Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 07:10:54 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 13/17 Rating: [PG] Codes: Chapter Sixteen Continued "I told you," Riker said, between gulping breaths of air, "I didn't know . . . what she was . . . doing." "And I think you are underestimating my intelligence," Deyos retorted. Riker barely heard the rest as Deyos thumbed the keypad again. "She came here with you. Three days after she was assigned to the plant, it exploded. You are her commanding officer. She wouldn't take such a bold move without your approval." The electric shock dissolved, but the pain lingered. "She would . . .," he choked out, ". . . if she had no contact with me . . . and she thought the situation dire enough. . . . Until tonight, I hadn't seen her since you separated her from the rest of us." "Not so totally separated," Deyos argued. "You had Simmons at the plant." Thankfully, there was no shock time. "You cut his tongue out," Riker replied. "He couldn't even tell us what color the walls were." The electricity coursed through his body again, and Riker felt himself scream. It stopped and Deyos spoke, "You humans can communicate without words." "Then why cut their tongues out?" Riker asked. Turning the table, so to speak, had worked with Deyos in the past. Deyos didn't answer but thumbed the pad instead. When he released it and Riker stopped screaming, he spoke, "He was seen talking with Formenos." How did he know that? Riker wondered. "Was he talking to her or was she talking to him?" "They were conspiring regardless of who was talking to whom," Deyos said, but Riker heard a little disappointment in his voice. Riker knew it was dangerous, but he couldn't keep the anger out of his tone. "Maybe you should have asked Simmons before you killed him." The shock was instant for that one. Riker rode it as best he could. He vaguely wondered if anyone had heard him screaming. He didn't, but he could feel it. Finally it stopped. He took in a long shaky breath. "They were lovers. It makes sense she'd go to him." "I tire of this," Deyos said. "What was your mission?" "We were on shore leave," Riker repeated, and then braced himself for the next wave. Deyos didn't disappoint. "I could still put you on a hook," Deyos threatened once he'd stopped the current. "Wouldn't change my story," Riker insisted, "because I'm already telling the truth." Deyos turned away and stepped toward the door, which opened. Riker hoped it meant he was done, but he doubted it. "Bring Garulos," Deyos told someone there. Riker couldn't see as he was strapped to the table, but he guessed it was a Jem'Hadar. The door closed and Deyos came back to the side of the table. "Maybe he will tell a different story. Or maybe you will." "He won't," Riker held, "and I won't." He hated the thought of them torturing Garulos, but he couldn't think of a good way to exclude him. Garulos was the only other member of the Away Team. He was part of the *Enterprise* crew. "You can just ask Formenos, if you haven't killed her yet." "She proved less than cooperative," Deyos said. "Or maybe she told you the truth, too: That she and Simmons were lovers." "Or maybe Bashir," Deyos tried. "He seems to be popular among the other prisoners. One of the Five, they call him. I wonder what he'd say." "He'd say he doesn't know," Riker said. "He wasn't part of my crew. He only joined us on leave. He'd never even met any of the others." "He was temporarily assigned to *Enterprise*," Deyos reminded him. "For two weeks," Riker said, deciding he didn't like where this was headed, or the look in the Vorta's eye. "And he was under our counselor's care most of the time. He couldn't even see when we found him." Deyos raised one eyebrow. "We'll see." In the distance, Jordan began to see a large dark shape through the dust. Very large. The ship. The *Defiant* rocked from another hit. "Report!" Captain Sisko ordered. "Aft shields at forty percent," Dax reported. Sisko gripped the arms of his chair as the ship bucked again. "Make that thirty-seven percent," Dax said. "Crew efficiency is even lower." Sisko knew what she meant. The *Defiant* was a tough ship and could handle a prolonged battle. Her crew, however, needed sleep now and then, and most of them had not had time to do so since leaving DS Nine. Fortunately, adrenaline negates the fatigue in a life-or-death situation, but only for so long. "Captain," Colonel Kira interjected. "We're getting a scrambled message from *Enterprise*." Sisko kept his eyes on the forward viewer, where a Cardassian Attack Cruiser was venting plasma and trying to evade the *Defiant*'s weapons fire. "Keep after them, Mr. Worf. What does it say, Colonel?" "Their long-range sensors picked up three explosions near Quarron IV," Kira replied. "One on the planet itself, two in orbit. There are four ships moving into that sector including one heavy cargo vessel." "Quarron IV?" Sisko repeated. Dax didn't wait for him to remember. "Mtingwa said she was interned