TITLE: Surrender,Part 2-Necessary Compromises
Overall Series: The Green Hills of Home 
Author: Valerie Shearer 
Contact: thenightbird@earthlink.net 
Series: DS9 
Rating: R 
Codes:Angst,B/Ez,Ob's,K/O,AU,Post-War 


                            Chapter 12

                               *** 

Nobody notices as I leave with the crew today.  Ezri is right; the end of the line is rushed and they simply hurry us out. 

After spending the last night shut in the storage room I welcome the chance to push back the walls for the day, to leave our cage for a little while when there is still time. 

I don't know what to expect, what sort of day they usually have.  But anything is better than sitting alone today.  I don't think I could stand to see Tessie playing with the other children knowing she could not come to us.  I don't know how I'll sleep tonight with her gone. 

And the bruises hurt more than I thought.  But I'm taking control of my day, at least where I spend it.  The others on the crew ignore me, just the same.  But being alone in a crowd is better than being alone. 

Ezri doesn't talk to me in public, our own private understanding.  But she holds me at night and we whisper to each other about the day.  I seldom have much to say, and can't imagine what there would be without Tessie to talk about.  Somehow, tonight we'll go back there and to a terrible emptiness that no words can convey. 

She never tells me any details.  I am apprehensive about this, worried I'll be spotted and punished for being here, but cannot bear to spend the day in a room with Tessie so near, and yet so terribly far away. 

We're moved out into the corridor, then shunted off to the side to wait.  There are a lot of people gathered, and I hope nobody recognizes me.  But I'm nervous, especially that they'll notice since the rest fade into the background.  

I can't think of the horrible night before.  I can't allow myself to remember that Tessie is gone, and the way they stared like I was an insect to be squashed on the floor.  In my mind, I'll go back this night and it will be all as it was, all a nightmare that I imagined to be real.  

And we'll read.  I decide to think about that while they make us wait. 

I've gotten intrigued by the saga of Arthur Dent, the books bound into one large volume.  It mentions an upcoming forth volume of the trilogy and I only wish somewhere we had a copy.  I sit to the back now and don't actively participate in the play of words and emotions, refraining from laughing or even reacting to the jokes.  They cannot exclude me, but I will not make it harder on them.  It is a silent compromise and we both respect its undeclared rules.  I sit where I will not be easily seen and enjoy the story while we mutually ignore each other.  But I like listening better than reading it alone.  I can pretend I'm not caught in this personal hell for a little while. 

Tonight, will I even be allowed to sit with them?  Will Ezri, with her choice to stay with me, be excluded as well? 

The strange adventures of Arthur Dent are special to me.  From the paranoid robot Marvin, forever dedicated to his perennial state of depression, to the perplexed Zaphod--unable to recall why he stole the Heart of Gold in the first place, to Trillion and her panic over losing her two white mice and to Ford, the pragmatist ready with towel in hand for any odd sort of thing I don't know whom I like best.  But I see it through Arthur's eyes, reluctant wanderer who has no place to go anymore.  As we follow their odd adventures on the barren landscapes of Magrathea, a little drippy with bits of whale, I'm just another avid listener taking a trip in his mind.  I pass through the collapsed tunnels and study the curious devices found inside mysterious Magrathea as it awakes from its long sleep, now that the galaxy wide economic recession is done. 

It's almost a reminder of home--so much of what we had is duplicated.  But it's silly and strange and convoluted too, and we can enjoy the jokes.  Sometimes I wish we had bable fish.  We are always addressed in Standard.  But now it is considered a slave language.  I wonder what Arthur would do without his bablefish now that he's gotten used to it. 

I'm taken in by the vision of the Earth as a supercomputer, built with the express purpose of explaining exactly what the question was that had been answered with "42, the meaning of Life, the Universe and Everything".  If I could go there again, I'd love to look at the fiords of Norway from space and think of the pride Slartibartfast took in his specialty.  For part of the evening I was fixed on him, noting that when first discovered Slarti "claimed repeatedly that nothing was true, though he was later discovered to be lying." 

If the claim that nothing is true is a lie, then what is the opposite truth?  Is everything a lie or nothing false? 

I'm still debating that one when we are ordered to go by the guards, moving in a group towards one of the docking areas.  I have no idea what to expect of the day or the guards and try very hard to pretend that it is a game, that I must fade into the rest or I lose.  But I know the sort of penalty there is for losing.  Realand and his foot hurt but they won't be nearly so gentle. 

This game is as deadly to lose as the other one I'm playing. 

I'm taken in by the docking ring, so oddly familiar, and yet changed too much to be comfortable.  Since the surrender things are different.  The Dominion is altering the station, removing which they don't use and replacing systems with their own technology.  Miles and his people aren't that busy since a lot of the equipment he was maintaining has been replaced. 

We aren't allowed anywhere near the Dominion equipment. 

A guard sorts us out, assigning us to large bins of things, once ours but now confiscated from our quarters.  My bin is full of clothes, all sizes and kinds.  I spent the day filling crates, roughly sorting them by size and type.  One dress is so beautiful, and I can't help but see Tessie wearing it.  But she will never have that kind of clothes.  She will never know the bright colors and shiny styles children used to wear.  Our children wear smaller versions of the prison clothes we are given.  

The sorted clothes go into big crates which are sealed and loaded on a ship.  Nobody knows where the ship is going. 

A ways down they were sorting toys.  I don't know if it is easier to never see Kukalaka again or to have to say good bye.  Maybe it would be too much of a reminder of what we've lost. 

My day wasn't bad.  It was unnerving to be constantly watched, but there was no trouble with the guards.  No one was in a hurry and even the Jem'Hadar looked bored. 

It was far better than being alone with nothing to do.  It was preferable to the pain inside me, the intense need to go to the child we believed would be ours and dare them to take her away. 

There is always the dank little room.  We know better than to try to touch Tessie or we might be there for many more nights. 

Ezri arrives back first, and is sitting, waiting at the tables.  Everyone is ignoring her.  A little ways away, Brenda is holding Tessie, and she is trying to pull away, trying to get to Ezri. 

When I arrive, we retreat to our quarters.  All of Tessie's things are gone.  It is as if she had never been here.  But it's empty.  All the light has been banished with her smile. 

Ezri is sitting on the bed, just staring at the place Tessie's little bed had been.  I can't look at the room, not yet, not knowing what I cost her. 

Tessie is alive, upset but just gone from here.  But for us it is as if she was dead. 

"You should have taken her,"  I finally admit.  "I'm not worth it." 

Ezri slumps down, staring at the floor.  "She'll have a family.  If I took her all she'd have would be me." 

"She's lost her mother, and her grandmother is," I pause, thinking of the living death she'd been locked into, "gone.  You were her mother.  She needed you." 

"I couldn't.  I love her but she's little.  She got used to me, and she can get used to Brenda.  Brenda will be a good mother to her.  But you need me too." 

"They'll ignore you now.  You know that.  You picked me, the traitor.  Sleep with calties, and you know what that makes you." 

She runs her hands over my bearded cheeks.  Only calties shave now.  "I'm not sleeping with those filthy bastards.  I'm standing by my husband."  There is anger in her eyes, though I'm not sure at whom.  "And how do they know what they'd do?  Look at Realand.  Elaine sabotaged the system, not him.  They needed it and he knew it.  He didn't want to die, or be locked up until he broke in a little filthy cage.  So he did it.  He's hardly the one to denounce you." 

"But he did.  They liked it.  If Kira hadn't stopped him he would have killed me."  The day is catching up with me.  The standing and the work, even if it was hardly difficult, is new to me.  The bruises hurt every time I move.  I'm exhausted and when she stands I give into temptation.  "Maybe she should have let him," I add, trying to find a place that hurts a little less as I lay with my back to the wall. 

"Kill the traitor, make them all feel a little better about what they did.  Yes, they'd like that.  Maybe even Miles."  She arranges herself next to me, carefully so as not to push against the sore places.  "But what would they do when they need a doctor, when their kid is sick and they don't know what to do or when the guard smacks them too hard and they need some help.  They aren't above locking us in that filthy little room, and they'd have let him hurt you a lot more.  But not kill you.  Not someone they need." 

I put my arm around her, "No, but they took her away.  That was worse." 

We go to sleep, giving into the delayed reality, and later I wake to noise.  I rouse Ezri, and she sits up suddenly. 

"The cart must be here," she says. 

Nobody told us.  Nobody really cared enough. 

She helps me up, cautiously opening the door.  We slowly file out, hurrying down the corridor when we see the full tables, the short line.  If we'd slept much longer we would have missed dinner. 

We are both outcasts now.  But standing at the end of the line, I notice we are not entirely alone. 

Realand is sitting near the edge of the tables, Jeffrey next to him.  Jackson is on the other side of the room, ignoring them entirely.  Jeffrey is hunched over, Realand keeping anyone away.  But he has a full bowl, eating slowly as if it hurts to move. 

The line stalls because there is nowhere to sit, and we have to stare at the food until enough people move that there is room.  Nobody makes space for us. 

Ezri and I eat alone, even Realand and the boy gone. 

But Miles comes back out, more books in hand.  He sits them next to us and I pick one for myself.  "Group 6 is going tomorrow.  They told them, but not where.  They gave me the books since they don't want them lost. 

Ezri picks a book for herself, too.  But really, neither of us know if there will ever be time to read them.  All the important work we were doing is finished.  Our luck, and our use, is fading fast.  Ezri's whispered comments are right. Things will change soon.  All that's left are the finishing touches and Deep Space 9 will be entirely theirs. 

They will move us away from here, as they have already done with many of us.  When they die, where will we be? 

There is nobody but Miles outside, and us, but we don't count.  "Did we miss a reading?" I ask. 

He doesn't look at us, picking up the remaining books.  "No.  There was an incident in the loading bay.  They shot six people on the spot.  I guess after what happened with Ellie and Cassie just having them shoot you is lucky, but, well, nobody really wanted to read. 

"Who died?" asks Ezri. 

"Brenda's husband.  She didn't know until that crew got back.  She . . . she isn't taking it well." 

"What about Tessie?"  Ezri has the most lost look in her eyes I've ever seen. 

"Tessie's all she has left now." 

More murders.  But now we just postpone the reading, give the widow some room.  How can I blame them if I'm singled out, ignored?  How long will it be before Ezri and I driven away from readings too, or forced into the storage room if we try. 

For a night, Tessie had a father again. 

We take our books to the room, try to read a little before the lights blink.  But I hurt too much, and she can't concentrate. 

As "night" arrives, she slides into bed next to me.  "Was today typical?  The sorting and all that?" I ask. 

She doesn't answer at first.  "You never know." 

"I'm going again tomorrow.  If they stop me, it happens, but I've got to try." 

"You won't have many more chances," mumbles Ezri, succumbing to exhaustion.  "There aren't too many of us left." 

She's asleep.  I just stare at the walls and door, putting the books carefully aside before they fall.  Somehow, this will end.  The Founders will die and the end will come for everything *he* believes.  But it will be months, and months are a long time to wait now.  Now, I can only hope we'll be alive to see that day. 

                               *** 

My absence yesterday must have been noted.  While the others ignore me as usual when I slip into the line, the guards yank me out and I am casually tossed flat on my back.  I'm sure I saw Realand smirking when I slowly dragged myself up, his foot's work still quite notable.  Most of the rest still ignored me, or paid more attention to the guards who started them moving out the door about then. 

The Jem'Hadar discipline me for yesterday in front of the children.  It hurts far more, I suspect, than they know, adding their fists and feet on top of Realands kicks.  But I don't let them see, don't make a sound, and when they are done they let me pull myself off the floor and eventually, slowly, drag myself out of their way.  Shaky and dizzy, I pull myself up to one of the benches, sitting uncomfortably on a hard seat.  I'm gruffly warned to stay in view.  Others will be there for me in a little while. 

I'm had enough discipline so I sit as ordered.  I draw a few curious glances from the children and the two women.  I'd like to think they didn't enjoy the show.  But I'm not entirely sure of that. 

I ignore all of them.  Debating which is worse, the waves of pain from the beating or the anticipation of what Weyoun wants, I try not to fidget.  But it's taking them so long.  It's almost a relief when my escort eventually arrives.  Better to get it over and not have to pretend not to notice the staring.  As the gate creaks open, I drag my aching body up and follow the guards.  I still wish I'd been allowed to go with the others, or would even prefer to stay alone in my little room with the walls shrinking around me.  Special trips like this are always very bad news.  

As I stumble after them, determined not to show how bad I'm hurting, it occurs to me that I realize that I haven't been in this part of the station for only a little while and it already looks very different.  The light is brighter.  The walls are not so dark.  It lacks the odd Cardassian decorations we left in place.  It is simple and utilitarian, almost like the cookie cutter approach Starfleet stations used to use. 

Then we turn down a corridor which requires special access codes to enter.  There are intermittent gates.  Is everything in their station structured like a prison? 

I realize I used to live very near here, resisting the urge to look around for my old quarters.  It's so odd, for there is a familiar feeling here that is gone in most of the station.  Except for the security checks, it is identical. 

We stop before a door, equipped with both a standard lock and a force field.  The guards enter some sort of code and it is opened.  I'm ushered inside as the force field drops and reforms.  The guard stays outside. 

It's basic, an alcove for a bedroom, a couch and desk, looking no different than standard quarters had looked.  But there is a curiosity about it.  The replicator is still there.  And there is a window.  

