Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 05:02:01 GMT  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: Gabrielle Lawson  
 


Title: Oswiecim
Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net)
Series: DS9
Part: REP 26/42
Rating: [PG-13] (Violence)
Codes:

           Chapter Eleven -- Continued

      O'Brien cursed and held his hand to the top of his head.
Then he regretted it and hoped the captain hadn't heard.

      "I'll take that as a 'no'," a deep voice said from behind
him.

      He had heard.  O'Brien sighed and slid backwards out of
the conduit.  "We completely blew out the sensors."

      Sisko didn't look pleased.  "How long, Chief?"

      "Well, it's not as bad as it sounds.  We could have it up in
a day and a half."

      Sisko fell back into an empty chair behind him.  "A day
and a half?"

      "It's fixable," O'Brien offered as consolation.  "Might be
better than before, but we'll need to replicate the parts."

      Sisko looked up at him.  He didn't say anything, but the
raised eyebrows told him that the captain was waiting for the
punchline.

      "We also lost the replicators."

      Sisko rubbed his forehead with one hand and sighed.  "Can
we contact the away team."

      O'Brien took a deep breath.  "Well, there's that, too."

      "Is there anything we didn't lose?"

      O'Brien didn't like the captain's tone, but he chalked it up
to stress and fatigue.  He also understood.  He rather felt that way
himself.  "We still have the transporter."

      "But we can't lock onto anything without the sensors."
Sisko stood.  "Chief," he said as if he were about to confide a
secret, "we're supposed to be fixing the *Defiant,* not breaking
her."

      *It's not exactly my fault, sir,* O'Brien thought.  But he
knew better than to say it.  "Yes, sir."  The captain left and
O'Brien stretched, muttering to himself.  The day had started off
well enough, but it was ending in near disaster.  His shift ended in
three hours.  But he knew he wouldn't leave until he could get at
least one of the systems back online.  This ship had lost enough
crewmen already.

      If he knew Dax though, she'd be continuing with the
mission.  He had seen her at dinner the day before.  She had
confided to him that she didn't know why Sisko had chosen her for
the away team.  While Thomas was only an ensign, Novak had
proven quite capable of leading the mission.  Most often Dax
merely stood behind him, oblivious to what was being said by the
others.  But O'Brien knew that the captain counted on her.  That
was why he had sent her.  She could think fast to find a way out of
a problem.  And she had more than enough experience in dealing
with foreign cultures and environments.  Cut off from the ship, the
lieutenant might decide to hole up until contact was reestablished.
Dax would look for Julian.


      Novak had been right.  Leaving the ghetto had not been a
problem.  At the sight of their uniforms, the gate had been opened.
The guards even saluted, their arms held out straight, as the three
walked past.  Transportation was just as easy.  They had enough
money left over from their lunch that day in Berlin to buy three
train fares back to the German capital by way of Prague.  It was
not the most direct route, but it was the best they could do under
the circumstances.  Fewer trains were running now that there was
a war on, the cashier had explained.

      Dax was surprised by the comfort of the train.  They had
been given a private compartment and were treated with the
utmost respect by the Polish conductor.  The car was heated also.
But the train was slow.  It was expected to arrive in Berlin on
Friday afternoon.  It was only Wednesday.

      Novak tried to make light of it.  "I hear Prague is lovely
this time of year."

      Thomas didn't feel his enthusiasm.  "Not this year."

      The locomotive was loud and shook as it moved.  Dax
found it disturbing and didn't know how the people of this time
had managed.  It had been two hours since they had lost contact
with the ship, and since they were in a compartment to themselves,
she thought it safe to try again.  The result was the same though.
The signal seemed to open.  The badge chirped its usual welcome,
but met only silence on the other end.  As disheartening as it was,
Dax was relieved.  The fact that a signal was established was a
good sign that the damage to the *Defiant*'s comm system was only
superficial.

      To pass the time, Dax asked Novak about his grandmother
and watched the land roll by the window.  She thought it ironic
how peaceful the countryside looked considering the war and
genocide raging so close by.  Still, trees knew nothing of war.

      Novak welcomed the chance to tell how he learned
German.  It was obvious that his grandmother and his times with
her were very special to him.  Dax could empathize.  She
remembered Audrid's grandchildren and how happy they had
made her.  She had spoiled them, much to the mock chagrin of
their parents.  She remembered with regret Torias's long talks out
under the stars with Nalani of the plans they had for growing old
together.  Jadzia remembered also her own grandparents and how
proud they had been at her graduation from Starfleet Academy and
even more so on the day of her joining.

      Toward evening her stomach growled, so she and Novak
had set out to find the dining car.  Thomas hadn't joined them.
She said she'd eat in the morning.  She wasn't hungry.  The meal
had been simple, due in part to the war and in part to finances.
Dax had thought it best to conserve their remaining money.  While
she was sure that O'Brien would have communications back up
soon, she didn't know if that would be before breakfast in the
morning.  They might have to buy several meals.  Still the meal
was quite good and was served on elegant dishes.

