Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 07:05:39 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson inheildi@earthlink.net Title: Faith, Part III: Peace Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: NEW 6/17 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Chapter Thirteen Continued Four small buildings stood in a square, facing inward on a small, barren courtyard. Beyond them, Bashir could now see a second fence and more barracks behind it. A siren somewhere sounded two short blasts and for the first time that day, Bashir got a sense that there was still life in the camp. Doors opened in the buildings behind the fence and women emerged, wearing striped dresses like V'dara's. Two women per building, each pair carrying a box between them. Maintenance. One of the kommandos Jordan had listed. Bormann had been sent to maintenance. The kapos stopped beside a door in the nearest of the four buildings. "You will dispose of it here," one of them said, the one with the knife Jordan had mentioned. "The uniform is to be used again." Neither offered to open the door. Clutching V'dara's legs tighter with his left hand, Bashir gripped the handle with his right and pulled it open. He had to step back to avoid the door and then turn to get his burden though the narrow doorway. The room inside lit up as soon as he crossed the threshold and the door had closed. To his surprise the kapos had not followed him in. He was alone. There was a low table in the center of the room. He walked over to one end and braced himself as he shifted V'dara's body off his shoulder. He tried to lower her gently to the table, but his arm had gone numb. She fell back with a thud. He studied her a moment and brushed the hair away from her glassy eyes. He remembered how they had lit up when Martok and the others had finally let him in on the escape plan. It wasn't his inclusion that had caused her eyes to shine, but the hope she had had in their plan. She hid it with a calm countenance that would make a Vulcan jealous at any other time, but that one day, he had seen it. This was not they way he had envisioned it ending. He had had hope then, too. Now he was a shell of that man that had stabbed a Jem'Hadar in the neck to save her and their plan from being destroyed, and she was dead. A prisoner again and now a corpse. Of their original six co-conspirators, only himself and Martok remained. Garak and Worf had joined them at the end. Five had survived to escape. And now there were four. Sighing deeply, he rubbed his neck and tried to work some feeling back into his shoulder. His hand brushed against the lump, the implant he was given and he remembered that she had one as well. He looked around the room to see if there were any tools. There was only the table, though. A large bin stood to one side of the door and directly behind the table was the crematorium. The table itself tilted up so the body could be rolled into the crematorium. But he didn't want to do that to V'dara, at least not until he had her implant out. There wasn't even a broom or dust pan for the ashes, and he wondered just how Deyos expected him to dispose of them. Right now though, he wanted the implant, and he didn't think the kapos would wait long for him outside. Telling himself that V'dara was gone in an effort to make what he was about to do easier, he turned her body over and lifted her hair to expose the lump on the back of her neck. Since he had nothing else, he used his fingernails and clawed at her skin. It took several minutes but at last he had it free. There was no light source in the room beyond thin slit beneath the ceiling. So he held it up and squinted into the ray of sunlight that filtered in. He could feel his own lightly throbbing at the back of his neck with his pulse, but this one was still and silent. As dead as V'dara. It must have transmitted her vitals as well as her location. But could it listen in to her conversations? She had said it did not, and, given her time in the camp, it was certainly possible that she was right. Wouldn't Deyos have used something he'd overheard against her or the other prisoners? But it was also equally possible that the device was a bug, and that by not acting on any overheard information, Deyos was keeping the secret in the hopes of learning more. But Jordan had come to their barracks last night. There was obviously some freedom of movement found underneath the rules imposed by the Dominion. If the Dominion was aware, they would have cracked down, even if in subtle ways. Still, he wanted to know for sure. Pfenner had already been mentioned around him. Deyos may already know the objective of their mission. And just when did he start thinking of it as his mission anyway? Bashir