REP: DS9 Faith, Part III: Peace 6/8 [PG-13] B
Philippe de la Matraque
Author: Gabrielle Lawson
Contact: inhe...@earthlink.net
Series: DS9
Rating: PG-13
Codes: B
Part: 6/8
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 Sixteen
Eline Formenos had sighed when she joined the ranks at the roll call. So
far, her borrowed uniform and shaved head were allowing her to blend in with
the men. Not even the Jem'Hadar noticed when they counted. Seven times
they past her. And somehow the numbers must have come up right.
But she hadn't known about the lottery. And she hadn't known she'd be
watching Bormann die. She tried hard to keep from crying, worried that her
tears would give her away. She was surprised at how calm everyone seemed.
Had they all lost their tongues as Simmons had? Is that why they didn't cry
out in protest? No, that couldn't be it. Those who were dying cried out in
their agony.
On and on it went. Fifteen dead, three at a time, and fifteen more chosen
to carry them. Bashir went with them and the roll call ranks broke.
Formenos pushed through the crowds until she saw Simmons. Then she followed
him to a barrack building much like the ones in the women's camp that she'd
spent her first night in.
Only this one was much more crowded. The had to be at least two hundred
men, she thought. She pushed through them hoping to spot a familiar face in
the sea of faces around her. She eventually found herself in the back
corner, where at least people were sitting down, making it easier for her to
see everyone.
"Commander!" she said as soon as she saw him. And that was when the walls
shook from the explosion. She, alone, was not surprised and used the
confusion to make her way over to Riker. "Commander," she said again.
This time, he heard her.
Bashir broke the woman's neck, not even bothering to think how easy it had
become to do so. The dead no longer cared for dignity, so he undressed her
without thought, and he tipped up the table without feeling. Bormann was
next.
Bormann did not look like that other believer. He looked no different than
any of the corpses Bashir had burned in these past weeks--or was it only
days? He couldn't remember.
Bashir dropped Bormann's body onto the table and began to remove his
clothes. He had just removed the blood-soaked shirt when the table and
walls shook violently. Sirens began to blare and Bashir remembered reading
that the prisoners had managed to destroy one of the crematoria before the
end of the war. No, that wasn't right either. He was in the crematorium,
and it was still standing.
The door burst open. "Leave it. Return to your barracks," the kapo
ordered. Bashir did as he was ordered and stepped out into chaos. Under
the blaring sirens he could make out voices cheering. He looked up and saw
a bright flare in the night sky and a blaze on the hill below it. The plant
had just exploded.
"Captain," Data said, breaking through the tension on the Bridge.
Picard kept his eyes on the foreward viewscreen. Still, he knew Data
wouldn't interrupt if it wasn't important. "What is it, Mr. Data? Daniels,
the second ship on the left. The Breen."
"I see it, sir," Daniel's replied behind him. A second later, the
*Enterprise* had sent out three torpedoes. Two hit their mark and the Breen
ship cracked like an egg.
"I have been using a fraction of my processor to scan for evidence of the
Away Team," Data answered.
Had anyone else said something like that, Picard would have had a fit. The
battle had lasted for thirty hours thus far. Everyone was exhausted, but
there were no shifts to spare. The battle required everyone to give
everything they had if they wanted *Enterprise* to stay in one piece. Data,
though, was a machine, and Picard had seen many times over the years when
Data's ability to process information at astounding speeds had benefited the
ship. Even when he used his processor to multi-task. "Have you found
anything?"
"I have not found the Away Team, Captain," Data replied. "But I am
registering an explosion. Correction, three explosions."
"There are a lot of explosions going on, Data," Troi reminded him. "Why are
these significant?"
Data didn't hesitate to answer. "They are well behind the line of
engagement. One took place on a moon in orbit of the fourth planet in the
Quarron system. Another explosion occurred two thousand kilometers outside
that moon's atmosphere. There was a smaller, secondary explosion in the
debris field."
"Quarron?" Troi said, then after a moment she must have made a connection.
"Mtingwa!" she exclaimed. "She was the escaped prisoner the *Potemkin*
picked up. She said she'd been interned on Quarron IV."
"Cardassians on our tail, Captain," Daniels interrupted. "Four of them."
"Auxilliary power to aft shields," Picard ordered as the first shot hit and
nearly bucked him out of his seat. "Helm, evasive maneuvers. Damage
report!"
Riker was surprised to see Formenos kneeling beside him, beckoning him and
the others to follow her. Riker stood and they pushed their way through the
crowd back toward the door. Once there she knelt and leaned against the
wall with Garulos and Simmons on either side of her.
"I don't have much time, but I had to find you," she whispered. "He wasn't
a traitor. Pfenner only helped them to try and keep any more pilots from
dying in the experiments."
Riker was glad to hear that, but he was still surprised to see her there.
"How did you get here?" Riker asked.
Formenos shook her head. "That's not important. I can't go back to the
plant and I can't go to the woman's camp. I'm rather hoping *they* will get
you out of here now that the mission is finished. I guess I'll try and make
a run for it."
"You can't get far," Riker whispered back.
"It won't matter," she said. "Icarin gas is poisonous. I don't have long
anyway. Maybe I can die free though."
Riker didn't want to lose her, not when he'd already lost Bormann. "But if
*they* do come for us, they can give you the antedote."
"Then they'll have to find me," she argued. "I can't stay here. I have a
number, remember? One assigned to the plant. I was singled out by Pfenner,
privileged. Pfenner died in that explosion. It won't take them long to
suspect me. I don't want to draw them to you."
