Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 05:09:54 GMT  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: Gabrielle Lawson  
 


Title: Oswiecim
Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net)
Series: DS9
Part: REP 36/42
Rating: [PG-13] (Violence)
Codes:

           Chapter Fifteen -- Continued

      Sisko felt the transporter take hold and watched Bashir
carefully as they rematerialized on the *Defiant.*  Bashir fell over
once the transporter let him go, and Sisko quickly reached out to
catch him, remembering the slight wince of pain when Bashir had
nearly fallen before.  Bashir's hand clamped on to his own arm as
well, and Sisko was surprised to feel how cold it was even through
his uniform.  Sisko looked down and noticed that Bashir's
fingernails were gone.

      Bashir looked as if he were about to faint, so Sisko waved
the others off and told them to bring a blanket and a medkit.
Ensign Thomas quickly ran out of the room to follow his orders,
and Sisko turned his attention back to Bashir.

      "My God, it's you," Bashir whispered.  Utter amazement
shone in his eyes where there had been distrust and suspicion just a
moment before.  He tried to stand, but collapsed again.  Sisko tried
to help him as he slid over until he could rest his shoulder against
the back wall.  He thought it strange that he didn't lean back on it.

      Sisko was a little afraid of Bashir's reaction.  He seemed
like a different person.  He had never seen Bashir like this, so thin,
so fragile.  He was afraid to touch him, afraid that maybe he really
would break.  It was like Bashir was a ghost, and if he spoke too
loud or moved too fast, Bashir would vanish away again.

      Bashir let go of his arm and placed his hand over his face.
"Can we get you something?" Sisko asked quietly, gently laying
his hand on the doctor's arm.

      Bashir didn't answer right away.  But his breathing became
more regular, and he seemed to relax somewhat against the wall.
He ran his hand through his hair, knocking off the striped cap he
was wearing.  Finally, when he did look up, he met Sisko's eyes
and said, barely above a whisper, "You're still here."

      "We wouldn't leave you," Sisko told him.  "Not without
trying."

      "She told me she killed you."

      *She,* Sisko thought.  He had talked with her.  "The
changeling?" Sisko asked, looking for confirmation.

      Bashir nodded.  The changeling must have been with him
the whole time.  Sisko was glad to have found him when they did.
He was surprised the changeling had let him live as long as she
had, especially in such a place.  Sisko took Bashir's hand and held
it so that the fingertips were visible.  His fingernails weren't really
gone, but they were only about a quarter of the way grown in.  His
voice was more stern than he meant it to be when he spoke.  "Did
she do this to you?"

      Bashir's eyes almost seemed to cloud over.  After a long
moment he nodded.  "She told them I was a spy," he whispered,
his eyes looking right through Sisko's.

      "They . . . interrogated you?" Sisko asked.

      This time his answer was no more than a breath.  "They
tortured me."

      Sisko didn't know what to say.  He wanted to ask Bashir
what they had done, but knew that wouldn't help.  He felt an anger
grow inside his chest.  He wanted to find that changeling and kill
her himself.  They couldn't leave anyway.  They couldn't leave
her there to change the timeline in the Dominion's favor.

      Ensign Thomas returned with the blanket and medkit
which she handed to Dax.  Bashir's eyes immediately went to the
blanket.  Sisko nodded and Dax walked over, placing the blanket
around Bashir's shoulders as best as she could.  Bashir reached to
touch her hand as she did so, as if to test that she was real as well.
She smiled and knelt down beside him, still holding his hand.
"We've missed you, Julian."

      Bashir smiled, too, a small, tentative smile.  He looked
around the room then, taking in all the faces:  Kira, O'Brien, and
Ensign Thomas as well.  His smile faded and a look of sadness
crossed his face.

      Sisko opened the medkit, removed the tricorder there and
began to scan Bashir with it.  "We should get you to sickbay," Dax
told him, but Bashir just shook his head.

      "Why not?" Sisko asked, handing the tricorder to Dax.  Her
face paled a bit when she looked at the readout.