wondered. He hadn't wanted any of this. He shook his head. What he did or didn't want did not change his circumstances in the least. He tried to break open the implant with his fingers, but it was small and slippery. In the end, he wiped it off on a relatively clean corner of V'dara's striped dress and placed it between his teeth. He bit down just hard enough to crack the outer casing and then spat to remove anything that might have been left behind on his teeth. Holding the now opened implant up to the light, he ran every image of every transponder and transmitter he'd even seen through his head. The tiny circuits here told him it was little more than a homing beacon. The device in the back of his neck would simply tell them where he was an if he were still alive. No more and no less. V'dara hadn't worried about it, so neither would he. He hurried now to strip her of her dress. The kapo had said it would be reused. V'dara deserved more than this undignified cremation, but he had seen death on a much larger scale in Auschwitz. The dead were beyond pain and beyond dignity. Bracing his shoulders under the table, he lifted one side and she rolled into the waiting crematorium. The table fit neatly into the opening in the wall, sealing the chamber. A simple latch near the top held it in place and a lever on one side started the fire. With a loud whooshing sound, the crematorium chamber lit up so hot, Bashir could feel the heat even when he stepped back to the door. Thirty seconds later, the roar of the fire died down to a whisper, and, with a hiss of cool air, the latch lifted and the table fell back into place. V'dara, inside the chamber, was reduced to ash. And with her body now not obscuring the view, he could see a lever just inside the chamber. He hesitated to touch it but found it cool enough. He lifted it and the bottom of the chamber split, dropping her ashes into a pit below. Where they went from there, he couldn't tell. It was too dark to see. He hoped that counted as disposal. He didn't want to give Deyos any easy excuses to punish him. As if on cue, the door behind him opened. "You will have to be quicker, human," one Jem'Hadar said, "if you want to keep up." "And if you don't keep up," the other said, smiling, "you will be punished." He was the one with the knife. There was a certain gleam in his eye. He seemed to enjoy the thought of punishing people. Bashir considered the knife, and wondered which Klingon he'd killed to get it. *Der Schlachter,* he thought. He remembered Max calling one of the Blockaltestes that once. Butcher. But he just nodded slightly and dropped his eyes to the floor. Thirty a day. The crematorium chamber, itself, was at least efficient. Thirty seconds per body would not be difficult. But carrying them this distance from the Appelplatz would be exhausting, not to mention extremely unpleasant and unsanitary. *Welcome to the Sonderkommando*, he told himself, as he stepped out the door and into the bright sunlight and dust. The Vorta, Deyos, was standing in front of him, looking down on him with a smug expression. "It's not everyday we capture a Starfleet Commander," he said, smiling a bit. "Especially not First Officers of flagships. Tell me, what were you doing so far from the *Enterprise* in a practically defenseless ship?" Riker knew that he really only had to give name, rank, and serial number, but those answers had already resulted in several bruised ribs and his present kneeling posture. *Three hours now,* he estimated. Three hours in the bright sunlight of wherever they were. He was already sunburned, and, while getting off his feet had at first been welcome after two hours of standing, his knees were starting to ache. The heat and bright light didn't seem to bother Deyos or the three Jem'Hadar who had been guarding him this whole time. Besides, the Vorta already knew more than Riker's name, rank, and serial number, and Riker wanted to know how much that was. "Shore leave," he said, eyeing the Jem'Hadar on either side of him. "Humans need a break now and then, even during war." Deyos' eyebrows dropped to show his skepticism. "Shore leave? At the D'Nexi Lines? Not likely." He looked up at the nearest Jem'Hadar, who prompty backhanded Riker across the face. The slap stung and Riker's legs were so weakened that they couldn't hold him upright against the force of it. He spun until he fell on his side and smacked into the hard, dry ground with enough force to kick up a layer of dust that left him choking. The other Jem'Hadar grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to his knees. When Riker's eyes had watered enough that he could open them he found Deyos waiting patiently. "Would you like to try again?" the Vorta asked. Riker was still