From : valerie shearer To : "P. Stiles" Subject : Try again... ch 5 and 6 Date : Wed, 22 Jan 2003 23:11:54 -0800 (PST) Title: Legacy, Year 1 Series: Alternate Histories of the Dominion war Author: Valerie Shearer Contact: thenightbird@sbcglobal.net Series: DS9 Part: 11/? (Ch5) Rating: PG-13 Codes: Angst,Character Death For full header, see part 0 The story will soon be posted to http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Andes/3071/arch1.html LEGACY An Alternative History of the Dominion War Year 1 Part 2 - Transience Chapter 5 Sisko was asleep when contact with Starfleet was made. James was sent to wake him, and he waited impatiently while the Captain hurried into his dry clothes. Then, James rushed to wake Mr. Vance, but the colony's director hadn't gone to sleep yet. While Sisko had been impatient and rushed, Vance stared at James with disbelief. "Sir, they will only talk to you and Captain Sisko," explained James. "Cowards," muttered Vance as he pulled himself out of bed. He was taking his time and James kept looking towards the door. "Don't be in such a hurry, kid. I have a feeling you won't like what they have to say." James only looked away. "At least they'll have talked to us. These people can't take much more mystery. Any of us." James fumbled at his padd. It had been lent by Sisko's people to record communications back when they expected much more. "Tell me that when we've had this conversation," muttered Vance as he finished putting on his shoes. "Well, lead us to the slaughter." ***** Rumors were rife that there would be no rescue, but that was still not certain. If there was war, sometimes things took time. There could be worse places than Cyrus if there was enough food or something to make it. But the general mood was gloomy, and more and more people were willing to admit to feeling abandoned. In such a small, concentrated population word spread fast, and there were already people waiting when Sisko and Vance arrived, just sitting and watching. The transport with its supplies was due in a day. ***** James had brought in a second chair, and Vance entered first, Sisko looking over the disorganized little camp that housed most of those who depended on him. Once inside, Sisko shut the door and pulled the second chair a little further away. He and Vance had spoken, but never without an unavoidable reason. Neither knew how to deal with the other. "I suppose we should get started. We don't want the crowd to get too big," said Vance, resigned. "You're expecting bad news then," said Sisko neutrally. "What do you expect? If they were planning to actually do something useful, like getting you out of here, they would have done it before. I suppose supplies are useful, but they wouldn't need them if you were going." Sisko agreed with him, thought he didn't assume the worse until more was said. Vance appeared to have given up. But whatever their fate, it would be better to know. "We'll run out soon and maybe they are buying time," he speculated. "You're the one who trusts the Federation," muttered Vance. "I suppose we should find out," he said as he sat. Sisko wondered if Vance just wanted to get away from him, but began the process of making contact again with Starfleet. One channel was left open and unjammed, but aside from them nobody else was using it. That did not bode well. He issued the code to confirm his identity. The screen lit up with the Federation logo shortly followed by the face of Admiral Ross. The admiral did not look happy. "Captain Sisko," he said with the tone he might have used at a funeral, "Director Vance, it is my profound displeasure to be the messenger of bad news." Vance gave Sisko an I-told-you-so look. The admiral began again. "As of this moment, Captain, you and all military personal on Cyrus 3 are officially discharged. So, from now on you're a civilian. This also applies to all Bajoran militia members. Before issuing its official surrender, the militia was disbanded." Sisko did not know what to think. He simply stared at Ross with curiosity and disbelief. "Here it comes," said Vance under his breath. The admiral didn't notice either of their reactions. "In about a week, the area in which you are resident will be officially ceded to the Dominion." Both men had expected bad news. Neither had expected that. The calm, matter-of-fact way the rest was explained wasn't quite real to either of them. "We're not doing this because we want to, Captain, but because we simply have no other choice." Still stunned, Vance ask in an angry tone, "Tell me, Admiral. How many people are you selling out this time?" Ross looked at him sadly. "I wish it was that. The Dominion fleet already controls that entire area, and we simple don't have enough fleet left to challenge them." There was silence. Vance no longer looked angry, just stunned. "How bad was it?" asked Sisko very quietly. "We've lost a lot of ships, and we're still losing them. We suspect they have as well, but they have a very good supply line. Captain, we can't help you. It's that simple. Our best hope is a long term cease-fire." "We can't stay here. There simply aren't the resources to handle this large a population," argued Sisko. "I'm afraid that isn't the Federation's problem. You'll be getting a massive shipment of medical and general supplies, within the guidelines, of course. And supplies for building as well, although that shipment won't be there for a few more days." Vance said very slowly, "What are these guidelines?" "The Dominion has banned certain types of devices--common devices based on the technology that is generally used in the Federation," said the admiral very slowly. Sisko said quietly, still not sure he was hearing this right, "Could you be a little more specific about this ban?" "I would assume anything based on the transtator. " Sisko was stunned. That was the basis of communicators and replicators, but much more. Many everyday things were based on the same technology, and most of modern medicine. Looking at Vance, he guessed his machines were as well. Vance said softly, "Most of Federation technology is based on that." "I know," said the Admiral He let this sink in before he continued, in the most official tone he could manage. "Accompanying the supplies is a transition team. There are legalities to be taken care of. Uniforms will be turned in. In exchange, we will supply additional clothing for various seasons for each person. I would advise that replicators be used to make as many acceptable items as you can as well, as the replicators will be confiscated once the official transfer of authority is passed." "Would you have a list of acceptable items you could suggest?" asked Sisko very quietly. "Food would be a good idea. Shelters, useful personal items. Just as long as it isn't transtator-based." There was a long moment of silence. Nobody knew what to say. The admiral broke the stillness. "I am sorry, gentlemen, but I must break the connection. There really is nothing more to say. I wish you the best of luck." The screen went blue and the Federation logo flashed up for a second. Vance stared at it, turning off the screen. "Bastards," he said, bitterly. "I guess now you know how the Maquis felt." The military part of Sisko could understand. If it was true, then it was necessary to take what losses that were unavoidable, and consolidate their remaining fleet. That meant that a lot of what had been Federation territory and colonies would no longer be under their control. But Vance's remark about the Maquis hurt, for in a sense that was what the Federation had done then too, abandoned those who wouldn't leave to the Cardassians. It wasn't widely discussed, but before the Maquis became a personal hazard to Starfleet and the vendetta had set in, a lot of reasonable people had asked if their government had the right to simply draw a new border without regard to those on the other side. To politicians, it was territory, but to those who lived there it was home. Whether or not it could be called justified, the Maquis had been abandoned. And at that moment he could understand. "It was obvious something was going on. Either the Jem'Hadar were going to show up or a ship to get us out of here. But I didn't think . . . . " Sisko ran out of words to express the desolation that hit him when he let it be real. Vance was staring at the screen, as if somehow it would be an illusion. "Well, welcome home, Mr. Sisko," he said. Sisko pushed the disbelief away the best he could. They had to be prepared, and there might not be that much time. "Thank you, Mr. Vance. I suggest we try to discuss how we should handle things in the future. I assume we will work together." But the crowd outside had grown. Vance had turned around, and was looking towards the door. "Maybe. But first, we have to tell them." ***** Vance began the address, his stunned face enough to tell them the news was very bad. Before anything was announced, everyone who could come had been called to the main square in the area housing the original residents, and people sat, packed closely, staring at the small