Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 04:49:57 GMT  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: Gabrielle Lawson  
 


Title: Oswiecim
Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net)
Series: DS9
Part: REP 14/42
Rating: [PG-13] (Violence)
Codes:

                Chapter Seven

      Sisko stifled the yawn he felt and watched the viewscreen.
The Pacific Ocean was below them, but they were nearing the
Chinese coast--Manchuria, if he remembered his geography.  True
to her word, Kira had her team searching the oceans.  No one had
turned up in the Pacific, not even on the various island groups they
had passed over.  Three more.  Bashir, Amitai, and Ephraim.

      "O'Brien to Sisko."

      It had been very quiet on the bridge and Sisko almost
jumped when the comm signal came through.

      "What is it, Chief?"  Sisko asked.  "Good news, I hope."

      "Yes, sir, it is."  The Irishman's voice had a even more
distinctive lilt to it.  Sisko decided it wasn't just because he was
well-rested.  "We've got a transporter!"

      Sisko sat up straight in the chair, all fatigue having left
him.  The transporter.  They could bring their people home now,
for better or for worse.  "Good work, Chief."

      "Well, I really can't take the credit, sir.  I just woke up
after all."

      "Well, then you've got a good crew working for you,"
Sisko said.  He felt happier now that the transporter was fixed, but
he sobered when he realized where they were.  Southeast Asia.
The closest signals would be those in Nepal.  K2.  Probably frozen
to death.  They would be beaming up corpses.  Still, he kept his
voice even when he ordered, "Helm, bring us to within transporter
range of Nepal, thrusters at maximum speed."

      Of course, it would still be dark over Nepal, but hovering
in the night sky over Nepal wouldn't be as risky as hovering over
Europe or America.  Few people would be able to spot the dimly
lit ship.

      "Aye, sir.  Laying in course."

      "ETA?"

      "Six minutes."

      "Chief," Sisko said, hoping that O'Brien was still on the
line, "meet me in the transporter room in five minutes.  Have a
medical team stand-by as well."

      "Aye, sir.  Should we wake the major, sir?"

      Sisko thought for a moment.  It had been Kira's task to find
the missing crew members.  She would want to be there.  But she
needed the rest.  They all did.  "No, let her sleep.  Have
Commander Dax join us though."

      "Aye, sir."  The comm line went dead.  Sisko stood to
stretch his legs.  "Lieutenant," he said, addressing the crewman
sitting in Kira's seat.  "You have the bridge.  Inform me of our
arrival over Nepal."

      "Aye, sir."

      He arrived at the transporter room in less than five
minutes, but it didn't matter.  O'Brien and Dax were already there.
One would not have guessed from the appearance of the room that
the transporter was at all functioning.  Panels were open and
circuits exposed.  But the pad looked fine, if a little dirty.  The
controls were lit and apparently in working order.

      O'Brien appeared a bit self-conscious and seemed to know
what Sisko was thinking.  "We should have her cleaned up in a
few hours, Captain.  But I thought you'd want to use it as soon as
it was operational."

      "You thought right, Chief.  They've been gone too long
already."

      "Bridge to Captain Sisko."

      "Sisko here."

      "Entering transporter range, sir."

      "Thank you.  Sisko out."  Sisko looked to O'Brien, who
moved silently to the command console.  He checked the readings
and then nodded.

      "Who is it?" Dax asked.

      "Smith," O'Brien replied.  "I've got a lock."  Just then the
door opened and the medical team filed in with two stretchers.

      Sisko turned away from them to watch the pad.  It was
time.  "Energize."  He felt his pulse begin to quicken and realized
he was getting his hopes up.  There was a chance--given, it was an
infinitesimal one--that Smith could have survived.  Somehow.
Dax was watching, too.  She felt the same way.

      Suddenly a shimmering form coalesced on the pad.  It was
only a meter or so tall, not full height, but then Sisko hadn't
expected Smith to be standing.  Slowly the form began to take the
shape of a human sitting with legs tucked up close toward the
chest.  Two arms wrapped around the knees.  And then there was a
face, and the shimmering faded away.   His hands didn't quite seem
real, shrunken and blackened as they were from frostbite.  His face
was discolored as well.  His eyes, still open, stared blindly back at
Sisko and Dax. Crewman Tristan Smith.  Frozen solid.

