Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 07:10:05 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 11/17 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Chapter Fifteen Continued Pfenner grabbed her by the arms as soon as she entered. "Eline!" he exclaimed. "I think I've found it!" Formenos shook her head. "Found what?" "The K-Layer!" he said, pulling her over to his console. "I was nearly there last time. . . ." He rattled on for another twenty minutes but Formenos barely heard. *Not today,* she thought. *Not today!* She had a plan, yes, but no guarantee she could pull it off. She didn't know if she could get a terminal. Now all she had was today. Today, they would test the K-Layer again. And if it proved successful, the Dominion would spread the technology to all their forces in the Alpha Quadrant. She had only this one day to stop them. ". . . test scheduled for 1800 hours," Pfenner was saying. "We have a thousand calculations and simulations to run before then, but I'm sure it will work. The pilot will come home this time." Then he stopped short, and really looked at her for the first time that day. "You don't share my enthusiasm," he surmised. "This isn't home," she told him. "That pilot will never see home, whether he makes it back here or not." Pfenner rubbed his chin as he nodded. "But he'll be alive, Eline. There will be no more blood on my hands." *There will be so much, you'll never wash away the stain,* she thought. She couldn't let that happen. Not to him, and not to the Federation. She had taken an oath when she joined Starfleet. "I'll need your help on the simulations," Pfenner told her. "I know you don't approve of this. But it's the only choice we've got right now." *And they'll kill you when they have what they want,* she thought again. She nodded though, trying hard to appear resigned and not determined. Simulations were run from a terminal. Bormann couldn't feel his legs. He stumbled against the weight of the body he was carrying. That, and the realization that this was his last day to live. Three days. They'd only been in the camp three days and still his number had come up. He felt trapped in a nightmare and kept hoping he'd wake up. Sticky blood ran down his shirt and smeared his cheek, but he hardly noticed. By the end of the day, someone else would be carrying him. Before that, he would be impaled upon a large metal hook in front of his fellow prisoners. Bashir walked alongside the line of body-carriers like some kind of automaton, head down, feet barely lifting. Bormann thought he looked defeated, and he finally understood. Maybe Bashir was better off that way, lost in something other than this dreadful reality. Then he remembered what Riker had said. It was no happy place where the doctor was. But Bormann had to wonder if it was worse than what they faced now. They were led to a part of camp Bormann had never seen, past an electrified gate. The Jem'Hadar directed them to stack the bodies against a short building. As Bormann dropped his load, he felt a hand on his arm to help him up. "I'd trade you places if I could," Bashir whispered. Bormann just nodded as the Jem'Hadar led him away. He believed him. Bashir was defeated, ready to leave this life behind. Bormann's heart pounded hard in his chest. He wasn't ready. Every instinct he had said to fight, to run. No surrender. But he'd seen all too well what that could mean. Stoning sounded worse than the hook. And if Deyos was into ancient Earth capital punishments, he might choose something even more agonizing and slow. It was not fair, not right. How could this have happened? If Section 31 got them captured, why didn't they get them out before this happened? They orchestrated everything else so well. How could they just sit and watch Federation prisoners killed day after day in this place? The Jem'Hadar deposited him in front of the first building he was meant to clean. Barlu was waiting there with supplies. He'd seen Barlu in the kommando before, but he hadn't actually worked with him yet. "Bormann, isn't it?" Barlu asked, as he handed him a bucket and rag. Bormann just nodded. He didn't feel like talking. Barlu, though, apparently did. "I imagine it's a hard time for you. They do that on purpose. Put you through the wringer up here--" He pointed to his head. "--before they hurt you physically." Bormann nodded again. "So are you going to let them?" Bormann stopped scrubbing and faced the older man. "What?" he asked, utterly perplexed. "It's not like I have a choice. You saw what happened this morning." "You do have a choice," Barlu said, stopping his work, too. "Not about the hook, but about the wringer." "What *are* you talking about?" Bormann challenged. Barlu's eyes met his and though it felt unusual to really look at someone eye to eye, Bormann couldn't look away. "You have less than a day to live, Mr. Bormann," Barlu said. "How are you going to live it? Are you going to die slowly though self-pity? Or are you going to spend this time looking back on the joys of your life?" Bormann's breath quickened but he still couldn't let go of those eyes. "I'm scared," he confessed. "I don't want to die." Barlu put his hand on Bormann's shoulder. "We are all going to die. Some in peace and some in pain. Some in war. Some in murder. Or accidents or suicides. We all die. Death is just one part of life. You only have a few hours left. Maybe I only have a day or only a minute . I'm not going to spend my time wallowing in death. What do you want to do with yours?" *They killed him,* Bashir told himself, repeating words Kira had once told him. *They killed him. They just used our hands.