Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Mon, 26 Jan 2004 21:21:31 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson inheildi@earthlink.net Title: Faith: Hope Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: REP 1/18 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Faith Part I: Hope by Gabrielle Lawson Prologue Julian sat in the darkness that had become his home. He leaned his head back against the cold wet wall and touched the PADD again. He hated the voice, but was glad for it. He could only guess how long it had been since he'd heard any other voice. "Welcome to your new home," Sloan said, and in Julian's mind, he could see the man smiling. "I can't recommend the accommodations, but you betrayed us. There's a replicator, if you can find it. It will only produce one thing. You'll just have to live with that. I'm sure you can find water if you try hard. You asked once, what would have happened if we didn't find you trustworthy. I admit, this is more creative than we usually get, but you get the general idea. You're an intelligent man, after all." The PADD went silent, and Julian wished the walls around him would do the same. But like Sloan had said, so many times, he'd find water. It had taken him two days, by his estimate, to find the source of the echoing roar of the waterfall. The replicator had been easier, and it produced the only light he saw. But that light had gone out weeks before when he replicated the last of his emergency field rations. Two months worth. As the last bar shimmered into shape, he'd lost the last of his meager light. In return, he'd hoped to gain his salvation. His hope had a name: Data. In the first days, he had longed for light like he had once starved for food. He'd wake only to find wakefulness darker than sleep. He'd touch his eyes just to see that they were indeed open. He'd worried, at first, that Sloan had blinded him, but he'd bumped into the walls enough to know where he'd disappeared to. The walls ran with water, slowly seeping, giving life to the rock. Conical towers grew up from the floor to stumble him when he tried to walk. Rounded points hit his head and shoulders and dropped water down onto his clothes. Water and calcium and the drops became hard deposits on his clothes. In the weeks to follow he'd mapped out some of the cave in his mind, hoping to find an exit to the unknown planet beyond. But he never so much as found an upward slope. Except once, by following the water toward its source. But all he'd gotten was wet. The passage had become too narrow to even crawl through. It had taken days to dry. He shook and shivered from the cool air. He still felt damp. He always felt damp. He'd wondered, at first, if there were animals in the cave, but he hadn't heard any sound except the replicator, Sloan's voice, and the constant roar of the water. He could feel them, though, when he dipped his hands in the water. He'd even caught one once. A crayfish. It had pinched him. There were little fish, too, which nibbled at his fingers or the ends of his hair that touched the surface of the water when he washed. In those first days, weeks, months, he'd felt many things. Fear, anger, self-pity, loneliness, hopelessness. He'd gotten stuck on that last one. Hopelessness. What hope was there? His one puny life mattered little. Everything was being lost with or without him. The Dominion was still in the Alpha Quadrant, and the Federation was still becoming the Dominion. Well, maybe not the Dominion, but certainly less distinguishable. Besides freedom, what was being fought for out there? It used to be more than that. But even in his last months up there--in the light--he'd started to feel it dwindling. Even in himself. Sloan had only confirmed it, put details to his vague ideas and nails in the coffin of his ideals. The bad guys were bad, but the good guys weren't good. There was no point. And yet, in the days, weeks to follow, he'd found himself replicating rations and drinking the water. Why? Some pointless, innate will to survive perhaps? Partly so. To calm the rumbling in his stomach and the old memories of his nightmares? Partly that, too. To see the brief shimmer of light? That as well. Life, to put it simply. Faith may die, but life goes on. Chapter One "It's here," Geordie called. Riker followed the beam of light from La Forge's wrist beacon to where it shone on a small gray box. He stepped closer and looked over the engineer's shoulder. "That's not a transmitter," he observed. He had to speak up to be heard above the din of what he assumed was a waterfall somewhere in the cave. "It's a replicator." Portable. Starfleet issue. "Yep," Geordie confirmed. "It *was* a replicator. But now it's a transmitter. I'm picking up a signal, and it matches the one Data was getting. I'm also picking up a slight flux in the infrared around here. Someone's been here recently." "Well," Riker