I can't keep from staring out the window.  It's been a long time since I saw anything but solid walls.  There are a lot of ships docked, but obviously not the heavy traffic I'd seen before.  

Outside, the wormhole opens as three ships approach.  It used to be beautiful, a flower opening is a desert.  Then came the Dominion and the war and . . . this.  I can't help but wonder what's inside the ships.  Is that where we will go when they are done with us here?  

There's a rustling sound from the bedroom, but I can't tear my eyes from the wormhole.  I hear him before I see him.  

"Doctor, I was told you wanted to see me." 

Odo walks into the room. 

I can't think of anything to say.  We wanted to confirm the cure had worked and be sure Odo wouldn't be infected with the new disease.  We needed to get a feel for Odo's state of mind, to see if he might cooperate when the time came.  But we were never allowed to see him. 

Now, Odo stands before me and I force myself to evaluate his condition.  He isn't the same.  There is a submerged anger in his gaze that is all to easy to recognize and his manner is rather cold. 

I assume he's heard about me too. 

But something is wrong.  There is a hint of wildness in his eyes, and he's *standing* wrong.  The last time I'd seen him, he was "wearing" his Bajoran uniform.  Now, he's dressed in casual civilian clothes.  They look rumpled.  I'm suddenly very worried about our future. 

But I have gotten good at covering my reactions to things.  "I asked to see you before, but they said no." 

"They were busy at the time."  His tone is mocking, very much the Odo I knew, but spiced with a deep sense of bitterness as well.  He walks over to the window and deliberately turns away. 

A small worm of worry grows larger.  Odo is hiding something.  His clothes are rumpled.  He moves in a different way.  He moved like that when . . . 

No.  He is vital to our plan, to averting disaster.  But it makes sense they would punish him the same way they had before.  I force myself to keep my thoughts to myself. 

"So was I."  I assume he knows, but decide to let him confirm it. 

"I heard.  You're quite a hero, Doctor.  Your vaccine has been shipped back to the home planet by now."  His tone is mocking, full of the sarcasm I'm used to in Odo.  But then he turns around, and I can tell.  Something about his face is . . . wrong. 

I stare at him for a moment, my aches and bruises forgotten.  He has fine lines of stress in his face.  

"I couldn't let them kill all my friends."  I wonder if Odo will accept that explanation.  I have my doubts. 

His expression is bitter.  "I understand exactly how you feel, Doctor.  I finally gave myself up for your sakes." 

I remember how angry I'd been at him.  Looking at him now--bitter, restless and frustrated in a way I can understand, it is hard to feel that way.  He paces back and forth.  I haven't moved from where I stand.  There are too many ghosts here. 

"We haven't seen any Breen since the bombing."  I have to know what he did.  

"It wasn't just the bombing.  They'd grown to distrust their allies.  When their commander was killed it was the last straw."  His tone is one of defiance and satisfaction.  He sighs, "I had hoped it would make more of a difference." 

I realize that Odo is *tired*.  Odo should not look tired, not like we do.  But he clearly was.  The worm of worry is growing bigger.  I watch him as he moves, trying to decide, wishing I wasn't so certain. 

"Are you hungry?" asks Odo.  "I am lucky to have a replicator."  He walks to the machine.  "Would you like scones?" 

He orders scones and tarkalian tea.  The dish materializes and I can't tear my eyes off of the food.  I finally sit down, taking the dish from Odo and take my first bite. 

Everything--the worry, the hard months, the devastating defeat--vanish under the spell of the sweet, delicate flavor.  The tea brings back too many memories, and yet I drink it with relish. 

Then the delight utterly vanishes.  Odo says, "I've gotten to like them myself." 

I watch as he orders a plate with a tangy Bajoran tea.  He takes his meal and sits at the table.  He begins to eat. 

We *need* Odo to stop the Jem'Hadar, to order them to spare us.  Without Odo, when all the sick changelings die we will be in the way, just part of dead from the grief-borne massacre to come.  But Odo must be a changeling.  Changelings do not eat scones for lunch.  Their clothes are not rumpled.  They do not have stress lines on their faces.  I stare at him, unable to stop myself. 

Odo notices, and nods.  "I was made into a solid again as punishment.  I took your side so I should live like you.  Considering what my people have done I am not especially sorry." 

The monsters would die, but we might die with them now.  "Kira didn't mention it," I say. 

Or doesn't know.  "I've only seen her a few times," says Odo.  "Not since . . . " 

It is going to be a very long six months, while we wait for them to start dying, wondering if we should hide or kill them.  But under the circumstances, how do we do either? 

"She said she'd seen you," I say, trying to push away the dread.  "But that was a while ago." 

He almost smiles.  "I'm told I'll be going with you when you're relocated.  I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell Kira." 

So it will be soon.  I guess that Odo hears more than we do.  But despite the quarters and the replicator he's still their prisoner.  He can't leave without having them open the door. 

"What news have you heard?" he asks carefully. 

"The Federation surrendered," I say.  "There are a lot of rumors about it but that's all we know." 

Odo looks at me sadly.  "Your parents were on Earth.  I'm sorry, Doctor, but they are dead.  I rather liked them." 

I stare at him.  We all knew.  Most of us believed it to some degree.  But Odo must know the full truth.  "What did they do?" I almost whisper. 

He takes a deep breath, and there is anger there.  "The survivors were killed by the Jem'Hadar within a day," he says.  "The buildings were flattened.  Then the planet was left with nothing alive to see the fires."  He pauses, looking out the window.  "The same happened to the Klingons.  The Romulans were merely enslaved but they did surrender early." 

He abandons his food, and stands, looking out the window.  "As I said, I am quite content to live the rest of my life as a solid." 

It is worse when it's not rumor.  You can deny a rumor.  I can not find anything to say.  Odo looks at me, "My people--those who were my people--are very final." 

I'm too stunned to reply.  I wish I could tell him his people will soon meet the same fate as the people of Earth.  I want him to know about our revenge. 

Perhaps he'll be with us when they die.  Would the Jem'Hadar, in some ancestral memory, still honor him for what he had been?  Or would he be just another solid to slaughter? 

"Please, Doctor, tell Kira I miss her," he says.  His tone is soft, resigned. 

"I will," I reply, still too numb to think.  How will I tell the others? 

The conversation is ended when the door is abruptly opened and I'm ordered to go.  I notice the Jem'Hadar does not look at Odo when he arrives.  Odo just stares out the window. 

I follow my guard down the corridor, past the security gate and into the main command area.  I'm guided into an office where shops had been and discover Weyoun waiting.  I can't look at him. 

"Did you enjoy your visit to Odo?" he asks, as if he's done me a great favor. 

I say nothing.  I continue to look away from him.  I visualize the violet eyes staring vacantly at nothing and the garish clothes soaked with his own blood as the Jem'Hadar rampage through the station. 

"You did well with the vaccine.  Now we have other things for you to do."  I realize he expects my cooperation this time.  I feel the bile rising in my throat. 

I see my parents bodies soaked in blood, tossed into a heap.  I see the places I'd lived turned to flame.  I see the Alamo burning bright, as well as all the places that time had somehow spared so we might remember.  I see my home with all our history turned to ashes.  I will do nothing more for them, no matter what they demand or what they threaten. 

I have already gotten my revenge. 

"I will never work for you again," I say, my voice thick with hatred and revulsion. 

"That would be unfortunate.  Prisoners housed on this station will be deported soon.  I would think you would prefer to stay here with your wife." 

There are two Jem'Hadar guards nearby.  I wonder if I could get one of their guns before they kill me, if I could kill Weyoun first. 

I say nothing. I do not look at him. 

I hear the guards marching towards me, but do not move.  Something hard hits me in the back of the knees, and I'm knocked on the floor.  One holds my arms behind me while I'm kicked in the stomach by the other. 

It hurts but I don't care if they kill me.  I won't work for murderers.  I'm shoved forward suddenly, and my head hits the floor very hard. 

Now everything is blurry and distant.  I let them do what they want.  No matter how bad they hurt me it won't change my mind.  The last thing I remember is my head smashing against the floor one last time, harder this time.  Then I am consumed by the dark. 

                               *** 

There is nothing but blackness, warm and soft and safe.  But now it's fading, transforming itself into a bright fog.  The fierce glow hurts too much and I try to flee back to the safe, unknowing blackness but it is gone. 

The voices drift in from the grey, bright, painful, pounding fog. 

"I think he's awake," says Ezri.  

Her voice is very distant, hard to make out it's so faint.  Still, I hold onto the words.  I don't move for an eternity because of the pain, barely tolerable if I stay still.  My stomach is already churning and I won't tempt fate.  I cling to the last vestiges of distant darkness, between sleep and waking, but am finally forced awake by the pain and the nausea.  I drift in the bright haze, listening to the sounds around me.  I don't know where I am or how I got here.  Why is Ezri here?  Despite the pain, I must know.  I force my eyes to open, but everything is fuzzy.  Still, I can decipher enough details to be sure.  I close my eyes, trying to shut out all the brightness.  My head is locked in waves of dizziness and I have no desire to move.  My stomach rebels at the slightest movement. 

Our quarters . . .  I don't remember being brought back here.  I try to make some sense of things.  The Jem'Hadar took me away.  I saw Odo, then . . . But after that it's mostly a blank filled with fear.  I can feel the bruises.  I can remember hitting my head on the floor.  But after that?  

"He opened his eyes."  A hand takes mine, checking my pulse.  "Open your eyes, Doctor."  I recognize the voice.  Sloan is here?  I have vague memories of him being there, before . . . where?  Sloan must have carried me.  But it doesn't figure.  I know the rules.  If you can't walk back to your group, you don't go at all. 

Something terrible happened, something so bad I don't want to remember any of it.  Now and then are little flashes of memory, little glimpses of hell, but I can make no sense of them.  

He wants to know if I'll live, if my eyes focus, if the head injury is so bad I won't survive it.  I want to know too.  Carefully, painfully, I open my eyes, just long enough for them to look.  The light is too bright and I shut them quickly, pulling my arm over my face. 

"He's focusing.  His pupils aren't dilated.  He's ok so far."  So I'll live.  I'll have to remember now.  I don't want to remember.  Then more of Sloan.  But he sounds different, hurting too much.  "If we're lucky it's just a bad concussion." 

Why is Ezri so . . . accepting of Sloan?  She was there, saw him that night when Sisko found us on the machine.  Sloan died.  She'd been given some explanation by Sisko, but it's wrong she isn't even curious about him.  Now, Miles, he would guess. 

A sensation, a flash of blood and hell passes through me. 

And Sloan . . . Sloan wouldn't expect them to even know him and he isn't reacting either. 

Trying to solve the mystery takes my mind off the repeated battering and the throbbing inside my head.  Nothing helps the churning inside my belly.  If I stay still I can keep it down.  I can't imagine my body forcing me to sit up or drown in my own vomit. 

I'm trying to make some sense of this and the meaning of the unknown flashes of nightmare that come, when pain drives away everything.  

Ezri puts her hand on my shoulder, and I involuntarily cringe.  It was slammed hard against the floor too many times.  I remember that part.  I have a vague memory of hitting a wall.  The last thing I can recall with any clarity is Weyoun's men thumping my head against the floor, but there must have been much more.  Why can't I remember?  Do I even want to?  Is it the memory of nearly being beaten to death, or something else, something worse . . . 

She touches me again, pressing a little harder this time.  The bruising is very deep and it hurts so bad I try to pull away.  "Julian, you've got to stay awake.  You have a bad concussion.  I don't want you going into a coma." 

I don't know what I want.  All I can remember is the first part, when Weyoun had his guards take me down.  But that was only the beginning.  The rest is fragments of memory, and glimpses of horror.  I wonder if they made me stay conscious most of the time.  I don't know if I want to make sense of the flashes that come without warning. 

If I could I'd just go back to the blackness and stay there forever. 

Sloan takes my hand.  I can tell his from Ezri's smaller one.  He pulls me out of my protective ball.  The pain is terrible, and my head is pounding in waves of agony.  But it helps keep my mind off the cauldron inside my stomach.  "Doctor," he says.  I don't want to respond.  It hurts to move and I want to just fade back to wherever I was.  "Doctor, count for me.  Start at one." 

He's not going to leave me alone if I don't cooperate.  "One," I whisper.  It sounds like a scream inside my head.  

"Good.  Keep going."  This from Ezri. 

"Two."  I take as deep a breath as I dare, but the pain . . .  "Three," I whisper/shout.  The pounding in my head is reaching a crescendo, and I can't stand it.  "No more.  Too loud."  I clench my teeth to keep them quiet. 

Something is terribly wrong, more than the beating I'd received.  Ezri's voice is dragging, and even Sloan sounds very bitter and shaky.  Weyoun never got a chance to explain what I was to do.  Is that a part of the missing pieces of memory? 

They let me be and start a quiet conversation.  I don't want to listen, want nothing louder than silence but I'm too curious to shut it out.  "What did they want?" she asks Sloan.  Her voice is so dull, so stunned. 

I know I was taken from here.  I got to see Odo and was brought before Weyoun.  When I said no they smashed my head against the floor.  The rest is gone.  But I have this terrible feeling that Ezri and Sloan were both a part of it. 

"There was a new project.  Something to do with genetic engineering.  I refused to work on it.  He'd already refused."  But there is something scary about the way Sloan's voice is so hesitant and weak. 