She stood up then, and Riker could see her decision was made. As much as
he didn't want to admit it, she was right. But there still had to be a
way.
"I want to tell you it's been an honor, sir," she said. "If you get out of
here tell my family. . . ."
She didn't get a chance to finish. The door began to raise and Riker could
see the boots on the other side. A wave of silence flowed over the barracks
from the door to the back wall. Riker turned back to Formenos, his mind
racing to find a way to hide her. Simmons reached over and took her face in
his hands. By the time the door was raised he was kissing her full on the
lips, and she was embracing him.
"Touching," Deyos said as he stepped out from behind the Jem'Hadar, "but it
really wasn't very smart to come here."
Simmons and Formenos finished their kiss, but still held each others hands.
There were tears in her eyes, but her voice was strong. "I had to say
goodbye. I don't expect you to understand."
Deyos huffed at that. "Take her." Two Jem'Hadar stepped forward to take
her arms, but she wiped at her tears and stood on her own. "And shoot the
other one."
The response was immedient. One of the Jem'Hadar fired and Simmons froze.
For one brief second his face was locked in pain. And then he was gone.
"No!" Formenos shouted, as she struggled against her guards.
Deyos remained calm. "Everyone else, outside. There will be another roll
call this evening."
Bashir returned to his barracks in time to see Deyos escorting someone else
out. He couldn't see who he was though. The rest of the prisoners began to
flow out, and Jordan found him. "Another roll call," he whispered, pulling
Bashir along with the crowd. As they lined up, Bashir took his customary
place in the front, but this time, the Jem'Hadar pushed to keep him in the
first rank, not up by the hooks.
"It seems our count this evening," Deyos announced, "was inaccurate. So
we'll have to count again. All those who were assigned to the plant should
line up in front for reassignment." He turned to look at a prisoner held
between two kapos. "You may all thank the emminent Doctor Formenos for
destroying your workplace."
Now he recognized the prisoner. Formenos. He remembered the napkin, his
dark visitor in the night. But he still didn't understand why Deyos called
her a doctor.
The ranks changed and shuffled, aided by the proddings of the kapos until
Deyos was satisfied with their arrangement. Bashir, for once, found himself
well back in ranks with the rest of the prisoners behind the plant workers.
He felt a slight twinge of relief. He could more easily blend in here.
Deyos left the area with the Jem'Hadar who had Formenos and the counting
began.
It went on so long that Bashir could no longer feel his legs or understand
the numbers the kapos called out. But he recognized them. *Funfsehn.
Swansig. Funf-und-swansig.* At least twenty prisoners had collapsed
somewhere behind him.
Two hours later Deyos emerged once more. Formenos was not with him. "I
trust the count is accurate this time." A kapo stepped up and saluted
before handing him a PADD. Deyos looked it over and nodded. "Good.
Seventy-four need reassignment." He handed the PADD back. "They can be
reassigned to the crematorium. Slit their throats. Bring Riker and Bashir
to me."
Bashir risked a glance at Riker, but Riker didn't notice. He was pale in
the moonlight. Schlachter stayed behind, smiling at the chance to deal with
the plant prisoners. Two others escorted he and Riker away. As they passed
the lines of condemned, three prisoners slumped to their knees, spewing
blood from their necks. Three more followed as the first three fell to the
ground. He and Riker were led past them behind the execution building to
another compound of more modern buildings.
Jordan felt sick. Bormann's salvation and then the explosion of the plant
had filled him with a burst of joy that was rapidly superceded by a rising
panic. This couldn't be good for the camp. For the war, yes. For the
Federation, yes. But not for the camp. And though he was prepared to die
for the war, for the Federation, he presently had to live in the camp.
Fifteen, Bormann included, had died in the lottery. Simmons was killed in
the barracks and now seventy-four more were dying in a roll call that could
last all night, guaranteeing at least a few more deaths before morning.
Some of the plant workers were his brothers in faith. Some were sisters.
All were dying and none could cry out in their fear or pain. None could
tell them what went on in that plant and why it had to be destroyed. Why
they had to be punished for its destruction. *"God works all things for the
good,"* he told himself, reciting a scripture he held onto with all his
heart. *"God works all things for the good." Even bad things. We can only
see a part. He sees the whole picture. There is reason in this even when we
can't see it. There is reason.* Still he felt sick. His stomach lurched
with each *swick* of the knife against a throat.
Two years he'd been a prisoner, and though it had been horrible, it had
eventually taken on a certain routine. It became something he could deal
with, as ridiculous as that sounded. It even had its few pleasant things,
like the Bible studies and the true brotherhood he felt with the other
believers. He would miss that if they were ever released. This was not
part of the routine. It began with the stoning and that began with Bashir.
V'dara had taken her share of punishment for being one of the Five. But she
had been part of the routine. Deyos had disrupted that routine ever since
Bashir's arrival. Had it only been three days?
Jordan didn't blame Bashir. Bashir didn't choose this or cause it. Deyos
did. Bashir was just a catalyst. Jordan didn't even blame Formenos. She
was a war hero now. And her fate was probably no more pleasant than the
rest of the plant workers. Worse, more likely.