coughing up the dust so he couldn't answer right away. Deyos waited. Finally, Riker had his breath. His voice was rough when he spoke. "Only if you want me to make something up." That at least got Deyos to quirk a brow. The second Jem'Hadar hit him that time, and Riker fell onto his other side and sucked up even more dust in his attempts to breathe. The tug on his collar cut off what little air he could manage. When it released him, he braced himself forward on his hands and spat out the dust at Deyos's feet. The Vorta stepped back but otherwise didn't seem to mind. "I doubt you could," he said. "You don't seem to have much of an imagination." Riker tried to remember what he'd wanted to learn from this conversation, but at present he decided he had only learned that his captor had at least a small sense of humor. When he got his breathing back under control, he gathered his dignity and pushed himself back up on his knees. "I don't need an imagination," he told the Vorta. "Neither do you. You have the runabout." Deyos froze for just a moment, but Riker noticed and counted it a small victory. With his composure once more firmly in place, Deyos committed his first mistake. "We do not have the runabout," he admitted. "It was useless. Your navigational logs had been wiped, and keeping the vessel on hand would have presented a security breach." Riker coughed again, trying to rid himself of the last bits of dust in his lung. But he also used it to give himself time to process Deyos's words. They didn't keep the runabout. Bashir's report on his escape from Internment Camp 371 told how Garak had contacted the runabout that had been left in orbit. Riker hadn't seen much of this camp, but he knew he hadn't seen anything that even Data could turn into a transmitter. Deyos had a weak spot. And the logs had been wiped. Riker knew he hadn't wiped the logs and no one else had had the time. This only confirmed his theory that Section 31 had set them up to be captured, though he still couldn't figure how they'd had time to do it either. "Why wipe the logs?" Deyos asked when Riker stopped coughing, "if you were only on shore leave. Why not head out of the sector instead of into it? And why would you take such a small ship when you were in obviously dangerous territory?" "I didn't wipe the logs," Riker answered, and he was rather glad that he could answer at least one question truthfully. "I wasn't aware they were wiped until you said so. We were headed out of the sector but were called back. And we could only take a runabout because our larger ships are needed for combat." Deyos raised one eyebrow, apparently surprised that Riker had said so much. "Why were you called back?" Riker hadn't had time to fill in all the details of his story yet, and the recall was a new development. He knew his answer would earn him another lungful of dust, but it would also buy him a bit more time. "I don't know," he said and tried not to flinch before the blow came. But this time, it wasn't a hand that hit him, but the butt of a rifle. He fell backwards as the rifle hit his chest and the air was knocked from his lungs. He didn't have to worry about coughing because he couldn't quite remember how to breathe. His eyes stung from it though. It was awkward lying there with his legs folded underneath him, but breathing was the only thing really on Riker's mind. The Jem'Hadar didn't bother to lift him this time and as he finally got a bit of air to go into his desparate lungs, he heard Deyos speaking. "I do dislike hearing that answer." Now the Jem'Hader grabbed for him, and the thick fist at the front of his collar choked him as he was once again placed on his knees. It was considerably harder this time to stand from the knees up. "I don't--" he began again, but changed his mind. "I just follow orders," he gasped as he clutched at his sternum with one hand. "They said return. I returned. We don't ellaborate in dangerous territory. We just obey." "Hmph," Deyos snorted. "You're the First Officer." Riker nodded. "I would have been briefed in person when I reached *Enterprise*." Deyos was silent for a bit and Riker hoped that meant he bought the story. Pushing his aching chest out of his mind, he tried concentrating on the Vorta. Why question him at all? When Starfleet personnel were replaced by Changelings, the replacement contained all their knowledge and memories. Somehow that information was extracted from the original. Why did the Vorta not use that technique to gather intelligence from prisoners? "*If* I were to believe you," Deyos finally said, "how would you explain the presence of Doctor Bashir on your vessel? He is not assigned to the *Enterprise*. He is not a member of your crew." *Yeah,* Riker thought, *that does throw a monkey in the wrench. Er, wrench in the monkey? It must be the heat. Or the rifle.