"How long has it been?"

Seated on the floor with his head leaned tiredly against the bulkhead, Bashir didn't bother opening his eyes to answer the captain's question. He'd given up on following Westfall's agitated pacing long ago. "Forty-seven minutes," he muttered idly. And eighteen seconds. It was amazing how alert and fidgety his mind became when he was nervous and bored; he could hear the soft whisper of the life support system and the buzz of the lights, and smelled distinctly the aroma of the desserts laid out on the buffet table, overpoweringly sweet and getting stale. And he could barely remember a time when he didn't have a headache.

From her nearby seat in one of Westfall's easy chairs, Aya lifted her head from her hands and gave her captain a frazzled look. "That's about two minutes later than the last time you asked that, if you're interested, sir."

To his credit, Westfall ignored her. "And there's no chance we could be intercepted? Get help from another ship?"

"No," Ptacek replied bluntly. She was sitting next to Lausten at the table, their argument over Cardassian ecological restoration forgotten for the time being. One hand propped her chin up while the other wielded a small dessert fork. She seemed to be performing triple bypass surgery on a slice of pie. "The only other Federation ships within four days of us are the rest of the mission fleet en route to Cardassia Prime. And they don't know our situation, even if they did have a chance of catching us."

"But then, that's been repeated a few times in recent minutes, too," Lieutenant Lausten said snappishly. His sarcasm had been out in full force since they had been locked in, and it wasn't about to get any better.

Ptacek's antennae twitched back in irritation. "Shut up, Trey...."

"Just keep trying to get through to the comm link," the captain insisted, glancing at Vak. The panel below the computer screen was open, and its innards lay scattered around the Bolian as he tried to hack his way in. "I'm not giving up just yet."

Vak shifted his position with a scowl; crouching on the hard floor was getting uncomfortable. "We may not have a choice, Captain. It looks like Emily rerouted the power flow after she blocked our clearance codes; the sarium-krellide cell for this terminal is almost completely drained. There's a little back-up power going through the induction circuits, but not enough to establish a comm link or get into the main computer."

Westfall's face darkened with anger. "Don't tell me there's nothing we can do, Ensign, because I won't accept that. There has to be a way we can stop them, we just have to find it."

Which was easily said, but apparently much harder to accomplish. Vak sighed, then sat back against the bulkhead and ticked off the facts on his grimy fingers. "We've already tried overriding the door locks - that didn't work. And even if it did work, there's a high-powered force field blocking the entryway. Our access codes don't work on the computer, and I can't use this one to hack our way in. We can't do anything until we get out of this room, and that isn't looking too likely at the moment."

"All right," Aya interrupted firmly. "We all know what our situation is. Right now we need to be figuring out how this happened. How did Emily take control of the ship's computers without tripping the security net? None of us saw this coming."

Vak looked genuinely puzzled. "I don't know. But then, Emily knows this ship and its systems like the back of her hand. It probably wasn't hard for her to get past the access blocks."

Lausten stood restlessly and started to pace. He dragged his fingers through his fine, light brown hair, making it stick up in even more directions than it already was. "From the looks of things, control was rerouted from the different systems all at the same time," he muttered to himself. "Either Hart and Blake have a lot of supporters hidden away in the crew, or there was some automatic device implanted in the computer."

"I'd bet on the second idea," Vak said, getting back to work on the gutted computer terminal. "That's probably how Emily locked the rest of us out of the computer systems so quickly."

Frustration finally got the better of Westfall, and he gave a chair at the table a savage kick. It skittered a few feet and hit the one next to it with an unsatisfying clank. "God damn it, Emily and I have served together on this ship for five years! And Blake for three! We're supposed to be on the same team!"

Julian closed his eyes again. Had he possessed energy or motivation at this point, kicking the furniture may have sounded like a good idea. The chairs looked like they could break easily, under sufficient duress.

He felt Aya watching him for a few moments. After a pause she sighed and shifted restlessly in her seat. "As much as I hate to say it," she said, speaking more to him than to anyone else, "I can understand why they'd do something like this. Especially Emily."

Bashir looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"

She met his irritation with a sympathetic look. "Emily's husband died on the Montana, Julian."

On top of everything, this realization was a painful blow. He gazed at her for a moment in dull horror, then let out a sigh and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Oh, God. When does it end?"

Aya shook her head, lost in somber thought. "I was here when Emily found out. I saw how much it affected her. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, she's too strong for that, but... you could tell. If you knew her well enough, you could tell. It hit her hard." She paused, knowing that this was hardly offering comfort to the doctor. "I guess she doesn't want the world her husband died protecting forgotten so quickly."

