Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 04:41:33 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson Title: Oswiecim Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: REP 3/42 Rating: [PG-13] (Violence) Codes: Chapter Two Barker was beginning to worry. Whaley and he had become good friends since being assigned to the *Defiant.* They had often had dinner together and were even starting to become 'involved.' At least he'd thought they were. But she'd been acting strangely these last few days, ever since they left Deep Space Nine. Maybe it was just the shapeshifter scare. Maybe it had her a bit jumpy. But he dismissed the thought. When Ambassador Krajensky had been replaced by a shapeshifter and had infiltrated the ship, she hadn't acted like this. She'd proven herself to be a tough security officer. Something was different now, and he wasn't quite sure what that was. He'd only seen her during their shifts. When she was off-duty, she just disappeared. He'd tried to find her at her quarters, but she wasn't in. He tried to catch her in the mess hall for lunch or dinner, but she was never there. Whenever he asked where she'd been keeping herself, she'd just say that she was reading that novel her friend wrote. Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember her ever mentioning a writer friend. *Come on, Stan,* he chided himself. *Don't you think you're being just a little bit paranoid?* "Barker! Wait up!" Barker turned when he heard the familiar voice. "I'm sorry I missed breakfast," Whaley said. She jogged a few steps to catch up to him. "I'm beginning to wonder if you even eat anymore," Barker quipped. He was trying to sound nonchalant. But when he looked over at her, her eyebrows were drawn down in confusion. "I know," she apologized, looking away. "And I'll make it up to you as soon as I finish this book. It's really very intense. I hate to put it down and come on duty. And I promised I'd have it finished by the end of the month. Sue gave it to me two weeks ago, and I've been putting it off." Barker held up a hand to stop her. "Okay, okay. But when you're finished..." Now it was Whaley who stopped him. She leaned up close so she could reach his ear. "I'll make it worth the wait," she whispered. Barker felt her light touch on his shoulder, but when he turned toward her, she was already gone, heading toward her post. Barker unzipped the collar of his uniform a few more inches. It had suddenly grown warmer. He hoped his face wasn't red. Armand hadn't stopped teasing him since last time. Captain Sisko sat quietly in his chair in the center of the bridge and stared at the main viewscreen. But he didn't see the stars flying past in thin ribbons of light. He was thinking. He worried that they hadn't heard anything from the station yet. He knew that something or someone had beamed down to the station before the Klingon ship sped off. And he knew that there were no intruders, shapeshifters or otherwise, on the *Defiant.* So the something or someone had to have been left behind. It was still on the station. Odo was a good security officer. The best. And it wasn't that Sisko didn't trust him. He just felt like he should be there. He wanted to know for sure that the intruder was captured, that it wasn't still running loose on the station, threatening its residents, including his son. "Major, any word from the Constable yet?" He knew he shouldn't have asked. He'd asked too many times already. "No, sir," Kira answered. She turned in her seat and lowered her voice. She didn't want for the whole bridge crew to hear. "I'm sure Odo's caught it by now." Sisko matched her volume. "I'm sure, too. I just wish he'd call to tell me so." He sighed and tried to put it out of his mind. His immediate concern was catching that ship. "Any change, Old Man?" he asked. His voice sounded a bit weary. They'd been chasing the ship for four days now. "The heading's basically the same, Benjamin," Dax responded from the helm. "I'm still on them." Sisko knew what she meant by 'basically.' The ship they were pursuing had changed course on a regular basis, but in the end, it always came back to the same heading: Earth. Sisko turned to Kira at the communications console. "Open a channel to Starfleet Command." Kira nodded and then turned to her station. A second later she responded, "Channel open." "On screen." Sisko faced forward again and looked past Dax to the main viewscreen. The stars that flew by in long white streaks winked out. In their place was a well lit room with large windows. A man looked up from his desk. "Captain?" Sisko didn't quite know where to start. Earth had had an invasion scare recently and things had snowballed to a panicked state. Sisko didn't want that to happen again. A state of war was bad enough. "Admiral, I presume you know about the Klingon vessel we are pursuing." The admiral nodded. "Yes, we received your communique three days ago. Have you caught them?" Sisko straightened. "No, sir. But we are still in pursuit." "The *Lakota* and the *Venture* have been diverted as well. They'll be trying to intercept the ship. The Klingons have reported that ship missing, Captain. And with a Cardassian registry, I think it's safe to assume it's hostile." The admiral wasted no time with small talk. Sisko tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment, but he continued. "The ship, sir, is headed toward Earth." The admiral took a deep breath, but he didn't speak right away. He dropped his head slightly and stared intently at his desk. "We'll have our defenses ready," he finally said. Sisko nodded without breaking eye contact. His face was grim. The admiral still looked indecisive. "It's just the one ship?" "Yes, sir." That seemed to relieve him just a little. "Don't lose it. Keep us informed of its whereabouts so we can track it." "Of course, sir." Sisko nodded and then said, "Admiral, have you received any word from Deep Space Nine?" The admiral's face hardened. *Bad news,* Sisko thought. "Not since you left. We're trying to reach them. Todman out." Sisko didn't like it. The station had lost contact with Starfleet Command and the *Defiant.