* But looking down at the bruised and misshapen body in front of him, he couldn't make himself believe it. Heiler had known how to make him suffer. She had made him beat a man to death. Deyos, apparently, knew it, too. He was a doctor, sworn to heal and not to harm. By his nature he fought death and now he was made to serve it. And he did so without struggle. He didn't fight it. He did what he was told. Fighting it was impossible. He learned that from Heiler. Evil had no boundaries, no rules of right and wrong. And it was all around him. It was winning. He lifted the door and incinerated the body, and again he thought about climbing in himself. He had meant what he said to Bormann. Almost. While he would welcome death, he did not want to die like the victims of the lottery. Pain and suffering were two of the main reasons he wanted out of this life. Avoiding pain as best he could had become his only reason to keep on living. But pain had become a constant. It had *hurt* to stone that man. Deyos had counted on that just as much as Heiler had. His back and arms ached from the strain of lifting the bodies. Every breath hurt. And he was tired. He was tired of fighting, tired of thinking, tired of breathing. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and leave this and all worlds far behind. Riker chided at him to sleep and eat, but he couldn't do either. His stomach ached but he could not bring himself to eat even one ration bar. Nor could he close his eyes and rest his mind for more than a few seconds at a time. He returned to the pile of bodies, under the watchful eyes of his kapos. Five more to go, he thought and wished he would stop thinking altogether. Riker struggled to keep the bile in his stomach. The gore around him was no more than during other days, but on other days his crew were not chosen to die. Riker had found it easy, in these last few days, to think his crewmen were safe enough. Given, Bashir's sanity was falling into question and Simmons had lost his tongue, but otherwise no one had been physically threatened. Their work details, while demanding, were not overly dangerous and the lottery had passed them by. Riker knew Section 31 had led them to this place, but despite what Bashir had said about them, he had still had faith that, if they had sent them to get captured, they would get them out once their mission was accomplished. It nearly was accomplished. Section 31 had even helped in that. Why then would they allow the Dominion to kill Bormann? Maybe there was still hope. Formenos had the virus. If she initiated it soon, Section 31 could still whisk them away before the evening's lottery. But where would that leave all these other prisoners? They were no less worthy of rescue than Riker and his crew. It was just too overwhelming to think of the thousands of prisoners held here. It threatened to push him to the edge--like Bashir. All he could manage to hold onto were those closest to him here: his crew and Bashir. And Jordan. He had only known Jordan for three days, but he had become, in a way, their guide in this abyss. He had no more guarantee of survival than anyone else, less even than Bashir. He simply knew the way and cared enough to share it with them. That made six. He could handle six. Too soon he'd have only five. Death was a part of war and, while it still hurt, it was at least expected that some would die in battle. But this wasn't war. In battle, Bormann would have a chance, even if only a small one. This was murder, brutal and slow, with the added torture of having to wait, knowing it was coming. Not even war was supposed to be like this. Something knocked him hard in the back and Riker's face was pushed into the bloody wall. "Work, human!" a voice snarled behind him. "This room must be clean by roll call!" Riker had to bite back the bile in his throat again. Using his sleeve, he wiped some of the grime from his face and then bent back to his work, realizing that he was being naive again. He had thought that nothing could be worse than the stoning. He had to stop thinking things like that. Formenos finished entering the data just before lunch. She prayed to whatever might be listening that the virus would work. That's what it was. She realized it as she entered the data. A virus. It would take over the environmental systems, flooding the entire plant with icarin gas. A single spark would then set off an enormous explosion. And of course, before all that happened, the virus would upload itself to the orbital platform and do the same there. Icarin gas was odorless and colorless, but highly flammable. A part of her shuddered to think about the pilots and other prisoner workers who might die in the explosions, but