Bashir's brow furrowed with renewed frustration. "And Blake lost his niece."

"Commander Blake's family was among the last to evacuate," Westfall replied gravely. "They lost almost everything."

Aya watched the conflicting anger flicker across Bashir's face with a commiserating smile. "I know. I feel like punching him, too, even if he does have a good reason."

"I don't care how good their reason is." Ptacek morosely stabbed a bite of pie with her fork and tasted it, made a face. Nothing better to do, though; she kept eating. "Hart will take the Nightingale to Cheiron IV - and then what? We'll put a small dent into the damage there, maybe help a handful of colonists put roofs over their heads. Then Federation authorities will catch up to us by the end of the week and take the hijackers into custody. And the Cardassia mission will be shortchanged. Again. It'll take even longer to get help to Cardassia Prime after this whole fiasco gets back to Headquarters."

Stop it, Bashir felt like shouting at her, but it wouldn't have done any good. It wasn't like those exact thoughts hadn't been echoing constantly through his head, ranging from objective conditional analyses far more intricate than Ptacek's to the more primal why, why, why?! All to no point - there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. It was beyond his control, and he hated it. He dropped his head to his upraised knees and tried not to think.

"I can't stand this." Lausten's voice rose abruptly. "They don't have any right to lock us in here like animals."

Vak glanced over his shoulder in concern. "Trey, calm down. That won't help us."

"Like hell it won't." He stormed over to the door and gave the control panel an angry punch. It squawked somewhat at the abuse, but the red light remained firmly in place over the lock. Lausten tried it again a few times, then pressed the side of his fist against the door. The containment field hissed and sparked at the contact, an aurora of green light playing over its surface.

Trey slapped the bulkhead with his open palm. "Twice-damned piece of sh -"

Aya'd had enough. She stood quickly and grabbed his elbow, wrestling him away from the door. "Knock it off. I said, knock it off! That's an order."

"You can't order me to do anything. You're a junior grade lieutenant!"

"Then I'm ordering you," Westfall said, exasperated. "Calm yourself down."

Locked between opposing scowls from several directions, Lausten faltered with helpless anger for a moment. Then his eyes locked on something across the room, and he pulled away from Aya's grip to dart over to a small access panel in the wall.

"This leads to the ventilation conduits," he said rapidly. "If we can get this hatch off, maybe we can crawl through to another part of the ship, find a working computer."

Vak, now shoulder deep in the innards of the computer, started to lever himself out of the small opening with a frown. "Trey, I already checked that. The hatch was broken a long time ago, and Emily jammed it shut until she could get around to fixing it."

"Then we can unjam it," Lausten insisted. He knelt to examine the cover, then jumped to his feet and grabbed a pair of sturdy bread knives from the table. Using one of them as a wedge, he began to force the blade of the other between the seal of the hatch. "Here, someone help me."

"No, don't!" Vak was scrambling out of the enclosure in earnest now. "I think there's - "

Too late. Any further warning was cut off by a sudden electric snap! and Lausten's cry of pain. He stumbled back, clutching one hand. One of the knives was flung free of the hatch by the sparks and spun across the deckplates to rest at Bashir's feet. The other remained wedged in the crack of the opening and hummed with bluish electroplasmic current.

"...a forcefield," Vak groaned. "Damn it, Trey."

Aya was already by his side by the time Vak had said that last, with Ptacek right behind her. Bashir rolled to his feet to grab the medkit from its alcove as the Andorian carefully lifted Lausten's injured left hand, palm up. "Take it easy," she said, more than a little irritated. "That was really stupid, by the way."

"You're telling me," Lausten gasped, wincing at the pain.

"At least you had the sense to get hurt with two doctors and two medics in the room," Aya muttered wryly, giving Bashir room as he approached with the kit. "Just hold still."

Now that there was actually something productive to do, Bashir moved with swift efficiency. He settled the medkit on the floor and gave the injuries a quick glance as he flipped the latches of the case open. "Second degree burns," Ptacek offered. "We may need to scan for damage to the subdermal tissue...."

He cursed angrily, cutting her off. Sitting back on his heels, he shoved the open medkit toward her. No tricorder. No regenerator. Anything that could have been used as a means of escape had been removed. "Well, Blake certainly covered all the bases."

