Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 07:10:45 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 12/17 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Chapter Sixteen Eline Formenos had sighed when she joined the ranks at the roll call. So far, her borrowed uniform and shaved head were allowing her to blend in with the men. Not even the Jem'Hadar noticed when they counted. Seven times they past her. And somehow the numbers must have come up right. But she hadn't known about the lottery. And she hadn't known she'd be watching Bormann die. She tried hard to keep from crying, worried that her tears would give her away. She was surprised at how calm everyone seemed. Had they all lost their tongues as Simmons had? Is that why they didn't cry out in protest? No, that couldn't be it. Those who were dying cried out in their agony. On and on it went. Fifteen dead, three at a time, and fifteen more chosen to carry them. Bashir went with them and the roll call ranks broke. Formenos pushed through the crowds until she saw Simmons. Then she followed him to a barrack building much like the ones in the women's camp that she'd spent her first night in. Only this one was much more crowded. The had to be at least two hundred men, she thought. She pushed through them hoping to spot a familiar face in the sea of faces around her. She eventually found herself in the back corner, where at least people were sitting down, making it easier for her to see everyone. "Commander!" she said as soon as she saw him. And that was when the walls shook from the explosion. She, alone, was not surprised and used the confusion to make her way over to Riker. "Commander," she said again. This time, he heard her. Bashir broke the woman's neck, not even bothering to think how easy it had become to do so. The dead no longer cared for dignity, so he undressed her without thought, and he tipped up the table without feeling. Bormann was next. Bormann did not look like that other believer. He looked no different than any of the corpses Bashir had burned in these past weeks--or was it only days? He couldn't remember. Bashir dropped Bormann's body onto the table and began to remove his clothes. He had just removed the blood-soaked shirt when the table and walls shook violently. Sirens began to blare and Bashir remembered reading that the prisoners had managed to destroy one of the crematoria before the end of the war. No, that wasn't right either. He was in the crematorium, and it was still standing. The door burst open. "Leave it. Return to your barracks," the kapo ordered. Bashir did as he was ordered and stepped out into chaos. Under the blaring sirens he could make out voices cheering. He looked up and saw a bright flare in the night sky and a blaze on the hill below it. The plant had just exploded. "Captain," Data said, breaking through the tension on the Bridge. Picard kept his eyes on the foreward viewscreen. Still, he knew Data wouldn't interrupt if it wasn't important. "What is it, Mr. Data? Daniels, the second ship on the left. The Breen." "I see it, sir," Daniel's replied behind him. A second later, the *Enterprise* had sent out three torpedoes. Two hit their mark and the Breen ship cracked like an egg. "I have been using a fraction of my processor to scan for evidence of the Away Team," Data answered. Had anyone else said something like that, Picard would have had a fit. The battle had lasted for thirty hours thus far. Everyone was exhausted, but there were no shifts to spare. The battle required everyone to give everything they had if they wanted *Enterprise* to stay in one piece. Data, though, was a machine, and Picard had seen many times over the years when Data's ability to process information at astounding speeds had benefited the ship. Even when he used his processor to multi-task. "Have you found anything?" "I have not found the Away Team, Captain," Data replied. "But I am registering an explosion. Correction, three explosions." "There are a lot of explosions going on, Data," Troi reminded him. "Why are these significant?" Data didn't hesitate to answer. "They are well behind the line of engagement. One took place on a moon in orbit of the fourth planet in the Quarron system. Another explosion occurred two thousand kilometers outside that moon's atmosphere. There was a smaller, secondary explosion in the debris field." "Quarron?" Troi said, then after a moment she must have made a connection. "Mtingwa!" she exclaimed. "She was the escaped prisoner the *Potemkin* picked up. She said she'd been interned on Quarron IV." "Cardassians on our tail, Captain," Daniels interrupted. "Four of them." "Auxilliary power to aft shields," Picard ordered as the first shot hit and nearly bucked him out of his seat. "Helm, evasive maneuvers. Damage report!" Riker was surprised to see Formenos kneeling beside him, beckoning