Well, listen up, listen up.
To Lieutenant Hector Ilario—
living proof that Starfleet Academy produces the finest
fighter pilots in the galaxy...
Hear, hear. I haven't finished yet.
Don't ruin it, Julian.
That's just what a toast should be—
short and to the point.
I wouldn't mind hearing a little more.
Now, now—
modesty above all.
This is no time to be modest.
This man...
this youth, this mere pup still wet behind the ears...
I'm 22.
I was speaking metaphorically.
This inspired cherub
masterfully piloted the Defiant into battle
against a half a dozen Jem'Hadar attack ships
and once all the smoke had cleared
only one ship remained intact
and that, ladies and gentlemen
was the USS Defiant.
The kid's a born helmsman.
And so say all of us.
Hear, hear!
Well, thanks.
I'm just glad to be here.
It's the best posting in the galaxy.
If there's anything you want—
anything at all— just ask.
Well, there is one thing.
Name it.
Next time you two go to the holosuite
I'd like to come along.
Oh, well, I'm sorry. Can't be done.
No. It's out of the question.
It's impossible.
Don't take it personally.
They're very serious about their leisure activities.
It's a good way to relieve stress.
Yeah. I highly recommend it.
Just not with us.
Yeah. You know, when you have a holosuite visit
it's sort of a personal experience.
He's very particular
about anybody seeing him in his coonskin cap.
You understand.
I suppose.
Gentlemen, your holosuite is ready.
Terrific.
Now, if there's anything else you need...
Just let us know.
Have you ever gone to the holosuite with them?
Me?
Never.
Huh.
I know when I'm not wanted.
To the class of '72.
Another round?
No. No.
Time to go?
It was time to go about an hour ago.
Okay.
Oh, oh, okay.
We'll get you home.
l'll take him. His quarters are on my way.
You sure?
He won't be the first drunken Ensign
I've escorted home.
Someday, remind me to tell you about a bar on Bolarus
and a certain young Mr. Sisko.
This way.
I never had real Saurian brandy before.
It's Captain Sisko's favorite.
It kind of sneaks up on you, doesn't it?
Speaking of sneaking up on you...
here we are— home sweet home.
You all right?
Do you want some raktajino?
I'm fine. Fine.
I wish they could have been there.
They would've loved it.
To see me fly the Defiant into battle.
It was incredible.
I should get going.
Make sure you get some sleep.
You know something, Lieutenant?
You're very beautiful.
And you're very drunk.
True enough
but in the morning, l'll be sober
and you'll still be beautiful.
Good night, Ilario.
Good night, Lieutenant.
The time is 0600 hours.
The time is 0600 hours and ten seconds.
Yeah, yeah. I'm up.
Fanalian tea. Hot.
Full security alert.
Yes, sir.
Get everybody back. Hurry up.
What happened?
Lieutenant Ilario has been killed.
Killed?
How?
It appears someone shot him.
Captioning sponsored by PARAMOUNT PICTURES
He was killed by what appears to be some kind
of chemically propelled projectile weapon.
A gun?
Dr. Bashir recovered
a single tritanium bullet from Ilario's chest.
He was shot through the heart.
You don't see one of those every day.
Nobody uses projectile weapons anymore.
You said this is tritanium, right?
That's correct.
Chief, did you ever hear of a TR-116 rifle?
lt was a prototype developed by Starfleet Security
to operate in energy dampening fields
or radiogenic environments.
That's right.
Anywhere where a normal phaser
would be useless.
If I'm not mistaken, the TR-116 rifle fired
a chemically propelled tritanium bullet.
You say a prototype.
Were they ever mass-produced?
No. Starfleet abandoned the TR-116
in favor of regenerative phasers.
That doesn't mean the killer couldn't have gotten hold
of the rifle's replication patterns.
But only Starfleet officers have access to those files.
Disturbing thought, isn't it?
Starfleet officers do not go around murdering other officers.
Not usually, anyway.
Hold on a minute.
That's odd.
