Bashir hadn’t gone twenty meters before a police officer tried to turn him away. After he displayed his medical equipment—and made loud mention of his Starfleet credentials—he was free to proceed. Fifty paces later, after skirting a police blockade, he was stopped again by another contingent of officers.

“I am a Starfleet medical officer,” Bashir said in mounting exasperation. “And I’m needed right now at Manev Central Hospital’s Emergency Response Department.”

The burly officer who seemed to be in charge squinted disapprovingly at him, as though he were a six-foot talking bug. “I don’t know why Starfleet would be here. This situation is Trill business.”

Maybe if the Trill government had done a better job of managing its “business,” then Starfleet wouldn’tneed to be here,Bashir thought.

Aloud, he said, “I told you, I am a Starfleet medical officer, and I’m expected at the hospital. Why don’t you call there and see if they want you to turn me away?”

The police officer grunted, then turned away and spoke into a wrist-mounted communications device. Less than a minute passed before he turned back to Bashir. “Apparently they areexpecting you,” he said, his voice sounding no friendlier than it had before. “You evidently have some friends in high places. I’m supposed to assign a member of my unit to escort you there.”

“Thank you,” Bashir said acidly, though he was sorely tempted to tell the man he could find his own way. He waited, impatient.

“Asal, make sure that this doctor gets to Manev Central,” the commander said to one of the other nearby officers, a solidly built woman outfitted in scuffed black body armor.

“Yes, sir,” Asal said.

Moments later, Bashir was following Asal through a side alley. They continued for some time, weaving in and out of dark alleys and dimly lit side streets, avoiding any further crowds or major obstacles.

Asal nodded, then pointed forward down the alley toward the warm glow of nearby street lamps. “A few more blocks and we’ll be coming out near the hospital.”

“Good, thanks,” Bashir said. He followed the officer silently, his mind processing her comments along with the cacophony of tonight’s uprising.

They rounded a corner and saw three figures slumped in the shadows. Asal leveled her phaser at them. “You there. Stand and identify yourselves!”

One of the figures rose haltingly, and in the dim light Bashir could see it was a young girl, perhaps eleven years old. “I’m Dula Seng, and this is my mother and brother. They’re both hurt. They can’tstand up.”

Bashir began to approach, pulling his medical tricorder out. “I’m a doctor. I can help—”

“Wait, Doctor Bashir,” Asal said, interrupting. “We don’t know if they’re armed.”

“Please,” the teenage boy on the ground pleaded. “They wouldn’t help us at the hospital. My mom is very sick.”

Bashir looked over at Asal. “I’m going to help them.” She nodded curtly, still holding her weapon at the ready. He crouched to begin scanning the scarcely breathing woman.

“What happened?” he asked the girl.

“We were at the Najana Library when all the yelling started outside. Mama was trying to get us home, but we kept getting caught in the crowds. They sprayed something on the protesters, and Mama started having a hard time breathing.” She gestured toward her brother. “Dapo couldn’t walk very well either.”

“They turned us away from the hospital because Mama isn’t joined,” he said, his tone almost venomous.

After running a quick tricorder scan to check for possible drug incompatibility reactions, Bashir deftly withdrew a hypospray from his medical kit and set it for lectrazine.

“Are you sure it wasn’t because they thought you might have been with the protesters?” he asked as he worked.

The boy was silent, regarding him with baleful eyes. Bashir crouched beside the mother, pressing the hypospray gently against her neck. The drug hissed home, and the woman gasped loudly in response. A moment later her breathing began to steady.

Bashir turned to the boy. “Your turn. Seems like you might have a touch of your mother’s allergy to anesthezine. That appears to be the active ingredient in the gas they sprayed on the crowd.” He wondered how many other Trill in the crowd had experienced similar seizures.

The boy winced as the hypo hissed into his neck. Then he looked surprised. “Hey, that didn’t hurt much at all.”

Bashir gave him a slight grin, then turned back toward the mother. Her eyes were now open, and she appeared to be trying to get her bearings. “You’ll be all right, ma’am. You were having a reaction to the gas the police were using. Your children tried to get you help.” And were refused,a small voice inside him shouted. “Luckily, we happened to come along.”

“Thank you,” the woman replied in a weak stammer.

“You should be able to walk in a few minutes,” Bashir said, putting the hypo back into his kit.

“Have the bombs gone off yet?” the woman asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Whatdid she say?” Asal asked sharply, moving in closer.

Bashir felt his blood chill. “The bombs?”

“I heard some people talking about bombs while I was at the library,” the woman said, distress evident on her face. “That’s why I tried to get my children out of there.”

“Why didn’t you inform anyone?” Asal asked.

“She triedto, but the police wouldn’t listen,” the little girl said. “They sprayed the gas on us right after that.”

“I’ve got to report this,” Asal said, tapping her wrist comm unit.

“How many bombs were there?” Bashir asked. “And did you hear where they were?”

“No,” the woman said. “They just said ‘bombs.’ And that the joined would be sorry when they went off.”

“I can’t get a signal here,” Asal said. “I’ve got to get out and warn the other units. Just in case there’s anything to this.”

Bashir’s mind whirled as he stood. He pulled Asal aside and whispered. “I’m almost certain there is. We already disabled one bomb, in the Senate Tower.”

“I’d better go,” Asal said emphatically, evidently taking him at his word. “The hospital is that way,” she said, pointing. “You should be able to get there from here without a lot of trouble.”

“Good luck,” Bashir murmured as Asal began running back in the direction from which they had come.

He crouched again, and performed another quick scan of the boy and his mother with the tricorder. “You should be able to walk in a few minutes. I’d hurry home as soon as possible if I were you. And thank you for the information.”

“Thank you,”the woman said, and the boy and girl both immediately echoed her grateful sentiment.

Bashir sprinted down the alley, turned a corner, and exited onto a street. Ahead, he could barely make out one of the emergency entrances to Manev Central Hospital, though the street was clogged with hovercars and limping, wounded, or angry people. Limned in the vehicle headlights and overhead street lamps, a handful of police were attempting to direct the traffic, unsuccessfully.

Before attempting to dash across the street and into the nearest hospital entry foyer, Bashir found a public comm terminal on the opposite side of the boulevard. He swiftly entered commands into its flat touchscreen. Gard’s face appeared on the small screen a moment later.

“What can I do for you, Doctor?”Gard said, an expression of studied patience on his face.

“I’ve just learned some potentially important information, Mister Gard. One of the people in the crowd overheard somebody talking about several more bombs.”

“ ‘Several’?”

Bashir nodded. “The woman who overheard this was at the Najana Library. She said that the bombs were somehow targeted specifically at the joined.”

Gard frowned. “Thank you, Doctor. Is there anything else?”