Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 04:46:10 GMT  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: Gabrielle Lawson  
 


Title: Oswiecim
Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net)
Series: DS9
Part: REP 11/42
Rating: [PG-13] (Violence)
Codes:

           Chapter Five -- Continued

      The first time he'd seen the soup, he was sure he did not want to
eat it.  It looked like little more than dirty water with things
floating in it.  The things floating were not necessarily of much
food value at all.  He'd even found a button in it once, perhaps
fallen off the cook's shirt.  But after several days of eating nothing
but a few icicles, he was hungry enough to try anything.  And since
the soup was the only thing allowed him, he drank it, and
subsequently vomited.  Vlada had, too, and Max.  They all did at
first.  But the next day came, and they were even more hungry.
Then the soup stayed down.

      He had thought that they would be made slaves in the camp, but
they had yet to leave the courtyard of the barracks except to be
taken in groups to toilet blocks or to attend the roll calls.  And yet
staying was proving bad enough.  Each morning they were chased
out of the barracks while it was still dark outside.  After roll call,
they were led back to the courtyard, but not allowed inside.

      The *Blockalteste* drilled them incessantly, forcing them to lie
down and then jump back up repeatedly and delivering blows to
anyone who didn't seem to catch on fast enough.  Bashir had
received a few himself, and his arms still ached from it.  The
Germans called this "sport" and laughed as they watched the
exhausted prisoners drop to the ground and then get up and run in
place to the commands of the *Blockalteste*.  Julian didn't find it
too hard at first.  He was fit and could manage the exercises.  But
his hunger was making it harder.  Several prisoners dropped and
never moved again.  The *Blockalteste* ignored them and shouted
his orders even louder and faster.  They were also taught German
marching songs and how to report to the SS in German.  They got
a meager ration of soup at midday and then had to endure another
roll call in the evening.

      The roll calls were horrendous, much more so than he would
have imagined.  They weren't so much roll calls though.  No names
were called.  Twice each day, the prisoners simply stood in rows as
the SS guards counted them.  There were thousands of prisoners,
even in just this part of the camp, and often they would have to
count a second time or third.  For hours the prisoners would have
to stand motionless in the icy wind while their captors counted and
recounted.

      The rest of the evening, they just sat around the courtyard
talking quietly in groups and tried not to get caught by the SS
*Blockfuhrer* or beaten by the *Blockalteste* and his assistants.
Any complaint or question was seen as an infraction and
reasonable provocation for a beating.  In the last two days,
thirty-seven men had died just from Bashir's barracks, from
beatings or starvation or sickness.  One of them had shared the
bunk with Bashir and the two Czechs.  Bashir wasn't even sure of
his specific cause of death.  They just woke up in the morning and
he didn't move.  Max and he had been forced to carry the body out
for roll call.

      Suddenly the door burst open.  All movement in the barracks
stopped as two SS officers stepped inside the door.  Neither of
them was the *Blockfuhrer.*  Their faces were stern and their
noses turned up in disgust.  The *Blockalteste* had frozen, too,
when the door opened, but now he was a flurry of movement,
shouting orders and clubbing anyone who did not move fast
enough.

      Max, who'd taken the role of interpreter of sorts, quickly
relayed the orders to Vlada.  Bashir watched them and followed
their movements.  Everyone jumped down from the bunks.  Julian
did so as well and felt a wave of dizziness at the sudden
movement.  He forced it away though.  Max removed his cap.
Julian and Vlada repeated the movement.

      Within seconds the room was silent again.  The *Blockalteste*
watched the SS nervously, cringing himself.  The SS had waited
for the prisoners to line up, but now they moved down the block,
each to one side of the 'oven', as Bashir called it to himself.  The
brick structure that ran down the middle of the barracks was not
used to cook anything, though it made a pretense at heating the
building.  The SS seemed to be surveying the prisoners.

      Bashir's bunk was the fourth from the door and it did not take
long for the SS to reach it.  They walked with slow methodical
steps, stomping loudly with their shiny, black boots.  Bashir forced
himself to remain perfectly still and held his breath until the SS
had passed.  The thought that one of them might be the changeling
ran through his mind, but he didn't dare look up to see if he
recognized them.  The changeling had warned him about that.

      The SS said nothing as they passed, but simply kept walking
and Bashir realized they were simply trying to intimidate.  It
was working.  Bashir knew what the SS were capable of.  He was
relieved when they reached the end of the block without incident.
The *Blockalteste* cringed some more as they stopped in front of
him, and Bashir smiled slightly to himself.  He reminded him of a
Ferengi.