him and the others to follow her. Riker stood and they pushed their way through the crowd back toward the door. Once there she knelt and leaned against the wall with Garulos and Simmons on either side of her. "I don't have much time, but I had to find you," she whispered. "He wasn't a traitor. Pfenner only helped them to try and keep any more pilots from dying in the experiments." Riker was glad to hear that, but he was still surprised to see her there. "How did you get here?" Riker asked. Formenos shook her head. "That's not important. I can't go back to the plant and I can't go to the woman's camp. I'm rather hoping *they* will get you out of here now that the mission is finished. I guess I'll try and make a run for it." "You can't get far," Riker whispered back. "It won't matter," she said. "Icarin gas is poisonous. I don't have long anyway. Maybe I can die free though." Riker didn't want to lose her, not when he'd already lost Bormann. "But if *they* do come for us, they can give you the antedote." "Then they'll have to find me," she argued. "I can't stay here. I have a number, remember? One assigned to the plant. I was singled out by Pfenner, privileged. Pfenner died in that explosion. It won't take them long to suspect me. I don't want to draw them to you." She stood up then, and Riker could see her decision was made. As much as he didn't want to admit it, she was right. But there still had to be a way. "I want to tell you it's been an honor, sir," she said. "If you get out of here tell my family. . . ." She didn't get a chance to finish. The door began to raise and Riker could see the boots on the other side. A wave of silence flowed over the barracks from the door to the back wall. Riker turned back to Formenos, his mind racing to find a way to hide her. Simmons reached over and took her face in his hands. By the time the door was raised he was kissing her full on the lips, and she was embracing him. "Touching," Deyos said as he stepped out from behind the Jem'Hadar, "but it really wasn't very smart to come here." Simmons and Formenos finished their kiss, but still held each others hands. There were tears in her eyes, but her voice was strong. "I had to say goodbye. I don't expect you to understand." Deyos huffed at that. "Take her." Two Jem'Hadar stepped forward to take her arms, but she wiped at her tears and stood on her own. "And shoot the other one." The response was immedient. One of the Jem'Hadar fired and Simmons froze. For one brief second his face was locked in pain. And then he was gone. "No!" Formenos shouted, as she struggled against her guards. Deyos remained calm. "Everyone else, outside. There will be another roll call this evening." Bashir returned to his barracks in time to see Deyos escorting someone else out. He couldn't see who he was though. The rest of the prisoners began to flow out, and Jordan found him. "Another roll call," he whispered, pulling Bashir along with the crowd. As they lined up, Bashir took his customary place in the front, but this time, the Jem'Hadar pushed to keep him in the first rank, not up by the hooks. "It seems our count this evening," Deyos announced, "was inaccurate. So we'll have to count again. All those who were assigned to the plant should line up in front for reassignment." He turned to look at a prisoner held between two kapos. "You may all thank the emminent Doctor Formenos for destroying your workplace." Now he recognized the prisoner. Formenos. He remembered the napkin, his dark visitor in the night. But he still didn't understand why Deyos called her a doctor. The ranks changed and shuffled, aided by the proddings of the kapos until Deyos was satisfied with their arrangement. Bashir, for once, found himself well back in ranks with the rest of the prisoners behind the plant workers. He felt a slight twinge of relief. He could more easily blend in here. Deyos left the area with the Jem'Hadar who had Formenos and the counting began. It went on so long that Bashir could no longer feel his legs or understand the numbers the kapos called out. But he recognized them. *Funfsehn. Swansig. Funf-und-swansig.* At least twenty prisoners had collapsed somewhere behind him. Two hours later Deyos emerged once more. Formenos was not with him. "I trust the count is accurate this time." A kapo stepped up and saluted before handing him a PADD. Deyos looked it over and nodded. "Good. Seventy-four need reassignment." He handed the PADD back. "They can be reassigned to the crematorium. Slit their throats. Bring Riker and Bashir to me." Bashir risked a glance at Riker, but Riker didn't notice. He was pale in the moonlight. Schlachter stayed behind, smiling at the chance to deal with the plant prisoners. Two others escorted he and Riker away. As they passed the lines of condemned, three prisoners slumped to their knees, spewing blood from their necks. Three