stage erected near Vance's office. Sisko waited inside. He did not wear his uniform, but the best of the civilian clothes he had brought along. Vance waited until everyone was there and seated, and softly knocked on his door to tell Sisko to be ready. Vance had made many speeches in his time, but this one was the hardest he'd ever make. He had declined the task of telling them everything. There were more of Sisko's people here than his, and he'd let the ex-starfleet captain tell his own. But Vance stood before them first, and saw the hush that suddenly fell over the crowd. He'd never seen all of them together before. It terrified him that so many were trapped on a planet that could not feed even half of them. He had never told Willman, but he'd read his book. He knew how captors could use food to coerce nearly anything out of their prisoners. "As you know, we had communications from the Federation today. We will not keep the details from you, but Captain Sisko has chosen to explain. Please give him the courtesy of finishing his talk before you ask questions. We will have time for that afterwards." He moved back and tapped gently on the door, then stood to the side. Sisko was dressed in his best, guessed Vance. Out of uniform, he looked so different. Sisko approached the stage, gazing over the crowd. Those who had seen him address his followers as the Emissary recognized the calm, wise demeanor. In a sense, he was filling the same role. He must lead these people to some kind of peace now, no matter what came of the war. He was the one responsible for their being here, after all. "First, I address those of you here from Bajor. I have received word that your homeworld has issued an unconditional surrender to the Dominion. The last act of the Bajoran government was to dissolve the militia, so any who were members are now civilians." There was great quiet in the crowd. Here and there were muffled cries. "As for the rest, I have the sorrowful duty to officially inform you that there will be no rescue from this place. We already live in Dominion-controlled territory. Due to losses from the war, the Federation is officially giving us to the Dominion." There was a sudden silence more pronounced than before. Sisko remembered the shock and disbelief when Ross had so bluntly told him and Vance. There was no kind way to tell people that life as they knew it was over. They all had feared these words, but it was different when they were real. He continued with a softer tone. "As with the government of Bajor, all military personnel have been discharged. Everyone here is a civilian." He wondered, given what they already knew of the Dominion, if it would really matter. The Dominion had given the people of one planet a slow death with their ancestral plague because they resisted. And they were not soldiers. The people he'd tried to save sat numbly staring at him as he told them the rest. It wasn't real yet. But this moment would be remembered forever. "The supply ship will likely be here tomorrow. We will receive food, medicine, and other supplies we may need in the future, including clothing and building materials for more permanent homes. We are urged to use the replicators to make supplies of food, and other items that are permitted under Dominion rules. The sort of advanced technology we are used to will be banned, so we will all have to get used to a different way of life. But we must do this quickly, as the Dominion will officially take charge in perhaps a week and the replicators and other banned items will be confiscated. Those who wish to help with this effort are asked to come forth tomorrow, but today spend time with your families. Draw strength from what you have, not sorrow from what is lost." He watched as they stared, holding each other close. His son was on Earth. Others had sent their families home for safety. Some had no one to hold. An emptiness was filling him and he wanted this day to end. Tomorrow, there would be much to do, but today they would grieve. "If any have questions, please step forward." He didn't expect many, not with the glum silence, but one older Bajoran stood. He stepped forward and spoke quietly with one of the monitors, and a note was passed to Sisko. He read the note, and studied the man as he waited. He recognized him as one of the priests from the Bajoran temple. Motioning towards the man, he announced, "This man is from the temple we left behind on the Promenade. But he would like to hold a service tonight for anyone who is interested. I believe I will attend." There was a murmur, but no more questions. He watched as a small knot of people gathered around the priest. At least they would have a little comfort. He stepped forward again. This time his tone was different, strong and infused with the special strength Bajor and its people had given him. "The people of Bajor spent many years under occupation. There was much suffering, but in the end they regained their freedom. They have something to teach all of us, for if you ever stop believing in yourself, if you ever give up you have truly been defeated. Life here will not be the same as it was then, and perhaps the ways we affirm ourselves will be different, but we can and must be as strong as the Bajorans were then." He had their attention now. The rest was hard to say, something Starfleet officers were not supposed to promote. But while he was now a civilian, he would never cease to be the Emissary. "Some here believe in the Prophets. Some have other beliefs. But hold on to those, for that will give you a strength you alone can not have. That is another gift I have come to know from the Bajorans. It changed my life and perhaps it can help some of you in this terrible moment." He noticed Vance staring at him as if they'd never met. He hoped Vance would help merge their people into one, but had his doubts. But today, all of them were quiet and stunned as they filed out of the square. There were too many of them. From what they knew of the Dominion, any resistance would be punished without a trace of mercy. Somehow, his people would have to find a way to bury the bitterness and learn that living life itself was a kind of victory. ***** Vance didn't know why he'd gone to see Willman, but he had to get away from the stunned faces and perhaps, he thought, Willman might have dealt with it a little. But despite his past history with the Cardassians, Willman was almost as lost as the rest. Neither had said much. Willman was reading through supply lists and Vance just watched. But Vance had an idea. In a way, Sisko's talk at the end had started the seed of hope. "It was nice of them for the advanced warning," he said. Willman said nothing for a moment, staring at Vance. Finally he said, very thoughtfully, "I understand the replicator is busy. That's good. This great plan should have been started last week, but at least something is done." Then, he paused, gazing at the sky. "When they take it they'll be able to tell it's been used a lot. They'll want to know how. That's not good. You don't need to make yourself more noticeable." He looked back at the padds on his desk, "Maybe we could make some paper and pens so I can get these lists copied before it's too late." Vance eyed him with caution. "There are things we can do something about, as in *save* before it's too late." Willman looked up from the padds, suspicious. "Remember those caves we found, the ones in the nearby hills?" "I should. I'm the one that first found them," said Willman slowly. "They can't be scanned." Willman was watching him carefully. "Not by our equipment, but who is to say They can't see inside?" "Would you rather they take everything?" asked Vance, his tone very grim. "Better *things* than us," replied Willman. Vance considered the point. "I'm not talking about anything big. They'll know about the equipment so it would be missed. Just enough that their absence won't be noticed. You're going to lose all your equipment too." Willman looked rather grim. "And things hidden in a cave aren't going to be of much help." "Not now. But who can say about later?" "That's a lot of temptation," said Willman, speculating. "Only a few will know, and most of them won't know where. Not even Sisko." "It isn't Sisko I'm worried about. And I refuse to believe he went along with this." Willman eyed Vance with disapproval. "We discussed it. He didn't like the idea. I didn't ask him either. Look, we'll keep our people under control. Are you saying that we can't trust our own?" asked Vance, insulted. "I'm saying," Willman began angrily, "that you don't know. What if people get desperate? You can't tell me what they'll do. And when they get caught it isn't just them that will pay for it." "Okay," said Vance, after a moment, "there's a risk. But I think it's one worth taking. Sisko's people brought a lot of stuff, none of it cataloged. We save it, and fill the crates with rations." "A lot of it was contaminated or damaged. You won't be hiding much if that's all you plan to hide. It's hardly worth the risk." Willman was deadly serious. "It will