Crusher managed not to gasp at what she saw. In just a few short days Pulaski looked as if she'd lived a dozen years, all without sleep. A week before, a neat, polished doctor had turned the medical area over to her; now Pulaski had deep circles under her eyes, her hair looked like it hadn't been combed in years, and a dark smudge of something streaked her neck.

And her eyes seemed almost haunted, as if she were seeing things no human should ever see.

"Dr. Crusher," Pulaski said, her voice level as always, "I need your help."

"Anything," Crusher said as Captain Picard moved up behind her.

"I need your records from the plague on Archaria III. It seems we may be dealing with something similar here."

Crusher nodded. "I was afraid of that."

"Can you send the records?" Pulaski asked. She was wasting no time. Crusher knew exactly how that felt.

Crusher glanced around at the captain, even though he would have nothing to do with this decision. The records of the plague on Archaria III were cla.s.sified and under the direct control of Starfleet Medical. And since she was no longer in charge of Starfleet Medical, it was no longer her decision as to whether or not to release those records.

"How bad is it?" Crusher asked, trying to buy herself a little time to think. To get a message to Starfleet Medical from this distance could take a day, maybe more. And there was always a chance-a strong chance, considering the location of the plague-that they might turn her request down.

"It's bad," Pulaski said. "I wouldn't be making this request if I didn't think those records might help."

"Understood," Crusher said. "I'll need to-" The image of the bodies on Archaria III floated back to her mind. She had been about to say she would have to get clearance from Starfleet Medical, but in that time how many on Bajor would die?

How many deaths would it cost for her to follow the rules exactly?

Even one was too many.

She would get permission from Starfleet Medical after the records were sent. She had a few favors she could call in yet. She'd make them understand.

But that would take time. Time Dr. Pulaski didn't have.

She faced Pulaski directly. "Doctor, the encoded records will be downloaded to you within the next minute. Please stand by on this channel."

Pulaski's relief was obvious. "Thank you."

"Is there anything more we can do?" she asked, half-hoping Pulaski would invite her to Terok Nor. Crusher wanted to be busy. She could always say that the situation forced her to disobey the initial orders from Starfleet Medical.

"This just might be enough," Pulaski said. "Standing by."

The image went blank.

Crusher tapped her combadge. "Data, please download on the open line to Terok Nor all medical information from the Archaria III incident. Medical only. Let me know when you are finished."

"Understood," Data said.

She turned to the captain.

'I know I didn't follow procedure. I'll make it right with Starfleet Medical, though. It won't be a problem for you, Jean-Luc."

"I'm not worried about that, Beverly." His tone was warm. "I would have suggested you take the course of action you chose. It's clearly very bad there." "How can you tell?" she asked.

"The Carda.s.sian behind Dr. Pulaski," the captain said. "That was GUL Dukat himself."

Crusher instantly knew what the captain was saying. The image of the Archarian bodies came back. Crusher hadn't been able to save her, but maybe this time the bodies wouldn't be so numerous that they'd have to pile them in Terok Nor's infirmary.

"Data to Dr. Crusher."

"Go ahead," she said. "All records have been sent." "Thank you," she said.

She looked at the captain. "Now I guess it's time I faced the music with Starfleet Medical."

"We face the music," he said, taking her arm and heading her toward the door. "I was on Archaria III also. Remember?"

The image of the dead bodies came back again. Crusher squeezed the captain's hand in thanks. "How could I forget?"

Chapter Twenty-one

AH, THE SOUND OF CONVERSATION and laughter in his bar. Quark leaned against the back wall and closed his eyes. How he had missed this. It wasn't just the sound of the Dabo wheel and the silly girl's voice crying "Dabo!" or the clink of gla.s.ses, or even the silent acc.u.mulation of latinum as it made its way from his patrons' hands to his pockets. No. It was the feeling that he was in a viable business once more.

He was almost grateful to the plague. It had been such a traumatic experience that those who felt they had dodged it were coming into Quark's, wanting to drink themselves into oblivion. He was going to let them. "Brother."

Of course Rom would interrupt Quark's reverie. Any time Quark felt that things were going his way, he had to be reminded of the presence of his stupid brother.

"What?" Quark asked, opening his eyes. Five more Carda.s.sians were coming into the bar, laughing and slapping each other on the back. "Brother, I have something to tell you."

"Well, it can wait," Quark said. "See those five? They're new customers and they need to buy drinks."

"Brother-"

"This is about making profits, Rom," Quark said. "Remember. 'A Ferengi without profit is no Ferengi at all.'"

"Brother, please don't quote the rules to me," Rom said. "I have something to tell you."

Quark leaned forward. "I'11 make you recite every one of the rules if you don't get to work."

"Ah, yes, brother." Rom scurried toward the center of the bar, balancing a tray precariously on one hand.

Quark shook his head and began to make drinks. He already knew what three of those Carda.s.sians would have. They were regulars, at least when they were well. And they were well now.

A Carda.s.sian stood up in the back. Quark frowned. He had seen this before. He had a sinking sensation in his stomach. Maybe the lighting was bad. Maybe the Carda.s.sian had spilled his drink. Maybe. There had to be some other explanation for the green color of his skin and the way he was swaying.