According to these readings
the bullet only traveled eight or nine centimeters.
Then the killer must have fired at point-blank range.
I don't think so.
There are no powder burns
on the body.
What are powder burns?
At close range, chemically propelled weapons
leave residual combustion products
on the skin and clothing of the victims.
How did you know that?
I read 20th century crime novels—
Raymond Chandler, Mike Hammer—
that sort of thing.
Hmm.
So, if the killer did fire from close range
why aren't there any powder burns?
I don't know.
But we'll find out.
What was the time of death?
0317.
That's only ten minutes after I left.
Was he alone?
I didn't see anyone
but I wasn't here for very long.
What do we know about Ilario
outside of his service record?
Not a great deal.
He's only been on the station for ten days.
As far as I could tell
he was intelligent, dedicated, eager to please.
Everyone liked him.
Not everyone.
l want to know everything there is to know about him—
who his friends were, if he made any enemies.
l also want increased security throughout the station.
Yes, sir.
And, Constable...
You want whoever did this caught.
I understand, Captain.
llario once told me that he came from a big family—
three brothers and two sisters.
I thought it was two brothers and three sisters.
I don't think so.
You sure?
Are you?
Don't look at me.
We never discussed his family.
Mostly he talked about the Academy
and about the two of you.
Us?
He really admired both of you.
We should have let him come to the holosuite with us.
You're right. We should have.
I just wish I hadn't left his quarters so quickly.
Maybe he'd still be alive.
Or you'd be dead right there with him.
Odo will catch whoever did this, won't he?
If anyone can.
We really should have let him come
to the holosuite with us.
Ezri.
Shouldn't you be in bed?
I was about to ask you the same question.
I just couldn't sleep.
Me, neither.
You mustn't blame yourself, you know
for Ilario's death.
I don't.
Not really.
Then what is it?
It's just knowing that he was murdered.
It's difficult to accept.
The whole concept of someone killing
another person in cold blood—
it's almost incomprehensible, isn't it?
Not to me.
Meaning what?
Meaning that I know exactly what it feels like...
to feel the urge, the need to take a life.
You're talking about Joran.
He killed three people.
He was the host to the Dax symbiont just like me.
He was nothing like you.
I try not to think about it.
Jadzia felt the same way.
She tried to bury his memories as deeply as she could...
but they're still there.
The victims...
what they looked like.
They weren't your victims.
I know.
But then something like this happens and...
Just the thought of someone like him being here right now.
You really should get some rest.
You're right.
Even if it does mean lying in my bed
staring at the ceiling for a few more hours.
Good night, Julian.
Good night.
Save your complaints for the magistrate.
Is this the one we've been looking for?
Ilario's killer.
Quite a clever one at that.
Why? Why did you do it?
You tell me, Counselor.
But... you're dead.
Don't tell me. Tell him.
I'm sorry, Lieutenant.
There's nothing more annoying
than a corpse with a mind of its own.
What?
Dax to Security.
Odo?
Kira?
Anyone there?
Security, please, answer me!
Joran.
You recognize me.
How nice.
What do you want?
Respect, understanding...
love.
I wish you'd stop being afraid of me.
It's not like we're strangers.
That worm in your belly used to be mine
which means I'm part of you.
Joran...
And you're part of me.
I'm nothing like you.
Is that so?
You want to find out who killed Ilario, don't you?
Then what are you waiting for?
Perform the Rite of Emergence
and just ask for my help and then we can get to work.
I don't want your help.
Maybe not, but you need it.
You murdered three people.
I don't want anything to do with you.
Now leave me alone!
How can I?
There's nowhere else for me to go.
I'm within you, Ezri, all the time.
Use me.
No!
I can help.
I know how he thinks.
We can catch him, Ezri— you and me together
and then we'll make him pay.
Sisko to Dax.
Report to Habitat Ring, Level J-17.
What is it, Ben?
There's been another murder.
Report.
Lieutenant Commander Greta Vanderweg, Science Officer
human, age 37, 12 years of service, the last three
here on Deep Space 9.
