REP: DS9 Faith, Part III: Peace 8/8 [PG-13] B
Philippe de la Matraque
Author: Gabrielle Lawson
Contact: inhe...@earthlink.net
Series: DS9
Rating: PG-13
Codes: B
Part: 8/8
Summary: Doctor Bashir, has given up on DS9, Starfleet, the Federation, and
life itself.
Note: This story does reference other stories of mine. It can stand alone
but it might leave you with questions. If you've read my other stories,
those questions shouldn't come up. Those stories can be found here on my web
site, http://gabrielle.sytes.net/trek/writing.html or
http://www.fanfiction.net.
Archivist: Please replace any older copies. Trekiverse and my own site
only.
Star Trek:
Deep Space Nine
Faith
Part III: Peace
A Novel by
by Gabrielle Lawson
Chapter Eightteen
All they could do was sit back and wait. And pray. Jordan had left the
bridge to gather with the other Christians for that task. There were some
four hundred down in the cargo hold. Garulos, Riker had learned, had been
taken up to the make-shift sickbay. There were no other doctors among the
prisoners, but there were some medtechs and nurses. Riker hoped they could
do something for him.
Bashir was more lucid than he'd been since he left *Enterprise* and was
handling the helm with quiet competence. It wasn't really hard since they
were mostly going in one heading. The ship was too large and unwieldy for
tight evasive maneuvers. While, amazingly enough, the Dominion ships had
first not fired and then had missed at least twenty shots in a row, they had
obviously worked out the kinks in their targeting sensors. Riker figured
they had taken the convoy by surprise when the ship suddenly turned. But
now they were aware and determined to get the cargo ship back in line. Or
destroy her.
The cargo ship--she needed a name, Bashir had said--was well-shielded, but
not nearly so strong in firepower. She had phasers: six banks. One to each
the bow and stern and two along either side. But they were not quite a
match for even the fifty ships that had broken away from the convoy to come
after them. They'd been taking hits for the last ten minutes. It had only
been twenty minutes since Bashir took the helm.
"Shields dropping to sixty percent," Loris reported from Tactical. Another
hit caused the Bridge to tilt slightly to starboard. "Minor damage to outer
hull plating. So far."
"Comments like that aren't exactly helpful," Bashir reminded her. Riker
realigned the inertial dampers while Bashir adjusted the helm and the ship
righted itself. "I don't even know anymore," the doctor went on. "I
thought they were hallucinations. But Vlad'a and now Szymon. . . . I
didn't just imagine my hand being broken."
"I was there," Riker told him, "or I wouldn't believe it myself. And I
wouldn't believe this either." He waved his hand around to indicate the
ship. "Except for the fact that we still have working engines, we're a
sitting duck. But they haven't even pulled our shields down yet. Why do
you suppose that is?"
"Faith?" Bashir asked. "I just believe and those Dominion ships out there
are going to stop shooting? That hasn't happened yet. And I was believing
it for a while there. My hand was broken. I could feel it." He stopped
and looked up from the helm. "So what was he that he could do something
like that? Changelings can't heal people the last I heard."
"Or disappear into thin air," Riker added. "Melt into the floor perhaps
but not just wink out like that."
"Right," Bashir agreed. "Hallucinations can't see around corners or hold
doors open or heal a broken hand either. So what was he?"
Oripic and Cairn looked at each other and apparently decided to stay out of
the debate. "Jordan and the others would say he was an angel," Loris said
as another hit shook the ship. "Fifty-five percent. Forward shields are
still a bit higher."
"Well, they're mostly shooting from behind us," Bashir reasoned. "Let's
put the difference to the aft shields. And cut whatever else is
unnecessary. If we can get everyone not running this ship into the hold, we
can cut power to all the unused compartments. And what if I don't believe
in angels or ghosts?"
"Neither do I," Riker said as Loris motioned to k'Ruhn, who left the Bridge
immediately. Riker ran a quick diagnostic to see what damage they had from
the last hit, but already two more struck the aft shielding. "But then
again, six hundred years ago they didn't believe in atoms and ions. Damn."
"What?" Cairn asked
Bashir closed his eyes for a moment and gripped the edges of two of the
columns.
