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seikilosTitle: Held
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Action/Pre-slash
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to torture; panic attack; innuendo)
Betas: Tinsnip and Yosie
Words: This part 3060, approximately 16 000 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: "...[T]he dictator is merely the tip of the whole festering boil of social pus from which dictators emerge; shoot one, and there’ll be another one along in a minute." - Terry Pratchett. Approximately six weeks after The Circle's fall from power, a fragment of the organisation returns to lash out against the only Cardassian living on Deep Space Nine. What they didn't anticipate, however, was being interrupted mid-abduction. This chapter: Julian and Garak wake up in unfortunate circumstances and the senior staff on DS9 begin problem-solving.
Author's Notes: I had a lot of fun with misdirection, assumptions, and the theoretically infinite variety of Gamma Quadrant species in this chapter, as you'll probably be able to tell. One of the other main ideas I decided to play with in "Held" begins to come into play in this chapter, so that's always fun. Next update, I'll elaborate a little more on it, but for now, enjoy the show. ♥
Chapter 1
Well, now. That had been a much longer nap than he had intended to take.
. . . Had he intended to take a nap?
Of course he had. Why else would he be lying on the floor?
Why was he lying on the—
Julian jolted upright, then shot his hand out to brace himself as he nearly collapsed backwards again. His knuckles scraped again something far too rough to be a proper wall and he gasped, but he wasn't going to spend any time figuring out what that had been until he was well and truly sure he wasn't about to cover himself with the remains of his dinner with Garak.
He spent a couple of minutes breathing in the stale air of wherever he was through his nose and blowing it out through his mouth. Only when his stomach had settled did he crack his eyes open.
Really, there wasn't much difference between having his eyes open or shut. It was almost perfectly dark in . . . was this some sort of cave? The only lighting came from the force field only a pace or two in front of him, but it was still bright enough for him to see the still figure lying just more than an arm's length away.
"Garak!"
The name was much more whisper than shout as Julian scrambled to his side. He ignored the new dizziness his sudden movement birthed, ignored very hard the implications of their location. His focus on the other man needed to be absolute.
He found Garak's wrist and took his pulse. As he counted, he checked his other vital signs. Still unconscious from the drug—probably kayolane at a dosage intended for a Cardassian and not a Human, which would explain his own mild adverse reaction. Garak's breathing was steady, if a bit slow, and he couldn't see any signs of distress. . . . And there—his pulse seemed to be within a normal range, although he wished he could be more certain. Cardassians were secretive about even basic facts of their biology; it had taken a fair bit of detective work for him to learn the little he had.
Now that he was certain Garak was in no medical danger, Julian took a moment to look around a little more. The room—the cell they were in was almost certainly a natural niche in a cave system. It was just tall enough for him to stand up without bumping his head, but three long steps would let him cross the room. It was clearly a cell built for one, despite both of them being left inside: a blessing. As cramped as it was, he felt much better for having Garak with him.
His mental inventory finished, he reached for his combadge; his fingers met cloth. He couldn't say he was surprised. It had been a lot to hope for.
A few moments later, he felt Garak's hand twitch beneath his grip; he'd been so preoccupied with understanding their situation that he had forgotten to let go. Immediately and with some embarrassment, he released him, but before he could withdraw his hand, Garak's fingers caught his.
"Garak?" Julian whispered.
Garak grunted, exhaled—and then, still with his eyes closed, he smiled. "If I'd known you were inviting me out for this kind of supper, I would have worn something far more suitable." He gave his fingers a squeeze and then let him go. Julian felt his cheeks go hot.
"I'm, um, afraid this isn't quite what I had been expecting either." He cleared his throat. "I think we're in trouble, Garak."
Garak sighed, and only then did he open his eyes and sit up (seemingly without the same side effects—now that was unfair). Though Julian's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, he could still see the way Garak's gaze locked instantly on the containment field.
When he spoke, his voice sounded different than usual—sharper. "I would say that's an accurate assessment of our situation. If I'm not mistaken, your friend the Constable would do quite a bit to get his hands on a force field this advanced." He held up a hand when Julian took in a breath. "Just a little something I overheard when a pair of security officers were in my shop the other day."
"Of course," Julian answered, and despite the severity of their situation, his lips tugged into a smile.
That smile faded, however, when Garak—who was now taking in the pitiful remainder of the room—spoke again.
