Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 05:15:12 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson Title: Oswiecim Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: REP 37/42 Rating: [PG-13] (Violence) Codes: Chapter Sixteen Bashir rematerialized just in time to hear the *Blockalteste* warn that curfew was only ten minutes away. It was loud enough to hear it through the walls. He sighed. At least he'd made it in time. But he was scared now, in a way he hadn't been the day before. Then he had known his death was sure, if prolonged. Now he had the chance to live, and he didn't want to lose it. And that was why he'd left the comm badge behind. He walked quickly around the corner. He had to get inside. But as he turned the corner he came face to face with Heiler. The changeling didn't move at first. Heiler's face was as cold and motionless as a statue. But then the fluidity of it returned and he scowled. "Going somewhere?" he asked, forgetting all about his accent. He pulled his hand up like he was going to backhand Bashir, but it changed. Now the hand was like stone, or rather, like steel. It even reflected the little light the night still held, and it struck Bashir across the neck hard enough to knock him back several meters into the snow. This time, the bandages did him no good, and the force of the landing twisted his shoulder behind him. He screamed in pain, but the sound never made it past his wounded throat. He coughed up blood and rolled over onto his stomach. His right hand reached instinctively to his throat. He felt like his trachea had been smashed. He couldn't get air past it. Heiler didn't give him time to recover. He was sweating, melting, holding the shape too long. He grabbed Bashir by the collar and pulled him to his feet. "Did you think you could get away?" he snarled. "Why did you come back?" Bashir didn't answer. He couldn't, even if he had wanted to. His lungs were having a hard enough time pushing air through his throat. Speaking was out of the question. Heiler looked to be in a panic. Bashir could feel the liquid of his hand now as it held his collar and pressed against his neck. He looked to the north toward the source of the smoke and then hissed and tried to resolidify. Bashir thought maybe that was his salvation. She had to return to her liquid state. She couldn't hold the form. If he could just get inside the barracks he could maybe survive the night. Sisko would find the badge and come for him again. And this time, he might not argue. Bashir kept waiting for her to drop him and form a puddle at his feet, but it didn't happen. She made a decision though. As her decision solidified, so did her hand and the rest of Heiler's body. He began to half-push, half-drag Bashir in the direction of the road that would have taken him to his kommando in morning. Bashir saw the door of his barracks as he passed it. It was opened just a crack. It closed sharply behind him. He heard it lock. He felt light-headed but heavy, like he weighed a thousand tons. His left arm weighed even more and tried to pull his body down. Only Heiler kept him on his feet. He coughed and a trickle of blood spilled past his lips. He inhaled and felt it gurgle in his throat. He stumbled forward only because she propelled him. They passed other barracks, but they were dark and silent and held no sanctuary, no hope. Up ahead, Bashir could see the watchtower and the gate. They turned right at the gate and kept moving. They passed more barracks on both sides. Up ahead he could see a building. It was low with one tall tower in the center. Beneath the tower was a gate. The main gate. He had come that way before. Heiler dropped him in the mud there at the gate and went to talk to the guard. Bashir collapsed forward, coughing and wheezing for breath, feeling the cold of the snow and mud seeping into his clothes and into him. He clutched at his arm, trying to lift it into place, to keep it from falling off his body. Heiler returned and grabbed him again, this time by the hair. She pulled him up to his feet and dragged him forward again, out past the gate and through the icy crust of snow. Bashir knew where they were going, and he would rather she just shot him now. Kira had stormed out of the transporter room. That was it. She was starting to realize why he had left the comm badge. She had felt that there was something he was leaving out when she had asked him about the changeling. He had answered all her questions calmly, but his eyes had shown fear, just as they had when he'd nearly forgotten his cap. Fear of punishment. It actually made perfect sense. The changeling had him and wouldn't want him to get away. She would kill him. But what didn't make sense is why she hadn't killed him yet. Why had she saved him from the selections? And why, if he knew that she would kill him, did he insist on returning? Of course, it was to protect the people he knew and other innocent people. Maybe he thought he could return without her ever knowing he'd been gone. She could still have a tricorder, Kira surmised, some way that she could detect a comm badge. Or at least he had feared that she did. That was why he had left it behind. If she had found it on him, she would know that the *Defiant* had found him. "That should do it, Major," Nurse Hausmann said, interrupting her thoughts. "You look as human as I do." Kira checked her face in the mirror Hausmann offered. Behind her own face she could see the reflection of the bed where