"Long-range sensors," Riker replied but then spoke to Bashir. "You want me
to take that thing for a bit?" The headset Bashir was wearing was giving
him a headache, something he'd said was common to every human that had tried
to wear it for any length of time. Garak, however, had had no such problem.
Bashir took it off and rubbed his temple. "That would be great, Commander.
Just let me know if I'm about to collide with something." He tossed the
headset and Riker caught it. The thought did occur to him that the ship
might not survive long enough for the headset to cause him a headache. But
he decided he'd rather believe Szymon was an angel and that Bashir really
could save them just by believing he could. It was ridiculous, but it was
the only scenario that didn't involve a fiery inferno or recapture by the
Dominion.
The ship rocked again and this time it was much more violent. "Direct hit
to the port lateral shield generators," Loris reported. "We're losing
them."
"Cut life support, lights, everything to everywhere we don't need people to
be," Bashir ordered. "See if there isn't some sort of siren to warn
everyone. They've got to get out of there now."
"I should have something here," Loris said. "Pardon my saying so, sir, but
I think you need to stop being negative before they put a hole in our hull."
"Me? Negative?" Bashir said, putting on hand to his chest in mock hurt.
"Nothing about this situation would logically lead to negativity, crewman."
Loris smiled. "Who gives a damn about logic, sir? There are no Vulcans on
the Bridge. I just want to survive. If that means I have to stand on my
head and sing nursery rhymes, I'll do it."
Bashir laughed at that. He wanted to say that it would certainly be
amusing but he didn't see how it would make the Dominion stop shooting at
them, but he didn't. That would be negative. Negativity was apparently not
the route to salvation for the good ship *What-ever-her-name-is.* But it
wasn't easy being positive. He'd had a lot more experience with pessimism
this last half year or so than optimism. And broken hand or not, the facts
of the universe--or at least this quadrant--hadn't changed. The Dominion
was still allied to Cardassia and the Breen were still allied to the
Dominion. And all three were still bent on taking over the Alpha Quadrant.
Which left the Federation all too desperate to stop them. *Inter arma enem
silent leges,* he thought. Ross's words fit too well with what he saw of
the Federation, and especially Section 31. They were still out there, too.
And it was still apparent that they hadn't given up on him yet.
One thing had changed, though. Himself. Julian Bashir no longer wanted to
die. He didn't want to give up and let Section 31 make him 'disappear'. He
didn't want to sit in a pool of self-pity and wait for the universe to end.
These other prisoners had seized a chance--an infinitesimal chance--at
freedom, and they had fought for it with their whole beings. Many had
fought the Jem'Hadar with bare hands, giving up their lives so that the
others might go free. And Bashir, when his hand had knit back together in
Szymon's grip--whatever he was, had started to sense that maybe there was
something worth fighting for. Something worth fighting the Dominion, worth
fighting Section 31, and worth fighting his own demons.
And if Szymon was an angel, well, his demons were still right there
taunting him with every shot that shook the ship and decreased the power to
their shields.
"We're not going to survive by fighting them," was what he said instead.
"We need to outrun them, outlast them. Take the phasers offline. Divert
power to the engines. We need to keep them at our backs as much as
possible."
"Phasers offline," Riker acknowledged, and the ship surged ahead to Warp
8.6. The .3 increase in speed didn't impress the enemy, however. They were
warships and warships could almost always outrun cargo freighters. They
continued to slam torpedoes against the freighter's shields and Loris
continued to report the corresponding decrease in shield strength.
Faith. Szymon had said faith was how his hand was healed and faith would
save the ship. Faith in what? Bashir had lost his faith a long time ago.
He'd told Riker the only one he could trust was himself but even that had
been proven wrong when Deyos ordered the breaking of his hand. He could not
even control himself. How then could he have trust in himself?
In others then? He could no more trust them than himself. The Federation?
The Federation included Section 31. The Christian God? He wasn't ready to
believe that such a thing existed. Szymon and his kind? He wasn't yet sure
what they were, and if he didn't believe in God, he had a hard time
believing in angels or ghosts. And yet, Captain Sisko had had visions of
the Prophets. Visions though. Visions couldn't touch a person.
