Ezri shook her head. “I don’t think he’s here. I’m not reading any symbiont life signs on this floor. Other than our own, I mean.”

“That weak humanoid life sign you picked up might belong to the one we just hit,” Cyl said, frowning and nodding.

“He may not have taken a direct hit,” Bashir said. He still wasn’t happy about Cyl’s insistence that they shoot to kill. And despite the horrible death the infiltrators had just inflicted on the security guard, he still hoped their adversaries wouldn’t have to die unnecessarily.

Cyl gestured westward with his phaser. “Dax, Doctor, come with me. And stay sharp.”

The team split up. Cyl, Dax, and Bashir moved cautiously down the wide corridor, hugging the walls and pausing to take cover behind alternating rows of support columns and large potted plants. Eventually, they reached a three-way junction, where the body of one of the impostor guards lay.

Crouching beside him, Bashir noted that he was dead—and that the phaser clutched in his hand was still warm from recent use. “No life signs here, weak or otherwise.” He looked up at Ezri.

She consulted her scanner again. “My plisagraph is still picking up three Trill humanoid life signs, but that’s all. One of the others must be hurt. They’re down that way.”

Even as Ezri pointed toward a windowless, unlit segment of corridor, the plisagraph in her hand exploded in a shower of sparks as a phaser blast hit it. She let out a cry and spun into the wall, then crumpled to the tile floor.

Cyl hit the ground instantly, returning fire. Using the dead attacker as a shield, he sent a volley of blasts down the darkened corridor, briefly illuminating it as brightly as the noontime sky.

Dropping to the floor, Bashir crawled quickly across the three meters that separated him from Ezri. The look of shock and pain on her face alarmed him, and he saw that her right hand was red and blistered.

“Let me do something about those burns,” he said, reaching for the medical kit on his hip.

Using her uninjured hand, she grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “It’s not that bad, Julian,” she whispered, hissing through tightly clenched teeth. Her brave words didn’t fool him for a moment; she was obviously in agony. “Besides, this isn’t the best place for giving first aid.”

As if to underscore her words, more phaser bursts pulsed over their heads, and Cyl responded with another volley. Bashir turned and saw that Cyl was taking aim at the edges of the wall, rather than shooting down the middle of the open corridor. Moments later, a large chunk of rubble fell away from the wall in a cloud of smoke and dust. Cyl strafed the area just beyond it.

Bashir held his breath for a protracted moment, but no further salvos came from down the corridor. Cyl turned to face Bashir and Ezri. “Stay here and cover me,” he said, then pulled himself to a squatting position. A moment later he was sprinting down the corridor, zigzagging as he ran.

Despite the near darkness that surrounded Cyl, Bashir could see that the general had arrived unmolested at the corridor’s end. Cyl beckoned them to follow.

Bashir helped Ezri to her feet, then gently took hold of her hand so he could look at it closely. She was right; there hadn’t been much real damage. Just some redness, puffiness, and a few small blisters.

Dax withdrew her hand and gestured toward Cyl. “Hard to believe he used to be my darling daughter, huh?” She gave Bashir a wobbly grin.

Good to see she hasn’t lost her sense of humor,Bashir thought. He was a great believer in using humor to overcome stress, and so far this day was one of the most stressful either of them had seen lately. And it’s not over yet.

Moments later, Bashir and Ezri joined Cyl at the haphazard pile of rubble his phaser had created. Beneath it lay one of the “guards” who had greeted them when they had brought Talris to the third level. Cyl gestured toward a nearby door, and Bashir realized immediately that it must have been forced open from outside the building.

“That leads to most of the equipment that powers the speaker’s platform,” Cyl said, mopping the perspiration from his spotted forehead with the back of his hand. “The other two radicals must be trying to either commandeer or sabotage it.”

“Is there another way in?” Ezri asked.

Cyl shook his head. “Not an easy one. And not if we want to get there in a hurry.”

“Then we go in through the front,” Ezri said, raising her phaser with her uninjured left hand.

Opening the door cautiously, they entered and found themselves inside a short, dimly lit hallway. Bashir could hear the hum of machinery, and heavy footsteps that sounded uncomfortably close.

At the end of the hallway, Cyl cautiously peered around the corner. He turned back toward Bashir and Ezri, a crestfallen look on his face. “Damn! It looks as if one of the radicals has got Talris. And he doesn’t look good.”

A question flitted through Bashir’s mind. Why didn’t Ezri’s plisagraph pick up Talris’s symbiont?

Then a booming voice rang out, echoing off the walls and machinery in the large chamber beyond the short hallway. “Whoever you are, show yourself. Come out and drop your weapons. Otherwise your precious Senator Talris will never get to deliver another one of his famous placating speeches.”

Cyl scowled for a moment, then responded. “You’ll just kill us all if we come out there.”

“I admit it’s a chance you’ll have to take,” the mystery voice said, taunting. “But really, I’ve already accomplished my mission. I just want to get out of here now. Safely, and without any more unpleasantness.”

“The security people must have sealed off the doors leading to the outside,” Cyl whispered to Ezri.

She nodded. “He must have just figured out that he’s trapped.”

He’s desperate to find a way out,Bashir thought. And desperate people are dangerous people.

Bashir watched tensely as Cyl peered around the corner, then withdrew to safety. He had never seen the normally steel-nerved general look so agitated.

“He’s got Talris in front of him,” the general said. “Using him as a shield. Talris looks unconscious.”

Fear twisted Bashir’s belly into a knot. “I need to get to him.”

“You can’t do him any good if you get yourself killed,” Cyl said.

“General, Talris isn’t a young man. He may be in urgent need of medical attention.”

“Our friend might not know how many of us are here,” said Ezri.

Cyl appeared to apprehend her meaning instantly. “If the doctor and I go out there, you might be able to squeeze off a shot.”

Ezri gave a short nod. “I suppose I’ve heard worse plans.” She looked up at Bashir.

He thought things were going swiftly from bad to worse. And he knew that hostage rescues rarely went well for the hostages. But there seemed to be little choice. If he was going to help Talris, he had to get close to him. He slowly nodded his assent to Ezri’s risky plan.

Cyl stepped out first, dropping his phaser noisily to the floor. “I’m unarmed now,” he said. “My companion is joining me.”

After taking a deep breath, Bashir stepped out of the shadows as well, dropping his weapon and then raising his hands. “I’m a medical doctor. If Senator Talris needs attention—”

“Don’t worry about the senator,” the provocateur yelled, interrupting. Bashir saw in the dim light that he was facing the “lieutenant” whom Cyl had assigned to guard Talris. It was no wonder that the general appeared so upset; he had to be blaming himself for delivering Talris straight into the hands of the insurgents.

“Where’s the woman?” the “lieutenant” asked. “I saw her on the security recorders before you blew out that wall.”

“Then you must have also seen your colleague shoot her dead,” Cyl said coolly as he walked slowly forward. “She didn’t make it.”

Then Bashir saw to his horror that Cyl’s lie was actually true for at least one other person in the room. Talris’s head lolled limply forward, giving Bashir a glimpse of a telltale phaser burn that the senator’s hair no longer covered up.