Somehow, Jordan got the feeling that all this was going to end. It just
seemed impossible to him that this situation could continue to spiral as it
had. Something was coming, good or bad, to end this camp. Death or
liberty. Either was preferrable to this. *"To live is Christ and to die is
gain." Paul wrote that once. I think it was Paul.*
"Wait here," Deyos told Riker, and the kapos pushed Riker into a room to
the right. Two stayed with him, while another two took up positions to
either side of Bashir. Deyos led them to another room and Bashir's breath
caught in his throat. He stepped back, bumping into the wall beside the
door. What he saw before him was more hideous than anything he'd seen
before in his life. Formenos. And she had no face.
"Miss Formenos has been less than cooperative and is presently wishing she
would die," Deyos announced without even a hint of emotion in his voice.
"That, however, is why you are here. You are to keep her alive. You'll be
given anything you need to do just that. Just that and no more." He turned
now and pinned Bashir with his gaze. "Is that understood? If I find you
have been coddling her, it's your face I'll take."
Deyos stepped out of the way, so that now Bashir could see Formenos again.
The shock was wearing off and he was beginning to see that she was alive.
Her eyes, with no lids, turned to him. *Her eyes will dry out,* he thought.
And then his mind started to clear. Dried eyes and corneal ulcers were the
least of her problems. She'd dehydrate. She'd catch an infection. She
would die of shock before any of those others had time to happen.
"Take a few moments," Deyos said. "Step forward. You're a doctor. Assess
her condition and tell the Jem'Hadar what you need." Deyos handed him a PADD
and left.
The kapo never left the room, but Bashir did his best to ignore him. He
touched Formenos's arm gently as he looked her over. She was strapped,
naked, to a table by her wrists and ankles. The head strap was, thankfully,
not engaged. He checked her breathing first. Her airway was clear. Her
breathing came in quick ragged bursts. A sign of pain more than pneumatic
injury. Her fingers were clenched into tight fists, and she flinched when
he reached for her neck. Her pulse was too fast, possibly indicating shock.
He'd need cordrazine and something to check the oxygen level and blood
pressure. He suggested a tricorder on the list, but was almost positive
they wouldn't give him one of those. There was, of course, a lot of blood,
from her hands and from her head, but no arterial lacerations. She wouldn't
bleed to death quickly, but she would still need blood. He ordered
O-negative and a saline drip to combat dehydration.
He found the rest of her body to be free of major injuries. There was
bruising on her torso, legs, and arms, but no other lacerations, no broken
bones, and no sign of internal bleeding. Her face was the priority, the
wound that could kill her soul if not her body. Mutilation of a person's
face was perhaps the most horrific kind of torture. So much of one's
identity was in the face. It was psychological hurt as much as a physical
one. With proper care, she might be able to have a face again, but she
would never forget what had been done to her original one.
The skin of her face had been removed very precisely, from the crown of her
head to just under her chin, leaving most of her muscles intact. She still
had lips and most of her nose, but her eyelids were missing. Surrounded by
the orbicularis oculi muscles, her intact eyes were left with some ability
of expression. Pain, they told him, and a plea for help. Under normal
circumstances, he would perscribe something for her pain, but Deyos had said
he couldn't coddle her, and he was sure lowering her pain levels would be
considered coddling.
Her eyes themselves looked unnaturally wide open, but she could move them
to turn her gaze. She could not blink, however, and salty tears fell down
the sides of her face, burning the exposed flesh there.
The room, like the whole camp, was dusty and certainly not sterile. With
this much exposed flesh, she was highly susceptible to infection. Her
wounds needed to be washed and she'd need an antiseptic. There was
something else, too, though, without a tricorder or a laboratory, he could
not quite make out what it was. Blood poisoning, he would guess, but
without knowing the poison, he could not order an antedote. He wanted to do
more for her, but he didn't doubt Deyos would do what he said. Or worse.
The only thing Deyos wouldn't do was kill him. Bashir was an example.
Heiler had done the same, for different reasons. Bashir squeezed Formenos's
arm gently, and then began to write what medicines and tools he'd need on
the PADD. He also wrote down a blanket. She needed to be kept warm if they
didn't want her to die of shock. As a last thought, he added eye drops for
her eyes, not knowing if Deyos would count preventing blindness as coddling.
Riker stood still, facing the table. There were straps for wrists and
feet, even one for a head. He wondered now what they had done to Formenos,
what they were going to do to Bashir. He tried not to think about what they
were going to do to him. *Garulos,* he thought, *I hope you give them the
same story. Simmons gave it to us. They were lovers. She just came to say
goodbye.* Simmons, at least, had died quickly. He would have died anyway,
with the other plant workers. Being shot, he didn't have to suffer long.
The door opened and Riker turned to face it. Deyos arrived alone.
"Formenos is your crewman," he stated, leaving the door opened. "Correct?"
Riker saw no reason to lie about that one. They were captured together.
"Yes."
"As was Simmons."
"Yes."
"And in a matter of days after your arrival here," Deyos said, stepping
further in, "she destroyed the plant." The door closed behind him, and his
voice rose in volume. "And yet you would have me believe you were all on
leave?"
Riker stood as still as possible, and tried to not let his fear show.
"Yes."
"How did she manage to do it so quickly unless it was planned?"
"How could it be planned," Riker risked asking a question in return, "if we
didn't plan to get captured, we don't know where it is we've been interned,
nor what was going on at the plant because you had all the workers' tongues
cut out?"
To Riker's surprise, Deyos actually seemed to be thinking about that. He
paused and didn't move except to frown.
The door opened again and another Jem'Hadar stepped in. He moved between
Deyos and Riker and spoke quietly. Riker couldn't hear what he was saying,
but he heard Deyos. "Bring her here."