"Our hosts weren't . . . very generous with their accommodations, were they?"
Julian frowned a little. Garak's voice had abruptly lost a good deal of its sharpness. He wasn't afraid, was he? He supposed it was possible, but he'd never heard Garak sound less than perfectly self-assured. He couldn't imagine even something like being kidnapped rattling him. (After all, spies dealt with far worse on a regular basis.)
It must have been the dryness of the air making his voice catch. That was just as likely of an explanation, he decided.
His response was a light, "Not terribly, no, but at least they were kind enough to leave us together."
Garak took in a breath. "I assume it had more to do with not having another cell of this quality than kindness. If their 'secret hideout' is in a cave, I can't imagine they're usually this fortunate in their equipment."
There—Garak sounded the same as always. It must have been the air, as he'd thought.
"I think" —Julian stood, taking care in case his estimate of the cell's height was off— "that rather than sitting around and speculating about our captors, we should find out who they are and why we're here—wherever 'here' is."
Garak remained seated. The hard but dim force field light cast shadows that fell oddly on the other man's facial ridges. It was difficult to get a sense of his expression, particularly when he could barely make out more than the glint of his eyes.
"And how do you propose to do that?"
"It's simple: I'll ask them."
"Doctor. . . ."
Julian ignored the weariness in Garak's voice and stepped forward, stopping just short of the force field. "Hello? Hello! Whoever's out there, show yourself!"
His voice echoed through what looked to be a much wider chamber. He couldn't make out where it led, but the lights were so feeble he wasn't surprised. If he had been going by sight alone, for all he knew, the wall could be three or thirty metres in front of them. And if there were a guard nearby, then they were standing in darkness.
"I see they didn't pay for soundproofing," Garak observed from behind him.
"Are you sure?" Julian asked without turning around. If he leaned right in with his nose just not touching the force field, he could see . . . two more centimetres of cave. How wonderful.
"Quite sure. If they had, your voice wouldn't create an echo and you would abandon your plan of giving me a headache."
He glanced over his shoulder at Garak, who was still huddled on the floor, then back. "Well, I'm hardly going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs until our captors decide to show themselves."
"My dear doctor, you'll find that's exactly what you'll have to do." There was an edge to Garak's voice now, an unfamiliar one. He and Garak often disagreed in the course of their discussions, and while Garak occasionally was sarcastic, overall, he remained polite—sometimes more polite than Julian himself.
His lips thinned. Their situation was becoming more alarming by the moment if it really did have Garak worried.
He took in a deep breath. "Hello! I demand to see whoever is in charge here! Hello!"
Behind him, Garak groaned quietly. Julian felt guilty for a moment for troubling his friend, but if it meant getting Garak out of this situation faster, he would simply have to keep shouting.
*
There were a lot of unhappy faces turned toward Commander Sisko around the table in ops. His own probably fit the collection quite nicely. Nobody was talking much as they waited for Chief O'Brien to join them, and he didn't blame them. After all, Dr. Bashir gave the impression of being a bit defenceless. He supposed that was unfair—the doctor had proven himself very capable during The Circle's invasion of the station over a month ago. But . . . he was still young in a way Major Kira, his peer by the numbers only, was not. And if Odo was right and he had been betrayed by a close friend, it wasn't a situation he could see the doctor coping with well at all.
Sisko let out a breath. The only thing these what-if thoughts were doing were making him more stressed by the situation than he already was, and that would make his officers stressed. Now that he could see O'Brien coming up the turbolift, it was time to focus on only the facts.
"All right, people, what have we got?"
"It was definitely sabotage, sir," O'Brien reported as he took his place at the table. "I found a nasty bit of work jamming the circuits in one of the conduits. The surveillance cameras going down was no accident—for once."
"Any idea where it came from?"
"None, sir. It was the sort of thing anybody could put together if they knew what they were doing."
"Thank you, Chief." He turned his attention to Dax. "Any luck tracing the ion trail of the vessel?"
She shook her head. "We could follow the trail for a while, but the last few days have been so busy, it gets lost in the noise almost immediately. I'm not convinced they aren't masking it, either."
"What was the listed destination of the freighter?"
"The Gamma Quadrant," Major Kira answered. "But that was obviously a lie. Even if we can apparently miss a freighter undocking, we wouldn't have missed the wormhole."