Julian's uniform was laid out. She focussed on her nose. Hausmann was right. The latex covered her nose perfectly, hiding all her ridges and blending smoothly with her skin. She already had the uniform on. All she had to do now was get past Sisko. That shouldn't actually be too hard. He was in the mess hall, conferring with Thomas and the away team on the best strategy for getting Bashir back. They assumed he was already in the barracks now, locked away with eight hundred other men. Kira didn't share that assumption. She assumed something worse. Bashir was too afraid. His fears had to have been based on something real. The others had seen evil but still never assumed the extremes of evil. She had seen more of it to know that evil didn't have boundaries or limits. It went as far as the imagination and even beyond. Auschwitz was evil, just as Gallitep had been. The changeling was evil. The changeling would know, somehow, and she was going to kill him. Kira checked her phaser and then walked out of sickbay. She felt a twinge of guilt as she passed the mess hall. Sisko wouldn't want her to go. But if she didn't, she was sure Bashir would die before they found him again. And if she was right, she could find him and the changeling together. If he died, they would likely lose the changeling for good. Kira entered the transporter room and found that she was the beneficiary of a slight oversight. Since O'Brien had been manning the transporter and there were no other away teams on the planet that night, the transporter room had been left unmanned in the confusion. Kira tucked her comm badge--one that would only translate German--and her phaser inside her cape and set the controls. She stepped up on the pad and waited for the transporter to take her. It only took seconds. She reappeared in the empty space between two wooden barrack buildings. The one on her right was Bashir's. She didn't move for awhile though. She wanted her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She forced herself to stand still and not rush into the barracks. She had to be able to see. She kept her eyes on the ground, on the snow and watched as it turned from black to dark gray. Still it was lighter than the barracks. There was a dark black spot though, just beside her left foot. She knelt down, and using her body and cape to shelter the sight and sound, she withdrew a tricorder. She passed it over the spot and then snapped it shut. Blood. She didn't feel guilty for coming anymore. Max closed his eyes. He had heard, as they all had, the commotion just outside their barracks wall. The *Stubenalteste* had even watched it from the door after Heiler had gone outside. Bashir would not be coming back this time. Heiler had seemed anxious, and Max had been curious as to why he was waiting for Bashir to come in rather than going outside to get him. He was not hard to find. Szymon had told him though, that Heiler was insane. Max believed it now and knew that Bashir was dead once the SS officer stepped outside. He had expected it to be quick though. Quick would have been merciful. But what Max had heard and what he had seen through a crack between two boards was not merciful. Heiler had him by the collar. He could easily have lied and said that Bashir was trying to escape. He could have shot him right there and ended it. But instead he had dragged him away. Max had listened for a long time for the shot in the distance, but it never came. He couldn't grieve for Bashir though, no more than he could grieve for Vlada, Henri, or Szymon. He had known Bashir less than any of them. Just like them, he was gone. Tomorrow would be no different for losing him. Another transport would come and would need unloading. A thousand or more people would die tomorrow, and they would go ungrieved as well. It was a cruel world. The pounding on the door forced his eyes open again. Everyone woke up, though no one spoke. A few furtive whispers traversed the bunks. The *Blockalteste* emerged from his room and ran to the door, still pulling on his coat. He looked out as the pounding continued and then shouted, in a voice that held confusion, "*Achtung!*" Max didn't hear him open the door because of the din of movement as the hundreds of prisoners grabbed their coats and caps and jumped down from the bunks. It could only mean that the SS was at the door. Perhaps Heiler had returned. A quiet gasp erupted from the front of the room, and Max tilted his head slightly to get a look. It was the SS as he had thought, but it was a woman. She was alone. She held her whip in her hand though and carried the same power as any SS man. She could kill them just them same. "Hats off!" shouted the *Blockalteste,* and with a snap the prisoners obeyed. "Where is Bashir?" the SS asked in a loud voice. She didn't yell, but her voice carried the entire length of the room. She began pacing the length of it. "Where is the Englishman?" No one answered. In the silence of the room, Max could count each step of her boots on the hard floor. She was on the other side of the room, just across from him when she stopped. She turned sharply and looked him right in the eye. He didn't look away as he knew he should. Something about her eyes kept him locked in her stare. It was the same as with the SS woman in Kanada. He wondered, then, if all SS women were like that. "Where is he?" she asked him. It wasn't directed to everyone, just Max. Strange. How could she know that he knew Bashir? Still, he wasn't completely lured away by her spell. She was a Nazi, his enemy, one who worked for the extinction of his people. He kept quiet and dropped his eyes back to the floor. She snapped around, and walked back to the door until she stood right in front of the *Blockalteste.