Her? Would they bring Formenos in? Riker found himself divided. He
wanted to see her, to know she was okay, but he also hoped it was not her,
so he wouldn't have to see what they were doing to her. Would they make him
watch?
The Jem'Hadar nodded abruptly and stepped out. Only a few seconds later he
came in again, this time with two other Jem'Hadar and a human woman dressed
in black. Riker recognized her, though he tried hard not to show it.
Dayton.
Deyos forced her head up with his hand under her chin. "Do you know this
woman?"
Riker shook his head even before he answered. "No. Should I?"
Deyos faced the woman. "Do you know him?"
She crossed her arms and took her time looking at Riker's face. "No, I
don't think we've ever met. He's kind of dirty, but he looks a little
familiar. One of the *Enterprise* senior staff, I believe. Data--no, he's
the android. He's certainly not Captain Picard." She switched her focus to
Deyos. "Picard is bald," she explained. "So he must be Riker. Yes,
Commander William Thomas Riker."
"So you do know him?"
She shook her head. "No. I know *of* him. The *Enterprise* is the
flagship of the Federation. Everyone knows *of* her senior staff. Would
you like me to name the others?"
Deyos was getting frustrated. He put his hands together behind his back,
but his shoulders were raised and taut, where Dayton's were loose and
relaxed.
"Who are you?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" she said, smiling as if she were the
interrogator and he the prisoner.
Deyos smacked her hard across the face. She would have fallen if the
Jem'Hadar were not holding her by the arms. She straightend up again, still
smiling, and laughing softly.
"Take her to the next room and secure her!" Deyos shouted, and she was
taken away.
Riker had to give her credit. She had shortened the dual-interview, where
one of them might eventually have slipped and admitted he or she knew the
other. He hoped she could stay as brave when they began to torture her.
Yes, torture. Because that's what the table was for. He knew it. And he
knew his turn had come.
Garulos shivered as he stood in the ranks. The counting was over and the
plant workers were dead. But still they stood. He wasn't cold, but he found
he couldn't keep his legs from shaking. Bormann was dead. Simmons was
dead. Formenos, Riker, and Bashir had been taken. Why hadn't they taken
him? He was the only other member of the runabout's crew. Bashir wasn't
even part of the crew, really. He was more of a last minute addition. He
didn't really know much about their mission, and he probably wasn't sane
enough to tell them anything useful right now anyway.
Garulos had been watching him. He didn't need as much sleep as the humans.
Five hours was enough, and that was intermittent. It was normal for him to
wake up four or five times through the night. But every night when he went
to sleep, Bashir was still awake. And he was awake any time Garulos woke
up. Bashir would be lying down or sitting, but almost always wide-eyed,
like he was seeing something no one else saw. Sometimes, he'd sit up and
quickly draw his legs into his chest. He'd stare at the wall or the floor,
and occasionally it looked like he was watching someone walk the length of
the barracks. Garulos wondered what he was seeing. He'd heard a little
about the Holocaust from Earth history. Just a mention here and there in
his classes at the Academy. He knew the name Auschwitz, that it was the
largest killing center of that time. Earth had once been a very violent
place. The thought that this people, humans, proponents of peace and unity
and cooperation, had once tried to exterminate different sects within
themselves had seemed so incongruous that Garulos had rather put it out of
his mind.
But Commander Riker had said Bashir had been there. And Jordan had said
this place reminded him of Auschwitz. Garulos didn't remember much about
Auschwitz, but he knew he didn't want to go there. People were tortured
there, starved, worked to death, and slaughtered. Here, Garulos had seen
people starved, worked to death, and slaughtered. He hadn't seen anyone
tortured. Yet. But that was most likely what was happening to Formenos,
Riker, and Bashir right now. And he knew he'd be next.
What would he say? They might ask him about the plant, and the plot to
blow it up. He could say he didn't know. Formenos did it. He hated to
point the finger to her, but he couldn't think of any way to say she hadn't
done it. So she had. But she'd done it alone. They didn't have contact
with her. How could they have known? She only showed up this evening to
say goodbye to her lover, Simmons. In truth, he hadn't even known if they
were infatuated with one another, but Simmons had kissed her for a reason.
And that was most likely to give her an alibi, a reason to be there that
night that didn't include telling them their mission was complete. Because
there had to be no mission. They were on leave. Riker had said that. It
made sense for two lovers would go on leave together. So Simmons and
Formenos would be lovers. Yes, but could he continue to deny his and
Riker's involvement under pain?
His mind raced over different methods of torture, wondering what they might
be doing to Riker, Formenos, and Bashir. What they would do to him.
Fingernails. Fingernails were common. There were many nerve-endings in the
fingers. Or pummeling the soles of ones feet with a rubber truncheon. It
seemed simple enough, but it was reportedly very effective. Fire or
branding, gouging out the eyes, cutting off a limb, crucifixion. . . .
A hand on his shoulder stopped his thoughts. "Barracks," Jordan said. The
roll call had finally ended.
"I told you," Riker said, between gulping breaths of air, "I didn't know .
. . what she was . . . doing."
"And I think you are underestimating my intelligence," Deyos retorted.
Riker barely heard the rest as Deyos thumbed the keypad again. "She came
here with you. Three days after she was assigned to the plant, it exploded.
You are her commanding officer. She wouldn't take such a bold move without
your approval."
The electric shock dissolved, but the pain lingered. "She would . . .," he
choked out, ". . . if she had no contact with me . . . and she thought the
situation dire enough. . . . Until tonight, I hadn't seen her since you
separated her from the rest of us."