      It was obvious the man was dead, but the nurse moved
forward with a tricorder anyway. *Just doing her job,* Sisko told
himself.  It was going to be awkward getting him back to sickbay
on a stretcher.  "Chief, can we beam him to sickbay?"

      The chief didn't answer right away.  He was still staring at
the crewman on the platform.  He shivered visibly and then
seemed to wake up.  "No, sir.  Sorry.  But we've really only got
limited use.  Intraship beaming is a trickier thing."

      Sisko rubbed his eyes.  Then he looked to the nurse.  She
put her tricorder away without saying anything.  Sisko turned
away, not wanting to watch as she and the others put the man on
one of the stretchers.  He heard the door open and close and they
were gone.  The nurse was still there with one of the med-techs,
their faces ashen as they waited for the second crewman to be
transported.

      "Do we have a lock on Syra?"

      "Yes, sir," O'Brien answered, his voice very much sobered
now.  Sisko studied the faces of those in the room.  He was sure
their expressions only mirrored his own.  "Energize."

      The second form appeared on the platform much as the
first had, only this time, Syra was not sitting.  She had apparently
fallen and was more or less in a lying position.  She, too, was dead.
Frozen to death days before.  The nurse again checked the
tricorder and then she and the med-tech lifted the stiff form onto
the stretcher.  The door opened and closed again, leaving only Dax
and the chief in the room with the captain.  None of them wanted
to speak.

      "I believe we'll have better luck in the Serengeti," Sisko
said quietly.  "Tell the bridge to set course.  Wu is waiting."

      "And Nitzsche?" Dax asked.

      Sisko didn't answer.


      "I told you," Bashir gasped through clenched teeth, "I was
a tennis player."  He didn't look at the men anymore, any of them.
Instead he stared at the ends of his outstretched and shaking
fingers.  Each one was bloody from where his fingernails had been
ripped out.

      Ironically, it was the sitting man--who was no longer
sitting--who had done it.  He had been the 'good cop.'  Apparently
he also liked inflicting pain on others.  And it was an incredible
amount of pain, too, considering the amount of nerve endings in
the finger.  It didn't help that the sitting man had taken his time,
shoving the blade beneath each of his fingernails and slowly
tearing them loose one by one.  Bashir had clenched his teeth so
hard to keep from screaming that he thought his jaw would break.

      "Poland was conquered nearly four years ago.  Why would
a tennis player come here?"  The pacing man asked still walking
in circles around Bashir.  It was making him dizzy.

      Sticking to Garak's sage advice, Bashir told the truth.  "I
got stuck here."

      "How did you come here?"

      "Professional tennis players travel," he told him.  "I've
been many places.  Paris, Budapest, Johannesburg, San Francisco.
. . ."

      "Why would you come to Poland in the middle of a war?"

      "Bad timing," Julian whispered.  Of course, he knew he
shouldn't have said it.  But he didn't know what else to say.  He
could not tell them the real truth.  That would get him killed,
either for getting smart with his captors or for being a lunatic.

      The pacing man lost his patience.  He grabbed the back of
Bashir's head by the hair and yanked it back until Bashir could
almost see the wall behind him.  "Who are you working with?" he
asked again.  He had probably asked that question fifteen times already.

      "I'm not working with anyone," Julian answered with
effort.  "I'm not a spy."

      The third man, the changeling, stood up from his
chair--this time the chair itself remained--and walked over to stand
in front of Bashir.  "Tennis players," he said, stressing each
heavily-accented word, "need their hands, don't they?"

      The pacing man released Bashir's hair and Julian looked
up at the changeling, meeting his gaze.  He forgot about the pain
in his fingers and even his shoulder.  All that was only temporary.
The changeling had something else in mind.  Doctors needed their
hands, too.

      "Tell me, are you right or left-handed?"

      *Now would be a good time to begin lying,* Garak's voice
sounded inside Julian's mind.  But he found his mouth was dry and
he couldn't answer.

      "Right or left?"  The changeling repeated.  The sitting
man, the torturer, stepped forward, his white lab coat specked with
drops of red.  This time, he was holding a hammer in his hands.

