Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Sat, 31 Jan 2004 07:11:14 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 15/17
Rating: [PG-13]
Codes:

Chapter Seventeen Continued

      Two hundred prisoners could fit on the lift at one time.  Two thousand 
or more had been on the lower level and these moved out already, leaving 
their dead and the Jem'Hadar behind.  A few stayed to care for the 
wounded, but well away from the ladders where four thousand more 
prisoners poured from the decks above.  Riker and Jordan were in the 
front group, racing for the bridge.  They met some resistance but their 
numbers worked in their favor.  The Jem'Hader were outnumbered sixty to 
one.  Jordan felt like part of an army, and unstoppable wave.  The 
Jem'Hadar had weapons where most of the prisoners did not, but at close 
range, energy weapons were less practical and the Jem'Hadar drew their 
knives.  There would be more wounded, and Jordan didn't doubt that he'd 
be wounded himself before this was over.  It would be worth it.  He 
could taste freedom in the stale, recycled air.

      The Bridge was not even locked, and Jordan guessed Deyos had not 
bothered to broadcast the exhibition to the Bridge.  Riker pressed the 
panel and the doors hissed open.  The prisoners instantly ducked down as 
phaser blasts hit the bulkhead behind them.  One prisoner was hit, but 
Jordan didn't recognize him.  The rest were safe and those with energy 
weapons had come to the front.  They laid down cover fire while the 
others fanned out to either side.  Jordan peeked around the edge of the 
door and saw one Vorta and seven Jem'Hadar.  The Vorta was wearing a 
headset.  Before Jordan could lift his rifle, Riker had leaned in and 
fired with his handgun.  The Vorta was hit in the chest and fell against 
one of the Jem'Hadar soldiers.

      "Careful of the instruments," Riker ordered quietly.  "We're going to 
need to fly this thing."  He took a breath.  "On three."

      Jordan nodded and saw others doing the same.  "One," Riker counted. 
Jordan took a deep breath.  "Two."  He let it out.  "Three!"

      They stood and ran through the door two at a time, spreading out on 
either side.  The Jem'Hadar scored another four hits but Jordan and 
Riker made it through unscathed and soon these Jem'Hadar, too, were 
overwhelmed.

      Riker stood in the center of the Bridge and removed the headset from 
the still gasping Vorta.  Loris had moved to the comm station.  "This 
part's still Cardassian," she reported.  "No transmissions since we left 
orbit."

      "How many in communications range?" Riker asked.

      "I'm not all that familiar with Cardassian technology," Loris admitted. 
  "Fifty at least."

      Jordan looked over her shoulder and pressed a few controls, widening 
the display.  And his heart sank.  "Three hundred, sir," he reported. 
"We may take the ship, but we won't take the convoy."

      "One thing at a time," Riker reminded.  He pointed to five people, 
Loris and Jordan included.  "You five are Bridge Officers for the time 
being.  You stay here.  Take one weapon and dispose of these bodies. 
The rest are to organize yourselves in groups of two.  I want every part 
of this ship searched.  We need to find Bashir and Formenos and any 
Jem'Hadar, Vorta, or changeling that might be on this ship.  We'll take 
the ship.  Then we'll worry about the convoy."

      "I'd rather go out fighting anyway, sir," Festino said, "if I have to 
go out.  No more lottery."

      Riker nodded.  "No more lottery.  We all go together now."  Festino 
saluted and led the others out.

      The Bridge became infinitely less crowded as the others left, and only 
six people remained.  "What are your names?" Riker asked.

      Loris was the first.  "Loris, sir."

      Riker nodded.  "I know Jordan.  You?"  He nodded to k'Ruhn who was 
firing his weapon at a Jem'Hadar at the rear of the Bridge.

      k'Rhun looked up and gave his name.  Oripic and Cairn followed.

      "I'm Commander Riker, if you hadn't gathered that already," Riker said, 
introducing himself.  "Is there another prisoner of a higher rank?"

      Jordan shook his head.  V'dara had been a Subcommander, but she was 
gone now.       "Alright then," Riker said, smiling. "I hereby claim this 
vessel for the Federation.  Jordan, you were stationed on DS9, so you 
know Cardassian technology better than anyone else here, I take it."

      Jordan nodded.  There were other prisoners that were familiar with 
Cardassian systems but they weren't among the five Riker had picked.

      "Good.  Communications is Cardassian, but this helm looks Dominion to 
me," Riker stated, holding out a hand toward the columns that rose up 
from behind.  "Is anyone we know familiar with Dominion technology?"