"Not so totally separated," Deyos argued. "You had Simmons at the plant."
Thankfully, there was no shock time. "You cut his tongue out," Riker
replied. "He couldn't even tell us what color the walls were."
The electricity coursed through his body again, and Riker felt himself
scream. It stopped and Deyos spoke, "You humans can communicate without
words."
"Then why cut their tongues out?" Riker asked. Turning the table, so to
speak, had worked with Deyos in the past.
Deyos didn't answer but thumbed the pad instead. When he released it and
Riker stopped screaming, he spoke, "He was seen talking with Formenos."
How did he know that? Riker wondered. "Was he talking to her or was she
talking to him?"
"They were conspiring regardless of who was talking to whom," Deyos said,
but Riker heard a little disappointment in his voice.
Riker knew it was dangerous, but he couldn't keep the anger out of his
tone. "Maybe you should have asked Simmons before you killed him."
The shock was instant for that one. Riker rode it as best he could. He
vaguely wondered if anyone had heard him screaming. He didn't, but he could
feel it. Finally it stopped. He took in a long shaky breath. "They were
lovers. It makes sense she'd go to him."
"I tire of this," Deyos said. "What was your mission?"
"We were on shore leave," Riker repeated, and then braced himself for the
next wave. Deyos didn't disappoint.
"I could still put you on a hook," Deyos threatened once he'd stopped the
current.
"Wouldn't change my story," Riker insisted, "because I'm already telling
the truth."
Deyos turned away and stepped toward the door, which opened. Riker hoped
it meant he was done, but he doubted it. "Bring Garulos," Deyos told
someone there. Riker couldn't see as he was strapped to the table, but he
guessed it was a Jem'Hadar. The door closed and Deyos came back to the side
of the table. "Maybe he will tell a different story. Or maybe you will."
"He won't," Riker held, "and I won't." He hated the thought of them
torturing Garulos, but he couldn't think of a good way to exclude him.
Garulos was the only other member of the Away Team. He was part of the
*Enterprise* crew. "You can just ask Formenos, if you haven't killed her
yet."
"She proved less than cooperative," Deyos said.
"Or maybe she told you the truth, too: That she and Simmons were lovers."
"Or maybe Bashir," Deyos tried. "He seems to be popular among the other
prisoners. One of the Five, they call him. I wonder what he'd say."
"He'd say he doesn't know," Riker said. "He wasn't part of my crew. He
only joined us on leave. He'd never even met any of the others."
"He was temporarily assigned to *Enterprise*," Deyos reminded him.
"For two weeks," Riker said, deciding he didn't like where this was headed,
or the look in the Vorta's eye. "And he was under our counselor's care most
of the time. He couldn't even see when we found him."
Deyos raised one eyebrow. "We'll see."
The *Defiant* rocked from another hit. "Report!" Captain Sisko ordered.
"Aft shields at forty percent," Dax reported.
Sisko gripped the arms of his chair as the ship bucked again.
"Make that thirty-seven percent," Dax said. "Crew efficiency is even
lower."
Sisko knew what she meant. The *Defiant* was a tough ship and could handle
a prolonged battle. Her crew, however, needed sleep now and then, and most
of them had not had time to do so since leaving DS Nine. Fortunately,
adrenaline negates the fatigue in a life-or-death situation, but only for so
long.
"Captain," Colonel Kira interjected. "We're getting a scrambled message
from *Enterprise*."
Sisko kept his eyes on the forward viewer, where a Cardassian Attack
Cruiser was venting plasma and trying to evade the *Defiant*'s weapons fire.
"Keep after them, Mr. Worf. What does it say, Colonel?"
"Their long-range sensors picked up three explosions near Quarron IV," Kira
replied. "One on the planet itself, two in orbit. There are four ships
moving into that sector including one heavy cargo vessel."
"Quarron IV?" Sisko repeated.
Dax didn't wait for him to remember. "Mtingwa said she was interned
there."
The Cardassian ship exploded, sending a large chunk of hull hurtling toward
a Galaxy-class vessel off the port bow. The Galaxy had enough problems,
with four Jem'Hadar fighters. "Mr. Worf--" Sisko began.
"I see it," Worf said. The *Defiant*'s guns fired twice and the hull
fraction exploded into harmless debris.
"Let's see if we can't help her some more," Sisko suggested. "Helm, bring
us around for a pass."
"Aye, sir."
"Colonel," Sisko said, "see if you can't get Quarron IV on our sensors.
I've got a feeling we might find our doctor there."
One of the Jem'Hadar ships blew up, and another was taken out by the
Galaxy's aft phasers. "I think they can handle the other two," Sisko said.
"Let's find us another target."
"That shouldn't be a problem," Dax quipped.
Bashir waited. The Jem'Hadar had taken his list, leaving him alone in the
room with Formenos. Formenos had not tried to speak to him, and Bashir
paced. It was late and he wanted to be asleep, but sleep wouldn't come.
Sometimes he saw a man sitting in the corner watching, but he'd turn and
find the man had vanished. He tried the walls but all he saw and felt was
concrete. There was nothing to take apart. He'd gone around the room sixty
times by the time the door opened again. Two Vorta entered bringing nearly
everything he'd asked for while the Jem'Hadar kapo stood guard. Everything
except the eye drops. So Formenos would go blind. There was no point
hoping anymore. Not for her and not for him. Deyos would keep them both
alive.
The blood they brought, however, was not O-negative. It was O-positive.