      Bashir looked away, back to his hands.  He needed his
hands.  Both of them.  He couldn't be a surgeon without his hands.
The arms of the chair were so flat.  His hands would be crushed.

      "If you don't answer, I will choose for you."

      Bashir swallowed and tried to think.  If he said right, would
they break it?  Or would they think he was lying and break the
other?  Then he looked up again, right into the changeling's
gleaming eyes.  She was enjoying this.  She--or he--cocked his
head slightly with just the hint of smile.  "*Links,*" he said.

      Bashir was frozen.  He could do little more than shake his
head and ball his hand into a fist.  But he was weak, from hunger
and from the recent torment, and the sitting man did not seem to
have a problem with flattening his hand against the arm of the
chair.

      This time, clenching his teeth didn't help, and Bashir's
screams woke some of the prisoners in the cellar below.
Eventually they tuned it out and went back to sleep.  It was
nothing they hadn't heard before.


      Captain Sisko pushed away the fatigue he felt.  He was not
going to miss a transport, even if it meant missing another hour of
sleep.  Kira, beside him, felt the same way.  She'd already
expressed her displeasure at not being woken up for the first
transports.

      "Ready to transport, sir," O'Brien reported.

      "He won't be seen?" Sisko asked as he rubbed his eyes
with one hand.  It was nearly dawn in the Massai village.  The
villagers would be rising soon.

      "No, sir.  He's clear."

      "Energize."  Sisko watched the form appear on the
platform.  Though he knew that Wu had been taken in by the
Massai, he still was not prepared for the crewman's appearance.  It
should not have been surprising that he was out of uniform, but the
traditional Massai dress was still unexpected.  Even more so was
the orange clay that covered the lieutenant from head to toe.

      As Wu stepped, barefoot, off the platform, Sisko held out
his hand.  "Welcome back, Lieutenant," he said.

      Wu had to shift the staff he was carrying to his left hand in
order the shake the captain's proffered hand.  "Good to be back,
Captain," he replied with a grin.  He shook Kira's hand as well.

      "Are you alright?" Sisko asked.

      "Fine, sir," Wu answered though he now looked a little
nervous.  "Just a bit homesick, I guess.  It'll be nice to get back in
uniform."

      "I've got a lock on Nitzsche," O'Brien interrupted.

      Sisko, realizing he'd been smiling, stopped and turned
back to the Chief.  "No chance of him being seen?"

      "Sensors aren't very accurate, but I'm not picking up any
other readings."

      Sisko nodded and turned to Wu.  "Report to sickbay.  Let
Nurse Baines check you out.  If she says you're okay, you can
return to your quarters."

      Wu seemed to be paying more attention to the Chief and
the transporter platform than to his captain though.  But
apparently, he had been listening.  "I'd rather stay, sir."

      Sisko wasn't sure if he should allow it.  He had his doubts
about Nitzsche.  But he finally nodded his approval.  O'Brien
caught the nod as well and began the next transport.

      This time, no human form appeared on the platform.
Instead the sparkling lights of the transporter effect only deposited
a small scattering of white bones and torn fabric.  Nitzsche's
comm badge lay near a few of the rib bones--some still in
position--its surface smudged with dark, dried blood.  Nitzsche's
skull stared blankly up toward the ceiling.

      The nurse hesitated a moment before visibly steeling
himself to move forward with his tricorder.  "I'm picking up
residual traces of mammalian DNA, Captain.  Feline.  Lion
perhaps."

      *That would explain the skeleton,* Sisko thought, feeling
the fatigue rush over him again.  *Hell of a way for a Starfleet
officer to go--eaten by lions before mankind ever left the
atmosphere.*

      Kira's expression never wavered, but she turned away.

      "I, um," Wu began, obviously quite uncomfortable, "guess
I should go to sickbay now.  Permission to leave, Captain?"

      Sisko could not take his eyes off the skeleton before him.
"Granted."


      Julian Bashir couldn't really see anymore.  His tormentors,
the room, the world swam around him in a blur of pain.  But he
could hear.  Both of the Germans had left him when the door
opened.  They were talking now with the changeling.  He couldn't
understand them.  They were not speaking English.  None of them
sounded happy, but Bashir didn't care about that.  They were not
touching him.  That was all that mattered.  He let his head fall
back against the chair, closed his eyes, and tried to slow his
breathing.