      The SS turned smartly and began walking back up the block,
this time moving at a normal pace.  The *Blockalteste*
straightened up behind their backs, obviously relieved as well that
the SS were leaving.  Bashir held his breath again as they
approached his bunk.  Two more steps and they would be beyond
him.

      But the one on his side of the oven stopped right in front of
him.  He was so close that Bashir could see his own reflection in
the toes of the other man's boots.  "*Hier ist der Englander,*" he
said slowly, his tone filled with disdain.  The second SS joined
him.

      Bashir slowly blew out the breath he was holding and tried to
remain calm.  It was no use, however, and he could feel his pulse
quicken in his chest.  He clenched his fists as he tensed up,
expecting blows or a quick bullet to the head.  But neither of them
drew their weapons.  Why had they singled him out?  He tried to
come up with a reason that would not necessarily entail his own
death.

      "*Komm her!*" the first one barked.

      Bashir hoped that didn't mean what it sounded like.  He didn't
want to go anywhere with the German.  He figured it had to be
safer being part of the crowd.  He felt his knees begin to shake and
willed them to remain steady.

      When Bashir didn't move, the second man came over.  "What's
the matter, Jew?" he began, his tone mocking, but his words were
in heavily accented English.  "Can you not understand?"  His voice
rose.  "Step out!" he screamed grabbing Bashir by the shoulder and
forcing him forward.  "Out," he ordered, pointing toward the door.

      For all its overcrowded filthiness and the cruelty of the
*Blockalteste*, Bashir now did not want to leave the barracks.
Whatever chances it offered for punishment and death, he felt his
chances were better inside it than out.

      He hesitated just for the briefest of moments, but found that it
was too long.  "*Out!*" the SS repeated, pulling his weapon.
Julian began to move.


      Chief O'Brien yawned before he stepped out into the corridor.
His shift had just ended four hours ago.  He had four hours before
the next one started.  But a staff meeting was a staff meeting, and
this time, he knew, there was good news to report.  Luckily the
captain's quarters were not too far from his own, and Sisko had
promised to keep it brief.

      "Come on in, Chief," Sisko said, offering him the only place to
sit besides the bunks.  "Sorry to wake you up."

      "That's alright, sir," O'Brien said, stifling another yawn.  Four
hours of sleep just wasn't enough.  "I heard the good news."

      Worf was the last one to arrive.  He looked uncomfortable as he
stepped into the room.  But then, O'Brien knew him well enough to
know that he almost always looked uncomfortable.  It was one
reason that made it so easy to tease Worf.  But that wasn't quite as
much fun now that Julian wasn't around.  Julian was great at it.  He
had the perfect innocent face.  O'Brien wouldn't have thought,
several years ago, that Bashir would be such a good liar.  Maybe it
was something he picked up from Garak.  But then again, it could
have come from all that enhancement business.  He'd kept that
quiet for nearly twenty years.

      Quarters on the *Defiant* were small to begin with and really
were not made to accommodate staff meetings.  But,
unfortunately, neither was any place else, at the moment, except
the mess hall.  But this was a shift change.  One third of the
remaining crew would be heading there for a meal before turning
in.  Given the little time they had to do so, Sisko had offered to
have the meeting here and keep the mess hall open.

      As it was, there weren't enough places for everyone to sit.
Sisko himself had opted for the floor, allowing Kira and Dax to
share the lower bunk.  Worf stood by the door.

      "Well, as the Chief said," Sisko began, "there's been some good
news.  But there's also been some not-so-good news.  Let's start
with the good.

      "I assume you all heard the announcement.  Chief, you'll be
happy to know that two of your engineers were among the signals
found.  Armand and Wieland, to be exact.  Crewman Keller seems
to have been transported nearby."

      "Why only three, Benjamin?" Dax asked.  "The transporter can
handle two at a time."

      Sisko did not have an answer for her.  Instead he had another
question.  "Where was Keller stationed last?"

      Kira checked a PADD and then gave the answer.  "He was in
the transporter room."

      O'Brien's heart sank.  Sisko had found blood in that room.

      Sisko sighed.  "I don't know how familiar you are with Earth
geography.  What I'm about to say shouldn't leave this room."  He
waited for everyone to nod and then continued.  "The signals were
found in the Atacama Desert."

      "You don't think they survived."

      There were times that O'Brien appreciated Worf's bluntness,
and others when it really annoyed him.  This was one of the latter.
The Chief thought that maybe Sisko felt that way too, but the
captain had a lot of restraint.