There was a terrible concussion that rang in his ears and he was thrown to
the deck. "We've lost forward shields," Loris reported, as she picked
herself up and worked her console. "We've got nothing else to sacrifice at
this point."
*Except my doubts*, Bashir thought. Klaxons were blaring, red lights
flashed on and off, and the deck continued to pitch with each new hit. He
used the edge of the console to pull himself up. The engines were holding
at warp 8.6. By his own estimates, they would reach the edge of the D'Nexi
Lines in two hours. They just had to remain in one piece.
"Is there any power allocated to communications?" he asked. "We can do
without that."
"Hard to port!" Riker exclaimed and Bashir obeyed without waiting for an
explanation. "You were right about this headset."
Riker's head would be pounding by now. "Let me know when I can get us back
on course," Bashir said.
"Starboard!" Riker replied. "They're all around us like a swarm of bees."
"I don't suppose we can just stay on course and see if they flinch first,"
Oripic suggested.
"Cardassians maybe," Bashir told her. "But not Jem'Hadar, unless they've
got a changeling on board."
Another explosion caused consoles and displays to spark on the bridge,
though, thankfully, the helm remained functional.
"Won't matter now," Riker said. He took off the headset and threw it to
the floor. "Sensors are gone."
They were flying blind. The phrase 'blind faith' sprang to Bashir's mind.
It seemed appropriate to the circumstances. Maybe he didn't need to think
so hard, or so big. Maybe all he had to have faith in was the challenge set
before him. *Believe,* Szymon had said, *or they will all die.* And Bashir
realized something: Faith was a choice.
He didn't want to die, and he didn't want all the other prisoners to die.
So he would choose to believe. They were going to make it.
"Find me every ounce of energy you can, Mr. Loris," he said. "We're not
done with this yet."
"With no sensors?" she asked, letting her own doubt win.
"We know what's out there," Bashir answered. "They haven't rammed us yet.
Maybe they do have Founders on board. We're going to keep running until we
reach the Federation fleet."
She nodded crisply. "Aye, sir."
With each new hit against the aft shields or hull plating, Bashir chose
faith again. He kept telling himself they would make it. He could tell
when the aft shielding fell by the intensity of the jolt that pushed him
forward into the helm. Loris and Riker didn't say anything but worked to
reroute whatever power remained from the shields to the engines. Bashir
pushed her up to warp 8.8.
Then he had an idea. He checked their position against the starcharts and
dropped to warp 7, hoping none of the ships chasing them were right behind
them. When the freighter didn't explode, he dropped out of warp altogether.
As soon as the ship settled into impulse, he plotted a new course
thirty-five degrees to starboard and went again to warp.
For four minutes, not a single shot fell on the ship. "Whatever you did,"
Riker said, during the lull, "I like it."
"I just bought us some time," Bashir replied, relaxing for the first time
since before Formenos had been brought aboard. He wondered why they hadn't
found her, but he had an idea where she might have gone. "They'll be back.
So what will we name her?"
"If she doesn't get--" Loris started.
"She won't," Bashir interrupted. "Go on."
"Maybe 'Freedom'," she suggested.
"'Freedom' sounds good to me," Riker agreed. They both sat on the floor in
front of the darkened tactical station.
"*Freedom* it is then," Bashir said.
And just like that, the moment was over. A jolt shook the bridge and he
was pushed hard into the helm again. He knew he couldn't trick them for
long. Their long-range sensors would have picked *Freedom* up again
instantly. He set his course back to the D'Nexi Lines. The previous change
had gained them four minutes of quiet, but it had added light-years to their
course. It would still take nearly two hours to reach the fleet he hoped
was still there.
Another hit and Bashir lost helm control. He could feel the ship slow to
impulse. Then it stopped completely. "I've lost the helm," he told the
others. "The engines are down."
But strangely the firing stopped. "Sensors?" Bashir asked and Riker
jumped up to reroute the power that had been allocated to the engines.
"They're weak," he reported. "Three ships approaching within one hundred
meters. I can't make out their configurations."
"Why aren't they trying to board us?" Loris asked, looking over his
shoulder.