There are images of things in my head, terrible things--flashing blades, spilling blood.  I shudder at the memory.  Something is very wrong if we are back here instead of dead after refusing their orders. 

And why is Sloan here?  

There was so much blood.  The Jem'Hadar used their baronets.  They hacked him open. 

Why isn't Miles here to see how I'm doing?  He'd not stay away.  Unless . . .   A quiet scream builds in my mind, built of agony and indescribable horror.  Nooooo . . . 

It ceases suddenly.  The thought is so calm, so simple to think, and all the feeling disappears.  We are alive because Weyoun wants us to be.  But we were still punished.  They killed substitutes instead. 

"They were all ignoring him before.  Maybe now they'll let it up."  I must be in shock.  Ezri sounds like she and Sloan are as well. 

Suddenly, I know why.  She was there.  They took her along with the others, and held a knife at her throat.  I can see it as if it was a holographic play I was watching, somehow far removed from the original.  I can see her eyes go wide with terror, see her body so still it is unnatural.  I can hear my own breathing as they decide who to kill. 

The bastards didn't kill her.  I can't see Keiko, but I know she's there.  I remember the intense relief when the Jem'Hadar shot my best friend's wife instead of my own.  I'll always remember that moment.  I crumple, with a huge sob of grief from deep inside my soul. 

Bastards.  Monsters.  I don't care what happens in six months as long as they all die.  It doesn't matter much to me right now if the Jem'Hadar go on a rampage.  As long as the monsters who killed my best friend are dead. 

I hope they cut Weyoun into little pieces.  It's starting to come clear.  I was tied, chained against the wall.  I couldn't go to them.  They lived for a little while before they bled to death. 

Molly and Yoshi are orphans now.  Someone's going to have to care for them.  At least they didn't have to see the way their parents died. 

I am lost in the blood and horror and terror of the moment.  It will live with me forever.  I stare at the walls of this grimy room, wishing I'd gone to Cardassia and died there. 

My head still hurts too much to move, but my mouth is very dry.  "Water?" I whisper in a roar. 

"Try the broth.  It's better for you."  Ezri gently lifts my head a little and I nearly black out.  I force my mouth to open, my teeth to unclinch.  I let her feed me.  It is all I can do to stay conscious. 

There must be cuts inside my mouth.  It stings when I swallow.  I think I've lost a few teeth.  I can taste blood.  I take as much of the broth as I can before I can't stand to have my head up. 

I try to stay awake.  I know I should.  But as she gently eases my head to the pillow and the blankets are folded on top of me, the blackness comes again and everything else fades. 

                               *** 

"Eat," says Kira.  "I know you don't want to but do it anyway."  

I ignore her, feigning sleep.  I am never left alone and she is my current watcher.  I suppose I should count the company as lucky.  My head still pounds and the bruises have only faded a little, but at least the nausea is mostly gone.  I can eat more now.  I just don't want to.  It's past the critical time from my head injuries.  I won't die on them from internal bleeding or a blood clot.  I can sleep without danger.  They are worried about the wounds so deep inside that nothing will heal.  The memories are too fresh and raw and painful now.  My watchers are keeping me company to keep me alive. 

They needn't worry.  Weyoun made sure my physical injuries were non-fatal, and the lack of medical care only insures more pain.  I still don't have the strength to stand and need help feeding myself.  But most of all I can't bear the thought of being alone, not yet.  With someone here there are little noises, occasional conversation, and I can keep the memories at bay.  I do not know how to deal with them and push them all away. 

I'm lucky. For some reason I'm being allowed to recover instead of being dragged into a cell to die.  But it is certain that our status has changed.  Nobody knows how long it will be until we're moved to one of those cargo holds below.  Certainly, the relative luxury of this place won't last much longer.  But Weyoun wants me alive.  Down below, I might die of my injuries.  So we have a little time left before we lose everything. 

Sloan is missing.  Shortly after I passed out, he was taken by the Jem'Hadar for further questioning.  He saved me from a terrible decision.  I loathed him once, but no longer.  I will miss him.  I don't expect him to come back. 

Not everybody is as lucky as I am.  Most of the victims get dumped in an isolation cell to survive or not.  If you call this luck. 

I should be dead.  We aren't allowed to say no.  I had a chance to pick comfort and privilege over misery.  I failed their test.  I was punished, made to watch the murder of my friends.  Is that luck? 

My mind is drifting, finding places where this nightmare does not exist.  There is a sound by the door, and I look up expectantly.  I know Miles is dead.  I saw them hack him open and watched as he bled to death.  But it's not real. 

I half expect him to walk in the door.  

I've heard about this from others.  I know all the clinical reasons why we deny death.  But I did not remember that they were gone after I woke the second time.  It fell to Kira to tell me, and I've been trying to make sense of it ever since. 

I know about the stages of grief. I've referred people to counselors who couldn't handle it.  I've held friends who finally faced the crushing realization that a loved one was gone.  I should know better.  

Except it doesn't help. 

Ezri can't help me.  She'd been standing next to Keiko as my friend's wife was shot.  Miles dying body lay in a pool of blood next to her as he died from his gruesome wounds.  Spattered with his blood, a blade was held to her throat, with every reason to believe she was next. 

She is as much the walking wounded as I am.  She hardly says a word when she's here.  She isn't Ezri or Jadzia or any of the others, just numb and lost.  When Kira is here, she is spending all her time with the now orphaned children. 

Did I kill them, not just Miles and Keiko, but the others?  They shot others too.  I didn't even remember them at first.  The memories of their deaths are still a jumble of images and sounds, pain and nothingness.  I remember Ralph Townsend as he faced death, not resigned, not even scared, but as if it was a release from his own personal hell.  And then there was Cindy's husband Justin, his child recently born, holding onto life with everything he had. 

If there is anything I can do to help Cindy I will.  I know Ralph wanted to die, but Justin didn't.  After he died it hurt too much to feel.  All I could see was Alessa and how he'd never know how she grew.  After that I stopped feeling anything at all. 

I never even asked what they wanted me to do.  Weyoun never said.  I was too stunned by Odo's detailed story of Earth's fate to get past the rage and grief that filled my being.  

Sloan refused them too.  A vague memory of his beaten body being dragged in, people he knew being sacrificed as a price is there, without any real detail.  Somehow, I expected him to go along, to pull another miracle escape from the inevitable fate that awaits both of us.  He knew how to play the game, to survive.  Or perhaps he isn't the same man who killed and tortured to save the ideals of the Federation.  Perhaps he just had enough of the lies. 

Because this time, this war, we *lost*.  It is only now sinking in that we must live by their rules now, that there is to be no liberation.  Have we all started to figure in the price of survival?  For some, is it too high a cost? 

I know Weyoun hasn't given up yet.  Others paid in my stead this time.  Next time, will I do the same, knowing the cost, or will that have become simply too much to pay?  Will the Vorta find someone else more easily turned and let me go?  Would it have hurt to pretend cooperation this time, hoping for some way out except death or ownership?  I have to know if Miles can forgive me for letting him die. 

Kira hasn't spoken for a long time.  She keeps gazing at the door, left half open, and is lost in her own thoughts.  Occasionally I brave the always present bright light to look at her, more defeated than I've ever seen her before, and listen as she shuffles around in the chair.  I wonder how much harder it is if you've lived without freedom to have it taken away.  

Maybe we understand each other better than I'd like. 

I haven't expressed any interest in food, and she is standing now, holding the bowl in her hands.  "Julian, you have to eat." She'll poke me in the arm, just enough to get my attention, if I don't try a little.  My shoulder still hurts to move and I'd rather not have it disturbed. 

My head hurts--more like pounds--compounded by the lights.  I'm not hungry and my bowl is cold.  I want to curl up and go somewhere else.  The spoon slips and she picks it up. 

"Eat, Julian.  You owe it to them."  She is standing over me, spoon in hand, ready to feed me herself if I don't eat. 

Pain or not, I decide to feed myself this time.  Weyoun has limited patience.  It would be humiliating to have to be carried out of here.  I take the spoon from her.  The gruel is too lumpy when it's cold.  The broth has an odd taste.  But I take a few bites. 

After all, it's all there will be today.  We have had rations cut by half.  We all understand now.  It is unthinkable to waste food. 

I manage a few bites, growing more dizzy and my head pounding too much to hold it up.  "I can't . . . "  

It isn't just the headache, or the dizziness, or even the pain that touches every part of me.  It's the memories.  I always sat with Miles for meals, at least before the cure.  Even then, he often let me be near.  My parents and Garak are dead too, executed by the same murderers, but they were far away when they died.  He was here.  I was used to him being around.  Even when we didn't really talk anymore, just being there would remind us to not give up.  Now that he's gone and I'm caught in a trap with no way out but death or willing collaboration, who keeps me from giving up now? 

For Miles it's all over.  Nobody can hurt him now.  But how will it feel to eat dinner alone, probably with his children at my side, or to read a book he traded back especially because we liked it so much?  Even after I became invisible to them, he still left books and passed messages to me now and then. 

I feel alone now. 

"That's good enough for now.  We'll save the rest," She takes the bowl, propped carefully in front of me.  She gently sits it on the table.  I collapse on the pillow, rolling on my side where the bruises are not so bad and try to cover my eyes.  

If we could, at least, turn off the lights, even dim them a little . . .  They are not even turning them down at night anymore.  We aren't allowed even a little darkness. 

That kind of darkness . . .  How can we exist in a place so brightly lit and so mired in darkness at the same time? 

She is restless, and I don't want her to go.  I wonder what Odo will do if he's deported with us.  Perhaps he will be allowed to be with her again as a slave.  I did promise to tell her.  Painfully, I roll over a little, leaving my eyes closed.  I can hear her turn towards me.  "Odo said to tell you he misses you," I say. 

I open my eyes a little.  She is sitting very still, making no noise at all.  "How is he?" she asks, not hiding the worry. 

"Well enough," I say, wondering if I should tell her, "Considering." 

"Considering what?" 

"He's been changed to a solid again," I say, looking at her, braving the bright light to open my eyes.  "He helps us, he lives like us.  When we're deported, he goes with us." 

She says nothing.  Perhaps she understands better than I do what it cost Odo to give up his people.  "Did he tell you anything else?" she asks quietly. 

I take a deep breath.  It makes it too real to put it into words.  "They destroyed the Klingon homeworld.  No survivors."  I pause.  It's so hard to say it.  "Weyoun makes sure he's given all the details.  And Earth, they did the same.  They're all dead." 

I just want to close my eyes and go away.  Saying the words makes it too real. 

She is stunned. I wonder if she's thinking of Bajor, what will come of it if its people should fight back as hard as they did against the Cardassians, if any of them will survive the systematic murder of Dominion rule.  "I'm sorry," she finally says, stumbling over the words.  "I'll tell them." 

At least I'm spared that.  I can tell them the details later when I allow myself to think of them.  If I can. 

She is looking at me, deeply grieved.  "We have to move Ezri and the kids back here.  We're trying to make some space for the others."  Her voice is very quiet, haunted by too many memories and fears. 

"How many?" I ask. 

"Sloan's people.  He's still being held." 

I know why it's been so noisy.  After she tells them it will be very quiet. 

And the children . . .  I guess I owe it to Miles.  I didn't want children before Tessie, and the painful way she was torn away reminds me of why.  But I killed their parents.  And Ezri has already decided.  "I'll be all right."  She knows it's a lie but all right is relative now.  "How's Ezri?" 

"She'll manage."  Kira moves closer, taking my hand, her eyes reflecting a deep sadness.  "She needs you, and so do the kids.  The best thing you can do is be a family.  Be each other's strength." 

"She was . . . having a hard time of it before," I say, trying to find a way to keep the details away. 

Kira pulls the chair closer.  The light is making my head pound and I close my eyes.  I can hear the sadness now.  "She's . . . trying," says Kira.  "She's coping the best she can."  Her voice changes, softens a little.  "She has blood all over her.  What happened?" 

I want to shut it out, make all the flashes of nightmare vanish.  I never want to remember them again.  "They were going to kill her," I mutter to myself, turning away. 

"With the rest, what happened?" she insists.  "Julian, it will only get worse if you don't talk about it.  I don't think she can.  You have to be strong for her.  Tell me what they did." 

What a strange reversal of roles, I think.  Kira is the counselor now.  But her experience comes from something other than Starfleet medical. 

She is right.  I've told others the same thing.  I've forced them to go for counseling by using my rank and position to order them into it.  But knowing doesn't help.  I still don't want to remember. 

"Not . . . yet," I plead. 

"No," she says.  "Now.  It will just get harder if you wait."  She turns away.  I hear the chair squeak, peak at her rigid posture as if she's regaining control.  "You'll never forget it, but the nightmares are easier if you talk about it." 

I don't want to ask.  I never ask Ezri about the Breen and their prods.  I hesitate, but force out the words. 

"I was taken to this room," I whisper.  "They had Miles there, and Keiko and others.  They had them lined up against a wall, hands tied in front.  Weyoun said I'd work with them or be sorry.  Then they shot the first one, Ralph.  He looked . . . happy, glad to die.  Then another, Justin this time." 

I'm shaking.  It's too real.  I have to stop.  I can't make myself remember.  

"He didn't want to die," she says. 