      Jordan pulled up every face he could remember from his time in the 
camp.  He didn't know the specialties of most of them.  But there was 
one, it just wasn't likely he'd be much help.  When Loris and the others 
didn't offer any names, Jordan spoke up.  "We captured a ship once.  A 
Jem'Hadar attack ship.  Before the war.  But I remember Harkins once 
saying that the Federation used it at the beginning of the war.  Took 
out a white facility.  It wasn't common knowledge.  Only one crew was 
trained to man it."

      "Which crew?" Riker asked, and Jordan could tell he was anticipating 
his answer.

      "The *Defiant's* senior staff with only a handful of others," Jordan 
replied.

      "Am I right in assuming that Bashir is the only one of that crew who is 
on this ship?"

      Jordan nodded.  "Yes, sir.  If they haven't killed him already."  He 
hoped Riker would order him to find him, but he also knew that others 
had been given that assignment.

      Riker blew out a breath and looked around.  "What do we have besides 
Communications?"

      Jordan moved away from the Communications console to the only other 
station he could recognize.  "Sensors and Tactical."

      "Tactical sounds promising," Riker commented.  He put the headset on 
and adjusted the panel in front of his eye.  "Let me see what we have."

      "We don't have much," Jordan reported.  He pulled up shield schematics 
and weapons and ported them to the main viewport, which, of course, had 
been replaced by that one headset Riker was wearing.  "Phasers, limited 
range and output.  Shielding is good, though.  This must have once 
carried some pretty volitile cargo."

      Riker grinned.  "She's still carrying volitile cargo.  You're a pilot. 
  You think you can learn to fly this death trap?"

      Jordan met him by the helm and those four upright columns.  The colors 
and shapes on each one meant nothing to him.  He couldn't tell which 
control was propulsion, which was navigation, which was thurst.  "Maybe 
if I had a month and a translation grid."  He looked up and met Riker's 
gaze.  "We're going to need Bashir."



      Riker found himself pacing the deck and immediately stopped, but it was 
a bit maddening waiting without even a chair to sit in.  He'd taken the 
headset off after only half an hour and his head was still pounding. 
Jordan was wearing it now.  He'd managed to get the internal sensors 
online and was running a scan for Jem'Hadar and Vorta.  They could only 
hope there were no changelings on board.  This ship, as near as they 
could tell, was lagging to the rear of a convoy of nearly three hundred 
Dominion, Cardassian, and Breen ships.  Jordan's sensors had found 
traces of carbon deposits and other evidence of battle damage.  They 
were heading away from the area of the D'Nexi Lines further into 
Dominion territory.  They would be within range of the Dominion-occupied 
Kepaolo system within three hours.  The Dominion was retreating, but it 
was taking its prisoners along.

      Jordan smacked his hand on the console which spun Riker's attention to 
him.  He was surprised to find Jordan smiling.

      "No Jem'Hadar or Vorta lifesigns!" Jordan exclaimed.  "However, I am 
seeing six thousand one hundred and seventeen lifesigns.  Federation 
species and Romulans."

      "No Klingons?" Riker asked while he did the math in his head.

      "We had one for awhile," k'Rhun replied.  "The Lottery got her.  The 
others found no honor in being taken alive."

      Riker nodded.  "Three hundred sixty lost then.  Can you find Bashir or 
Formenos with that?"

      "I can only see species, Commander," Jordan answered.  "And part of 
this ship seems to be shielded from sensors.  There might even be 
Jem'Hadar there."

      The door to the Bridge opened and Festino entered with six others. 
"I'd like to report the ship has been secured, Commander," Festino reported.

      That felt good.  "Good work," Riker offered.  "Did you find our missing 
people?"

      Festino shook his head.  "No, sir.  Though we did find Bashir.  I don't 
think he's alive, sir.  He wasn't moving.  We found another room, with a 
surgical table and medical instruments.  There was blood on the table, 
especially near the head and the sides, but there was no one in the room."

      Riker really wanted that chair now.  The surgical table had to be 
Formenos.  She had no face, according to Bashir.  She'd be bleeding from 
the head.  "What about another woman, dark red hair, dressed in black?"

      "No one else, sir."

      Riker nodded.  Dayton was gone.  Not too terribly surprising.  He just 
wished he knew how she did it.  And if she'd taken Formenos with her. 
That only left one then.  "Did you check Bashir?"