"It is a little flashy," he agreed; only Dax smiled. "Constable, when was the last time anyone saw Dr. Bashir or Garak?"
"One of my officers passed them by the turbolift across from shipping brokerage around twenty hundred hours." While Odo never sounded anything better than displeased, there was real, half-suppressed anger in his voice today. The moment he finished his report, Sisko knew, he would stop trying to hold it back.
"How did they seem? Upset? Tense?"
"Happy." The word left Odo's mouth as if he were glad to be rid of it. "She said that they were obviously enjoying each other's company—they didn't stop looking at each other even when they were stepping out of her way."
"I see." So much for that.
Odo wasn't finished, however. "Commander, I hate to say 'I told you so,' but—"
Sisko held up his hands. Here it was. "You told me so. Yes, Constable, I'm aware of your opinions about Mr. Garak."
"If you had let me take him in for questioning like I'd asked, none of this would be happening right now!"
"He hadn't done anything wrong and I'm still not convinced he has."
Odo harrumphed and, arms folded tight against his body, turned away. Sisko stayed where he was.
"I find our tailor suspicious, just as you do, but you can't arrest someone without evidence. We've been over this."
"Yes, and I find your argument just as unconvincing as the last five times you offered it," Odo retorted and Sisko took in a breath. Now that was a step too far.
Before he could speak, however, Dax caught his gaze; she had left the command table as he and Odo were speaking to answer a notification. All Sisko needed was a single glance at her widened eyes to know that the matter of Odo's insubordination was going to be waiting a while.
"Benjamin, we're being hailed."
His eyebrows drew together. "By who?"
"I don't know. The signal is scrambled."
He glanced at the Major; now she was frowning, too. That masked signal wasn't a good sign by any stretch of the imagination.
"Chief, see if you can work out where the signal's coming from. I have the feeling we're about to get a few answers." He waited until O'Brien had all but jumped into the engineering pit—thereby putting him out of sight—before adding, "Onscreen."
An image of three humanoids filled the viewer. Masks of some translucent material distorted their faces so that they could be any sex and quite a different number of species. The deep burgundy, subtly patterned cloaks they had wrapped themselves in made distinguishing any sort of detail even more difficult.
"Commander Sisko?" The one front and centre spoke first. She was probably a woman, although Sisko couldn't rule out other possibilities.
He stepped forward, away from the ops table. "It seems you're looking for me. What can I do for you?"
"We're members of the Alliance for Global Unity. We're contacting you regarding a matter of some delicacy."
"The Circle?" Odo asked in disbelief from behind him. "I thought all you people had been arrested after your coup failed last month."
There was an art to deciphering unfamiliar reactions, and it was one Sisko was becoming rather proficient in. Reading a masked Bajoran (a member of The Circle couldn't be anything else) was simple compared to working out the means of expression of a brand new Gamma Quadrant species. It was quite clear, then, from the way the woman's shoulders had set that Odo's remark had not pleased her one bit.
"We did suffer a minor setback, it's true, but the Alliance is far stronger than you're giving it credit for," she answered steadily.
"I would hardly call the arrest of all your leaders a 'minor setback,'" Odo retorted; the woman stiffened further.
"Odo," Sisko warned with both tone and a brief glance. He returned his gaze to the viewing screen. "What 'matter of some delicacy' would this be?"
The woman once again assumed her detached demeanour to answer. "During the course of a mission, your chief medical officer surprised us. In the heat of the moment, our operatives decided to take him with us, but as a gesture of goodwill to the Federation, we want to return him to you, unharmed in any way."
Sisko did not like this one bit. He hadn't needed the confirmation of what had happened to Dr. Bashir; it had become obvious the moment they'd been contacted. That his chief medical officer was in their hands was bad enough—that The Circle was still carrying out operations on DS9 was no better. And while they had yet to share the nature of their so-called "mission" with him, the last unaccounted detail of the evening gave him a good working theory as to what it was.
As he had been absorbing this, Major Kira had not stayed silent.
"You mean now that your little group has been decimated and it's lost its support on Bajor, you suddenly want to be friends with the people you were trying to drive out," she challenged. "Do you really think even the Federation is going to let bygones be bygones because you returned one of its doctors in one piece when you were the ones to kidnap him in the first place?"
The moment the three terrorists turned to focus on Kira, Sisko slid his gaze to Dax. She shook her head slightly: no fix on their location from O'Brien yet.
