Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 07:05:26 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 4/17 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Chapter Twelve Continued One of the many prisoners watched with anxious trepidation as the roll call ended and the wall was raised. But instead of the usual lottery--as the prisoners had come to call it--he saw someone familiar standing with V'dara, along with five other new prisoners. Bashir. So now there were two--two of the Five. It was not a happy thought. V'dara was singled out for punishment because she was one of the five who had escaped from a Dominion prison camp. She received only enough food to keep her alive and on her feet. She was routinely beaten without even a fabricated infraction of the rules. And the most dubious punishment was that she was not included in the hated lottery. In doing this Deyos had hoped to break the reverence the prisoners had for her, but this prisoner was proud to know that only a few had turned against her because of their jealousy. The greater majority held her in high esteem for her previous escape but also because Deyos did not want them to. But this time was different. Deyos had kept V'dara as an example. Now there were two examples, and that didn't bode well for V'dara. Deyos could have a new example now, and he could be rid of the prisoners' hero. But the new example troubled this prisoner as well. While many would think it a blessing to see a familiar face, he wouldn't wish this place on anyone, especially Bashir. Few knew the details, but Bashir had barely survived being trapped in the inspiration for this camp. Auschwitz. Striped uniforms, slave labor, starvation diets, excrutiating roll calls . . . and the lottery. Given, there were no gas chambers here, but there was death and suffering and fear. The Dominion had learned from that place, and the prisoner feared what effect that would have on the doctor. His fears for V'dara came true in short order as she was "hooked" by the Jem'Hadar. Bashir stood frozen, presumably in horror, but the prisoners did something dangerous. They saluted. Deyos glared and shouted his usual "no escape" speech. He ordered the new prisoners to be processed and then waved off the roll call. It took the prisoners a few moments to realize what had just happened so that the guards had to prod them to return to their barracks. This prisoner, too, was shocked. He was saddened by the loss of V'dara and the capture of Bashir, but grateful for the cancellation of the lottery and amazed that there would be no punishment for their collective show of defiance. He turned with the others, already planning how he would sneak into Bashir's barracks--as soon as he figured out where they were. If he were being completely honest with himself, Captain Sisko would have had to admit that he was grateful for the diversion offered by the *Enterprise*'s missing runabout. For an hour and a half, he had had no room to think of Bashir. The crew had performed even better than he had estimated, and the *Defiant* had departed the station in just under fifty minutes. Status reports and strategy-planning filled another forty minutes after departure as the *Defiant* streaked toward the runabout's last known location. But now the course was laid, the ship was underway, and each crewmember was busy with his assigned duties--and Faeros was still an hour out. Sisko had little to do but watch the main viewscreen, and now the guilt over that relief he had felt was catching up to him. He had pushed Julian away just as Julian had said he would. Only this time wasn't like before. He didn't want this assignment any more than Dax or Kira or O'Brien. He wanted to point the *Defiant* in a different direction and find his missing doctor, but he didn't even know where to start. And he was still a captain in Starfleet, still fighting a war for the survival of the Alpha Quadrant. Orders were orders, and Julian was just one man. Bashir had been abducted again, and it stung to think that the doctor had wanted it that way. Sisko tried to imagine what it would be like to live with the kind of uncertainty Bashir had lived with for the last couple of years. How many times had he been taken in his sleep by either the Dominion or Section 31? It was no wonder he had become unstable, not when one factored in the isolation of the cave and Sisko's own callous behavior. With O'Brien's revelation of Bashir's desire to die, Sisko finally understood when Bashir had said he had no faith left. He had lost his foundation. And Benjamin Sisko silently vowed that if he ever got the chance, he would help to rebuild it. But at the moment, his ship was headed a different way and his own foundation was shaky. The others had done well to hide their feelings from the rest of the crew. There were no glares and the horrified shock had left their faces. But they were crisp and formal when delivering their reports, just like Bashir had been. Dax hurt the worst. He