be better than nothing. I'm not giving up so soon." Willman gave him a blistering scowl. Then he sighed. "There is something we must discuss, before somebody gets killed." Vance took note of the tone and the words and calmed down. "Okay, discuss." "We have to talk about how to behave, things like heroics and stupidity." "In case you haven't noticed, people are scared." Vance was calm and serious now. "They aren't going to be stupid." "How do you know? Just what do you know about these people and what they want. They *won*, remember. We need to know more what to expect. Sisko and his people have a lot more experience in this." Vance made a face. "I'd rather keep Mr. Sisko out of this conversation, if you please." "Why?" retorted Willman. "He's not leaving. You have to learn to deal with him. I doubt he's any happier about it than you, but neither of you have time for this." "You like the man. You do the talking. I promise I'll listen. "You'll have to do more than listen. We're going to need rules and organization. You *are* the director of this place. Try acting like it. You're not a Maquis terrorist." Vance watched as Willman stared. "I don't advocate that. I just want to save a little, that's all. I'd feel better with it hidden in a cave even if I never could get it out than I would with it gone. I don't know what it's going to be like, but I want something to believe in. Maybe a few things in a cave won't help now, but I'll know they're there. It will make a difference to me." Willman's eyes went cold. The sudden shift scared Vance. He saw no compromise in the eyes. "It will likely make a lot of difference to others, and when they die I hope you understand." Vance fled the room. There was a makeshift morgue with the bodies of those who died in the crash already. If you got too close there was a trace of rotting stench, and it made him shiver. In his own way, he admired the Maquis. They'd tried to defend their homes. In his mind they were noble warriors. But the Maquis had been wiped out by the Dominion. They'd killed them all. He needed some kind of hope, but was afraid, too. So was Willman. He faced something he knew, but then, even he didn't know about this enemy. Vance still wanted to hide things in the cave. He needed a secret hope that would make up for the desolation. But the ice in Willman's eyes followed him as he passed the morgue and he wondered if he'd have the nerve to carry out his plan. ***** Cameron Zale watched as Vance left Dr. Willman's office, curious about what he had wanted. Vance wasn't that close to Willman, and Willman was very friendly with Sisko. Zale assumed he was doing Sisko a favor, perhaps delivering a message. Zale kept tabs on his boss, and knew Vance avoided the refugees and didn't like Sisko, Neither did Zale, partly supporting his boss as a chief assistant should do, and partly because the Captain was being far too cooperative. He hadn't liked Sisko's little speech at the end of the address at all. He had no intention of even pretending to cooperate. Vance's staff had held a meeting after the announcement. Still stunned and scared, Zale had proposed that they resign, en masse, when the Dominion arrived. If Sisko wanted to deal with the invaders he could, but it would be without their help. They assumed Vance would follow suit. But even if all the rest changed their minds, Zale had already written the letter of resignation. He wanted a record of his refusal to turn traitor. The spirit of rebellion was alive and well in the room until Rafferson had ambled forward. He'd been sitting in the back and hadn't said a word before. "What makes you think they will even care about you?" he asked, completely deflating their balloon. He was serious, and grim, and not what any of them wanted to hear. "I've been talking to Sisko's people and they are scared. They've seen enough of what these people do and have every reason. Resign if you want, but don't act like it's some new adventure. I wouldn't make a big show of it. From what I hear, they don't like that much." Rafferson made a point of staring at Zale. "It's not going to be unanimous, anyway. I'm not quitting." Zale hadn't spoken to Rafferson since. He'd ruined their protest, but worse he'd reminded them of reality. Most would still resign, but it would be a personal thing now. Zale wanted to see them thumb their noses at the invaders. Rafferson had stolen that satisfaction. After the resignations were accepted, they'd still have to deal with this scary new world. Watching Vance as he walked down the hilly path from the hospital, Zale wondered if Willman had done the same. There were things they could do, little things, to not be owned. Zale had read about that. Willman knew about it too. But he *needed* to fight them. If there was somewhere to run and fight he'd already be there. Their resignation would have helped, but it wouldn't mean much now. Zale wandered back to his quarters, skirting the refugee camp that now would become a village, and shut the door. Tomorrow, the ship would come and he'd have work, but today he didn't want to see or hear anything but home. ***** Vance wandered back to his office, once a necessary evil and now a refuge. Here, he was still in charge of something. Here, his ideas mattered. In a week all of that would change. And judging from the transfixed look of the crowd after Sisko's speech, perhaps it had already. He'd only brought up saving what they could to Sisko in passing. He had no intention of saying anything more. He didn't even know if he wanted to do it now. What if Willman was right? What if the Jem'Hadar, these animal like soldiers who liked to kill and smash down their victims, were to find the secret? Would all the people they'd kill be worth a few little items nobody could openly use anyway? He sat in his office for a time, but it wasn't his anymore. There was one place Sisko or the Federation's betrayal couldn't take away. He shut his door behind him quietly, remembering the square with all the people. How long would it be before they were hungry? Would the conquerors allow them to use what they had so they could at least feed themselves? The warehouse was lit, Justin already there. Walter assumed he'd come there once the speech was done. Here, in this large building, the dream still lived. The big machines sat waiting to transform the land. The lingering scent of the chemicals that would have made good soil was still noticeable. If there was a refuge left him, it was this place. Justin was standing by a crate containing the replicator they'd received recently, intended to make spare parts, just staring at it. When Walter moved close enough, he said softly,"Did you know that this isn't on anybody's list? It was loaned but the loan wasn't recorded. Officially, it doesn't exist." It hadn't been used yet either. He and Justin were planning to make it a surprise when the field was done. It had been believed that they'd need a lot more supplies after the field was done and other areas were readied and it was time for the project to have its own. Justin kept staring at it. Walter came closer, worried about invisible ears. As far as he knew, the staff thought the crate had machine parts to be cataloged later. They needed to keep thinking that. He thought about how useful a replicator could be someday. But Willman's caution had rubbed off on him, and he hesitated. "It won't be of much use. You're thinking of hiding it, I assume." "Oh, not just that. Leave it in the crate and move it to the caves. Then, where we're shielded, we replicate copies of the smaller pieces." Justin’s hand pointed generally over the warehouse. "And we keep stored patterns for the bigger pieces. Then we store the project for later. I'm not giving up this easy." Justin was determined to do it. Walter wondered if it might be worth the risk. A few bits of equipment probably weren't, but a replicator was different. But Vance was still uneasy. Justin was proposing a very audacious plan, and before he'd talked to Willman he would have agreed. But his idea of saving a few small items paled next to this. He said cautiously, "I don't know, Justin. It's dangerous." Blanchard turned toward him and stared. "Is this the same Walter Vance who fought for thirteen years to make this real? You would give it to the enemy just like that?" "I don't know . . . . " said Vance, hesitating. "It's so risky." But he needed a reason to worry about tomorrow. Without any future he didn't much care. The project had been his life for so long he didn't remember a time it wasn't. Maybe it wouldn't matter to the invaders if there were a few things or a lot. If it cost lives at least it had to be worth it. He added, his decision very sudden and terrifying, "From what I hear they say *any* contraband. I doubt it would matter too much if it was a few things or all this." He walked around the room, touching the machines that would have proven his dream, but now could not, not even if Justin managed to save them. Or, he thought, perhaps they would still make the dream real, just delayed. If the Dominion took