more followed as the first three fell to the ground. He and Riker were led past them behind the execution building to another compound of more modern buildings. Jordan felt sick. Bormann's salvation and then the explosion of the plant had filled him with a burst of joy that was rapidly superceded by a rising panic. This couldn't be good for the camp. For the war, yes. For the Federation, yes. But not for the camp. And though he was prepared to die for the war, for the Federation, he presently had to live in the camp. Fifteen, Bormann included, had died in the lottery. Simmons was killed in the barracks and now seventy-four more were dying in a roll call that could last all night, guaranteeing at least a few more deaths before morning. Some of the plant workers were his brothers in faith. Some were sisters. All were dying and none could cry out in their fear or pain. None could tell them what went on in that plant and why it had to be destroyed. Why they had to be punished for its destruction. *"God works all things for the good,"* he told himself, reciting a scripture he held onto with all his heart. *"God works all things for the good." Even bad things. We can only see a part. He sees the whole picture. There is reason in this even when we can't see it. There is reason.* Still he felt sick. His stomach lurched with each *swick* of the knife against a throat. Two years he'd been a prisoner, and though it had been horrible, it had eventually taken on a certain routine. It became something he could deal with, as ridiculous as that sounded. It even had its few pleasant things, like the Bible studies and the true brotherhood he felt with the other believers. He would miss that if they were ever released. This was not part of the routine. It began with the stoning and that began with Bashir. V'dara had taken her share of punishment for being one of the Five. But she had been part of the routine. Deyos had disrupted that routine ever since Bashir's arrival. Had it only been three days? Jordan didn't blame Bashir. Bashir didn't choose this or cause it. Deyos did. Bashir was just a catalyst. Jordan didn't even blame Formenos. She was a war hero now. And her fate was probably no more pleasant than the rest of the plant workers. Worse, more likely. Somehow, Jordan got the feeling that all this was going to end. It just seemed impossible to him that this situation could continue to spiral as it had. Something was coming, good or bad, to end this camp. Death or liberty. Either was preferrable to this. *"To live is Christ and to die is gain." Paul wrote that once. I think it was Paul.* "Wait here," Deyos told Riker, and the kapos pushed Riker into a room to the right. Two stayed with him, while another two took up positions to either side of Bashir. Deyos led them to another room and Bashir's breath caught in his throat. He stepped back, bumping into the wall beside the door. What he saw before him was more hideous than anything he'd seen before in his life. Formenos. And she had no face. "Miss Formenos has been less than cooperative and is presently wishing she would die," Deyos announced without even a hint of emotion in his voice. "That, however, is why you are here. You are to keep her alive. You'll be given anything you need to do just that. Just that and no more." He turned now and pinned Bashir with his gaze. "Is that understood? If I find you have been coddling her, it's your face I'll take." Deyos stepped out of the way, so that now Bashir could see Formenos again. The shock was wearing off and he was beginning to see that she was alive. Her eyes, with no lids, turned to him. *Her eyes will dry out,* he thought. And then his mind started to clear. Dried eyes and corneal ulcers were the least of her problems. She'd dehydrate. She'd catch an infection. She would die of shock before any of those others had time to happen. "Take a few moments," Deyos said. "Step forward. You're a doctor. Assess her condition and tell the Jem'Hadar what you need." Deyos handed him a PADD and left. The kapo never left the room, but Bashir did his best to ignore him. He touched Formenos's arm gently as he looked her over. She was strapped, naked, to a table by her wrists and ankles. The head strap was, thankfully, not engaged. He checked her breathing first. Her airway was clear. Her breathing came in quick ragged bursts. A sign of pain more than pneumatic injury. Her fingers were clenched into tight fists, and she flinched when he reached for her neck. Her pulse was too fast, possibly indicating shock. He'd need cordrazine and something to check the oxygen level and blood pressure. He suggested a tricorder on the list, but was almost positive they wouldn't give him one of those. There was, of course, a lot of blood, from her hands and from her head, but no arterial lacerations. She wouldn't bleed to death quickly, but she