had known her for so long, shared so many memories. Curzon had been his mentor, Jadzia his closest friend. Ezri was new to him, but still Dax, and to see her face, with no smile, no twinkle in her eye. . . . Dax had never been so formal with him. She didn't tease him or make any jokes. That could be explained by the sadness of losing Bashir. There was nothing to suggest that she knew of Sisko's crimes in her demeanor. But there was nothing of his friend either. "We are picking up the runabout's trace," O'Brien called from his station. "Heading toward Faeros, just as they should." "Keep on it, Lieutenant," Sisko ordered the helm. "Engage cloak." Commander Will Riker leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. For the last ninety minutes, all thought of Pfenner and the mission had been driven from his head. Now, though, he tried to turn his attention to the mission as a way of focussing on something besides the fear and worry. The fear for himself and his crew. There had been no interrogation, but he was sure they would all be questioned sometime soon. And since he was the commanding officer, the brunt of the interrogation would likely fall on him. He would accept that gladly if it spared his crew, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't scared. He wanted to ask Bashir what to expect, but Bashir was why he worried. While the doctor hadn't been in a healthy state of mind before, he was nearly catatonic now. He hadn't said a word since the Romulan woman was killed in front of him. He had a haunted look in his eyes, which were wide and staring in horrified recognition. Riker could guess from the Vorta's words and Bashir's actions that the woman was Subcommander V'dara, one of the five escapees who warned the Federation of the impending Dominion invasion. Worf, General Martok, and the Cardassian, Garak, were the other three. Riker and the others were horrified by her execution, but it was worse for Bashir. The Jem'Hadar had had to drag him away to be "processed." He decided to give the doctor a little time before he brought her up. Right now, he wanted a better look at their surroundings. He stood, putting his left arm down to steady himself. He regretted it. The tattoo the Jem'Hadar had none-too-gently put there ached with the movement. He looked at it, turning it into one of the shafts of light that slipped in between the slats of their barracks. The markings were foreign to him, but he recognized their origin. Dominion, most likely numbers. Only Bashir had been spared the tattoo. He already had one. And it was now another way for him to stand out as he was numbered in Standard. *No wonder the man is paranoid,* Riker thought. He stepped closer to a fairly large crack and pressed his face to it. He had to squint against the bright light but he could see other square, wooden buildings arranged in neat rows. He counted eight rows before he lost sight to the glare of the sun. He turned his gaze a bit toward the direction they'd come. He could see the building they were transported into, with the Romulan's body still hanging limply on the hook. Really, it was just a blur in the distance, but he recognized the shape, the height of the body off the floor. They were taken from that building to the one just on the right of it. There they were forced to undress. The men, without even discussing it, pushed Formenos to the rear of the group, so that none of their eyes would be on her as she removed her uniform. They couldn't keep the Jem'Hadar from watching, but Riker was glad they could offer her at least that bit of dignity. She stayed to the back of the line as they were led out of that building. Riker had kept Bashir in the middle of the group, hoping that he'd draw less attention there. But then, their next destination had been the tattooing. Formenos was made to move forward, to take the needle first. Riker tried to look away, but the Jem'Hadar nearest him, forcibly turned his head back. So he did the best he could and kept his eyes firmly on her face. After the tattoo, they shaved her and took her away. Riker was next, but they didn't shave him and when he was taken to the next building, Formenos wasn't there. The others of his crew joined him one by one, with Bashir and Simmons arriving at the same time. Bashir did not hold his aching arm as the others did and Riker could now clearly see the numbers he wore. Once all the runabout's males were together, they were given striped uniforms with no regard to size. The pants Riker got were long enough, but quite snug at the waste. The hem of Bormann's pants hit him midway down his shin, and Simmons's were so loose he had to hold them to keep them from falling off. Bashir, strangely, got a uniform that fit him fairly well, though, of course, he didn't seem to notice. All of the shirts had stitches in the back where a hole had been mended. Riker didn't want to think about what had made the holes. They were each given a badge with markings that matched their