"Life support is down almost everywhere but the Bridge and cargo hold,"
Riker explained. "I'm sure even Jem'Hadar need air to breathe."
"The hold's too crowded," Bashir said, thankful for their numbers.
"Anybody would have to be insane to try and beam into the middle of six
thousand people and expect to take over."
"There's Engineering," Oripic pointed out.
"They're armed down there," Riker countered. "They can fight there as well
as we can here."
Loris nodded and put her attention back to the sensor readings. She
slapped the console a few times as it dimmed. "We lost the sensors again,"
she complained. "But I saw something just before that. Life support has
been reintialized on every deck."
"Maybe they *are* going to board," Riker concluded.
Bashir turned so he could sit and lean back on the helm columns. He rubbed
his hands over his face and wondered what he supposed to believe now. The
odds were against them, but he was supposed to believe they would still make
it. Maybe the armed prisoners could fight off the boarders and the
engineers could find some way to get *Freedom* moving again before the next
round of boarders.
And maybe the Federation fleet had won at D'Nexi, which prompted the
liquidation of the camp and the convoy headed deeper into Dominion space.
Maybe the Federation was chasing the convoy. Maybe *Freedom* was closer
than they thought.
"Can you get us a feed to the cargo hold?" he asked.
Riker knelt in front of the communications console and reconnected the
cables he'd pulled apart before. Instantly, the console came to life and
began beeping. He stood and examined the readings there. "That's sporting
of them," he commented. "Someone's hailing. Signal's weak, though. I
can't say who is calling and I don't think we could answer if we tried."
"What about the hold?" Bashir repeated. "If most of our people are down
there, so are most of our weapons."
Riker shrugged. "You think anybody down there knows Morse Code?"
Jordan heard the tapping and quietly left the circle. The large screen on
the forward wall had come on but there was no picture. The tapping, though,
was coming from there.
He ended up standing next to k'Ruhn. "You know Morse Code?" the Kesselian
asked him.
Jordan shook his head, but Festino spoke from the other side of k'Ruhn.
"...Weapons to take positions," he said, reading the dots and dashes in the
taps. He turned to face them. "We're being boarded."
"Then let's do what it says," Jordan said. He pushed through the crowd to
stand under the screen. The hold had quieted down when the ship stopped,
so they had no trouble hearing him now. "Pass all weapons to the front!" he
shouted. "We need to fight for this ship! We are being boarded!"
Many of those in the front were already armed and they came out to stand by
Jordan. The others further back either pushed to the front or passed their
weapons forward to someone further up. There had been approximately one
hundred and fifty Jem'Hadar on the ship, each armed with at least a rifle
and handgun. Some had also carried knives. That meant about three hundred
armed prisoners. When about fifty had gathered at the front, he took them
into the cargo lift, leaving Festino and k'Ruhn to gather more. Jordan
would take his fifty to fan out on Deck A. Festino and k'Ruhn would follow
on B and C Decks.
The lift opened on A and Jordan led his group out. They split into groups
of five and spread themselves out. He ended up near an intersection where
he could see the entrance to the bridge and Kerry's group beyond that.
They didn't have to wait long. Five shapes glittered into existence ten
meters aft of Jordan's position. "Behind us," he ordered as he ran back
there.
They each took aim on one of the materializing figures, but lowered their
weapons when the saw who had boarded their ship.
"Jordan?" Captain Sisko said, obviously surprised.
"I'm not as dead as you think I am," Jordan replied, smiling broadly. "It
is very good to see you again, sir. You are an answer to prayer!"
"You know this man?" the balding captain next to Sisko said.
"Sorry," Sisko apologized. "Lieutenant Jordan, this is Captain Picard,
Commander Data, and Doctor Crusher of the *Enterprise*."
Jordan shook hands with each of them. Data was not overly tall but very
pale with gold eyes. Crusher had red hair and a friendly face. Then he
turned to the short, dark-headed Trill lieutenant beside Sisko. "I'm Ezri
Dax," she said, and Jordan paused.
"Ezri?" he asked, not extending his hand. Dax was a tall, confidant
science officer. "What happened to Jadzia?"