      But it was only a momentary respite.  The unhappy
speaking stopped, and the Germans returned to him.  Bashir
opened his eyes, expecting to see them preparing some new torture
for him.  Instead the pacing man was untying his hands.  A white
form hovered near the floor; the other German was untying his
ankles.  They were releasing him.

      The changeling stood in front of him.  When he spoke, he
did so slowly, as if knowing that Bashir would have a hard time
listening.  "The Gestapo has decided," he said, still using a
German accent, "that you are not worth our time.  *Bring ihn nach
unten.*"

      The last part was lost on Bashir, but the Germans
understood.  The sitting man in his red-speckled lab coat, gripped
Bashir's right arm and began to pull him to his feet.  The other
man stepped toward his other side.  Somewhere in his mind, Julian
remembered his shoulder.  He did not want to have to put it back
in place again.  He did his best to stand on his own.  The room
spun faster around him, but he managed to remain upright.  The
sitting man did not release his arm but began to lead him, not
gently, towards the door.

      The steps were harder to negotiate now, and he nearly fell
several times before reaching the bottom.  But the sitting man's
grip was firm, and they both made it to the floor on their feet.

      It was becoming easier to focus, and Bashir thought that he
was being returned to his cell.  As bad as it had been, with its
darkness and lack of air, he yearned for the solitude, the quiet and
even the darkness.  He also thought he could remember the way
and so was confused when they passed a familiar doorway.

      The sitting man kept leading him down the hallway.
Against one wall sat an odd-looking, waist-high, wooden table.
When they reached it, the sitting man pushed Bashir harshly over
the top of it.  The other German stepped up and pulled Bashir's
wrists out toward the other end of the table so that he couldn't
straighten back up.  Darkness threatened to overcome the bright
overhead lighting as the man grasped his left wrist and pulled
against his left shoulder.  Bashir involuntarily cried out as the pain
erupted anew in his injured arm.

      "We are going to teach you," the changeling said behind
him, "how to count in German."

      Bashir couldn't work out what he meant.  *Count?*

      "*Eins.*"

      Bashir heard the crack just before he felt it, but only a
heartbeat before.  Searing, stinging pain forced a ragged cry from
his already parched throat.  His knees buckled and he sagged
against the table.

      "*Eins,*" the changeling said again, this time more
forcefully.

      Another crack and then another bolt of pain sliced through
Bashir's back.

      "It is always *eins* until you repeat.  *EINS!*"

      Another crack, but Bashir was beginning to understand.
"*Eins,*" he choked.  He had only time to gasp for a breath before
the changeling spoke again.

      "*ZWEI!*"  The crack of the whip followed, and Bashir
learned to count in German.  He passed out before he had reached
fifteen, or *funfzehn,* but they dashed his face with water and
made him start again from ten--*zehn.*

      By the time he had reached *zwanzig*--twenty--he could
no longer scream.  The number came out in a whisper.  The whip
ceased its assault, though by then Bashir's back was criss-crossed
with ribbons of red, bleeding welts.

      "*LaBt ihn.*"  The changeling's voice sounded so distant.
"*Ihr konnt gehen.*"


      The changeling waited for the others to leave and then
walked over to Bashir's limp form.  She could have killed him.
She realized that.  All she had to do was order it.  She almost had.
She knelt down in a fluid movement and untied his hands.  She
was satisfied, for now.

      Bashir tried to look up at her, but he was unable to raise his
head.  No matter.  She gripped him firmly around the waist and
lifted him from the floor.  For his part, he did attempt to walk but
he couldn't keep his feet beneath him very well.  The door to his
cell was open, and she dropped him inside.  He rolled onto his
stomach, carefully leaving his left hand exposed beside him, and
lay still.

      "I'll have a doctor come look at you this afternoon," she
said in the voice of the Gestapo man whose form she held.  Then
she closed and locked the door.  She had to get to Birkenau.
*Scharfuhrer* Heiler was due to report for duty in an hour.


