Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 04:46:00 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson Title: Oswiecim Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: REP 9/42 Rating: [PG-13] (Violence) Codes: Chapter Four -- Continued Looking up through the wire that covered the window, Julian Bashir could see the stars. They were familiar to him, like old friends, dreams he'd had long ago standing on the veranda of his family's house in Knightsbridge. He had wanted to be a part of those stars, to reach as far as he could go. These stars were like his neighborhood. Somewhere up there was the *Defiant.* Somewhere far beyond that was Bajor and a space station that would not be built for four hundred years. Julian Bashir drifted off to sleep not knowing if he'd ever see that station again. It was mid-day again and the train had been stopped for nearly two hours. But the doors never opened, not to give the prisoners food or water or even to remove the dead. Julian Bashir couldn't be sure just how many dead there were. There were just too many people packed into the car. He couldn't see where one ended and the next began. All the ragged coats and dirty faces blended in together in one large mass of misery. And this day was colder than the last. Out the window he could see only a white landscape of snow on the hills and trees. They'd stopped in the middle of nowhere, quite literally, and for apparently no reason at all. He could hear voices from the other cars, yelling, pleading for just a little water or food. He could hear the same voices in his own car, but the Germans didn't seem to care. They didn't even come within sight, and they didn't yell back. "*Peut-etre, ils sont partis,*" Andrzej said, standing up beside him. Bashir regarded his companion for a moment. His face was grave. He didn't seem optimistic. And Bashir thought it unlikely that the Germans would just leave them on the train to die as Andrzej had suggested. If nothing else, they probably needed the train. Andrzej laughed a small hollow laugh when Julian told him that. "*Probablement,*" he sighed. A shot rang out in the crisp winter air, and Julian turned back to the window, craning his neck to try and see what had happened. Around him the noise had both risen and fallen at the same time, with some people driven to panic and others terrified into silence. There on the snow, at the very edge of his vision, was a small brown blob. A swatch of red slowly spread beneath it. Bashir shook his head sadly and looked back to Andrzej. "*Ils ne sont pas partis,*" he whispered. It was at least another hour before the train moved again. Twice more they'd heard such shots, and Bashir wondered why anyone else would've tried to escape, knowing that the Germans were ready to shoot them down. Part of his mind though was more interested in just how they escaped off the train in the first place. He was starting to think that almost anything was better than this. Only one icicle remained in the window, and Bashir hoped they would reach wherever they were going before that one was gone. He didn't think he'd ever been this hungry. Three days without food. Some of the things he'd seen Quark eat were beginning to sound pretty good. Sisko looked up at the screen. A map of the continents of Earth was displayed there, with about one fourth of their surfaces highlighted. The highlighted area extended almost in a single band reaching from left to right on a line even with China, just north of the Tropic of Cancer. "That's what you've scanned," Sisko said. "Yes, sir," Kira replied. "We haven't detected any of the missing crewmen yet. We'll need to move the ship so that we can scan some other areas." Sisko studied the map again and began to determine a new heading. But, of course, navigation had gone out when everything else had. He glanced at the helm. Ensign Thomas looked back at him, waiting for his orders. At least she was from Earth. She would be familiar with the geography. "Ensign, we're going to have to pilot this ship manually using only maneuvering thrusters. Use the port sensor readings to determine a heading. Let's go just north of the area already scanned. Major, sensors on screen." Both acknowledged his orders. In a moment the main viewscreen changed to show a partial picture of the earth's surface surrounded by blackness. There was no way to identify the area. Thomas had turned back to her console, fingers playing over the controls. She watched her readings carefully for a few minutes. Sisko didn't pressure her. With only partial use of one of the lateral sensor arrays, it wasn't easy to see where they were, let alone where they were going. "Computer," Sisko called, "cross-reference sensor readings with known geography of Earth in the mid-twentieth century. Enhance image." "Working," the computer droned. Then the rest of the viewscreen filled in with a more detailed picture of the same area of Earth, but this time showing more of the surrounding areas. The land mass now on the viewscreen was easily identifiable as Spain. "Thank you, sir," Thomas said. "I've got it." "Engage thrusters." Sisko waited and then the ship began to move, altering the view on the screen until they were looking at the western coast of France. Sisko would've liked to head east from there, over the continent of Europe, but that was not the way the planet