said, "someone had to rewire the replicator. Let's find out who." "I've got life signs," Doctor Crusher said. She stood near one of the tunnels. Her tricorder beeped enthusiastically. "Down here." That said, they all filed down that tunnel. Well, almost all. "Data!" Riker yelled, and then regretted it. The sound echoed down in the cave. He tapped his comm badge. "Riker to Data. We've found the transmitter." "And I have apparently found the refuse," Data's voice came back to him over the comm line. "One hundred and seventy-seven Starfleet emergency field ration wrappers." "Then I'd say who ever it is has been here awhile," Riker replied. "Join us, Mr. Data." "Yes, sir." The line closed and Riker continued down the corridor with Geordie and the doctor. The din became a roar, and Riker was thankful for the beacon he had strapped to his wrist. The darkness, like the noise, threatened to engulf him. It was like a physical thing he could feel seeping through his uniform into his skin. One hundred seventy-seven, Data has said. One ration had enough nutrients for three days. That added up to a whole lot of days. Months of this darkness and the mind-numbing racket of the waterfall. Doctor Crusher said something, but Riker was unable to make it out. "What?" he shouted. But he couldn't hear his own voice. Szymon sat beside him. "Now it is you who is sick," he said. "But you were always sick." "Injured," Bashir argued. "I was injured. I outlasted you." "But I died under the stars. You have died many times, and never under the stars." "Leave him alone, Szymon," Max scolded. He could speak English now. Bashir was glad for that. He was never able to have a real conversation before. Only when Henri had translated for them. "Yes, leave him alone," the Frenchman joined in. "It's not his fault. When you are murdered you do not get to choose where you die." "I was never dead," Bashir argued. "Not really." "It's not fair, you know," Szymon said. "I stayed dead. We all did. None of us got up again." "I'm sorry," Bashir told him, and he meant it. "I would have saved you if I could." "You knew how," Piotr interjected quietly. He could speak English now, too, and it was the first time that Bashir could understand him. "I knew how," Bashir admitted. "But I couldn't save you, not there. They wouldn't let me. Heiler wouldn't have let me." "Starfleet wouldn't let you," Szymon added. Bashir nodded. "No, they wouldn't let me." "So we all go to the chimney," Piotr sighed. They were past the water now, and Riker could hear a voice. Then he heard laughter. It was strange laughter, almost maniacal, but also wistful. "If I could find the damn chimney," the voice said, with a highly apparent British accent, "I would've crawled up it months ago." The laughter stopped. "It has been months, hasn't it?" They rounded the corner, Riker in the lead. He swept his light across the room--He always thought it odd that caves had rooms, but what else was one to call them?--and almost instantly hit the speaker. The man cried out and cringed, covering his eyes. A hand clamped down on Riker's arm, pushing the light off the man and onto the floor. "Don't point it at him," Crusher whispered. "He's been in the dark too long." "Do you see it, Szymon?" the man asked. He paused as if waiting for an answer, but he didn't uncover his eyes. "Maybe Heiler opened the door. She does that sometimes. To let the air in." "He's nuts," Riker whispered back to Crusher. "*If* he is," she scolded, "he probably has a good excuse." She pushed past him and walked toward the man. She kept her light low, on the ground. Riker could really only make out that the man was there. "Hello," she said quietly. The man backed away from her, backing into the cave wall behind him. "I didn't do anything," he pleaded. "I'm not going to hurt you," Crusher told him. "My name is--" "Whaley," the man said. "Heiler, that Gestapo guy. And O'Brien. You were O'Brien once." "Doctor Beverly Crusher, actually," she corrected him. "I'm here to help you." She opened her bag and pulled something out. "Let me cover your eyes so the light won't hurt." Riker came up beside her and crouched down. "He is *insane*." "I'm not insane," the man said, dropping his arm so that Crusher could cover his eyes. "I'm hallucinating. It happens sometimes, when things get really bad. I start seeing things. Well, not seeing. It's too dark for that. But I hear them. They're dead. That's how I know I'm hallucinating. They died a long time ago. But I hear them now because of the malnutrition." Crusher was just getting out her tricorder to run a scan. "How do you know that?" Riker asked the man to keep him talking. "He is a doctor." Riker spun around, shining his light back toward the corner where they'd come in. "You know him, Data?" "Data!" Riker spun around again. The man was standing. He nearly fell over, but he stood. "Where?" He held out a hand in Data's