tattoos. Each except Bashir, that is. He was left without. Three buildings in succession from the undressing to the dressing. Riker counted the buildings he could see from the crack. He thought he could make out four more between the last of the three and the building they were in now. He turned again, taking in as much of the camp as he could from that small vantage point. The buildings all looked the same. There was no way to tell if one of them housed Dr. Pfenner or a project of the likes of K-Layer Subspace Concealment. The buildings all looked much too small and primitive. As he surveyed his surroundings, the bright outdoor light had begun to dim. A breeze kicked up dust from the ground and blew it in through the cracks. Someone coughed behind him and he turned to the group. It was just the five of them, Formenos having been separated. The three other *Enterprise* crewmembers sat together on the dirt floor, a fair distance away from Bashir, who sat huddled in the corner. They didn't know him, of course, and he was acting strange. Riker could understand their distance, but he didn't like it. It wouldn't help Bashir and it would only serve their captors if they didn't present a united front. Still, he would not bother with it tonight. Enough had happened today. He sat down between his crew and the doctor, bridging the gap with his own body. The others were quiet, and they watched him carefully. Riker just shrugged. "Might as well try and get comfortable," he told them. "We might have a busy day tomorrow. Keep your eyes open. We may still find what we were looking for." "What happens if we do?" Simmons asked, though Riker could see that they all wanted the answer. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he told them. They still watched him and he felt uneasy with their gazes. He couldn't give them anything more yet. "Dismissed." They shuffled away a bit, finding places on the floor as there was no furniture at all in the room. Riker turned his attention to Bashir and almost wished Troi was there. Almost. He wouldn't wish her to this place for anyone. "Who was she?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. "Barracks six," Bashir replied after a moment and without turning his head at all. "We escaped." Riker nodded. "I thought so. I'm sorry she's gone. Was it like this?" he asked. The other camp?" "Was it like this?" Riker asked. "The other camp?" Bashir was staring forward at the wall across from him and as the light faded even more, the shadows began to move in his vision. Three-tiered bunks wavered in and out of his sight. "Which camp?" "The Dominion camp," Riker replied, a worried tone in his voice. "The one you escaped from. Was it like this?" Voices twittered in the breeze and Bashir found it hard to hear Riker's words, but he made them out. "371? No, not like this." A rat scurried across the floor beside his bare foot. He drew it back quickly and held his legs close to his chest. "More like the other one?" Riker's voice was nearly lost. The other voices were louder now. Some in German, some Polish. He thought he might have heard Yiddish, but he wasn't sure. He flinched when the *Blockälteste* called for lights out. Riker took that flinch as a 'yes.' Something was going on in Bashir's head, and he could only guess what it was. Auschwitz. Why had they chosen Auschwitz? he wondered. They couldn't have known Bashir would come here, at least not until a couple of days ago. But none of what had seen so far looked new. The dust on the floor, the cracks in the walls, the worn faces of the prisoners. This camp had been here awhile, but as far as he knew, Bashir was the only person still living who had first-hand memories of Auschwitz. Why do it if it wasn't done especially for him? Suddenly there was a sound of wood creaking, in the far corner. But the shadows there were too dark to see anything. Riker stiffened and the other men crowded closer. "Of all the people they had to go and catch," a new voice sounded from the corner. "I certainly didn't want to see him here." "Who are you?" Riker demanded, standing, blocking Bashir with his legs. He knew the voice was talking about the doctor. "My name's Jordan," the voice replied, from higher up. The wood creaked again. "Lt. Joseph Jordan--the second. I used to be stationed with Doctor Bashir on DS Nine and the *Defiant*." He stepped forward and a stay beam of thin light lit his face for a moment. He was young, but haggard, with dark hair and sunken cheeks. A prisoner, like them, but one who had been there for much longer. Like them, he wore no shoes. Riker glanced back at Bashir, who hadn't moved at all. He was still staring at the wall, only his eyes were perhaps wider now and his face even paler. "Doctor, do you know this man?" Riker asked him. Bashir didn't even look up. Riker stepped in front of him and crouched down. Bashir looked right through him. Riker grabbed his shoulders. "Doctor! Look at me. There's someone here. I need to know if you know him. Look at