revolved and they couldn't use the thrusters continuously. The last patch of land disappeared from the viewscreen as the *Defiant* headed out over the Atlantic Ocean. "Major, I don't expect we'll find much there," Sisko said. "What's our range for scanning the surrounding space?" "Less than five hundred kilometers," she replied. "Well, it's better than no sensors at all." Sisko really didn't want her to find anything on those particular scans. But he had to know. "Let's see if they're out there." Julian Bashir was lost in black sleep when the train began to slow down. Whispers began to spread throughout the train, emanating from the watch, a few men posted at cracks and windows to keep a look out. People started stirring. Bashir heard them, but didn't want to wake up. He was not comfortable or warm, and he was still very hungry, but with his eyes closed and his head bowed and sleep beckoning him back, he could almost forget some of that. But then the train stopped. Everyone became completely silent. Bashir opened his eyes and turned to see Andrzej and Vlada, their eyes wide and their faces full of apprehension. Julian wanted to ask where they were, but was afraid to break the silence in the car. Bright light filtered in through the cracks in the boards on the walls. There was the sound of movement outside. Suddenly the door was flung open, pouring the blinding light into the faces of the dazed passengers. The noise was incredible. Dogs were barking viciously. SS officers were shouting in German. Prisoners in striped uniforms were yelling in Polish, pulling people from the train. The people were too dazed at first, but then the car began to empty quickly. Bashir stood up with Andrzej and his cousin and followed the others out the door, leaving his extra shirt behind. He glanced behind him as he did and noted there were at last a dozen corpses and sick people still inside. A rough hand on his shoulder pushed him down the small ramp that had been placed at the door, but he caught himself before he fell. Almost immediately he noticed the smell. The scene before him was of utter chaos. Thousands of people stood in front of the train, gripping their families and asking questions of the striped prisoners who shouted back at them and sometimes pointed to the sky. Luggage was torn away from the passengers who refused to drop their bags. SS officers, both men and women, were shouting orders, pulling families apart, men to one side, women to the other. Despite the chaos, they managed the task fairly quickly and within seconds it seems, all the passengers were grouped, separated by gender and age. Bashir could see the old woman who had given him the clothes. She stood silently and did as she was told. It was cold out in the air. But at least there was no wind. The air in the train had been stale and stank of bodies and excrement and decay. Out in the open the air smelled different, but not clean. An orange haze hung above the lights, and the air had a sickly, sweet, smoky odor to it. Bashir knew the smell. Flesh. Burning human flesh. The two groups were formed into lines which then began to move. Vlada was clinging to the sleeve of Andrzej's coat so as not to lose him in the crowd. Andrzej, for his part kept close to Julian. He had a look in his eye like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. Bashir watched him and noticed, for the first time, that Andrzej was limping. He was about to ask about it, but Vlada broke in first. "*Kde jsme?*" he whispered to his cousin. "*Nie wiem,*" Andrzej whispered back. At that someone ahead of them turned around. "*Slyszalem, jak wiezien rozmawial o tym,*" he said. "*Auschwitz.*" It was the only word Bashir understood of the whole exchange, but it was enough. Auschwitz was a name every student knew. It was the largest, most infamous of all the concentration camps of the Holocaust. Bashir shivered and it was not from the cold. Max Zeidl clung to his wife with a grip of iron. He must have hurt her arm, but she said nothing, nor cried out. And his grip never lessened. He was determined not to lose her in the crowd. For seven years, they'd been together. He was not going to lose her now. She and their daughter were all that he had left. They had left their home in Teplice after the Munich Conference had given it and the rest of the region to the Germans. And in leaving their home, they'd left their belongings, their families, and their memories. What few belongings they'd managed to take with them remained behind in the ghetto. Only two bags had come with them to the train. And now those two bags as well were taken from them. But Max didn't care about that. He had Sophie and Hana. Max and Sophie had talked together quietly in the night while their daughter slept. He hated that he had so little food to give her. Sophie had tried to be optimistic. Wherever they were going had to be better than being cooped up in the cattle car that stank of too many people, both alive and dead. But now, she said nothing. She walked stiffly, clinging to her child and her husband as if in shock Max was in shock. It was not possible. None of what he saw made sense to him. It could not be reality. It was a nightmare, a scene from the gates of hell, he was sure of it. But it could not be real. His mind tried to make sense of it, but was unable. He didn't hear the screams, the shouted