      Jadzia Dax checked the readings on her console again and
wished she could increase speed.  It was nearly time to end her
shift, but they were still nearly two hours from reaching Greenland
and the next set of comm signals.  On the bottom edge of the
viewscreen she could just make out the coast of Norway.  Or was
it Sweden?  It was difficult remembering.  Historical geography
was hardly her main focus at the academy.  She could remember
stuff like that about her own world, but Earth was different.  She
had visited too many planets, lived in too many cultures to
remember every detail about them all.

      "Commander!"

      Dax turned to see who had called, even though she knew
the call was for Worf.  He had the bridge after all.

      "What is it, Ensign?"  There was impatience in Worf's
voice.  He probably was not too pleased with the outburst, but he
did nothing more to show it.

      "I'm picking up two more signals, sir!" the red-haired
ensign reported excitedly, though he made an effort to keep his
voice low.  "It's Amitai and Ephraim."

      Worf stood and walked to the man's console.  "Where?" he
asked more quietly, all annoyance gone.

      "Here, sir."  The man pointed to his screen, but Dax
couldn't see anything from her seat at the helm.  For his part, Worf
stood ramrod stiff and showed no emotion, nothing to give her any
indication of good news or bad.

      "Hail them," Worf ordered.

      The man's voice dropped to a whisper when he answered,
and Dax couldn't make it out.  She turned back to her console,
knowing that she should be minding her duty, but she still strained
to hear.

      "Dax," Worf said so suddenly she nearly jumped.  She
nodded to Lieutenant Jordan, who would relieve her at the helm,
and met Worf near the console.  She could see then the
coordinates of the signals.  One was stationary and weak, but
oddly, the second was moving.  "Set course and then go below and
wake the captain.  Tell Chief O'Brien to prepare for transport."

      Dax nodded.  She returned to the helm and reached over
Jordan's shoulder to set the new course.  He did not object.  Then
she turned for the turbolift.  *Moving.  What could it mean?*
Could one of them be swimming?

      Sisko looked so tired when he answered the door chime,
that Dax almost felt sorry for waking him.  He'd only been asleep
for a couple of hours.  "We've found Ephraim and Amitai,
Benjamin."  She took a deep breath and then told him the rest.
"They're in the water, and they don't answer our hails."

      Dax had thought it impossible, but Sisko's face actually
fell.  "Where are we, Old Man?"

      "Off the northern coast of Norway or Sweden."

      He pounded his fist on the door frame and then turned back
into his quarters.  "Inform Major Kira and get the medical team
ready to meet me in the transporter room, Dax."

      Dax nodded and left him to get dressed.  She didn't tell
him that the scans had shown the water temperature to be well
below tolerable levels for humans.  He was much better at Earth
geography than she was.  He probably already knew.

      The transporter room was crowded with people when they
entered, though she noticed that it was much cleaner now.  Sisko
looked grim, but he kept his tone neutral.  "Do we have a lock,
Chief?"

      "Yes, sir," O'Brien acknowledged, "It's Ephraim, but it's
weak.  If we're going to do it, we need to do it now."

      Sisko nodded and the transporter started up with a slight
whine.  Still needed work.  It was understandable given the
amount of damage the changeling had caused.  It probably
wouldn't be back to specs until it had been completely overhauled
at the nearest spacedock--which was a couple hundred years away
at present.

      The form that emerged on the platform was much too small
to be Ephraim, and much too flat.  There was only a black pile of
wet fabric.  Kira stepped forward first.  She turned back a few of
the folds, revealing a swatch of yellow, and found Ephraim's
comm badge.  She handed it to Sisko and then flexed her fingers.
The nurse took over and scanned the fabric for human remains.
She didn't say anything.  The uniform dripped when she picked
up.  She too flexed her fingers as she dropped the fabric into the
waiting container.

      "I've got Amitai now, sir," O'Brien said quietly.

      Sisko waited for the techs to clear the pad.  "Energize."

      This time the form that emerged from the transporter effect
was indeed large enough to be a human.  Larger, in fact.  Several
large chunks of ice had been beamed up with Amitai's body.  He'd
apparently crawled onto a floating slab of ice.  That would have
explained the movement.

      Sisko sighed.  "How long to Greenland, Old Man?"

      "Another hour and a half," Dax answered as she watched
the med-techs extricate the corpse from the ice.