I close my eyes, try to shut out the images that now come unbidden.  "They had to drag him, made him stand with a rifle at his head in the middle of the room.  He kept looking at me with this silent plea.  All I could think of was Alessa's birth, how proud he'd been.  Weyoun demanded I agree, or see him die." 

"Go on," she prompts, but it isn't necessary anymore.  I can't stop the words now. 

"I couldn't.  I kept thinking of how they probably killed my parents, how everybody I knew there had been murdered by them.  I couldn't ever work for someone like that.  But he was still looking at me, pleading, when they shot him in the stomach."  I pause.  "He screamed, but I don't know if it was just to me or the rest.  He was still alive then.  Weyoun ordered him dragged to the side and asked me if he should die now or later.  He would be put in a holding cell to bleed to death if I chose.  Or finished off then.  I couldn't see his face to know.  But he might have lived a long time in that cell, taken a long time to die in agony.  I said to end it then." 

She can see it wasn't as easy as that.  "How'd he die?" she asks, insisting as I pull away from her. 

"They used bayonets.  They hacked him up slow.  This time the screams were very real.  He took a long time to die and I had to watch." 

She touches me and I jerk away.  "You didn't stab him.  They killed him, not you." 

"I should have known he'd do it," I mutter, going quiet on her, refusing to look. 

"The rest?" she asks. 

"They just shot them.  In the head.  I didn't care anymore." 

She sounds calm, but I can hear the emotional drain in her voice.  "What about Sloan?" she asks. 

"They demanded he do it if I wouldn't, after he'd quit on me, the first ones, before Miles.  He . . . refused.  But the bastard really wanted me."  The image is forming in my mind, Keiko and Ezri, standing side by side, very still as the guards aim their rifles. 

How can I tell her I was glad they killed Keiko instead?  Miles was kneeling on the floor, watching from the center of the bloody room.  When she died, when the rifle fired, he screamed out her name.  I was only half-aware of things, but I *remember* the way I was so relieved that it hadn't been Ezri, that they'd murdered my best friends wife instead. 

I realize I'm crying.  She holds my hand.  "Keep going," she says.  "It hurts, but you can't bury it." 

"The guards dragged Miles closer, and when he tried to get to Keiko they knocked him down, started to kick him hard.  I thought they might kill him that way, but they dragged him up then, made him kneel and tied his hands behind him to this pole." 

I stare at the scene in my head, describing it in the dull tones of shock, how they'd slashed him open with the baronets, kept hacking until his organs were spilling out and he was surrounded by a puddle of blood.  Then they released his hands and he fell face down, eyes still open.  They let him bleed to death then, lying in a wet sea of red. 

She puts her hands around mine, and I realize I'm digging my nails into my palm so hard I'm making it bleed.  The blood just makes the vision of my friend's mutilated body all the more real. 

"Did he ask you first, like with Justin?"  She is fighting her own battle to keep her voice even, but I can feel her hands shaking. 

I see it all very clearly.  "I got one last chance to cooperate.  I was so . . . full of rage over what they'd done I couldn't think straight, couldn't *feel* anything."  The tears grow hard, and I start shaking as I begin to sob.  "I let them kill him.  I couldn't keep myself from watching.  It wasn't real.  He was lying in this puddle of blood with . . . with his insides spilling out and it wasn't real." 

I can't say anymore.  I can't tell her how they dragged Sloan up to look, demanding his cooperation again.  I can't talk about how I tried to kill myself by hitting my head against the wall, but all I succeeded in doing was making everything so vague it drifted by the rest of the ordeal.  

She holds me as we grieve.  

I say good bye to my friends, not just Miles but Garak and my parents and all the others who are gone now. 

But especially to Miles.  It will be so hard to face this without the quiet, steady support he always shared. 

Finally, after a long time, she says, quite softly, "Ezri is going to need you.  Be her anchor.  You can't . . . fix things for her.  She has to do that.  But she needs someone steady to depend on.  That's you." 

She would know.  She's been here before.  I can't bear what they've done to Ezri, holding the bloody bayonet against her throat, giving me one last chance, one last option I knew I could never accept.  The Jem'Hadar had pressed it hard, and she'd fainted and at first there was so much blood everywhere I didn't know she'd only passed out, that they hadn't cut her.  I can't cope with the way I'd been played with, torn apart inside.  I'm so empty inside.  That is far worse than the beating that finished the day, before Sloan and I had been sent back to stand as more examples, like Realand before. 

I still hate the man, can never forgive him, but understand his bitterness.  I can't face anyone now, not even Ezri. 

No matter what happens, it will only be a little less bad after they die. 

"I'll try," I say.  But I can't deal with it now.  "I want to sleep.  My head hurts."  

"It's still early," she says, looking at the lights, probably out of habit.  "Try to sleep.  I'll check on you later." 

She moves towards the door, but pauses.  "Remember," she says, "keep believing." 

I just wish I knew how. 

                               *** 

An utterly silent gloom has descended on this place.  Kira told them the news earlier today and the only sound is the occasional movement of bodies, now and then a sob as reality sinks in.  But mostly all there is is absolute quiet. 

When we were divided up, they split us by species.  Except for spouses like Ezri and the occasional "special" prisoner like Kira, almost everyone here is human.  Some had family or friends on Earth, now undeniable gone.  But for everyone it is an end of things.  It is the moment when the last of the family elders have passed and all that is left is shared memories.  It is the turning point when home has ceased, blown away in the winds of time.  It is the end of childhood.  We face the future with the same numbness that filled the last generation after the children had gone, in that time before their evolution destroyed the rest.  What reason is there to survive but revenge?  Or perhaps, just surviving is a kind of revenge in itself. 

We knew they killed all the Cardassians.  There are more of us, scattered everywhere.  When the Founders die what is to become of us?  Will we reclaim our ruined home, like the Bajorans have tried to do, remaking the surface but never the spirit?  Will we be like the Skrreeans and find our home claimed by someone else when we try to return?  Will we cease to exist as a people at all and be the unwanted interlopers in everyone else's world? 

I can't deal with that anymore than I can deal with Miles. 

My shoulder hurts; Ezri is asleep and pressing close.  She's having a nightmare and, pain or not, I put my arm around her.  The children are curled together in a makeshift bed on the floor, under the table.  At least they are shaded from the bright light.  I think since . . . since things changed the lights are brighter too.  We didn't have to do that with Tessie when we had "night", but I hope Brenda is finding a way to make some shade for her.  I wish I could feel for her but her own loss has somehow become just a part of the general feeling of grief that has taken everyone now.  

We still love Tessie, miss her, but Brenda has no one else now.  And Molly and Yoshi are alone.  Now, we make family out of what's left. 

The lights hurt my eyes and I can't see very well yet, my vision still mostly a blur, thought it's improving daily. 

I can't sleep.  My head still aches with a dull roar.  The hours go by so slowly.  Despite the pain it's good to hold her, and I find myself slipping away. 

Something is wrong.  It's dark, or very dim.  Ezri is next to me and the children snuggled together.  Except for the random sounds of the others sleeping it is silent.  But I look up and Miles is standing in the doorway. 

He's gazing at the children.  "Take care of them.  At least they weren't on Earth with their grandparents." 

I look up at him, dressed in the same clothes we're given but now they aren't soaked in blood.  "We'll protect them," I say. 

"You can't," he says.  "Just keep them alive.  Let Kira help.  She understands."  He looks at Ezri and I.  "Just love them.  Do the best you can.  If it doesn't work out like we'd like it's okay." 

He looks lost and depressed and broken.  I sit up a little, and he looks directly at me.  "I had to refuse," I tell him.  "Odo just told me about Earth.  I couldn't stand the thought of touching anything of theirs."  

He grows sad.  "I know.  It was the right thing to do." 

"Was it?" I ask.  "I'd rather be dead than know seven people died for me." 

"You and Sloan," he says.  "Remember, Julian," he adds, moving closer.  He shimmers a little in the dark.  "Don't give up hope.  Believe it will end."  He turns, looking at his children.  "One day it will.  Get them through the bad part alive.  That's all I ask." 

I didn't want children.  I didn't want to see them cry because they are hungry.  I didn't want to watch them hide when the Jem'Hadar come near.  I didn't want to watch them harden as their childhoods were stolen away.  I didn't want them to look forward to nothing but a life ordered by someone else.  But I wanted Tessie.  And I owe it to Miles.  

"I will," I say, knowing it limits my options the next time, when Weyoun or another tyrant uses them as the threat.  "I promise." 

He is fading.  The darkness is growing brighter, as bright as our cage.  He smiles.  "Good bye," he says. 

I watch the place he'd been.  Suddenly Molly wakes, and poking her head out of the blanket starts to cry.  "Daddy, don't go away," she screams.  Then she starts to sob.  Ezri has awakened and picks her up, rocking her gently. 

I keep staring at the space where Miles had been, wondering what awaits us, wondering how bad it will be.  Miles does not expect any of the innocence to survive, but if we keep them alive somehow they'll have a chance at freedom.  It won't take decades.  But it will be long enough, hard enough. 

Kira knows too.  Has Sisko told her, in his own way, that there will be an end?  Would a Prophet still care about us? 

I put my arm around Ezri.  "She had a bad dream," she says. 

I don't tell her.  She'll love them and cherish them.  She will not have them torn away like Tessie, Ezri already showing small signs of the ferocious beast with a cub, her attention totally devoted to Molly.  That is what matters.  "Does she understand?" I ask Ezri. 

"I think she does now," she says, softly, and I can tell that she's crying too.  "I promised Miles we'd take care of them before he died," she says.  She closes her eyes.  "He was alive.  All bloody but alive.  I could hear him breathing.  He stopped right after I promised." 

A flash of blood and terror and pain fills me, and I am there again.  I see him collapsed in a pool of his own blood, Ezri held so close.  We have both made our pact with his soul.  I can push away the image, the unnatural brightness of this dull room fading back into view.  Painfully, I put my arm around both of them. 

Hold onto what you have and let it be enough. 

Molly finally falls asleep and is put back with her brother.  She rolls next to him and he puts his arms around her.  I watch as the blanket covers them.  Ezri sits next to me.  "I was worried about her," she says. 

She is shaking.  "I thought they'd killed you," I say. 

She collapses onto me.  "I thought they would to." 

I hold her.  It hurts, but I don't care.  She buries her head in my arms.  I can feel the silent tears as she finally lets out the agony she's kept to herself.  Slowly, she starts to relax and the shaking stops.  I slide us back into bed, and eventually we both fall asleep. 

Somehow, we'll get through this.  The Founders will die, and eventually we'll be free.  But I'm afraid.  We can kill the monsters, but nothing will restore what was taken. 

Nothing, not even the death of the last of the changelings and their custom-made servants will ever make up for that. 

                               ***

                            Chapter 13

                               *** 

For the first time in a lifetime, I am alone.  Ezri and the children are outside, allowing them a chance to play.  The new people from Sloan's group have brought other children and they have already found new friends. 

I'm not ready to go there yet, to look at the faces of the survivors.  I'm not prepared to see the silent grief of the widows, or the children who are still asking why daddy is gone.  I just can't face the price I paid quite yet. 

I'm not ready to consider what I've sentenced these people to when we are removed from this place.  I suppose they may tolerate me now, perhaps even speak to me.  But I'm not sure I'm ready for that, ready to face the price those like Justin Carlan paid for my refusal. 

Miles is hovering near, his voice in my head.  'He understands,' 
he whispers. 

But he didn't want to die like that.  'Nobody wants to, but it's over.  He knows what they wanted.' 

*I* don't.  It is frustrating when Miles decides to hold a conversation.  I can feel him in the room.  But he knows more than he's willing to say.  Or can say.  But eventually I might get it out of him. 

'He loves his daughter.  He knows what they wanted.  He would have rather died, even the way he did.' 

What do children, *babies* have to do with it?  Sometimes Kira alludes to Sisko having visited her dreams, and I wonder if he leaves as many mysteries as Miles. 

But at least Miles was more specific.  Sloan said it was genetic research.  What is he trying to do, remake *us* so we are the perfect slaves that will have the last little bit of freedom stripped away, the right to dream?  Is he trying to make his own kind of Jem'Hadar? 

But he's leaving me alone.  He must have found someone to do his bidding.  Not that I'm surprised . . . 

I wonder what will happen when they die and his empire falls, if the caltie who took my intended place will live long enough to get very far. 

I have the comfort of knowing *his* gods will still die, no matter how many plans they make.  Too bad the Jem'Hadar will kill him before we have a chance . . . 

Miles is still in my head.  He gives a kind of mental shrug I can almost see.  'Look, Julian, you can't hide.  They don't blame you." 

Maybe.  But I can still hear Justin scream, even if I'm told I'm forgiven. 

His conversation is interrupted by the door opening and Ezri entering the room.  He goes. 

She's holding Tessie, half-asleep and nestled in her arms.  I'm astonished to see the child I was sure we'd lost.  "Brenda isn't taking care of her.  She's sitting on the floor staring into space.  Tessie wandered over to me crying.  I don't care what they say I'm going to watch her until Brenda comes back."  

My Ezri has changed, but now she has found a passionate reason to go on.  She says very little, but never takes her eyes off the children, even those she isn't supposed to like Tessie.  I don't know this woman.  There is little trace of the Ezri I loved since the ordeal. 