* Something was wrong there. Whaley clenched her jaw tight and looked at the chronometer again. One more hour. She closed her eyes and silently willed herself solid. It was getting harder every day. Someone stepped around the corner, and she quickly opened her eyes and stood up straight. It was the doctor's fault, she decided, or her own. She thought she'd taken care of the problem by destroying the blood samples. But being seen by the nurse had complicated things. Now she had to be Whaley in the morning and then take the nurse's shift at night. She was having to adjust her regenerative cycle. She'd been prepared to rest at night when she wouldn't be expected anywhere else on the ship. But now she had to rest in between her different shifts. It wasn't easy to change. Her body did not want to hold this shape any longer. And if she wasn't careful, her appearance would--to put it in the solid's terms--melt. And then the whole plan would be ruined. And on top of that, she'd had to learn the nurse. She had studied Lieutenant Julie Whaley before she'd been placed on the station. She knew her background, her duties, her DNA. The nurse was never part of her plan. That was someone else's job. Then the doctor couldn't leave well enough alone. He'd come in every night to check on sickbay--even if he'd had no patients that day--and interrupt her studying. It was a good thing the nurse hadn't been posted here for very long. Bashir might have caught on that first night. She had to work twice as hard now to perform her real duties. She had to leave Whaley's post or the nurse's to carry out her own tasks in the ship's systems. Whaley's was easier. She could change the roster and post herself in a more convenient, more isolated, position where she could slip away unnoticed. Still, she was beginning to worry that everything would not be in place in time. Despite the threat of the ship they were chasing, life had settled back down into its routine for Dr. Julian Bashir. Only now it wasn't on the station. Here on the *Defiant,* with its much smaller crew compliment, he was left with a lot of free time on his hands. At times, on the station, he'd felt overwhelmed by the sheer number of patients he was expected to care for, usually after some attack, accident, or other emergency, but even on quiet days, he'd have one or two patients trickle in now and again for some minor problem. But the station could house thousands of people, with both residents and visitors. The *Defiant* only held forty-seven. The chances that, an any given time,-- provided they weren't in battle--they'd all be perfectly healthy were much better. Bashir decided he couldn't really complain though. It made his job all that much easier. But there were only so many times that he could run a diagnostic on his systems or inventory his medical supplies. He usually tried to bring some of his research along with him, like his prion project or his notes on the blight, when he had more time to prepare. But this had been short notice and the notes on the *Defiant* were not up-to-date. Thankfully, the shift was ending soon, and he'd meet Jadzia and the Chief for dinner. He decided to spend more time next shift on the bridge, where at least something was happening. He couldn't go to dinner without checking everything one more time though. It would nag at his conscience all through the meal if he didn't. It wouldn't take too long anyway. Sickbay on the *Defiant* was a very small place. There were three movable biobeds, all functioning perfectly. Diagnostic systems were fine. All his supplies seemed to be in their proper places. Nothing was missing. There were stasis drawers along one wall. They were used to temporarily store a patient, in the instance that the *Defiant*'s medical bay just wasn't adequate, until proper treatment could be provided. Or, of course, they were used when it was too late for medical treatment at all. It would serve as a temporary morgue. He checked each of the drawers' controls. None were activated. No patients. And the log was up-to-date. That was it. He checked with the nurse on duty and then headed out the door. His stomach growled. Perfect timing. Whaley walked carefully down the corridor, making sure that her feet stayed solid. The door to her quarters opened immediately when she stepped in front of it. It took a lot of concentration to lift her foot from the ground to step inside. Once in, the door closed and she glanced around the small room to make sure there was no one else there. Only then did she let herself release the solid form she'd been holding. She sank down to the floor in a liquid blob and, worried that one of the other crewmen who shared the quarters might return, she moved to the replicator. Raising herself up to its height, she began to slip behind the panel and pour herself into the space behind it, being careful not to touch the power conduits. She