Ezri offered him a gentle smile. "She died nearly a year ago. I'm Dax's
new host. I'm sure this is quite a shock, but we'll need to discuss it some
other time."
"We scanned this ship," Picard said. "You have over six thousand on board.
No Jem'Hadar or Vorta?"
Ezri was right. Jadzia would have to wait. "We took the ship," Jordan
said with pride. "There are no Dominion personnel on board anymore."
"Are you in charge then?" Data asked.
Jordan grinned. "No, sir," he said. "I think you need to speak to our
captain. Myers can take the doctor to the wounded. We could certainly use
her help."
Picard nodded and Myers led Crusher aft. "Is anyone else beaming aboard?"
Jordan asked, hoping he could tell the others to stand down.
"Not at this time," Sisko replied.
Holman obviously had similar thoughts. "I'll let the others know," she
volunteered.
Jordan let her go and led other four to the Bridge. "It's Jordan!" he
called as the door began to open. It was good that he had, because at least
three of the people on the Bridge were armed and their weapons were being
lowered by the time the doorway fully opened.
"It's Jordan!" came the voice from the corridor and Riker motioned that the
others should lower their weapons. Bashir had kept up the silent mantra as
he stood behind Riker on the now useless Bridge. He let himself sigh when
he heard Jordan's voice but kept up the mantra in his head. He didn't want
his doubt to win out and cost them all their lives.
But when the door opened, he let the mantra go. It had worked.
"Number One!" Captain Picard exclaimed as he stepped through the door. "I
should have known you'd be in charge here."
"I'm not," Riker replied and turned to the side. "He is." He held his
hand toward Bashir, who felt a little out of rank.
Behind Picard was a familiar face. One he had once looked up to, and
recently looked down upon. Now it attempted to fill him pride even as it
regarded him warily "Well," Bashir said, "you have good timing. I'll give
you that."
He was puzzled by his own feelings at seeing Captain Sisko. When Sisko had
met him at the airlock on DS Nine, Bashir had felt like the deck under his
feet had flipped upside down. But now, on this battered cargo freighter, it
felt solid. Sisko had come, and they would survive.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Sisko replied. "One more hit might have
done you in." He stepped out of the way and Ezri and Data appeared behind
him.
Ezri didn't look as happy to see him as he felt seeing her. She looked
worried. And maybe a little disgusted. "Are you alright, Julian?" she
asked, and Bashir remembered his clothes were covered in blood and grime.
"I haven't been," he admitted, "but I feel much better now." He forgot
about his filthy clothes and embraced what he was feeling. "Welcome to the
Federation ship *Freedom*," he said, knowing that he meant it.
Epilogue
Bashir welcomed Data on board as well and thanked Picard for offering to
tractor the *Freedom* back to Starbase 186. But otherwise he left them with
Riker to coordinate the transfer of wounded to the surrounding Federation
and Romulan ships. "How many?" he asked Captain Sisko when they found a
moment of quiet.
"The main body of the fleet dispersed," Sisko told him. "Only two hundred
six stayed with us to chase the Dominion back."
"Then it was lucky for you we happened along," Bashir said. "There were
three hundred in the convoy when we turned this ship around. Only fifty or
so broke off to chase us."
Sisko smirked at that, then he blew out his breath. "I still don't
understand how this ship is still in one piece."
Bashir knew, but he still didn't quite understand. He looked for Ezri and
found her talking with Jordan. "Captain," he said, turning back to Sisko,
"would you walk with me?"
Sisko seemed unsure but nodded. Bashir led the way but stopped just before
the door. "Oh, you have the Bridge, Mr. Riker."
Riker looked up and waved with a smile. "Aye, Captain."
"I thought you had resigned," Sisko said as they stepped into the corridor.
"Commander Riker thought I was safer in uniform than out," Bashir admitted.
"Besides, I've been thinking I might like to stay in Starfleet a bit
longer."
They passed the corridor where Crusher and several nurses were tending the
remaining wounded. She was busy with her work and paid the two captains no
attention. Bashir was finding it rather enjoyable being captain of his own
ship, even if only for a day. But he really wanted to get back to doing
what she was doing.