I'm afraid I've lost her completely.   I don't recognize her anymore.  Perhaps she is one of the early hosts, one of the mothers.  I wouldn't know them.  Or perhaps she is a wounded animal seeking a place to hide and to heal. 

I must grant her that space.  All I can do is hope she finds a way to heal.  I push my own pain and confusion and guilt inside.  There is no place for it now. 

Tessie is almost there, eyelids drooping, and she puts her to bed in Molly and Yoshi's area under the table.  The child curls into the blankets and is asleep almost immediately. 

It's nice to have her back, even for a few minutes.  I like her company.  I'm getting sleepy just watching her, wishing I could hold her. 

But I have been sitting up, trying to fight the dizziness and pounding it brings inside my head.  I'd like to move around but I get so dizzy when I stand that I might pass out. 

And someone is tapping on the door, waking me.  I expect it to be Brenda or someone else coming for Tessie, or perhaps Kira, who checks on me often.  But I don't recognize the voice.  "Doctor, if I can help . . ." 

I'd managed to get to the chair before I collapsed into it.  I don't really want to deal with anyone, but Miles is in my head again.  'Let him help.  You have to move around.'  The doctor in me agrees even if I'd like to sit in this room until they drag us out.  

"Come in, I guess," I say without enthusiasm. 

He's tall and lanky, rather young, and nervous.  I don't know him.  "My name's Ray.  I'm with the others.  Look, I'm a medic.  If I can do anything to help you,"  he offers. 

I'm getting stiff sitting like this.  I do need to get up.  I *need* to walk around, even if I don't want to, and try to get back some of the strength they took.  I'm not doing all that well on my own.  "I'd like to take a walk, but I can't quite manage."  

He glances at Tessie, looking back at me.  "Look, I heard about Brenda.  I know people saw Ezri take her, but, ugh, if you'd like my wife to watch her for now I'll take her.  I mean, just in case somebody gets upset."  He shrugs, a little uncertain.  

I remember the way Ezri looked with the child in her arms, somehow complete.  I don't want Ray or anyone else taking Tessie from her.  I remember the halting tone she used when she gave her up, the way she sounded so broken.  After Miles and the other, I won't deny her anything that makes her feel good. 

He's still waiting, as if I'm going to say yes.  I appreciate his offer of helping me, but not taking Tessie away.  If there is a problem it will be ours. 

"No, let her be," I threaten.  As I say the words, the bitterness is too close, the anger ready to boil to the surface.  I don't mean to snap at him, but I do. 

He stands back, just watching, hesitating.  "Well, if you want to take the chance I won't insist.  Nobody's looks bothered anyway."  But for a second the pain and the anger were all too clear, and he approaches with caution. 

The flash of anger gone, I feel exhausted, the throbbing in my head twice as bad as before.  "My head . . . " I say, hesitant, hoping I haven't scared him away.  "It really hurts." 

He moves over to my chair, where I'm  holding my head, trying to stop the throbbing. 

"Here, just hold still," he says.  His hands find my temples, and with a gentle massage much of the pounding abates. 

He asks, a bit awkwardly, if I'd like to lie down for awhile.  I've been thinking of it for a long time, but standing up on my own was too hard to do.  His hands are firm and support my weight as I slowly move towards the bed. 

How can only a few steps be such a long way?  It takes all the strength I can muster to make it and I collapse in relief. 

A few hours later Ezri wakes me up when she returns for Tessie.  She wakes her gently, but the child whimpers in her sleep. 

"Brenda is still gone, but this one has lots of friends out there to play with right now."  She leaves unspoken the rest, that we don't know how long that will last.  Then she pauses.  "Ray said he was going to get you up.  Don't be scared of them."  She tickles Tessie, who giggles a little.  It breaks the dour mood.  "If they were in that kind of mood I wouldn't be holding her," she says firmly, as if I was another child. 

"What about Brenda?" I ask. 

"She snaps out the moods like they hadn't happened.  But she doesn't remember Tessie when she's in them."  She looks at the child.  "She didn't have anybody but Jason." 

I look at Ezri and wonder if I could cope with it if they killed her, especially before Tessie and Miles and the family we have inherited.  I'd have to go on for them now, but before? 

Ezri and Tessie disappear and I get a little more sleep. 

Ray knocks again, softly, but I'm already half-awake.  I keep thinking of Ezri, how she has suddenly become the *mother* but isn't my wife.  If she finds the strength to go on this way I am glad, but I will miss her just the same. 

He helps me out of bed and makes me walk to the chair.  I'm still dizzy and my head is still pounding but the ordeal isn't quite as bad.  He's good, insistent but not too much.  He's sitting, watching me as I stare at the door. 

"I'll take you for a walk later.  Not far, but you have to start." 

It sounds like a nightmare, but I keep quiet.  We both know I have to.  I like that he understands.  "I'd have liked to have you with me a few times, well, before . . . " I say awkwardly, trying to find an acceptable way to refer to the time when we were still free.  Few ever talk about it, and there is no term everyone uses. 

"I worked with a combat aide station," he says, pausing.  "After I got hurt they sent me back to ship duty." 

It's like a story now.  The war and the parts we played aren't real.  But then the peace before sounds like a dream now too. 

After a little time has passed, he gets me to my feet and I walk out the door, not far, but I constantly feel like I'm going to black out, and he steadies me as I stumble along.  

I don't see much, but can feel the crowding, the little sounds of too many bodies in one place.  It's so odd, so telling that time is running out.  I pick up my pace a little at the thought.  I don't want to be carried out. 

But I'm relieved, too.  The new ones don't know me, not really, and all they see is the broken remains of what I was.  And my own group, where I was invisible, have cautiously begun to let me back inside.  They don't talk--hardly anybody talks--but I don't feel alone. 

Evening comes, and I am asleep when Ezri arrives with Tessie.  "We can't get inside," she says, sadly.  "I told them I would take her for the night and nobody stopped me." 

Tessie is already asleep and curls around in the general bundle of children inside the blankets.  

Ezri is happy, as if she has won some kind of victory.  But I still wonder if the price was worth the cost.  Or is she taking Tessie to show all of them--Realand and Weyoun both--that they cannot win in the end. 

                               *** 

Ray's efforts pay off and the next morning I feel a bit better.  He arrives early, just after Ezri has left with all three of the children, carrying my bowl of mush. 

I'm even hungry today. 

He helps me up to the table to eat, and is sitting guard when Ezri returns.  She smiles at him.  "Doing better today?" 

"I think so."  He looks at Molly.  "Kara is waiting for you.  All she talked about last night was your game." 

She looks towards both I and Ezri, anxious to go.  Ezri shrugs.  "I'll be back," she says. 

We're left with the two younger children.  Tessie is pretending Yoshi is a monster and dashes around the room with appropriate noise. 

You might even believe they were normal children if it wasn't for the wariness to other noises. 

"We should take you out for a longer walk today," he says. 

I still don't want to face them, but don't know if I could stand being stuck in this tomb either.  "Not too long." 

"It must be true that doctors make the worse patients," he says, this time smiling.  "Long as it needs to be."  

I can't really argue.  Once I would have done the same.  Ray would have been welcome in my infirmary. 

But it is very heartening that we are still capable of helping a total stranger.  Ray will never know how much that means to me.  A part of me clings to his caring as a reason to go on, to not give up hope. 

I know I should not recover too swiftly, even if that was likely.  Weyoun is waiting for my health to improve or we'd have been gone like almost all the rest.  I don't want to be shunted off to the unknown.  I don't want my family to have to suffer.  But I know that he won't wait too long.  I must regain enough strength to face whatever he has planned without it taxing Weyoun's patience.  I will leave this place on my own, or not at all.  I think of that, and my pride, and push away all thoughts of our destination. 

We wait until Ezri returns without Molly, and he gets me to my feet. 

She leaves first, the children in a hurry to go.  We take my walk, longer than the day before but not so bad this time.  But it leaves me exhausted, and he lets me sleep. 

I'm dozing when someone knocks on the door, entering hesitantly at my tired response. 

It is Brenda.  She looks around the room, worried and ready to collapse.  "Someone said Tessie was here," she finally says. 

"Ezri took her out to play," I explain, not really awake but unable to ignore the look on her face and the desolation in her manner. 

"That, that's good."  Then she looks at me, stricken.  "I didn't want to take her, not that way."  She looks away.  "Then they killed Jason and I . . . " 

She's collapses on the chair, staring at her shaking hands.  If it was Ezri, would I feel the same? 

"You didn't have much of a choice."  It doesn't say anything about the real pain inside her, but I can't deal with that part. 

"I couldn't help today.  I knew he was gone, but then I had this *dream*, this vivid dream where he wasn't.  Then," she says stumbling over the words, "then I woke up and knew he was gone and I just couldn't take it.  I just couldn't manage," she says, her voice fading.  "All I wanted to do was hold onto him." 

"And Tessie?" I ask reluctantly, understanding the pain she's in. 

"When the war was over, we planned to start a family.  There were treatments for my problem, but we didn't really want children yet so it seemed fine to leave it that way.  Then things worked out like this and all we had was each other."  She stares at her hands.  "Tessie wasn't part of that, not yet.  But when I, well, woke up, the first thing was Tessie, and I was so afraid that she wasn't there." 

It would be so easy to take the child back.  All I need do is question that she won't forget again.  I still love Tessie, even with Molly and Yoshi there now.  I do want her back.  But not at Brenda's expense.  If something happens to Ezri or I, the other will not be *alone* anymore. 

She sobbing now, murmuring incoherent things to herself.  "Come here," I offer, arms extended.  Brenda moves slowly, as if in a trance, but comes.  She lets me hold her while she sobs.  I keep thinking of Miles, how he won't leave, how I'm not sure I want him too. 

When she's quiet she pulls away, sitting and facing me.  "I'm worried for Tessie," she says. 

She should be worried for all of us, especially the children.  When we are deported we have no idea what will happen to any of us.  But you have to grasp the future believing it will go on in some meaningful way. 

"If you can't handle her just bring her here.  We'll watch her."  She looks lost, still very alone.  I still worry, remembering Scalman.  "You aren't alone.  You need each other." 

She sits still.  Slowly, she nods.  "If I, if sometime I can't manage anymore, take her back.  Your the only kind of father she's ever known." 

Which is true.  I wonder what Realand would do if I tried.  Or did Miles and the others buy me that right as well? 

She sits in the chair, keeping me silent company.  But she's very tired, and Ray soon returns for more exercise.  He takes her home, puts her to bed. 

"Did she give you the girl?" he asks.  

"She was going to.  She almost did,"  I say, thinking over her words.  As unstable as she is, it may be a matter of time.  If we have that time. 

"Good," he says matter of factly.  "Making arraignments is important.  She can't bury the dead.  If you don't they bury you." 

I keep thinking of Miles, invading my dreams and my days.  Ray must be lucky.  He hasn't lost anyone so close.  But it's time to stand and walk and prepare for the future none of us can see where Ray's understanding may prove all too true. 

                               *** 

Ray comes every day.  He arrives before breakfast, always bringing my bowl.  He waits while I eat and returns it to the servers.  Usually, he eats his own at the same time. 

He isn't Miles.  I don't even know him.  I wish I could tell him how much this means to me.  If someone can care, if someone can still give their time as he has done, we have not lost everything. 

Ezri regularly takes the children out to play.  They have taken to her as if she had always been a part of their life.  She is mother.  When they are sad, she holds them while they cry.  When Molly's nightmares get too bad she wakes and takes the child in her arms until she is relaxed.  She's not Ezri then, but not lost either.  Sometimes, when they've gone to sleep she sits and watches them.  Even if she says nothing, I have the uncanny feeling that Jadzia is sitting besides me. 

She watches Tessie too, careful not to get in Brenda's way.  But I can see the look in her eyes, ready to take the child again.  I know Brenda approves, but I want her to hold together as much for our sake as for Tessie's.  To have her so close and know she isn't ours hurts too much. 

I was her father for a little while.  She taught us to care, how to push back the fears for a little while.  Now we have Molly and Yoshi, and our promises to their parents.  But I understand too much now.  I have made a promise I will keep, be their father, but I'm not ready for that yet. 

I can't stop seeing the flashes of blood when I think of Miles.  I can't allow myself to take his place.  I filled a role Tessie had never known, but when I hold his children, when I allow myself to fill his role in their lives, I'll have to let go of him. 

Ray came back early today, suggesting a longer walk.  I'm able to sit up much longer now.  He is there when Molly and his own daughter Kara come rushing in after a toy.  He watches as they disappear, growing very quiet. 

"Molly is very lucky," he says.  "She has Ezri.  Some of our kids aren't so fortunate." 

I know why he comes here.  I know why he is taking care of me.  He has to have something to believe in too.  In my own way, I'm giving him a reason to go on. 

I remember the man who forced us to divide the rations a lifetime ago.  "We can't let them make us into animals," I say, remembering.  "Had some of them already lost their mothers?" 

"A couple," he says.  "We're trying to take care of them.  We'll manage," he says finally, resigned.  Then he looks at me.  Hesitantly, he adds, "Molly and her brother need a father too.  You haven't even touched them that I can tell." 

I could make an excuse.  It still hurts to hold Ezri, but I do it.  "It's their father, I can't . . . " 

He's watching me.  "He's dead, Doctor.  Let him go.  You can't bring him back by pushing away his children." 

I've been dreaming about Miles.  Sometimes I know he's there, and don't want him to go.  Ray is right, but can't understand what it feels like inside to know . . . "I'm responsible for his death," I say. 

