Surrender, Part 1c 

                            Chapter 7

                               ***

Two days ago, rations abruptly went back to what they'd been.  Nobody explained.  It just *was*.  We were half-sick trying to eat it all the first day, and still feel so full after a meal. 

It's nice to look forward to being full. 

They must have caught Odo.  It's the only believeable reason 
we're being fed full rations 
again, and even Ezri has noticed how hard it is for me to sleep.  
Only the rhythmic waves of the sea and the bird song of the 
forest lull me under.  

Each morning I have expected them to take me away and make their demands.  A few others understand.  Miles has kept a watch for special guards passing by while I eat.  Kira keeps looking at me, in support or pity I don't know. 

Ezri knows too, but won't put it into words.  She knows the price if I refuse as well.  She's been quiet the last few days, tired and worn as well as the toll from nearly a month of meager rations is starting to show. 

Each day when I return I listen, hoping to catch the mood of the room, and grateful that I spent the day treating their damaged goods, knowing that I am on borrowed time. 

But for the others things are getting a little better.  The work isn't as hard as it was and nobody pushes them all that much.  With more food it might even be easy. 

Miles and his crew are substantially done.  He's almost back to his old job, fixing that which breaks, which even now is a constant stream of work.  If he's lucky they'll need him and the others for a long time. 

The only ones who always get back late are the communications team, Realand and his wife and Elaine Silman.  Ezri takes care of Tessie, and occasionally they get back so late she ends up staying the night in our quarters.  Ezri is falling in love with the child, even without Jadzia's help. 

Dinner has come and gone tonight, everyone but them back to eat it.  But we were forbidden to keep any bowls for them.  They are out of luck. 

Realand struts in first, just before the reading.  The two women, less sure of themselves, follow him without looking at anyone.  They all sit down expecting dinner. 

They're looking around, trying not to be obvious.  Jackson is 
sitting with his wife, nearby, waiting for the reading.  He looks 
over at them.  "The cart left a while ago.  Sorry." 

Realand stares at Carl, annoyed.  Neither of them like each other and neither bothers to pretend they do.  "And I hope you didn't *forget* to save something behind for us," he snipes. 

Carl glares back.  "Maybe I did." 

Realand is furtively looking around, hungry and tired and seeing no dinner.  He's starting to worry.  "I don't see anything.  Quit the games.  It's been a long day."  He isn't so strident now, just hungry. 

"No games.  They wouldn't let us.  From now on, at least for you, 
if you aren't done, you miss dinner."  Carl is just repeating what 
the guards had told us, but he's enjoying it too. 

"I see," says Realand, trying to hide his disappointment and failing miserably at it.  The women just stand, backing off disappointed but without bothering to argue with Carl. 

Carl has been very busy today.  He got back just in time.  A power relay failed and he'd been working on fixing it all day.  He's tired and dirty and has had enough of Realands general attitude that we are pushovers. 

He blocks Realand from getting to his quarters.  Nobody bothers to stop him.  It's free entertainment and nobody particularly likes Realand anyway. 

"If you worked a little more you'd be home in time for dinner," says Carl calmly. 

Realand fumes.  He and his team have been carrying on a deliberate delaying action, stalling as long as they can, taking twice as long as the least trained lieutenant would have been allowed by Sisko before.  I watch him as he stares at Carl, arrogance creeping into his look.  I wonder if he knows just how dangerous a game they are playing, if its really worth the risk that they will find someone locked in the dark below more than willing to do it quickly.  Only his expert knowledge of the system has kept him from ending up there.  

As for the women, I think he bullies them into going along.  At 
least his wife.  Elaine Silman had a daughter murdered by them.  
She has every reason to cooperate.  I suspect she has her own 
agenda. 

Realand sticks his face directly into Carl's.  "You mean scurry about like little rats like you do." 

Carl does not get angry.  He's too afraid of anger.  He's too worried his son will explode some day to tempt fate.  He's the opposite of Realand.  They gave him the power relay because he works fast and accurate. 

"I take care of my family."  Marta is nowhere in sight, but Carl glances back where she's hiding.  "I don't let my wife get sick and beat up my daughter." 

Realand takes a swing and Carl dodges it.  "I have no daughter," spits out the older man, now livid. 

People stand back, since he's got his hand in a fist.  Carl doesn't move.  "You don't deserve one either." 

Realand has his arm raised ready to deliver the punch.  Carl lets him, but moves out of the way.  Cassie Realand has moved forward trying to stop the fight and the punch lands on her cheek.  It's a hard punch and she falls. 

Realand stands there looking at his fist.  Jackson helps his wife off the floor.  "Please, we'll go now," she pleads to Carl. 

She's feeling her cheek gingerly, and Carl tows her over to me.  "Any bleeding?" he asks.  

She puts up with my examination.  Her husband glares at Carl, but doesn't interfere.  "No, she's all right.  But it's going to be sore." 

She disappears into their quarters.  Carl strolls up to Realand, still glaring.  "Isn't it more fun to hit her in front of everyone?" he asks. 

He lets Realand go.  He stomps off toward their quarters, barely under control.  Miles stops him before he gets too far.  "She better not have any more bruises tomorrow," he warns.  Realand shoves Miles out of the way and goes inside. 

The floor show over, Realand and his attitude properly humbled, we get ready to read.  Elaine has been standing back, just watching.  She comes over to Ezri and I shaking her head.  "We got a special warning today."  She points her finger at her temple, her hand imitating a rifle.  I involuntarily shiver.  "We were warned to hurry up next time or it might go off."  She stares straight ahead, avoiding our eyes, hiding something.  "Kevin's a little shaken, though he wouldn't admit it." 

Ezri nods.  "Miles means it about the bruises." 

"He'll quit.  He's just waiting to get inside where nobody can see how scared he is."  She smiles, a sad one.  "Is she in your quarters?"  

"I put her to bed an hour ago, after dinner," says Ezri. 

"Well, leave her there.  I might as well hear the book."  She sighs, her face softening for a time.  "She looks so like Catherine did then." 

But the anger never leaves, the coldness that has filled her voice when she speaks of her daughter since her death.  Ezri watches as she finds a place to sit near the back. 

I wonder when Tessie will become a part of our family, if her grandmother's plan will backfire or succeed, and only wish she could hide it a little better. 

Miles takes his place to read.  "Last day for the Martians," he says.  He reads, "Chapter 8, Dead London." 

I keep wishing the Artilleryman had not been such a dreamer.  If only his dream had mattered more, if the tunnel had become a reality.  It was such a wonderful dream for a world left in ruin to build anew.  But now, the dreamer lost in his dream, our man has gone to seek the fate of the world. 

London is a city of the dead.  "Here I came once more upon the black powder in the streets and upon dead bodies.  I saw altogether about a dozen in the length of the Fulham Road.  They have been dead many days, so that I hurried quickly past them.  The black powder quickly covered them over, and softened their outlines.  One or two had been disturbed by dogs."  They are so clean here, I think.  The dead are taken and gone.  Scalman and family are ghosts now, their rooms empty and deserted, left to them for now. 

But there are places it is almost as if everyone had simply gone.  "Where there was no black power, it was curious like a Sunday in the City, with the closed shops, the houses locked up and the blinds drawn, the desertion, and the stillness.  In some places plunderers had been at work, but rarely at other than the provision and wine shops."  Food and wine, to fill the stomach and fool the mind, were what mattered for the survivors.  We have no wine.  Perhaps for some it would be easier if we did. 

He continues into London, astonished by the stillness.  "But it was not the stillness of death--it was the stillness of suspense, of expectation.  At any time the destruction that had already singed the north-western borders of the metropolis, and had annihilated Ealing and Kilburn, might strike among these smoking ruins.  It was a city condemned and derelict . . ." 

He goes further into London, finding the more he walks the cleaner the area.  In the heart of the city is neither black powder and nor death, just more emptiness.  And a curious noise, a mournful distant wailing.  Drawn towards it, the wailing takes possession of him.  

"It was already past noon.  Why was I wandering alone in the city of the dead?  Why was I alone when all London was lying in state, and in its black shroud?  I felt intolerably lonely.  My mind ran on old friends that I had forgotten for years.  I thought of the poisons in the chemists' shops, of the liquors the wine merchants stored; I recalled the two sodden creatures of despair, who so far as I knew, shared the city with myself . . ." 

I think of that vial, still hidden and undisturbed, and Ezri's anger at Scalman.  It was an option, once considered.  Now, would I dare to take it?  Would I be demeaning myself to being them should I take Ezri with me?  I sit in this room alone, waiting for the day they come and change everything.  Even Ezri cannot understand, or will not.  All I need do is refuse and this will be as much a place of the dead as our man's London. 

He drags himself onwards, finding the collapsed hood of a Martian machine in the street, screaming out its mournful cry.  But he is drawn onward, as night falls and the illusion of life falls away and London becomes truly a place of the dead. 

"London about me gazed at me spectrally.  The windows in the white houses were like the eye socket of skulls.  About me I found a thousand noiseless enemies moving.  Terror seized me, a horror of my temerity.  In front of me the road became pitchy black as though it was tarred and I saw a contorted shape lying across the pathway."  His courage fails and he runs through the night, down streets, past places he'd run a lifetime before.  As the dawn overtook his panic, and resolve overtook him, to die, to end all of the pain, as the remains of a third Martian comes into view. 

"And I would save myself even the trouble of killing myself.  I marched on recklessly towards this Titan, and then, as I drew nearer and the light grew, I saw that a multitude of black birds was circling and clustering around the hood.  At that my heart gave a bound, and I began running along the road." 

All around is the red weed, this being the Martians main camp.  Miles voice fades away, and I am wading through the river, the weed reaching above my head.  My rifle is in my hand, the Martian hood resting near, and I crawl up the bank concealed in the red living cover, coming closer and closer, waiting until there is hardly any distance, pointing it directly at the resting hood, firing . . . 

The fire explodes around me.  A rain of amber goo falls about, covering the red weed, drying to a dark grey residue which covers everything.  But the fire fades.  I stand looking at the grey ash, now mounds of it all around.  I am alone now, the naked bones of those who had lived here the only sign that it had ever been more than a place of the dead.  I am free, the ash blowing in a gentle breeze, but so alone.  The bodies are strewn about as if tossed like toys.  The wind begins to howl.  The ash chokes me and I cannot breath.  But what does it matter?  What is life if nothing is left, all the living taken as a cost? 

Ezri is tapping me on the shoulder.  "Julian, you awake?" 