there." The Cardassian ship exploded, sending a large chunk of hull hurtling toward a Galaxy-class vessel off the port bow. The Galaxy had enough problems, with four Jem'Hadar fighters. "Mr. Worf--" Sisko began. "I see it," Worf said. The *Defiant*'s guns fired twice and the hull fraction exploded into harmless debris. "Let's see if we can't help her some more," Sisko suggested. "Helm, bring us around for a pass." "Aye, sir." "Colonel," Sisko said, "see if you can't get Quarron IV on our sensors. I've got a feeling we might find our doctor there." One of the Jem'Hadar ships blew up, and another was taken out by the Galaxy's aft phasers. "I think they can handle the other two," Sisko said. "Let's find us another target." "That shouldn't be a problem," Dax quipped. Bashir waited. The Jem'Hadar had taken his list, leaving him alone in the room with Formenos. Formenos had not tried to speak to him, and Bashir paced. It was late and he wanted to be asleep, but sleep wouldn't come. Sometimes he saw a man sitting in the corner watching, but he'd turn and find the man had vanished. He tried the walls but all he saw and felt was concrete. There was nothing to take apart. He'd gone around the room sixty times by the time the door opened again. Two Vorta entered bringing nearly everything he'd asked for while the Jem'Hadar kapo stood guard. Everything except the eye drops. So Formenos would go blind. There was no point hoping anymore. Not for her and not for him. Deyos would keep them both alive. The blood they brought, however, was not O-negative. It was O-positive. Having no other way to test it, Bashir hung the bag. He turned over the PADD and released a bit of the O-positive onto its surface. They'd given him a syringe to draw blood and a small scanner that would tell him the blood\oxygen level. He drew a bit from her arm and let a drop of that fall onto the PADD and mix with the O-positive there. When it didn't coagulate, he knew it would be safe to tranfuse her. The Vorta allowed Bashir to insert the intravenous tubes that would feed her blood and saline solution while they asked him what her oxygen level and blood pressure should be to keep her alive. He told them and they quickly ushered him out of the room. Deyos met him in the hall. "Well done," Deyos said. "It appears your skills have not lessened. This should be just what you'd hoped for: frontier medicine." Bashir didn't say anything. He'd learned it was best to keep quiet from Heiler. He kept his eyes on the floor. Deyos just stood looking at him for a few minutes. Bashir couldn't see his eyes, but he could feel himself being watched. Heiler had done that. Stared at him. Finally, Deyos turned. "Come with me, Doctor," he said. His two kapos appeared and helped Bashir to comply by taking his arms. They stopped in front of a metal door, and Deyos slid open a window at the top of it. "Do you know this woman?" he asked. Schlachter pushed Bashir forward toward the glass. He kept his eyes closed at first, not wanting to see her smiling at him with those black eyes she liked to use. "Look!" the kapo ordered, smashing his face hard into the window. Bashir opened his eyes after the impact, but he didn't see Heiler there. There was a red-haired woman, dressed in black sitting against the far wall. She looked up at him but did not smile. Her eyes were not black. He recognized her. She was the one who had visited him in the night. "No," Bashir said. And it was true. He didn't know her. "Not at all?" Deyos asked. "She's not who I thought she was," Bashir said. "Who did you think she was?" Deyos asked, and Schlachter roughly turned Bashir around to face the Vorta. "Heiler," Bashir replied, bringing a hand up to his nose. It was bleeding, but not broken. Deyos was watching him again with that curious expression on his face. "Who is Heiler? Did she help you?" His voice was soft, kind, not demanding, and not like Deyos had ever spoken before. "No," Bashir answered. Heiler had never helped him, no matter how many selections she'd taken him out of. "Heiler is a changeling." "A Founder?" Deyos practically squeaked. "Here?" The other Jem'Hadar behind him spoke up. "No ships have arrived yet. There is no Founder here." Bashir wondered why they hadn't seen her. "She was in the room with Formenos." "There was no one else in the room," the Jem'Hadar contradicted. "Hmm." Deyos said. "Perhaps we should start again. Do you know what caused the explosion?" Bashir thought a moment. Formenos caused the explosion. The dark woman had given him a napkin and Simmons gave it to Formenos. "A napkin," was all he said. "A napkin?" Deyos asked, his voice telling Bashir that he didn't believe him. "Napkins do not explode." Bashir did not bother to elaborate. The Federation was still the lesser of the two evils in the war. "Do you know where you are?" Deyos asked. Bashir looked around him, noting the narrow corridors and heavy metal doors. "The main camp, in the Death Block," he answered. "Perhaps you really are delusional." Bashir