* This time, she did yell, and her voice was menacing. "No one sleeps until I have an answer!" Kira was growing frustrated. The blood had been fresh. She was wasting time. She looked at the face of the block elder. It was calm, humble but calm. Humble but not submissive. She really did not want to hurt any of them, but they were used to brutality. They would not be afraid of simple words. They needed a reason to answer, and in this uniform, the only reason she could give was fear. She looked around the room and then locked her gaze again on the block elder. "You are the leader of this barracks?" she asked softly. The man nodded, and Kira looked at the one beside him. He had an armband on his shoulder. "And you work for him?" The second man nodded. Kira had an idea. She only hoped it worked before she had to pull the trigger. "Where are the others," she asked the block elder, "the others who work for you? I want them here." She pointed to the floor in a line that ran beside the brick flue. "NOW!" The block elder called out a few names and other men voluntarily stepped out of the ranks. Each had an armband. These would be the block elder's friends, if she guessed right. He had the privileges to give to his favorites. She waited until they were all lined up. "On your knees," she ordered. They obeyed. Kira walked to the other side of the flue and paced the length of their short line. She looked at the prisoners still standing behind them. "I'd back away, if I were you," she told them as she withdrew the German Luger from its holster. They wouldn't know that it had no ammunition. The prisoners scrambled away to the far end of the room, and the men on the floor stared at the weapon. Now she had their full attention. "You are their leaders," she told them as she paced, waving the gun in their direction. "You have privileges and power. You get your own room, more food. I want to know where the Englishman is. Your prisoners won't answer me. You won't answer me. Tell me, do you think they'll answer me if I shoot all of you?" Some of the men began to shudder. The prisoners probably hated those men. They wouldn't stop their executions. Still, she didn't want this to go too far, or the block elder and his staff would punish the prisoners for their hatred. Besides, the prisoners probably didn't know. They were in their beds, probably ordered so and unable to get up. These men would have the freedom to move about. They were the likeliest to have heard or seen what happened to Bashir. But not all of them. Which one had been nearest to the door? Kira pointed the weapon directly at the *Blockalteste*'s forehead. "Where is the Englishman?" she asked again. The *Blockalteste* shook with fear, but she watched the reactions of the others. The one just beside him almost sighed. She moved the gun to him. "Perhaps I'll start here." He looked up at her, at the gun. His eyes crossed at the barrel. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. Kira tried not to hold her breath. This was the man who had seen, but if he didn't answer soon, her whole guise would be broken. They would have no reason to fear her, and they'd never answer. The man sucked in another breath and then spoke, in a whisper, "*Scharfuhrer* Heiler took him away." The changeling. Kira lowered the weapon, putting it back in its holster. "Where?" Having already opened up, the man apparently saw no reason not to answer now. "I don't know. That way." His arm pointed toward the wall behind him. North. Kira left them on their knees and walked to the door. She stopped before she went out. "Go back to sleep," she ordered. She stepped out the door and shut it behind her. She waited, listening through the wall. There was a rustling inside, but no more shouts. The door was bolted, and all was quiet again. North wasn't much to go on. Nearly the whole rest of the camp was to the north. She thought about tracking them, but it was too dark to see footprints. And by the time the sun rose again, everyone would be at roll call. There would thousands of prints and no way to distinguish Bashir's or the changeling's. There was nothing directly north except more barracks and an electrified fence. She went there anyway, just to be sure. But all she saw was fence and more fence beyond it and more barracks beyond that. And beyond the barracks she saw the chimneys. The trek through the field seemed endless. His legs had long since lost the sensation of actually touching the ground. Heiler pushed him on. By the time they reached the other gate, he could barely make out the words above it, but he knew what it said. He had seen it before, too. The rest seemed like a dream, a memory of his first trip here. Except this time, he tripped on the rocks in the road, and he was filled with pain even greater than his hunger. The route was exactly the same and she brought him to the gate that led to the yard beside Block 11. *The cell,* he thought, *please let it be the cell.