I shake my head, and the dust, the weed, the wrenching pain of my choking disappears and I am back here, locked in a cage.  But Miles is reading, his voice slow and careful, the way he must have learned to read when he read stories to Molly. 

"The torment was over.  Even that day the healing would begin.  To survivors of the people scattered over the country--leaderless, lawless, foodless, like sheep without a shepherd--the thousand who had fled by sea would return; the pulse of life, growing stronger and stronger, would beat again in the empty streets and pour across the vacant squares.  Whatever destruction was done, the hand of the destroys was stayed." 

And life poured back into London, to everywhere.  I look around this room, to these tired, desperate people, and wonder how many dream of that day, but only as a dream.  Even for Well's Earth, the dead do not rise, the friends gone and maimed inside forever by the brutality visited upon them are not resurrected, and the reminder of the time, and its terror will live forever even past the last moment of their lives. 

                               *** 

Everybody is back early today, even Realand and his crew.  They were not nearly as arrogant, Realand saying not a word, but his chief interest was dinner. 

But dinner isn't here yet.  The cart hasn't found its way to us, though our stomachs are ready and have been for a while.  

The grumbling is getting on everyone's nerves, and somebody stands.  "We could read early.  We'll break when they show up with the food." 

It is agreed.  Brenda is next and reads with gusto tonight.  Her moods are very obvious when she reads.  Sometimes she is like today, as if everything was bright and wonderful.  Other times she is hardly audible and her voice drags. 

The new book is a spy novel, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, drawn from the harsh, unforgiving world of real spies.  As she reads the beginning, I keep thinking about Garak for it is about the world in which he lived.  Even the disgrace that befalls Lemas as he loses all his agents to an East German spy master reminds me of my friend.  I never discovered what had so turned Tain against his son that Garak was forced into exile.  For a long time I wondered if Garak's expulsion was merely an illusion to allow Garak to stay behind. 

But then Tain died, and I was sitting across from he and Garak in Barracks 6, and I knew his secret.  There was no subterfuge in Tain's cruel dying words to his son.  It echoed my own father's disappointment much too closely. 

I'm hungry, half-listening to the book as I follow Lemas' decline, wondering what would have become of me should Sloan have succeeded in trapping me in that world as well.  But I will never know.  Both of them are dead.  This book is as close as I will ever come to knowing their world. 

The empty room remains unused.  Nobody will go near it.  I remember Garak's comment that Tain would miss his funeral.  We don't get them either.  Maybe their ghosts are still there, waiting.  

We will let them alone. 

But tonight, dinner still missing and the reading in a break, the gate opens and four people are shoved inside.  They look lost and disoriented.  The head guard gruffly addresses us.  "For the empty room," he says before he marches off. 

They stand there looking befuddled, staring at us as we look them over.  I don't envy them.  The two children are perhaps ten or eleven.  They won't have to stay behind when their parents are sent out for work. 

The man finally looks around him.  Kira is the closest to him.  He looks at her, asks, "Could you tell us where we are?" 

"Deep Space 9," she says.  Everyone is watching them. 

"It was a long trip," says the daughter, her expression very grim, her eyes stunned. 

"Have you eaten?" asks one of our women.  "The cart is due." 

Finally, the gate creaks open and the cart is pushed through.  I watch as the new people follow it into our section, unable to stop staring at the food.  We make room for them near the middle where everybody can hear should they have something to say. 

We still get news.  But it's often rumors based on what someone saw or overheard just in bits and pieces.  We're all anxious to discover what they know.  It has to be real.  

But there is something we have to do first.  Realand looks at 
Miles, waiting.

Miles steps forward, a small, sharp piece of metal in his hand.  
"We have to see some blood," he says.

Hesitantly, though without fuss, they submit to a blood 
screening and pass.

The mood shifts towards curiosity rather than suspicion.

But all they know is the food.  We thought we were hungry, but 
they cannot see anything else but dinner.  We let them eat, 
concentrating on our own dinners, wondering how bad things had 
been that they appear to see this as luxury.  We leave them in 
peace.  The man casts a hopeful look at the cart but we don't get 
seconds.  He follows it as it rolls out the door. 

Keiko moves closer and introduces herself.  The wife looks a little uncertain, but she gives their names.  "I'm Catherine, and this is my husband Daniel and our children Bayla and Willy." 

I glance at Elaine, stiffening at the name.  She stares straight at her hand, clutching something tight. 

No last names.  They have been moved around a bit, I guess.  We've heard that people get used to keeping it simple after a while.  We know we can not ask where they are from.  But the room grows very quiet and we are all on edge, needing to know something first hand and real as much as the unnamed narrator wandering in dead London. 

Daniel picks up on the mood, looking up, speaking softly.  "We are civilians.  We lived on Deneba before they ripped it apart." 

His voice is soft, haunted by memories.  But his news is stunning.  Denaba was inside the Federations most heavily protected core.  We knew the Klingons were on the verge of being forced into a surrender.  We didn't know how bad off the Federation was.  Or maybe we didn't want to. 

I remember that Kira insisted we couldn't give up.  How do you not give up when your side is so near defeat?  How do you keep hoping when you know there will never be a liberation? 

Perhaps her grandparents could have told us.  But she grew up long after it was done.  She never knew what had been lost. 

The children pick up the families empty bowls, returning them back to the cart.  Bayla scrapes all the traces of mush from the bowls before she drops them in the bin. 

They look around, nervous.  "What's it like here?" asks Catherine. 

"We work for them," says someone behind me, without expression. 

The new family nods, unperturbed or surprised.  Daniel, still uneasy, adds, "I don't know if you've heard much of what's happened.  We don't know a lot but if we can help ... " 

The questions begin, piling on one another too quickly and muddled for any of them to be answered.  

Kira stands, signaling silence.  "One at a time." 

It's hard to restrain ourselves, but we try.  We ask about everything.  

"Have you seen any Breen?" 

"No, only Jem'Hadar."  

"Have you heard about the Klingons?"  

"Just rumors, but they were almost completely overrun." 

"What were they doing with captured territory?"  

"We were trying to evacuate, but got caught before the battle was over.  We don't know.  But I worry about our friends, the ones that stayed." 

We ask about Earth and the Federation and Catherine starts to 
cry.  Daniel looks very grim.  "We were trying to evacuate to 
there when they got us," he says, as if it was hard to say the 
words.  "But I wondered why.  Even without the Breen, they can 
pound us until all we have left is ruins.  Maybe," he pauses, 
"maybe we were hoping the Federation wouldn't let it go that 
far."  He looks around the room.  "Though if they haven't 
surrendered yet, it's probably too late." 

So we know.  

I think of the people in Surrey, running towards the illusion of safety that was London. 

Anxious to change the subject, one of the women says, "We have readings.  We just started the new book.  I guess you could catch up." 

Daniel is still staring at the cage.  "I haven't seen a book in a long time," he says. 

Silence fills the room. 

People are hoping they'll be a surrender.  Somehow, I doubt it will make much of a difference in the end.  With a surrender, more will be alive to live like this.  Perhaps they should be glad the Federation is still fighting, that the Dominion will hold fewer of us as slaves and those that survive might matter a little bit more. 

Miles breaks the spell when he hesitantly offers to show them to their quarters before we read.  They don't ask how the rooms got emptied.  We don't mention it.  They will know why soon enough, even if the ghosts have gone.  But somehow I doubt it will matter too much. 

They go to their quarters, awed by the grimy little rooms when they emerge.  Hesitantly they sit close to one another, nervous among strangers. 

"You can borrow the book to catch up," Miles tells them.  "Generally, we trade off reading and we always finish the chapter." 

They nod, moving close, almost as if in a unit.  But I watch them as they fall under the spell of the words.  Lemas is allowed a last decline before his secret draws him into a hidden life and makes sure, however it works, that nothing would ever be the same for him again. 

The chapter ends, and we retire to our beds.  Daniel and family can hardly wait, even with the words dancing in their heads. 

We already know that nothing, no matter what, will ever be the same for us either. 

                               *** 

Often of late, I'm the first to be taken to my work.  But today everyone else but the now very pregnant Cindy and her charges are gone.  I wait by the gate, growing very nervous.  The First and two other guards arrive and I'm ordered to go with them. 

This will not be a normal day.  I am almost grateful it has finally come. 

We pass through the Promenade, but now the shops are gone.  They have used the space for other things, storage bays, offices and the like.  Quark's is a warehouse. 

I wonder if Quark is still alive.  I force myself not to think of it. 

We pass Ops, and enter the old wardroom.  I expect Weyoun.  But instead there is a changeling.  It isn't Odo, or the female.  This one wears the same sort of half-formed face as the others, but I have never seen it. 

The moment of truth has come.  I only wish I knew what to do. 

He stands.  I can see he is sick, but much less so than the female.  "Human," I'm addressed.  "You will cure us of the disease as you have cured Odo." 

I don't know if I should speak.  The Jem'Hadar are standing ready to shoot if I appear to threaten anyone.  Or, perhaps, that would be better.  "I have no records to work with," I say, hoping they like my tone of voice. 

There is a padd on the table in front of me.  "Pick it up," orders one of the Jem'Hadar.  I retrieve it very cautiously.  I see a fragment of a file, and can tell it was one of those with personal notes I'd taken.  So much for that excuse. 

The Martians died too late, but there was a second chance for the survivors.  If I do this will I deny us that chance? 

"This was recovered from the computer system left on this 
station.  It was from that which we learned your identity.  You 
will cooperate or your friends and family will be destroyed." 

They aren't bothering with subtlety.  Destroyed.  At least it would be fast.  I have no answer for him.  But then I have an idea.  "This partial document was my original formula.  I did quite a bit of experimentation before I found a successful cure.  I will have to work on it." 

He looks at me, or more towards me as he wouldn't deign to look at a solid prisoner.  "You claim you do not remember." 

I can't read him.  I hope he believes me.  "Not precisely.  I discovered I would have to adjust it to each individual."  I try to think of how Sloan would say it.  He would know how to lie to them.  I try to be like Sloan for a while. 

"Remember your friends, then.  You will be taken to a lab where you will work each day until you have rediscovered the cure." 

And what then, I wonder?  Do they dispose of me?  Do they send me back to keeping the other slaves in one piece?  

I keep my head down, don't look at him.  I don't want my revulsion to show.  He is pealing here and there.  I wonder what happened to the female who had been here before. 

The Jem'Hadar First motions for me to leave.  I step ahead of them carefully, not looking back.  But there is something nagging me about the file.  I'd only glanced at it, and yet I don't remember parts of it.  I keep my face blank while I'm brought to a door. 

