“I’m a medical doctor. Can I help?” Bashir blurted out as they passed him. He had already asked this question six times during the last few minutes, and had been ignored or pushed aside each time. He imagined the lack of spots on his face made them distrust his claims of medical expertise. Why should he expect them to let their guard down sufficiently to allow a non-Trill to help them?

One of the med-techs, a young woman, called back to him, either unmindful or unconcerned about his species. “In here! Help us, please!”

Bashir followed the nurses and their patient into a vacant treatment alcove. One of the medics locked the hover-gurney into a wall unit, transforming it into a stable biobed, complete with a detailed display screen.

“Who is he?” Bashir asked. He noticed that the med-techs were treating their unconscious charge with a degree of deference that few of the triage center patients were receiving.

“Doctor Rarn just transported here from the Symbiosis Commission,” the first medic said as she monitored the man’s thready vital signs. “We don’t know if he was injured in the attacks, or if the transporter sent him into neural shock.”

Of course,Bashir thought. Some symbionts don’t tolerate transporter beams as well as Dax does.Once again, he had to actively banish his worries about Ezri.

Bashir tapped at the keypad of the wall-mounted scanner, his eyes quickly absorbing the statistics and numbers displayed there. “His dreoline levels are spiked. It’s definitely related to the transporter.” He turned to the second nurse. “Three hundred cc’s of drenoctazine.”

His eyes wide, the male medic punched a code into a keypad mounted in the wall, and a fine mist sprayed into an attached hypospray device. “Are you sure that’s not too much? Trill physiology is—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Bashir said firmly. “If he’s going to live, he’ll need at least this much. Possibly more.”

“He was toldnot to transport,” said the first medic, her eyes flicking back and forth from the scanner to Bashir. “There’s so much comm traffic right now that the transporter network isn’t reliable.”

“The subspace bands are probably filled with emergency chatter,” Bashir said, nodding. “The government needs to shut down the public transporter grid, or else there’ll be a lot more of this. Can you get them to do that?”

“I can try,” the med-tech said. Then she hesitated, obviously unwilling to leave Rarn’s side.

“Go!” Bashir barked. “We’re doing everything we can here. More lives will be in jeopardy the longer the public transporter system stays up and running.”

As the woman left, the male medic injected the patient with the hypospray. For a moment, the man convulsed, then arched his body before landing back on the biobed. Rarn’s breathing quickly resumed a normal pattern, and only minor twitches in his fingers betrayed the fact that he had just had a seizure. The medic smiled grimly, pointing to the scanner. “It worked. He’s back.”

Bashir felt some measure of relief, though he was well aware that many more such battles lay ahead. “Good,” he said, instinctively taking charge. “You need to stay with him for a little while to make sure his condition remains stable. Then I’d like you to get back out there to help with the others.” Heading out of the alcove, he added, “I’m going back to triage now.”

Stepping into the corridor, Bashir had to quickly sidestep another passing hover-gurney. He winced as he moved, feeling the pain in his side from the beating he had experienced a short time ago. Cautiously rounding a corner, he saw a black-garbed policewoman carrying an unconscious preteen boy in her arms. All of the bustling medical personnel appeared to be ignoring her, despite the fact that she was bleeding profusely from her forehead. Bashir saw that the boy, too, had livid facial lacerations.

“This way,” Bashir half-yelled as he neared them, pointing back in the direction from which he had come.

“Thank you,” the policewoman said, her voice ragged. Bashir took the boy from her arms and started to turn, then noticed that the officer was turning to go back outside, wiping the blood from her eyes as she weaved toward the door.

“I meant bothof you,” he said. “You can’t go back out there in your condition.”

The woman turned back to him, her clumsy swaying prompting Bashir to wonder if she had suffered internal injuries.

“You know what’s happening out there?” she said. “There are others like him all over the street. There are people lying dead everywhere. Or dying.”

“You can go back out after you’ve been treated and stabilized,” Bashir said, trying to maintain an emphatic tone. “Please.”

Her shoulders fell slightly as she accepted his gentle logic. Although she was unsteady on her feet, the woman followed Bashir back into the alcove he had just left. The male medic there looked up in surprise.

“Is he stable enough to be moved?” Bashir asked.

“I think so.”

“Then please move him over to one side of the gurney. This boy needs immediate help, and space seems to be at a premium.”

The medic hesitated. “But he’s…” Bashir saw something flicker across the man’s features. Doubt? Fear?And then he did as he was told, carefully moving the Trill doctor as close to the edge of the conveyance as possible, leaving barely enough room for the unconscious boy.

Bashir set the child down, then turned to the medic, who was already recalibrating the scanner for the second patient. Bashir read the medic’s name tag. “It appears you’re to be my nurse for a while, Mister Jenk. So, whatever Trill medical secrets you may believe need to be kept, please leave those aside. We are in a crisis situation, and given the current overflow of patients, you’re going to have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Jenk eyed him for a few moments, his expression guarded. Then he gave Bashir a curt nod. “Understood, Doctor.”

“How did this happen?” Bashir directed his question to the policewoman with a glance, then returned to viewing the multicolored monitor.

“When the bomb went off, a lot of people were injured, even those who were standing fairly far away from what we assume to be the epicenter of the flash,” she said, still holding one blood-soaked sleeve up to her head. “Several of the skimmers and hovercars nearby crashed, either because of the electromagnetic pulse waves, or else because their drivers passed out. This boy was the only survivor of a three-way hovercar pileup. His mother and sister died.”

Bashir quickly finished his initial trauma scans, both of the boy and the police officer, the latter of whom showed no evidence of internal injuries. The boy, however, had not been so fortunate.

“It appears that in addition to severe multiple fractures throughout this child’s body, a fragment of one of his ribs has entered his spinal column.” Bashir took a closer look at the biobed monitor, tapping the console so that the scanned X-ray graphics rotated for a view from the underside.

Jenk inhaled sharply. “Can you extract it safely?”

“Even if I can, it’s possible he’ll be paralyzed for the rest of his life,” Bashir said.

The policewoman stood shakily, all color draining from her face. “I didn’t…I didn’t make it worse,did I?”

Bashir pointed back toward the chair. “Sit! You’re making it worse on yourself.”He turned to the medic. “Get sterile instruments ready. We’re going to try to save him.”

“Are you—” Jenk didn’t finish the question, as Bashir shot him a look that was meant to remind him of his earlier admonitions. The med-tech entered a sequence of numbers into the keypad on the wall, and hidden trays slid out.

“I’m going to need more people helping,” the medic said quietly.

“We don’t have more people available,” Bashir said curtly. “It’s going to be you and me. And the officer here. Do you have a dermal regenerator?”