Cause of death:
tritanium bullet fired at close range.
No powder burns.
Did Ilario and Vanderweg know each other?
I'll look into it, but it's doubtful.
Ilario was only here for ten days.
Seven of them, he was on the Defiant.
But why Ilario and why Vanderweg?
Did someone have a personal grudge
against either one of them
or is someone just killing our officers at random?
I still can't believe anyone in Starfleet
could be doing this.
There are over 900 Starfleet officers
posted on the station.
Odo, we have
to narrow the field of suspects.
Sir.
How well did you do in forensic psychology
at the Academy?
It wasn't my favorite subject.
We have to find out why the killer's doing this.
I'll do my best.
I wonder why he chose a TR-116.
Instead of a phaser?
Yeah. I mean, why use a rifle
if you're going to shoot somebody from close range?
I don't know.
He or she may have, uh, originally intended
to kill their victims from a great distance
so they replicated a long-range weapon.
Or they had some special connection
to this particular rifle.
You know, a fetish
or psychological obsession perhaps.
I suppose so.
Did you ever read that biography I gave you
on Davy Crockett last month?
No, but I'll get to it.
No, no. There was this fascinating section
about the mythology that grew up
around Crockett and his rifle.
There was this notion that a man could have
a special relationship with a weapon.
Some frontiersmen even went so far
as to give their rifles names—
female ones at that—
thus changing the relationship
between owner and object
to something resembling man and woman.
Hmm. Maybe I'll start calling my tricorder "Sally."
There's some great tall tales in that book.
There's one particular story where Crockett was supposed
to have put up a target against a tree
and arranged a series of tin frying pans nearby
in a complicated pattern.
The idea was that he was
going to shoot a bullet at one of these pans
which would then ricochet to another and then to another
and then to another and then to another...
Wait a minute.
That's it.
Displaced targeting— that's how he did it.
Who?
Well, the killer.
He set up an alternate bullet trajectory—
one that didn't require a direct line of sight
between him and the victim.
Julian, you're a genius.
Well, don't thank me.
Thank Davy Crockett.
What do you think?
Nice melon.
But what does it have to do with us?
I have no idea.
All I know is that Chief O'Brien wanted me
to bring you here.
He said he has something to show us.
O'Brien to Science Lab.
Go ahead, Chief.
Are you ready?
For what?
You'll see.
First put on those goggles
that are on the counter in front of you.
Now, take a step back away from the melon.
A little further.
I've only done this a couple of times.
How's this?
Good.
Wow.
Are you all right?
Better than that melon.
It worked.
l was able to fire a bullet into that melon while standing
outside in the corridor.
You fired through the wall?
l don't see any bullet holes.
I attached a micro-transporter
to this TR-116.
When I fired, the bullet was beamed into the room
a few centimeters away from the melon.
Where it continued its trajectory.
So, if the killer had a similar transporter device
that would explain
the lack of powder burns on the victims.
And by using an exographic targeting sensor
he was able to scan through the bulkheads.
So, he could have been firing from anywhere on the station.
Can you trace the bullet's transporter signatures back
to where the killer was when he fired?
I'm afraid not.
The signature's too weak.
It's an ingenious weapon.
Whoever he is, he's smart.
Nothing.
No connection.
Who's there?
Who is it?
Quark, is that you?
This isn't funny.
Worf.
It is late.
You should be in your quarters.
Were you following me?
It is dangerous for you
to be wandering the Promenade alone.
You were worried about me?
There is a killer on the station.
You have no right to endanger yourself this way.
You were worried about me.
Thank you, Worf.
That's... sweet.
You are a fellow officer.
l would have the same concern for Chief O'Brien or Dr. Bashir.
Of course.
l didn't mean to imply otherwise.
Then we understand each other.
Perfectly.
How is the investigation coming?
Uh... slowly.
If I can assist you in any way...
I appreciate it, but you can't, really.
Nobody can.
Actually, that's not true.
There is someone who could help
but I don't want to ask him.