      Festino shifted his feet and looked to one of the others.  "He wasn't 
moving," Festino repeated.

      "He's not dead," one of the others near the back said, in a heavily 
accented voice.        

      "How do you know?" Riker asked, stepping around Festino to get a better 
look at the speaker.  He was frighteningly thin and pale and his 
clothing looked older, tattered with faded stripes.

      "We watched," Festino admitted, sounding confused.  "Two or three 
minutes.  We couldn't even see him breathe."

      Riker looked back to Festino.  He hadn't heard.

      "I will take you to him," the accented one said.

      Still confused, and a bit suspicious, Riker dismissed Festino's group, 
ordering them to gather the wounded and anyone with medical exprience in 
the area of the surgical table.  It was the place he knew that was 
stocked with at least a few medical supplies.  Festino left, but the 
accented one stayed.  "What is your name?" Riker asked.

      "Who, sir?" Loris asked.

      Riker looked back at her and then the figure near the door.  He was 
there.  Riker would bet his life on it.  There were even shadows on the 
wall.  "You don't see him?" he asked Loris.

      "I do," Jordan stated.  He took off the headset and walked over to 
stand by Riker.  "And I think I've seen him before."

      "It was a long time ago," the accented one said.  "You can call me 
Szymon.  If you want the Englander, follow me."

      "Loris," Riker said.  "You have the Bridge.  Mr. Jordan, you're with
me."

      Szymon said nothing as they dutifully followed him down the corridors. 
  "I saw him die," Jordan whispered.

      "Auschwitz?" Riker whispered back.  Jordan nodded.

      Riker remembered Bashir talking about seeing Vlad'a on Carello Neru. 
Riker had thought him a hallucination, but later he'd heard the boy's 
voice.  He wasn't sure anymore what Vlad'a or Szymon were.  And he still 
didn't quite trust them.  Vlad'a had led them to a changeling 
impersonating a child.  Riker kept his hand on his stolen gun and his 
eyes on the back of Szymon's head.

      Szymon stopped in front of a door and stood to one side.  Watching him, 
Riker pressed the panel beside the door.  The door opened and he waited 
for Szymon to enter first.  Szymon complied and took up the same spot 
he'd had on the bridge, just to the right of the door.  He had to step 
over a body to get there.

      Riker stood in the door and surveyed the room for a moment.  One 
Jem'Hadar were dead near the doorway.  Deyos lay face up on the floor 
near the comm system, a knife handle protruding from his forehead. 
Three other Jem'Hadar were scattered around the platform.  There was 
blood on the platform, the floor, and even the walls.  And Bashir lay 
curled forward over his knees in the middle of it.  The floor beneath 
him and around him was relatively clean.  None of the blood was his.

      Riker could understand why Festino had hesitated.  They'd all seen 
Bashir on the screen. He had been a fury, frighteningly deadly.  His 
movements had been so quick the comm system could hardly keep up.  He'd 
become a berserker.

      But now he was quiet and, as Festino had reported, unmoving.  He was 
the man Riker had found in the meeting hall surrounded by corpses.  He 
was broken.  But he was alive, just as Szymon had said.  Riker saw his 
back rise and fall slightly as Bashir took a breath.

      Riker took a deep breath and stepped inside.  The floor was slick so he 
went slowly, stepping over the corpses that stood in the way.  "Julian," 
he said, as he neared the doctor.  "It's over.  You can get up now."  He 
knelt and touched Bashir's shoulder.

      "Don't touch me!" Bashir growled, tensing under Riker's hand.  Riker 
drew back and nearly fell backwards in surprise.  "Go away!"

      "I won't go away," Riker replied, keeping his voice calm and soft. 
Bashir may have been broken, but he was still volitile.  "You need help 
and we're here to help you."

      "I don't want help!" Bashir hissed without even picking his head up 
from the floor.  "Leave me alone.  It's over.  They'll come for me."

      Riker looked back at Szymon, but the apparition--or whatever he 
was--did not speak or even change his disinterested expression.  Jordan 
just shrugged.  "Who will come for you?"

      "Anyone!" Bashir snapped angrily.  "Just go away!"

      Did it matter really?  Bashir could be thinking of the Nazi's, Section 
31, or the Dominion.  "You have to get up," Riker said, allowing himself 
to be a bit more stern.  "That's an order."

