CHAPTER 23

BASHIR WALKED onto the bridge of the Phoenix, hands behind his back, whistling tunelessly. He had been chosen for this role because his genetically enhanced capabilities were thought to give him an edge at remaining calm.

Certainly Nog didn't want to risk telling any more lies to the Romulans, not given his track record with Jake.

And besides, Bashir thought, I'm a physician. Which makes what I have to say all the more believable.

Aware of Romulan eyes watching every move he made, Bashir sauntered casually over to Centurion Karon's command chair. On the main viewer, only a computer navigation chart was displayed. Watching the strobing stars passing at transwarp velocities had been too disorienting, for humans and Romulans alike.

The route that was charted took the Phoenix —or the Alth'Indor, as the Romulans had rechristened her—on a wide galactic curve away from Bajor and into what had once been Cardassian space. This would enable the ship to make her final run toward Bajor from an unexpected direction, and at transwarp speeds even a two-minute lead could translate into a ten-light-year advantage.

Karon looked up from her holographic display as Bashir stopped beside her.

“Any sign of pursuit?” Bashir asked her.

“The alarms would have sounded,” Karon said crisply. “In transwarp, we are virtually undetectable, just as the Borg are.”

Bashir nodded and looked around, hands still behind his back.

“There is something else?” Karon asked, appearing a touch more impatient, exactly as Bashir and the others had hoped.

“Well, it will be four days till we reach our objective . . .”

“Correct.”

“. . . and I'd like to fill the time with something worthwhile.”

“I suggest meditation.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of medical research.”

Karon stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“No one's ever traveled through time in this ship,” Bashir explained. “There is a slight possibility that there could be some . . . novel physical disruptions in bodily processes. Indigestion. Gas. Diarrhea. Vomiting.”

“I am aware of bodily processes,” Karon said coldly.

“Well, in order for me to treat these symptoms—if they occur—I'd like to have a baseline medical file on all crew members. So I can compare their readings before and after the—”

“I am also aware of the purpose of baseline readings, Doctor. Get to the point.”

“I want to give physicals to your crew.”

Karon considered Bashir, her dark eyes unblinking.

Bashir did his best to look innocent, then puzzled, then alarmed.

“Have I said something wrong, Centurion?”

“You really don't expect me to let you take my crew, one by one, into sickbay, where you will be free to inject them with drugs, neural implants, who knows what.”

Bashir let his mouth drop open, as in shock. “Centurion, no! I just want to—”

“I know what you want to do, Doctor. This truce between us is strained enough as it is. Don't make it worse by attempting to gain the upper hand.”

Bashir affected an air of disappointment and defeat. “If that's what you think, I apologize. It wasn't at all what I was—”

“Is there anything else, Doctor?”

Bashir acted perplexed, then spoke as if he had just had a thought. “Would it be all right if I ran baseline tests on just the humans and Bajorans?”

“You may vivisect them, if it will keep you off my bridge.”

“It . . . won't be that drastic—but thank you.” Bashir looked back at the other crew chairs. There were five temporal refugees among the Romulans. “I'll start with them, may I?”

“Just leave.”

Bashir gave a deliberately calculated half-bow, then gestured to the humans and Bajorans to accompany him to sickbay.

The Romulan standing guard at the turbolift alcove immediately questioned the fact that the refugees were leaving, but Centurion Karon instructed him to let the doctor proceed with his patients.

Bashir and his party entered the lift. Bashir nodded at the guard and smiled warmly. The guard turned away with a grunt of disapproval.

Then Bashir completed the final, most important act of his deception. As the lift doors began to close, he reached out his hand to make them open again, stepped out into the alcove, and firmly grasped the edges of the ship's dedication plaque and pulled.

He felt as if he had sliced open half his fingers, but Nog had been right. The metal plaque released from its mag connectors with a pop.

The Romulan guard turned in time to see Bashir step back into the lift with the gleaming metal plate.

“We're going to make you a new one,” Bashir said. “So it says Alth'Indor.”

The guard frowned but made no move to stop them as the lift doors closed a second time.

Bashir kept his smile in place until he felt the jolt of the lift car beginning to move. He was no longer startled by it, now that Nog had explained why the dampening fields had been tuned to a slow response time.

When they had descended four decks, Bashir tapped his combadge. “We're on our way to sickbay. I have all the patients.”

A moment later, Worf's voice said, “Acknowledged.”

Bashir grinned, and this time he meant it.

When the lift stopped on deck 8, Bashir rushed out, heading for engineering, leaving his confused patients to follow on their own. One of them even called out that this wasn't the deck for sickbay.

Bashir burst into engineering, hoping he was in time.

He was. Just.

On the systems wall a large display showed a schematic of the Phoenix, all three kilometers of her, a sleek shape most resembling a pumpkin seed bristling with transwarp pods on its aft hulls, ventral and dorsal.

“Here goes,” Nog said, with a tense nod at Bashir.

He tapped some controls on the main engineering table. Instantly, a set of system displays turned red and the computer voice said, “Warning: Initiating multivector attack mode while in—” Nog silenced the voice with a sharp jab at the controls.

Also at the main engineering table, Jadzia looked up in alarm. “Would they hear that on the bridge?”

“Doesn't matter,” Nog said quickly as his fingers flew over the controls. “They're not going anywhere.”

On the schematic, Bashir saw all the turbolift shafts turn red.

Then a communications screen opened on the table and a holographic image of Centurion Karon took shape. “Captain Nog!” she shouted. “You will cease your attempts to override bridge authority and return the ship's dedication plaque at once!”

“Actually,” Nog muttered, “that's exactly what I'm not going to do.” He held a finger over one final, flashing red control. “Hold on to your lobes, everyone,” he said, then pressed it.

Instantly the engineering workroom filled with sirens and flashing

lights and on the main schematic Bashir watched as a small section of the forward ventral hull become outlined in red.

“Partial multivector mode established,” the computer reported. “Prepare for bridge-segment jettison.”

The deck shuddered, as the red-outlined section of the schematic suddenly vanished from the board.

“All control transferred to battle bridge,” the computer said.

The computer was immediately followed by Worf's triumphant voice. “We are the Phoenix once again.”

Bashir cheered along with Jadzia. Jake pounded Nog on the back.

Then Worf asked over the comm link, “What are your orders, Captain Nog?”

The doctor heard the passion in the Ferengi's swift reply. “We're going to Bajor.”

Bashir relaxed.

The universe had one last chance.