it all, there would be no dream to save. Without the dream, nothing else mattered. "That is the point," said Justin, indicating the contents of the warehouse. They take it and officially they have it. They have no reason to go looking. We need some sort of hope to hold onto, Walter. I'll play their game and Sisko's game all the way. But I'll know my life's work is still waiting out there. Yours too." Justin smiled, and Walter Vance remembered the kid he'd met in college who had become such a fast friend. Oddly, Justin reminded him of that time far more than any since. Pushing aside the fear and having already decided, he agreed. "Well, I guess you should get started then. It should be all done and out of sight before that supply ship gets here." Justin smiled, and Vance was struck, again, by the oddness. "Certainly. I don't have anything else to do. The area we did seems to have set well, too. It will be interesting to see how well it turns out next spring." Vance watched as Justin began his work, almost looking like that kid. Justin said he'd be by later for dinner and Vance gave a terse smile and fled the building. To Justin, it was still a game. The cold flash of reality in Willman's eyes had vanished that illusion for Walter. He wanted the project to survive, but there was no joy or excitement in the means anymore. ***** end, Legacy, Year 1, Part 1-2, Chapter 5 Title: Legacy, Year 1 Series: Alternate Histories of the Dominion war Author: Valerie Shearer Contact: thenightbird@sbcglobal.net Series: DS9 Part: 13 /? (Ch 6a) Rating: PG-13 Codes: Angst,Character Death For full header, see part 0 The story will soon be posted to http://www.geocities.com/RainForest/Andes/3071/arch1.html LEGACY An Alternative History of the Dominion War Year 1 Part 2 - Transience Chapter 6 With his fever down, Bashir was awake most of the time, and Willman had finally allowed him to sit up in bed. Even though it was clearly a struggle to pull himself up, the younger doctor had refused help from the nurse. Gritting his teeth, he'd finally collapsed against the pillows in relief as he looked around the room, able to see the whole dismal place for the first time. First, however, Willman examined the leg. With his patient triumphantly reclined, he thought Bashir might listen. "Your leg is better. The infection is still there, but substantially reduced to where local treatments should work." Bashir stared at him, waiting for the rest. "If you have to know, an awful lot depends on those new supplies. So, I'm not making any promises." Bashir said nothing. Resting against the pillows that propped him up in his bed, he dropped his gaze to the blankets below him. Willman wondered if both were thinking of what came after the supply ship. Without looking up, Bashir almost whispered, "I understand." There was something soft and distant in his voice that worried Willman. He'd seen patients die mostly because they didn't care about living. He knew the young doctor had heard about the Dominion rules. The treatment had mutilated his leg, and now nothing was ever really going to fix it. In that prison camp, Willman had learned that survival had more to do with the will to live than anyone suspected. He couldn't tell if this patient cared enough to stay alive. But he had to survive. If supplies ran so low a patient had to be sacrificed, this one would get priority over others. They would need another doctor. "Remember, you are needed, and will be needed more than ever in the future. If you're as committed to medicine as I've heard, you'll manage because it's your duty to survive for them." Bashir turned his head away, and said even more quietly, "If they leave me here." Willman sat on a nearby stool, touching Bashir's hand softly. "I don't understand." "I was replaced by a changeling. He tried to start the war then, but failed. I spent almost two months in a Dominion internment camp." Willman guessed the rest. "And you escaped," he said softly, to keep it quiet. "Several others as well. They're dead." He drooped down in the pillows. "Do you understand now?" His tone was bitter, and angry. Each word was spoken precisely. Willman did understand. If their conquerors were like the Cardassians, he'd be taken immediately. But then, there were probably hundreds of places they now controlled, and it would take them time to check the identification of every captive. It might buy him time. "You aren't fit to travel. And you'll be of less interest to them than someone who's well." "If that makes a difference to them, it would only be a delay." Willman waited until he turned his head and looked across the bed. "Perhaps. But you can become useful in the meanwhile, and if you are needed enough it might save you. "How would you know?" There was a wary look in Bashir's eyes, and Willman suspected he also knew about the rules of survival. "The same way I know how to treat your leg. Except it was the Cardassians." Bashir covered the surprise. "How long?" "Two years. We were released as part of the treaty," he sighed. "I discovered a few other tricks then. I wrote a paper on them. I doubt anyone read it though. Everyone assumes that they will always have their toys." "I hope I'll be able to learn them," said Bashir, who turned away from him. "I'd like to be left alone for a while." Willman ordered his staff to give him some time. ***** Lonnie wished she were still on shift. The hospital was still full, and she worked as many hours as Willy would let her, but she was exhausted and he'd made her go home. To get there, she had to walk down the hill to the others camp. It looked messy and crowded. People sat out in the sunshine with children, pretending it would be alright. She had believed they'd go home. No matter how silent the skies were, or how many rumors had spread, she still believed that someone would come for them. She paused, just watching, and almost turned back to work. They weren't leaving. Somehow, there would have to be enough food and shelter for everyone here. She had nothing to do with the terraforming research, but knew it would never be enough. They'd come here, even her, to live more simply. They'd tried to make a connection with the soil and sun. They'd tried to rediscover old values of saving and repairing lost in a society where everything could be replaced with the touch of a button. Now, the old joke of being hearty pioneers had a bitter edge to it. In the future, life would have to be more basic and simple. But it wasn't a choice anymore. When all the little tools of daily life were gone, they'd find out what simple meant. If they did manage to grow food enough to feed themselves, it would mean hard work in fields that had to come to harvest. And the little things they still took for granted would take on so much more value now. In the end, when it couldn't be fixed there was always the replicator to make a new one. But that would be gone, too. She still had the paper from Willy about the subject. He'd already changed procedures so there would be little waste, and he'd reminded his staff that much they took for granted would soon disappear. He'd also described the sorts of injuries they might see if they were lucky enough to be permitted to make more land and have fields to tend to. She knew he was preparing another paper on the signs and diseases associated with malnutrition and starvation. But perhaps the others had been enough of a reality check for now. He'd printed them on paper. He was already recruiting people to copy hospital records to paper so there would be something left when the Dominion came. But it wasn't real yet. Lonnie came to her door, opening it softly. Inside her own space she could think. She pulled off her uniform and changed. She had pictures of her family sitting out and covered them. It wasn't enough. She'd always been on the edge of her society, never really wanting to be a full part, but this was unthinkable. It was said they were being betrayed for "peace". Peace for whom, she wanted to scream at some Federation politician safe from harm. Did it really give the people of Earth the security they wanted? Who had given them the right to choose the course of her life? She glanced at the papers Willy had passed out. There was a list of staff. He had already absorbed those from DS9 who had survived the crash. There were a fair number of Bajorans among them. She'd watched the survivors carefully that day. They were still in mourning, having lost so many they knew. But there was a deeper sadness, and a greater loss. Most of them had lived almost their entire lives under Cardassian rule, but there had been five years of freedom. Now, even that would be taken. During her rounds she'd watched, trying to comprehend how it felt to have something you'd dreamed of all you life suddenly ripped away. Looking at the papers Willy had prepared, she realized she didn't even consider that her own freedom, and that of all these others born under the safety of Federation law, would disappear as well. There was a knock on the door. She really didn't want to talk to anyone, but she couldn't