      "You're not my commanding officer," Bashir argued, and Riker wished he 
would at least lift his head and face him.  "I resigned!  You're always 
telling me what I've got to do.  I've got to listen to the ground; I've 
got to go to the other airlock; I've got to put on the uniform; I've got 
to get up.  But I don't want to listen anymore.  It's all lies.  I won't 
listen.  I want to die here.  Just go."

      "I don't think any of your wounds are life-threatening," Riker told 
him.  "Fine.  I won't order you.  I'll ask you.  Please get up.  You're 
a prisoner in here.  But out there--" He pointed to the door.  "Out 
there, the prisoners have taken control of the ship.  Out there we 
aren't prisoners anymore.  We're free.  You could be free."

      "There's no such thing," Bashir breathed and there was no anger in his 
voice.  Just anguish.

      At that moment, another head poked in the door.  "Excuse me, sir," the 
man there said.  "Loris sent me to find you.  She said we're two hours 
out from Kepaolo."

      "Thank you," Riker said, dismissing him.  If they didn't get this ship 
away from the convoy Bashir would be right.

      Jordan touched Riker on the shoulder.  "Let me try, sir."  Riker 
nodded.  He didn't kneel or stoop down but stayed standing and his voice 
was stern.  "Doctor Julian Bashir, I did not risk my life in Auschwitz 
for you do to lie here in a stupor.  Half the crew of the *Defiant* went 
to that hell-hole to look for you."  He puased for a minute, taking a 
deep breath, and Riker remembered him saying something along those lines 
when they'd first met.  "They went as Germans.  I went as a prisoner.  I 
was counted and starved and beaten.  But I found you.  I saved you." 
His jaw was tense as he took another breath.  "We all saved you.  Your 
life was bought with a price.  You can't just throw it away."

      To Riker's surprise, Bashir's head lifted off the floor and he sat up. 
  His left hand was close to his chest, held in a white-knuckled grip by 
his right.  But his face. . . .  He wasn't angry so much as confused. 
"I don't even know you," he said, shaking his head slightly.

      Jordan nodded and his voice softened.  "And you're just someone who 
gave me a physical once.  That has nothing to do with it.  This place is 
no good.  What's out there could be better.  It has to be."

      "So go there if you want to," Bashir told him.  "Try it.  You don't 
know.  You think you've been to Auschwitz.  For what?" he spat, growing 
angry again.  "A few days?  Mornings and evenings?  You went home to the 
ship during the day, back to your comfy bunk and your three meals a day 
and water any time you wanted it!  I would have thought you would have 
learned after two years in this place.  There is no better!  It's just 
one place like this after another.  Everything in between is just 
temporary.  A phantom that lulls you into false comfort and security. 
The world didn't stop hating the Jews after World War II, and none of us 
are any safer outside this room than in it."

      "Are you saying you lied to me?"




      Julian knew that voice, that accent, that disdainful tone.  He looked 
past Riker to see Szymon standing by the door.  Julian dropped his eyes 
and turned his head away.

      "You said the world wasn't finished," Szymon said.  "You said it 
wouldn't last.  You said it gets better."

      He remembered.  Szymon eyes had grown hopeful, but his body had become 
weak.  He fell and Julian caught him and held him with his good arm. 
'One day,' he'd told him, 'the whole world will be at peace.  Paradise, 
they'll call it, and there'll be no hungry people, no poor.  And we'll 
travel to the stars, Szymon, farther and faster than you can even dream. 
  And we'll meet other people there, from different worlds.'

      'How is it . . .,' Szymon had asked, his voice barely more than a 
whisper as he stared at the smoke-filled sky, '. . . in the stars?'

      'It's beautiful, Szymon,' he'd whispered back, leaning in close so 
Szymon could hear. "Like traveling among diamonds."

      "So did you lie," Szymon asked, now kneeling beside him, and Julian 
realized he'd said that last bit out loud.  "Is it not beautiful?"

      Julian turned and met Szymon's eyes.  They were strong and healthy, not 
the eyes of the dying man he remembered.  "Does it get better, 
Englander?  Or does it just go from worse to worse?  Did you lie to me?" 
  Szymon's eyes knew the answer and they were the kindest Julian had 
ever seen them.  He didn't even look hungry or sick anymore.

      Julian shook his head, and Szymon slowly reached for him. 
Instinctively, Julian tried to back away, but he couldn't the way he was 
kneeling.  Szymon touched his arms and Julian, still frightened, let 
Szymon take his broken hand from his good one.  Szymon slowly pulled it 
away from Julian's chest.  "Did you lie to me?" he asked again.