would still need blood. He ordered O-negative and a saline drip to combat dehydration. He found the rest of her body to be free of major injuries. There was bruising on her torso, legs, and arms, but no other lacerations, no broken bones, and no sign of internal bleeding. Her face was the priority, the wound that could kill her soul if not her body. Mutilation of a person's face was perhaps the most horrific kind of torture. So much of one's identity was in the face. It was psychological hurt as much as a physical one. With proper care, she might be able to have a face again, but she would never forget what had been done to her original one. The skin of her face had been removed very precisely, from the crown of her head to just under her chin, leaving most of her muscles intact. She still had lips and most of her nose, but her eyelids were missing. Surrounded by the orbicularis oculi muscles, her intact eyes were left with some ability of expression. Pain, they told him, and a plea for help. Under normal circumstances, he would perscribe something for her pain, but Deyos had said he couldn't coddle her, and he was sure lowering her pain levels would be considered coddling. Her eyes themselves looked unnaturally wide open, but she could move them to turn her gaze. She could not blink, however, and salty tears fell down the sides of her face, burning the exposed flesh there. The room, like the whole camp, was dusty and certainly not sterile. With this much exposed flesh, she was highly susceptible to infection. Her wounds needed to be washed and she'd need an antiseptic. There was something else, too, though, without a tricorder or a laboratory, he could not quite make out what it was. Blood poisoning, he would guess, but without knowing the poison, he could not order an antedote. He wanted to do more for her, but he didn't doubt Deyos would do what he said. Or worse. The only thing Deyos wouldn't do was kill him. Bashir was an example. Heiler had done the same, for different reasons. Bashir squeezed Formenos's arm gently, and then began to write what medicines and tools he'd need on the PADD. He also wrote down a blanket. She needed to be kept warm if they didn't want her to die of shock. As a last thought, he added eye drops for her eyes, not knowing if Deyos would count preventing blindness as coddling. Riker stood still, facing the table. There were straps for wrists and feet, even one for a head. He wondered now what they had done to Formenos, what they were going to do to Bashir. He tried not to think about what they were going to do to him. *Garulos,* he thought, *I hope you give them the same story. Simmons gave it to us. They were lovers. She just came to say goodbye.* Simmons, at least, had died quickly. He would have died anyway, with the other plant workers. Being shot, he didn't have to suffer long. The door opened and Riker turned to face it. Deyos arrived alone. "Formenos is your crewman," he stated, leaving the door opened. "Correct?" Riker saw no reason to lie about that one. They were captured together. "Yes." "As was Simmons." "Yes." "And in a matter of days after your arrival here," Deyos said, stepping further in, "she destroyed the plant." The door closed behind him, and his voice rose in volume. "And yet you would have me believe you were all on leave?" Riker stood as still as possible, and tried to not let his fear show. "Yes." "How did she manage to do it so quickly unless it was planned?" "How could it be planned," Riker risked asking a question in return, "if we didn't plan to get captured, we don't know where it is we've been interned, nor what was going on at the plant because you had all the workers' tongues cut out?" To Riker's surprise, Deyos actually seemed to be thinking about that. He paused and didn't move except to frown. The door opened again and another Jem'Hadar stepped in. He moved between Deyos and Riker and spoke quietly. Riker couldn't hear what he was saying, but he heard Deyos. "Bring her here." Her? Would they bring Formenos in? Riker found himself divided. He wanted to see her, to know she was okay, but he also hoped it was not her, so he wouldn't have to see what they were doing to her. Would they make him watch? The Jem'Hadar nodded abruptly and stepped out. Only a few seconds later he came in again, this time with two other Jem'Hadar and a human woman dressed in black. Riker recognized her, though he tried hard not to show it. Dayton. Deyos forced her head up with his hand under her chin. "Do you know this woman?" Riker shook his head even before he answered. "No. Should I?" Deyos faced the woman. "Do you know him?" She crossed her arms and took her time looking at Riker's face. "No, I don't think we've ever met. He's kind of dirty, but he looks a little familiar. One of the *Enterprise* senior staff, I believe. Data--no, he's the android. He's certainly