didn't argue. If he was delusional, perhaps they'd leave him alone. Or kill him. Deyos shook his head, and looked past Bashir to the Jem'Hadar. "Take him to holding cell three." Then he turned and walked away. "Do you know what this is?" Deyos asked, pointing to a thick wand a Jem'Hadar was holding. Garulos shook his head. He was kneeling, naked, on the floor in an empty room with his hands tied behind his back. "It's an intriguing device," Deyos said. "It can deliver a bolt of heat at two hundred degrees Celcius. I'm told it feels a bit like a bolt of electricity, except that it's more localized. And it burns. Would you like to try it?" Garulos tried to keep his breath steady and even. "Not particularly." Deyos smiled. "Good, then all you have to do is tell us what we want to know." "What you want," Garulos asked, "or the truth?" "One second, left foot," Deyos ordered. The bolt was immediate and thankfully short. Still, it had stolen the breath from Garulos's lungs and sent a searing pain up his entire leg. "The truth," Deyos said, "is what we want. What was your mission." "There was no mission," Garulos told him, knowing it was neither what they wanted to hear or the truth. "We were returning early from shore leave." He waited for the order for the baton. But it didn't come. "Why were you returning?" Garulos answered, "I don't know." "Four, lower spine." The bolt threw him forward, face forward to the floor, but the baton stayed with him, burning him with a pain that reached up into his neck and down both legs. Then it stopped, leaving only the heat. For a moment, he couldn't move even to relax his muscles that had flexed tight from the pain. "I was asleep," Garulos managed to say in his defense. "I was the most junior crewmember except Formenos. If the commander knew, he didn't tell me." Deyos knelt down near Garulos's head, which still rested on the floor. "Did you conspire with Formenos to destroy the plant?" Fearing another bolt, Garulos regardless stuck to the lie. "No." "Did anyone in your crew?" "Not that I know of." "What about Bashir. He's genetically enhanced to be more intelligent than the rest of you. Formenos is no scientist. She could not have planned this on her own." Garulos decided he could best deflect them from Bashir by embellishing the truth, "Most of the time, he didn't even now which century we are in." "Is that a yes or a no?" Garulos swallowed. "No." "Two, ear." He had nowhere to go, so the bolt drove him harder into the floor. The whine of it was deafening, all he could see was red. Even his teeth hurt. When it over, he still couldn't hear. He could make out that Deyos was talking, but it was like trying to hear through mud. He could hear his own voice sceaming when something touched his burnt ear. There was a hand on the other side of his head, too, and it was turned so that his good ear was no longer resting on the concrete. "There are worse places," Deyos said. "If I promise not to order it, will you tell me what your real mission was?" Garulos watched him closely as he spoke, and the thought of just what those worse places were terrified him. But still, he could not incriminate the rest of the crew. Besides, his people had a saying: Pain is temporary. Death is not. "We had no mission," he replied. "I've already told you." His mind blocked out Deyos's order, but it couldn't stop him from screaming until his throat was raw and he coughed up blood. Deyos had told the truth. There were worse places. The morning roll call came early. The sky was still dark, and Jordan estimated it had been only three hours since Garulos was taken from the barracks. No one had spoken, though the Christians had gotten together to pray. No one spoke now. Any break in the routine was a bad sign. There were no rations waiting for them outside. As awful as they tasted, they were the only source of nutrition for the prisoners. When they reached the roll call grounds, the prisoners found the seventy-four plant workers were gone, but the blood remained on the walls and ground where the lottery and the slaughter had taken place. Riker, then, had not returned. But, then, neither had Garulos, and Jordan didn't figure Formenos would ever return. A quick look over his shoulder told Jordan that Bashir had been returned to work, but he had likely worked all night and would continue on into the day. Jordan sighed. Would anything be left of Bashir when the war ended and they were released? Jordan didn't worry about himself. His faith kept him sane. It was something the Dominion couldn't take away. Live or die, he had it. They stood for another three hours while the Jem'Hadar counted. It was a subtle form of torture, Jordan knew. The Jem'Hadar weren't so inaccurate that they needed three hours to count the collected prisoners. They just counted and recounted to wear the prisoners down. Finally, the count was finished, and Deyos arrived. He read the number aloud. "Six thousand, four hundred and seventy-two. And the eighty-four dead bring