direction. Data stepped forward and took the man's hand. "I am here, Doctor Bashir." The man, Doctor Bashir--and Riker was sure that name was familiar--smiled. "I knew you'd come." Then he collapsed. Data caught him before he could fall. Doctor Crusher was finishing up her scans when he entered. Picard looked toward the biobed where she stood. A man was lying there, in new coveralls. A mud covered uniform of some sort lay on the floor near the bed. The man was bearded and his hair was long and unkempt, reaching just past his collar. A bandage covered his eyes. "Who is he?" he asked Commander Riker who was standing to one side of the room. "Doctor Julian Bashir, former CMO of Deep Space Nine." Riker answered. "Former?" "He was reported MIA more than six months ago. Dead, three months later." "He doesn't look dead, Number One." The lights above the biobed showed the man to be very much alive. "How is he?" "Malnutrition," Crusher replied, "just like he said. He'll be fine though, physically." "And his eyes?" Picard didn't see any problem with the bandages, no red seeping from beneath them. "Nothing," she said, replacing the instrument she was holding. "I'm going to run some tests anyway." "He was in a cave," Riker supplied. "Looks like months. The light was too bright for him. He was hallucinating." "You would, too," Crusher chided, "if you were starving and stranded alone thousands of feet below ground." Riker chuckled in response and then turned to leave. Picard's brow furrowed as he thought about what months alone in a cave must have been like. "How did he end up there? That planet was uninhabited." Data stepped forward then, holding out a PADD. "There is no evidence of a crash or any other debris. There were no entrances or exits large enough for a human to enter or exit the cave. He would have had to transport, as we did." "But why?" Picard asked, reading the PADD. It had all the facts, but none of the reasons. It didn't make any sense that the man would strand himself. "He would have had to have a ship in order to transport. There are none on the long-range sensors. Did Deep Space Nine report any missing ships when they reported the doctor missing?" Data took a moment to answer. Picard hardly noticed. A moment for Data was very short. "No, sir. There were no ships reported missing in the entire Bajoran Sector." "Section 31." "What?" Picard turned back to the biobed. The man was leaning up on his elbows. "Section 31," he repeated. "You wanted to know how I ended up there. They put me there." "Who is Section 31?" Data asked, stepping closer. "Data, who are those people?" the man said, lowering his voice. "I am sorry," Data replied, standing up straighter. "I should have introduced you. Doctor Julian Bashir, Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Doctor Beverly Crusher, Chief Medical Officer, **USS Enterprise**." "Pleased to meet you," Bashir said. He sat up and offered his hand. "I was Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Nine, but I dare say I've been replaced by now." Crusher smiled and then turned away to continue working. But Picard was not a little taken aback by the man's--or rather, Bashir's--attitude. It wasn't what he would have expected from someone released from months underground. But what would he expect? Elation? Or something different, born out of distrust. Because someone had put him there. "Who is Section 31, Doctor?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation back to facts. Bashir sighed. "A clandestine, extra-governmental organization that supposedly ferrets out threats to Federation security. To hear them tell it, they are the protectors of all the Federation holds dear. But you didn't ask them. You asked me. And I say they break every principle they claim to protect." "And why would they strand you in the cave?" Picard pushed. He didn't know whether Bashir could be believed or not. He'd been hallucinating not more than an hour before. He could be insane, given the length of his isolation. But Picard found he was more worried that the man was telling the truth. "Did they consider you a threat?" Bashir dropped his head slightly, so that, were his eyes not covered, he might have been staring at his hands. "To the Federation? No. To Section 31? Apparently." "I'm sorry, Captain," Doctor Crusher stepped in. "You'll need to continue this conversation later. I think Doctor Bashir needs his rest. And I need to examine his eyes." Picard and Data both turned to leave, but Bashir stopped them. "Data," he said, "would you stay?" Data looked to Picard for permission, and Picard granted it with a nod. There was a level of dependence between the doctor and Data that Picard didn't quite understand. The signal they'd intercepted wasn't meant for anyone to find. It was meant for Data. Doctor Crusher waited until the door closed behind the captain, and then started to remove the