commands, or even the dogs his eyes could see. Only his arms worked properly, binding him to his family. Live or die, heaven or hell, they should be together. He screamed when they began to pull her away. He refused to let her go. She cried and resisted them, insisting that she stay with her husband. Hana bawled loudly, tears steaming down her little cheeks. But their arms were stronger than his, weak as he was from the train, and they tore Sophie from him. They held him back and pushed her away to the other side. A gulf was between them. It was only a matter of meters, but he felt somehow that it was more than that. He stared helplessly at them, memorizing them, burning their images into his memory. And he heard himself tell them not to worry. They'd meet again in the camp. Be strong and brave, and they would see each other again. "I love you!" he shouted. Sophie cried and held their daughter close. Captain Sisko closed his eyes tight and tried not to think. He smiled remembering the advice Doctor Bashir had given to Dax when she'd had to return to the Trill homeworld for medical treatment. She'd claimed she was too excited to rest. Sisko had assured her that the technique usually worked for him. His smile faded. He'd lied. He'd been trying that technique for going on two hours now, and he was no closer to sleep than when he'd started. His own mind told him it was pointless to stay awake. It wouldn't help anything. The ship was being repaired as fast as possible under the circumstances. And exhausting himself would not bring back his missing crew. Even if they found them, they still wouldn't be able to transport them aboard. And O'Brien had told him it could take weeks to fix the transporter. There were other priorities. His body, for its part, fairly ached from fatigue. He and everyone else left on the vessel were pulling double and even triple shifts. Everyone, including the senior staff, was engaged in helping O'Brien and his engineers with repairs, while also searching for the missing crew members. Progress was slow on the repairs, but at least it was progress. But there was still no sign however of the missing people. Sisko had to admit that he was at least partially relieved by that. They'd scanned the surrounding space in a radius of nearly five hundred kilometers. The crewmen would've had to have been transported to the planet's surface. At least there, there was a chance of survival. Sisko called for the computer to play some soothing music, a violin concerto by Mozart, and tried again to clear his thoughts. This time it worked. He was asleep before the music ended. Bashir could see the SS man at the front of the line. He disinterestedly waved his finger left or right, sending the train's passengers one way or the other. Occasionally he stopped to ask them a few questions, and then he waved them on, one by one. Another prisoner in a striped uniform stood beside him, apparently as a translator. As it neared their turn, Andrzej turned around and grabbed Bashir's arm with a strength Julian wouldn't have thought he had after their days in the train. "*Tu dois,*" he whispered urgently, then he stopped as if he were struggling for the vocabulary. "*Tu dois,*" he began again, "*regarder Vlada.*" *Watch Vlada?* Bashir shook his head. "*Pourquoi?*" he asked. But then it was nearly Andrzej's turn in front of the SS. Only one man stood between them. Before he turned to face him, Andrzej whispered one word, "*Promis!*" He spoke with such intensity, such fear in his eyes that Bashir could only nod. Andrzej removed Vlada's hand from his sleeve and whispered something to him that Bashir couldn't hear. The SS was watching, but he was looking down at Andrzej's legs when he turned around. "*Warum humpelst du?*" he asked. Andrzej stood up straighter, the defiance Julian had seen in him returned to his stance. But he didn't answer. The prisoner beside the SS then spoke up, "*Dlaczego kulejesz?*" "*Stracilem prawa stope w wypadku dwa lata temu,*" Andrzej calmly replied. After the translation, the SS man actually laughed, not aloud, but Bashir could see his shoulders shaking from it. The SS man flicked his finger to the left. Andrzej glanced back once more to Bashir and then slowly limped away to join the others going off to that side. Then it was Vlada's turn. The SS man looked him over. "*Wie alt bist du?*" Vlada shifted nervously on his feet, and kept looking toward Andrzej's departing back. "*Nerozumim nemecky,*" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The translator took the cue. "*Ile masz lat?