"Then take the responsibility and care about those kids.  They need you now.  He doesn't."  His voice is hard and firm.  I can almost see Kira standing there. 

There is an uncomfortable silence.  It hurts, but he's right. "Miles was my best friend.  It's hard," I say.  

"Especially if he was a friend," says Ray. 

"I know."  I start to push myself up, ready to change the subject.  "I'm ready for a walk." 

"Not yet."  He stands, looking at me. "I know what happened.  I don't know what it feels like.  But I know you have to go on.  The only thing I *have* is my family.  If . . . if something happened to me I would want to know that somebody else could give them what I couldn't anymore."  He moves closer.  "Look, you won't be their father, not yet, but they need to know you care.  They need you to show them." 

I close my eyes and sit again.  I remember all the times I'd seen Miles watching his children, and the fear that lived behind the joy.  It was something I had believed I understood, but only because of the knowledge I'd never know it personally.  I would have no children to leave behind.  Even now, Tessie's many losses a hard reminder, I am only beginning to understand.  "Miles couldn't bring himself to say that.  But he would agree with you." 

Ray looks away.  "They shot one of my best friends.  His wife didn't make it back from work a few weeks ago.  We lost a lot more people than you did over the last months.  We've had to learn to live with it too." 

Miles is so near, but grows more distant as I start to let him go.  I cannot see the man that played darts with me anymore, just the blood covered body they made of him.  We must have been lucky.  We were important.  Now we are just like the rest.  It's harder to live with it when you fall so far. 

But Miles gave us a gift we can never forget.  He brought the books.  When we were reading, we owned ourselves.  We were given a way to escape, granted the gift of dreams.  Miles will never leave us as long as we have the books. 

It is time to read them again.  I pull myself up, Ray steadying me.  I move towards the stack of books on the edge of the table, and take the one on the top.  When the families things were moved here, they brought the books as well.  It's heavy, and he carries it for me. 

My vision is still fuzzy, but passable.  I'm still dizzy, but much better.  I don't know how much time we have left.  I don't know if this is the last time we'll have to honor the memory of the man who gave us so many hours of freedom. 

Ray helps me out the door and into the now crowded area.  I get a place to sit on a bench rather than the floor.  We are still being fed once a day.  There will be no dinner and we have a long day with nothing to do.  But I hand the book to Kira, who holds it up for everyone to see. 

"Get everybody out here," she commands.  "We'll be reading today." 

People drift out of the little rooms they cling to as home before even that goes away.  It's crowded, and the reader sits in a chair in the middle so everyone has a better chance to hear. 

Ray offers to read first.  His voice is strong, and he nods at me as he begins.  We close our eyes and are drawn into the improbable life of Arthur Dent, currently the guest of Slartibartfast, designer of planets, especially ones with lots of fiords.  We find that we haven't forgotten how to laugh. 

"It is of course well known that careless talk costs lives, but the full scale of the problem is not always appreciated. 

I think of Sloan, wondering what has been done to him, if he has survived it at all this time.  Or did he play the game?  Somehow, though, I trust him to keep the secret.  

"For instance, at the very moment that Arthur said, 'I seem to be having tremendous difficulty with my life-style,' a freak wormhole opened up in the fabric of the space-time continuum and carried his words far far back in time across almost infinite reaches of space to a distant Galaxy where strange and warlike beings were poised on the brink of frightful interstellar battle. 

I see the fleets posed near Cardassia, ready to live or die but finish the war however it happened.  Would we have been so anxious if we'd known how it would end? 

"The two opposing leaders were meeting for one last time." 

"A dreadful silence fell across the conference table as the commander of the Vl'hurgs, resplendent in his black-jeweled battle shorts, gazed levelly at the G'Gugvuntt leader squatting opposite him in a cloud of green sweet-smelling steam, and, with a million sleek and horrible be weaponed star cruisers poised to unleash electric death at his single word of command, challenged the vile creature to take back what it had said about his mother." 

I let in the words, smell the steam surrounding the G'Gugvuntt leader, see the fleet waiting to deliver death. 

"The creature stirred in his sickly broiling vapor and at that very moment the words, *I seem to be having tremendous difficult with my life-style* drifted across the conference table." 

"Unfortunately, in the Vl'Hurg tongue this was the most dreadful insult imaginable, and there was nothing for it but to wage terrible war for centuries." 

The fantasy fades a little; we lost the war but somehow, in other ways, the war must go on.  

"Eventually, of course, after their Galaxy had been decimated over a thousand years, it was realized the whole thing had been a ghastly mistake, and so the two opposing battle fleets settled their few remaining differences in order to launch a joint attack on our Galaxy, now positively identified as the source of the offending remark." 

"For thousands more years, the mighty ships tore across the empty wastes of space and finally dived screaming on the first planet they came across--which happened to be the Earth--where due to a terrible miscalculation of scale the entire battlefleet was accidently swallowed by a small dog." 

" 'It's just life,' they say." 

Here we sit, crowded and still, listening to the words as if we are tasting forbidden fruit.  The slimy green vapors of the G'Gugvuntt leader drift around us as we see that last meeting, hear the sickly broiling burbles, and we can feel the icy stare as Arthur, in quiet discussion with Slarti about the universe, unintentionally starts a terrible war.  The whole incongruity of it is appealing, and Ray has done an excellent job of the words and the tone.  We start to applaud.  The guards, by now ever present, come closer but we ignore them.  If we worry them we make our own lives a little more bleak, lose this place a bit sooner than we might have, but what will be will be. 

After all, it's just life. 

Imbedded in Arthur's brain is the answer to the greatest question of all time, just what did Deep Thought mean when he said the answer was 42?  What was the proper question to ask?  Trillion's mice, now revealed to be somewhat other than disposable rodents, desire to buy his brain to find it, although they will have to remove it and slice and dice it to find the secret.  Arthur declines.  Maybe nobody else would miss him, but he'd miss himself. 

How many of us would have understood for a moment before life was ripped away from them? 

The mice have other ideas, and Arthur is about to have his brain removed when the Galactic police arrive in search of Zaphod.  And just as the best laid plans of men were ruined by the Vogons, the best laid plans of the mice were defeated by the rather heavy awards Slarti had collected as they made contact with the thugs heads sent to collect Zaphod. 

So they shoot instead.  Or planned to, as somehow their life support packs all fail at once.  Several people are boldly staring at the Jem'Hadar, making their own silent wishes.  I keep my own eyes to myself.  Loose talk and all that, or the wrong glances . . . 

*His* best laid plans will not come to be.  He ruined our plans for our lives, we pay him back in kind.  Even if loose talk happens, our revenge will still come to be. 

I feel Miles near, laughing.  Nothing has really changed for us, but I feel better.  Miles loved readings.  He deserves to hear the whole book.  It's a small measure of justice in this cold universe. 

But Slarti comes through, and while Arthur thumbs through Ford's copy of the Hitchiker's guide figuring he has to live here he might as well learn something about the place, Zaphod suggests the Restaurant at the End of the Universe for lunch.  We have finished the first book of Arthur's adventures. 

And then, Miles is gone.  As the next reader steps up to the chair, taking the book from Ray, I feel alone.  In whatever makes up the afterlife, they still tell you what to do.  Maybe he only got to take care of unfinished business and hear the end, but now it's done. 

The young woman, one of Sloan's group, looks up until she has our attention.  "I'm Nancy, for those who don't know me.  Next up, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe." 

There is a sadness to her that is unmistakable.  Is she one of the widow's?  And there is a notable silence as we have to decide but cannot debate.  Is there time to finish it?  But if we stop, are we letting *them* take away this little slice of freedom. 

"Read it."  I'm surprised to see it's Realand.  Nobody bothers to argue.  She takes a drink of water to prepare. 

Sloan's group has already read it, but they are avid listeners.  I keep thinking of Miles, how he'd lent me the book when I was being shunned, how he'd cherished this time when we owned our lives.  He deserved better.  I owe a great debt to him and do not know how to pay it back.  However cautiously, I am being allowed to exist again, a special debt.  He brought us the books, but will never get to hear this one. 

Suddenly everything shuts out, all the laughter and even the light.  It had been dimly lit in that room.  I remember most of it now.  But it is like watching a horror movie, just pictures that aren't real.  The others they executed are scattered along a wall, all fallen in the unnatural positions of death.  Keiko is slumped over, still alive, so still you might think she was just sleeping except for the blood. 

And Miles lies in the middle of a dark red puddle, curled up and half face down.  The blood is his own, and it obscured the slashed organs that rushed out when they hacked him apart.  It is the way I see him now, each time I allow myself to remember him.  

The room grows brighter, and the horror fades.  I push it away.  I made a promise to Miles that I would care for his children, and I cannot do that with my mind locked into that room.  They need more than hatred.  I force myself back to the book. 

Nancy is very self-conscious, but reads slowly, very careful not to stumble over any of the words.  This moment is very special to her, and she holds the book with great reverence.  So much is gone.  These books are valuable treasures to us. 

"Two of these strange, apelike creatures survived." 

"Arthur Dent escaped at the very last moment because an old friend of his, suddenly turned out to be from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse and not from Guildford as he had hitherto claimed; and, more to the point, he knew how to hitch rides on flying saucers." 

I picture Arthur Dent as he stares at space, wishing he had a little more to remember the Earth than his dressing gown.  We have lost so much, but the books will keep alive our memories of home. 

"Tricia McMillan--or Trillian--had skipped the planet six months earlier with Zaphod Beeblebrox, the then President of the Galaxy." 

"Two survivors." 

"They are all that remains of the greatest experiment ever conducted--to find the Ultimate Question and the Ultimate Answer of Life, the Universe, and Everything." 

How many of us remain, I wonder.  Kira said there were thousands on Cardassia, and few would come back.  And each place there was resistance there was another slaughter.  More than two, I know, but still too few . . . 

I take a deep breath.  It still aches a little when I breath deeply.  Two survivors of a massacre, Ezri and I.  All the others Weyoun had brought as hostages are dead.  Arthur and Trillion.  All the others, still confined to Earth, have perished too.  We are alive, but still targets, just like the two remaining ape-like creatures the Vogons missed. 

Nancy has found her rhythm, and her voice is strong as she goes to the next chapter and the Vogon's attempts to take care of their mistake. 

"If you are wise, however, this is precisely what you will avoid doing because the average Vogon will not think twice before doing something so hideous to you that you will wish you had never been born--or (if you are a clearer minded thinker) that the Vogon had never been born." 

I remember the first few days at the internment camp when I'd discovered the basic nature of the Jem'Hadar, just as all the people left here have come to know.  When the Founders die, the Jem'Hadar will eventually go as well.  I suspect nobody will miss them. 

"In fact, the average Vogon probably wouldn't even think once.  They are simple-minded, thick-willed, slug-brained creatures and thinking is not really something they are cut out for." 

The Jem'Hadar are walking by, slowing suspiciously by the gate.  Her voice gets a little more quiet, and we have to listen carefully.  People are trying not to look at the gate. 

"The fairest thing you can say about them, then, is that they know what they like, and what they like generally involves hurting people and wherever possible, getting very angry." 

Eyes turn towards the gate where the Jem'Hadar have stopped, and nervously back towards the woman. 

"One thing they don't like is leaving a job unfinished--particularly this Vogon, and particularly--for various reasons--this job." 

The Heart of Gold is being scanned by the Vogon ship, and Zaphod is annoyed with Eddie the Shipboard Computer for refusing to go to the Restaurant at the end of the universe.  But Arthur is even more annoyed.  He just wants a cup of tea, and not the brown stuff the synthesizer thinks is tea.  After a long explanation of tea, its history, practice, even folklore, the Nutri-Matic Drinks Synthesizer has called on Eddie for help.  When Eddie has solved the mystery of tea it can go somewhere else, but right now it's occupied. 

Abruptly, I think of Miles, standing next to Zaphod, patiently trying to talk Eddie out of making tea and growing frustrated by the effort.  I smile a little.  For a moment the room and the blood is banished.  But the anger is so strong, and the grief.  Miles would have enjoyed reading about Eddie. 

Ford spots the Vogons but the computer is still into tea. 

I remember the stunned shock on the Defiant when the Breen weapon shut down every system, leaving us dead in space with the Jem'Hadar locked on, ready to destroy her just as the Vogons will the Heart of Gold in four minutes. 

While the computer is still busy working on the quandary of what is tea, Zaphod decides he must contact his great grandfather before they all die.  A seance is held.  The old man isn't very pleased with things.  I remember sitting in the escape pod, wondering if they would let us live.  In that moment, I was closer to my family than I had been in a long time.  Perhaps faced with death we all reach for family, to confirm how they feel--or just to say good bye. 

The Vogons keep firing, surprised and rather disappointed that there had been no chase.  But as the Heart of Gold is about to be demolished as Earth was before it, the computer solves the mystery of the true nature of tea.  

" . . . the bridge filled with billowing smoke and the Heart of Gold leaped an unknown distance through the dimensions of time and space." 

The Jem'Hadar have moved away, and there is an audible sigh of relief at out hero's escape.  We survived Chintaka because they let us live, granted life to us in exchange for the palatable feel of defeat we took home with us.  But Arthur and Ford and the others lived because they escaped.  Sometimes it works that way. 