bandages. "Computer, lights off," she ordered, and the room became bathed in darkness. Not dark enough, though. Light from the stars let enough light in for shapes and dim shadows. And, of course, there were the instrument readouts. It would have to do. She unwrapped the last layer of bandage and already Bashir was cringing. She was ready though, and had the instrument before his eyes quickly. He relaxed. "Computer, scan optical nerves." "Analysis complete," the computer intoned. "Visual acuity at above average levels." "Above average?" Crusher whispered aloud. She remembered him now. Starfleet Medical was in a tizzy a while back about a decorated doctor who was revealed to be genetically enhanced. His name was Julian Bashir. Above average, indeed. "That means I'm not blind," Bashir stated, not mentioning the enhancements. Crusher decided to let it go for now. "Not in any real sense of the word," she corrected. "Let's call it external blindness. You're extremely sensitive to light. But I expected that and have prepared for it. We have guest quarters prepared for you. I'm glad you asked Mr. Data to stay. Perhaps he could escort you. The lights will be down in the corridor and in your quarters. I've programmed the computer to bring them up gradually beginning each morning." Bashir thanked the doctor and then braced himself for the pain he'd feel when she took the instrument away. He'd heard her, of course, turn the lights out, but he could still feel it, like little pinpricks. He closed his eyes. That was enough in the darkened sickbay. It wouldn't work for the corridor. A strong hand touched his arm, and Bashir knew that it was Data. The android helped him off the biobed he'd been sitting on. He still felt weak, but not as much so. He was on the mend. He was sure the light from the corridor would blind him even through his eyelids, but the door opened and nothing happened. Doctor Crusher really had prepared for this. He was thankful. Away from the viewports, he could even open his eyes to the comfort of the darkness he'd grown accustomed to. Data, of course, would know the way, regardless of light. "Data," Bashir asked, breaking the silence in the corridor, "how long was I gone?" "You were reported missing six months, two weeks, and five days ago." He stopped before reporting the minutes, though Bashir guessed he could have done it. Given a stardate, he could have done it himself. But he didn't even know what today was. Bashir stopped, forcing the android to stop with him. "And then what?" "I do not understand," Data said, and Bashir got the distinct feeling that Data was trying to avoid answering. "I was reported missing and then what? Am I still missing? What did Starfleet have to say when you told them you'd found me?" "I do not know what Starfleet Command will say," Data replied. He started walking again, and, given that he was much stronger than Bashir on a good day, it forced Bashir to continue down the corridor with him. "To my knowledge, they have not yet been notified." They stopped again and Bashir heard doors opening. His quarters? "Deck Ten," Data said, and Bashir realized it was a turbolift. "You still didn't answer, Data," Bashir said, and wondered why an android--even one who could dream--would dance around a question so much. "Am I still missing?" Data's voice actually dropped. "You are dead." The turbolift stopped and Data led Bashir out. *Again?* Bashir thought. *What will my parents think?* He thought of the story of the boy who cried "wolf." "Then I suppose they'll be surprised," he replied evenly. "Yes," Data responded, "I think they will. These are your quarters." A door opened in front of them and, once they were through, closed behind them again. There was still only darkness, now even darker, very much like the cave. But more comfortable. The room he was in was warm and dry. It was quiet, with no roaring waterfall, but alive with little sounds that most people probably wouldn't notice. "I can stay, if you require someone to talk to," Data offered, "or to show you around." Bashir shook his head--and wondered if the android could see that. "It's alright, Data," he told him. "You can go back to your duties. I'll find my way around. I'm used to being alone." He heard the door open again. "But you're welcome to visit. I'm betting a lot has happened since we last had the chance to talk." "Quite a lot," Data replied quietly. The door closed and Bashir was alone again. *Now what?* he wondered. He hadn't really prepared for this day because he hadn't quite convinced himself it would happen. He was free. He thought perhaps he should feel happy, but happiness didn't come. It was no different. A damp cave or guest quarters on the **USS Enterprise**. He was still a prisoner. Only now, he was the only one who could see it. -- --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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