ignore a potential emergency. Reluctantly, she put down the papers again and opened the door. It was Willy. She and the staff called him that. Most of the people who had come to Cyrus before knew him by his nickname. But looking at his grim face, she wondered if it really fit now. He invited himself in, a case of files in his arms which he left on her floor. He didn't look at her, but she could tell he hadn't slept and was on the edge of exhaustion. "I'd like you to keep these for me," he said. She didn't understand why. "I suppose, if you want, but . . . .?" "In case someone searches my things. These must stay here. We'll be needing the information." His voice was so cold. It scared her a little, as if a stranger had come to her door. "Why me?" she asked. "Why wouldn't mine be searched too?" "I'm the head of the department, and the doctor. They would pay a lot more attention to mine. I know these kinds of people. They usually concentrate on the top. So maybe they won't look so carefully in your things." Then the coldness vanished and Willy reappeared, tired and scared. "I know it's just theory, but it's all we have going for us. So don't give them a reason to want to look." Lonnie was confused. He had become the man she knew, but his eyes looked at her as if she were a child. "I won't. I'm so scared of them I don't want them to even see me." He stared at the room, his gaze settling on her family pictures with his papers sitting next to them on the table. "I'm sorry for you, Lonnie. You have no idea what I'm talking about." She caught the fear in his voice. She didn't want to know but understood some day she'd have to. "Why don't you tell me then." She sat across from him, and he pulled her forward and hugged her. His face was haggard; his eyes holding a look of infinite sadness. "How do you feel about this betrayal by the Federation?" She was numb. She knew all the words but they didn't really mean anything yet. "I don't know. I don't think it's real yet." "It's going to be real soon enough. You're one of my assistants and from what I'm told they tend to deal with a single person." He paused, his look harder and more serious. He stared at her now from across the gulf of time and experience. "But I'm responsible for your behavior. You challenge things. That could be dangerous in the future." Something in his tone reached deep inside her. She could see a wall they'd pass through that would change everything for them. "What . . . what will they do?" "We don't know, but I've been talking to Sisko's people who have had contact with them. If we're lucky, they will set up rules and leave us alone as long as we follow them." "And if we don't?" "They send in the Jem'Hadar." She had heard of the Jem'Hadar--genetically engineered soldiers, bred to be loyal, prone to violence but cold about it. That's what she had read. She tried to imagine them in her home. It didn't work. She still could not believe it. "It's still not real, Willy. Give me time." "Well, you have a week." She could tell he wanted to go. But he'd mentioned Sisko's people. The doctor would matter to them, and he'd been very upset all day. If she could be held responsible for hiding records, she deserved to know why. "Wait," she said as he was approaching the door. "What were you doing with Bashir today? He was very upset. He wouldn't talk to anybody once you left." "He had to be drawn out of this mood. He's got reason to be scared. Earlier this year he went to sleep at a medical conference and woke up in an internment camp. With extraordinary luck, he and a few others escaped. He apparently foiled his changeling duplicate's plans. He is scared of being taken back there once they discover his identity." She was stunned. She could only imagine the fear. "He's been so withdrawn. I thought it might be the pain." "Some, of course. But mostly it's fear. For all I know he's right. But I'd still rather see him upset than hiding. And he has probably had the closest continuing contact with them." "He'd calmed down when I left. He was asleep then." "How was the fever?" he asked, looking worried. "It was up just a bit. The supplies are supposed to be here tomorrow." "Would you do me a favor?" he asked. "Sure," she replied with a little trepidation. "Go back and monitor him. I want to know if the temperature spikes. If it does, get me there immediately." ***** Reality caught up with Lonnie Broadman that night. She sat by Bashir, watching as he slept and wondered what kind of nightmares he lived with. But his fever was rising steadily, and after a few hours he woke up. He wasn't entirely coherent, but Willy's talk was on his mind. She was thinking of the records in her quarters, and Willy's lost eyes when her patient looked up at her. "Are you, uh, Lorrie, Dr. Willman's nurse?" "It's Lonnie, and I'm his medical assistant." "Sorry. I don't think we were introduced." "Willy, I mean Dr. Willman, ask me to monitor your fever." "He's afraid I'll die on him even after that torture." She smiled. "You would have by now if he hadn't." He thought about it for a moment. "He said a little about where he discovered it. Something about the Cardassians." Everybody else knew about Willy. She figured Bashir deserved to know as well. "He was on a small survey ship captured by the Cardassians during that war. They sent them to a prisoner of war camp. They let him treat his fellow prisoners, but only gave him the most minimal equipment. So, he improvised." "From what I've heard we'll have to improvise again," he said, a trace of bitterness in the tone. "If they let us." "Maybe we're lucky he's here. Willy is a very dedicated man. He wants to teach you what he knows." "If I'm here," he said grimly. "I know. He told me." "Both of you talk a lot." "Sometimes, talking is good, especially if you're having bad dreams." "You don't want to know about my dreams." "But I want you to talk if you feel like it. Anyway, we have to live under these people, at least for now. Willy seems to think I should listen to you." "You want me to tell you everything?" Feeling a bit of trepidation, she told him to go ahead. ***** Justin Blanchard and Walter Vance stood on the small rise between their little village and the expanse that was to have been their field, watching the flurry of activity. It was nearly covered in tents, grouped in sections, and the pathways between were already visibly defined. In the short time they had been there, the land had already been claimed and changed by Sisko's people. Vance tried to see it as they had that day, full of pride and the culmination of dreams, but he no longer could. The green field had vanished along with the dream it represented. That morning he'd awakened empty and alone. The dream was dead and they would never see the fields that had been within their grasp so little time before. He almost wished that the field had been done before Sisko and his people arrived. It wouldn't have changed anything in the larger world. But they could not have perched their camp there and perhaps in the spring next year a lot more land could have been ready to plant. He didn't know where Sisko would have put his people, but he didn't really care either. Walter had turned to Justin because he was the only one who might understand. Standing in the warehouse, it was hard to believe it was so near the end. Everything was in its place, neatly arranged, with the grime of use on the surface. The only thing missing was the replicator. At night, taking pathways only known by a few, they'd moved it into the caves. Then, using a portable power source, they'd duplicated the smaller machines. There was enough of everything to do a field, but it didn't matter much to Walter. Their overlords wouldn't allow it, and a little of Willman's warning still nagged at him. His life, as he had lived it for the past 15 years, was over and what happened to him now was incidental. Justin hadn't been there when he got to the warehouse. But a little while later his old friend and partner had pushed open the door, giving Walter a cheerful smile. It wasn't returned. Justin wouldn't notice. Willman had seen the man shut out the outside world before. In a way, he envied the single-mindedness. Blanchard still had his dream. He might never achieve it, but it was something worth playing the game to try to have. For Walter, the cost of the dream was too high. They'd taken a walk, intending to go to lunch. It had rained the night before, a light rain, but the ground below was still wet. A lot of people seemed to be setting out wet things to dry. He wondered what they felt, lost here with nothing. They'd changed the place already. The carefully cut terraces had been dug out to form paths. They had started a moat of sorts along the back to keep the mud coming off the hills from sliding into the area. He considered offering them help, letting them use a few of the smaller machines, but changed his mind. It wouldn't compromise their cave, but lost in this place he did not belong, he understood. They had to dig the ground themselves. It was a little act of control in a