They hold us prisoner.  They control most of our lives, but do not own us.  With each word, we take back a little more of ourselves. 

They may deport us tomorrow.  They may take the books away when they do.  But for now, we shut them out with laughter. 

                               *** 

I have a headache and need to rest.  But I've been alone too much.  All these new people are strange to me.  Nancy introduced herself, but there are too many strangers here now.  The little illusion of *our* place has been broken. 

Ray asks if I'm ready to go back and I shake my head.  "I'd like to sit for a while."  

"Good.  I'll check back in a little while."  He moves towards the corner where a young woman I've never seen is sitting with the little girl who was playing with Molly.  His wife, I assume.  I'm glad for him.  I wonder if they are sleeping out here, on the floor like most of these people. 

It's so noisy with little conversations, and the movement of bodies.  I reminds me too much of the cargo bay even if we were left in near dark then.  Now we have light so bright it makes it hard to sleep in the glare.  But we didn't know what awaited us then.  I suppose, we are again in much the same place now, but not the same people. 

We had hope then.  Now we just have survival. 

Someone touches my hand, a soft voice I recognize as the reader, Nancy.  "I was a very good friend of Luther's," she says. 

Weyoun had said *our* families.  Once, Luther had said Nancy would care for him.  I'd forgotten the name.  "Did you take care of him?" I ask, wondering how much to presume. 

"My husband died when the station was taken, but they picked me for cargo duty anyway.  I guess I was just lucky, in the right place when they came to look."  She pauses.  She could just as easily have ended up stuffed in a transport to Cardassia.  "It wasn't until we'd been moved up here that I met Luther.  They shoved him inside, and he was just . . . lost.  He stared at us, tried to hide.  Most people avoided him, could smell the trouble he could bring.  But I didn't have anyone.  I didn't care." 

I begin to see how lucky we were, how specially hand picked and how carefully we were treated.  Most of her group was there to work and were always instantly replaceable. 

"How bad was he?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of courtesy. 

"I took care of him like he was a baby at first.  It took days before he gave his name.  We didn't have cots, just matts on the floor of our little boxes, but we had a little privacy.  I held him all night at first, and he'd cry.  He kept calling me Jessica.  Finally I made him repeat my name, and he actually started to look at me. 

"That was his wife.  He hadn't seen her for a long time."  Or I assume.  

"I thought a mother or a wife.  Maybe a daughter, but it didn't seem like one.  He acted like a child at first, let me feed him, but eventually he started to eat on his own."  Twiddling her wedding ring, she looked at me with grieving eyes.  "Luther saved my life.  Otherwise, I wouldn't have cared if they killed me or not." 

Miles said we were lucky, that our families were treated with care.  Looking in Nancy's eyes, I know how true it was.  I keep remembering how our luck has ended now, how soon we will discover the kind of life Nancy already knows. 

"You saved his too.  When I first met him he was . . . damaged, but not completely lost.  I think he cared what happened because of you." 

She smiled.  "After they took him to work on that *project*, things changed for me.  I got off the really hard work.  I guess they used me to make him cooperate."  She looks around the room, especially at those of our own group who were sitting with our families.  "Like they did with them," she says, especially looking at Ezri. 

"Did the others understand?"  I ask carefully, feeling her out. 

She looks down, "Sometimes.  I learned to ignore them." 

At least we more or less shared the guilt.  "How about Luther?" I ask, finally able to satisfy my curiosity. 

"He didn't notice.  They didn't pay a lot of attention to him before either.  They didn't trust him before and certainly not after."  She pauses.  "But he was all I had, and I *knew* he wouldn't betray us." 

"You do know what he worked on," I add, cautiously. 

"More or less.  He never really said.  But it was something that mattered a lot to them to treat me like they did." 

They don't know.  Sloan never told them, or perhaps they never believed him capable of something so complicated.  If it becomes known he worked with me, he'll share my reputation. 

Of course, it won't matter to him.  If he's been gone this long, he won't be back.  But it would matter to Nancy. 

Our conversation is interrupted by a small confrontation.  Jackson, carefully making his way across the crowded floor, comes a little too close to Jeffrey, sitting by himself while Realand was getting some water. 

Jeffrey glares at him, turning around and giving him a look full of venom that everyone in the vicinity notices.  Most of them were with Sloan's group and have no idea why. 

Jackson freezes.  He starts to back away, but there is little room without stepping on the people behind him.  Finally he stops, caught up by the hatred of his son. 

Realand has gotten his water and is slowly making his way towards the two.  Jeffrey takes his fist, stretching it out as if holding a knife, and makes one silent gesture, striking downwards, with his meaning absolutely clear. 

Jackson tries to get away, but can't get past the people around him.  

Realand finally returns, first staring at Jackson and the people around him.  "Let him leave," he growls at the assorted people in Carl's way. 

Most of them know noting of the story but the move quickly, and Carl hastily retreats.  Then Realand turns his attention to Jeffrey. 

The boys hand is still held as if it was gripping a knife, his eyes following as Carl escapes.  But Realand does not approve.  He grabs the hand and jerks the boy abruptly to his feet, then slaps him hard across the face. 

Jeffrey crumples, falling on his knees, hiding his face.  He does not make a sound.  Realand waits for a moment before letting him go.  "Back, now," he says, as the boy scrambles to his feet, moving as fast as he can.  Realand stops him.  "The box tonight and tomorrow.  Or no breakfast.  You decide." 

Realand doesn't lay a hand on Jeffrey, but the boy stands, looks at him.  He hangs down his head.  "Box," he mumbles. 

The crowd watches with interest.  But no one, not even those who don't know about Jeffrey, try to stop him.  The look in the boys eyes was enough of an explanation. 

"Go," orders Realand, and the boy moves, scared and yet with little trace of anger. 

First Jeffrey, then Realand disappear into their quarters.  Carl, sitting very tense with his wife, half way collapses into her arms. 

Nancy has been watching, her look sad.  "That's not the father," she says. 

"Carl, over there, is." 

She shakes her head.  "None of ours have been that bad," she says.  "But they aren't children." 

There is no sympathy, just a cold acceptance of reality.  Jeffrey is a dangerous animal that used to be a child.  He's was hurt more than the rest, but nobody really expects them to stay the children they were, least of all people like Nancy who have lived through a worse hell than we have. 

I look at Molly and Yoshi, playing with a few other children, and wonder how long it will take before they lose the last traces of their youth in the world that we are soon to know.  I know Miles warned me, but it hurts anyway. 

"I didn't plan on having any," I tell her, watching me.  "But things happen." 

"Yeah," she says, quietly.  At least for her and Luther it won't happen.  If he's still lucky, Luther is dead by now. 

"I only met him a few times," I lie, mostly for any listeners.  "But I'd met him before.  Just seeing somebody you knew . . . " 

She smiles, a little ghost of one, but I can tell she knows I'm lying, that she knows what he'd been doing even if the others don't.  "He said he'd never work with them again, no matter what, after they leveled Earth."  Then she adds, "Not that that will matter much when they send us away.  I'm sure we'll work, just not voluntarily." 

I have this grand vision of all these people standing together, simply refusing to move, unwilling to work at all.  Then the blood as they die, as Sloan probably died.  But they will, for the simple fact they like being alive. 

Miles is in my head, whispering again. 'So will you, but don't forget.  It will end.' 

"This can't last forever."  I can tell she wasn't told the secret, that Sloan kept that to himself.  She doesn't know all the details, but has probably guessed. 

Then she pauses, her tone thoughtful.  "Luther told me not to give up hope, that there is a way out.  I promised him I wouldn't but it's hard," she sighs.  But you have to, she adds without words. 

I promised Miles, too.  Perhaps if she can keep her promise, I can find a way to keep mine. 

                               *** 

I'm doing better, making my way on my own though Ray still is playing doctor and nurse.  My head hurts all the time, but not too badly, and I like feeling at least a little welcome at readings.  It's good being able to laugh, to really listen and join in the ebb and flow of the story.  It helps banish the horror movie that keeps playing in my head when I forget to make it stop. 

But we're taking a break now, people moving around, stretching their legs after sitting for hours.  There isn't anything else to do but read, and while Sloan's people know the end we don't.  Lost in the oddly comforting life of Arthur Dent, we all pass the time a little easier. 

Ray stays near, Ezri sitting with Brenda and Tessie at the moment.  Molly and her friend Kara are sitting between us, Kara holding her doll. 

People keep their children near.  Ezri is holding Yoshi, and I'm keeping watch on his sister.  We don't let them wander anymore.  

But Kara has her doll and Molly had left her's behind today.  She walks the rag and paper doll to Molly, tapping on her hand.  In her own doll's voice, she asks, "Mrs. Mommy, can Beja play?" 

Beja is Molly's doll.  Molly pulls herself up, and in the best adult voice she can, says, "Yes, dear, when she's done with her nap.  I'll go see." 

Molly starts to get up, annoyed when I push her back down.  I won't let her go alone.  And I forgot my water cup and need a drink.  "I'll wake her up.  Stay here with Ray." 

Ray nods, the girls disappointed.  But they stay.  I make my way carefully through the sea of people, a little clumsy from the occasional lack of balance, but very much needing the walk, especially by myself. 

As soon as I get to our quarters, I can tell something is wrong.  Immediately checking the table, I can tell the books have been moved.  Scanning them, I notice the Oz book is missing. 

Then there is a sound of slight movement in the room and I block the door.  A shadow moves under the bed, and I inspect it cautiously. 

Jeffrey is hiding there, holding my book against his chest.  I cannot bear the thought of someone touching the books, but stealing one makes me livid.  I stare at the boy, hiding out of my reach, and begin to lift the cot. 

Crawling on hands and knees, he tries to run, hoping to slip past me, but I grab a leg and jerk him back knocking him flat on the ground and forcing him to drop the book. 

I'm still between him and the door.  But I ignore the boy and retrieve the book, examining it carefully for damage.  He watches warily.  He's lucky, I don't see any.  If I did he'd never make it out of the room alive. 

Jeffrey is on his knees again, then on his feet.  He's backing away, slowly, hoping somehow to escape before I can grab him.  Or perhaps assuming that now I have the book I'll let him leave. 

I'm sure Realand will discipline him, but that won't be enough this time.  He is a thief, or tried to be.  In this society, thieves often die.  Judging from his face, Jeffrey understands too. 

He starts to back away, slowly at first, then faster as I continue to follow.  He's trying to face me down, probably planning a distraction and a dash for the door.  But my arm shoots out and grabs his before he's ready, and I drag him roughly along the floor, then out the door, dropping him in front of me but not letting him go. 

This is not just for Jeffrey, the thief, but for any of the other potential ones out there.  They will not touch my books, Miles books.  I will kill anyone who does.  I don't know about Jeffrey, but want to. 

I pull him to his feet, suddenly slapping him on the cheek so hard he lands on the floor again before he can try to get away. 

Glaring down at him, I realize he's not moving, too stunned to run.  But he'll try, and my foot smashes into his leg where he has it curled and he tries to roll away, whimpering a little.  Who'd have known the little monster could sound so scared.  I move upward, smashing my foot into his buttocks near the tailbone, not ready to injure him but wanting him to hurt very badly.  More kicks follow and he tries to pull away, when I move towards his back, annoyed by his efforts. 

Noise distracts me and I don't kick him that hard, probably saving his miserable life.  He stops moving, huddled on his side, trying to protect his stomach and head. 

He knows what it is to be beaten, how to protect himself.  The rage grows inside me, the desire to hurt him more than anyone has before, to make him pay for his attempt at theft before a final swift act of mercy. 

I want him dead. 

But there are people around now, and they are looking, nobody trying to stop me but giving me room.  For a flash I'm on the floor and it's Realand's foot.  But the rage is too much and I draw my foot back again, hitting the boy in the side, rolling him onto his stomach. 

Now he isn't moving at all, unconscious.  But he is breathing and I haven't touched the worse places.  I'm disappointed, wanting more, but want the assembled watchers to know why. 

"Nobody takes my books," I declare, foot drawn back for a final kick that is meant to end it however it works out. 

But I pull my foot back, nearly stumbling.  Suddenly Realand has put himself between me and the boy.  Quite noble of him to risk taking the kick for the little monster.  But the score I have with him is not ready to settle so soon. 

He looks up at me, trying to demand, but before he manages to put it in words it has become a plea.  "Don't kill him," he says, realizing that he can't stop me if I choose to. 

I walk around him, looking at the crumpled boy.  He's breathing regularly enough, not like he would if I'd managed to injure him internally.  He's probably hit his head, and will hurt badly for days, but will live. 

And remember--as the rest here will.  I wonder how many of them wish I'd finish the job.  I doubt many of them would risk Jeffrey's revenge if they stood in my place.  But I like the way they are looking at me, with wary respect and fear.  

I glare down at the boy, tapping him with my foot while Realand watches nervously.  "That piece of trash stole one of my books.  The books will not be touched."  I pull back my foot as if I was about to deliver the coupe-de-gras, Realand shuffling towards me but stopping, eyes fixed on the boy, afraid.  "Remember, I'll kill the next one that tries it."  I move back, letting Realand retrieve the boy, stopping him in his tracks with my look.  "Go.  Get that filth out of my sight.  But remember you're responsible for him.  He gets anywhere near my family or my things again and I'll kill him, and you since you let it happen."  