I enter the room alone.  The guards follow, checking out the room, but leave immediately.  I shudder when I see where I am.  Months earlier, I guess months, this place had been full of wounded before the Jem'Hadar had murdered them. 

I stand for a moment, remembering.  How can I cooperate with 
murderers?  If I don't, will I be no better than them? 

At least they'd changed things, moved most of the medical section to a corner and made it a big lab.  I have the best of Federation technology at my call, as well as other things.  There is a small alcove apparently set up for cloning.  I sit down on a comfortable chair, savoring its softness, and study the padd. 

I consider the bits of formula.  I know the correct one without the padd.  But this bears no resemblance to Odo's cure.  Some of it is right, the personal notes I'd taken, but none of the parts of formula. 

It couldn't be a mistake.  Someone created and hid it deliberately, intending it to be found.  I know of only one organization that might have done that.  I'm intensely curious what this formula really does. 

The door opens, and I tense up a little.  But it is another prisoner dressed the same as myself.  I'm stunned.  I know him.  Or *knew* him.  He committed suicide rather than reveal the cure.  He deliberately pauses near the cloning alcove and nods suggestively.  

I'm astonished.  But as Sloan glances towards the alcove I understand.  31 takes the best technology they can find.  It makes perfect sense that they would take advantage of the Dominion's cloning methods too.  I just wonder if this is the clone or the real Sloan?  Who died on DS9? 

"Sir, I did my best to restore the file.  Much of it was gone.  I hope it's enough."  There is hesitation and anxiety in his tone. 

I meet Sloan's eyes.  He's feeling me out, trying to decide if I would cure them anyway.  I hope he sees how deep the hatred runs now.  "I'm sure it will be.  Will you be helping?" 

He looks away, not meeting my gaze.  "I'm to keep you supplied with whatever you need."  Again the hesitation, almost *fear*.  Sloan's manner is so odd, so submissive, that it's hard not to react.  "Is there anything I can get you?" he asks, sounding like a child worried he isn't pleasing his parents. 

"Not right now, ugh, do you have a name?"  I try to look preoccupied by the padd, which is only partly true.  I am stunned by Sloan's manner.  Surely, it's an act.  But what if it isn't? 

"Luther," he says.  "I'll be outside if you need me."  He leaves the room, almost running away, no trace of the arrogance he had had before. 

Had they broken him, or was it an act?  Or did he know this was the last remaining hope of ever breaking free of these monsters? 

                               *** 

I have spent the whole day analyzing the padd.  I know it's not a cure; I know how to cure them.  Whatever it is, it is not complete.  I am being careful not to record anything which might show it to be a deception. 

I know I'm being watched.  I spend the day carefully arraigning 
the lab to my satisfaction and running various simulations for 
their benefit.  If I look busy, they will have no reason to doubt 
me. 

Whatever problems I had with Sloan before, I'm grateful for his help now.  I could neither cure them nor refuse to cure them.  But I suspect the answer to my dilemma lies in this padd. 

Today I almost regret having to leave the lab because don't want to go 
back.  The others will hear, and I don't know what to say when 
they ask their silent questions.  And some will not be silent.  
For most of them, I will be a reminder, but until the Founder is 
cured I'll be tolerated.  But Realand will find a way to make me 
an example.  And eventually the moment will come when I must live 
up to my role in this deception.  Then everything will be lost. 

But some things don't change.  It's been a long time since breakfast and I'm hungry.  I have memorized every detail of the padd, and Sloan and I are escorted out of the area.  

We separate, Sloan following a guard to his own group in their own cage.  But as he goes he makes a curious gesture with his hands, a spiraling of fingers.  I'd seen it before, one of the times he intruded into my life.  But now he's doing it without even noticing. 

As I walk through the gate, I wonder if somewhere out there Sloan has a hidden ship with a transporter, or if he is as trapped as I am.  

I can't describe it right, but it's different now, almost like when I discovered Tain's secret work.  We will lose, but the Dominion will not win.  We too will have that second chance granted the survivors of the heat ray and the smoke. 

I know what is on the padd now. 

I'm back unusually early, and the crews are here but few others.  Neither Miles people nor the communications people have returned, but Ezri isn't out playing with Tessie.  I wander back to our quarters, not especially surprised to find both asleep on our bed. 

Wandering back, Realand and party arrive.  I note he isn't so sure of himself anymore.  And its very early for them, even since they've started behaving. 

Elaine sits down next to me.  "I suppose you'll hear soon enough," she says.  "We may go on-line tomorrow.  The system test looked good today." 

She should be depressed and glum, especially since they'd fought back so long.  But she's confident.  Realand is the one who sits staring at the table, his wife having already retreated.  Whatever her plan, he isn't a part of it. 

Someday it will be my turn, the day I have to commit my crime.  Somehow, even if I can't like Realand even a little, I do feel for him.  But maybe, if what I suspect about the padd is right, I'll be more like Elaine. 

"What then?" I ask, wishing I could ask her how much damage the com system will do, how much faster it will end the war.  But Miles can probably tell me later. 

"We go with the others."  She takes a sip of her water, watching me.  "You left early.  We heard some rumors.  I guess one of the crews nearby got hurt, and you weren't there." 

"No, not for a while, I guess . . . "  She wants me to tell her what I'm doing, and I can't.  People will guess, rumors will confirm it, but I'm just not up to saying it.  

"I didn't even think of what we were building for them until my Catherine died.  Oh, we worked slow, just enough to keep from being locked up like they threatened.  It made us feel a little better."  She is tired, trying to cope with the last act of the play, but too calm.  "Then I realized what it is.  By now, well, it probably won't do much for them, but they will have it.  That hurts." 

"You did what you had to do," I say, wondering if she will make comparisons, or if just perhaps she'll understand my double meaning. 

She looks down, nobody watching, and there is a hint of victory in the look she gives me.  Then it vanishes.  "I didn't care until Catherine died.  Then, then it was wrong.  All of this is wrong.  We're all betraying our own." 

Except her.  No matter how much she tries it still shows.  

Realand stands, moving towards her.  "I'd be more careful what company I kept if I were you," he says, ignoring me. 

"I'll keep whatever company I want," she says, rather adamant about it.  I suspect she doesn't much like him either. 

"Suit yourself," he mutters, strolling back towards the rooms. 

"Are the rumors true?" she asks.  "Do they know? 

"Depends on the rumors, I guess," I say, putting her off. 

She doesn't give up.  "We built it for them.  Yes, we had to.  But we shouldn't have done it." 

I wonder, if Sloan had not offered me the chance to escape from this trap, if I would have done it and hated myself like Realand.  Would I have tried to find a way to make it appear to be real?  Would I have been able to shut out the reality of my choice like these people have, only to have reality crash down at the end. 

Now I won't know.  Now, thanks to an enemy I hated I have been spared.  But, like Elaine, I have to pretend, act as if I have sold my soul and take the punishment for what they believe I've done.  If I cannot make it convincing, I might as well have simply refused.  They will have lived a little while longer, but I know that Weyoun and his god will keep their promise.  The lives of everyone here are held in my hands and those of Luther Sloan.  If I try to spare myself a little pain, ease the burden of truth, I am killing them as surely as the Jem'Hadar will do when they discover my secret. 

I have to defend myself, everyone else here.  It is necessary now to play my role in this game.  "They would have found someone else.  They'd have just shipped us to Cardassia.  Most of us would be dead by now, or just dead inside." 

She watches, sighs.  "But when does it end?  When do we decide to just call ourselves theirs, bow down to statues of the Founders, and be like all those other places on the other side of the wormhole, the ones that are so scared that one day they'll do something wrong and the Jem'Hadar will come?" 

I envy them now.  But I remember Teplan, and the blight that 
punished them for insisting on fighting back.  Not everyone 
signed the treaty, watched nervously as the ships retreated and 
hoped they'd never come back.  But most of them did.  Most of the 
people on those places live ordinary lives, ate enough food, saw 
their children grow up and never saw a Jem'Hadar.  There was a 
cost, but now, given the choice--and the certainty of the cost, 
how many places in the Alpha quadrant had chosen to sign and 
counted themselves lucky? 

"There will be plenty of places here, if they give them the chance, that will be very happy to live that way if it means avoiding living like this."  It's easier to pretend with the truth.  Though I wonder if many will get that offer. 

"That's not living," she says, but Ezri comes out then, and Tessie runs to greet her grandmother. 

From now on, I'll try to avoid moments like this.  This particular one ends quickly with Tessie's enthusiasm and her grandmother's hugs.  But not all of them will be escaped so easily.  

Ezri steers me back to our quarters.  She doesn't waste any time.  "Julian, are you working on a cure?" 

"Yes," I tell her, hoping she understands.  "There wasn't a choice." 

She looks at me with curiosity.  "You know better than that.  But I think I understand.  Remember Tina and Catherine.  They didn't have any choice either." 

She doesn't like it.  She thinks I'm stalling, somehow will find 
a way out of the maze that has no exit.  She knows I could have 
made the cure today if I wanted to.  As far as she knows, from 
now on, each day could be the last, until they run out of 
patience and the gun is at my head this time.  But she would 
never forgive me if I didn't allow it to fire, if I really did cure 
them. 

Somehow I'll have to tell her, even with walls that have ears. 

I won't lose her, not to their guns or their lies. 

                               *** 

Dinner is early.  Everyone is here to eat it, even Miles and all his crew, and both Realand and I are given curious glances.  But no one says a word.  Not to either of us, at least. 

Realand makes a point of avoiding me, and I let him.  A few others are careful but on the whole its close to a normal evening. 

Then, dinner over, we proceed with the further decline of Lemas. 

Yesterday, he entered a pact with the devil.  His career and then 
his job have faded, and soon even the flat he calls home will be 
locked when his rent grows due.  His decline is rapid, first 
small dishonesties, small loans that go unpaid, late arrivals 
and early departures.  His appearance suffers and he starts to 
drink.  He becomes a loner in a profession where that is 
expected. 

Then he disappears, his vanishing connected with a large sum of 
missing money.  His few friends avoid him, uninterested in his 
constant complaints, and most write him off.  Lemas is now truly 
alone, with no money, no job, and no real prospects for a long 
run at either.  Finally, in need of any work he can get, he 
ends up at the Labour Exchange and is sent to work at a library. 

He does not get on well with Miss Crail, the woman in charge--but meets Liz.  Over supper at her flat--his own had no utilities anymore as he hadn't paid the bills, she pulls a bit of humanity out of his failure, and touches his heart. 