      "I can't stay here."  It was the first time he had spoken with
his voice since beaming up.  That voice held conviction, but his
eyes spoke something different.  Fear.  "You have to send me back."

      Sisko backed away.  He couldn't believe what he'd just
heard.  "Absolutely not!"

      Dax, still holding Bashir's hand in hers, turned and asked
Kira to bring him a sandwich and something warm to drink.
Bashir's head snapped up at the mention of food.  He watched
Kira carefully, following her with his eyes as she left the room.

      "I can't send you back there, Julian," Sisko began again,
more calmly this time.

      "But I can't stay," he said, still watching the door. "I'll
miss *Appell.*"

      Sisko didn't recognize the word.  Maybe Bashir was in
shock, delirious.  He wouldn't have been surprised after seeing the
tricorder readings, and Bashir had already admitted to having been
tortured.  But arguing wasn't going to help.  Bashir was in no
condition for it.  "Why don't we talk about it in sickbay.  You
need medical attention."

      Bashir shook his head.  "I can't.  They'd know the
difference.  I need to get back.  It's late and we have to get up very
early in the morning.  They'll lock the door."

      It was impossible.  There was no way that he could send
Julian back down there.  Not after everything Thomas had said and
everything he'd read in the reports and everything he could see
right on Julian's face and in the way he held his arm.  He couldn't
even stand.  *They had tortured him, for God's sake,* he thought.
He couldn't send him back to them.

      "Julian," he tried again, moving closer, "you're safe now.
Here.  After we find the changeling, we can go home.  You don't
have to go back.  It's over."

      Now it was Julian who seemed exasperated.  He shook his
head again.  "It's not over."

      Sisko was adamant.  "It is for you."

      "It's not just about me.  There are other--"

      Sisko didn't bother to let him finish.  "We can't do
anything about the others.  You know that.  It might change the
timeline."

      "It will change the timeline if I stay," Bashir pleaded.
"Please, send me back."

      Sisko shook his head, too.  That was out of the question.
He sighed.  Before he could say anything else though, Kira
returned with the sandwich.  Not wanting to crowd the three of
them, she held back and handed the plate to Dax who set it on the
floor in front of Bashir.

      Bashir seemed hesitant at first, but then he let go of Dax's
hand.  What surprised Sisko was that he reached out with his left
hand for the plate.  The tricorder had clearly shown that his
shoulder had been injured, and his hand was hardly more than a
mass of crushed bone.  The hand still looked bad, though Sisko
wasn't sure how much was dirt and how much was bruising.
Bashir set the plate down on his legs and picked up the sandwich
with his good hand.  Sisko could tell he was trying to eat it slowly,
as if he hadn't been starving for the last month.

      Dax also held out a cup to him.  Steam rose from the top.
*Tarkalian tea,* Sisko guessed.  They all knew it was Bashir's
favorite.  Bashir, for his part, finished the sandwich quickly and
took the cup.  He wrapped his hands around it--even the left--and
then closed his eyes, letting the steam rise up to warm his face.  He
looked like he was on the verge of tears after he took his first sip.

      Sisko watched all of this with concern.  "Didn't you know
we'd come for you?" he asked quietly.

      Bashir looked up at him.  He took in a deep breath.  "I
dreamed about it."  His face took on a faraway look, and he smiled
one of his half-smiles.  "I dreamed about washing my hands and
sleeping in a soft bed where the pillow fluffs up around my head
and there are fifteen blankets to keep me warm."

      Sisko laughed in spite of himself.  "Fifteen, huh?" Then he
became serious again.  "You can wash your hands in sickbay.  You
can take a whole shower in sickbay.  And if you want a bed, I'll
get you one, with as many blankets as you want.  But I can't send
you back there."

      Bashir sighed and then focused again on the captain's face,
meeting his eyes.  "I can't stay."

      Sisko was losing his patience.  "Why would you want to go
back there?"

      "I don't 'want' to go back," Bashir said, equally impatient.
"That place is hell.  It's death."  He grew quiet again.  "If I'm not
there to be counted in the morning, they'll think I escaped."