Why?
It's complicated.
Nevertheless, if he can help...
It wouldn't be very pleasant.
Perhaps not, but I am certain
that you will do whatever is necessary to complete your task.
And how do you know that?
You are Dax.
It is your way.
I'nora, ja'kala vok...
'za Ezri...
zhian'tara rek...
pora'al Zheem Dax...
Tanas Rhem Joran.
'za Ezri
Tanas Rhem Joran.
Oh, come on, Joran, don't make me beg.
Joran Tanas Rhem.
Vok Ezri
Joran Tanas Rhem.
You won't regret this, Ezri.
I promise.
Joran, the forgotten host
the outcast.
The murderer.
I'm sure you never thought that little character trait
would prove useful.
Seems so strange separating you from the others
seeing you standing there.
But I'm not really standing here, am I?
It's all in your mind.
At least now I know you're listening to me.
I've been ignored for far too long.
Curzon and Jadzia didn't quite know what to do with me.
They buried your memories as deep within them as possible.
That was a mistake.
I have so much to offer.
We'll see about that.
Now, let's get to work.
We have a killer to catch.
Where shall we begin?
I want to know how he thinks.
Then we'll start with his choice of weapons.
We already know how he modified the TR-116.
But you haven't held it in your hands, have you?
You haven't looked through
its tracking display
picked a target, felt the power
as you lock its sensors
on your unsuspecting prey.
If you want to catch a killer, Ezri
you have to learn to think like one.
Handsome weapon.
If you say so.
Come now. Even you have to admire
the aesthetic qualities inherent in its design.
It conveys a sense of danger, of power.
Just looking from the trigger to the muzzle
conjures up images of death.
Take it down.
I meant "hold it in your hands."
Why?
Because I want you to feel
what the killer felt.
This isn't going to work
if you fight me.
I'm holding the gun.
Stop placating me.
You wanted my help. Now do as I say.
Put on the targeting display.
Now... hold the weapon as if you're going to use it.
Feels good
doesn't it?
I've held a rifle before.
You mean in combat.
It's not the same thing.
That kind of killing's too random, too chaotic.
This is more controlled.
You can savor the moment.
Now, tell me, what do you see?
I'm moving through the different levels of the Docking Ring.
He didn't kill anyone in the Docking Ring.
Remember, you're trying to put yourself in his mind.
Move to the Habitat Ring.
I'm there
in one of the corridors.
Good.
Our killer is a hunter, so start hunting.
I see a Bajoran deputy.
You don't want to be in the corridors.
Look in the quarters.
No one's here.
A male Starfleet officer, an engineer, about 35.
Good.
We have a victim.
You have him in your sights.
How do you feel?
Truth now.
Powerful.
In control.
Good. That's what the killer's feeling.
I'm not angry or excited.
You're calm, relaxed...
Detached.
Now you're getting it.
You do your killing from a distance.
You're cold, methodical.
Maybe you're a scientist or a doctor.
Maybe...
but why kill like this?
Why not choose a victim on the Promenade or in Quark's?
If you want to know the answer
pull the trigger.
Find out.
Don't think about it.
Do it!
No!
Ezri, the gun isn't loaded.
Then why did you tell me to pull the trigger?
Do you want to know
what the killer feels or don't you?
I'm sorry, Ezri.
I didn't mean to push you so far.
I'm not a murderer.
I'm not you.
Maybe not, but you have my memories.
You remember what it was like—
the excitement, the passion
the looks on their faces as they realized
we were the last thing they'd ever see.
That has nothing to do with me!
You're the killer!
Ezri?
I think you need a vacation.
You're talking to yourself.
I'm just thinking out loud.
I don't know what you see in this Ferengi.
He's repulsive.
Can I get you a drink or something to eat?
No. We don't have time. We have work to do.
No, thanks.
I'm not hungry, really.
Well...
when you are, you know where to come.
How I'd love to slip a knife between his ribs.
I have a better idea— let's get back to work.