him and think." Bashir blinked rapidly a few times and then turned his head slowly. "Jordan?" he whispered. "It was you." "No, sir. It was a clone," Jordan said, coming closer and crouching down himself. Simmons and Bormann stepped between them though, and Riker was glad to see that bit of solidarity when Bashir wasn't technically a part of their team. "They cloned me," Jordan went on. "I don't know what they were going to do with the clone, but I'm guessing it wasn't something very nice. What did he do?" Riker studied the man's face and found himself believing him. Jordan looked sincerely sorrowful, with his eybrows hitched up over the bridge of his nose but pulled down on the sides, and yet resigned. Bashir flinched again but Riker wondered if he had lost his concentration again, but the doctor answered. "He tried to take my mind. He did, but we got it back." Jordan's brows furrowed. "Why you?" he asked, shaking his head. "A test," Bashir answered, shrugging off Riker's hold. He turned to face Jordan and Simmons backed up out of the way. "Where are we?" "I don't know," Jordan admitted. "They didn't give me a tour when I arrived. This isn't my first camp though, I'm a transferree. Lucky me, huh? I was in a place like this for one day and it's just too familiar. Don't let it get to you, Doc. This isn't Auschwitz and they're not Nazis. Keep your head." Riker might have been insulted if those words had been spoken to him, but Bashir just nodded slightly, still with that haunted look on his face. "It looks so. . . ." They must have been close, Riker guessed, friends. "It looks," Jordan told him, "but it isn't. You gotta remember that." "Why?" Riker asked, blurting out the question that had bothered him since before Jordan showed up. "Why'd they do this. How'd they know he'd show up?" Jordan shrugged. "I don't think they did." He looked over at Riker. "I do know that his previous time in a Dominion camp wasn't anything like this. Mine wasn't either. It's like they looked back in our history and decided they could learn a few things. And what is the most terrifying prison camp we've ever had in our history?" Riker nodded. "Auschwitz." Jordan shifted his legs until he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. "If you think like them, it's perfect. Gets the prisoners in a psychological state, not just a physical prison, you know. Still, there are differences." He turned his attention back to Bashir and repeated, "There *are* differences." Then he was addressing them all again. "There's not much to the work kommandos, just barrack-building, maintenance, and food detail. Some are sent to work at the plant." Riker cut him off. "What plant?" Jordan shrugged again. "Big metalic structure on a hill aways south. At least I think it's south. To the right of the sunrise, anyway." Riker was already thinking of Pfenner. Maybe he could get on the team--kommando--that went to the plant. "What do they do there?" "Don't know," Jordan said, shaking his head. "They cut out those prisoners' tongues so they can't tell anyone. They don't have to participate in the lottery though. Hard to say which is better." "Lottery?" Garulos asked from behind the others. "Not what it sounds like," Jordan replied, sighing. "That's another difference. There are no gassings here, no mass shootings. Just the lottery. Once per roll call. Fifteen are chosen at random and hung on those hooks like V'dara. Three at a time. The others have to wait and watch, knowing their turn is coming. We got a break from it today, because of your arrival. Or rather, because of his." He inclined his head to Bashir. "V'dara was the only one." Simmons dropped to the ground and let his head fall forward onto his knees. Riker put a hand on his shoulders, offering what little support he could. He shuddered himself, thinking what being impaled on that hook had felt like. "We had another in our crew. A woman. Where'd she go?" "They keep the women separate," Jordan replied. "That's no different. They don't do anything to them though, not like what you might think. Jem'Hadar don't have any such longings. They treat the women same as the men, no better, no worse. There's one to watch out for. The Third. He's occasionally rougher than most. He wears a knife on his left boot. Got it off a Klingon. My turn for some questions?" Riker hesitated. The man could be just who he said he was, a prisoner like them, and a veteran by the looks of him. Or he could be a plant, a changeling, or a clone, as he'd already mentioned before. "He said you were dead." Bashir surprised them with that. He had seemed to have lost the conversation, but he was apparently still congizant of at least some of what was going on around him. "The clone. He said he'd killed you." Now Jordan flinched, but he shook it off like a chill had passed through him. "I'm not suprised. Ties up loose ends that way, doesn't it. No one need bother looking for me." He took a shaky breath and rubbed his neck. "I know it was silly, but I