He looked back to the screen again as the leader answered, "Maybe not, but it's a step in the right direction." Her attention returned to him. "I'd prefer if we could stop wasting time and begin organizing the details of your doctor's return."
"That would be agreeable," Sisko said pleasantly. "And we could save even more time by organizing the details of Mr. Garak's return while we're at it."
None of the Circle members had been given to expressive movements to this point. They had all been professional and contained; the insults to their organization had provoked little reaction, all told. So when the three terrorists went still for just a beat, that only made the change all the more significant.
". . . The Cardassian isn't your concern," the leader said, her voice still harder than before.
In deliberate contrast, Sisko remained pleasant—but now there was a bite to his smile. "I disagree. Mr. Garak is a resident of this station. That makes him my concern." And now he let his own mask fall. It was no longer the time to be congenial. "I want him back at the same time as Dr. Bashir, and I want both of them in perfect condition. Otherwise, you won't be earning much of that 'goodwill' you seem to value."
The woman's chin lifted. "We'll return the doctor alone or not at all. It's your decision. You have an hour to make it."
The screen blanked out.
Right away, Sisko called, "Any luck, Chief?"
"No, sir." He heard what could only be the sound of a hand smacking metal. "I almost had it. The next time she calls, though, I'll be ready—I promise."
All right. Now it was time to do what they could. "Dax, work with the Chief. See what you can turn up with the data we already have. Major, Odo, I want you to find out when and where any splinter groups of The Circle were last active, including where the most recent arrests were made. Then coordinate with the Chief and Dax. We have one hour—let's make good use of it."
Before his officers could do more than voice their agreement, however, he added deliberately, "I know none of us are very fond of Mr. Garak, but I want each one of you to put the same amount of effort into rescuing him as you are with Dr. Bashir. Whatever else he may be, Garak is a resident of this station. I do not want The Circle or anyone else to think that there is such a thing as an acceptable target on DS9. Understood?"
"Of course, Benjamin," Dax answered right away. The other three were slower to agree—but only just.
"Good. Dismissed."
His staff scattered and Sisko himself returned to his office. It was time to have a talk with the Bajoran provisional government.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Action/Pre-slash
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to torture; panic attack; innuendo)
Betas: Tinsnip and Yosie
Words: This part 3060, approximately 16 000 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: "...[T]he dictator is merely the tip of the whole festering boil of social pus from which dictators emerge; shoot one, and there’ll be another one along in a minute." - Terry Pratchett. Approximately six weeks after The Circle's fall from power, a fragment of the organisation returns to lash out against the only Cardassian living on Deep Space Nine. What they didn't anticipate, however, was being interrupted mid-abduction. This chapter: Julian and Garak wake up in unfortunate circumstances and the senior staff on DS9 begin problem-solving.
Author's Notes: I had a lot of fun with misdirection, assumptions, and the theoretically infinite variety of Gamma Quadrant species in this chapter, as you'll probably be able to tell. One of the other main ideas I decided to play with in "Held" begins to come into play in this chapter, so that's always fun. Next update, I'll elaborate a little more on it, but for now, enjoy the show. ♥
Chapter 1
Well, now. That had been a much longer nap than he had intended to take.
. . . Had he intended to take a nap?
Of course he had. Why else would he be lying on the floor?
Why was he lying on the—
Julian jolted upright, then shot his hand out to brace himself as he nearly collapsed backwards again. His knuckles scraped again something far too rough to be a proper wall and he gasped, but he wasn't going to spend any time figuring out what that had been until he was well and truly sure he wasn't about to cover himself with the remains of his dinner with Garak.
He spent a couple of minutes breathing in the stale air of wherever he was through his nose and blowing it out through his mouth. Only when his stomach had settled did he crack his eyes open.
Really, there wasn't much difference between having his eyes open or shut. It was almost perfectly dark in . . . was this some sort of cave? The only lighting came from the force field only a pace or two in front of him, but it was still bright enough for him to see the still figure lying just more than an arm's length away.
"Garak!"
The name was much more whisper than shout as Julian scrambled to his side. He ignored the new dizziness his sudden movement birthed, ignored very hard the implications of their location. His focus on the other man needed to be absolute.