she was firm in her convictions. It was more important to stop the project or millions would die. Still, she herself had to get out. She couldn't warn any others without raising suspicions but she wanted to report back to Commander Riker before she was found and punished. And she was sure she would be found and punished. There really wasn't anywhere to run. Their mission was to find out if Pfenner was a traitor and she wanted the record to be straight on that account. He, like the others would die in the explosion, and she felt he deserved to not have his memory marred by accusations of treason. He wasn't treasonous, just soft-hearted. He was punishing himself for Mtingwa and the others. He couldn't see that the project's success meant the loss of the war. So he helped the Dominion because his conscience wouldn't let those pilots die for nothing. Tonight, they would all die. But not for nothing. Barlu listened to him all day as he droned on and on about his family, his sister, his graduation from Starfleet Academy, his childhood pets. He recounted his life, the happy times. Barlu was right. That was how he wanted to spend his last hours. Living instead of dying. Before Barlu had cornered him with that question, his death had loomed so large that he could see nothing else. Now the sky was getting darker. There were only two building left to clean. His time was running out. "That hook isn't the end of things, you know." Bormann smiled and shook his head. He'd known that was coming. Before he might have been offended, but not now. Barlu had been there for him, a total stranger. He owed him. What could it hurt to listen? "You believe in an afterlife," he stated. Barlu nodded. "For all of us. Even the Dominion." "Why would you want an afterlife with them?" Bormann asked as he dipped his rag and started washing the wall. "It's not about wanting it," Barlu answered. "We all get an afterlife whether we want one or not. Some of us are going to have a pleasant one. Some of us not." "Hell?" Bormann asked, dropping the rag back into the bucket. "Isn't that what this is?" Barlu didn't back down. "This is a picnic by comparison." "You really believe that? What is it, a lake of fire?" "Yes, I really believe it." Barlu bent down and picked up his own bucket. "And you should, too. What have you got to lose?" "Dignity, maybe." Bormann thought about what the others would think if he suddenly announced he believed in this Christian stuff. "Do you think Jafhe died without it?" Jafhe. The missionary. Bormann shook his head. "He was all dignity." "Yes, and do you know why?" Bormann thought about that. What had made Jafhe so dignified? "No fear," he said. "He had no fear." "And you know why he wasn't afraid." Bormann nodded. "He believed he was going to heaven." Barlu nodded. "The afterlife. The pleasant one. He had faith. And that faith didn't fail him. You saw that." "But why?" Bormann asked as he went back to work. "Why would you believe all that? Most humans left that stuff behind centuries ago." "I know." Barlu crossed over to the opposite wall and dipped his rag again. "It's some of the things Jesus commanded that sealed the deal for me. I mean, if I was going to make up a religion so convincing that millions would convert to it for centuries--even millenia--I'd make it a little easier, something everyone could do. But He commanded things that go against our nature: 'Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.' Now who in their right minds would want to love their enemies? Love the Jem'Hadar? Or our head Vorta? That tells me these twelve guys didn't just sit down around a fire and concoct a religion out of thin air." Bormann's brow furrowed at that. Barlu had a point. "So how do you do it? How do you love the Jem'Hadar?" "With difficulty," Barlu answered quickly, chuckling a bit. "Really, I guess I just try to look at them as God sees them. They were his creatures once. They were taken and corrupted, genetically engineered to take away their freedom of choice. They have no choice but to worship the Founders. It's not their fault they are the way they are. Just think, we are prisoners here. They take our freedom and even our lives. But the one thing they are never able to take away is choice. We can choose to believe whatever we want. The Jem'Hadar can't. The Founders have condemned them. "And think about our commandant. He's a Vorta. They helped the changlings once and in their gratitude the Founders took not only their ability to choose but their ability to taste, to see and appreciate beauty, even to be unique. If something happens to this Deyos, there's another one in a can somewhere. Can you imagine it? He'll never hear a symphony and get lost in the harmony and melody. He'll never taste Idanian spice pudding. He'll never fall in love. And if he dies, no one will bother with his memory. They'll just replace him and be done with it. No one misses a Vorta. No one misses a Jem'Hadar. In that, my friend, we are rich." Bormann paused in his cleaning. "I've never thought of it like that." "Because it's not in our nature to do so," Barlu said. "That's why I believe. I can think of it like that because for all my