Having no other way to test it, Bashir hung the bag. He turned over the
PADD and released a bit of the O-positive onto its surface. They'd given
him a syringe to draw blood and a small scanner that would tell him the
blood\oxygen level. He drew a bit from her arm and let a drop of that fall
onto the PADD and mix with the O-positive there. When it didn't coagulate,
he knew it would be safe to tranfuse her.
The Vorta allowed Bashir to insert the intravenous tubes that would feed
her blood and saline solution while they asked him what her oxygen level and
blood pressure should be to keep her alive. He told them and they quickly
ushered him out of the room. Deyos met him in the hall. "Well done," Deyos
said. "It appears your skills have not lessened. This should be just what
you'd hoped for: frontier medicine."
Bashir didn't say anything. He'd learned it was best to keep quiet from
Heiler. He kept his eyes on the floor.
Deyos just stood looking at him for a few minutes. Bashir couldn't see his
eyes, but he could feel himself being watched. Heiler had done that.
Stared at him. Finally, Deyos turned. "Come with me, Doctor," he said.
His two kapos appeared and helped Bashir to comply by taking his arms.
They stopped in front of a metal door, and Deyos slid open a window at the
top of it. "Do you know this woman?" he asked.
Schlachter pushed Bashir forward toward the glass. He kept his eyes closed
at first, not wanting to see her smiling at him with those black eyes she
liked to use. "Look!" the kapo ordered, smashing his face hard into the
window. Bashir opened his eyes after the impact, but he didn't see Heiler
there. There was a red-haired woman, dressed in black sitting against the
far wall. She looked up at him but did not smile. Her eyes were not black.
He recognized her. She was the one who had visited him in the night. "No,"
Bashir said. And it was true. He didn't know her.
"Not at all?" Deyos asked.
"She's not who I thought she was," Bashir said.
"Who did you think she was?" Deyos asked, and Schlachter roughly turned
Bashir around to face the Vorta.
"Heiler," Bashir replied, bringing a hand up to his nose. It was bleeding,
but not broken.
Deyos was watching him again with that curious expression on his face.
"Who is Heiler? Did she help you?" His voice was soft, kind, not
demanding, and not like Deyos had ever spoken before.
"No," Bashir answered. Heiler had never helped him, no matter how many
selections she'd taken him out of. "Heiler is a changeling."
"A Founder?" Deyos practically squeaked. "Here?"
The other Jem'Hadar behind him spoke up. "No ships have arrived yet.
There is no Founder here."
Bashir wondered why they hadn't seen her. "She was in the room with
Formenos."
"There was no one else in the room," the Jem'Hadar contradicted.
"Hmm." Deyos said. "Perhaps we should start again. Do you know what
caused the explosion?"
Bashir thought a moment. Formenos caused the explosion. The dark woman
had given him a napkin and Simmons gave it to Formenos. "A napkin," was all
he said.
"A napkin?" Deyos asked, his voice telling Bashir that he didn't believe
him. "Napkins do not explode."
Bashir did not bother to elaborate. The Federation was still the lesser of
the two evils in the war.
"Do you know where you are?" Deyos asked.
Bashir looked around him, noting the narrow corridors and heavy metal
doors. "The main camp, in the Death Block," he answered.
"Perhaps you really are delusional."
Bashir didn't argue. If he was delusional, perhaps they'd leave him alone.
Or kill him.
Deyos shook his head, and looked past Bashir to the Jem'Hadar. "Take him
to holding cell three." Then he turned and walked away.
"Do you know what this is?" Deyos asked, pointing to a thick wand a
Jem'Hadar was holding.
Garulos shook his head. He was kneeling, naked, on the floor in an empty
room with his hands tied behind his back.
"It's an intriguing device," Deyos said. "It can deliver a bolt of heat at
two hundred degrees Celcius. I'm told it feels a bit like a bolt of
electricity, except that it's more localized. And it burns. Would you like
to try it?"
Garulos tried to keep his breath steady and even. "Not particularly."
Deyos smiled. "Good, then all you have to do is tell us what we want to
know."
"What you want," Garulos asked, "or the truth?"
"One second, left foot," Deyos ordered.
The bolt was immediate and thankfully short. Still, it had stolen the
breath from Garulos's lungs and sent a searing pain up his entire leg.
"The truth," Deyos said, "is what we want. What was your mission?"
"There was no mission," Garulos told him, knowing it was neither what they
wanted to hear or the truth. "We were returning early from shore leave."
He waited for the order for the baton. But it didn't come.
"Why were you returning?"
Garulos answered, "I don't know."
"Four, lower spine."
The bolt threw him forward, face forward to the floor, but the baton stayed
with him, burning him with a pain that reached up into his neck and down
both legs. Then it stopped, leaving only the heat. For a moment, he
couldn't move even to relax his muscles that had flexed tight from the pain.
"I was asleep," Garulos managed to say in his defense. "I was the most
junior crewmember except Formenos. If the commander knew, he didn't tell
me."
Deyos knelt down near Garulos's head, which still rested on the floor.
"Did you conspire with Formenos to destroy the plant?"
Fearing another bolt, Garulos regardless stuck to the lie. "No."
"Did anyone in your crew?"
"Not that I know of."
"What about Bashir? He's genetically enhanced to be more intelligent than
the rest of you. Formenos is no scientist. She could not have planned this
on her own."
Garulos decided he could best deflect them from Bashir by embellishing the
truth, "Most of the time, he doesn't even now which century we are in."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
Garulos swallowed. "No."