* Bashir, he had to think about Bashir. He had been assigned to the *Enterprise*. Maybe there was something there. "He was temporarily assigned to the *Enterprise*," he said, hoping that giving Deyos that much would buy him more time to come up with a better answer. "Yes," Deyos confirmed, "but he was transferred back to Deep Space Nine very recently. I'll ask again: Why was he on your runabout?" Riker took a deep breath. "Shore leave," he offered and then held up his hands to try and block the strike he was sure he was going to get. "You may have noticed," he quickly added, "that he isn't doing so well. He's shell-shocked. Counselor Dax thought shore leave might do him some good. So we brought him along." "Shell-shocked?" Deyos asked, clearly skeptical of that diagnosis. Riker made a point of eying the Jem'Hadar again, knowing the Dominion's genetically-engineered soldiers would never suffer from post-traumatic stress. "Post-Traumatic Stress disorder. Happens to soldiers in battle. Too many times facing a life-or-death situation. They need to get away from the danger." "Hmmm....," Deyos intoned, mulling that over. "He does seem a bit out of sorts. He was never this distant before. Perhaps the six months he was reported missing and dead have something to do with his present condition. Tell me, what did actually happen there?" It just didn't make sense. Deyos knew so much about who was assigned where and when. Why didn't he know more? Why didn't he extract the information in an unstoppable manner? Riker was relieved that he didn't, but it still didn't make sense. The Dominion could take an abductee's knowledge and personality. Why bother questioning and risking being deceived. And what was he supposed to say about Bashir? He couldn't exactly tell Deyos that Section 31 had marooned the doctor. Flat-out lying was his only option. "He couldn't remember. We found him on Deyon III. Maybe we should be asking you what happened." He knew he deserved the backhand after that one. So once more he was coughing up dust. But Deyos' silence confirmed that the Dominion had been the ones to render Deyon III uninhabitable. He didn't ask how Bashir could be on the planet when it couldn't support life, and Riker didn't bother to offer the fact that Bashir was found *in* the planet, rather than on it. The layers of rock between him and the surface filtered most of the contaminants in the water and air so that Bashir could survive. Deyos might possibly see Bashir's survival there, while the rest of the world died around him, as the event leading to his post-traumatic stress disorder and thus, need for shore leave. Riker also worried that Deyos might then use this information against Bashir in some way, but it couldn't be helped. He had to explain Bashir somehow and he'd done the best he could to deflect Deyos from the doctor. In Bashir's present state, Riker didn't know if he could be called upon to hold out if he were questioned. So it was better to cast doubts in Deyos mind about Bashir's usefulness at this stage. His role as 'example' would mean that Deyos wouldn't kill him. "If you are lying," Deyos said. "I will find out." And then, to Riker's surprise he turned and walked away. But that still left the three Jem'Hadar who took it upon themselves to pummel him further and then return him to his knees once more. Riker felt the salty wetness of blood in his mouth and decided it was better than dust. It was just easier that way. *Look at the bright side,* he told himself. But he had to make up the bright side, and he wasn't doing a good job of convincing himself. He was certain that the runabout's capture was Section 31's doing. But would they bother to get them out when they had the information they wanted? He hurt and he was anxious about the lottery Jordan had spoken of. He feared for Simmons, who had been assigned to the plant, and he worried about Formenos, whom he hadn't seen since they were processed. And then there was Bashir. Bashir was losing his mind, and Riker didn't see any way to stop that process, not in this place. Formenos spent the day with Pfenner, and he spent the entire day trying to instill in her an enthusiasm for the science behind K-Layer Subspace Concealment. And it worked. It would have been incredible, if it wasn't for the Dominion. Her head swam in the diagrams and equations even though she'd done well in Quantum Physics in flight school. She wished then that she had gone to the Academy and studied more. She would have understood it better, so that when she escaped or was liberated from the camp, she could take the technology with her, at least in theory. The plant had one central