Ezri and I went to the beach last night, and amid the crashing of the sea and wailing of the wind, I hoped Lemas had found as good a beach as mine. 

But tonight, he pushes Liz away too, steals food, and ends up in prison. 

It is Daniel's first time to read, and at first his voice is hesitant.  But he revels in the words, and I wonder what his life had been before this place.  He uses them with such wondrous expression that he makes Lemas' dreary life, far too close to our own, into a new reality. 

"You could not keep out the taste of prison, the smell of prison uniform, the stench of prison sanitation heavily disinfected, the noises of captive men.  It was then, at night, that the indignity of captivity became urgently insufferable, it was then that Lemas longed to walk in the friendly sunshine of a London park.  It was then that he hated the grotesque steel cage that held him, had to force back the urge to fall upon the bars with his bare fists, to split the skulls of the guards and burst into the free, free space of London.  Sometimes he thought of Liz.  He would direct his mind toward her briefly like the shutter of a camera, recall for a moment the soft-hard touch of her long body, then put her from his memory.  Lemas was not a man accustomed to living on dreams." 

He stops, as the room becomes utterly still.  Not even Realand is moving, his eyes closed, lost in the story.  I feel for Lemas.  Sometimes, dreams are all you have left, and the world will grind you to dust if you don't trust in them. 

Lemas is released, and contact is made by a mysterious man. 

"Ashe was typical of that strata of mankind which conducts its human relationships according to a principle of challenge and response.  Where there was softness, he would advance; where he found resistance, retreat.  Having himself no particular opinions or tastes, he relied upon whatever conformed with those of his companion." 

Then, comes a second meeting with Control, discussing the plans for the operation he is acting as bait for, and insisting that Liz be out of the way, unwilling that she become a pawn in the game. 

If only I could do that, somehow have Ezri and all the pawns in my game sent to a safehouse in the country, if I could build an invisible shield about them that no harm could penetrate.  But Lemas can try.  I have no such chance.  No matter how desperate his life can become it is preferable to ours. 

Lemas is taken in by Ashe, with a camp bed in the drawing room.  He has nothing left, and the contacts his new friend provides draw him deeper into the game.  Down and out, he should accept, but he knows even he must object a little. 

Just as I must not be too willing to talk.  Even with the lives of all these people in the balance, Weyoun or his Founder must know my cooperation will not be easy.  If I appear too angry they might not be willing to trust my cure without further investigation.  If I am too willing I would be inviting the same suspicion.  I try to pretend the cure is real, the drug I will eventually make will save them and the rest around me, loathing my presence, will be right.  I'm sure I'm being watched; whoever tells Weyoun what to expect from me--I remind myself that they know everything there is to know about me--must be satisfied that my actions are acceptable.  I must debate with myself, withdraw a little from the rest, so this new game of pretend will work. 

There are too many lives depending on it for it to fail.  Tomorrow, Lemas will take a plane ride and the game will go on.  Jason Harwell, Brenda's husband, closes the book for the night.  We'll all go to bed.  Many will go to their own beaches tonight.  We could not survive without our dreams. 

But I live in the book, in the game.  What would Garak have to say?  Would he offer advise and critique my performance? 

I shut him out, like all the dead so I can play it right and smart and keep the rest from joining them. 

My game will not take too long.  They will not be that patient.  When Sloan slips in the missing parts, I'll be ready. 

I shall sleep well tonight, knowing that at last the suspense is over. 

                               ***  


Months ago, when the Federation was not nearly in ruins and 
Starfleet was more than a desperate collection of anything that 
worked, a communications system for the station was devised.  It 
would reach further, even sensitive to changes in the wormhole, 
and any transmissions coming from within would be noted in a 
special grid.  It would speed communications with Earth and the 
far flung places we used to speak to. 

Realand and his wife, Elaine and others, not sufficiently important to stay, were sent here at the desperate hour to install it it was so important.  It will never help the Federation.  It will never warn of impending trouble for those it was intended.  But it is installed, and today it went on-line. 

It works perfectly.  I was surprised.  Somehow I expected it not to, but then I should understand.  Lure them in, convince them first.  Elaine can't hide her satisfaction enough but she knows the way it works. 

So does Luther.  He is a wreck, though I still don't know if I 
believe its real.  But he provides all the clues.  We make 
progress, fail, backtrack and advance, all too quickly for me but 
I'm sure too slow for *them*.  We have to balance that too.  They 
have to see a reluctant doctor who took as much time as he could 
to make the cure, but in the end did as he knew he had to. 

I haven't talked to many, but all have been short, rather pointless conversations.  Elaine has given up on the attempts at reform.  Ezri watches, not quite sure what to believe, but she still goes to the beach. 

She is with Tessie, and I'm giving her room.  Tessie's grandmother is ill.  The work is too hard and she has been coughing all evening.  It is much the same cough that Cassie Realand had, that I can't fix.  So we let her rest.  I'll try to get her excused, but I think the Infirmary doctor has to do it now. 

She doesn't seem to care.  She just nods when I tell her Ezri will take care of Tessie while she's sick.  She doesn't even try to get to the reading. 

She's had her moment, even if nobody knows, and she's at peace.  If her cough doesn't get better, the swelling go down, she might not see the payoff. 

I'm finishing my food.  With a two year old to watch and feed and care for, Ezri doesn't have as much time.  I don't even notice the voices at first. 

Realand is looking at me.  It's not rumor anymore.  They all know.  They don't say what they think, at least most of them.  He's far too willing to have his say. 

"He's shouldn't be eating *our* food.  Let them feed him if he's sleeping with them now." 

Marta is in the room, just trying to escape the words.  But this time he's talking about me.  I look up but say nothing.  A few people are staring.  I look back at my food and try to ignore them.  Inside, I despise Weyoun and his guards and his Founder.  Like Lemas, I can hardly stop myself from battering down the bars and running.  But there is nowhere to run. 

"Are you done?" asks Miles. 

He hasn't said much.  He's fixed the station, kept it running, and the only difference from before is he doesn't complain about the mistakes.  But he doesn't like Realand. 

Realand glowers at him.  "Oh, his friend.  You and your people, especially that thing," he says, pointing at Jackson, "Your almost as bad as him.  So efficient it makes my stomach ache." 

Miles eyes him.  "You think you have room to talk?  Oh, you worked slow, you worked so ineptly that its a wonder it ever went on-line.  But you gave them something that will kill a lot of people.  You betrayed us, would have been a bigger murderer if you hadn't waited.  Ever think of just saying no?  Ever consider flat out refusing?" 

Realand tries to talk, defend himself, but he can't find the words.  "You didn't say no," is all he manages. 

"I know," says Miles.  "I don't know if it was right but I didn't.  I'm not talking about me.  I'm talking about *you*."  He makes his way near the edge of the common area, near Cassie.  He slides his hand behind her shoulder and she visibly winces.  Everyone looks at Realand.  "Don't tell me this came from a *guard*." 

Realand glares at him.  "Get your hands off my wife." 

"She told Keiko," he says, looking at him with disgust.  She said she took too many of the covers last night and you retaliated." 

He's moving in on Realand now, standing right next to him.  "Then you talk to me in private," says Realand. 

"I did.  You didn't listen.  Leave her alone or you'll be very sorry."  Miles says it in a low voice, but it carries.  So does the frustration behind it.  Whatever threat Miles has in mind is probably mostly empty.  But he's had to put up with too much.  This one little moment of control is making up for all the rest.  It makes the threat more real. 

Realand backs off.  "I'll take responsibility for what we did.  But we waited to do it.  We didn't rush in to the job like some of the sheep in this room." 

Miles follows him.  "And you take out the frustration on your wife.  Or you did.  There won't be another time." 

Realand is about to protest, but Elaine comes up, taking Cassie's hand.  Coughing, she says, "I have room," and takes her away. 

Realand is alone now, staring at Miles.  "You have no right," he says.  He makes a move to hit him. 

He misses.  But Miles doesn't.  Realand is lying flat on the floor, his cheek red and nose bleeding.  Miles looks at me, to the side, trying to keep out of the argument.  "Better see if I broke it." 

I get up, approach with caution, but Realand backs away.  "It's 
not broken," he mutters, as he pulls himself to his feet and 
moves away.  "And if it was, he wouldn't be touching it." 

He goes to his quarters.  His wife and Elaine are already gone. 

Miles sits next to me.  "That felt good," he said.  "I've been watching him bully her around for the last week and it was all I could do to put up with him.  But I don't have to here." 

He surprises me.  "You worked on the transmitter with them?" 

"A little," he admits.  "We do a little of everything." 

"How?" I finally ask. 

He looks towards his children, playing a noisy game.  "Them.  I'm not saying I like it.  And the transmitter, well, it won't do them a whole lot of good.  Not this late.  It's not like, well, what you're doing." 

Miles is my best friend.  He must assume I have some plan, just like Elaine.  But I must play the traitor this time, depend on friends like Miles to figure it out on their own.  I can hope so.  I understand how alone Lemas is now. 

Yesterday, his betrayal began.  Yesterday he started to answer questions, earn his money.  He talks about old operations, old deals and lies, all of it over--but real.  It has to be to convince them.  Then, the second day, he talks again but this time of his fall and disgrace. 

First, show them the working model.  Cooperate well, and pull them in.  Then later you can lie.  That is Elaine's game and my game and the one Lemas is playing.  I only hope we all survive it. 

Dinner arrives and we hurry it.  Everyone is here and those invited to listen--Realand chooses not to show--are ready to go to the story. 

And I'm worried.  Lemas is being hunted for a violation of the 
Official secrets act now.  This wasn't supposed to be.  It would 
be a few weeks of talking, and then he's to be let loose and it 
would run its course.  But now they are looking for him as a 
defector, and all the rules have changed. 

Something is familiar about this.  I remember on Romulas, when the Romulans took me to their interrogation center, how much those probes *hurt*.  The game can be dangerous, go wrong.  It is already going wrong for Lemas.  He's being flown to East Berlin by his new "friends", the only ones who can help him now. 

Nothing can go wrong with the games played here.  Nothing *dare* go wrong.  Then friends of Alec come to visit Liz, lure her away.  I worry, for me, for Elaine, for Lemas--for the people we touch.  Tessie's asleep, and Ezri is next to me.  When they take Liz I put my arms around her, hold her.  She looks up at me oddly, but I hardly notice.  Taking hostages is a practice I know all too well. 