      Dax saved some bread and marmalade for Thomas.  None
of them had eaten since they had left the *Defiant.*  She had to be
hungry despite her admission to the contrary.  Dax was a little
worried.  Thomas had seemed alright going into the mission, but
the ghetto had been hard on her.  It had been hard on all of them.
But she had hardly spoken since her meeting with the man to get
the transport information.  She only spoke when it pertained to the
mission, to duty.  All other times she sat in the corner, staring
silently out the window.  She hadn't even taken off her coat.

      The compartment door was locked as ordered when they
reached it, but Thomas didn't answer when they knocked.  Dax
didn't want to have to arouse the conductor's attention.  The less
contact they had with the people of this time the better.  Luckily
she still had a few tools in her pocket.  It was only a few seconds
before she heard the lock give way.  She froze though when the
door slid open.

      Novak reacted faster, pushing past her into the little
compartment where Thomas was swinging from the ceiling.

      Dax moved quickly, shutting the door behind her so no one
would notice the commotion.  Novak grabbed the young woman's
legs and lifted her, releasing the strain on the scarf around her
neck.  Dax had her phaser already, though she didn't quite
remember removing it from her inside pocket.  She fired at the
scarf just where it met the ceiling, and Thomas dropped into
Novak's arms.

      There wasn't room to lay her on the seats, so he set her
gently on the floor and frantically loosened the scarf.  He touched
her neck, holding his own breath.  "I've got a pulse!"

      But the ensign wasn't breathing.  "Get the conductor," Dax
ordered, sliding up to sit beside her.  "I'll stay."

      Novak hesitated.

      "I can't speak to him, Lieutenant.  We'll need to get her to
a hospital."

      That was enough.  Novak moved, pushing himself up and
out the door.

      Dax started CPR, hoping she remembered how to do it with
humans.  She needed Julian.  And she needed Thomas to find
Julian.  Thomas was turning blue, or at least it looked that way in
the dim light of the compartment's lamp.   Dax blew another
breath into her mouth and counted to four.  She hoped it was four.
She blew again and Thomas coughed.

      Dax sat back and held her hand in front of Thomas's
mouth.  She felt air.  She was breathing.  Dax loosened her
clothing and waited for the conductor to return.  They would need
a hospital.


      Josef Rosen stood just inside the darkened pharmacy
staring out into the night beyond his window.  She had said she
would come.  He checked his watch again, only five minutes had
passed since he'd last removed it from his pocket.  She was late.
She had said to be ready at eight o'clock.  She would meet them
here and take them out of the ghetto.  His wife had agreed only
reluctantly.  "You can't trust the SS," she had told him.  But there
had been something different about this one.  Something in her
eyes.  He had taken a chance.

      His wife, from her position on the floor beside the window,
stared blindly at the pharmacy counter.  Their Ana was asleep
beside her, with her head in her mother's lap. His wife stroked the
girl's hair absently.  Josef could see her hand shaking.  She was
afraid that he had been wrong.

      But he had been so sure he was right.  Still, forty minutes?
She wouldn't be late by forty minutes.  The woman had made it
clear they were to be ready precisely at eight.  They were to take
nothing with them, no baggage, only the clothes they wore.  They
had been ready for her by half past seven.  Now it was nearly nine,
and she hadn't come.


      Dax listened, trying to hear Thomas's breath through the
rumblings of the train.  It was there, but it was weak and raspy.
Dax couldn't understand.  She'd worked with Thomas before.  She
hadn't seemed the type to attempt suicide.  Dax admitted the
ensign had been depressed, especially since they left the ghetto,
but still, killing herself was drastic.  As upset as she was, she had
still been fervent in her desire to help find the doctor.  That was
why she had risked meeting the man in the first place.

      Thomas's head lay tilted to one side.  Dax thought a pillow
would be more comfortable for the ensign than the floor, but she
knew she needed to keep the airway open.  A pillow would only
serve to constrict it, however slightly.  Still her neck bent sideways
toward her shoulder wasn't helping her breathe either.

      Very gently, realizing that Thomas might have a neck
injury as well, Dax placed her hand beneath the ensign's neck and
slowly tilted her head back up straight.  When she pulled her hand
away though, she noticed the blood.  There wasn't much of it, just
a small red stain on the tips of her first two fingers.  The scarf was
soft.  It wouldn't have cut her.  Dax lifted Thomas's head a few
centimeters above the floor and felt on the carpet for a tack or
loose nail.  Nothing.  So why was she bleeding?