      Sisko stared at the Klingon for a moment before replying.  "I
think it's still possible that they are alive.  It would be difficult, but
not impossible, to survive there."

      O'Brien thought about what Kira had said.  "If Keller was in the
transporter room," he said, "then he was one of the first."  He
looked to Sisko for confirmation.  When the captain nodded, he
continued.  "Armand and Wieland were in the Engine Room.
They were after him."

      "Do you think they may all be there?" Dax asked.

      Kira shook her head though.  "I know the sensors are weak, but
I scoured that area.  There were no other signals there."

      Sisko agreed.  "We can't assume they're all there.  What we
need to decide is whether or not to divulge the names of the three
to the crew."

      "Why wouldn't we?" O'Brien asked.  He felt like maybe he
knew the answer, but he was really too tired now to figure it out on
his own.

      "Because we can't talk to them or beam them up," Sisko
answered patiently.  "And because they are in a desert."

      "Might get their hopes up," Kira assessed.

      "Exactly," Sisko confirmed.  "I don't want to assume the worst,
but I did find blood on the floor of the transporter room.  Besides, I
want to concentrate on getting everyone back.  I don't want the
crew thinking of this friend or that friend.  I want them thinking of
the 'crew.'"

      Sisko sat quietly for a few moments.  "Chief, how soon can we
have communications?"

      O'Brien dreaded questions like this.  With a full engineering
team, modern equipment, the necessary tools, and a starbase to
dock at, they could have had the ship back to top form in two
weeks, tops.  But they were short on all of those things, especially
the starbase.  There was nowhere to get new parts.  They had to
replicate nearly everything they needed and main power still was
not up to full strength.  It was a lot like the first time he had set
eyes on Deep Space Nine.  There were a lot of systems needing
repairs, too few people to repair them, and not enough parts.  It
could be fixed.  It was just going to take awhile.

      Finally he answered.  "We should have something in a few
days, Captain, maybe by tomorrow, though it would be very
limited.  The changeling destroyed our antennae.  We'll probably
be out of range with the surface.  We're going to have to get
closer."

      "And the transporter?"

      "You've seen it yourself, sir," O'Brien apologized.  "It's
torn to pieces."

      Sisko nodded.  At least he was being patient--more patient than
O'Brien felt.  The majority of his people were down there
somewhere.  And so was Julian, and Julian was his best friend.  He
only hoped he wasn't letting it show too much to his new team of
makeshift engineers.  Their jobs were hard enough without him
riding rough-shod all over them.

      "I think we've been going about this all wrong," Sisko
continued, "by assuming that the changeling would beam our
people into the more heavily populated areas.  The Atacama
certainly isn't heavily populated.  So the other crewmembers might
be somewhere equally as obscure."

      "And equally as hostile," Worf added.

      "Which is all the more reason to find them."


      Bashir was surprised when the SS officers walked away.  They
had given some orders to the other guard that had been standing
outside the barracks door.  He was dressed differently from the SS,
and Bashir decided that he was probably not an officer.  He was
even more surprised when the guard marched him right out of the
camp.

      A truck was waiting there, with six armed soldiers in the back.
The guard said nothing to him, but he prodded with his gun to get
him in the truck.  The guard climbed in as well.  The other soldiers
all eyed him nervously, their hands on their guns, fingers near the
triggers.  What did they think of him, Bashir wondered, that it
required so many guards to watch him?

      He tried to ignore them and looked out the back of the truck.
He could see the immensity of the camp they'd just left and the
curved, cane-like posts that held the barbed wire.  The whole
countryside beyond was desolate and it did not even occur to
Bashir that it was an effect of winter.  He could not imagine this
place in springtime.  It just didn't seem right.

      The ride was a short one, no more than a few kilometers he
guessed.  The truck stopped and the guard shoved him out and then
jumped down himself.  He was led through a metal gate into
another camp.  It looked to him almost like a small town with nice
brick buildings and pebble-covered streets lined with trees.  The
guard walked behind him.  Bashir could hear his gun rattling as he
walked.

      The sun had set, which cast the camp in shadows and dim light.
Julian tried to keep track of the buildings they passed, the path
they walked to wherever he was being taken.  It had been a long
walk already, and his legs ached from the strain.  He couldn't see
the other camp anymore, the one where Vlada and Max were, but
he could still see the haze of smoke from the fires just beyond.