The plane lands in West Berlin, and his entourage drives across the boarder to the East, to the unplanned side of his journey.  Lemas is playing it passive, letting them ask, suggest, lead him along.  But he's scared.  The long drive leads to an room with bare walls and a cot, barracks like.  But he's tired, falling asleep fully dressed. 

Then morning comes.  Black bread and sour coffee are breakfast.  And then comes Fielding.  Control had mentioned him, made a point of mentioning him.  Fielding is smart, reminding him that all he's told so far is what he knows. 

Now they want to know the things he isn't aware of knowing.  There are guards outside the door.  The room is a prison.  The food is bad.  He isn't allowed to leave. 

I remember wondering if the Romulans would execute me.  I'd admitted I was playing the game to them, even if indirectly.  They could have done it.  They could have ended *this* game before it even began. 

The chapter ends and we break up, heading towards bed.  Ezri looks at me again, the professional and the woman who I fell in love with.  "Are you all right, Julian?  Don't say its fine this time.  I can tell something is wrong." 

I never told her the details of the Romulans and the way I was used, nor why I despise Ross so much.  It's way too late to start. 

"It's the conversation earlier.  It's . . . upsetting." 

She starts to unbutton my clothes, a wide grin on her face.  Not really Ezri, but sometimes that makes the beach more exciting.  The beach would be nice.  But I keep worrying about Liz and Ezri and Elaine and Tessie.  What happens to her?  If Elaine is arrested, will they take their hostage?  That will tear Ezri apart. 

I shrug her off.  "I just can't.  Not right now." 

"Well, okay," she says, the grin vanishing.  Jadzia, I think. 

I love her, all of her selves.  I'm afraid for her.  Like Elaine, like Lemas, the full implications of this game I'm playing are too real right now, and the beach should stay a place we go to be free.  But there is no safety now, no place to run but through the pathway I've lately taken.  

I can only hope there is a road on the other side that doesn't lead to hell. 

                               ***  

                            Chapter 8


It's very late.  We have been taking our time, not rushing things.  My only guess is we're being punished by missing dinner, possibly even the cold saved mess that we usually get when we're late.  I've certainly missed the reading. 

Do we get the same treatment as Realand and his people if we don't hurry along at the pace they want?  Will we get the same threat they do, the rifle and the little cold cell all alone. 

I've been in that little cold cell.  I dreamed about it last night, after they smashed Lemas in the head, beat him up and chained him.  I've been locked inside a tiny box as well, and all of it was too real last night. 

His plan, the plan he believed he was to follow, has fallen to ruin.  When the Jem'Hadar took me this morning, I kept thinking about how bad my head hurt that day, after they knocked me flat to the floor, how much I doubted I'd ever see freedom or home again after they opened the wall and went searching for Garak. 

I thought I could do this, look to cooperate, look to believe that as a doctor I must heal.  But I can't.  Sloan has slipped more into my hands.  I know what will happen.  It's a risky plan, with as much to go wrong as with Lemas. 

It must not.  I keep telling myself it must not, cannot.  But I'll read by myself tonight, and have taken pains to avoid conversation.  I understand Elaine better.  When the book defined my game I could not deny the risk, the betrayal.  I don't know if Sloan is as scared as I am.  I don't know if he's just broken and wasted inside. 

But I remember when he told me I'd be held, and his minions chained my hands, walked me past friends and locked me up for a spy.  It wasn't real, but I remember it as it was.  I keep glancing at him, wondering if any of that Sloan is still there or if they beat it to death and left only a hull of a man. 

I keep glancing at him, still finding things to do.  We worked very slowly today.  I'm just hungry and tired and watching the door.  I don't know what would be worse, to miss dinner or the reading, or possibly both. 

Lemas' arrest was hard, but then the last few nights have been as well.  The story is bringing back too many memories.  I keep glancing at Sloan, wondering if he knew all the details of the plot that installed Koval into a secure position of power at the cost of two other lives.  Or was he lied to as well?  Or was he just another clone, disposable if it went wrong. 

I keep thinking of that moment when I was invited to sit in the chair, and knew I had no choice but to obey them.  I'll never forget the probes.  I was almost looking forward to paying him back, later, with Odo ... 

I can't get the book out of my mind.  I understand Lemas.  I lived a little of his life, with Sloan and Ross doing the manipulating that time.  It didn't save us, but I suppose they had to try.  But I haven't forgiven Ross, never will. 

I don't see things the same anymore.  I hope Sloan understands 
I'll cooperate now, without any kind of coercion.  But I don't 
want the last act of our play to come too soon.  How long do we 
dare stall, put off the inevitable. 

He finishes with whatever he's doing and sits.  "It's getting late," he says, looking at the door. 

I ignore him.  Sitting in this room alone with him, I remember the lecture I got from Ross.  In war there are no rules.  Lemas is a casualty in a small war, fought close up.  I understand now.  I'll willingly help Sloan destroy the monsters.  But I can't forget what he did to me.  I'd just like to get away from him for a while. 

Readings have been sporadic what with our frequent late returns.  Sometimes, when more than a few of us are late, readings are held off for later.  I hope they did that tonight.  I don't want to read the book all by myself.  

Finally, long past dinner, we are allowed to go.  

We don't go back directly, though.  The guards stop us next to a closed hallway which is dark.  We're motioned to turn and face the wall, hands up. 

I press my palms against the smooth, cold metal, and my forehead as well.  We can hear the guards wandering back and forth, Sloan's labored breathing. 

They shove their rifles against the base of our necks, pushing hard.  I tell myself they won't shoot.  Unlike Realand and his people we can't be replaced. 

But I can't be certain.  Forcing my breathing back to even, I wait as they just stand there, shoving them in harder and harder. 

Someone comes up behind us, lighter footfalls than the guards.  

"This is a warning.  Do not play the sort of games the others have.  Tonight you will be detained.  Tomorrow you will hurry your work or your families will be detained as well.  And then if you continue to stall, we will begin deporting them one by one.  This is a warning to all of you.  Your special status depends on how well you cooperate.  No more delays will be permitted." 

It is not Weyoun, but a Vorta.  We don't move.  The rifles are withdrawn, turned and smashed against our heads. 

Lying on the floor, I hope Lemas is a little luckier than we are. 

Dragged by our shoulders into a small, dark, cold corridor, ending in a smaller, colder and pitch black little room, we are each crammed inside.  I can't stand, can barely move, my head is pounding, there is no food or water, and the stench is horrible.  I just close my eyes, try to find the beach, Ezri and the waves and the birds in the trees.  For a moment she is there, holding me.  But I can't despoil the beach this way.  I kiss her, but not good bye, and it all fades to the black smelly hole life has led me to. 

Tomorrow we'll hurry more.  Not too much.  We can't rush what we are doing and even the Vorta and the sick Founder know that.  But this has been a warning to more than Luther and I.  They won't tolerate resistance, not even the hesitant nerves of a man who doesn't want to betray his people.  

                               *** 

Morning.  I am so solidly crammed in this box that everything is numb.  I was already hungry, waiting for dinner.  Now, the door creaking open, I'm hauled out and shoved across the hall before I can try to stand. 

Luther is rolled in a little ball, not moving.  They kick him in the side, hard.  He whimpers a little.  I haven't managed to shake off the numbness or sit up yet and expect to be next.  But three more kicks and Luther finally rolls out of his ball, shaking badly.  He crawls on hands and knees to the wall, ignoring everything but the feet next to him.  I've finally gotten to a sitting position, my feet still numb.  The stench has permeated my clothes.  But I'm more hungry and thirsty than anything.  There is water in the lab, but no food.  I have no hope of breakfast.  I just want to get to the lab, prove to them we learned our lesson and get back home tonight.  I don't want to ever see that little hole again. 

Luther stumbles after me as I make my way a little better ahead of him, but neither of us look up, at the guards or the corridor or the rest.  The stench will take a long time to go.  It will remind me and the rest will make space for the reeking man. 

Or maybe not.  I try to remember what clean is.  I can't really tell anymore. 

It takes forever to get to the lab.  It takes longer to get started, heads pounding from the blow, grumbling stomachs taking away our attention to detail. 

But we work.  It's hard to concentrate, but we manage.  We don't make a lot of progress, but we don't waste any time either.  Neither of us want to ever see that corridor again. 

He'd said families.  Sloan has a family?  But he clearly has someone he doesn't want to end up stuffed inside a dark, smelly box.  I wonder if I'll ever meet this person . . . 

When the door opens and the guards motion us out its hard not to be nervous.  They kept us late again.  Did we pass the test?  Do we get to go home?  Do we get to eat? 

Food matters more right now that showing off. 

They separate us at the accustomed place.  I hurry as fast as I can when I know where I'm going. 

I see Ezri sitting there with Tessie, staring bleakly at the gate.  But mostly I see a bowl of food, cold but mine. 

She looks up, instant relief in her eyes.  But it fades and she still watches the gate.  Everyone is tense.  She pushes the bowl to me, and I start to gobble it down. 

With what we get, a day is a long time to not eat. 

She says, very slowly, "They told us you were being held.  We saved the bowl for you like they said." 

But why the stares, the worry?  "What else happened?" I ask. 

Miles is next to me now, looking at my neck and the bruise that is starting to darken.  "The new com system failed.  They came for them before breakfast.  We're all wondering if they come back." 

I think of the smelly little hold they'd locked us in, and wonder if the others aren't there now.  I don't like Realand.  But I don't wish that on him.  And Elaine?  Is she dead?  Has she been beaten or tortured?  No wonder Ezri is so quiet. 

Tessie is almost asleep.  "I've got to put her to bed," she says, picking up the little girl, cuddling her carefully in her arms. 

Miles sits down where she'd been. 

Here, even if we don't necessary like each other, when someone is missing it is a loss.  "Did you know I'd be back last night?" I ask him. 

"No.  But we figured you would.  Or . . . " he stops.  He doesn't finish.  They know what I'm doing, that all of them are hostages. 

"We tried Realands little trick.  It didn't work." 

Miles hesitates, looks me in the eye.  "How long?" 

Before I cure them, I wonder?  Or does he expect Weyoun to run out of patience and the whole plan to become disaster.  Does he expect me to do it in the end to save these people, just like Realand did. 

"I can't say."  It's true.  That depends on Sloan and the files he gives me. 

Miles changes the subject.  "We didn't read.  Nobody wanted to." 

At least they can care enough to wait. 

"I don't hear any rumors," I tell him, quietly.  "You do.  What happens after . . ."  After I'm done.  The com team will either fix it or die.  Miles people are already less busy.  I may be the only reason were here. 