      "Let them think it.  It's not your problem anymore."

      "It is."  Bashir sounded more like his old self with those
two words.  "They'll 'interrogate' people.  They'll kill them.
Maybe the people they kill would have survived the war.  Maybe
they survived and had families.  Maybe they are someone famous,
someone important.  And they'll have died because I wasn't there
for *Appell.*"

      That *would* change the timeline.  Sisko knew it.  But he
still didn't want to accept it.

      "Bridge to Captain Sisko," Worf's voice interrupted over
the comm line.

      "Sisko here," he acknowledged, his eyes still holding the
doctor's.  "What is it, Commander?"

      "We have the proper trajectory, sir.  Shall we set course?"

      Bashir's eyes widened and filled with urgency.  "No! You
have to send me back."

      Sisko ignored the interruption. "I'll come to the bridge, Mr.
Worf.  Stand by."  He watched Bashir for a moment, but neither of
them spoke.  "Major, will you please stay with the doctor?" he
said.  "Dax, Chief, please come to the bridge."

      He rose and walked to the door.  Dax looked back once, as
did the Chief, and then followed him out the door.  He was glad to
see that Thomas had left the transporter room as well.  "I want the
two of you," he addressed O'Brien and Dax, "to go over the
trajectory and set the course.  Have Barker and Salerno prepare to
go back to the planet.  We need to find the changeling before we
can leave.  Go on ahead."  The turbolift came and the two of them
stepped inside.  Sisko hung back in the corridor and motioned for
Thomas to join him.  "Is what he said true?" he asked.


      Kira waited for the others to leave and then sat down where
Sisko had been.  She leaned against the wall and stretched her legs
out in front of her.  She didn't look at him when she spoke.  "The
Shakaar cell liberated Gallitep.  Did I ever tell you about it?"

      Bashir was surprised by the look she gave him then.  She
didn't look at him as if he were frail and pitiful.  The look in her
eyes was that of someone who knew, who had seen the horrors he
had.  He was her equal.  "No, but I read about it," he answered,
"when Marritza was on the station."

      "I could never send anyone to a place like that," she
admitted, once again facing the back wall.

      Bashir nodded.  "I couldn't either," he said truthfully.
"Not someone else."

      "But you'd send yourself."  It wasn't a question.  She knew
the answer.

      He sighed, knowing what she was getting at.  He thought of
Leo and Max, waiting for him to come in from watching the sky.
They would be the first targets for the Nazis if he escaped, the first
targets for Heiler.  "If staying means that others would die?  Yes."

      Kira looked away again, but said nothing.

      "I know people there, Major," he continued, hoping to
convince her.  Maybe then she would help him convince Sisko.

      "You know people here," she argued calmly.  "We don't
want to see you hurt, Julian."

      "But you won't die if I go," Bashir went on.

      "So would you stay the entire war?"  She still didn't look
at him, and Bashir thought that maybe he was getting through
despite her words.  "Thomas says it doesn't end for two more
years."

      Bashir thought about that.  "No, not if I had a chance to
leave."

      "Like now?"

      "No, not like now.  Not when it would cause others to die.
I can't do that.  I've seen what they do to people who try to escape
. . . and to people who help them.  If I leave now, if I stay here and
don't go back, they'll torture them and anyone else who they think
might know where I've gone.  They'll kill people who don't even
know me at all.  They'll torture them and they'll kill them.
Because of me."

      Kira took a deep breath and leaned her head back against
the wall.

      "It's not just them, Kira," he continued.  "Hundreds of
people could die.  Just because I'm not there to be counted in the
morning.  They could freeze to death."

      "What about after they count you?" Kira suggested.  "We
could beam you back up then?"

      Bashir shook his head.  "They count again in the evening."

      "How then?"  She looked at him, waiting for an answer.
"We can't leave you there."

      He couldn't answer though.  He hadn't had a chance to
think that far ahead.  He really had given up on this day, on ever
seeing Kira and the others again.  But how could he tell her that?
Bashir leaned his head against the wall, too.  It was late.  He had
forgotten how tired he was. But now that Sisko was gone and it
was just he and Kira, the fatigue washed over him again.