      Julian fought the sob that wanted to give way in his chest.  Not his 
hand.  Not again.  He shook his head.  "I didn't lie," he pleaded.

      Szymon nodded and placed his his other hand on Julian's.  Bashir's eyes 
clenched shut and his lungs froze in anticipation of the pain.  But 
there wasn't any.  "I know you didn't lie, Bashir," Szymon said.  "Open 
your eyes."

      Risking a breath, Julian opened them and looked at his hand now whole 
and straight.  Szymon stood and held his hand to him.  Jordan and Riker 
both gasped and stayed back.  Bashir just stared at his hand.  He turned 
it over, closed his fingers.  They didn't hurt.  They weren't broken. 
"How?"

      Szymon took his hand and raised him up to stand.  He placed his other 
hand on Bashir's shoulder and smiled a secretive smile.  "Faith," he 
said.  "Go.  Be free."

      Bashir still wasn't sure.  "We may have the ship," he said, looking to 
Riker for confirmation.  "But it's not the only ship.  Is it?"

      Riker shook his head.  "No."

      "A death march," Bashir guessed.  He again turned to Szymon.  "How?"

      Szymon still smiled and his answer hadn't changed.  "Faith.  Believe, 
Englander, or they will all die."  And then he was gone and Bashir was 
left staring at the wall.

      "I've lost my mind," he said to Riker and Jordan, "haven't I?"

      "I don't know," Jordan replied.  "I think you may have found it."




      Riker wasn't sure he hadn't lost his along with Bashir, but Jordan 
seemed to be right.  Bashir looked confused, but no longer shell-shocked 
or maniacal.  He seemed to have found his.  Riker had watched his hand 
reshape itself with Szymon's grip.  He'd seen Szymon vanish without the 
slightest hint of a transporter.  But then again, he hadn't seen Vlad'a 
that day either.  He'd only heard him.

      They all three left that room together and passed a corridor filling up 
with wounded men and women.  Bashir wanted to stop, but Jordan said he 
was needed on the Bridge more.  "Please tell me you know how to fly a 
Dominion ship," Riker said, clapping Bashir on the shoulder.

      "We were cross-trained," Bashir confirmed.  "I don't suppose this ship 
has a chair."

      Riker laughed.  "No."  They were nearly to the Bridge.  "So who was 
that one?" he asked.  "One of your friends?"

      "Szymon?" Bashir asked in return, but he shook his head as he stepped 
through the door.  "Szymon never really did like me."

      Riker was surprised to see not three but more than twenty 
prisoners--ex-prisoners--filling the Bridge.

      "What will we do, sir?" one of them asked.

      Riker took a breath and looked at Bashir.  "We're going to fly this
ship."

      Festino's eyebrows came together in doubt above his eyes.  "I want to 
be free as much as anyone, sir, but we aren't going to just turn this 
hulk around and fly the other way."

      "No, we aren't," Bashir said.  He walked to the helm and stood before 
the columns.  He looked once more at his restored hand and then placed 
it on the screen in front of him.  "I am."  His face became serious as 
he worked the controls.  "Some of you are Christians?"

      "Aye, Captain," Jordan said, drawing a glance from Riker.  Well, it 
fit.  Riker couldn't command this ship.  Whatever Szymon was, he'd 
healed Bashir's hand and maybe his spirit, and he had said Bashir was 
the one to save the ship.  Captain, indeed.

      "Well," Bashir said.  "You might want to start praying.  Coming about."

      Riker felt the pull on the deckplates as the big ship turned. 
Unwittingly, he found himself praying that the huge cargo ship wouldn't 
knick any of the others as she turned.  And that none of the others 
would care that they were leaving the convoy.

      Loris called out from Communications.  "They're hailing!"

      Bashir looked up from the Helm.  "Commander, do you think you could. . .
."

      "Stall them?" Riker asked.

      Bashir laughed.  "Well, I was thinking of disabling the console, but if 
you want to try--"

      Riker felt a lift in his own mood.  Either Bashir was still insane, or 
this just might work.  "Disabling sounds good to me," he replied, 
"Captain."  He turned to Loris, who was looking a bit shell-shocked 
herself.  "Mr. Loris, would you mind stepping away from the console."

      "Oh, dear heavenly Father," he heard Jordan pray, in a not-very-pious 
tone, behind him, "Give us courage and, please, give us faith."
-- 
--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

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