the total to six thousand, five hundred and fifty-six. Is this correct, First?" The Jem'Hadar First stepped forward. "All are accounted for." "Bashir, and four others in the compound, so six thousand, five hundred, sixty-one," Deyos said. Jordan wondered why he bothered reading the numbers into the public announcement system. That was another break in the routine. Another Vorta handed Deyos another PADD, and Deyos began reading the numbers of those selected the night before, and the fifteen Chosen died before the sun had even come up. Deyos broke with routine once again, and did not call fifteen more names. "This will be your last day in this camp," Deyos announced instead. "Return to your barracks and await further instructions." While that might have seemed like an occasion to rejoice, Jordan felt his stomach drop. It could have meant the Dominion was simply going to kill everyone. The prisoners were not silent this time as they trudged back to their barracks. Jordan could hear at least four distinct conversations, though all were pondering the same thing. What was the Dominion up to? Jordan wondered who the fifth was that Deyos had mentioned. Bashir, Riker, Garulos, and Formenos were only four. Riker crouched in the corner of the room. He turned his head to the other wall and tried once more to sleep. He was cold because he had not been given his clothes back, and he was sore from the interrogation the night before. But at least he was off the table and Deyos wasn't asking him questions anymore. He turned his head again, trying to ease the crick in his neck, but it wouldn't go away. His legs ached from the position he was in. Deyos's voice woke him. He jerked awake expecting to see the Vorta in the room, but there was no one else there, except Bashir. "And five in the compound," Deyos said, and Riker realized he was speaking over the public address system. There was a speaker near the ceiling on one of the walls. Riker looked over at Bashir and wondered how many hours he'd been asleep. There were no windows to tell him if it was light out yet, and he was sure Bashir's eyes had hardly closed the whole time anyway. He hadn't spoken when Bashir, still clothed in his striped uniform, was pushed into the cell. He had wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep. He still wanted that. Whatever he'd gotten those few hours during the night, it could hardly have been called sleep. *It could only vaguely be called resting,* he thought. *Bashir and four in the compound.* He and Bashir were locked in there together. Garulos, Formenos, and Dayton. So they were all still held away from the general prison population. The door slid open and Riker froze. Deyos was still speaking, so it couldn't mean a return trip to the table. Or could it? Two Jem'Hadar entered, between them they held Garulos. Like Riker, he was naked, but unlike Riker he was covered in dark red, swollen wounds. His head hung loose from his shoulders and his legs dragged behind him on the floor. He was unconscious. The Jem'Hadar said nothing but dropped Garulos to the floor and left. Garulos moaned but otherwise did not move. As soon as the door closed, Riker made his way to his crewman. Before he could reach him, Garulos had gotten to his knees. "Don't touch me," he growled in warning. "Sarpen," Riker said, crouching down again, "it's Commander Riker." Garulos looked up and Riker could see his left ear was burnt nearly black. "Just stay away, sir," he said, more softly. He tried but failed to get to his feet and settled for crawling to the far corner of the room. When he reached it, he just laid down on his side, turning his back toward Riker. Riker looked to Bashir and found him watching, but silent. He dropped his head and Riker understood. There was nothing he could do for Garulos. Riker felt sick. He had no wounds on his own body besides the bruises he'd acquired his first day. The electric shocks the table had delivered had not left marks. They'd done worse to Garulos. Much worse. He looked away and slid back to his corner, offering Garulos as much privacy as he could in their current predicament. "Some shore leave," Garulos complained from his corner. "I would have chosen Risa." "What about you?" Riker asked Bashir. He didn't look hurt, and he did still have his uniform. He looked pale, but otherwise the same as earlier in the evening. "They took me to Formenos," Bashir replied softly without raising his head. Riker felt awake at that. "What have they done to her?" Bashir didn't look up. "They took her face." Riker didn't understand that. He didn't to want understand. