Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 07:05:31 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 5/17 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Chapter Thirteen The runabout had not disappeared at all. All the evidence pointed to a much simpler solution, and yet one still unexplanable: It had cloaked. No K-Layer Subspace Concealment, no phase shifting, nothing out of the ordinary. Just cloaked. Only Starfleet runabouts were not equipped with cloaking devices. That opened a new page to the mystery. And Kira found she preferred focusing on the mystery of the runabout to dwelling on Captain Sisko's confession. She wasn't quite sure what to do with that. She could tell herself that she might have done the same thing, especially during the Occupation. She could also say that the Romulans deserved it. They had been letting the Dominion use their space to attack Federation and Klingon ships. She could even say that Sisko was probably right. If the Romulans hadn't joined the war, the Dominion would very likely have turned on them in time. And maybe that was why she didn't harbor any more animosity for Garak than she had before Sisko's revelation. It wasn't hard to figure out how Sisko had come by his plan and the pieces required to carry it out. He hadn't mentioned the Cardassian tailor/spy, but Garak had long ago ceased to fool anyone as to his true calling. He was devious, dangerous, and deliberate. But he was also slowly developing a conscience more closely resembling Bajoran or Federation ethics. And sometimes that *did* fool people. He was still a Cardassian, born and raised. The cost paid for the success of Sisko's plan was probably quite small in his eyes. Cardassian ethics wouldn't bat an eye at sacrificing an individual for the good of the state. So, really, he hadn't done anything that would surprise Kira. But Sisko. . . . Sisko was her captain, her commanding officer for more than six years. He was a man who had earned her trust and respect. He had earned her admiration. He was fair and caring when necessary and tactically brilliant when that was required. He could look beyond his own beliefs and upbringing to accept the Bajorans' differences, and even to embrace them. He was a man of principles. And he abided by those principles. Or at least he had. Beyond all that, he was the Emissary, chosen by the Prophets. She had accepted that on faith, and on Kai Opaka's declaration, and had trusted the Prophets' judgment. Benjamin Sisko had found the Celestial Temple and met the Prophets. He had discovered B'Hala. He had warned Bajor against joining the Federation before the war began, and thus saved Bajor from instant anihilation by the Dominion. He was revered by her people, and by Kira herself. But how then could he have done what he did? It was no wonder to her now that Julian had been so uneasy around the captain. *Enough!* she shouted to herself. If she wasn't careful, her distress would show. Questions would be asked; the truth might get out. And then the Federation would face a war against four races with only the Klingons at their side. Julian had kept silent, as best he could. She would have to as well. "Why would they turn toward D'Nexi?" Ezri asked, and the question helped Kira to return her thoughts to the missing runabout. The single warp trail they had been following turned abruptly in the direction of the D'Nexi system and the battle about to rage there. "The *Enterprise* is already going there. Why leave the *Enterprise* only to turn back without a word?" "They didn't turn back exactly," O'Brien offered. "They set a course that would bring them to the D'Nexi system, not to the *Enterprise.* But what good could a runabout do in that kind of engagement? There was hardly enough firepower aboard to tickle a Cardassian Galor-Class warship." "I think it's all simpler than that," the captain said, startling them all. He hadn't joined in the conversation up to this point, and Kira had figured he was stewing in his own guilt. He was still sitting in the command chair, with his elbows propped up and fingers steepled together in front of his face. He wasn't stewing, she realized. He was thinking. "Runabouts don't have cloaks." They already knew that. Romulan and Klingon vessels had cloaks, but in Starfleet, only Defiant-class vessels were equipped with them. Dax nodded. "Klingons and Romulans do. But neither of them have any reason to take our runabout." "There's someone else," the captain said, dropping his hands and sitting up straight. "Someone who can transport a Starfleet officer off his station while the shields are up." At that moment, Kira forgot to breathe. Julian was the Starfleet officer in Sisko's statement. Section 31 had taken him. "So they might also be able to cloak a runabout," Dax finished for them all. O'Brien slapped his hand on the console in front of him. "And just how do they think they're helping the war effort by keeping that kind of technology to themselves anyway?" Kira took a breath again at that. "What do they want with our runabout? Why D'Nexi?" Worf finally spoke. "Pfenner. They do not want D'Nexi. The runabout was going to Faeros. They must know Pfenner is not in the Faeros system." "He's at D'Nexi," Sisko said, nodding. "Do you think it's a coincidence that they also took Bashir today?" Ezri took in a quick breath. "Julian cracked the layers. I mean, we all did, or Garak did, but anyway, it was Julian who put the pieces together." Kira looked at the captain and felt something akin to hope stir in her disgruntled stomach. "If we find Pfenner," he said, "we find Julian." The light came as quickly as it had left the night before. Sunrise and sunset were shortlived on this moon or planet wherever they were. Riker blinked and began the process of sitting up. His joints were stiff from sleeping on the hard ground, but he stretched and the kinks began to work themselves out. The others started to stir as well, stifling yawns. Once they remembered where they were, they lost the sleepy look. Today was their first full day as prisoners of the Dominion. Just in time to punctuate that thought, Riker heard shouts and sirens begin to blare. He looked to Bashir and found him sitting in the same position as he'd left him, hunched into the corner. But he began to move with the sirens. Riker was surprised then, when the doctor was standing before any of the rest of them. Riker stood to meet him. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked. "I wasn't sleepy," Bashir replied. Riker regarded him for few more moments. He looked tired. Very tired, as if he hadn't been sleeping for quite awhile. His skin was taut and the area under his eyes was dark. His eyes, themselves, seemed almost lifeless. But he replied quickly, unlike last night, when he'd appeared to be in a daze. Flashbacks, Riker decided. He was probably having flashbacks. But, despite the physical signs of exhaustion, Bashir appeared to be alert and coherent. The door, nearly concealed from all view when closed, began to ascend to the ceiling and a Jem'Hadar ducked under it to get inside. "Out!" he ordered, brandishing his weapon. Riker nodded, an almost imperceptible movement, but his men caught it and began to move toward the door. Bashir stepped forward, too, and Riker let him pass. The Jem'Hadar followed him back out the door. Riker squinted against the brightness of morning in this place. He could hardly make out the next building in the glare. He could, however, make out the silhouette of the Vorta, Deyos, the camp's commander. There were also four other Jem'Hadar. One of them wore a Klingon knife in a sheath on his boot. "I hope you had a good night's sleep," Deyos offered, his voice dripping in insincerity. "I'm sure you're all very eager to find out your new assignments. You will report to the following kommandos and there you will learn your tasks. Mr. Simmons, you will be working in the plant." Riker stiffened at that, as did Simmons. They'd heard what Jordan had said about the plant. One of the Jem'Hadar stepped forward and shoved his weapon into Simmons's back. "Move!" To his credit, Simmons made no reply or complaint. He looked back at Riker once and then began to walk in the direction the Jem'Hadar was prodding him. Deyos was unperturbed. "Bormann, maintenance." Another Jem'Hadar stepped foward, but Bormann had already gotten the hint. He started moving before the Jem'Hadar could butt him with his weapon. "Garulos," Deyos went on, "construction." Garulos, too, moved of his own accord. And with that, Riker's original crew was stripped from him. He hoped he'd see them again by nightfall. He hoped Simmons could still talk by then. Deyos turned to Bashir next, and Riker held his breath. "You, my dear doctor, may tend the wounded." Bashir nearly fell over. "What?" he blurted. Riker was just as surprised. He'd expected Bashir to get hauled away and beaten or thrown into solitary confinement. "And tend the dead," Deyos added. "You can start with that Romulan filth we hung yesterday. Burn the body, destroy the ash." No more words came from Bashir, and Riker remembered a word from his history classes when they'd dealt with the Holocaust: Sonderkommando. Riker watched the Jem'Hadar with the knife lead the doctor away and wondered if he'd see any of his team again. There was only one Jem'Hadar left and he now took Riker's arm. "Commander Riker," Deyos finally addressed him, "you and I have some things to discuss." He turned his back and began walking. The Jem'Hadar made sure that Riker followed. Captain Sisko braced himself as he dematerialized and rematerialized on the runabout. Because the trace was weak, they'd had to follow it slowly. Nearly eight hours after finding the trace, they had found the vessel itself. Two other warp signatures were found within transport distance of the runabout, and no life signs were present on the *Dnieper*. A quick scan had revealed all life support functions were functioning perfectly, so Sisko had decided he wanted a look for himself. He took Dax and O'Brien with him and left Worf in command of the *Defiant*. "She checks out, sir," O'Brien reported. "Not a thing is wrong with her." "And I don't detect a cloaking device anywhere," Dax added. "It feels like a ghost ship, though." Sisko nodded. It did feel like one. A perfect ship without a crew. He caught Dax's eye. "Check the logs." Then he made his way to the rear compartment with his own tricorder out. Even though he suspected Section 31 was behind the runabout's initial disappearance, he didn't think it was like them to abduct an entire crew and leave the ship behind. But why else would Riker and his crew abandon the ship, if there were no equipment malfunctions. Two warp signatures outside the runabout pointed to a potential threat, but the *Defiant*'s sensors had shown no indication of recent phaser blasts to the hull. If the two other ships were Jem'Hadar, how had they found the cloaked runabout? And why would the cloak come down here in front of them? Why would the crew give up without a fight? O'Brien had also come to the rear. Sisko walked to one wall and began opening each locker and drawer. Surely an away team would have packed supplies. O'Brien took the other side and began the same process. Sisko was just about to reach the bunks when