      "How did you survive the selections?"

      Her question took him by surprise.  How did she know
about the selections?

      Kira sensed his confusion.  "Ensign Thomas briefed us
about the camps," she explained, "about the gas, the selections.
You're not fit for work.  How did you survive the selections?"

      "I wasn't in the selections," he confessed.  "When there
was a selection, she'd send for me."

      Kira looked at his hand, the one he held close to his chest.
He could see now the hard set to her face.  She was angry.  "To
hurt you."

      "Sometimes," he admitted.  "Sometimes, she just wants to
talk."

      "To talk?"

      He nodded.  "She does all the talking."

      "Tell me about her."

      "What do you mean?"  What was there to tell?  She could
be anyone or anything.  She always seemed to know where he was
and what he was doing.  It was like she was in his mind somehow,
because she seemed to know what he was thinking as well.

      "How can I find her?"

      "I don't know.  She finds me.  But she's at the
kommando."

      Kira shook her head, and Bashir knew what that meant.
Too many witnesses.   "She sends for you.  Where do you go?
Who did she replace?"

      *Of course.*  The *Defiant* couldn't leave if they knew
the changeling was still there.  "She changes, but mostly she's a
man, an SS officer.  *Scharfuhrer* Heiler.  He is one of the guards
for my kommando.  I think she might have killed the real Heiler."

      Kira stood up quickly and marched to the other side of the
room.  She came back with a PADD in her hand.  "Can you show
me where you work?"

      She held the PADD out to him, and he could see a map of
the camp on it.  It was huge, bigger than he had imagined.  He had
to study it for a moment so he took the PADD from her and very
gently held it in his left hand and used his right to point.  He
shook his head though, he didn't have a reference point.  "I don't
know where my barrack--"

      Kira stopped him and pointed to one of the long rectangles
in the southwestern corner.  "Here, it's this one.  And you used to
work here, at Crematoria II."

      Bashir studied it a bit longer.  Starting from the barracks he
traced, with his finger, the way to the *Appellplatz* and from
there to the area where the new barracks were being built.  "Here,"
he showed her.  "We're building barracks.  I was working on the
roof today."  He yawned and then sat up straighter.  He was afraid
that if he fell asleep, they would sedate him and carry him off to
sickbay.

      Kira noticed.  "Why don't you try to get some sleep."

      He shook his head.  "It's nearly time.  I'm sure of it.
They'll lock the doors and then I'll be in trouble."  He turned his
head to look at her.  "You've got to help me, Kira," he pleaded
with her.  "I can't stay.  Talk to the captain.  Maybe he'll listen to
you."


      The turbolift arrived at the bridge, but Sisko ordered the
computer to keep the doors closed.

      "The Nazis were very meticulous about this," Ensign
Thomas was explaining.  "They counted everyone every morning
and evening.  They even counted the corpses that had died during
the night.  Anyone who died while working was brought back to
be counted in the evening.  If the numbers didn't add up, they'd
count them again.  And if they still didn't add up, they'd count
again, and again.  Sometimes it took hours.  People died standing
there being counted.  If you fell, they would beat you.  Or worse."

      Sisko did not like where this was leading.  They were so
close now.  The ship was repaired--repaired enough to get them
home anyway--and all the crewmembers had been accounted for,
alive or dead.  They had only to find Bashir.  Now, there he was.
Still alive.  He was stubbornly sitting down in the transporter
room, sick and emaciated.  And now Sisko was going to have to
send him back.

      "Computer, open turbolift."

      The bridge was nearly silent when he finally stepped out.
No one spoke, but they all looked to him for his decision.  Worf
stood up to let him take the command chair.  "We have
triple-checked the trajectory," he said.  Apparently Dax and
O'Brien hadn't filled him in on Bashir's predicament.  "We should
arrive within one week of our departure time."

      Sisko remained standing.  "We won't be leaving just yet."