"They ship people in, then out.  We don't know where.  Like cargo.  They feed them, give them water.  Mostly they keep them in the dark.  None of the groups here have been touched, not yet but . . . there's less work too.  We stay only as long as they need us.  Rumor is that some of the tech I'm maintaining will be replaced soon."  He grows quiet.  "We're here on borrowed time.  All of us."  He looks me in the eye.  "Remember that.  We'll probably end up on one of those ships sooner or later anyway." 

He means not to do it, to let them die anyway.  But now, I can't.  Now, I'm committed to Sloan's special revenge, and a way to buy us time.  But where will we be then?  Scattered, lost?  

Kira hasn't said much of anything, that I know, and she comes to sit on my other side.  "You're going to do it," she says.  No expression, or surprise, or revulsion.  Just a statement. 

"I haven't said."  I keep it simple, true. 

"But you will."  She looks at Miles.  "Don't be too hard on him.  He's only trying to save you." 

Miles looks towards the gate.  "For what?" 

Kira reaches across me, touches Miles.  "For hope.  For the future." 

Her tone is odd, uncharacteristic.  Her eyes are shining.  "Sisko?" I ask. 

She closes her eyes.  Even Miles is watching.  "In the middle of the night, with this blinding white light.  He wanted me to know not to worry, that we should trust you to know the best."  She pauses.  "I think he was lonely.  Maybe someday, maybe he'll come back." 

Miles stares at the table.  "I just do what I have to do." 

Kira stops him as he rises.  "So does everyone.  Even Julian." 

Miles retreats, not entirely convinced. 

Kira sits again.  "That's a pretty bad bruise.  How's your head." 

"Don't ask.  Thanks for not mentioning the stink."  Then I look at her, trying to put into words something I never wanted to say.  "Look, if you ever see Sisko again, you might tell him that I appreciate it." 

It's as close as I'll ever come to forgiving him. 

"It won't be easy," she says. 

"No," I say, not looking at her.  "I have to.  Don't ask questions." 

She nods.  But she believes.  Sometimes the road to freedom might not be so easy.  I only wish Sisko--or someone--would help me believe that is what will come of this. 

The lights blink.  Time for bed.  I'm more than willing to go, too exhausted to want to read or even visit the beach. 

Kira rises with me, letting me lean on her.  My head is pounding and all I want is to lay down and sleep. 

"Remember," she says as we reach my quarters.  "Always believe.  No matter what." 

Stumbling inside, I step around the little bed we've made for Tessie, and crawl in bed with my wife. 

                               *** 

My head is pounding when the bell goes off, and I sit up slowly.  Ezri gingerly examines my neck.  "You at all dizzy?" she asks. 

If she's asking if I have a concussion, she's probably right.  The back of my neck, all around my right ear, is all puffy and sore and bruised.  But we both know the rules.  Accidents excuse you--sometimes--from work.  But not the bad tempers of guards.  I slowly drag myself up, Ezri waking Tessie, and manage to stand. 

I'm not dizzy, not really, but if I could I'd stay in bed.  My eyes still focus, so I won't die of a blood clot from the rifle that slammed into me.  The headache is enormous, but nothing can be done about that. 

I've sent plenty of patients home like that, and I expect they worked the next day.  Open gashes matter more, and the guards managed not to break the skin. 

Ezri waits until I'm ready and walks with me.  She's careful to stay near until I've been up long enough wake up.  Tessie walks dutifully next to her. 

I notice she is calling Ezri mommy. 

If Elaine doesn't come back she may do that for along time. 

Breakfast is quiet.  I get in line, and notice my somewhat shaky stance is noted.  Several people let me ahead when it appears we would have to wait for a table. 

Maybe the guard did me a favor.  Wonder if they'll remember that when they know about the cure.  The mush is the same as always, but it's food.  It helps the pounding in my head a little.  

Tessie goes with Cindy, collecting her charges, and Ezri disappears with the others.  I wait with Miles for a while, quietly, until he is called. 

I'm called last.  There are extra guards.  I stumble out the door, and surrounded by them make my way to the lab. 

Luther isn't here.  It's another hour until he shows, and I make busy motions the whole time.  Since I don't have anything else to do, I check out the current state of our research.  He's very close to "finding" it all.  I can even guess how it works.  I wonder, with such complexity, if it hadn't been created long before now. 

Maybe this was a contingency, in case the worse happened and we lost.  Maybe this was the fall back.  But its very intriguing, and possibly equally final. 

I decide I won't last the day with the headache and check the supply box.  There are a few simple painkillers there and I take one.  If they object, they can let me know. 

A little while later Luther appears, several padds in hand.  He nods, ever the uncertain, nervous assistant. 

"I found some more fragments this morning," he says.  "Should I load them or would you like to?" 

"I'll do it," I say, taking the padds.  "Look, how's your head doing?" 

Luther looks scared.  "It's fine," he says hurriedly. 

I hand him a couple of the pills.  "Take this.  It helps." 

Luther reluctantly swallows the pills.  I make him sit.  He looks a little too pale.  He nervously allows me to check him over.  "Look, I want you to sit today.  Just sit.  You can run all the lab tests.  It's simple, and I can answer any questions you have.  I really need to look over this new material." 

Luther is hurting a lot more than I am, and I'm not sure how long he can stand.  He sits where I tell him to.  He's scared, but does what he's told.  Or is it an act?  I can't tell.  

I spend the morning studying the padds, adding the data to the existing file.  Just a little more information and we will be done.  But this isn't enough to be certain everything is right without some special tests I'm sure will be refused. 

We've already asked to see Odo and been refused.  I explained I could glean enough information from an examination to speed up the process, but there was no comment. 

So, when the time comes, we'll have to hope the simulation is correct and take the chance. 

By mid-day I've run out of lab tests for Luther to do so I move him to supplies, taking a survey of what's there because I don't want him collapsing on me.  But I work on the model of the disease, and I can't be faulted for stalling. 

Luther looks terrible, and I finally ask.  "You have somebody to take care of you?  I want you to lie down when you go back, get as much rest as you can.  You should feel a little better tomorrow.  I'll have a lot of lab tests to do and we'll set it up for you to do them." 

He looks up at me, and it's startling.  In his head, with Miles, had been a very different man, one that had never been marred by 31.  The man before me has his eyes.  "I'm a little dizzy," he says. 

"The concussion is bad, but you need time and rest.  Get all the rest you can at least." 

"Nancy will help," he says.  His voice is different when he says her name, almost dreamy.  I wonder if he loves her, but the look in his eyes is more that of a scared child seeking his mothers comfort. 

Whatever she is to him, I'm glad he found her.  But if they did that to a hard, cold man like Luther Sloan, Elaine doesn't stand a chance. 

Then he does something with his hands, an odd gesture.  He's done it before but I didn't really notice.  But he's looking at me, repeating the gesture over and over.  He's sitting by the lab tests, staring a little left of the door like he'd been before. 

I tap his hand, just by accident.  His hand drops, but just before it become a ball he quickly points at the tests, and flashes three fingers, then one. 

I pretend not to notice.  But nobody has come and we don't want 
to be sitting idly doing nothing.  "Let's get these on a tray.  
I'd like to get them put away."  Luther stumbles away for the 
tray, and I scan the cultured dishes, watching for results. 

My gaze settles on dish 31 for a flicker longer, but I see what he means, a reaction that isn't there in the others, a slight bubbling.  I don't know what it means.  But it has to matter.  When Luther returns his hand just happens to shake when he'd lifts dish 31 and the bubbling disappears. 

We tidy up a bit, and I scan over the test mixes while making sure it wasn't obvious.  Dish 31 had just a slightly different ratio.  I note it, but Luther is exhausted, both of us are.  

I figure they are listening.  "That's about all we can do tonight before these tests finish," I say.  

I use Luther's gesture, and he adds, "We'll need the jars too." 

It works.  A few minutes later the guards show up and lead us home.  

The crews aren't back.  Either something is wrong or I hadn't realized how early it is.  Or perhaps we are being rewarded for working so hard. 

Cindy is heavily pregnant now, and at the moment is sitting by 
herself while the children play.  I intend to take the extra time 
for a nap.  If the comm crew doesn't return, and nothing is saved 
for them, it is likely they are dead.  If they do they might need 
a doctor's attention.  I intend to offer my services, whatever I 
can, even if its not wanted. 

But Tessie interferes with my plans.  She sees me and runs, nearly tackling my leg.  "She'd really like a hug," says Cindy. 

I haven't talked to Cindy in a while, except for an occasional exam.  I haven't really been too sure what she'd say to me.  But now, she's looking out the gate. 

"What's it like out there?" she asks. 

It occurs to me she hasn't been out of here in months.  Everyone else has been hardened by the guards and their random acts of brutality.  Cindy has watched children play and seen the general results.  

"Don't complain.  Your lucky."  I can't really explain.  I don't 
know how it is for the others.  But she has not had to deal with 
the guards and by definition is fortunate. 

"They say you are," she says, watching as I stretch my back and pull against the bruise and wince a little.  "But I guess luck is relative." 

"We were stalling," I say, my head pounding, just wanting to go. 

"I've heard," she says, hand on moving, rounded belly, "I've heard we won't be here long.  Maybe I'll never see it."  She doesn't say anything, but she's watching the children now.  

"At least they haven't see whatever it is you can't describe," she says, leaning back, rubbing her baby.  

"Miles is better at rumors.  He could tell you more."  I need to get away from her, the reminder that once their done with us, nobody knows what comes next.  But Cindy is in her own world right now, and I don't want to disturb her.  Shrugging, I pick up Tessie.  "I'm got to lie down."  

She's still watching the children when I go, and I remember the months she spent hiding in the hills from the Cardassians.  She knows what this is doing to them, will do to the child inside her.  I wonder if perhaps her life here, left alone with the mind to wander, is harder in its own way than the one left to the rest. 

Later, I wake up to find Ezri curled up next to me, sound asleep.  Tessie is cuddled in my arms.  I have watched the children here, knew a few before, but I keep them at a distance.  It doesn't hurt so much to think of their futures that way.  But Tessie has passed through the barrier.  I'm used to her.  I can't imagine how a two year old child copes with losing most of her family. 

Then someone bangs on the door.  "They're back!" 

Ezri and I get up, untangling ourselves from each other and 
Tessie on the narrow bed.  Sitting at one of the tables, looking 
much the worse for wear, Realand is just blankly down at the 
surface.  
His wife is half-collapsed, and as I get nearer I can tell how 
hard it is for her to breath.  Both women are ill.  And I 
recognize the stench from their clothes. 