Ptacek gazed down at the depleted kit and restrained a sigh. Then she shook her head and reached for a hypospray. "I'll give you something for the pain," she told Lausten resignedly. "Beyond that, there isn't too much we can do until we have access to Sickbay."

Bashir snagged a roll of bandages and a small canister of antiseptic from the kit and proceeded to treat Lausten's burns with the little they had. He pulled the bandages taut as gently as he could, but Lausten still grimaced. The man's somber gaze wasn't on his hand, however - it was fastened on Vak. And Bashir could guess what he was thinking.

They needed a miracle.

*****

"Pan left, tilt down...pan a little more to the right...there!" Jake murmured, bending his head over the small console he was holding. In response to the commands he was entering, a small silver sphere buzzed and whirred in midair, positioning itself in front of the face of Jake's subject, Kirkland, lieutenant junior grade. Two more spheres hovered on either side of him, waiting for instructions.

The lieutenant flinched back slightly, watching the free-floating camera lens as if it was a large insect poising to attack. His eyes displayed his nervous energy, darting about the room, as if looking for someone to boost his confidence somehow.

"Hey, Kirkland?"

Kirkland's eyes darted back to Jake, his hands twitching nervously at his side. "Yeah?"

"Let's get ready," Jake said softly, hoping to calm the lieutenant. He switched the visual signal to the contact lenses he wore to adjust the focus and had an odd moment of double vision as he saw Kirkland from both his and the camera's perspective. He could see Kirkland rub his smooth dark-skinned head, much the way his father did when he shaved his hair off. The thought made Jake smile for an instant, but he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. He looked at the officer skeptically. "Uh, you know, Kirkland, I get better picture and sound if your arms don't cover your face...."

Kirkland flung his arms back to his sides, and for an instant Jake thought the man was actually blushing. "Sorry," Kirkland mumbled.

This is gonna be harder than I thought, Jake told himself. He had faced some nervous interviewees before, but this....

Jake stepped forward and put his hand on Kirkland's shoulder. "Hey, look, it's okay!" he cajoled.

Kirkland looked down. "I don't know, I've always been camera shy," he said. "Besides, do you really think this footage will help the cause?"

"Of course it will!" Jake exclaimed. "It's going to be of great importance. No cause is completely understood by the general public unless they hear it from the people fighting for that cause. How do you expect to achieve your goals if they don't know what you're all about?"

"Blake or Hart are our speakers, though," Kirkland pointed out. "They'd be better suited to --"

"People will tire all too quickly of the leaders," Jake said, eyes shining. "I'll get to Emily in a minute, but people will want to hear from the real heart of the rebellion. That's you, Kirkland."

"Me?"

Jake smiled and thumped Kirkland's chest. "That's right. Do you think Blake or Hart could have done this without you and your compatriots? No! They need all of you to keep this ship running and keep it from being retaken."

Kirkland thought about that a moment and smiled. Jake continued: "But that's beside the point. Think about it. Everyone knows the leader's agenda. One or two people with their own sob story. No one is gonna listen to one or two people. But there are, what, ten, twelve crewmembers on the ship just like you? People who understand the cause, people who've made it their own, people that the citizens of Earth can empathize with. How do you think the citizens of Earth will feel when almost a dozen people take up arms, all with a similar story? Strength in numbers, Kirkland!"

"I guess I never thought of it like that," the officer replied.

"Of course not," Jake said smugly. "So you should be damn glad I thought of it. Blake and Hart certainly didn't. I'm trying to save this hijacking here. Work with me, Lieutenant."

Kirkland eyed Jake a moment, then nodded slowly. Jake smiled and blew out a sigh of relief. "Okay, now just relax, I'm gonna finish getting the camera back into position." He stepped back to his original spot and deftly tapped in a command. In response, the two other spheres tilted and turned about like big silvery eyes, getting their target into focus.

Reminded that he was on assault from three sides, Kirkland went rigid all over again. He half-raised his hands in defense and reared his neck away from the spheres in an almost comical posture. Jake rolled his eyes. "You're doing it again."

Either Jake had unknowingly raised his voice or Kirkland was extremely on edge, because the young lieutenant jumped. "Jake, I can't help it, I hate being put in front of the camera!" he argued back.

"Okay, okay." Jake sighed and stepped forward. The spheres tried to hold focus as Kirkland scuttled away from them, then retreated to a small formation to wait until he moved back into their view. Jake bit his lip in thought and looked past Kirkland to one of the computer consoles, where Lt. Madison was working. Jake had been trying to get the console into the shot for the past few minutes, but Kirkland's jitters didn't make it easy. Now he had an excuse. "Come with me," he said, grabbing Kirkland by the arm. He maneuvered his subject over to the equipment and guided the spheres back into position. They refocused on Kirkland for the third time in ten minutes, all patience. "Lean against the console. And stand at ease, Lieutenant," Jake said.

