The lights on the Promenade are low; it's 'nighttime'. Dr. Julian
Bashir stands at a railing, leaning with a cup of coffee, simply
watching. All right, not simply. He's also wondering why he's so
tired, and in addition to that, he's wondering why he can't even
begin to think about sleep. The coffee is, after all, decaf. And
the night is no longer young. On the other hand, he's also
wondering when they're going to change the uniforms again, and
whether or not he should worry about he he's going to look in
them, since he doesn't even know what they look like yet. On a
third hand, which he doesn't have but Odo most certainly could,
he's wondering about that noncom's little girl with the brand-new
utterly implausible deep space version of the flu.

"Late night, doctor?" comes the Captain's pleasant, low toned,
sexy....sorry. Captain Sisko's voice. They seem to be involved in
similar occputions, as the Captain sips from a cup of his own,
slowly wandering his way towards the railing.

"Aren't they all?" is Julian's brilliant response, as he turns to
look at his approaching commanding officer. His eyebrows go up as
he displays that, you know, look. The one where he looks like he's
sort of doing a cross between bemused and sympathetic, with a
little bit of confusion and exhaustion thrown in for good measure.
"I know I'm hardly in a position to ask, but - what are you doing
up, sir?"

"Oh," comes a thoughtful sound/word in a thoughtful, rumbling
tone. It really is a nice voice, honest. "I'm thinking. About a
lot of things." He raises his head and his glass, sipping
thoughtfully. There is a brilliant light outside the windows as
the wormhole opens up. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Even if he had something against watching the wormhole, which he
doesn't, Doctor Bashir's eyes would be irresistably drawn to the
dancing light and beautiful, almost organically mathematical
motion of the wormhole. You know, kind of like 'ooh, shiny!' but
on a much more mature level. He watches it wordlessly before
answering, finally. "It is indeed," he says softly. Then a mixture
of professional concern and friendly worry prompts him to glance
at Sisko again and ask casually (hah), "Any of the things you're
thinking about things I might be able to help with?" Subtlety is
not your strong suit, Doctor.

"Sometimes I wish we could blow it up," Sisko says in utter
frankness, staring at the light display. "Seal it. Even if it
weren't for the Prophets, even if no one lived there, could you?"
Sisko tears away from the wormhole to ask the question of the
doctor, eyebrows raising. "Could any of us destroy something like
that?"

There's a slight pause. "No," says Julian honestly. "I couldn't."
He keeps watching it, quite unable to bring his eyes away from it.
"Even if I could I couldn't. But it's rather moot, isn't it? The
Prophets..." He trails off and sighs, takes a sip of his rapidly
cooling coffee, hand still on the rail. "I suppose that whenever
there's immense potential for wonder, knowledge, and happiness,
there's an equal potential for the perversion of the wonder."

Sisko balances his cup down on the railing, and wanders towards
the window, clasping hands behind his back. "The wormhole," Sisko
says, a note of anger in his voice. "Is /not/ the cause of the
Dominion." White eyes flash in dark skin. He looks back over his
shoulder slowly at Julian. "They are immoral, and it is not fair
we even have to consider that alternative." So he's a bit
stressed.

"I couldn't agree more, sir," replies Julian, standing just a
little straighter, watching Sisko. His voice and expression are
sincere without being too earnest, but it's a second before he
adds, hesitantly, "I've found it's difficult to -teach- morals.
And if they can't be taught, then what are we left with? It's
better to have to consider the destruction of something like
that," a gesture toward the wormhole, now closing, "than to find
yourself considering an alternative like the destruction of more
people - on either side."

Sisko arches an eyebrow at the doctor. "That, is a surprisingly
pragmatic assessment, doctor." Maybe he'll have to think just a
bit different of poor Julian. Of course, he'd want to save lives.
"What if I told you Starfleet had found a way to seal the
wormhole, permanently?"

"Then I'd have to ask if they'd found a way, in their studies and
assessments, to preserve the Prophets," returns Julian evenly,
standing very still, watching Sisko's expression.

"Try to keep in mind," Sisko says with a level look, "That we are
only speaking, hypothetically." And that's my official statement,
so don't bother to question it. "Hypothetically, they would
probably be unharmed, but inaccessible."

The doctor looks thoughtful, his eyes leaving Sisko and wandering
back to the stars; he absently runs a hand over the back of his
neck, through his hair a bit - more of a stretch than anything
else. "Hypothetically," he repears, mostly to himself. Abruptly,
he looks back at Sisko, something strange in his expression.
"Hypothetically, would Starfleet ask the Prophets what they
thought of this idea, sir, or would they be more likely to go
ahead and do it?"

"Hypothetically," Sisko states for Julian's benefit as well,
"Starfleet might attempt to communicate, if they thought they
could, but it probably wouldn't change a damn thing."
Hypothetically.

"Of course not," Julian says to himself, looking away, that
strange element to his expression still present. And still he
thinks rapidly, creating and discarding scenarios and ideas,
trying to come up with something he can -do- with this
information. So, another question. "This hypothetical situation.
They'd presumably only be closing our side of the wormhole...?"

Sisko raises his eyebrows as he considers the space in front of
them. "That's hard to say," Sisko says. "Even hypothetically. The
wormhole doesn't have depth, as far as our three dimensional space
is concerned."

"Because if the Dominion found themselves unable to access this
side, and instead turned their fancy to the phenomenon itself, and
somehow managed to discover the Prophets..." begins Julian, still
not looking at Sisko - at least, not until he trails off. And then
he points out, emphasizing with his cupful of coffee, "It would be
our fault."

"The Prophets can take care of themselves," Sisko says with a
smile. He likes the thought of the Dominion trying to take them
on. A pleasant thought. "Quite well. I'm not worried about them.
It's us I worry about."

It's so tempting to say the thing that immediately pops into his
head, but Julian restrains himself. No he doesn't. "But we're
Starfleet!" he protests, setting his coffee down on the railing,
too. "Certainly, we're on the edge of our space. But the
Federation--" he starts, then stops and tries again.
"Reinforcements--" What the hell is he saying? Bashir shakes his
head, suddenly feeling cold. "I'm glad I don't make the big
decisions," he finishes, extremely quietly. Oh, what a thing to
say in front of a man whose future decisions no doubt weigh
heavily. And you call yourself a doctor.

Sisko doesn't seem to take any personal offense at that at least.
His eyebrows raise a bit, and that's all. "Try to get some sleep
doctor." He turns, presumably to do the same. He pauses.
"Remember. Hypothetical."

"Hypothetically, I can get some sleep," mutters Julian, then looks
up at the departing Sisko. "Yes, sir. And - good night," he calls
after him, somewhat ruefully.