Quark slid out the side of the bar and hurried toward the Carda.s.sian. If he got the Carda.s.sian out of here before the man collapsed, there might be a chance that no one else would notice. Some kind of chance.

Any kind of chance.

Quark was halfway there when the Carda.s.sian fell backwards.

All noise in the bar stopped. The Carda.s.sian's companion stood and looked down at his fallen friend.

"This can't be right," he said. "He just got over the plague."

It was enough to start a stampede to the door. Quark grabbed at customers. "Don't believe them," he said. 'Tm sure they misunderstood. Maybe he had been misdiagnosed. Surely"

But no one was listening to him. They streamed out as if they were afraid they would suddenly topple over backwards, their skin a lovely shade of lime green. Even the Dabo girl had disappeared. "Brother," Rom said.

Quark held up a hand. "Don't say a word to me. I don't want to hear it."

He headed back to the bar. It had taken five hours to fill the place up again, and only two minutes to empty it out. Except for the Carda.s.sian on the floor. Moaning. "Call a reed team, would you, Rom?"

Rom gaped at him. "But brother, last time you made us-"

"I know what I did last time," Quark said. "There was no one in the bar then. Unless it was my imagination, we had a full bar this time. There's no hiding this one."

"All right, brother." Rom let his tray drop as he stared at the Carda.s.sian.

Quark stared at Rom.

More specifically, Quark stared at Rom's ear.

On the lobe was a shiny pimple, with a whitehead that looked as if it could burst at any moment.

"Tell me, Rom," Quark said slowly. "A Carda.s.sian dumped a case of Jibetian beer on your head."

"No, brother," Rom said, turning to him. "Well, not since the last time. No one has dumped anything on me."

"Then do you want to tell me where that pimple came from?" Quark asked, pointing.

Rom clapped a hand over the offending lobe. "I was trying to tell you."

"You were trying to tell me in a full bar. Now we have an empty bar. How did you get that-pustule-on your ear?"

Rom shrugged. "It grew there." "Like hair." "Or skin."

Quark nodded slowly. "And you're comfortable with that?"

"No," Rom said. "It itches. I was going to ask you if you had any cream left." "I have some cream left," Quark said. "I would like to borrow it," Rom said formally.

"And after you've applied it to your ear, you'll what? Sc.r.a.pe it off so that you can return it to me?"

"No," Rom said, obviously fl.u.s.tered. "I mean, I would~" "You want me to give it to you," Quark said.

"Yes," Rom said. "But not all of it. Since you need it too." "I don't need it," Quark said. "Yes, you do," Rom said.

"No, I don't," Quark said. "I healed days ago. That's why I'm wondering what happened to you."

"The same thing that happened to you, brother. It came back."

Quark reached both hands up slowly and clapped his ears. Beneath his right hand, he felt a lump. A pimple.

A pustule. "What did you do to cause this?" Quark asked.

"Nothing," Rom said. "Maybe the cream didn't work."

"Obviously the cream didn't work," Quark said. He sank into a chair. "Not that it matters." He stared at the moaning green Carda.s.sian on his floor. "No one will ever come here again."

Rom stared at him for a moment, then sat down beside him. "Things are bad, aren't they?"

Quark nodded. "And they're getting worse."

Chapter Twenty-two

PULASKI WAITED UNTIL KELLEC and Narat were seated in the small medical office's only two chairs. Governo and Marvig stood against the wall, and Ogawa was just coming in. The room was hot and stuffy, like almost everything on Terok Nor. With six of them, it was going to do nothing but get worse before this short meeting was over.

"Leave that door open," she said to Ogawa.

"Thank you," Governo said. Pulaski could see he was already sweating.

She had called this meeting the instant she got back to the medical area with the information from the Enterprise. It had taken fifteen minutes for them all to gather from different parts of the station, enough time for her to go over the data quickly. She didn't like what she saw, especially the final conclusion Dr. Crusher had put in the notes after the crisis was over. "Ready?" She glanced at everyone. "Do it, Katherine," Kellec said.

She nodded to him. In all the years she had known him, she'd never seen him this worried. Or this tired. The human faces around her all had deep worry carved in them, and Narat was now starting to look more afraid than anything else. But Kellec looked so strained she would have thought him seriously ill if she hadn't known what he had been through,, "Here's what the Enterprise was dealing with on Archaria III." She brought up the information supplied by Dr. Crusher on the screen in front of them. The three-dimensional image of a virus slowly spun, showing all its sides.

"That's very different from what we're dealing with," Kellec said.

And it was. Its shape bore no resemblance at all to the viruses she had spent the last week studying.

"Completely," Narat said.

"At a glance, I agree," Pulaski said. "This particular virus would be harmless to any Carda.s.sian or Bajoran or human, for that matter. This one wasn't designed for Carda.s.sians or Bajorans or humans. It was designed to strike at cross-species breeds." "Designed?" Narat asked.

"Designed," Pulaski said, "just as the virus we're dealing with was designed."

"Did they ever discover who created that one?" Governo asked. "No," she said. "They didn't."

"Too bad," Marvig said.

"So why is this important?" Kellec said. "I see no possible connection."

Pulaski knew when her ex-husband was getting impatient and might just rudely leave.

"I'll get to that in a moment, Kellec," she said. "There is a tie, believe me."

He made a face, but remained in his chair.