moved off a little further into the ship and then stopped. She'd been resting here everyday for a few hours since this mission started. No one had found her, nor was anyone likely to. In a few hours, she'd have to continue her preparations. Her people were counting on her. If she failed, the whole mission would fail as well. Julian Bashir reached the mess hall before the others and chose a table for them. He was careful to leave Worf's seat free. It wasn't that it was really his seat, and to be truthful, Bashir found it quite childish that Worf thought of it that way, but it was hardly worth arguing over. A seat was a seat, and Bashir could sit in any of them without complaint. But he didn't see any reason not to tease Worf about it when he had the opportunity. It was a risky thing to tease a Klingon, especially one who outranked him, so Julian was always careful to do it in small ways. He waited for a turn at the replicator and then ordered his food along with one extra large glass of prune juice. When he returned to the table he set the prune juice squarely in front of Worf's spot and then sat on the opposite side of the table. Jadzia and Worf arrived together, having come from the bridge. Jadzia smiled and nodded his way before going to the replicator for her dinner. Three people were ahead of her in line. Worf stared for a moment, trying to decide if someone else had sat in his seat. Julian just smiled innocently and waved, satisfied with Worf's confused expression. Worf's face stiffened visibly before he walked over to the table. He stared at his seat for a few moments and then looked around the room, trying to spot the perpetrator. Julian let him stew for a few seconds more then said, innocently, "Tough day on the bridge?" Worf, obviously in no mood for small talk, grumbled that it was an ordinary day. "Nothing has changed," his deep voice rumbled. By that time, Jadzia was finishing up at the replicator and Chief O'Brien was walking in the door. Worf tried not to appear as annoyed as he was, but he wasn't very good at hiding such emotions. "Is someone sitting here?" he asked. Julian shook his head and took a bite of his pasta. "I don't know," he lied. "It," he gestured toward the glass, "was here before I arrived. I haven't seen anyone." Jadzia came up to the table, directly across from Worf, and eyed the doctor suspiciously before sitting down. To her credit, she played along. "Something wrong, Worf?" she asked. That did it. Julian had to clench his teeth to keep from laughing. Worf was speechless. He stood there with his mouth open trying to think of what to say without sounding like a child. Dax didn't make him try too hard though. She reached over and grabbed the glass. Holding it to her nose, she sniffed once and then made a face. "Don't you ever get tired of drinking prune juice at every meal?" She set the glass back down in its place and looked back up at the Klingon. "Are you going to eat standing up, Commander?" O'Brien asked, and Julian was almost certain he saw Worf jump. *Well, maybe not,* he thought, but it was entertaining just the same. Worf regained his composure then. He straightened up and turned to answer the Chief. "I am not yet ready to sit," was all he said before he took up a place in the line for the replicator. Jadzia continued to stare at Bashir while the chief sat down across from her. Julian smiled back, "And how was your day, Jadzia?" "Fine," she said. "See many patients, Julian?" "Not one." Jadzia finally smiled back and nodded. "Did I miss something?" O'Brien asked in between bites. Ensign Mylea Thomas fought back the yawns as she stared at the console display in front of her. It was becoming a bit hypnotic, watching the same pattern of colored lines and symbols run across her screen for the past four hours. *Just four more to go,* she thought to herself. The colored lines on her display were the ion trail and anti-proton beams they were using to follow the cloaked Klingon vessel. The pattern had hardly changed in the last four hours, nor had it really changed in the last four days. And that, in the end, is what kept Ensign Thomas from falling asleep. Her body was tired of the monotony, but her mind was well aware of where that pattern was leading: straight to the home of most of the members of this crew, including herself. For a change of pace, she'd let the computer keep an eye on the ion trails and watch the stars fly by on the main viewscreen. It was exhilarating for a little while. She'd always loved speed and the thrill of flying. That was what drove her to Starfleet. If it hadn't been for starships, she knew she would have worked in museums back on Earth like her grandmother. Mylea had long ago decided she was a complicated person, at once drawn to the past and held by the stars, fascinated by the abilities of modern technology and full of admiration for those who had lived without it. The best of both worlds. But after awhile the streaking stars could become hypnotic, too. She studied her instruments, performing a diagnostic mentally. She checked her heading, and verified the ion trail was still there, speed still steady. Everything was fine. Back to the ion trail. The ship ahead of her changed course abruptly. Mylea expected as much. It had been doing that for the last four days as well. Mylea altered her course to match. In an hour or so the ship would undoubtedly change course again, bringing it back on a heading toward Earth. *If they're trying to shake us,* Mylea thought, *they should try a little harder than that.