* The guard on duty there let them pass, and she pushed him forward again. He hoped that they would head to the right, to the Death Block and its cellar where his airless cell waited for him. But instead she took him to the left, to the posts, and he gave up all his hope. He thought he would simply die from shock when she lifted him into place. His arm would be torn from his body, and he would bleed to death. The pressure in his chest added to his damaged throat would be too much, and he would suffocate and die. But none of that happened. She left him with a promise that she would return for him in the morning. "Your life is at an end." Kira stopped at the gate and addressed the guard there. "Have you seen *Scharfuhrer* Heiler?" she asked. "He came this way with a prisoner." "Yes, ma'am," the Ukrainian answered. "One prisoner, perhaps an hour ago, maybe longer." An hour. *Too long.* They were getting too far ahead. "Did he say where he was going?" "No, ma'am." "Which way then?" Like the prisoner in the barracks, the Ukrainian pointed, this time to the east. Kira sighed. At least that wasn't the direction of the chimneys. But still, between north and east, she was still dealing with the whole camp. But at least they had come this way. It was a start. She thanked the guard and passed through the gate. There was an opening beyond. Kira expected to see railroad tracks there, as it had shown on the map, but there were none. She didn't have time to consider it too deeply though. She had to find Bashir. There was another gate beyond, and it led to the second section of the camp, BII. Bashir's kommando worked there. But it was late at night and the guard had pointed away from it, to the right. She looked that way and saw the main gate, with its one high tower. If the changeling had taken him past the gate, he could be anywhere. Bashir shook violently, from the cold and from the pain, and the shaking only caused more pain. *Six thousand, seven hundred fifty-one,* he thought. He was whispering it, too, but he wasn't aware of that. *Six thousand, seven hundred fifty-two.* He was counting to try to stay conscious. Conscious, he could just reach his toes to the ground and push himself up a little. Unconscious, he slipped lower, ripping his arms up further behind his back. It was difficult counting, especially at such high numbers. *Six thousand, seven hundred fifty-three. *Maybe coming back wasn't such a good idea, Doctor,* Garak told him. He was sitting on the ground below Bashir, in front of his feet. Bashir could just see his knees. Bashir had been trying to ignore him. *Six thousand, seven hundred forty-three.* *Fifty-four,* Garak supplied. Bashir stopped and raised his head to look at the Cardassian. *What?* *Fifty-four,* Garak repeated. *Six thousand, seven hundred fifty-four. I'd hate to see you lose count now.* Bashir dropped his head and went back to ignoring him. *Six thousand, seven hundred fifty-five.* It wasn't that he was trying to be rude. Garak just wasn't helping. What good did it do to tell him that he shouldn't have come back? He did come back and there was no changing it. *That still doesn't make it the right decision,* Garak interrupted. *I wasn't speaking to you,* Bashir told him. *You shouldn't listen in on my thoughts.* *Now that really doesn't make sense, does it?* Garak stood up and began to pace. Bashir didn't like that. It reminded him too much of the last time Garak had visited, in Block 11. *I mean, really, Doctor, I am* your thoughts. It's really quite impossible for me not to hear them.* *But those thoughts,* Bashir argued, *were directed at me, not at you. Six thousand, seven hundred fifty-two.* *Six,* Garak corrected. *You really should try and concentrate more, Doctor, or you'll never make it through the night.* Bashir was surprised to find that he could look up at Garak without physically raising his head. Hallucinations had their advantages. *Why should I make it through the night anyway?* He asked him. *She'll only kill me in the morning.* Garak sat back down again, satisfied that he now had Bashir's attention. The numbers were beginning to bore him. *Well, yes, but 'an hour of life is still life.' Didn't you read that somewhere once? Though death will be a mercy for you. It will end the pain. But death here will take a long time.* *So now you say I will make it through the night anyway,* Julian observed. *You should just let me get back to my counting instead of wallowing in my misfortunes,* Julian said. *It's not wallowing,* Garak contended. *It's thinking, and it's all you have left, so you might as well enjoy it. Certainly you can come up with something more fascinating than an endless string of numbers.* *I've come up with you, haven't I?* Bashir retorted sarcastically. *And all you do is torment me.* Garak raised his hand to his chest in mock hurt. *I'm sorry, Doctor, I was unaware of my offense.* He dropped his hand and the pretense. *But it is* you *who torment yourself, Doctor. It is your own doubt. I am merely voicing it.* Bashir wouldn't accept it. *I don't doubt coming back.* *Yes, yes.* Garak waved one of his hands dismissively. *It was the selfless thing to do, wasn't it? Your life for the lives of your friends in the camp. They'll die anyway.* *You don't know that,* Bashir held. *They might live. There's a chance. They would have died for certain if I had stayed.* *So you trade your happiness, your comfort, your life and all you could have done with it for the miniscule chance that they might survive two more years of this place, a death march to some other camp, and months there as well?* He noted the confused look on Bashir's face, so he added, for clarification, *You really do have a good memory, Doctor. You thought you'd forgotten about the marches, but it's all in there somewhere. You just have to know where to look.