world with little else up to them. Justin was watching as the dirt from the moat was dumped on the upper level. Underneath the cut soil, it was more chalky and harder. "When they get done, we should crush the rocky soil for them. It would make a better space that way." Walter almost envied the men and women at work. They had something to do. They probably slept better for the day. But Justin was right. The hard chunks of core soil wouldn't absorb the rain so much. It would make a relatively dry bed for them to escape the crowding once the rain quit. "Why not offer now?" he asked. Justin sighed. "It's not time. Not enough soil, anyway. And later, when we have to be cooperative it would be much better." Walter wished he could believe in the dream hidden in the cave. But if they survived it wouldn't matter for too long. He needed something now to fill the empty space in his life. "Forget the game. I don't like Sisko, but we could hammer some of that to gravel before they take away the machines. We don't have later for that." Justin shrugged. "If you want. I'll get it. I think the rock breaker would work by itself." Walter nodded. "And one of the small diggers. It would help get past the boulders." Justin shrugged again. "We don't have anything else to do," he added. They worked alone, not including any of the aides that might notice the replicator. But Sisko's people were so grateful that for a moment Walter wasn't completely lost and Justin had a little reason to smile. ***** The next morning, Willy found Lonnie sitting under one of the shades in front of the hospital chewing absently on a piece of food. Her eyes were red from crying, and she was staring at the hill but seeing nothing. Willy sat next to her, waiting until she looked at him. "I heard you were there all night," he said. "He wanted to talk," she said. "He needed to talk. I could tell. So he told me everything that happened in that place. He even told me about the Cardassian." She was looking at him, but not seeing Willy or the square at all. Willy touched her lightly, trying to get her attention. "He didn't tell me about him. You did better than I did." "He didn't tell the Starfleet doctors when he was debriefed either. I was the first person he's ever told." She looked away. "I think he was out of his head a little or maybe he wouldn't have told me, either. See, when they put him in isolation, they picked between him and the Cardassian to beat to death first." Willy had little sympathy for the dead Cardassian, but felt for Bashir. There were a few things Willy had never shared. He understood, but it surprised him that Lonnie drew it out. She was still in shock. "And those people are coming here? We have to live under them?" She was upset and looking for comfort, perhaps some hope to grasp that it would be only for awhile. But that was not what she needed. He hardened his voice. "Yes, Lonnie, that is what is going to happen. I can't tell you what they'll do, or where they'll be. But at least you know whom we will be dealing with now." Tears welled, and then stopped, as his tone sunk in. She was trained as a nurse, and had special emergency certificates as well. She knew how to behave. Willman needed her to do that now. Later, alone in her quarters, she could grieve. "What about the fever?" he asked in his normal voice. "It's elevated, but not bad. He's sleeping now." "The supply ship will be here in an hour. Why don't you get a little sleep." "I'll try to," she said. He watched as she stumbled off down the path. She would be strong because she had to be, but this moment he knew she'd go home and bury her head in her pillow to mourn for the lost world. ***** James had lived a vivid dream. Even after waking, the images still filled his head. The emptiness it had left behind still surrounded him, and he sat with pad and pen in hand. The pictures flashed in his mind, and engrossed in his sketches from the dream, the sounds and images blocked everything else. The day before, nothing had been real. He'd waited with the others outside while Sisko and Vance had received the news, and stared with disbelief at Sisko when he'd made his speech. James could not bear the idea that he'd be stranded here, perhaps forever. The words had laid ruin to the carefully built road of dreams that gave balance to his life. Mr. Vance hadn't really noticed. James had run several errands for him, lost in a fog, and had finally been able to escape back to his room. He had no desire for food, and had skipped dinner. All he could do was sit at his desk and draw, trying to commit every image that danced in his head to paper lest he lose them. After escaping from Vance, he'd spent most of the afternoon and evening that way, finally falling into an exhausted sleep late that night. And then the dream had come, and its vivid images drew him inside. He was at the park, and all his relatives were there, even those already dead. It was a birthday, and there was a cacophony of cheerful sounds, from laughter and conversations, from the tapping and clinking of the diners, from the shouts of the children as they played, and even from the birds and the rustling of the leaves in the gently breeze. James felt the grass under his feet and smelled the scent of the flowers, but he was not a part of them. Instead he watched from a distance. He was drawn to it, but something kept him away. He could not enter, but lived in his memories of times past and times imagined. He was home. Abruptly, he was torn away by a thunderous noise, and the sky split open. The people in his dream screamed and ran, and then a bolt of black nothingness slashed down from the ruptured sky. The trees began to crumple to dust. The birds ceased to sing, and vanished. The air was deadly still. The nothingness spread, taking the grass and the picnic things--and the people. As darkness filled the image, the familiar faces of family and friends faded and disappeared. He watched, still drawn to it, from his distant place, as the black nothingness consumed everything, even himself. In the darkness, the emptiness covered him in a deep strangling fog. Even after waking, it had not gone. He sat at his desk, pen in hand, but could not draw. It was too distant, too far gone for him to see. He'd been in this place for a long time. He sat frozen in the blackness of his grief unable to move. Then, a noise jarred him back to the room and the desk. His pen dropped and he stared at the blank paper. He'd always been able to let the images flow onto the paper, even the most painful ones of his life. Now, he could not make his fingers move. But someone was tapping on the door. He recognized Lonnie's voice, and he silently stood and walked to the door. Hesitating, not wanting to let the terrible new world inside, he opened it. ***** Lonnie's eyes were red and swollen, her face pale, but someone had asked about James. She hadn't seen much of him, but he'd only tolerated this place before and now he could not go. She worried about him. What if she had been younger and somehow her own dreams had been ended like this? Would much matter to her then? He stood at the door, lost and bewildered. He knew, she could tell. Something had reached into his world and destroyed every hope. She noticed the pad and pen, a dribble of spilled ink all that was on the page. He liked to show her his drawings. If he could not draw he must have given up. But she knew that was wrong. She was a nurse with a job to do, and perhaps that would help. But James was smart and young and resourceful. He would have a place in this terrible new world if he could find it. Perhaps it might be his art, but he had to have something. That was what she had learned from Bashir that night. He and the others had had a hope, and it kept them alive. He had been able to do something for the others, and perhaps it had helped with the despair. James would be lost without something to matter. But now he was just lost and she put her arms around him. He melted into her arms. She held him,letting him cling to her. Perhaps she was his mother and he was a small child. It didn't matter. She didn't know if it helped him or her more, but for a moment the grief was shared. She couldn't cry. He crumpled against her, sobbing into her shirt, and she surrounded him with her arms. She pulled him to a chair and let him fall into her lap. She didn't know how long they stayed that way, his sobs shaking his body while she stroked his hair. Her own heart was breaking and she was terribly afraid of the future, but she knew she had a place in it. James did not. She looked at the pile of sketch books he'd put at the edge of his table. Somehow, a place must be made for him in this world. She would find a way. He'd stopped crying, and fallen asleep. She pulled him to his feet and walked him, half aware, to his bed. He crawled inside the covers without prompting, and she pulled off his shoes before she tucked him in. For a moment she stood as he rolled himself into a ball and fell into a deep sleep. She was tempted to look at his book, just to see what had thrown him