Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 07:05:44 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 7/17 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Chapter Thirteen Continued Bashir had been given five minutes to explore the sick house before the wounded began to come in. He had found a cabinet with various bandages, a vascular regenerator, and a handful of other simple medical devices. No antibiotics or anethetics, no surgical equipment. There was nothing much to treat a life-threatening wound, or even an infection from a paper-cut. He himself had a basin in which to wash his hands, but without soap, he could not even be called on to stop the spread of infection from one patient to another. Most of the patients though, didn't call for much more than the supplies he had on hand. He spent the day treating minor wounds, the worst of which was a broken arm. Six Jem'Hadar stood guard outside to make sure that none shirked their chores by lurking at the sick house needlessly. After treatment, each patient thanked him and then hurried back out the door to be escorted back to their work detail. By the time the sky began its turn to red, Bashir had begun to feel like a doctor again. The sick house was a simple room with the cabinet and basin along one wall and a table in the center. Nothing else. No bunks overfull with dying prisoners. No foul smell of dysentery and disease. This was not Auschwitz, and the memories did not seek to convince him it was. That changed when he stepped out the door. The Jem'Hadar appeared again as kapos and the gathering they took him to was little different from any roll call the Germans had called. Hundreds of striped-uniformed prisoners stood in ranks while Jem'Hadar moved among them counting. Bashir, however, was not placed in their ranks. He was pushed to the side and made to stand by the building where the hooks hung on the wall. The front wall was once more rolled up into the ceiling and the back wall was dark from where V'dara had been. Tonight, there would be a lottery. Garulos had thought he was relieved to reach the end of the work day. He had had only one short break for lunch--if it could be called that. Everyone on his detail was given twenty minutes to receive and swallow the bland, pasty ration bars that served as food in the camp. Two bars. Garulos had watched the other prisoners and followed their example. He ate one bar, as distasteful as it was, and slipped the other into his clothes. It had been quite a trick to keep it there during the rest of the day. He had no pockets. The bar had had to be tucked behind the waist-band of his pants. He wasn't looking forward to how it would taste after sweating over it all day. But he did acknowlege that he was very hungry, perhaps hungry enough to eat even a sweat-soaked, bland, pasty ration bar. He just wished he had some water to wash it down with. But right then what he wished most was to sit. When they had returned to the area in front of the building with the hooks, Garulos had miraculously managed to find Bormann among the other prisoners. They could not, however, find any other members of their crew. Except Bashir. Bashir was standing next to the building opposite the Vorta who ran the camp. He was flanked by three Jem'Hadar and he looked a mess. More Jem'Hadar moved methodically around the rows and lines of prisoners, arranged in blocks. They were silent, but Garulos could guess what they were doing. Counting. And counting again. Two hours had passed already. The sun was dropping, and with it, the temperature. Bright, glaring lights had flashed on with an audible boom and still the prisoners stood. And still the Jem'Hadar counted. It might have been maddening if Garulos hadn't had his legs to focus on. They ached from the fatigue of working for twelve hours to build three barracks. And to tear down two others. It was tiring, not to mention pointless work. The condemned buildings were in no more disrepair than any others. At first, his legs had welcomed the respite of being still. But after a while, the weight of his body had caused them to ache again. His feet begged for relief and his back protested as well. And still they stood. And still the Jem'Hadar counted. Garulos had heard the conversation the night before, how the human, Jordan, had compared this camp to one called Auschwitz. He wished he'd studied more Earth history now. He wondered if that camp was as ridiculous as this one. The work detail had made no sense, and now, if this scene was to be believed, Jem'Hadar couldn't count higher than sixteen. They had passed by him at least six times already. No one had moved or fallen from the lines, so the sixth count would be no different from the first. And yet they came around again. Finally, when the sun was completely gone from the sky, the Jem'Hadar seemed satisfied. They conferred with each other and then one, moved forward to report to the Vorta. The latter nodded, apparently satisfied, and Garulos found himself growing anxious. He also remembered what Jordan had said of the lottery, and of course, he'd seen one of those hooks in use. As much as he wanted to be not be standing anymore, he didn't want to have to move from the spot where he stood. He didn't want anyone to. Another Vorta appeared from behind the building and handed a PADD to the commanding Vorta--the other prisoners had call him Deyos. Deyos then began to call out numbers. "Three hundred and two, nine hundred forty-six, twenty-eight." Garulos expected to hear a gasp of shock or a wimper of despair, but he heard nothing. Three people, however stepped out from ranks and walked to the front, stopping in front of the three hooks inside the building. Deyos called three more numbers, and the man beside Garulos took a deep breath and shuddered. Then he stepped forward. Two women joined him and they stood just to the side of the original three. Six Jem'Hadar moved forward as well. They moved to either side of the original three and, each taking an arm, they lifted their prisoners up and impaled them on the hooks. Garulos shook when they screamed and could not bring himself to look at their writhing forms. They did not die quickly. It seemed an eternity before anyone spoke or moved. It was Deyos, and he called three more numbers and then said, "Take them down." Garulos chanced to look up, expecting to see the Jem'Hadar remove the dead prisoners from the hooks, but it was the second group of condemned who did so. The man who had been standing beside him had the victim on the left. He wrapped his arms around the prisoner's legs and lifted. Garulas was shocked to see the victim's arm grab hold of the man's shoulder. He was not dead. But still he was lifted from the hook and laid on the ground in front of the building. Then the Jem'Hadar took that man who had been standing beside Garulos, and the two women who were called with him, and lifted them onto the hooks while the next three watched silently. Garulos wanted to scream along with those on the hooks. He tried to find some reasoning for the Dominion to do this to its prisoners, but it didn't make any sense. Why not simply execute them? The Jem'Hadar had rifles. Why not shoot them? Why make them suffer? When the screams ceased. Deyos read three more numbers and the process repeated. Before the gathering was dismissed fifteen had lost their lives, and fifteen more had been condemned. O'Brien gave out a low whistle. "This is not what Julian needs right now." Sisko nodded. In front of them, on the main viewscreen, were nearly two hundred vessels of Federation and Klingon designs. And that was only the portion of the gathering armada that fit in the viewscreen at present magnification. The Romulans had yet to arrive. The warp trails of the two vessels had led to D'Nexi and beyond. And, given the present state of affairs at D'Nexi, the *Defiant* could not simply continue on alone into enemy territory, cloak or not. The D'Nexi Lines had exploded, and the *Defiant* was now just one of many ships about to engage in combat with the enemy. "It's not what any of us needs right now," Ezri added. "Except it's what the war needs right now," Sisko countered. "If we can turn them back at D'Nexi today, we'll have gained a significant victory. The Dominion will have to retreat from this sector." "I hate war," O'Brien said. "So do I, Chief," Sisko replied. "So do I." -- --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 01:03:06 2004 Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n27.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.83]) by eagle (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1aNaFH4vi3NZFji1 for ; Sat, 31 Jan 2004 22:01:29 -0800 (PST) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-13078-1075615011-stephenbratliff=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yahoo.