Dax came in behind them. "There are no logs," she reported, "which, I'm aware, doesn't make much sense." "They staged this," O'Brien stated as he slammed a locker closed. "They cloaked this runabout and then, when it was all over, they took the cloak and cleaned up the scene. There's not a stitch of evidence that shows anybody was ever on this runabout to begin with." Sisko had a locker open and he left it that way when he turned to them. "They left more than a stitch, Chief." They walked over to stand behind him and Dax gasped. Three pieces of clothing lay carefully folded in the bottom of the locker. O'Brien picked up the top piece and unfolded it to reveal the jacket Julian had been wearing as he boarded the shuttle that morning. Sisko picked up the rest: a shirt and a pair of pants. "Things just got a bit more interesting." Crewman Formenos did not comment when she was assigned to the plant. She wondered, of course, what the plant was and what was done there, but she had hope that she might see someone from her crew now that she was out of the barracks. She had not seen any of them since she was separated out. She had not seen anyone. The barracks she had slept in were empty. She was taken south, past many rows of barracks, but, still, she saw no one except her escorts. Three Jem'Hadar walked beside and behind her. The bright sun reflected off the ground nearly blinded her and the heat was intense. Still, she said nothing, preferring not to show any weakness to the Jem'Hadar. After perhaps half an hour they reached the bottom of a high hill. Only as they ascended above the heights of the barracks did Formenos get her first glimpse of other prisoners. Far off to the west she saw what could have been a construction crew. To the east, striped uniforms moved through the barracks like ants in a farm. She was pushed from behind when she looked too long. She forced her eyes forward again. The top of the hill housed a long, white complex of buildings. Formenos was herded toward the closest one of them. She was pushed again as she stepped through the door. Her eyes were not able to keep up with the sudden change from the bright of outdoors to the interior darkness. She had stopped because she couldn't see. But, with the Jem'Hadar's encouragement, she moved on, trying not to hesitate in her steps. After a few seconds, her eyes began to adjust and she could see she was in a room with about 40 other people. The Jem'Hadar placed her in line and then left, closing the door behind them. Formenos squinted at the crowd, trying to see if she recognized any of the faces. Someone clapped twice and the people began to move, lining up on two sides of the room. All except one, but he was pulled into line by the others. Simmons. He saw her, too, but when his gaze met hers, she became confused. The front of his shirt and chin were red with blood, but he didn't appear to be bleeding anymore. He held a shaky hand up to his mouth and his eyes told her of sorrow and fear. Four people stepped into the room. Two were Jem'Hadar, one was a Vorta, and the other was human. The human, wearing a long white coat and neatly pressed trousers, stopped at the far end of the line and waited, flanked by the two Jem'Hadar. Formenos recognized him, too. Pfenner. The Vorta moved down the other row. Each prisoner in turn opened his or her mouth. He reached Simmons and his neighbor had to open Simmon's mouth for him as Simmons seemed to be in too much shock to move for himself. The inspector nodded and passed to the next in line. He reached the end of the line quickly and was soon in front of Formenos. Following along, she opened her mouth. The inspector stopped and checked a chart in his hand. "Ah, the other new one," he said, smiling softly. Formenos shut her mouth and looked to Simmons. He was shaking his head. She didn't dare speak, so she tried to send the question with her eyes. *What?* Simmons opened his mouth again and made a scissors sign with his fingers. Formenos felt queazy. The blood. They had cut out his tongue. "It needs to be processed," the Vorta called. Formenos was too scared to worry over the insult of being called an 'it.' She wondered if they would even anesthetize her first. Simmons looked to be in shock, not pain. Maybe it wouldn't hurt. The Jem'Hadar moved from around Pfenner, but he rushed to keep up with them. He pushed one of them out of the way until he was standing beside the Vorta. "Eline Formenos?" he asked. Formenos wondered how he knew her name. She nodded. "Do you know who this is?" Pfenner asked the Vorta, who rolled his eyes in a completely disinterested manner. "Doctor Eline Formenos is one of the most renowned Subspace Theorists in the Federation." Formenos found the whole thing rather surreal. Her tongue was about to be cut out, she had been called an 'it' by a Vorta, and now their target had her confused with some scientist who had the same name. She got the feeling, though, that she didn't want to contradict him. Maybe being a scientist would mean she would get to keep her tongue. "What it is matters little," the Vorta said. "Don't you see?" Pfenner argued. "She could be essential to discovering the layer! Her work on subspace eddies has become the standard." Layers? Formenos remembered the mission and the reason Riker had surrendered. They still needed to stop the K-Layer experiments. She decided being a scientist was perhaps worth losing her tongue. What was a tongue when compared to losing the war? "Layer?" she asked, trying to sound interested. "Eddies have been proven countless times. Are you suggesting there are layers within subspace?" She paused for a moment, as if thinking. "I