into awareness, but did not. It would be trespassing. Perhaps the invaders would not care, but she already understood that the only respect they would get was that which they gave themselves. She went home, after staring around the room and closing the door behind her. She still wanted to cry, alone where she could let out her own pain. But the tears did not come. To allow them was to open a door she had closed that night. James slept, but she could not. She lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, her mind full of ideas for him. She could not think of herself. In one lost boy's life, she had found her strength. ***** For hours they had been making rations. Miles and his assistant, one of the Bajoran engineers, had filled crate after empty crate until there were only a few left. He knew that this mattered. He had come to share Willman's view that it should have started a lot earlier. But he was tired of rations. What he wanted most of all was a plate of real food. Sitting to his side was a half-empty crate, filling slowly with spare parts of every sort, contributed from any source they had. Nobody knew if it would be taken away, but they had to try. Dumping a load of rations into a new bin, he estimated ten or so more loads before this one was full. He hoped it would be enough for later. But he didn't allow himself to think of that now. He had this job to do and he let it shut out all the pain. "Pretty soon we'll be done," he said, little conversation having been exchanged all day. His assistant spoke Standard, both having removed their communicators. Sisko had encouraged that, since eventually they'd have to learn how to understand each other without them. The young man was quite and rather withdrawn. Miles knew he'd been from a village the Cardassians had controlled. "That is unfortunate," he said. There was an uneasy silence. Miles knew how the Cardassians had used food to control when other ways didn't work. "Any place else we can put more rations?" he asked. "We must ask," came the cautious reply. "I will spend as much time as I must on this task." Miles thought he had a good point. They would need as much stored as possible. He'd ask Sisko as soon as he could. But the ship was due any time. "I'll find out. I'm keeping you to that promise." The Bajoran stopped, then nodded. "It is soon," he said softly. Then, he turned to Miles and looked at him with grieving eyes. "Sir, has there been any word on Bajor? I understand there has been more communication coming in." Miles had heard the rumor too. He'd been to see Sisko to see if he could get anything out of him, but the Captain had said it wasn't about Bajor. Sisko seemed annoyed, and Miles had decided to leave him alone. "If it was they wouldn't say. It was probably about this transition," he said, grimly. "Sellout, if you ask me. I just might give them this uniform back on my own." His assistant said nothing at first. "You and others. Most have already ceased to wear it." He paused, looking at Miles. "I would not choose to be a part of this transition team." Miles was about to agree when the remote comm system in the warehouse beeped, and he flipped it on. Since the people on Cyrus hadn't used translators, it simply relayed Dax's voice. "Are you done yet?" she said in her working voice. "They are already unloading supplies." He looked at the crates. "Not yet. I'll be there in an hour." "Are these the last ones?" he ask the Bajoran. "I believe so." "Good. We've got to finish this. We don't want them to see what we've been doing." The two men continued to fill crates until they were full, both hoping a place would be found for much more before it was too late. ***** The beginning of the end of their world came in a runabout. In the sky above, a ship orbited that could take them all away. But instead, because it was not allowed, it would leave behind a cargo of goods, and process all the legalities before it took its leave. They would remain, Sisko thought, because there was no choice. If just one of the people from Cyrus or DS9 were beamed aboard, the Flanders would never make it home. If not destroyed, its crew would be taken prisoner. And those left behind on Cyrus would be punished for the attempt. That was the general nature of the messages O'Brien had ask about. He hoped to gather his people before the end to make sure they understood. But the exchanges and supplies would help to reinforce the message. He didn't like it. He could tell that Vance was even more angry. But there was nothing to be done. The tired voice on the other side of the comm line had made that quite plain. Sisko hadn't asked how many other times he'd repeated it to the rest of those abandoned by the war. They'd also been briefed on the Dominion's plans for them. No one would be moved offplanet, but supplies would be brought for the transition. There would be enough food until the Dominion's own supplies could reach them. There were plenty of building materials for them to make shelter for everyone. But no one could leave. That had been repeated too often to be ignored. The ban on standard Federation technology was also made official. There would be no replicators or communicators. Medical equipment with advanced technology would be taken. Even the common household toys and tools which used the same technology would be gone. They had been much more specific than the earlier warning. Starfleet had stressed this rather forcefully. The Dominion was absolutely firm about that rule. To break it would invite the Jem'Hadar. As he watched the shuttle land, Sisko remembered Vance's remarks about hidden supplies and hoped they had not set themselves up for disaster. The Dominion would treat them as a captive colony, and as long as the stated rules were followed they would remain untouched. They would be dependent on the Dominion for food, medicines and general daily supplies. These could be withdrawn at the whim of whoever administered the area. Sisko hated the situation, and feared it would lead to something much worse, but could do nothing about it. He even understood why the Federation had betrayed so many of its own, but could not keep away the bitterness. He was sure the Dominion wanted something more than they'd said. He was even more certain that no one there would like it. The war had been brief and utterly destructive. Everything in the vicinity of the battle had been destroyed, including several major homeworlds. There stood a swath of destruction in the middle of what had been the Federation that was now a line of truce. Both sides had had major losses. Resources had been stretched beyond their ability to replace immediately. It was in the interest of both to call a truce. Of course, the Federation intended to rescue them. Someday, when they could break the Dominion line, liberation would come. But that day might be a long time coming, and in the meanwhile the whole world would change for them forever. A deal had been struck, giving the Dominion legal control of the territory it already had. There would be a long term cease-fire while both sides rebuilt their forces. The freedom of every person in the area was buying Federation survival. The analyst in Sisko could see the practicality of it. The Dominion could resupply itself without interference through the wormhole, but they underestimated the Federation. Given time to recover, the Federation/Klingon fleet could be back up to strength in a surprisingly short time. And the Dominion would have dozens of captive colonies to supply, making a longterm strain on their own resources. It was as likely as not to make for a stable border. The only problem was, they just happened to be on the wrong side of it. Deep in his own thoughts, he watched as the shuttle doors opened. ***** It was a little larger than the runabouts on DS9, but of the same basic design. Commander Garnet and his five aids emerged from it shortly, all dressed in crisp Starfleet uniforms. A short way ahead a crowd of people had gathered. None of them were in uniform. Garnet surveyed the crowd, noting the suspicion and hostility it was radiating. He had been less than happy about this assignment, and almost regretted not turning it down. Better the admirals and politicians do their own dirty work. Personally, Garnet would have fought until the last ship was lost rather than sign away so many people's lives. A tall black man and a middle aged white man were approaching him. As they came near, he moved ahead of his assistants. Out of immediate earshot of anyone, they met. "I'm Ben Sisko." said the black man. "I'm Vance." "Good. Stanley Garnet. We need a place for a private talk, gentlemen. We have a lot to do and it has to be done in only a few days." They had settled on the inner office of the communications building. It was a little cozy, but he preferred it that way. None of his aides could protest not being included in the conversation. "Gentlemen, I wish to extend my sympathies, to you and all your people. I didn't want this assignment, but considering the situation, I think it is perhaps better that someone