      "Benjamin," Dax began.  She still had the tricorder in her
hand.

      Sisko held up a hand to stop her.  "We'd have to find the
changeling anyway.  We'll just have to find another way."  He
took a deep breath and sat down.  "If Bashir stays on board the
*Defiant,* he will miss roll call and be considered an escapee.  It
is highly likely that innocent people would be punished and the
timeline could be changed.  What we need right now are some
ideas on how to remove him from the camp unnoticed."

      "What if he were to be transferred to another camp?"
O'Brien suggested.  "He just doesn't show up at the next one."

      Ensign Thomas stepped forward.  "I've heard of a transfer
of single prisoners, but they were usually to Auschwitz, rather than
from it.  Transfers, in general, were more likely to be trainloads of
people.  We would still have the same problems:  witnesses and
victims if he should escape.  There's really only one way I can
think of, but I don't like it and I don't think you will either."

      Sisko knew what her solution was, and she was right.  He
didn't like it.  Bashir would have to be dead.  He would be counted
one last time, and then they could transport him up easily so long
as no one saw them do it.  "Is there some way we can make him
appear dead?  A drug we can use?  Just long enough for roll call."

      "I'd be afraid to try it in his condition, Benjamin," Dax
replied.  "Could we--I realize how this must sound--but could we
use one of the others?"

      "The others?" Worf asked.  "You mean the dead."

      "Yes," Dax answered evenly.  "Some of them are frozen.
He could be locked out of his barracks.  Freeze to death."

      "That would not be honorable," Worf said.

      "It's not a question of honor, Worf," she argued.  "It's a
question of saving a life.  We can't help the others now, but we
can help Julian."

      Sisko didn't relish the idea of leaving behind any of his
crewmen, dead or alive in this time.  He didn't want to have to tell
a family that their son's remains were not available for burial.  But
Dax had a point.  The dead were beyond help now.

      "I don't think it would work," Thomas said.

      Sisko turned his chair to see her better.  "Explain."

      "He's conspicuous," she stated.  "Did you notice he still
had his hair?  I've never heard of that.  Everyone got shaved when
they got their tattoo.  There are thousands of men down there who
all look a lot alike, but he stands out.  He'd be recognized even by
strangers.  There is another way, but I'm not quite sure we could
do that either."

      "What is it, Ensign?"

      Thomas's eyes fell to the floor.  She didn't look up when
she answered.  "The gas, sir.  The bodies aren't counted when they
come out.  There would be witnesses, but. . . ."

      "But they'd all die," Sisko finished for her.  "We could
beam him up from inside."

      "Except for one thing."  Thomas looked up.  "How would
we find him?  What would we lock on to?"

      "We could give him a comm badge," Worf suggested.

      Thomas shook her head.  "They are stripped of all clothing
before they go in."

      "What about an implant?" Sisko thought aloud.  "A
subdermal communicator."  He had used one when he'd been
taken to the alternate universe to impersonate the other Benjamin
Sisko.

      It was O'Brien's turn to shake his head.  "They don't have
the range, not with our sensors in the mess they are.  We would
have to enter the atmosphere to get a lock, and that might likely
tear this ship apart."

      They all sat quietly for a few minutes, still trying to think
of a way to save Bashir.  It was getting late, and Sisko realized he
couldn't keep Bashir on the ship much longer.  They wouldn't be
able to get him safely out of the camp before morning, and Bashir
would have to join his work detail just as he had the day before.
He needed the rest of the night to rest.

      Sisko stifled a yawn, remembering that he'd been awake
for nearly twenty hours already.  "Mr. Worf, you have the bridge."

      Worf straightened up to stand at attention.  "Yes, sir."

      "Old Man, Chief?"  Sisko didn't have to say any more than
that.  The two stood up to follow him to the turbolift.  Sisko
paused at the door.  "Ensign Thomas."

      She stood as well, "Yes, sir?"

      "Keep thinking," he said.  Then he raised his voice so that
everyone on the bridge could hear him.  "And that goes for
everyone.  I want Doctor Bashir back on this ship within
twenty-four hours."