The familiar order seemed to work on the officer, and he snapped to the at ease position. Jake smiled, and went back to resetting the camera. "You don't mind if we shoot here, right, Madison?"

Lieutenant Madison grunted, which Jake took to mean "no." So he went back to the camera. "Hey, Kirkland, move a little to the left."

Kirkland took it to mean Jake's left and moved such.

"Your other left, Kirkland."

Jake could swear he saw the dark-skinned man blush again. "Sorry," Kirkland mumbled, hopping a couple paces in the other direction.

"Perfect, don't move." Jake switched the viewfinder back to his contacts and examined the computers from the perspective of the left sphere. There was a slight glare on the console, and the camera's automatic iris quickly adjusted for it. "Let's zoom in a little more," Jake murmured. "A little more...there...tilt up a touch...pan sl-ightly to the...right...perfect." The sphere held its position perfectly, then suddenly whirred to life. Click.

Kirkland jumped again.

Jake grinned. "Don't worry, it's just a practice shot. I'm testing the light." He switched perspective back to the camera's console and looked at the still shot captured on the screen. Not bad. He saved the image to the small computer's memory and closed the file. Then he tried several different angles, carefully inspecting the images before taking a sample photograph of each. Kirkland rolled his eyes as the spheres glided back and forth around him; he still was obviously not on friendly terms with the high-tech camera. "Can we get going?"

"Just hang on, Lieutenant," Jake returned, nonchalant. "You don't want to be in a bad shot on every comm channel in the galaxy, do you?"

Kirkland froze, not moving, from Jake's point of view, barely breathing. He looked up from the viewfinder and folded his arms to his chest. This was getting old. "Kirkland...it's just a camera. Relax. Just imagine that when everyone sees you, they're all in their kitchens, sitting down to their morning glass of orange juice, in their underwear."

Kirkland let out a giggle, and drew his hand up to stifle it. Please don't let him burst out laughing in the middle of the interview. But the lieutenant took a breath, let his shoulders drop back, and relaxed a little. "Okay, Jake, let's do this," he finally said. His resolve was remarkable, considering how long he'd been holding the whole thing up.

Jake smiled and nodded, selecting an aesthetically pleasing shot of Kirkland in front of the computers. "Okay. Let's switch to live stream recording." He pressed a few controls, and the spheres began to transmit and save the footage to the console. Jake gave the five second count. "Let's start with your name and rank."

"Thaddeus Kirkland, lieutenant junior grade, Starfleet Command Corp."

"And why did you join the cause to help Cheiron IV, Lieutenant Kirkland?"

"I don't think we should waste precious supplies aiding the enemy."

"The enemy? They turned on the Dominion fleet at the end. Are you sure they're our enemy still?"

Kirkland's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"Tell me about it."

"Well, Jake, as my mama would have said, they made their bed, they should lie in it. And changing sides when it looked like they stood to lose doesn't make up for the years of heartache they brought the citizens of the demilitarized zone. Those Cardie creeps got what they deserved. Anyone who takes out entire colonies, peaceful, defenseless colonies, deserved worse than what they got."

"Do you have a personal experience, Lieutenant?"

"My father was a simple freighter captain. He had just finished delivering his cargo and was on his way home when his ship was ambushed by those--" Kirkland drew in a breath, and his face flushed with anger, "cold-blooded bastards. They killed him! He was a civilian commanding an empty ship! And they blew him to bits! Like he was nothing! Nothing!"

Jake watched Kirkland quietly. He couldn't even imagine what that felt like. What if it had been Kasidy? What if the Xosa had been ambushed? Would his father have fought the Cardassians to avenge her death, and to Hell with Starfleet regulations? When did the uniform end and the emotional humanoid begin? If he had lost Kasidy....

"...Have enough problems with our own people needing food, and medicine. They didn't have any regard for our civilians, so why the hell should we have any for theirs?" Kirkland finished his speech, bringing Jake back to reality. Kirkland smiled forcefully, signifying that he had finished. "Was that good, Jake, or do you need more?" His voice was haggard, and Jake thought he saw tears welling in the lieutenant's eyes.

Jake smiled. "No, thank you, Kirkland. That was perfect."

Chapter 5