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Shh," Bashir said. "With three people, the air will go faster. Don't talk." Riker sighed and looked to the space just under the door. There was plenty of air in the cell, and it was worrisome that Bashir couldn't see that. But Riker didn't have the energy to worry about Bashir right now. Bashir was fine, physically, except for his self-induced lack of sleep and food. Garulos was beyond anything worry could cure, and Riker's own body was still stiff and sore. He let his head fall against the wall again, closed his eyes and tried to dream of Risa and Deanna Troi. "They're breaking off," Daniels called from the tactical station. "It would appear so," Picard agreed. On the forward viewscreen, three Breen ships broke off their attack and turned themselves around. Picard checked the fleet's status in the console in front of him. There were reports from each flank telling of the retreat. "Keep after them." The *Enterprise* would be glad for the respite. She'd put up a good fight, and still had some fight within her, but she was bruised and tired. Three decks had had to be closed off due to hull breaches, the shields were holding at twenty-eight percent overall, and the best Geordi could coax out of the warp engine was warp five point three. A handful of Cardassians had even managed to board her during the night, but Security had fought them off. *Enterprise* herself could count twenty-four kills, the highest tally in the fleet. In all, over seven hundred Dominion, Cardassian, and Breen ships had been destroyed or disabled. The Federation and her allies had three hundred and another two hundred and fifty-two were disabled. But clearing the D'Nexi Lines meant that the Dominion had lost a major source of dilithium. And that meant their efforts to develop K-Layer Subspace Concealment would be set back years. Years in which the Federation hoped to win this war. Like the *Enterprise*, the Federation forces did not allow the Dominion forces to simply retreat. The Dominion had occupied the four systems behind D'Nexi since the early days of the war. It was time they were liberated. Everyone sat quiet; a few even slept. Jordan just watched and prayed silently to himself. Something was coming. It had been at least three hours since the roll call ended. The door to the barracks remained locked. The sun, by now, was pouring in between the boards of the walls. Dust floated in the rays of light and Jordan let them calm him. The door began to rise, and the prisoners inside stood ready to face whatever it was before them. They had made a pact between them while they were waiting. If the Dominion did try to execute them, they would fight. Deyos could no longer threaten them with starvation. He'd said himself they wouldn't be here long enough for that. "You will step outside," a voice yelled. "And form ranks of five at the roll call grounds." A Vorta voice, but not Deyos. Jordan was well in the back of the building, so he couldn't see who was speaking. "Exit quickly." Slowly the building began to empty until finally Jordan could move with the others. The sun was bright as he stepped outside, and he was surprised to see upward of fifty Jem'Hadar standing guard around the building and the path to roll call. They were, of course, armed, but they made no move to threaten the prisoners. He was surprised to see that there were no other prisoners out. He joined a rank with four other Christians and waited. Two Jem'Hadar walked their ranks and reported back the number. Jordan had done a quick estimate himself. Twenty five ranks of five, give or take. About one hundred and fifty men. Where was the rest of the camp. The rest of the Jem'Hadar had moved to take up positions around the prisoners' ranks, and the Vorta yelled again. "You will keep your ranks. You will be marched out of this camp to a waiting ship. If anyone falls out of rank, they will be executed immediately. Do not fall behind." The Jem'Hadar took up the orders then and the ranks began to move in double-time. Jordan hoped the ship would not be far. Most of the men, himself included, were far too weak from constant hunger to keep this pace for long. The fifty Jem'Hadar stayed with them, surrounding the prisoner's line. Ordinarily the pace wouldn't be too difficult. It was little faster than a jog, but Jordan had been a prisoner for well on two years. His body had become somewhat used to the conditions of the camp, but that didn't include jogging anywhere. His stomach growled and his mouth became dry even as they passed the main gate into the unknown beyond the camp. All Jordan could see was dirt. No trees, no hills, just dirt and clouds of dust. And the dust stung his eyes and made his thirst that much more poignant. Someone fell and nearly tripped the ranks behind them, but the Jem'Hadar yelled for them to keep going. Jordan chanced a glance back to see one of the surrounding guards pull the man away and slit his throat before rejoining the line. Kraru, on Jordan's left, coughed and stumbled. "I can't," he whispered. Jordan took his right arm, and Barlu his left, and did not let him fall. "We go together," Barlu said. "God has not forsaken us. This ship could be a salvation." "Or futher torment," someone muttered from the next rank up. -- --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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