who will give you the proper respect do this. It won't change anything, but at least I'm not being so cold about it as some of my counterparts." Sisko looked like he could see the point. His face was impassive, but the eyes brightened a little at his sentiments. "Thank you," Sisko said softly, looking away. Garnet just nodded. "Now, like I said we have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. The first matter is the supplies. We need to know where you want them. We can beam them there but remember it should be a relatively large area." "That could be a problem," said Vance. "All the large buildings are being used for storage or people already." "Okay, we'll take a look around when we're done here. And the building supplies for shelters we're sending will be here in two days. We need a place for them to unload as well. They will deliver their goods and be gone, so we can't delay them. You need to consider where you want to build." Vance sighed, a haunted look in his eyes. "The area where the tents are is where I'd recommend. It won't flood in early spring and won't get inundated in snow in the winter." A look of absolute despair came and went on his face. Garnet nodded. "Like I said, you have two days to decide. "Now, the really important part. I need a list of everybody here, with some kind of identification. They want DNA tags on all of you". Sisko was visibly shaken before retreating behind his mask. "Our records already have them." "For some of you. Not the non-human population and not the families. We are having difficulty getting access to Dr. Bashir's records from the station. And we need it very soon. Also, clothing sizes for the clothes packets. I'm hoping to do the exchange tomorrow." Garnet noted something on his notes. "Does this involve only military personnel?" asked Sisko. "This is my version. If I have to do it, I do it my way. I don't want anybody getting frostbite in the winter because they were a civilian." Sisko sighed, somehow resigned. "I can see we're lucky you took the job." "What I need today is a place for everybody here to meet, at least everybody who is mobile enough. Those on duty we'll catch individually. There will be time for questions as well as a briefing on the currently sad state of Starfleet. And I have materials available for letters home, for those who have somebody to write to. We can work on our list at the meeting too. Basically, that is pretty much what we're here to do." ***** The little colony had three replicators, a larger one now installed in the local square, and a portable one intended for field use. The third was intended for duplication of special parts, and could not produce organic material. Rationing had been closed, at least for now. The two food replicators had been set up and the populace was free to make whatever they wanted at last. It was a last fling and they all knew it. In a few days, the replicators would be gone. They would enjoy them up until then. . ***** Miles had waited for the replicator, bringing a tray along for Julian. He knew the replicators would be long gone before his friend could go for himself. He held the tray with great care as he came up the hill, making sure nothing spilled, and paused to check at the door. But Lonnie stopped him, eyeing it with great suspicion. Miles had noticed how she hovered since Julian had spent a long night talking about old nightmares. She was at the door, Miles assumed, ready to send any of Garnet's men away. She looked him over closely before letting him come inside. He waited until they were past the door, then stopped. "How is he doing?" he asked, a little reluctant to hear bad news. But he'd rather know before he saw Julian. "He's doing better from the new medicine, but he's very groggy from the pain meds. We'd like him to sleep, and the cleanings are painful." She lifted the cover on the tray. "But I think he'd like some soup." "I heard about Garnet's man," he said, watching her eyes. He saw a flash of anger, quickly banished. One of Garnet's men had asked that Julian be awakened so a form could be completed. Lonnie had not only refused but personally thrown him out of the hospital. She sounded pleased. "Dr. Willman has issued orders that none of his patients are to be disturbed by them. But we keep watch anyway." "Garnet's okay, but some of the rest of them . . . . " He stopped when they reached Julian's bed. Bashir was not sleeping, but vaguely staring at the ceiling, reacting only occasionally to things around him. "He was sedated for the procedure this morning," she whispered. "But he'll eat if you feed him. He may fall asleep on you, but he wakes up fairly soon. Just get him to eat what you can." ***** Miles sat by his friend, waiting for him to notice the spoon. He tried to concentrate on the food. When there was nothing to distract his mind his thoughts returned to the wife and children left behind on Bajor. They had been alive when the Antelope left the area, but that had been over two weeks before. There was no guarantee the Jem'Hadar hadn't killed them since. When he was busy, he could stand the uncertainty. The soup wasn't enough to cover the worry but sitting by the bed slipping Julian a few sips when he was awake was at least a physical, tangible thing to do. After almost an hour of sips, Julian finally responded. Miles noticed he was stirring around. His eyes came open and almost managed to focus. "More plez." came a soft request. "Tasze gud." said the heavily sedated doctor. Miles gave him a few more spoonfuls of the soup before Julian fell asleep. But Miles sat in the crowded, haunted room and waited for him to wake. Julian took two hours to finish the little bowl of soup, but Miles brought another in the evening. Sitting by his friend, he was at least able to make a small difference. He couldn't keep his children fed or hold his wife. He couldn't bring them out of the darkness. But the soup was Julian's favorite, and at least he could give him a last chance to remember before they took everything away. ***** Garnet was conducting the meeting himself, maintaining the same somber but practical demeanor he had in the earlier private meeting with Sisko and Vance. The large crowd was silent, listening to the presentation. Just as with the clothing exchange, he had done this his way. He had added more details about the frail state of Starfleet, and defined the conditions under which the cease-fire was drawn. Normally, civilians were not briefed in such detail, if at all. But this was Stanley Garnet, and if he had to do this job, he would do it as fairly as he knew. And he would not lie to them. He turned to the clothing packs. "Now, for those of you who are former military, either Starfleet or Bajoran, we need your uniform back. You'll exchange it for a large packet of various seasonal clothing. For those of you not former military, the clothing pack will also be provided. In the case of children, we need the age of the child as well as the size so we may provide clothing in enough ranges so there is something to grow into." There was a murmur in the crowd prompted by the reminder. Someone had a question. It was relayed to him by one of his spotters. He requested that the man ask it himself. "Sir," said the man with only a slight hesitancy, "You're making this sound like we should prepare to be here a long time. I realize that we can't expect rescue tomorrow, but this *is* just a cease-fire. We can expect to be liberated once Starfleet has a chance to recover. They would not just abandon us." Stanley Garnet paused before speaking. "The politicians and the admirals will tell you that in time they will retake this area, because they have to. They will say it because somewhere deep inside is still a conscience and it hurts them to lie, to call a surrender a cease-fire, to call a no-man's-land a demilitarized zone. Somewhere deep inside they know that what they do will forever change the lives of people who gave them loyalty and trust. So, they make statements they know cannot be carried out to salve their own consciences. But I am neither an admiral nor a politician. I was given an assignment I didn't want because I didn't believe in it. But I chose to take it because I can at least show a greater measure of humanity to those the politicians and admirals have chosen to abandon. I dislike it, but can accept that I cannot take any of you with me. Were I to do that, my ship would be destroyed and you would discover what happens when the Jem'Hadar come. But I will give you all I can to at least make your physical comforts more liveable. I cannot help you with the adjustments you will all have to make to living under domination, but I will not have left you with a lie." There was neither anger nor tears, just the stunned realization that this could last a long time, and a great respect for the man who was willing to say it. They gave the DNA tags and filled out the forms and listed the ages of their children, and wandered away to mourn for the future which was no longer theirs. . ***** end, Legacy, Year 1, Part 1-2, Chapter 6