*" "*Osmnact,*"Vlada answered. The hand flicked to the right. Vlada shook his head, still looking to the other side where his cousin had gone. But a guard standing nearby yelled ferociously for him to move on. Vlada took a halting step to his left and waited again. *Go,* Bashir thought to him, wishing that Vlada could hear. He knew now why Andrzej had made him promise. Andrzej had limped. He wasn't healthy enough, not for work. And work was the only reason they would not go straight to the gas. Vlada took a few more steps, and it was Bashir's turn. The SS man sized him up quickly and pointed to the right. Bashir hurried to catch up with Vlada. When he reached him, Vlada's face had gone pale. He was terrified and shocked. He'd just lost his cousin. His only family. Bashir took him by the arm and forced him to walk with him so as not to get beaten by the guards. They were led into a long room, and the guards and prisoners yelled something out to them in their respective languages, none of which Bashir understood. Vlada looked around him like a caged animal though, his brow constantly furrowed and his eyes wide. Bashir looked around and saw that the other new arrivals were removing their clothing. Those that didn't were screamed at and beaten by the guards. It was cold even with all the layers of clothes he was wearing and Bashir dreaded having to take them off. But he took off his coat. One SS officer was watching him, staring coldly with a slight smile on his face. Bashir's own face began to feel flushed. He was humiliated and not a little angry. But he was also helpless. He couldn't run from here. He couldn't fight. And he couldn't leave the frightened young man with him all alone. Vlada, too, began to undress. Soon the whole room was a mass of naked, humiliated men shivering in the cold. Julian tried his best to look unaffected, to show strength to both his captors and his young companion. He knew enough of what this place had to offer. He only hoped he was strong enough to stand up to it until, somehow, Sisko and the others would find him. On the train, as he sat with his eyes closed before falling asleep, he'd begun to lose his faith. They would never find him. His communicator was disabled, and he wouldn't have been able to keep it with him anyway. He was far away from his transport site, lost on a planet with billions of other humans that would look just like him to an orbiting sensor array. But stepping out of the train into the hell that was Auschwitz--and this was only the door to that hell--he'd changed his mind. It was all still just as impossible for them to find him, but he decided he needed to hang on to that faith. He needed something to hope in if he was going to survive. Several veteran prisoners moved throughout the group pushing cards into the newcomers' hands. Bashir looked at his. It contained a six-digit number. The group began to move forward, and Bashir was thankful for the movement. It would help to warm them, if only just a little. But then he saw the large open doors and felt the draft from outside. The SS officer still watched him with his smug grin as he and Vlada stepped out into the mud and slush. They entered another building. The group moved haltingly, starting and stopping, edging itself forward. Bashir could see above most of the heads in room, but he couldn't make out what was happening in front. "*Du!*" Bashir jumped, in spite of himself. The word had come from right behind him where only the new prisoners had been. Slowly he turned. The SS officer was standing not six inches from his face. "*Du bist Englander,*" he snarled. That was simple enough that Julian could understand, but he wondered how this German could know that he was English. Bashir nodded, unsure of his voice if he should try to answer. He'd thought it best not to draw attention here, that to blend in was the safest course. But this officer had picked him out of the crowd and knew more about him already than should have been surmisable. "*Komm mit mir!*" the officer said. His hand gestured that Julian should follow. Bashir hesitated, but knew that was likely more dangerous than going with the officer, though his mind raced coming up with reasons the guard had singled him out. He forgot about the cold and found it harder to breathe, but his left foot stepped out to take the first step. "*Ne!*" Vlada whispered, taking his arm. The SS heard this and stopped. "*Ne!*" Vlada whispered. "*Zustajn!*" The SS took one step forward and covered the distance between them. His arm swung out and struck Vlada full-force across the face, causing him to fall back onto the others. The officer looked to Julian again. "*Du,*" he spat menacingly, "*Komm!*" Bashir started to follow, watching Vlada's face as he left, memorizing it. He would find him again. He'd promised Andrzej. The SS led him outside again, behind the building. There was no one else around. Bashir stood in front of him and tried not to shiver. And he tried not to look ashamed. It was hard, standing there in the cold with nothing to cover himself. The SS eyed him coldly and then smiled. "A word of advice," he said in perfect English, without even the slightest accent, "don't look the Germans in the eyes. I've observed that it's a good way to get yourself killed." Bashir stared at the man in confusion. And then the man smiled again. His eyes gleamed and their color faded away, leaving nothing but an almost clear gelatinous liquid in their place, staring back at him ghoulishly. Bashir shook involuntarily as he watched the eyes form back again. The changeling. 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! 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: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ From ???@??? Mon Apr 19 23:09:34 2004 X-Persona: Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n2.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.75]) by penguin (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1bfLBE1TO3NZFl40 for ; Mon, 19 Apr 2004 20:07:30 -0700 (PDT) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-13407-1082430450-stephenbratliffasc=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yah