"It's working again," says Realand, exhausted.  We worked all night, haven't had anything to eat since they took us.  He keeps staring at nothing.  Then they had . . . questions."  He slumps down.  "We were told our delays caused the sloppy work.  They'd have to investigate to see if it was deliberate." 

I watch Elaine, seeing fear in her eyes.  They didn't find it, not this time.  But they will and she knows it won't take long. 

He goes on, his voice dragging now.  "Then they stuffed us in these little cages."  

He grows silent.  A few people glance at me. 

"I should look you over," I offer.  Not that I can do much, but the gesture matters.  For once, we are united. 

He waves me off.  "Bruises, that's all.  They wouldn't kill me just in case something else goes wrong."  There is a hint of pride, but fear as well.  He looks at the women.  "Don't think you can do anything, but check them over."  He stumbles off, slow and lost.  

Cassie and Elaine pull themselves to their feet.  I leave Tessie 
with Ezri and follow to help.  Elaine pats the child on the head 
as she passes, but it is as if Tessie is already ours. 

Inside their quarters, I can tell why.  Cassie is worse, but Elaine is very sick.  I hope it's not some kind of epidemic. 

"Don't worry, we're not catching," says Elaine, her voice dragging.  "There is a section of the com system, what with the metallic dust and the gas it gives off you encase it in a sealed work space when you open it.  We had the equipment.  But we weren't allowed to use them.  They said it would be too slow, we'd already wasted too much of their time.  So we didn't have anything to keep from breathing it into the lungs." 

Punishment, I guess.  Like the headache and the room, the "special" lose their immunity when we misbehave. 

"There's a treatment," says Cassie Realand, her eyes sad.  "My daughter sold herself for it, but I don't want you to do that.  It isn't worth the cost." 

"This time's the second exposure?" 

"Yes, I put it together the first time, and had to fix it this time.  They told Ellie to help." 

"Anything I can do?" I ask, feeling helpless. 

Elaine takes my hand.  "Just give my granddaughter a good home." 

I leave them to their own, especially limited borrowed time.  

                               *** 

The cart was late again, and despite my pounding headache, my stomach refused to let me go.  Ezri was quietly playing with Tessie.  I played a little with her too.  I guess I'll get better with practice. 

But making us sit in silence while we wait, no safe subject of conversation occurring to anyone, is their way of control.  Nobody missed how sick the women were, or how defeated Realand sounded.  But they were back, not dead, and we were all relieved. 

Families can argue among themselves, but attack from the outside and they come together. 

Cheryl Jackson hasn't said much, kept mostly to herself and watched her children very carefully, but she stands and makes an announcement.  "I'm going to read first," she says. 

It's been three days since a reading.  The idea appeals to everyone. 

Cheryl is sitting, book in hand, while everyone is arraigning 
themselves.  At least for now, we are whole again.  We will, once 
more, reclaim the magic. 

Magic for some.  A glimpse of nightmare for me. 

Lemas wakes, hands and feet secured behind his back, head pounding, and in agony every time he moves.  My head is already pounding, and the little stinking room is too close.  They didn't tie me but I couldn't move, couldn't stop the pain that build as the horrible night went on.  Then they untie Lemas and let him try to get up, let him fall and beat him. 

I guess I was lucky.  They didn't finish the job.  But there is no reaction to the beating.  It's something guards do.  

Then he's taken into an office, fed food we don't dare even dream about, and questioned.  We'd be happy if the cart would arrive.  I remember the warning I'd gotten, for everyone they said.  Is the late cart a reminder of what we are? 

But the story is starting to take my mind off the last few days, even if my headache won't quit.  Lemas is accused of being part of a plot to frame his enemy.  Lemas of course denies it.  But they want a confession.  They need his word to convict the other part of the power struggle.  Lemas again refuses.  His head is pounding, his stomach in pain.  He has a choice, just like I did.  He can confess, go to a soft bed and be given decent food.  Or he will be tied like an animal and fed on the floor of his cell like one. 

I know about isolation rooms.  I know, after a day, what they do to your mind.  Sloan and I will be very careful to cooperate--or at least appear to.  I'll bet Realand, for all his bitterness, will too. 

Lemas is hurting, sick, confused.  He can't confess.  He can't tell his tormentor what he doesn't know. 

A voice in my head.  Garak.  "He could lie." 

"The wild pulsation of his brain suddenly increased, the room was dancing; he heard voices around him and the sound of footsteps; spectral shapes passed and repassed, detached from sound and gravity; someone was shouting, but not at him; the door was open, he was sure someone had opened the door.  The room was full of people, all shouting now, and then they were going, some of them had gone, he heard them marching away, the stomping of their feet was like the throbbing of his head; the echo died and there was silence.  Then like the touch of mercy itself, a cool cloth was laid across his forehead, and kindly hands carried him away." 

He finds himself in a hospital bed, the windows not even barred.  His tormentor's chief enemy is there.  Lemas is still to be a witness at a tribunal.  Just a different one, and later, should he cooperate, he might escape being tried for the murder of the guard he killed before. 

His tormentor has been arrested, and it is alleged that he was turned by British Intelligence to spy for them, and is a traitor.  Lemas, by being sent after Fielding, was to secure his position and eliminate the greater danger he faces. 

He's been maneuvered into a trap, just as I was.  Senator Cretak tried to help me, only to be arrested.  I told them everything to save her, but then that was just what they expected me to do.  And Koval, now proven to be loyal, can spy for the Federation while he remains loyal to his own side. 

The tribunal begins, Lemas watching from the side.  The case is presented in detail, but he is the chief evidence.  He testifies, but does not believe it, will not say it.  

But the lights will blink soon.  We have read all we can for the night.  Miles hands the book to me.  "If Elaine and the others want to read it . . . 

Maybe Realand, but the women are too sick.  But I can ask. 

The rest go, and still holding the book I leaf through it, back to the last part we'd read what feels like an age ago.  A particular passage catches my eye. 

"Aware of the overwhelming temptations which assail a man permanently isolated in his deceit, Lemas resorted to the course which armed him best; even when he was alone, he compelled himself to live with the personality he had assumed.  It is said that Balzac on his deathbed inquired anxiously after the health and prosperity of characters he had created.  Similarly Lemas, without relinquishing the power of invention, identified himself with what he had invented." 

Ezri would let them die anyway.  Miles would have me refuse in the end.  How many more?  Deep inside, I wonder if I could do it, could really save them.  I will, but only for a time.  But the others will not know, and I will be the man who betrayed his own. 

Who am I becoming, stalling and taking the punishment, then carefully making sure it won't happen again?  I will not betray my people.  But in their eyes I will be one with the monsters.  How can I live with that?  I eat the same food as the others, obey the same masters, and yet I hold their lives in my hands.  There is an unstated arrogance in my manner.  I've been set apart, but the ties have not yet been cut.  I'm Lemas living a lie, but hoping to still go home.  When my moment of truth comes, when my betrayal becomes complete, will I drift as he is, hoping that somewhere there will be a forgiveness?  Or will I let Weyoun own me because it is the only thing left? 

They won't let us stall.  The next time there will be more than a cold smelly cell, and I won't send my wife to one just to show them some imagined rebellion.  Someone will punished for our delays.  The last of our people have gone to bed and the lights are flickering.  I have to go to my quarters. 

We will get our revenge for them all, for the people I knew and the countless others who are gone.  But for me, as with Lemas, "whatever happened, things would never be the same again." 

                               *** 

Sloan and I have been waiting an hour for the guards to open the door.  We are being punished for being so unproductive today.  We ran a lot of tests, but every scenario and experiment we've done has gone nowhere.  We know they are watching.  None of the tests were intended to be successful, but they may have interpreted it as more stalling.  

I check the tests again, hoping they'll buy it.  I tell myself 
even they cannot assume that every day will show progress. 

If they wait too long we'll both miss dinner, assuming that none will be saved, and it's been a long time since breakfast.  Sloan, next to the door, flashes me a signal that he hears noise.  We've worked out a few other hand signals that help when you don't dare say things out loud.  I don't use them, but Luther's hands are often shaking and wandering, so they don't know when he does.  We both watch the door and are greatly relieved to see the Jem'Hadar waiting for us to leave. 

Or worried.  My head still aches, and Luther sat and ran the lab tests since he's still too dizzy.  There was nothing in the supply box to take today, though it had a few left last night.  Serves them right that we aren't doing all that well when we're still recovering from our discipline. 

Just as long as we don't have to do it all over again. 

Sloan nods, his hand clenched in a particular way.  He'll have more to add tomorrow.  We'll look like we made progress and probably be back early tomorrow evening.  We must appear to be cooperating.  But it must not be too easy either. 

I'm not sure if I mind missing the reading tonight.  There are too many memories coming to life.  Very hesitantly, earlier, Luther caught me staring at him.  He ask, tripping over the words, if there was a problem.  This isn't the Luther Sloan that lured me into that trap, but he reminds me of it.  I wanted the day to end and to get away from him. 

I worry that there is so much damage that he is leading us all to disaster.  But I have to try.  The war won't last much longer and his plan may be the only way out. 

Spies and their schemes haven't changed over the years.  When Sloan played me like a puppet and secured his own man in the Romulan hierarchy, he could have stolen the plot of the book almost as it was written.  Or, perhaps it is more of Sloan's classic technique, like depriving me of sleep and food the first time.  But despite our own desperation and my new appreciation of Sloan's skills, I cannot forgive him for what they did.  It changed, forever, the image of the Federation, its ideals compromised and its image darkened. 

Listening to the story, I lived the nightmare again.  I could hear my own words, hurting and scared as the Romulan Continuing Committee forced me to testify and my words came to destroy Senator Cretak, a decent and loyal woman just as those of Lemas could seal Fielder's fate.  Kovel was secure, but even Ross was a little ashamed of the method.  He even believed he could work with 31 without being owned by them.  I remembered my own bitterness at being manipulated with lies, just as his own did with Lemas. 

It hurts more when your own are pulling the strings.  We live with no real options at all now, but it's imposed upon us by our captors.  We expect little but force and brutality from them.  We had a much higher standard when we lived within our own laws, and no matter how bad this life is it cannot erase the devastation I came to know when they took away all my illusions. 