He found Garak's wrist and took his pulse. As he counted, he checked his other vital signs. Still unconscious from the drug—probably kayolane at a dosage intended for a Cardassian and not a Human, which would explain his own mild adverse reaction. Garak's breathing was steady, if a bit slow, and he couldn't see any signs of distress. . . . And there—his pulse seemed to be within a normal range, although he wished he could be more certain. Cardassians were secretive about even basic facts of their biology; it had taken a fair bit of detective work for him to learn the little he had.
Now that he was certain Garak was in no medical danger, Julian took a moment to look around a little more. The room—the cell they were in was almost certainly a natural niche in a cave system. It was just tall enough for him to stand up without bumping his head, but three long steps would let him cross the room. It was clearly a cell built for one, despite both of them being left inside: a blessing. As cramped as it was, he felt much better for having Garak with him.
His mental inventory finished, he reached for his combadge; his fingers met cloth. He couldn't say he was surprised. It had been a lot to hope for.
A few moments later, he felt Garak's hand twitch beneath his grip; he'd been so preoccupied with understanding their situation that he had forgotten to let go. Immediately and with some embarrassment, he released him, but before he could withdraw his hand, Garak's fingers caught his.
"Garak?" Julian whispered.
Garak grunted, exhaled—and then, still with his eyes closed, he smiled. "If I'd known you were inviting me out for this kind of supper, I would have worn something far more suitable." He gave his fingers a squeeze and then let him go. Julian felt his cheeks go hot.
"I'm, um, afraid this isn't quite what I had been expecting either." He cleared his throat. "I think we're in trouble, Garak."
Garak sighed, and only then did he open his eyes and sit up (seemingly without the same side effects—now that was unfair). Though Julian's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, he could still see the way Garak's gaze locked instantly on the containment field.
When he spoke, his voice sounded different than usual—sharper. "I would say that's an accurate assessment of our situation. If I'm not mistaken, your friend the Constable would do quite a bit to get his hands on a force field this advanced." He held up a hand when Julian took in a breath. "Just a little something I overheard when a pair of security officers were in my shop the other day."
"Of course," Julian answered, and despite the severity of their situation, his lips tugged into a smile.
That smile faded, however, when Garak—who was now taking in the pitiful remainder of the room—spoke again.
"Our hosts weren't . . . very generous with their accommodations, were they?"
Julian frowned a little. Garak's voice had abruptly lost a good deal of its sharpness. He wasn't afraid, was he? He supposed it was possible, but he'd never heard Garak sound less than perfectly self-assured. He couldn't imagine even something like being kidnapped rattling him. (After all, spies dealt with far worse on a regular basis.)
It must have been the dryness of the air making his voice catch. That was just as likely of an explanation, he decided.
His response was a light, "Not terribly, no, but at least they were kind enough to leave us together."
Garak took in a breath. "I assume it had more to do with not having another cell of this quality than kindness. If their 'secret hideout' is in a cave, I can't imagine they're usually this fortunate in their equipment."
There—Garak sounded the same as always. It must have been the air, as he'd thought.
"I think" —Julian stood, taking care in case his estimate of the cell's height was off— "that rather than sitting around and speculating about our captors, we should find out who they are and why we're here—wherever 'here' is."
Garak remained seated. The hard but dim force field light cast shadows that fell oddly on the other man's facial ridges. It was difficult to get a sense of his expression, particularly when he could barely make out more than the glint of his eyes.
"And how do you propose to do that?"
"It's simple: I'll ask them."
"Doctor. . . ."
Julian ignored the weariness in Garak's voice and stepped forward, stopping just short of the force field. "Hello? Hello! Whoever's out there, show yourself!"
His voice echoed through what looked to be a much wider chamber. He couldn't make out where it led, but the lights were so feeble he wasn't surprised. If he had been going by sight alone, for all he knew, the wall could be three or thirty metres in front of them. And if there were a guard nearby, then they were standing in darkness.
"I see they didn't pay for soundproofing," Garak observed from behind him.
"Are you sure?" Julian asked without turning around. If he leaned right in with his nose just not touching the force field, he could see . . . two more centimetres of cave. How wonderful.
"Quite sure. If they had, your voice wouldn't create an echo and you would abandon your plan of giving me a headache."
He glanced over his shoulder at Garak, who was still huddled on the floor, then back. "Well, I'm hardly going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs until our captors decide to show themselves."