faults, God looks at me like that. He thought I was worth dying for." Worth dying for. Bormann knew with certainty that he was going to die, but he wondered now what he had that was worth dying for. He had his family but they were safe enough at home now. There was the war, but he wouldn't be dying in battle or in a heroic rescue of others. What was he dying for? The clinic was busy. A lot of hands had been cut on the stones. Doctor Bashir cleaned them as best he could and bandaged them up before sending their owners back out to work. There were a few more serious injuries: chemical burns, sprained joints, tool cuts. It was a much more relaxing and rewarding task to patch them up than it was to burn their bodies. But he resented it. It was another ploy to lure him back to life. Heiler had done it. He had given up and she put him in the hospital, let him bandage some wounds, let him feel--in some small way--like a doctor again. It felt good, and he didn't want to feel good. He didn't want to feel. A woman came in holding her left arm in her right hand. Blood slipped between her fingers to drip onto the floor. Bashir sat her down and poured water over her cut. It wasn't even sterile water. He was hardly saving her from infection, considering the filth they all had to work in. It was a wonder he hadn't seen any gangrene yet. And what did it matter anyway. He would probably be burning her corpse in the next day or two. She was the last one. The sun was setting outside, and the kapos pounded the door. He stood up and stretched his back for a moment and stared at his hands. The hands of a healer once, but they'd be burning Bormann tonight. He found Riker at the front of the lines, as usual. He never had to go far to roll call. The hanging room was stark white again, a tribute to his kapos more than to him. Riker looked pale in the darkening light. Bashir couldn't see Bormann. He didn't want to see Bormann. By the time the kapos had finished counting, Bashir's legs had gone numb and his back was aching again. Deyos called out three numbers, and the first victims were put on the hooks. Bashir tried to tune out the sound of the hook passing through flesh, the cries of the dying. The next three were called, and they removed the first from the hooks only to be placed on them themselves. Bashir noticed that one of the bodies was still twitching. Another neck to break if she didn't die by the time they reached the crematoria. The next three numbers were called, and this time Bormann stepped forward from somewhere near the back. Bashir watched him as he waited for his turn to die. His whole body quivered, but his eyes were closed and his lips moved in small movements. When it was time to take down the body, he moved forward without shaking. He pulled the body down and placed it into the pile near Bashir. "Don't let them kill your spirit, Doctor," he whispered. "You still have choice." Then he stepped back and was lifted by two Jem'Hadar onto the hook. Bashir couldn't tune out the sounds then. Bormann clenched his teeth in an effort not to scream, but the sound was ripped from him regardless. "Jesus!" he cried. "I choose You!" And at that the chanting started again, though it was too quiet for Bashir to hear the words. Bormann had become a believer. Twenty minutes dragged by, and still he didn't die. He cried out his hurt, but kept saying "Jesus" over and over again. And then he did something odd. He looked out at the gathered prisoners before him and held out his hand. And he smiled. His hand and head dropped and he stopped moving altogether. The next three stepped up and took him and the other two down. Then they went up, and the cycle continued, until the morning's victims were chosen and the Jem'Hadar led Bashir away in a procession of death. Pfenner pressed the panel again. The test hadn't worked. Another pilot had been lost. It tore at him, but he knew he was close. Very close. And once he had it, no more pilots would die because of him. He knew Eline didn't see eye to eye with him on this, but he hadn't thought she'd refuse him her company at dinner. Despite their few priveleges, they were both still prisoners. A place of privelege was lonely. Still there was no answer at her door. He was getting impatient. He had not had a good day and he didn't feel well. Pfenner decided to open it anyway. Privelege also had its benefits. He pressed his code into the panel and the door opened, but Formenos was not there. "Eline," he called, listening closely for an answer. All he heard was wind. Wind? There were no windows in this complex. As the wind grew louder, he stepped back into the corridor. Then he stumbled backwards, eyes wide and full of fear. Fire. The air was turning into fire. And just as his mind put that thought together, fire roared through the corridor and poured into the room. Pfenner couldn't breathe. He felt the heat, but was too shocked to feel the pain. What he felt was a tingle moving through his body. Then his ears registered a horrendously loud explosion and the floor crumbled away beneath him. -- --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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