      Dax rolled Thomas over toward her, making sure that she
supported her head.  She listened carefully for footsteps outside
the compartment.  When she heard none, she took out her tricorder
and scanned the back of the ensign's head.  There was a short cut
which broke the skin just where Jadzia had held her.  The area
surrounding the cut was bruised.  A hairline fracture was evident
at the base of her skull.

      The door had been locked.  Thomas had been alone in the
room.  Dax was certain there was no way that Thomas could have
injured herself in that manner.  Someone had hit her.  But the door
had been locked.  How could someone have hit her, hung her from
the ceiling and left, locking the door behind him?  The door locked
from the inside, and only the conductor could open it from the
corridor.

      And Novak was going to get the conductor.

      Footsteps.  They were coming.  Dax stood, putting away
the tricorder.  She had left her phaser sitting on the seat.  She
picked it up now and held it behind her back, using her thumb to
set it to stun.

      The conductor entered first, with Novak just behind.
Novak looked hurried but otherwise well.  The conductor glanced
down at Thomas's prone form.  He showed no surprise.  Dax
looked past them into the corridor.  She waited until Novak was
past the doorway so that he could close the door.  "Catch him," she
said.

      The conductor looked up in confusion.  His bushy
eyebrows nearly met in the middle.  They spread apart again in
surprise as Dax shot him.  The flash of light was short and Novak
caught the man before he could fall on Thomas.  Dax took his
arms and steered the portly man to one of the seats.  He fell over
sideways when they set him down.

      Novak turned and shut the door.  "What was that for?" he
asked quickly.  "Is she--"

      "She's breathing," Dax assured him.  "She didn't hang
herself.  Someone hit her.  Someone who could lock the door on
his way out."

      Novak looked to the conductor whose arm had fallen off
the edge of the seat and was waving with the movement of the
train.  "Him?  But he couldn't have hanged her.  How could he
hold her and tie her up there?"

      "Maybe he had help."  Dax was already going through the
man's pockets.

      "Why?"

      "Look at what we're wearing."  Dax held up the tool he
used to punch the tickets.  "We're the bad guys, remember?"

      Novak nodded.  "The worst.  So now what?"

      Dax used her tricorder again.  A tiny spot of blood marred
the tool.  The conductor had attacked her.  But Novak was right.
He would have needed help to tie her to the ceiling.  "Is the next
compartment free?"

      Novak shrugged but opened the door.  He was out of her
sight for only a few seconds before he returned.  "Yes."

      "Put him inside and shut the door.  I'm going to try the ship
again."

      Novak was tall and strong, a security officer.  He handled
the man easily, lifting him off the seat.  There wasn't enough room
in either the doorway or the compartment to carry him, so Novak
held him with a bear hug around the torso, letting his feet drag on
the ground.  He stuck his head out behind him first, checking to
see the corridor was clear.

      "Dax to *Defiant.*"

      "It's about time you called, Old Man."

      Dax sighed and felt the tension fall away from her
shoulders.  "Benjamin, we have the transport number, well, several
numbers, but it's bound to be one of them.  But I need you
transport Ensign Thomas back to the *Defiant.*"

      She had been checking on Thomas again.  Her pulse was
steady but weak, and she was still breathing on her own.  Dax
heard a sound behind her and swung around, phaser ready before
Novak could even get the door shut.

      "Just me, Commander," he said, hands raised.

      Dax lowered her phaser.

      "Is something wrong, Dax?"  Sisko asked.

      "She's hurt, Benjamin," she explained.  "Skull fracture,
possible concussion or contusion.  I don't know.   They tried to
hang her."

      "Hang?  Who?"

      "The Poles, I guess."  The tension was returning to her
shoulders.  Sisko should have already ordered the transport.
"Benjamin?"

      "We lost the sensors, Old Man.  We can't even locate you,
right now.  We're working on it.  Where are you?"

      Dax couldn't answer.  No transporter.  Ordinarily, this
wouldn't be too much of a problem.  They would just continue on
their way with surface travel.  But this was different.  Thomas
needed medical attention.  This was 1943!  What would they do to
her here?

      "On a train, I think we're still in Poland," Novak answered
for her.  "We're on our way to Berlin.  We'll pass through Prague."

      "Check in with us every thirty minutes."  The captain
sounded tired.  "We'll let you know as soon as we can transport.
I'll get a nurse to talk to you."

      "Benjamin, wait!" Dax exclaimed.  "No sensors, but the
transporter is fine, right?"

      "Yes, what do you have in mind, Old Man?"

      "You should be able to use the comm signal to locate us.
We have three comm badges here, and I can configure my
tricorder to give off a radio signal as well.  If we set them around
her--"

      "We should be able to get a lock.  We'll probably get the
floor under her as well."

      "So we'll step around the hole," Dax countered.  "We'll
risk it."  Dax nodded to Novak who activated his comm badge.
Dax set hers to the right of Ensign Thomas's head, while Novak
set his at her feet.  He took Thomas's next, from inside her jacket,
and placed it just opposite his own.

