"Waiting to see whether more murders will be committed on my watch," said Sisko drily, "is not a course of action—or inaction—that I am going to undertake. The successful administration of a Starfleet directive is not a matter of applying strict scientific judgment. When lives are at stake, the worst-case scenario is the one which must determine our actions. When it's determined conclusively that these murders are not part of a series, and that there is no threat to the station's crew and residents, and to DS9's continued operations, then Ahrmant Wyoss's therapeutic concerns will be given the priority you evidently feel they deserve."
The argument had raged back and forth in front of Dax; now she tried to intervene. "You have to remember," she said, turning to Bashir, "that I'll be keeping an open mind in my research. What Odo may have concluded about the subject will have no bearing on my findings. It's entirely possible that I'll discover that Wyoss's actions and his mental state have absolutely nothing to do with the other murders."
Bashir appeared not to have heard her; he drew himself to full attention, his gaze locked straight into Sisko's. "Commander, I must state my continued disagreement with your decision in this matter. It is my belief as a doctor that the subject Ahrmant Wyoss should be immediately transported off-station, to the nearest Starfleet facility where he can receive the level of psychotherapeutic attention he needs."
"Your protest is noted, Doctor." Sisko's words became clipped and formal. "And my decision is unaltered."
The tension in the room abated when the door slid shut, though the commander's angry footsteps could still be heard echoing in the corridor beyond.
"Julian—" She turned toward Bashir. "Would you care to explain to me just what it is you think you're going to accomplish with this approach? There's part of me that's known Benjamin Sisko a lot longer than you can ever hope to and I can assure you that this is absolutely the wrong way to handle him."
"My, my." Bashir smiled at her. "This is a rare show of emotion from you. You're usually so calm and collected about these things." He nodded toward the door. "As a matter of fact, I think I've accomplished a great deal just now. I've got our good commander just where I want him."
She stared at him in amazement. "Then it's not Ahrmant Wyoss who needs psychotherapeutic care. It's you."
"Perhaps. Since I came to DS9, there have been occasions when I thought I should have my head examined. But in the meantime, I've made sure that Wyoss will, if not immediately, at least eventually get a degree of care that I wouldn't have been able to provide him here aboard the station. You see, now Commander Sisko will bend over backward to demonstrate that he bears no hostility toward a mentally ill individual. As soon as you and Odo are finished with him, Wyoss will be shipped off to the best treatment facility that Sisko can pull the strings for." Bashir shrugged. "Otherwise, the commander might have insisted that I take care of Wyoss—you know how Sisko prefers solving all our problems on-site. And frankly, from what I've seen, this particular psychosis might be a little beyond my expertise."
Dax shook her head. "That was absolutely reprehensible of you, Julian. I find it repugnant that you would try to manipulate anyone like that—let alone a friend of mine."
"Really?" Bashir seemed genuinely surprised by her reaction. "But if it accomplishes what's best . . . surely that's all that matters . . ."
She had turned away from him, calling up a screenful of data on the lab bench's computer panel. It served to mask the annoyance she felt welling up inside her over the doctor's Machiavellianism. There were times, admittedly few in number, when the ballast of her symbiont's centuries of wisdom were overridden by a strong emotional reaction from her younger physical self. If she had been able to split herself down the middle, the temptation to slap Bashir's smug, self-satisfied face would have been irresistible. Or better yet, the style of Kira Nerys that she sometimes envied, a good roundhouse punch between his eyes.
"In the first place," spoke Dax without turning around, "that's not all that matters. The fallacy of the ends justifying the means is a common one for the—shall we say?—less sophisticated mind to fall into. And secondly, based upon my long-standing personal knowledge of Commander Sisko, it's clear to me that you could have accomplished just as much, if not more, by being forthright with him, rather than indulging your unfortunate penchant for being overly clever."
"Oh." With that one syllable, Bashir's voice indicated a sudden state of deflation. "I merely thought that . . ." The rest of his words dwindled away.
She glanced over her shoulder, noting with satisfaction that her unexpectedly sharp comments had had the desired effect.
"Now, if you don't mind—" She tapped out a command on the computer's keyboard. "I have to work to do."
Bashir said nothing more; she heard only the sound of the lab's door sliding open, then closing. When she was alone, she could feel—almost regretfully—the spasm of annoyance subsiding, the catecholamines within her skull and the adrenaline in her bloodstream returning to their usual levels. If she had, as the old Earth saying put it, jumped down Bashir's throat, she could at least justify it on a rational basis as havingbeen appropriate to the situation.
The question of further action was a delicate one. After a moment's consideration, she rejected the notion of relating to Benjamin any details of this conversation. It was a matter for and Bashir to work out between themselves.
Another voice spoke within her. The ancient one, separating for a moment from the invisible, parallel course with the mind of a humanoid female that had not yet completed one life.
All phenomena are transitory, said the symbiont. This, too.
She almost replied aloud, but checked herself, hearing her own voice inside her head. That's all very well in the long run. But we have to deal with these situations—and these people—at this moment.
The symbiont was incapable of a smile or laughter, except that which her body could give to their shared existence. But she could detect, as she had before, the gentle amusement that temporal affairs evoked from it.
At this moment, came the voice, some of these people hardly even exist.
The process of formulating a reply, the working out of the transient and benign schizophrenia between one side of her conjunct being and the other, was interrupted when she felt the symbiont align itself once more with the thoughts of its host body. That was a sensation she had long become used to, that of becoming whole and undivided once more. Yet something more: as though currents of water in which she swam had turned their motion to hers, augmenting the smallest force of her will.
That was enough to allow her to put the unpleasant incident between the commander and Dr. Bashir firmly out of mind. In some ways, though Bashir's expertise and analytical skills would have been of considerable value, it would be easier for the time being without him around. Not all of the things she had begun monitoring were taking place inside Ahrmant Wyoss's skull. There were others, data from the various sensors arrayed in the empty, starlit space beyond DS9, deviations in readings that were so small as to be almost infinitesimal—she'd had to lower the percept thresholds on several devices to enable them to register anything at all. Just enough to form not a pattern, but the barest suggestion of one: a few scattered points on the graph she held inside her thoughts, the outline of a shape not yet visible to her. Until she knew what that meant—or whether there was anything more than just a random shifting in background radiation levels—it was best to keep the observations to herself.