The sooner we find our killer
the sooner you and I can part company.
I thought we were having fun together.
Think again.
I suppose I'll have to make myself more endearing.
Now, I suggest we visit the victims' quarters
to see what answers we can find there.
What are we looking for?
Clues. What else?
But we don't even know
if the killer ever set foot in here.
Both victims were in their quarters
when they were killed.
Is that a coincidence or a connection?
I don't know.
Think about it.
Look around...
and remember, whatever you see is what the killer saw.
What do we know about these classmates
of Ilario's?
Odo checked with Starfleet Command.
The one on the left was killed in combat five weeks ago.
The one in the middle
is stationed on the USS Truman.
The Truman hasn't come
anywhere near Deep Space 9 in months.
Hmm... pity.
Keep looking.
Greta was quite a pack rat, wasn't she?
She was here a long time.
This was home.
A monument to bad taste.
Just an observation.
Vanderweg's husband
is a micropaleontologist on Mora V.
She was married.
Ilario was single.
She was on Deep Space 9 for three years.
He just got here.
She was a mature woman.
He was practically a kid.
Besides the uniform
they have absolutely nothing in common...
which means they could've just been chosen at random...
and if that's the case, then we're wasting our time.
You're thinking of giving up, aren't you?
I didn't say that.
You don't have to.
You have failure written all over you.
I'm sorry to disappoint you.
It's not the lack of clues that's keeping you
from finding the killer— it's you.
Me?
You're holding back, Ezri.
You refuse to see with his eyes
feel with his hands, think with his mind.
You want to turn me into a killer
make me like you.
You are me.
You want me to kill someone?
What do you say I start with you?
That's the spirit.
Hold it!
Stop him!
They found him.
Stop that man!
A weapon! Over there!
Yes, yes, do it.
Do it!
That's enough!
You mind explaining this?
I'm told that if Odo hadn't stopped you
you'd have stabbed Ensign Bertram.
I was trying to stop him from getting away.
All right. He hit me, I reacted...
I guess I overreacted.
I'd say so.
He could be a little more appreciative
don't you think?
I'm sorry things got out of hand
but Bertram killed two people.
Bertram didn't kill anyone.
Then why was a security team chasing him?
Because a month ago
he accessed the replicator patterns on TR-116
without authorization.
Sounds guilty to me.
Why would he replicate a rifle
unless he was going to use it?
Because he collects weapons— Federation, Klingon, Cardassian.
What a coincidence.
That doesn't rule him out as a suspect.
True, but the fact that he was on Bajor
when the first murder occurred does.
You've been under a lot of stress lately, so...
Ben, please don't give up on me.
I can find this murderer.
I know I can.
I just need more time.
I don't know what you and Jadzia and Curzon
all see in that man.
He's so insufferable, so Starfleet.
I'm surprised the killer hasn't targeted him.
I'm joking, of course
but he did come perilously close
to derailing our investigation.
And you have to take some of the blame for that.
What did I do?
It's what you didn't do, really.
You should have told him about me.
You're kidding.
One word about you
and he'd have pulled me off the case.
Well, then, I guess I'll have to remain your little secret
and be glad that you're still in his good graces.
Not that it matters, really.
We would have continued on
without Sisko's blessing. Right?
What are you doing?
What does it look like?
I'nora, ja'kala vok...
Do you really think
you can get rid of me this easily?
Zheem Dax nah sass-eye-ahn...
Don't you realize we've made Dax whole again?
D'za-oo bah-zheest...
Don't back away now.
Joran rhee jehr hey-dah...
Joran rhee jehr hey-dah.
You won't catch the killer without me.
Odo to Lieutenant Dax.
Report to the Habitat Ring, on H-43.
I'm on my way.
Petty officer Zim Brott; Bolian.
Five years of service
on Deep Space 9.
I knew him.
Or, at least, Jadzia did.
He has a wife and co-husband on Bolarus.
Well, so much for the theory
that our killer only targets humans.
Captain...
The bullet pierced his heart?
At close range.