      Sisko heard the footsteps in the hall before he heard the
door chime.  He'd very diligently kept his eyes closed since he had
returned to his quarters, but it was no use.  He hadn't slept at all.
He knew that he should.  He would be on duty in less than three
hours, and he wouldn't have another chance to sleep for sixteen
hours after that.  But telling himself that over and over hadn't
helped either.  It only made him feel worse.

      He'd had a stomachache since Nepal.  Smith and Syra
frozen, Nietzsche torn apart by lions, Ephraim and Amitai.  All of
them dead.  Fellini, too.  There were still six others who were not
answering their comm signals.  And Bashir.  They hadn't been
able to find Bashir yet.

      He thought about altering course.  Pick up the survivors
first.  They were waiting, most likely injured, in hostile
surroundings.  But he knew he couldn't do that.  The ship would
not go any faster than it was going right now anyway, not until the
engines were fully repaired.  And what if, by some chance, his
stomachache was wrong?  What if even one of them was still
alive, but unable to answer?

      When the door chimed, Sisko stood quickly, still dressed,
and met Kira at the door.  "Any answer from them, Major?"

      She let her glance fall to the floor.  "No, sir.  No life signs
either, but the sensors. . . ."

      Sisko stopped her.  "I know."

      They didn't say anything else as they headed toward the
transporter room.  "Just coming into range, Captain," O'Brien
reported as the door slid open.  The medical team was already
there, waiting.

      "Energize as soon as you have a lock, Chief," Sisko
ordered quietly.

      The result was no different than it had been over Nepal.
Two crewmembers, frozen to death.  They were beamed up
together this time.  They had obviously held each other for
warmth.  But time had been against them.  They might have even
lasted an hour, perhaps, but it had taken more than a week before
the *Defiant* was capable of rescuing them.  They couldn't have
survived.  Shavatt and Pelt.  Seven out of eight.

      Sisko looked to Kira.  "What's our flight plan, Major?

      "That depends," she replied as she walked around the med-
techs to reach the computer screen.  She pressed a few controls,
and a map of the western hemisphere appeared.  "We've got
people on both continents and just off the coast.  If we go for
Nohtsu now, which would be a shorter trip, we'd risk night by
going back for Salerno and the others.  We'd have to wait until we
came around again."

      Sisko nodded.  "I don't think Salerno would appreciate
that."

      "No, I don't think he would."  She pressed another key and
a line formed on the map, showing the *Defiant*'s path to South
America and the Galapagos.  "We could go to the southern
continent first, and we could swing north afterwards."

      "But Nohtsu is injured," Sisko finished for her.  She
nodded.  He thought about it silently for a few moments.  Nohtsu
had been patient thus far, despite her injury and the inclimate
weather.  She would only be waiting a few hours more.  Salerno
would be waiting a whole day if they went for Canada first.  And
there were the three others in Atacama to think of as well.  In spite
of his stomachache, he could not completely discount the
possibility of their survival.

      "South first, Major."

      Kira nodded curtly and called the bridge with the new
course.  "We should reach the western coast within five hours,"
she informed him.

      Sisko nodded and then left for his quarters.  He still had a
couple of hours to lay with his eyes closed.  His stomachache
showed no sign of fading.

      Five hours.  It was going to be a long day.

      Two hours later, Sisko was back on the bridge and the
*Defiant* was passing over Nova Scotia.  The crew was quiet,
most by now having gotten the word that the crewmates that had
been rescued had not survived, with the exception, of course, of
Wu, who, true to his word, was in fine shape.  After a night's rest,
he'd added his name to the duty roster and his hands to the repairs.

      Atacama proved something of a surprise.  As Sisko had
suspected, all three crewmembers arrived on the ship as lifeless
carcasses.  That they'd been dead awhile was evident by the
degree to which they had been scavenged.  Even the medical team,
who was supposed to be able to handle some pretty nasty wounds,
were left queasy from the sight.

      But, remembering the blood in the transporter room, Sisko
ordered an autopsy on Keller anyway.  Without the doctor, there
was no one really qualified to provide an autopsy, but Nurse
Baines solemnly volunteered to autopsy all three--to the best of
her ability.  Sisko assured her that any information she might
discover would be helpful.