* Commander Dax had not been fooled and neither would she. It seemed to be a half-hearted attempt at best. Still she reported the change to the bridge commander. Wieland, who was sitting across from her at the Engineering station, stretched his arms in front of him and then leaned back again in his chair. He turned to look over at her. "Oh, Thomas, I almost forgot." "What?" Mylea glanced over at him and then returned her attention to the main viewscreen. "My mother sent me a holoprogram of the opera Susana was in last month. I know, we don't have any holodecks here on the ship, but she also sent video. You interested?" "Which composer? Which opera? And which theater?" Wieland smirked and shook his head at her bluntness. "Mozart, of course. *Don Giovanni.* And some theater in Prague. I don't remember the name." "Well, it makes a difference, Chris." Mylea checked her instruments again and turned to look at her friend. His eyes were on his own console where his fingers flitted across the surface. "It could be the Old National Theater or the Estates. He premiered *Don Giovanni* in Prague, you know." "It was something I couldn't pronounce," he said, giving her a glance. "Probably in Czech. Started with an 's.'" "*Stavovsk‚,* perhaps?" She turned back to her display. "What?" "*Stavovsk‚.* It's Czech. It's starts with an 's.' Is that the one?" "I guess so," Wieland feigned a sigh of exasperation. "You're not getting bored, are you?" "Of course not," Mylea lied. It wasn't really a lie. She wasn't bored now. Chris Wieland was always good for a little entertainment now and then. She suspected he hadn't forgotten to ask her to see the opera with him, but had just waited until the shift got a little heavy. "If it is the *Stavovsk‚,* then that's where he premiered it in 1787. And in that case, I'd love to see it." "Oh, I see," Wieland teased. "My sister starring as Donna Anna isn't enough for you." "No, not when it means I can see the same theater Mozart saw. It wouldn't be the same if she were playing in New York." The ion trail shifted again on her display. *They're early,* she thought and adjusted her course to match. "Changing course again, sir." "Back toward Earth?" the bridge commander asked from behind her. "Yes, sir." "They're early." The changeling was stretched out long and thin in the confining space. To a solid, she would probably be likened to a snake, but the thought never crossed her own mind. She was too busy worrying about other things. The ship would reach Earth in three days and she still had much to prepare if her mission was to succeed. And she only had a few more minutes before she was expected in sickbay as Nurse Hausmann. Moving through the spaces to a Jefferies tube, she was careful to make sure she was alone before she emerged completely. She formed four tendrils that reached up to grasp the handles of one of the panels and pulled the cover loose. There was a dark spot in her form, suspended in the gel of her body. With a rippling motion, she pushed it forward, up over the cover she still held, until she could place it inside the opened panel. When she was finished she pushed the cover into place and pulled herself, snakelike, back into the tighter spaces of the ship. She emerged again from the ceiling above a corridor on deck two. She paused only to be sure the area was empty and then let herself fall to the floor, easily forming the body of Nurse Hausmann from the feet up. She wasn't too worried about being seen. It was 'night' on the ship and most of the crew was returning to quarters to sleep. She began to walk down the corridor. Another corridor crossed the one she was in, a few meters ahead. She could hear the hushed voices of the crewmen in that corridor. Just as she was about to step around the corner, she noticed the color gold from the lower edge of her visual range. The uniform. She shrugged her shoulders once and the color of her undershirt changed to the blue of someone in medicine. Now she started to worry that she had the wrong communicator badge. She put it out of her mind though, it was too late to change for now. Bashir would be by before long to check on things before he went to sleep. She had to be there when he came. Later, when she was alone, she could check it and slip off to her quarters to exchange it if need be. She hadn't been on duty for more than ten minutes before Bashir entered. "How are you this evening?" he asked cordially. "Fine, Doctor." He was still standing in the doorway. "Everything's still quiet, I presume," he said looking around the room. The changeling wasn't sure if it had been a question or a statement. She nodded. "Well," he sighed, "that's good, really. Any problems with the equipment?" he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. The changeling thought he sounded hopeful. Hausmann shook her head. "Everything's fine. I suspect we'll have plenty to do in a few days." He sighed again and crossed his arms across his chest. His dark eyes were cast toward the floor. "You're probably right." He looked up at her with a sad little smile. "But I hope we're just as bored." To Be Continued.... -- --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 Awards Tech Support http://www.trekiverse.us/ASCAwards/commenting/ No Tribbles were harmed in the running of these Awards ASCL is a stories-only list, no discussion. Comments and feedback should be directed to alt.startrek .creative or directly to the author. Yahoo! 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