"My dear doctor, you'll find that's exactly what you'll have to do." There was an edge to Garak's voice now, an unfamiliar one. He and Garak often disagreed in the course of their discussions, and while Garak occasionally was sarcastic, overall, he remained polite—sometimes more polite than Julian himself.
His lips thinned. Their situation was becoming more alarming by the moment if it really did have Garak worried.
He took in a deep breath. "Hello! I demand to see whoever is in charge here! Hello!"
Behind him, Garak groaned quietly. Julian felt guilty for a moment for troubling his friend, but if it meant getting Garak out of this situation faster, he would simply have to keep shouting.
There were a lot of unhappy faces turned toward Commander Sisko around the table in ops. His own probably fit the collection quite nicely. Nobody was talking much as they waited for Chief O'Brien to join them, and he didn't blame them. After all, Dr. Bashir gave the impression of being a bit defenceless. He supposed that was unfair—the doctor had proven himself very capable during The Circle's invasion of the station over a month ago. But . . . he was still young in a way Major Kira, his peer by the numbers only, was not. And if Odo was right and he had been betrayed by a close friend, it wasn't a situation he could see the doctor coping with well at all.
Sisko let out a breath. The only thing these what-if thoughts were doing were making him more stressed by the situation than he already was, and that would make his officers stressed. Now that he could see O'Brien coming up the turbolift, it was time to focus on only the facts.
"All right, people, what have we got?"
"It was definitely sabotage, sir," O'Brien reported as he took his place at the table. "I found a nasty bit of work jamming the circuits in one of the conduits. The surveillance cameras going down was no accident—for once."
"Any idea where it came from?"
"None, sir. It was the sort of thing anybody could put together if they knew what they were doing."
"Thank you, Chief." He turned his attention to Dax. "Any luck tracing the ion trail of the vessel?"
She shook her head. "We could follow the trail for a while, but the last few days have been so busy, it gets lost in the noise almost immediately. I'm not convinced they aren't masking it, either."
"What was the listed destination of the freighter?"
"The Gamma Quadrant," Major Kira answered. "But that was obviously a lie. Even if we can apparently miss a freighter undocking, we wouldn't have missed the wormhole."
"It is a little flashy," he agreed; only Dax smiled. "Constable, when was the last time anyone saw Dr. Bashir or Garak?"
"One of my officers passed them by the turbolift across from shipping brokerage around twenty hundred hours." While Odo never sounded anything better than displeased, there was real, half-suppressed anger in his voice today. The moment he finished his report, Sisko knew, he would stop trying to hold it back.
"How did they seem? Upset? Tense?"
"Happy." The word left Odo's mouth as if he were glad to be rid of it. "She said that they were obviously enjoying each other's company—they didn't stop looking at each other even when they were stepping out of her way."
"I see." So much for that.
Odo wasn't finished, however. "Commander, I hate to say 'I told you so,' but—"
Sisko held up his hands. Here it was. "You told me so. Yes, Constable, I'm aware of your opinions about Mr. Garak."
"If you had let me take him in for questioning like I'd asked, none of this would be happening right now!"
"He hadn't done anything wrong and I'm still not convinced he has."
Odo harrumphed and, arms folded tight against his body, turned away. Sisko stayed where he was.
"I find our tailor suspicious, just as you do, but you can't arrest someone without evidence. We've been over this."
"Yes, and I find your argument just as unconvincing as the last five times you offered it," Odo retorted and Sisko took in a breath. Now that was a step too far.
Before he could speak, however, Dax caught his gaze; she had left the command table as he and Odo were speaking to answer a notification. All Sisko needed was a single glance at her widened eyes to know that the matter of Odo's insubordination was going to be waiting a while.
"Benjamin, we're being hailed."
His eyebrows drew together. "By who?"
"I don't know. The signal is scrambled."
He glanced at the Major; now she was frowning, too. That masked signal wasn't a good sign by any stretch of the imagination.
"Chief, see if you can work out where the signal's coming from. I have the feeling we're about to get a few answers." He waited until O'Brien had all but jumped into the engineering pit—thereby putting him out of sight—before adding, "Onscreen."
An image of three humanoids filled the viewer. Masks of some translucent material distorted their faces so that they could be any sex and quite a different number of species. The deep burgundy, subtly patterned cloaks they had wrapped themselves in made distinguishing any sort of detail even more difficult.