* Bashir ignored him and answered his point. *I couldn't have had happiness and comfort. I couldn't have done more with my life. She would stay here, maybe go to Berlin. Maybe she would win the war for them. The future would be changed. The Dominion will have won.* Garak's face took on a sincere expression. *So what good will your dying do?* he asked. *It won't change all that. She can still do all those things. Captain Sisko can't find her. What good does it do?* Bashir looked him in the eyes. *Death,* he said, paraphrasing Garak's earlier remarks, *will be a mercy.* Garak looked sad. *Not really a selfless act, then, is it?* Julian didn't answer. Garak stood. He placed a hand on Julian's shoulder. Another advantage: Hallucinations didn't hurt. *Goodnight, Doctor. I shall miss you. Lunch will never be the same.* He backed away until he faded away to darkness. Bashir was once again alone. *One,* he thought. *Two, three, four. . . .* He didn't make it to fifty before losing consciousness. Sisko didn't need coffee. He was wide awake. Adrenaline, along with anger and not a little bit of concern, kept him up. Kira had called an hour before, from the surface. She had left without his permission and without thinking. A woman SS officer would stand out in the men's camp, even at night. But more than that, it bothered him that she had deliberately planned it, had help from the nursing staff, and had gone behind his back. She knew he would say no, so she didn't tell him. She'd been on the planet for over an hour before she called. But now that she was down there, he couldn't order her back. She had been right to go, as it turned out. Julian was in trouble. That much had been clear by the comm badge he left behind. Sisko probably wouldn't ever tell her, but he was glad she had gone instead of someone else. He knew her determination and her stubbornness. If anyone could bring him back, it was Kira. However, by the same token, if Kira had shared the information about Heiler, the whole crew might have been able to work as a team on getting Bashir back. But what was done was done. He'd have to deal with that later. Right now, Bashir was the higher priority. Ensign Salerno passed the small gas chamber on his right and diverted his eyes. He didn't want to see one of those again. Barker was there anyway. The administration building was up ahead and to his left, the SS hospital to his right. He ignored them as well. Salamon was checking the outer buildings. He went straight to the gate with its marking above. *Work makes you free,* he thought. *Work makes you a slave, and only death makes you free. That's the reality here.* The guard at the gate stopped him, of course. But the guard was Ukrainian, and Salerno, as far as the guard knew, was German, an SS officer. He was allowed to pass. Four other members of the team were already inside. Still others had remained in Birkenau. Salerno's target was Block 11. Bashir had been tortured before, and Thomas had indicated that Block 11 was the place for that. The changeling might have brought him back there. It was a long shot though. The changeling would probably not want to prolong the doctor's death any more than it already had. If Salerno were it, he would have gotten rid of the doctor quickly and left, blending in with the local people. The *Defiant* and her crew would not be able to track the changeling as long as it used no modern technology. Salerno didn't expect then to find the changeling, but he did expect that one of the team members would find the doctor's body. The camp streets were deserted except for a dark figure here and there walking among the buildings. They were looking for the doctor, too. Salerno reached the last two buildings in the row. A wooden gate covered the distance between them and a guard stood at the gate. "I have orders," Salerno told him, forcefully, "to retrieve a prisoner from Block 11. Let me pass." He held up a piece of paper. But the light was dim, and he didn't hold it up for long. The guard was unable to give it a thorough examination. He opened the door. Salerno entered the courtyard, and the gate closed behind him. Thomas had told them about the posts in the courtyard. Salerno could see one of them and a man there, hanging by his wrists with his arms hitched up behind his back in an impossible angle. He moved forward to get a look at the man's face. But before he had taken two steps, a hand touched his shoulder. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" a voice asked. Salerno turned around to see the same guard he had talked to at the gate. He looked back at the door and saw that it was still closed. He was confused, but he couldn't let that show. "I'm retrieving my prisoner as I told you. Return to your post." The man had not removed his hand from Salerno's shoulder. Salerno was not watching his other hand though. It thrust forward, becoming solid as it did so. Long and sleek like a blade, it sliced into Salerno's stomach. He was too startled to scream. He instinctively grabbed the hand, trying to remove it, but the arm that protruded from his own torso was soft and squishy. There was no way to get a grip. "You were not meant to survive," the guard said. He lifted his arm quickly, forcing the blade of his hand up through Salerno's sternum and into his heart. 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 ???@??? 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