Sisko’s chrono beeped, reminding him that he needed to check on the landing party’s whereabouts every fifteen minutes, and that fifteen minutes was up.

“Jen, I have to go.”

“I know,” she said. “But this doesn’t have to be the last time. We’ll talk again, soon. You know I love you.” She didn’t wait for him to end the transmission, but terminated it from her end, as if afraid neither of them would find the courage to go first.

“I love you, too!” Sisko whispered to the empty space where Jennifer had been. With a sigh he checked the readings and saw his three charges more or less in the same place they’d been last time he checked, in the company of a fourth party, no doubt still arranging for travel permits. He realized Crusher was probably waiting in the wings for him to sign off, and signaled her.

“Ask you something, Doctor?” he said once he had her attention.

“Certainly.”

“How do we know this whole mission isn’t a setup?”

Crusher put her hands in the pockets of her medical smock and leaned back in her chair, rotating it slightly from side to side.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“We’re inside the Neutral Zone in violation of treaty, on the basis of data sent to SI specifically to Admiral Uhura’s attention, supposedly from a Romulan official she once met on Khitomer.”

Crusher waited. She obviously knew he had more, but was hesitating. “And—?” she prompted.

“And wouldn’t this be just the perfect opportunity for a cloaked Romulan ship to pick us off before we even knew they were there or, worse, bring us in tow and take us back to the Empire as political prisoners for a show trial? And when we tried to tell them that we were working for their benefit as well as our own, they’d tell us there was no such disease within the Empire, and we were using it as an excuse to violate the Zone.”

This time it was Crusher who held the silence.

“Am I being paranoid, Doctor? Or have these thoughts occurred to you as well?”

She sighed. “As a matter of fact, they have. But there’s no question that there’s a very real disease killing people on both sides. Seems like an awfully elaborate hoax to pick off just one little ship. Now, why don’t you say what’s really on your mind?”

“All right, what about Zetha? How do we know she’s not a plant?”

“We don’t. But unless she’s been sent on a suicide mission, she’s as much at risk as you are.”

“How do you figure?” Sisko asked, growing heated. “If the ship is attacked, granted, we’re all dead. But I’m thinking of her signaling to her side that we’re here, or tampering with the tests Selar’s running in the lab…” He realized he was overreacting, and forced himself to calm. “I’m sorry. I know Selar backs up all her research and confirms it with you, and I keep an eye on Zetha anytime she’s in my vicinity, but I keep thinking there’s something more here, something we’ve all missed, even Tuvok, for all his security training. Something that could get us all killed.”

Crusher had the grace to wait until he was finished. “The same thoughts have crossed my mind, Lieutenant. But I wonder if we aren’t all guilty of just a little bit of species profiling here. Wouldn’t the joke be on us if Zetha turns out to be exactly what she claims to be? In any case, nothing we can do about it now except play the hand we’ve been dealt and see the game to its end.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like my friend Curzon,” Sisko muttered.

“Then I’ll take it as a compliment,” Crusher replied. “Time for me to log off. Good night, Lieutenant.”

“Good night, Doctor,” Sisko said, and waited for the chrono’s next signal.

As they were leaving, travel permits in hand, Tuvok asked Jarquin one thing more, something any Romulan might ask another.

“How often do you hear from your sons?”

He had been mindful of the small framed holos set apart from the clutter on Jarquin’s desk, of two handsome young men, close in age if not twins, whose features strongly resembled their father’s intermixed with those of what must be a beautiful mother.

Jarquin hesitated before he answered.

“I haven’t, since they left for the homeworld. It’s very common. They lose interest in their birth-world, lose touch with those they left behind. Many never speak to their families again. Maybe they’re ashamed of their roots, of coming from this place. They want to blend in, give their allegiance to their new home. Then again, there could be other factors, political unrest, censorship. I can say that to you, because you’re not government, but sometimes one wonders…”

“Indeed,” Tuvok said, pulling the hood of his parka up over his ears in preparation for the cold.

“Maybe you could—” Jarquin began, then thought the better of it. “Forgive me. I was going to ask, when you return to the homeworld, if you could make inquiries about my sons. Presumptuous of me, but…”

Tuvok knew his reply was illogical, but he made it nevertheless. “I will see to it, Citizen Jarquin.”

The door slid closed behind them, leaving Jarquin alone, watching the ever-swirling snow from his window, but thinking about butterflies.

Chapter 13

“I’ll put my Listeners on it,” Uhura promised. “A migration of that magnitude from an unallied world to Romulus should be easy to track. If Jarquin’s sons or any concentration of Quirinians are registered on the homeworld, we should be able to learn something, however tenuous. Meanwhile, I assume you’re scanning the so-called enclosed areas from orbit?”

“Affirmative,” Selar reported.

“And—?”

“And several regions appear to have been abandoned altogether. There are no life-sign readings other than those indicating small animal life-forms, most likely verminous.”

Rats, Uhura thought, suppressing a shudder.

“Of the other quarantined or ‘enclosed’ areas, most appear to be very sparsely populated,” Selar went on, “and there is evidence of reduced activity among the few remaining inhabitants. Scans show elevated body temperatures, indicating the likelihood of infection. Since I began scanning the village of Sawar less than one hour ago, there have been four fatalities in the quarantined area.”

“But there’s no way of telling for certain if that’s caused by our neoform,” Uhura suggested.

“Without actually collecting biosamples? I believe not.”

“It is unfortunate we were barred from traveling to the quarantined areas,” Tuvok interjected suddenly.

“Yes, it really is too bad,” Uhura agreed. “But of course I’d never tell you to disobey Citizen Jarquin’s directive and try to infiltrate those regions illegally.”

“Obviously,” Tuvok said. “A pity, since we do have hazmat suits against just such a contingency. And, given the necessity for bulky clothing in the Quirinian climate, it would be quite possible for us to conceal all but the face mask of a hazmat suit beneath our parkas. Further, were we traveling at night…”

“Hypothetically, of course,” Uhura said, her face as deadpan as any Vulcan’s.

“Hypothetically,” Tuvok agreed. “Of course.”

Selar watched this exchange with great interest. She wasn’t certain what was going on, but it intrigued her. Sisko, being human, understood entirely, and managed, just barely, to suppress a chuckle. A glance in Zetha’s direction told him she got it, too. Sisko crooked a finger at her.

“You come with me,” he said, indicating she was to follow him forward, out of earshot of the briefing.