not Captain Picard." She switched her focus to Deyos. "Picard is bald," she explained. "So he must be Riker. Yes, Commander William Thomas Riker." "So you do know him?" She shook her head. "No. I know *of* him. The *Enterprise* is the flagship of the Federation. Everyone knows *of* her senior staff. Would you like me to name the others?" Deyos was getting frustrated. He put his hands together behind his back, but his shoulders were raised and taut, where Dayton's were loose and relaxed. "Who are you?" "Wouldn't you like to know?" she said, smiling as if she were the interrogator and he the prisoner. Deyos smacked her hard across the face. She would have fallen if the Jem'Hadar were not holding her by the arms. She straightend up again, still smiling, and laughing softly. "Take her to the next room and secure her!" Deyos shouted, and she was taken away. Riker had to give her credit. She had shortened the dual-interview, where one of them might eventually have slipped and admitted he or she knew the other. He hoped she could stay as brave when they began to torture her. Yes, torture. Because that's what the table was for. He knew it. And he knew his turn had come. Garulos shivered as he stood in the ranks. The counting was over and the plant workers were dead. But still they stood. He wasn't cold, but he found he couldn't keep his legs from shaking. Bormann was dead. Simmons was dead. Formenos, Riker, and Bashir had been taken. Why hadn't they taken him? He was the only other member of the runabout's crew. Bashir wasn't even part of the crew, really. He was more of a last minute addition. He didn't really know much about their mission, and he probably wasn't sane enough to tell them anything useful right now anyway. Garulos had been watching him. He didn't need as much sleep as the humans. Five hours was enough, and that was intermittent. It was normal for him to wake up four or five times through the night. But every night when he went to sleep, Bashir was still awake. And he was awake any time Garulos woke up. Bashir would be lying down or sitting, but almost always wide-eyed, like he was seeing something no one else saw. Sometimes, he'd sit up and quickly draw his legs into his chest. He'd stare at the wall or the floor, and occasionally it looked like he was watching someone walk the length of the barracks. Garulos wondered what he was seeing. He'd heard a little about the Holocaust from Earth history. Just a mention here and there in his classes at the Academy. He knew the name Auschwitz, that it was the largest killing center of that time. Earth had once been a very violent place. The thought that this people, humans, proponents of peace and unity and cooperation, had once tried to exterminate different sects within themselves had seemed so incongruous that Garulos had rather put it out of his mind. But Commander Riker had said Bashir had been there. And Jordan had said this place reminded him of Auschwitz. Garulos didn't remember much about Auschwitz, but he knew he didn't want to go there. People were tortured there, starved, worked to death, and slaughtered. Here, Garulos had seen people starved, worked to death, and slaughtered. He hadn't seen anyone tortured. Yet. But that was most likely what was happening to Formenos, Riker, and Bashir right now. And he knew he'd be next. What would he say? They might ask him about the plant, and the plot to blow it up. He could say he didn't know. Formenos did it. He hated to point the finger to her, but he couldn't think of any way to say she hadn't done it. So she had. But she'd done it alone. They didn't have contact with her. How could they have known? She only showed up this evening to say goodbye to her lover, Simmons. In truth, he hadn't even known if they were infatuated with one another, but Simmons had kissed her for a reason. And that was most likely to give her an alibi, a reason to be there that night that didn't include telling them their mission was complete. Because there had to be no mission. They were on leave. Riker had said that. It made sense for two lovers would go on leave together. So Simmons and Formenos would be lovers. Yes, but could he continue to deny his and Riker's involvement under pain? His mind raced over different methods of torture, wondering what they might be doing to Riker, Formenos, and Bashir. What they would do to him. Fingernails. Fingernails were common. There were many nerve-endings in the fingers. Or pummeling the soles of ones feet with a rubber truncheon. It seemed simple enough, but it was reportedly very effective. Fire or branding, gouging out the eyes, cutting off a limb, crucifixion. . . . A hand on his shoulder stopped his thoughts. "Barracks," Jordan said. The roll call had finally ended. -- --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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