      The guard stopped him at another gate, this one set into a brick
wall between two buildings.  The gate opened and Bashir was
pushed inside.  A guard there questioned his guard for a few
moments and then motioned them into the yard.

      It was a plain, open area, walled again at the opposite end.  A
smaller wooden wall was placed in front of that one, its sides
flared inward toward the yard.  The windows on the building to the
left were boarded up so that Bashir couldn't see inside.  There were
a few wooden posts along that side as well that reached nearly as
high as the tops of the windows.  Bashir couldn't decide what they
were for, since they were set wide apart from each other and did
not seem to support anything.  Another guard was standing there.
The building on the other side was rather nondescript by
comparison.  A few steps led up to a door about halfway between
the gate and the wooden wall at the other end.

      The guard pushed him to the left though, toward the boarded
building and one of the tall posts.  The man waiting there smiled
as they approached.  *Maybe that's the changeling,* Julian
thought.  He still didn't know why he'd been taken from the
barracks in the other camp and brought to this one.  None of the
guards had yet said anything to him about it, in German or
otherwise.

      The man at the posts grabbed Bashir by the shoulders and spun
him around to face the first guard, the one who had brought him
here.  That one looked on impassively as Bashir's hands were tied
behind him.  At first, Bashir thought they were going to tie him to
the post but he realized his arms hadn't been brought around the
post.  He tried to show no reaction when the ropes were pulled
tight against his wrists, but he worried about the circulation if he
should be tied that way for long.

      The man behind him then began to lift Bashir's arms high
behind his back, causing him to bend over toward the ground.
Again, he tried to keep his face even.  He clenched his teeth as his
arms were lifted even higher.  His shoulders and back began to
protest and the other guard had to actually lift him up.  By the time
he was secured to the post his feet were dangling just above the
ground.  The ropes began to bite into his wrists, and finally the
guards backed away, leaving him hanging on the post.

      *So that's what they're for,* he thought, trying to ignore the
pain.  *It's not that bad,* he told himself.  *It's more discomfort
than pain.*  But as the night deepened, he was not fully convinced
of his own argument.

      It most assuredly was pain, in his shoulders and in his chest.
He found it difficult to breathe in that position.  His arms were
going numb, both from the cold and from the lack of  circulation.
His legs felt the same way.

      He'd never thought that a simple post, such as this one, could be
such an effective punishment device.  Whatever it was he had done
to deserve his hours of torment hanging from it, Bashir decided he
was very sorry and would endeavor not to do it again, provided
someone told him what his crime had been.  He'd hoped they
would come back for him when morning broke, but when the
guards arrived, they had another prisoner with them, whom they
hung on the post to Bashir's left.

      Another hour went by and he tried to concentrate on something
besides the pain and the numbness in his hands and feet.  He tried
reciting poems or singing songs in his head, but he found he
couldn't remember the words and verses.  He couldn't concentrate.
He tried then recounting the names of his crewmates, starting with
the senior staff and everything he knew about each of them.

      He thought of Sisko and Jake and baseball, of Kira and the
resistance, of Dax and tried to name all of her previous hosts.  But
he couldn't remember if Audrid had come before Emony.  He
moved on to O'Brien and then gave up.  It wasn't working.  They
had to come for him soon.


      Major Kira Nerys sipped her raktajino as she read the report
Dax had left for her.  It showed the first positive results they'd
gotten from the remains of the shuttle.  The report contained
coordinates and pieces of transporter logs, but little that was
complete.  The records also showed the command for self-destruct
and that the authorization for such a measure had been by-passed.

      Kira already had people trying to match up the coordinates with
the planet they were orbiting.  But coordinates worked in specific
ways.  To mark any particular point on the globe, you need two
sets of coordinates, one for latitude and one for longitude.
Unfortunately, the report contained only fourteen sets of numbers.
Only by the fact that some of the numbers ranged higher than
ninety could one tell that they were longitudinal coordinates and
not those of latitude.  So for a coordinate of 20 degrees there were
four possible locations, one in each hemisphere and each one a
ring around the entire planet.

      For some, a time index was also included which made it
possible to determine which two crewmen were beamed to which
coordinates, but it had already been decided that that information
would remain confidential.  Knowing that the last two to be
transported were Bashir and the changeling itself, Kira checked the
time index.  None of the coordinates matched that time.


      She sighed.  Since they'd found the three signals in the desert,
they had found two more in the vicinity of a small island group off
the coast of the South American continent.  Salerno and
Sopok, a Vulcan.  Luckily it looked as if that particular island
group was not inhabited by humans at this time.