      Thomas nodded and turned to take the helm vacated by
Dax.  Sisko turned back to the turbolift where Dax and O'Brien
were waiting.


      Kira thought for a long time about what he had asked of
her.  *Too long,* she thought.  *What will they do to him if he's
late?*  Maybe they could just return him in the morning as they
had Jordan each morning.  "I'll do what I can," she told him,
though she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he
wasn't saying.  She got up from the floor.

      But before she could even take a step, the door opened.
Bashir stood, too, and faster than she would have thought he could.
He still looked very tired though.  Sisko, Dax, and O'Brien
entered, and Kira could tell by the set in Sisko's eyes that he had
made his decision.  O'Brien kept looking at the floor, and Dax's
usually serene countenance was obviously troubled.  Kira knew
what decision Sisko had made.  She wouldn't need to talk to Sisko.

      "Doctor," Sisko began.

      "You're sending me back," Bashir finished for him.

      Kira watched the captain.  "I certainly don't want to," he
said.  "But I don't see anyway around it.  Yet."

      Bashir began to fold the blanket up.  Kira thought about
suggesting he keep it, but it was a silvery blanket, metallic-looking
and probably very out-of-date with what would be available in this
time period.

      "Would you like anything before you go?" Sisko asked
him.  "Some warmer clothes or something to eat?"

      Bashir looked like he would say yes, but instead he shook
his head.  "I wouldn't be able to explain it."

      Sisko nodded.  He didn't take his eyes off Bashir when he
spoke.  "Chief, please prepare to beam Doctor Bashir to the
surface."

      "Aye, sir." O'Brien called as he moved to the transporter
consoles and Kira stepped down off the platform.  "You know,
Julian, I've been thinking," O'Brien said.  "When you get back, I
think we should take up racquetball again."

      Bashir smiled, and it was a smile Kira remembered, not
one of the sad, pained ones she'd seen so far this evening.  "Do
you think you might have a chance at beating me now?"

      O'Brien just smiled and then he turned away.  Dax stepped
forward next to take the blanket Bashir held out to her.  Then she
let it fall onto the ground behind her and slowly put her arms
around him, one arm around his neck to avoid touching his left
shoulder.

      Bashir tried to stop her at first, telling her with a grin that
he smelled terrible.  "I don't care," she said and drew him to her
anyway.  His good arm reached around her as well, and his head
fell to her shoulder.  Kira couldn't see his face anymore, but she
thought she saw him crying.  The two of them stayed that way,
embracing each other, for a minute more and then Bashir pulled
back.  Dax gave him a kiss on the cheek and then stepped back
down from the platform.

      "Ready, sir," O'Brien said.  "We should be able to put you
back right where we got you, Julian.  Just outside the barracks."

      Bashir nodded.

      "Just a moment, Chief," Sisko said.  He stepped toward the
platform as well.  "We're still going to get you out of there,
Julian."

      Bashir looked down at him, "Promise?" he whispered.

      Sisko nodded, his face serious.  "Promise.  Just don't give
up on us yet."  Then he reached up to his chest and removed his
own comm badge.  "Take this," he said, holding it out to Bashir.
"You can hide it in your coat."

      Bashir hesitated and then reached out to take it.  He looked
down at it, rubbing his fingers over its shiny surface, and sighed.
Sisko stepped back.  "Chief."

      Bashir suddenly drew in a breath and look of panic crossed
his face for just a moment.  Then he spun around and knelt to
retrieve his cap.  "I almost forgot," he remarked sheepishly.  Then
he stood again and nodded.  The transporter took hold of him
instantly and he was gone.

      "Can you read his signal, Chief?" Sisko asked.  "I want to
be able to get him back at the first sign of trouble."

      O'Brien checked his readings and nodded.  "I've got the
signal, alright.  But it's coming from the platform."

      Sisko stepped back up on the pad.  His comm badge was
sitting against the wall, just where Bashir's cap had been.  He'd
left it deliberately.

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

--
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