Finally parting from Luther, I'm impatient with the pace of my guards tonight.  Normally they rush past things too fast.  I watch as the corridors are changing to an alien place, and continue to wonder when there will cease to be any need for us.  Tonight, I am both hungry and impatient for the book.  If I missed the reading I'll do it in private.  No matter how hard it is to face Luther, no matter how bitter the memories it brings back, I need to find out what happened.  Reading by myself isn't the same as hearing the words spin the image, but would do.  I can close my eyes and leave here for a little while. 

I need to know that Lemas gets a little of his life back.  I remember too clearly how mine was changed forever. 

I notice immediately that Ezri isn't out, but Kira is sitting there with a bowl beside her.  She calls me over. 

"They let us save some.  You must be behaving." 

I start on the bowl.  She's quiet and thoughtful and resigned.  She gives no clue to the reason for the empty room. 

"Ezri's okay," she says before I have a chance to ask.  "She had a minor accident and saw the doctor.  I made her stay in bed." 

"Thank you," I manage between mouthfuls. 

"She twisted her ankle, got a few cuts.  Nothing all that bad," she finishes. 

"Why's the room empty?" I ask. 

"Nobody was in the mood to read," she says. 

I'm disappointed, and relieved.  I really wanted to hear the story, but not alone.  "What happened?" 

"The Klingons surrendered yesterday." 

Lemas and his problems, Elaine and I, fade to nothing for a moment.  I simply can't imagine how bad it had to get for them to give up.  There must have been very little left for the Dominion to take by the time it was done. 

First the Romulans, now the Klingons.  Now the Federation is entirely on it's own.  How many smaller surrenders had there been before that we didn't hear of?  The Ferengi?  The Trills?  Ezri doesn't speak of it, but she has heard nothing of her own species survival--or fate. 

"What else?" 

"Nobody knows."  She stares forward.  "I need you to look at someone when your done." 

She watches as I use fingers to scrape the last mush from the bowl.  Vaguely, I remember when I would have considered it something very rude.  "They fought as hard as Cardassia, harder . . . " 

And Earth would do the same.  I think of the work I'm doing with Sloan, how this will change my future reception, how most of the Klingons are probably dead by now. 

But the monsters will die, not now, but die.  My head still aches, but if the game works I don't care. 

I notice Kira has the book with her.  "We caught up a few people," she explains. 

I take it, flipping through the pages, reviewing the last reading.  I pause at Liz, lured away from a proper party job with the family she is living with in Leipzig by a man with a government car. 

There was no Liz in my version of the book, a pawn in the game despite Lemas' attempts to keep her safe.  But there *is* now, in this double life, and I fear for Liz and Lemas, once their use is fulfilled.  Each day that Sloan and I come a little closer to their "cure" her safety--and the safety of all the rest--grows less secure.  How soon will we too be expendable? 

Kira has something else on her mind.  I'm still cleaning my bowl.  "I saw Odo today."  She looks at me, considering something.  "He told me about the Breen.  They went home.  They didn't believe the promises they had gotten either." 

We are silent for a moment, both glancing at the gate and the passing Jem'Hadar.  Kira's gaze lingers longer than mine. 

"Not that it made that much difference, now that they have the wormhole," I say, resigned, thinking, too, of the Romulans and the Klingons.  

Kira stares at the gate.  I just close my eyes and try to forget the kind of world the Martians left for the victors after the pox had killed them.  The Klingons who survived would be slaves the rest of their lives.  How many of them would go the way chosen by Worf?  They had resisted much too hard to be allowed to simply surrender. 

There is a lesson there for the Federation, what's left of it.  They are apparently not heeding it.  The Dominion is having to take every bit of territory it captures.  The Federation is not making any of it easy. 

They have little hope of holding out long enough for us.  If only 
Sloan could hurry with his segments of formula, if we could 
finish soon.  Now that it's obvious we won't be allowed to stall 
I'd like to be done, even if it leaves me alone.  Somehow, it 
might give *home* a little better chance.  But I have to leave 
the padd there at night.  I'm sure someone reviews everything 
I've done.  Everything must look as if I discovered it myself. 

We are very close, just a few more files and "all" of it will have been recovered.  Today's tests verified we cannot yet cure them.  But I'm sure the phony formula will cure the phony disease when it's done.  They can do all the checking they want.  They are probably doing their own research based on today's results.  I assume the end result will look the same as the real cure when they test it on changeling goo. 

Not that we'll see it, but I'm sure they'll test it themselves before we give it to the Founder. 

"They let him know that rations would be cut off if he didn't give up, so he finally did."  She stares out at the hallway again, her face grim.  "He was . . . watching.  He said he misses the books." 

"How is Odo?" I ask, tired.  They need me now, but in the end she has the edge when it comes to guaranteed survival.  

"Well, but they won't let him near the Vorta or Jem'Hadar.  He's being disciplined for the bomb.  Hard to turn off their DNA."   There is a certain amount of pride in her tone about Odo's loyalty to our side, and the careful way he's being handled. 

I understand why she'd picked me to talk to.  We both enjoy a certain degree of immunity right now.  Her's will last longer than mine.  I'd rather not be reminded. 

"You said something about looking at someone," I suggest, a little annoyed. 

She gives me a curious glance, but shrugs.  "My quarters . . . " 

                               *** 

Marta is sitting on the bed, composed but worried.  She's only fourteen, but has learned how to survive.  Or, perhaps long before the Jem'Hadar and Dominion she'd knew how best to live with bullies. 

She goes out every day, works--though with the younger group most of us are not a part of, and returns about the same time.  When the room is empty she hides in her room until dinner, but when the food is there she eats quickly by herself and slinks back to Kira's room.  Since Kira was hurt and she took such good care of her, Marta is tolerated if she stands in the back of the room during readings, but she's still very much alone. 

Working under the Jem'Hadar is one thing.  The guards are brutal and uncaring, but they were designed to be that way.  Everyone understands cooperating with them.  Doing jobs which may help the enemy, like Miles, are tolerated, especially by those who are here because we are here.  But Marta slept with traitors who quite clearly switched sides, who betrayed everything.  Kira understands that point of view, and offers her a floor for reasons peculiar to Kira herself.  But Marta isn't to be forgiven, even if she did it to save her mother. 

We have become very hard and unforgiving people. 

Kira stands guard at the door, or perhaps she is acting as a chaperone.  The door is closed, but flimsy enough she can hear. 

Marta looks me in the eyes, with no compromise.  "I saw them earlier.  How sick is my mother?" 

She's scared, worried she's about to lose everything.  I still don't like her, but I can understand that. 

I won't lie to her.  "Very sick.  There's nothing I can do about it." 

She eyes me calmly, on the verge of anger.  "You mean with what you have here." 

"No.  Without a full lab and hospital I suspect it wouldn't make a difference.  I can't really examine her, but this is her second exposure." 

"Bastards," she says, her eyes flashing a deep hatred of everything.  "You're saying she's going to die, whatever happens to the rest of you." 

"Yes."  But I wonder at the wording. The rest of us? 

"I want to see my mother . . . tonight."  It is not a question. 

"That would be up to her."  I will not impose Marta on her if she refuses to see her daughter. 

She is very calm and cold now.  "I've had an offer.  He said he'd marry me.  I told him I'd agree for a price.  If there is anything I could get to make my mother even suffer less, I'll get it.  Consider it a wedding present."  She eyes me with eyes of ice.  "I'll make sure nobody suspects." 

I might consider it, but I'm not sure.  "You know the deal.  You do that and Kira kicks you out." 

"I won't be coming back.  That's why I need to see her tonight." 

I'm stunned by the cold, calculating eyes.  She is still a girl, but left her youth behind a long time ago.  "Why?" 

Then she transforms, almost as instantly as Ezri does, into a coy, suggestive woman.  Her eyes, exotic and beautiful despite the dirt and drab clothes, are inviting.  He body is ready, drawing her target near.  She smiles a smile designed to entice, and I am almost interested myself.  Almost.  But all of it is an act, a cold deliberate play for attention.  I'm sure, once the target is taken in, she is capable of carrying on the ruse no matter what is asked of her.  She did it before. 

Still the temptress, she purrs, "See, I can do it.  They like their flunkies with wives, and I've got the looks.  At least now.  I have to use them while I have them." 

I see what she's up to.  She drops the pose, again the calculating survivor.  I decide it wouldn't hurt anyone to let her help one last time.  "I suppose you might as well.  If your mother could breath a little easier it might help, but she'll never take it if she knows." 

She looks satisfied.  "Something you can add to breakfast, since she gets it brought to her anyway.  I'll tell him."  She eyes me levelly.  "Don't make me out to be some kind of heroine.  We both know none of these people here will ever accept me.  I have to take what I can.  As for him," she pauses and I assume she means Realand, "I hope they shoot him.  He deserves it."  

Kira taps on the door.  Sliding inside, she looks at Marta.  "Don't expect too much and you won't get it.  But your mother wants to see you." 

She softens, just a little.  Kira escorts her out of the room, and Elaine enters.  I suppose they will want privacy.  Elaine is worse, her breathing shallow and with each breath she wheezes.  She doesn't have much time.  Maybe Marta's wedding gift will help.  Her mother won't last long enough to need much of it. 

"Good riddance," she says, looking towards the door where Marta had gone. 

"She's just surviving."  I sit down on Kira's chair.  "She won't be here to bother anyone." 

Elaine is leaning back against the wall now, and I'm reminded of Tain in his last days, the transmitter done and the only thing left to wait.  "Take care of Tessie, promise."  She's done what she had to, like him, and is just waiting for it to be over. 

"Promise," I tell her. 

We sit, each alone in our thoughts until Kira takes her home.  Marta is subdued, quiet, all the coldness gone for a while.  Tomorrow she'll give herself to a traitor and her mother might live a little longer.  Maybe even Elaine.  

Soon enough, I'll take her place. 

Just as long as they don't blame Ezri too.  She might shut me out.  If she does I'll accept it.  Somehow, there has to be some way to tell her.  But it's too dangerous. 

She'll either trust me or not.  Nothing I can do about it. 

Kira knows, thanks to Sisko, but she won't give it away.  Even if she didn't she might see through my act.  Maybe Miles would too.  He's keeping the station running for them so they can condemn us to generations of slavery.  But he has a family, children.  I guess I do too, now. 

But the rest ... 

I keep thinking of the lost look on Daniel's face as they arrived, the certainty that it was already over.  The Klingons are probably gone by now.  Will we be next?  Will those of us scattered here and there be all that's left of my kind? 

As long as it works, whatever plan Sloan has in mind, I don't care.  It would be a small price to pay for a chance at freedom. 

                               *** 


End, Part 1, Surrender