Why am I not surprised?
What if we don't catch him?
Will he keep shooting Starfleet officers
till there are none left on the station?
How could anyone be so happy
with such unattractive children?
What did you say?
This photo.
That's it.
It's the pictures.
He's laughing.
She's laughing.
That's what the victims have in common—
pictures of laughing faces.
A killer who hates laughter
who hates emotion.
A Vulcan.
All Vulcans distrust emotions
but they don't go around killing people for smiling.
This one does.
Something happened to him.
Something so emotionally painful
it's making him lose control.
When he looks through the targeting sensor
and sees those pictures, the laughter seems to mock him.
You're thinking like he thinks.
Good, Ezri.
Computer, how many Vulcan Starfleet officers
are on the station?
There are 48 Vulcans serving on Deep Space 9.
Now all we have to do is eliminate 47 of them.
I should tell Odo.
Not until we have proof.
Then let's get some.
We still have 28 suspects—
Vulcans who have suffered a personal loss of some kind.
We've narrowed the field.
Not by enough.
There's one thing I don't understand—
if he hates laughter
then why doesn't he seek out his victims
in Quark's or the holosuite?
Maybe it's not just the laughter.
You're right.
Maybe it has something to do
with... the way the photograph freezes the emotion
making it seem like the laughter
is going to last forever.
Level 12, Central Core.
So, what do we do now?
We go back over our list of suspects
see if we can't narrow it down.
Then, proof or no proof, we give the list to Odo.
Habitat Ring, Level K-55.
What are you doing?
Are you addressing me?
Sorry.
Never mind.
It's him, Ezri.
I know it is.
We've found our killer.
I'm telling you
he's the one we're looking for.
Look in his eyes.
By the way, I'm Counselor Dax.
I know.
What are you doing?
He's getting away.
We need proof—
something I can take to Odo.
And while you're looking for that proof
what do you think the Vulcan will be doing?
Let me tell you.
He's going to pick another victim.
Science Officer Chu'lak, age 97
assigned to Deep Space 9 three months ago.
Before that, he served aboard the USS Grissom.
Why was he transferred?
The Grissom was destroyed by the Jem'Hadar
in the battle of Ricktor Prime.
He was one of only six crewmen to survive.
Six survivors out of a crew of 1,250.
He served on that ship for ten years.
Those people who were killed
were his colleagues— his friends.
That's a painful loss, even for a Vulcan.
That doesn't make him a killer.
But your instincts tell you that he is.
Listen to your instincts.
Listen to me.
It's him.
Computer, locate Science Officer Chu'lak.
Lieutenant Chu'lak is in his quarters.
Seeking out his next victim.
Computer, where are Chu'lak's quarters?
Habitat Ring, Level D-12.
My thought, exactly.
What do you see?
He's studying something on his computer console.
Studying what?
What is it?
Me.
My service record.
He knows we suspect him.
He's going into the next room.
What's he doing?
He's coming back.
He's carrying something.
It's a rifle, isn't it?
Isn't it?
Yes.
Shoot him.
Don't think about it.
Just do it.
Kill him.
Oh.
Congratulations.
I'm proud of you.
Go ahead.
Finish what you started.
Tell me, why did you do it?
Because logic demanded it.
What are you waiting for?
He deserves to die.
You know that.
Follow your instincts.
Dax to Infirmary.
l need an emergency medical team
Habitat Ring, D-12.
On our way.
Try not to look so disappointed.
J'zui vok Ezri
shay-hal-bah-sha.
I'nora, ja'kala vok...
I can't tell you
how much I've enjoyed our time together.
Zheem Dax...
nah sass-eye-ahn...
D'za-oo bah-zheest...
Joran rhee jehr hey-dah...
You won't be able to forget me
or bury me as deeply as Curzon and Jadzia did.
I know.
I'm part of you now.
As much as Audrid, Torias— any of them.
I'll have to be careful.
Tu Dax
noh zhian 'vok...
j'zui...
Joran Rhem Tanas...
Ezri.
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