      Kira thought it was getting easier to get out of bed each
morning now that they were making some progress.  The ship was
coming along quicker now.  Each day, it seemed another system
came online.  And now they were finding the missing
crewmembers.  They would be passing over another continent
soon.  Asia.  With any luck, they would find some more.


      It was sometime before noon when his shoulder dislocated.  He
had felt the pressure building in both arms for hours and had
known it was not only highly possible, but highly likely, that one
or both of his shoulders would come out of their sockets.  But he
hadn't quite been prepared for the amount of pain it would entail.

      It had started with a crunching sound and then a jolt as his
shoulder refused to support his weight any longer.  The left side of
his body fell a few inches closer to the ground and his now
dislocated shoulder was twisted up even higher behind his back.
Adding to the initial burst of agony was the continuing pain of
hanging against that arm and the even more awkward position it
left his right shoulder in.  He'd screamed when it happened.  He
couldn't help it.  The sound had just ripped itself from his lungs.
There were several guards in the yard by then, and he could
vaguely hear them laughing.  And then all was blackness.

      Several times he had woken again.  He stared at his shadow
lying beneath his useless feet dangling from his useless legs.  His
whole body felt useless, a source of nothing but pain and torment.
Useless.  He felt he would give anything just to be taken down
from there.  And then he would pass out again.

      When he came to again, his shadow had all but disappeared.
He thought it strange and worried about losing it.  He was unable
to conceive of the real reason it had gone, that the sun was straight
overhead.

      The door opened in the building across from him and he tried to
lift his head to see.  He dared to hope that they were coming to
release him.  But his head was too heavy and fell back again,
hanging ineffectually from his neck.  He could see the feet of the
soldiers who exited the building though and the prisoners they
brought with them.  If he could have remembered how to count at
that point, he would have realized that there were six of them, all
naked with their heads bent low, and the guards were too busy
with them to cut him down from the pole.

      In fact, they never came near him.  They marched the six to
Bashir's left toward the brick wall between the two buildings.  One
of the guards lined the prisoners up against the wooden wall, while
the other held back.  Bashir could see them from the corner of his
eye, and somehow his mind was able to form a thought.  The six
men were being executed.  He felt a flash of jealousy.  Their
deaths would be quick.

      *No,* he found the strength to argue with himself, *I don't want
to die.*  I'm not even supposed to be here.  He heard a few
commands shouted in German and then the even staccato beat of
six gunshots.  He turned his head slightly and saw the six men fall.
He wondered what they had done to deserve death.

      He never saw the six taken away.  When he woke up again they
were simply gone.  The man hanging beside him was whimpering
now and struggling against the rope.  Bashir felt as if his legs and
arms no longer existed.  There was nothing left but his shoulders,
which were very much alive with pain, and his chest which ached
at every breath.  His shadow hung once again below his feet and
stretched out far toward the wall.  The yard was becoming darker,
though he was not sure if that was from the time of day or because
his eyes were failing him.  He closed them.

      He opened them again when he felt a stab of pain at the top of
his head.  His head lifted and he could see an arm holding it up.
The arm was attached to a oddly-dressed soldier.  He reminded
Bashir of the Battle of Britain in the holosuites with the Chief.
The man let go of his hair and Bashir's head dropped again.  He
could no longer see his shadow.

      He heard voices around him, speaking a language he couldn't
understand.  He couldn't remember where he was or why he was in
so much pain.  He couldn't understand why they were laughing at
him.  And then he felt the pressure in his shoulders disappear.  The
ground rose up fast to meet him until he rested his face upon its
cold surface.  His shoulders still blazed in pain but he could feel
they were no longer wrenched high behind him.  They had cut him
down.  The blackness overcame him again, and he was unaware of
being dragged up the steps and into the door across the yard.


      True to his word, O'Brien and his teams had the
communications system running, and it had only been twenty-five
hours since the staff meeting.  "We don't have much range, sir,"
Stevens reminded him.  The Chief had gone off duty late that
afternoon.  He would be pleasantly surprised when he woke up
later that night.

      "Major, where are our people?" Sisko asked, allowing a bit of
excitement to creep into his voice.  He knew it was still a long
shot.  Without the antenna, their signal would not carry very far
and would be susceptible to interference, both atmospheric and
artificial.

      The now-familiar map replaced the picture on the viewscreen
with four wide circles pointing to the areas where comm badge
signals had been picked up.  During the last twenty-four hours,
four more had been found, two in the Serengeti Desert and two in
the general area of Nepal.