      "It still won't work, Old Man," Sisko pointed out.  "The
signals are moving.  We can't get a stable fix."

      "So we'll stop the train."  She looked up at Novak.
"Shouldn't be too hard, should it?"

      "For the bad guys?  Nah."  He gave her a smile and then
started for the door.

      "Three minutes, Lieutenant," Dax called after him.  "Then
start it up again.  We still have to get to Berlin."

      He nodded.  "Be careful, Commander.  There's still one
out there."

      "At least."

      Then he was gone.  Dax guessed it would take him at least
five minutes to get to the front of the train.  She already had the
back off the tricorder.  She would have it set up before he reached
the engineer.

      "We could try to beam you all up," Sisko suggested.

      "No, you couldn't get us back down again.  At least this
way we're making progress.  Got it!"  She set the tricorder down
near Thomas's left temple.

      Suddenly the train screeched and Dax lurched forward.
She brought her hand up just in time to shield her face from hitting
the seat across from her.  She reached for Thomas, trying to keep
her head still while the train whined to a stop.  There was turmoil
out in the corridors.  Dax eased Thomas's head back to the floor
and stood up.  She locked the door and made sure she was out of
the line between the two comm badges on her side of the ensign.

      "We've got her, Dax," Sisko said.  "We'll only be able to
leave one of the badges.  Good luck.  Keep in touch.  Sisko out."

      Dax nodded even though she knew he couldn't see.  She
watched as the familiar sparkle of  the transporter beam filled the
space marked out by the four signals.  It glowed brighter, taking
Thomas with it until it faded, leaving the floor intact, if
uncarpeted.  One shiny triangle of metal gleamed up from the
floor.  Dax picked it up and tucked it inside her coat.  She
unlocked the door, keeping her hand on her phaser, and waited for
Novak to return.


      The changeling watched him standing there.  He looked so
much like the others now despite the physical differences like
height and hair.  It had even taken her a few minutes to pick him
out.  His face was ashen--a difficult thing with his dark
complexion.  But she had accomplished it.  His eyes never lifted
from the ground except when he looked at the fence or the stars.
He rarely even blinked.  His body was frail, emaciated from
hunger.  His shoulders were hunched, from fatigue and pain, no
doubt.  He no longer spoke to anyone.  He didn't even look at
them.  In fact, he looked like the worst of them, the ones they
called Muselmen or Muslims, the ones who died soon.  He was
beginning to pay for the sins of his kind.  He still had a long way
to go.

      She thought for a moment that she'd been too hard on him.
He'd be dead soon.  Then she would be stuck on this miserable
planet populated only by solids.  He was, at the very least, a link to
her time, someone who knew what she was.  She could be herself
with him.  And she could punish him for his enmity to her people.
Without him she would have nothing to do.  Besides, these few
weeks had hardly accounted for the slaughter of her people.  No
amount of time ever would.  He would stay and live until she
decided it was enough.

      She could almost assure that, too.  Almost.  She could get
him out of selections and prevent his being sent to the gas.  She
bribed the other guards that dealt with him.  She didn't need the
money that Heiler was given as pay, nor the food.  The others were
glad to have both.  They would leave *der Englander* to her.  The
rest was up to Bashir.  Would he starve to death?  Or would he
throw himself on the fence like that child he was with in
quarantine?  He could cheat her, either way.

      She didn't think he'd go for the fence.  He hadn't yet.  It
had been two days since she had broken him.  She was sure he'd
never been so close to killing himself before in his short,
insignificant life.  She had been surprised how easy it had been
once the idea came to her.  She had reveled in it that day, the
emptiness that had come to his eyes, the bowing of his head.  She
could have thought of it sooner.  All that she had needed to break
him had been in his psychographic profile.  All of her people knew
Bashir, knew what he was capable of and what his weaknesses
were.  But forty-six deaths demanded more than a quick death or
loss of self.  The punished should know what he is losing, should
feel it ripped from his grasp.

      An hour already.  He was still on his feet.  She was always
astonished that he didn't fall.  He swayed uncertainly and his body
quivered from the cold, but he remained standing.  No matter his
condition, he never fell during roll call.  He only fell when
someone hit him.  And that was more often now.  He walked
slower.  He worked slower.  His injuries made him clumsy.
Everything about him seemed to invite abuse.

      Heiler stomped one of his feet against the mushy ground
and brown mud splashed up on his boot.  Someone was missing.
They would count again.  It bored her.  There was nothing to do
during roll call except count the pitiful solids.  And it annoyed her.
Work like that was done by the Jem'Hadar or the Vorta, not by the
Founders.  She kept hoping Bashir would fall, or stumble forward,
or cough, anything.  But it was always one of the others, solids
who meant nothing to her, that merited punishment at roll call.
Bashir never so much as twitched.


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

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