"Commander Sisko?" The one front and centre spoke first. She was probably a woman, although Sisko couldn't rule out other possibilities.
He stepped forward, away from the ops table. "It seems you're looking for me. What can I do for you?"
"We're members of the Alliance for Global Unity. We're contacting you regarding a matter of some delicacy."
"The Circle?" Odo asked in disbelief from behind him. "I thought all you people had been arrested after your coup failed last month."
There was an art to deciphering unfamiliar reactions, and it was one Sisko was becoming rather proficient in. Reading a masked Bajoran (a member of The Circle couldn't be anything else) was simple compared to working out the means of expression of a brand new Gamma Quadrant species. It was quite clear, then, from the way the woman's shoulders had set that Odo's remark had not pleased her one bit.
"We did suffer a minor setback, it's true, but the Alliance is far stronger than you're giving it credit for," she answered steadily.
"I would hardly call the arrest of all your leaders a 'minor setback,'" Odo retorted; the woman stiffened further.
"Odo," Sisko warned with both tone and a brief glance. He returned his gaze to the viewing screen. "What 'matter of some delicacy' would this be?"
The woman once again assumed her detached demeanour to answer. "During the course of a mission, your chief medical officer surprised us. In the heat of the moment, our operatives decided to take him with us, but as a gesture of goodwill to the Federation, we want to return him to you, unharmed in any way."
Sisko did not like this one bit. He hadn't needed the confirmation of what had happened to Dr. Bashir; it had become obvious the moment they'd been contacted. That his chief medical officer was in their hands was bad enough—that The Circle was still carrying out operations on DS9 was no better. And while they had yet to share the nature of their so-called "mission" with him, the last unaccounted detail of the evening gave him a good working theory as to what it was.
As he had been absorbing this, Major Kira had not stayed silent.
"You mean now that your little group has been decimated and it's lost its support on Bajor, you suddenly want to be friends with the people you were trying to drive out," she challenged. "Do you really think even the Federation is going to let bygones be bygones because you returned one of its doctors in one piece when you were the ones to kidnap him in the first place?"
The moment the three terrorists turned to focus on Kira, Sisko slid his gaze to Dax. She shook her head slightly: no fix on their location from O'Brien yet.
He looked back to the screen again as the leader answered, "Maybe not, but it's a step in the right direction." Her attention returned to him. "I'd prefer if we could stop wasting time and begin organizing the details of your doctor's return."
"That would be agreeable," Sisko said pleasantly. "And we could save even more time by organizing the details of Mr. Garak's return while we're at it."
None of the Circle members had been given to expressive movements to this point. They had all been professional and contained; the insults to their organization had provoked little reaction, all told. So when the three terrorists went still for just a beat, that only made the change all the more significant.
". . . The Cardassian isn't your concern," the leader said, her voice still harder than before.
In deliberate contrast, Sisko remained pleasant—but now there was a bite to his smile. "I disagree. Mr. Garak is a resident of this station. That makes him my concern." And now he let his own mask fall. It was no longer the time to be congenial. "I want him back at the same time as Dr. Bashir, and I want both of them in perfect condition. Otherwise, you won't be earning much of that 'goodwill' you seem to value."
The woman's chin lifted. "We'll return the doctor alone or not at all. It's your decision. You have an hour to make it."
The screen blanked out.
Right away, Sisko called, "Any luck, Chief?"
"No, sir." He heard what could only be the sound of a hand smacking metal. "I almost had it. The next time she calls, though, I'll be ready—I promise."
All right. Now it was time to do what they could. "Dax, work with the Chief. See what you can turn up with the data we already have. Major, Odo, I want you to find out when and where any splinter groups of The Circle were last active, including where the most recent arrests were made. Then coordinate with the Chief and Dax. We have one hour—let's make good use of it."
Before his officers could do more than voice their agreement, however, he added deliberately, "I know none of us are very fond of Mr. Garak, but I want each one of you to put the same amount of effort into rescuing him as you are with Dr. Bashir. Whatever else he may be, Garak is a resident of this station. I do not want The Circle or anyone else to think that there is such a thing as an acceptable target on DS9. Understood?"
"Of course, Benjamin," Dax answered right away. The other three were slower to agree—but only just.
"Good. Dismissed."
His staff scattered and Sisko himself returned to his office. It was time to have a talk with the Bajoran provisional government.