"Two, ear."
He had nowhere to go, so the bolt drove him harder into the floor. The
whine of it was deafening, all he could see was red. Even his teeth hurt.
When it over, he still couldn't hear. He could make out that Deyos was
talking, but it was like trying to hear through mud.
He could hear his own voice sceaming when something touched his burnt ear.
There was a hand on the other side of his head, too, and it was turned so
that his good ear was no longer resting on the concrete.
"There are worse places," Deyos said. "If I promise not to order it, will
you tell me what your real mission was?"
Garulos watched him closely as he spoke, and the thought of just what those
worse places were terrified him. But still, he could not incriminate the
rest of the crew. Besides, his people had a saying: Pain is temporary.
Death is not. "We had no mission," he replied. "I've already told you."
His mind blocked out Deyos's order, but it couldn't stop him from screaming
until his throat was raw and he coughed up blood. Deyos had told the truth.
There were worse places.
The morning roll call came early. The sky was still dark, and Jordan
estimated it had been only three hours since Garulos was taken from the
barracks. No one had spoken, though the Christians had gotten together to
pray. No one spoke now. Any break in the routine was a bad sign.
There were no rations waiting for them outside. As awful as they tasted,
they were the only source of nutrition for the prisoners. When they reached
the roll call grounds, the prisoners found the seventy-four plant workers
were gone, but the blood remained on the walls and ground where the lottery
and the slaughter had taken place. Riker, then, had not returned. But,
then, neither had Garulos, and Jordan didn't figure Formenos would ever
return. A quick look over his shoulder told Jordan that Bashir had been
returned to work, but he had likely worked all night and would continue on
into the day.
Jordan sighed. Would anything be left of Bashir when the war ended and
they were released? Jordan didn't worry about himself. His faith kept him
sane. It was something the Dominion couldn't take away. Live or die, he
had it.
They stood for another three hours while the Jem'Hadar counted. It was a
subtle form of torture, Jordan knew. The Jem'Hadar weren't so inaccurate
that they needed three hours to count the collected prisoners. They just
counted and recounted to wear the prisoners down. Finally, the count was
finished, and Deyos arrived. He read the number aloud. "Six thousand, four
hundred and seventy-two. And the eighty-four dead bring the total to six
thousand, five hundred and fifty-six. Is this correct, First?"
The Jem'Hadar First stepped forward. "All are accounted for."
"Bashir, and four others in the compound, so six thousand, five hundred,
sixty-one," Deyos said. Jordan wondered why he bothered reading the numbers
into the public announcement system. That was another break in the routine.
Another Vorta handed Deyos another PADD, and Deyos began reading the
numbers of those selected the night before, and the fifteen Chosen died
before the sun had even come up. Deyos broke with routine once again, and
did not call fifteen more names. "This will be your last day in this camp,"
Deyos announced instead. "Return to your barracks and await further
instructions."
While that might have seemed like an occasion to rejoice, Jordan felt his
stomach drop. It could have meant the Dominion was simply going to kill
everyone. The prisoners were not silent this time as they trudged back to
their barracks. Jordan could hear at least four distinct conversations,
though all were pondering the same thing. What was the Dominion up to?
Jordan wondered who the fifth was that Deyos had mentioned. Bashir, Riker,
Garulos, and Formenos were only four.
Riker crouched in the corner of the room. He turned his head to the other
wall and tried once more to sleep. He was cold because he had not been
given his clothes back, and he was sore from the interrogation the night
before. But at least he was off the table and Deyos wasn't asking him
questions anymore. He turned his head again, trying to ease the crick in
his neck, but it wouldn't go away. His legs ached from the position he was
in.
Deyos's voice woke him. He jerked awake expecting to see the Vorta in the
room, but there was no one else there, except Bashir. "And five in the
compound," Deyos said, and Riker realized he was speaking over the public
address system. There was a speaker near the ceiling on one of the walls.
Riker looked over at Bashir and wondered how many hours he'd been asleep.
There were no windows to tell him if it was light out yet, and he was sure
Bashir's eyes had hardly closed the whole time anyway. He hadn't spoken
when Bashir, still clothed in his striped uniform, was pushed into the cell.
He had wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep.
He still wanted that. Whatever he'd gotten those few hours during the
night, it could hardly have been called sleep. *It could only vaguely be
called resting,* he thought. *Bashir and four in the compound.* He and
Bashir were locked in there together. Garulos, Formenos, and Dayton. So
they were all still held away from the general prison population.
The door slid open and Riker froze. Deyos was still speaking, so it
couldn't mean a return trip to the table. Or could it?
Two Jem'Hadar entered, between them they held Garulos. Like Riker, he was
naked, but unlike Riker he was covered in dark red, swollen wounds. His
head hung loose from his shoulders and his legs dragged behind him on the
floor. He was unconscious. The Jem'Hadar said nothing but dropped Garulos
to the floor and left. Garulos moaned but otherwise did not move.
As soon as the door closed, Riker made his way to his crewman. Before he
could reach him, Garulos had gotten to his knees. "Don't touch me," he
growled in warning.
"Sarpen," Riker said, crouching down again, "it's Commander Riker."
Garulos looked up and Riker could see his left ear was burnt nearly black.
"Just stay away, sir," he said, more softly. He tried but failed to get to
his feet and settled for crawling to the far corner of the room. When he
reached it, he just laid down on his side, turning his back toward Riker.
Riker looked to Bashir and found him watching, but silent. He dropped his
head and Riker understood. There was nothing he could do for Garulos.