      And it was, at least in answering some questions.  Keller,
indeed, had not died from the desert.  A small incision was found
in his chest.  He had been stabbed through the heart.  The
changeling had killed him in order to gain control of the
transporter.

      Wieland was too far gone to provide any real answers, but
Armand was more helpful.  Her neck had been snapped.  The
changeling had killed her too, to gain control of Engineering.
Since Wieland had been in Engineering as well, it was a safe
assumption that all three crewmen had been killed before they
ever left the ship.

      The Galapagos were not far away, so once again, Sisko
found himself in the transporter room backed up by Kira and the
medical team.  Salerno was contacted.  He'd been doing better the
last couple of days, catching some small lizards to eat and finding
some plants.  But he was anxious to return to the ship.  This time,
Sisko didn't have to disappoint him.  "Energize."

      "Aye, sir," O'Brien replied and then turned back to the
controls.  In a few seconds, Salerno's form began to materialize on
the platform.  He looked pale and swayed slightly when the
effect left him, and Sisko realized he must be weak from his
ordeal.  He stepped forward to offer a steadying hand.

      "It's good to see you again, Captain," Salerno said,
grinning, as he took hold of Sisko's arm.

      "Good to have you back, Ensign," Sisko smiled in return.
"You didn't happen to see Lieutenant Sopok since we last spoke?"

      "No, sir."

      Sisko waited until he had been lead out of the room. "Any
readings on Sopok?"

      "I *am* getting another signal, Captain," O'Brien said,
though he didn't seem too sure, "but it's weak."

      "Can you get a lock?" Kira asked.

      "Yes, sir, I think so."  Both he and Kira looked to the
Captain, waiting for his signal.

      Sisko nodded and turned again to face the platform.  He
prepared himself inwardly, as well as he could, for Sopok's body
to materialize.  A shimmering form appeared, lying horizontal on
the pad.  But it was too big.  Much too big.  As it took shape it
began to be apparent that they hadn't beamed up Sopok after all,
but it was over before anyone was able to react.  As the
shimmering faded, fins became visible and large, white teeth.

      As the transporter effect drained away, the shark came
back to life, thrashing wildly on the platform.  Kira, who had been
standing closest to the pad jumped back fearfully.  Sisko didn't
blame her.  He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the pad
as he stepped back himself.  "Send it back, Chief!" he yelled.

      "I'm trying, sir!" O'Brien yelled back.  "We hadn't
planned on sending anything back down."

      The shark, probably a good three and a half meters in
length, was whipping about so violently that it was in danger of
slipping off the pad altogether.  Sisko pulled out his phaser.  Kira
took his lead and unholstered hers as well.  "Set to stun, Major."

      "What is that thing?" she asked as she took aim.  "I thought
Earth was paradise.  You never told me you had sea monsters."

      Sisko fired with her and held the beam until the shark lay
still.  Well, nearly still.  It still gasped for air that it couldn't
breathe.  Sisko let out his breath.  He turned to the nurse.  "Scan
it."  Then he turned back to Kira as the nurse pulled out his
tricorder and stepped cautiously toward the shark.  "It's not a sea
monster.  It's a shark.  And that's a relatively small one."

      "I'm definitely reading the comm signal, Captain," the
nurse called.  He looked up, his face grim.  "And I'm reading
Vulcan genetic material."

      "Got it, sir!" O'Brien declared triumphantly.  The nurse
stepped away.

      Sisko hesitated before he asked the next question.  He was
afraid of the answer.  "What about human remains?"  Kira looked
at him hard.  She knew what he was asking.  Bashir was the only
one not accounted for now, with the exception of the changeling.

      The nurse checked the tricorder again and then shook his
head.  "No, sir.  No human remains."

      Sisko sighed again, relieved.  If Bashir was still just
'missing,' there was still grounds for hope.  Unfortunately, that
was not the case for Lieutenant Sopok.  "Send it back, Chief,
before it suffocates."

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 23:14:47 2004
X-Persona: 
Status:  U
Return-Path: 
Received: from n2.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.75])
	by skylark (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1bfLFI1V03NZFjw0
	for ; Mon, 19 Apr 2004 20:11:42 -0700 (PDT)
X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-13412-1082430701-stephenbratliffasc=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yah