suppose it's possible." Pfenner sighed and then he smiled. "It's more than possible. The layers exist. We've proven it. But we haven't perfected the manner in which we can reach a specific layer. Your help would be invaluable." The Vorta seemed to be ignoring this whole exchange. He checked his chart again, but then widened his eyes at what he found. "Her qualifications *are* impressive," he muttered. She noticed the pronoun. But she couldn't just give in so quickly. She was a Federation scientist now, not a traitor. But too much resistance wouldn't get her where she needed to be: in Pfenner's lab. "Who is 'we?'" she asked. Pfenner looked as if he were going to speak, but the Vorta beat him to it. "The Dominion, of course." "I am a prisoner of war," Formenos said, "not a traitor to my people. I cannot help you." "You will do as you are told," the Vorta stated. He tilted his head and the Jem'Hadar on his left stepped up. He grabbed her head and forced her jaw open. "Wait!" Pfenner called. "We need her mind, not her hands. I can't work with her effectively if she's forced to pass notes. We need to confer and, to confer, we need to talk. She will help us when she realizes what we are doing." He looked at her again, pleaded with her with his eyes. "No scientist can resist this kind of breakthrough. And she'll want an end to the war as much as I do. You've spared my tongue. Spare hers. We need her." The Vorta studied her hard for a moment. Then he waved one hand, dismissing the Jem'Hadar. "You have one day. If she will not help us willingly, she'll work as the others do." Pfenner sighed again in relief. He took her arm. "Please," he said. "Come with me. Let me show you. Think of the science and put politics behind you." She regarded him warily but followed. The Vorta let her go and the Jem'Hadar didn't move. The other prisoners watched her as she passed, but there was only one she that mattered to her right now. She found Simmons looking back at her, relief clearly on his face, but also confusion. She offered him a quick wink and then disappeared through the door at the other end of the room. Pfenner led her to a turbolift and didn't speak again until the doors had closed. "You had me worried," he said, keeping his tone low. "I wasn't sure you'd play along." So he hadn't confused her name. "I didn't exactly want to lose my tongue," she said, opting for a neutral reason. She did not know how far she could trust him yet. "I'm not a scientist. I'm a pilot." "I know," he answered quickly. "I hacked the system and changed your records. You don't want to be a pilot here, Crewman Formenos." His voice took on a very sad quality. "Not here. Keep playing reluctant. But by the end of the day, you have to be with me. You'll see it's the only way." Formenos didn't reply to that, but she didn't need to. The lift stopped and the doors opened onto a gleaming white lab. Pfenner led her to a door on the right. She could get cleaned up in there, and change her clothes. She nodded at that, but she wasn't sure how she'd play this whole game out. She was only sure of one thing: Pfenner's way was not the only way. The Jem'Hadar were watching. V'dara was where he'd last seen her. Bashir took a deep breath before approaching too close. The morning was turning out to be quite warm and V'dara had not kept well overnight. She looked wilted upon the hook, her head hanging close to her chest. Her hands had fallen as well, and he touched one gently when he reached her. It was the only kindness he could give her with the Jem'Hadar right there. "Take it down!" one of them ordered. "This place is needed." *For the lottery,* Bashir thought, and he squeezed her hand. *Fifteen people are alive today because of you*, he told her silently. *Thirty*, he corrected himself. There had been no lottery last evening either. But the Jem'Hadar were watching. *Like kapos,* he thought, getting lost in that memory again for a moment. And strangely, the memory helped him. Again, the boundary between the past and the present--between this camp and that one--blurred. The smell was no more unbearable than the stench he'd woken up to every morning; the sight of the corpse no worse than anything he had seen amid the gas. It was easier work now, even if less pleasant. He had the use of both his hands. The guards--kapos or Jem'Hadar--were watching, so he went to work, putting the smell out of his mind and ignoring the cold, lifeless feel of her body. He wrapped his arms around her legs just above the knees, tucking his shoulder into her torso. When he lifted, he tuned out the sickening squick of the hook coming out. She fell across his shoulder and he turned toward his kapos so they could show him where to take her. His eyes scanned the horizon, looking for the large crematorium building he had helped to build, but he did not see it. All the buildings beyond the Appelplatz were identical as far as he could see. The kapos turned and Bashir followed them past many of those buildings--barracks, he realized--toward another area of the complex. After walking for nearly twenty minutes, they reached a tall pulsating fence that formed a boundary. More Jem'Hadar stood guard at the only gate he could see. They did not hinder Bashir and his minders. V'dara's body was fairly light--a testimony to the treatment of the prisoners--but still heavy after carrying her for so long. He tried to shift her weight but he would have had to put her down to switch her to his other shoulder. He did not think his kapos would allow him such an indulgence. -- --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! 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