Riker felt sick. He had no wounds on his own body besides the bruises he'd
acquired his first day. The electric shocks the table had delivered had not
left marks. They'd done worse to Garulos. Much worse. He looked away and
slid back to his corner, offering Garulos as much privacy as he could in
their current predicament.
"Some shore leave," Garulos complained from his corner. "I would have
chosen Risa."
"What about you?" Riker asked Bashir. He didn't look hurt, and he did
still have his uniform. He looked pale, but otherwise the same as earlier
in the evening.
"They took me to Formenos," Bashir replied softly without raising his head.
Riker felt awake at that. "What have they done to her?"
Bashir didn't look up. "They took her face."
Riker didn't understand that. He didn't to want understand. "What do you
mean?" he asked.
"Shh," Bashir said. "With three people, the air will go faster. Don't
talk."
Riker sighed and looked to the space just under the door. There was plenty
of air in the cell, and it was worrisome that Bashir couldn't see that. But
Riker didn't have the energy to worry about Bashir right now. Bashir was
fine, physically, except for his self-induced lack of sleep and food.
Garulos was beyond anything worry could cure, and Riker's own body was still
stiff and sore. He let his head fall against the wall again, closed his
eyes and tried to dream of Risa and Deanna Troi.
"They're breaking off," Daniels called from the tactical station.
"It would appear so," Picard agreed. On the forward viewscreen, three
Breen ships broke off their attack and turned themselves around. Picard
checked the fleet's status in the console in front of him. There were
reports from each flank telling of the retreat. "Keep after them."
The *Enterprise* would be glad for the respite. She'd put up a good fight,
and still had some fight within her, but she was bruised and tired. Three
decks had had to be closed off due to hull breaches, the shields were
holding at twenty-eight percent overall, and the best Geordi could coax out
of the warp engine was warp five point three. A handful of Cardassians had
even managed to board her during the night, but Security had fought them
off. *Enterprise* herself could count twenty-four kills, the highest tally
in the fleet. In all, over seven hundred Dominion, Cardassian, and Breen
ships had been destroyed or disabled. The Federation and her allies had
three hundred and another two hundred and fifty-two were disabled. But
clearing the D'Nexi Lines meant that the Dominion had lost a major source of
dilithium. And that meant their efforts to develop K-Layer Subspace
Concealment would be set back years. Years in which the Federation hoped to
win this war.
Like the *Enterprise*, the Federation forces did not allow the Dominion
forces to simply retreat. The Dominion had occupied the four systems behind
D'Nexi since the early days of the war. It was time they were liberated.
Everyone sat quiet; a few even slept. Jordan just watched and prayed
silently to himself. Something was coming. It had been at least three
hours since the roll call ended. The door to the barracks remained locked.
The sun, by now, was pouring in between the boards of the walls. Dust
floated in the rays of light and Jordan let them calm him.
The door began to rise, and the prisoners inside stood ready to face
whatever it was before them. They had made a pact between them while they
were waiting. If the Dominion did try to execute them, they would fight.
Deyos could no longer threaten them with starvation. He'd said himself they
wouldn't be here long enough for that.
"You will step outside," a voice yelled. "And form ranks of five at the
roll call grounds." A Vorta voice, but not Deyos. Jordan was well in the
back of the building, so he couldn't see who was speaking. "Exit quickly."
Slowly the building began to empty until finally Jordan could move with the
others. The sun was bright as he stepped outside, and he was surprised to
see upward of fifty Jem'Hadar standing guard around the building and the
path to roll call. They were, of course, armed, but they made no move to
threaten the prisoners. He was surprised to see that there were no other
prisoners out. He joined a rank with four other Christians and waited. Two
Jem'Hadar walked their ranks and reported back the number. Jordan had done
a quick estimate himself. Twenty five ranks of five, give or take. About
one hundred and fifty men. Where was the rest of the camp?
The rest of the Jem'Hadar had moved to take up positions around the
prisoners' ranks, and the Vorta yelled again. "You will keep your ranks.
You will be marched out of this camp to a waiting ship. If anyone falls out
of rank, they will be executed immediately. Do not fall behind."
The Jem'Hadar took up the orders then and the ranks began to move in
double-time. Jordan hoped the ship would not be far. Most of the men,
himself included, were far too weak from constant hunger to keep this pace
for long.
The fifty Jem'Hadar stayed with them, surrounding the prisoner's line.
Ordinarily the pace wouldn't be too difficult. It was little faster than a
jog, but Jordan had been a prisoner for well on two years. His body had
become somewhat used to the conditions of the camp, but that didn't include
jogging anywhere. His stomach growled and his mouth became dry even as they
passed the main gate into the unknown beyond the camp. All Jordan could see
was dirt. No trees, no hills, just dirt and clouds of dust. And the dust
stung his eyes and made his thirst that much more poignant.
Someone fell and nearly tripped the ranks behind them, but the Jem'Hadar
yelled for them to keep going. Jordan chanced a glance back to see one of
the surrounding guards pull the man away and slit his throat before
rejoining the line. Kraru, on Jordan's left, coughed and stumbled. "I
can't," he whispered. Jordan took his right arm, and Barlu his left, and
did not let him fall.
"We go together," Barlu said. "God has not forsaken us. This ship could
be a salvation."
"Or futher torment," someone muttered from the next rank up.
In the distance, Jordan began to see a large, dark shape through the dust.
Very large. The ship.
TBC
--Gabrielle