laboratory, where Pfenner and a few other scientists theorized, made models, and ran computer similuations. There was a much larger area where prisoners scavenged pieces of junked ships into test vessels. She had seen Simmons there, pulling apart an intake manifold under the watchful eye of his own personal Jem'Hadar. Three of the other buildings, Pfenner had explained, held the junkyard, with over one hundred junked ships, while the largest building served as dilithium storage. Two other buildings remained to the complex. One housed a cargo transporter. The other held the pilots and living quarters for the scientists. The transporter had taken the two of them to a starbase orbiting the planet. After they had materialized, a pilot was transported with one of the shoddy, cobbled-together vessels from the junkyards. And seven Jem'Hadar. The Jem'Hadar all looked alike, but the pilot was someone she recognized. Carl Payne and she had graduated flight school together. He looked past her though, and she realized he probably didn't recognize her since her hair had been shorn. "Prepare the vessel." A female Vorta clapped her hands, and three other prisoners moved foward to obey. They pushed the ship into place on a launch pad, facing the airlock doors. The Vorta turned to the Jem'Hadar. "And the pilot." Carl was pushed to the side of the launch bay where an EV-suit was hanging. All seven Jem'Hadar went with him, and Formenos wondered why they guarded him so tightly. "The ship is equipped with little more than a transmitter and receiver," Pfenner explained, facing away from the far wall where Carl was being forced into the suit. "Once it is launched, the planet-side base will begin the shift into subspace. Then this base will emit a targeted signal. We've been able to reach the K-layer with our transmissions for weeks now. But the ship. . . . This ship, when it reaches layer K, will receive the signal and respond. Once the base received the response, the planet-side base will iniate retrieval." Formenos didn't miss the hesitation. They'd not yet managed to reach the desired layer with the ship. She wondered why he had trouble saying it. But she had a guess. She heard guilt in every word Pfenner spoke, and read remorse in his eyes. Carl was lifted into the cockpit. Only then did Pfenner look his way. And when he did, Carl saluted him. Pfenner's shoulders shook with his next intake of breath, but he held his emotions in check. The Jem'Hadar sealed the cockpit and stepped away from the ship. Pfenner led her behind a transparent barrier and the airlock doors opened. The other prisoners stayed in the bay, gripping handholds along the wall. The Jem'Hadar also remained. The Vorta, though, was behind the barrier. A transparent door closed, sealing the barrier. A Comm line opened. "Ready to launch," the Vorta announced. "Proceed," came the word from the planet-side base. "Three seconds to launch," replied the Vorta. There was no verbal countdown. Three seconds later the small ship shot out into space. The Vorta announced the successful launch and then watched Pfenner carefully. Formenos watched the ship as it, and Carl, disappeared from sight. The airlock doors closed again, but no one made a sound. Formenos counted to herself. When she reached thirty, the Vorta spoke. "No response. Trial aborted." Pfenner sighed, dropping his shoulders and bracing his arms against the console. The barrier door opened and two Jem'Hadar escorted her and Formenos back to the transporter pad. The Vorta followed them out. "How many are left, Doctor Pfenner?" Pfenner's jaw shook as he answered. "Forty-two." The Vorta's eyebrows rose, but she made no other remark. The transporter's beam took them and deposited them back at the plant. "What about the ship?" Formenos asked as they headed to their quarters . "And the pilot?" Pfenner stopped and faced her. "That is why I must succeed. Don't you see?" he pleaded. "I'm no traitor. I don't do it for the Dominion. That ship didn't receive our signal. It didn't reach the K-Layer. So it also didn't receive a signal to return. It's lost. That pilot is lost. And I've only got forty-two more to get it right. I don't want to waste those forty-two lives, Eline. I've got to find the solution." -- --Gabrielle I'd much rather be writing! http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/trek/ The Edge of the Frontier http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/doyle/ This Side of the Nether Blog: http://www.gabriellewrites.blogspot.com -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ Yahoo! Groups Links To visit your group on the web, go to:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service. From ???@??? 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