, herself. "With all due respect, s--Scotty," she bluffed.  "What does this have to
do with us?"

     Scott shrugged. "I couldn't understand the break, y'see. Why a murder/suicide every
night but that one? It didn't fit the pattern. So, I started looking for other incidents of
violence. Argelius is a very peaceful planet. They don't tolerate jealousy or
possessiveness between a lad and a lass here, so there's almost no domestic
violence. Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw a report from a doctor alleging just
that crime. It seems, though, that nobody paid any attention to her because she
couldn't quite decide who had done what to whom."

    After a moment, Julian said, "That bitch. I knew she'd report us."

     "It wasn't what you think," Ezri said hastily.

     "Oh, lass, I have a very good idea of what it was like." Ezri was shocked to see no
scorn or revulsion on Scott's face, only compassion. He leaned forward and said in a
whisper, "It was like being trapped in a slaughterhouse, wasn't it? A red, stinking
haze--cold, too."

     "Oh. God," Julian said. "I knew it was different, somehow. I knew *I* was different. I
can't believe I lost control like that."

     "It wasn't you at all, laddie," Scott said. "What happened to you the other night--what
possessed you--it isn't human at all.

     "Y'see, it feeds on fear. And it makes people kill. It's pure evil. I know. I came up
against it when I was here nigh on a century ago. The Captain and Mr. Spock thought
they'd beaten it, killed it. But, they didn't. They just weakened it. And now, it's back."

     "What do you want from us?" Ezri demanded.

     Scott grinned, without humor. "Why, I want ye to help me kill it, lass. You're the only
two people I know who've gone up against it and lived. I want ye to help me put a
stake through its bloody, black heart, once and for all."

End of Part One