wondered why no one did. I mean, I know they couldn't really find me. We couldn't find you when you were taken. Heck, we didn't even know you'd been taken until you escaped. So why would anyone come looking for me if there was a clone running around with my face?" He chuckled at that, but it wasn't a sign of amusement. Riker frowned in sympathy. "Still, I wanted to hope, you know?" Bashir nodded and then turned back to the wall. "What did you want to know?" Riker asked him. He'd listen to the question first, before he decided to trust the man with the answers. "Are we winning out there?" Jordan asked. "I mean, I take it we got some help if V'dara was here. The Romulans are on our side. The Klingons, too, right? So how are we doing?" Riker decided that was fair enough. If he was a plant, he wasn't asking for anything specific, like troop movements or supply dumps. "We took it hard at first," he answered. "They took Betazed, lots of other systems. But we had the Klingons. And then the Romulans found out they were the next target--" He paused when Bashir flinched again, but when the doctor didn't say anything he went on "--and joined us. Of course, they went and signed on the Breen, but we're pushing them back now." Jordan sighed and nodded, smiling just a little. "Well, it's something. Maybe we've got reason to hope, huh?" He didn't wait for an answer, but stood and straightened. "I need to be getting back. I'll see if we can't get you all into my barracks. No guarantees though. They'll assign you to a kommando tomorrow. Try not to draw attention to yourselves. That's the same, too, huh, Doc? The best thing is to not be noticed." He motioned Riker to follow him as he retreated back to the corner. Riker followed, holding his hand out to tell the others to stay. Jordan stopped in the shadows of the dark corner where the creaking sounds had come from. "They're going to single him out. Bashir is one of the Five. The Five escaped and that hurt the Dominion's ego. Deyos's especially, as he was in charge of their internment camp. He doesn't like that he's been dumped here. He took it out on V'dara, but now she's gone. He only needs one example, like he said. He doesn't look too good already. Damn it!" Riker wasn't sure why he was so shook up over the doctor, but Jordan didn't wait for him to ask. "I went down there," he whispered, "into that hell. I dressed as a prisoner while the others went as SS. I crawled through barracks after barracks and one day, I even got caught and had to go on the kommando, but I found him that night. After weeks in that place, he was alive and I found him." He stopped there and brushed his hands through his hair. "Now he's here. I might have been to be happy to see a familiar face, but not his. We sacrificed a lot so he could live. *I* sacrificed. He shouldn't be here." Riker didn't respond. He didn't know what to say. He watched Jordan leave, as well as he could with what little light there was now, and then returned to the others. "Morning is sure to come quick," he told them, not bothering to share Jordan's last comments about Bashir. "We'd best get some sleep." He watched the doctor while he said that, but Bashir didn't seem to pay any attention. He was staring at the wall again, and it didn't look like he'd be sleeping soon. Riker remembered that he hadn't slept at all in the *Enterprise*'s brig. That, alone, should maybe have tipped Troi off. Doctor Bashir pressed himself into the corner, ignoring the staring eyes of all the other men in the barracks. He didn't care about them, couldn't care about them. He was on the floor. He had to worry about himself. There were rats on the floor. Or there would be. And he had no shoes. He used to have wooden shoes. They were uncomfortable but they were good for beating the rats away, when he wasn't too tired to lift them. But one of those rats could be her. She could be one of the men. She could be the wall. Nothing was safe and there was no one to trust. There was no way out this time. No gas chambers, Jordan had said so. There was no way to transport him without the count being off. And if the count were off, the others would die. Riker lay down on the floor beside him, and Bashir wondered why he didn't take one of the bunks. He was a Commander. He had rank. "Try and sleep," Riker told him. "Consider it an order." Bashir nodded and Riker closed his eyes. But Bashir couldn't. He wasn't tired. And he had to keep his eyes open. If he closed his eyes, he wouldn't be able to see the danger before it hit. -- --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 ???@??? Sun Feb 01 00:59:16 2004 Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n11.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.66]) by emu (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1aNaCG3jl3NZFnx1 for ; Sat, 31 Jan 2004 21:58:22 -0800 (PST) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-13075-1075614998-stephenbratliff=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yahoo.