"A transfer then?" Sisko asked.
Bashir shook his head as they walked to the next door and stopped. "I
don't think I'll need one," he answered. He touched the panel beside the
door. It opened and he faced his own failure once again. He stepped aside
so Sisko could see and took a deep breath. "I killed them," he said
finally. "I could only think of one thing: no more pain. They were
causing me pain, or threatening it, so I killed them."
"I don't understand," Sisko said stepping back so the door would close. He
turned to face Bashir. "But I'm glad they're dead and not you."
Bashir watched his face, his eyes, to see if that was true. "Was the
*Defiant* ordered to D'Nexi?" he asked.
"No," Sisko replied, shaking his head. "We were ordered to find the
*Dnieper*, Riker's runabout. We found it with your clothes aboard. We came
to D'Nexi looking for you. We just happened to run into a battle."
Bashir could find no trace of insincerity in his eyes. Sisko really had
taken the *Defiant* into the battle to find him.
"I told the senior staff," Sisko went on. "Except for Odo. You can talk
to Ezri now."
Bashir had mixed feelings about that. A weight lifted off his shoulders
just knowing he didn't have to hide Sisko's secret anymore, but now Ezri and
the others were accessories like him. "What you did," he said, "is still
wrong, but so is this. They were the enemy but that wasn't a battle. I
could have taken a rifle from the first one to fall. But I wanted to use
the knife. I wanted them to bleed and hurt like they'd hurt me. But more
than anything, I just wanted them to stop hurting me."
He took another breath and Sisko waited for him to continue. "I can
understand why you may have done what you did. Anyway, you asked how we
managed," he told his captain. "They broke my hand in that room. Then a
dead man healed it and said I had to believe or we'd all die."
Sisko dropped his eyebrows at that ludicrous explanation and Bashir wanted
to laugh with him. But Sisko didn't laugh. "You almost did anyway" he said
instead.
Bashir nodded. "Except that you showed up with such impeccable timing. So
you see, Captain, you managed it after all. You restored my faith."
Sisko was quiet for a moment. Then he let out his own breath and relaxed
his shoulders. "Let's go home then. You can get cleaned up on the
*Defiant*."
Bashir smiled and let the dream of a shower and a soft bunk wash through
him for a minute. He was suddenly very tired and quite hungry. But he
started back for the Bridge. "No, thank you, sir," he said, smiling through
a yawn. "This is my ship and I'll see her home. Besides, I dare say it
will be quite awhile before I captain a ship again."
Sisko smiled too and clapped a hand gently on his shoulder. "Maybe not as
long as you think."
"Eline?"
Her eyes shifted but they couldn't see, not even the blurry shapes they had
made out before. It was Pfenner's voice though, and she wondered if she had
died, too. She felt no pain, so that fit her theory, but she wondered why
she could hear and not see.
"Eline, it's Wilhelm. Try not to move to much. We're going to help you."
Help? Move? Maybe she wasn't dead after all. She flexed the fingers of
her right hand experimentally. Pain shot through her fingers and sped up
her arm. Without meaning to, she let out a cry. She heard a slight splash
and felt a hand on her arm. Maybe Bashir had returned. "I think I'm
delirious," she told him.
"No," Pfenner's voice replied. "Try this."
Cool, soft liquid dripped onto her right eye and then her left. She wanted
to blink but she could not get her eyes to close. After a few seconds,
though, her vision began to clear. She saw a ceiling and Pfenner's face
above her. The ceiling was fuzzy to her eyes, but Pfenner was clear enough
though the room they were in was not well-lit. She looked down and saw her
own body covered in a milky liquid.
"It dulls the pain," Pfenner said "and keeps you from infection. Lie still
and let it soothe you." It was already doing that. Her hands didn't burn
if she didn't move them. "You see? You're going to be fine."
Then there was another voice, "Ah, I see our patient has woken up." A
woman's voice, one Formenos thought she had heard before. A dark head
appeared opposite Pfenner's.
"Dayton!" Formenos whispered in her surprise.
"How nice of you to remember me," Dayton said. "Eline, would you like to
have a face again?
The End
copyright 2004 Gabrielle Lawson