      A slightly larger, transparent red circle was also displayed on
the map.  Kira had anticipated his next question and had provided
a display of the *Defiant*'s current  communications range.  The
red circle intersected with a portion of the one in Chile.  Those
were the ones they could reach, if all went well.

      The bridge crew became silent, waiting for him to give the
order.  Sisko watched the viewscreen.  "Major, see if they can hear
us."

      He glanced her way and saw her nod sharply.  Then she turned
back to her console, calling up the proper commands.  "*Defiant*
to Armand," she called.

      Sisko found himself holding his breath as he waited for an
answer.

      "*Defiant* to Armand," Kira repeated.  She waited a few
moments and then called the second name.  "*Defiant* to Keller."

      Kira repeated the hail again.  In front of him, Sisko saw Dax's
shoulders fall.  It was perhaps only a centimeter, barely noticeable,
but he had known her a long time.  Besides, he felt the same way,
though to be truthful, he really hadn't expect an answer from
Keller.

      "*Defiant* to Wieland."  Still there was silence.  "*Defiant* to
Wieland."

      Kira turned to him.  Though her face was passive, the
disappointment showed in her eyes.  Sisko waited a moment and
then spoke, hoping to console his crew.  "Major, keep trying as we
come into range with the others.  The engineers warned us the
signal would be weak.  We'll drop altitude once we have the
cloak."

      Kira nodded and turned away again, probably to get ready for
the Galapagos.  Two signals had originated from there as well.


      The bridge was unusually quiet for the next hour as they waited
for the earth to turn,  bringing them into the best possible position
for reaching Lieutenant Sopok and Ensign Salerno.  Kira turned
her chair around to face the captain and waited for his signal.

      Sisko only nodded in return.

      She turned back to her station.  "*Defiant* to Sopok," Kira
hailed as once again the bridge crew held its breath.  She felt the
urge to smash her fist against the console when there was no
answer.  "*Defiant* to Sopok."

      Still, silence met them on the comm line.  Kira pressed her
controls and tried again, this time trying to reach the ensign.
"*Defiant* to Salerno."  She stopped, took a deep breath and then
tried again.  "*Defiant* to Salerno."

      She listened, hoping to hear something, but the only sounds
were those of the computer equipment around her.  And then,
softly, she heard a voice.  "*Defiant*?" it called weakly.  The next
sound she heard was the collective intake of breath by everyone on
the bridge.

      Knowing that their comm signal could have been interrupted by
radio signals originating on the planet, Kira didn't allow herself to
get her hopes up just yet.  She could have reached a local.  "Ensign
Salerno, do you read?"

      "This is Salerno.  Major, is that you?"  The voice still sounded
weak, and Kira wasn't sure if it was because of the signal or the
man himself.

      But it was enough.  Kira could not keep the smile from forming
on her face any longer.  And the bridge crew apparently could not
keep still.  They all cheered.  Sisko, smiling as well, held up a
hand to stop them.  "Ensign, this is Captain Sisko."

      "Oh, am I glad to hear from you, sir," the ensign responded, the
relief audible in his voice.  "I don't know what happened, sir, but
I'm certainly ready to beam up."

      Kira watched Sisko sigh.  "Ensign," he began, using a formal
but delicate tone, "a changeling managed to infiltrate the crew.
The *Defiant* was severely sabotaged and you and several other
crewmen were transported off the ship.  I'm afraid the transporter
is not yet functional.  As soon as it is, we will transport you back to
the ship."

      There was quiet on the line for a few moments and then
desperation.  "What about the shuttles, sir?" Salerno asked quickly.

      "The changeling used the shuttles' transporters to beam you off,
Ensign, and then set the shuttle for self-destruct.  There are no
shuttles.  Are you alright, Ensign?"

      Again he was quiet.  When he spoke again, there was a slight
stutter in his speech.  "I . . . I f-found a cave, sir.  I found some
plants to eat, and I've tried to catch some of the animals. . . ."

      "Do the best you can, Ensign," Sisko replied gently.  "Have you
seen Lieutenant Sopok?"

      This time there was no silence and Salerno's voice came
through stronger.  "No, sir, not since we were on board the
*Defiant.*"  His voice began to crackle near the end, and Kira
turned back to her station.  They were moving out of range.

      "Ensign, I'm going to have to break contact," Sisko said.  "We
will call again whenever we are in range."

      Salerno was quiet again, but finally he replied.  His voice was
steady.  "Aye, sir.  Salerno out."

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

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