Realand shifts the boy's position, supporting his head and carrying him carefully in his arms.  "He won't bother you again," says Realand, nervous and worried.  He knows I mean every word.  So do the rest.  I watch as he hastily retreats, glad to have the chance to escape. 

The rest of them are watching, still frozen in place.  "Any takers?" I ask, glaring at all of them, pleased to see them shake their heads, watching as they back away from me. 

I turn away, entering our quarters, and sit with the dropped book, examining it closer.  There is a small nick that wasn't there before, at least that I can remember.  Of course, it could have happened some other way.  But just the same I almost regret the leniency I showed the thief. 

But inside, alone, all the emotion is done now.  Realand and his monster charge have been warned.  Everyone else has been put on notice.  I could see the looks of fear in their eyes, and the rough respect as well.  Nobody else would have gone after Jeffrey and left him alive.  I don't know if I worry or not, but I know that today I played my game perfectly. 

I remember the doll.  I pick up Beja carefully, keeping her little dress arranged as Molly had done that morning.  I get my water cup too.  I'm still thirsty, and anxious to hear more of the book. 

The corridor is deserted now.  I'm calm, all the anger spent.  The books are safe, my family will be left alone.  Realand and his foot are still owed back, but that comes later when the time is right.  For now, he knows there will be a time. 

Miles left me the books, a little piece of our past and future, as a guardian, just as much as he did his children.  I will protect both with my life, or the life of anyone who takes them. 

Odd though, Miles is near, but can't get close.  He's watching from a distance, his face an unreadable mask.  'I'll keep all of them safe,' I tell him but he can't hear either. 

I notice that the pathway is cleared a little faster than it might have, and nobody gets in my way when I go for water.  I hand Molly her doll, the girls having found a new game, and Ray gives me a curious glance.  Eventually everyone is settled to read, Realand poking his head out and then retreating away.  But no one does.  The book sits on the chair, untouched. 

Ray nudges me, and I notice Ezri staring with worry.  "They're waiting for permission," he says. 

I realize I've made them do what I want for once and it feels very good.  But they have permission to read this one.  Don't they understand? 

"Who wants to read next?" Ray offers.  

The group is still too quiet, the reading compromised.  Daniel finally stands up and looks at me, his eyes asking permission.  "I will," he says. 

"Let's do it," I say, and Ray glances at Ezri, her eyes fixed on me.  Daniel steps forward, takes the book, still watching me, and starts to read. 

And then all the terrors vanish as the magic takes over and we are free. 

                               *** 

The readings done.  It's late, at least according to our bodies, even if we are denied any other clues.  I've listened to the reading until it broke up, and gone back to rest. 

Someone pushes open the door.  I expect Ezri, but unexpectedly find Kira filling my door.  Hands on hips, it's clear she has something on her mind. 

"It was a good thing you didn't kill the boy," she says.  "Not that you didn't intend to." 

Her whole tone is disapproving.  I don't want to hear it.  I glare back at her, angry.  "I didn't kill him.  Is that enough?" 

"No," she says, moving across the room, standing right in front of me.  "You intended to.  The only reason you didn't was Realand pled for his life and you liked the idea of sparing him." 

"I did spare him," I counter.  "I didn't have to." 

"You're lucky," she says, sitting down on our chair, staring at me.  "You kill someone, you cross the line." 

"I've killed before," I say.  "Haven't I already done that?" 

"Not this way."  She pauses, thinking.  "Or maybe you have.  There was Odo." 

I saved Odo, but then I remember his counterpart in the other universe, the one ready to execute me.  "I was defending my life." 

"True, but you still killed him.  Your first I believe." 

She stops, her manner softer, more worried.  "Look Julian.  You kill the boy, you push this anger too far and it will control you.  You used it with Jeffrey, let it go, but I warn you, once you let it out, you belong to it." 

"What's this about?" I ask, wondering why she's bringing this up now. 

"You.  You and Ezri.  Have you noticed how she's teetering on the brink?  Have you even seen how she's ready to crumple?  Then you almost turn killer.  Did you see how nervous she was?  Did she wonder if the next thing she says will set you off, or Ray or me?  Maybe one of the children?  Julian, you have to keep that rage inside.  If you ever let it out it's all over.  Remember who it's for--not these people."  

"The boy is a thief," I say, keeping my voice under control.  "He stole one of the books--Miles legacy, in case you have forgotten.  If he'd damaged it I *would* have killed him on the spot." 

"And nobody but Realand would have missed him.  But you would have destroyed yourself as well.  Don't you see that?"  She takes my hand, pulling me up to a sitting position.  "They know now.  They won't challenge you anymore.  You made your point."  She pauses, shifts around a little.  "But you have to keep the anger under control now.  In their own ways they respect that little display, but only if your careful.  They understand about the books.  They would understand your family, even do the same if it was theirs.  But they might not if it's about some little thing that doesn't mean the same." 

"I suppose you would know," I mutter, wishing she didn't make so much sense.  Ezri had been nervous after the incident, watching me.  I love her, don't want her afraid of me. 

"Whatever happens, and it might just be that everyone here is moved somewhere else, you could matter a lot to them in the future.  But only if you keep control.  They don't want a madman as a leader." 

"I'm no leader."  I can't imagine anyone accepting the man who saved the Founders as a leader. 

"You could be.  I don't know where we're going, but it won't be easy.  However much you don't want to admit it, you got them to listen.  Nobody else has.  Remember, I grew up in a world like this.  People respect strength, no-nonsense authority.  They need it.  You could be their leader, if you'll do it." 

"Why should I?" I ask, remembering the way I'd been excluded, the way Realand had stolen Tessie with all of their approval. 

"Because it's a reason to go on.  Because it's something to believe in.  This will end some day.  When the Cardassians left, we had our home to rebuild.  You don't have that.  You have to find some way to go on, keep from drifting a thousand directions.  You don't have to like the job, just take it." 

In a matter of months the Founders will be dead, and we'll have to face having no home, no identity.  I just don't see anyone wanting me around.  Maybe Miles, if he was alive.  But not me. 

But I've noticed the way Ezri is never the same anymore, the way I hardly know my wife.  I don't think the others really care what happens to me, but she does.  And Kira's right.  Whatever comes of us in the immediate future, I can manage as long as my family is there. 

"I'll watch it," I promise.  "For Ezri and the children, for Miles too.  The rest . . . " 

"Good.  Think about it.  You've got what it takes." 

She leaves, closing the door, and I rest again.  But I can't sleep.  What if she's right?  What will come when this is done, when the Founders perish and Weyoun falls?  What if all we have is more to lose? 

                               ***

                            Chapter 14

                               *** 

For the last three days I've gotten up and joined the others, especially for the reading.  I'm no longer shunned by them.  While they aren't friendly they all know about what I did, the kind of choice I made.  Miles and the others bought me a place in this society.  

And Jeffrey gave me a place as well.  He's been back, hurting and sick but very alive.  Neither he nor Realand even look at me.  I cowed the little beast.  They like that idea too. 

Still I wonder, sometimes, if I hadn't been reeling from Odo's description of Earth with the cold hard details making it too real if I'd have not given in, at least for the sake of appearances.  In time, I would have truly become Weyoun's property and served his gods or he would have found other ways to punish me, trying to force my true cooperation.  But it would have bought these people time.  Miles and the others would be alive.  I would be permanently shut out of their lives, with no way back, but would that have been better?  Each time I look at Molly and Yoshi I have to ask myself if the slaughter was worth it. 

Physically I feel much better, although my head still aches and I am still a little dizzy.  Ray has kept watch, dropping in to see if anything is needed just the same as before, but I make me do things for myself.  Now, I'm recovering so much faster.  We are still strangers.  But I welcome his company.  We owe each other a debt that makes life a little easier for both of us. 

He will never know how much it means to me that somebody can still care.  But he can't miss the way I've been hugging Molly and her brother, how I ask how their day was, how they are beginning to run to me when I enter the room.  I know I'm not their father, but they know how much they matter to me.  That was Ray's gift to me, just as a chance to care, to affirm his humanity, was mine to him. 

Each day I expect us to be evicted from this place and relegated to the tombs below.  There is still only one meal a day.  Before, the rest of the endless hours were filled with aimless boredom and speculation.  But now we read.  We are taking our time, having finished Restaurant at the End of the Universe.  The guards would stand by the gates, just watching, as we laughed.  Weyoun is wrong to think we belong to his gods.  We are forced into following the orders they give, but our lives are ours as we share the travels as the motley crew of the Heart of Gold muddle their way across the universe. 

This volume contains three books, but we will not read the third one yet.  I did not make the decision.  It was left up to everyone.  Nobody knows how much time we have left here.  No one wants to miss the end of the book.  And perhaps we leave it unread as an affirmation that we will yet have another chance to finish it. 

Instead, we are saying good bye to this place with a kind of celebration.  Each person finds his or her favorite passages in the parts we've read and reads them aloud to the rest.  It is a glimpse inside each of us, both a beginning as we allow the others to see and an ending as we allow ourselves a little closure.  When we are done here, we may never see each other again.  But we'll always have these last few days to share. 

The current reader is nervous, one of Sloan's people I've not met, and he sits on the chair very uneasily.  Out of the corner of his eye, he constantly watches the gate.  But he holds the book with such immense care that I realize there is something worse than exile to some piece of hell.  Weyoun could take the books.  Without them we are nothing. 

He shifts around, finding a way he can be still, and eventually opens the book to near the middle.  "Restaurant at the End of the Universe," he says softly, his voice uncertain.  "Chapter 14, the restaurant . . ." he says. 

Several people look disappointed.  We agreed we wouldn't reread the same place twice.  Anything having to do with food sounds good to us now.  But everyone settles down to watch as he stares at the words, trying very hard not to mumble them. 

"Four inert bodies sank through the spinning blackness.  Consciousness had died, cold oblivion pulled the bodies down into the pit of unbeing.  The roar of silence echoed dismally around them and they sank at last into a dark and bitter sea of heaving red that slowly engulfed them, seeming for ever." 

"After what seemed an eternity the sea receded and left them lying on a cold hard shore, the flotsam and jetsam of the stream of Life, the Universe and Everything." 

"Cold spasms shook them, lights danced sickeningly around them.  The cold hard shore tipped and spun and then stood still.  It shone darkly--it was a very highly polished cold hard shore." 

"A green blur watched them disapprovingly." 

"It coughed." 

" 'Good Evening, madam, gentlemen,' it said. 'Do you have a reservation?' " 

Ford and company have arrived at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.  The bleak world in which we live, the ever present brightness, and all the rest of our dismal existence vanish as we land with them on that hard cold shore and stare woozily at the green blur with the currently befuddled Ford Prefect. 

" 'Reservation?' he said weakly." 

" 'Yes, sir,' said the green blur." 

" 'Do I need a reservation for the afterlife?' " asks Ford. 

Arthur and Trillion and Ford and Zaphod agree that they must be dead since they couldn't have possibly survived the blast which was the last thing they remembered.  The first time, I had been too firmly reminded of waking after Miles . . .  or that moment I first saw the grey walls of Internment Camp 371.  But he forgave me and that time has grown less terrible when faced with reality.  I can enjoy their confusion now.  I can let it carry me into a land where a machine exfoliated the whole of reality from a bit of fairy cake.  I wonder sometimes if Miles isn't still here in whatever form the dead take when among the living, just to hear the stories.  

Gradually, the blurs in the room clear up and they realize they are standing in a restaurant.  They still think it's an odd place to enter the afterlife.  

"The chandeliers were in fact a little on the flashy side and the low vaulted ceiling from which they hung would not, in an ideal universe, have been painted in that particular shade of deep turquoise, and even if it had been it wouldn't have been highlighted by concealed moonlighting." 

The restaurant comes to life all around us and the reader gains a little more confidence, his voice stronger.  Arthur looks out the curtain at the dismal landscape outside, and while his skin crawls the curtain is pulled back. 

" 'All in good time, sir,' " says the flunky. 

Drinks are offered, and reality starts to dawn when the waiter mentions it isn't unusual to be disoriented after the time journey.  Been there, I think.  How did Douglas Adams know what it feels like to wake up in some other time?  We knew we were in San Francisco.  We just didn't know when. 

Zaphod starts to get it. 

" 'Hey, guys,' he said, 'this is crazy.  We did it.  We finally got to where we are going.  This is Milliways!' " 

They sit, ready for their drinks as Arthur starts to sort it all out.  The Universe will end in a few minutes. 

The Restaurant at the End of the Universe is a fascinating place.  Built on the ruins of a deserted planet, it is encased in a giant time bubble moved forward to the moment when the universe will end.  I wonder if Miles would try to explain it in terms of chromatons.  Somehow, I like it better that even if it's impossible, it happens anyway. 

"At the Restaurant you can meet and dine with a fascinating cross-section of the entire population of space and time." 

Still impossible, but you deposit one penny in your own time, and the compound interest takes care of the rest.  There is not a soul in the room who does not crave the fabulous meal that penny would buy.  But even more we crave the impossible.  For us, it is simple, freedom to sleep in the dark, to leave and return without guards, to live without fear.  In this act of defiance, we take up the offer penned by the advertising executives of the star system of Bastablon.  " 'If you've done six impossible things this morning, why not round it off with breakfast at Milliways, the Restaurant at the end of the Universe?' ". 

The reader closes the book, keeping the place, as the idea of breakfast teases our fancy.  He hands it to a woman, very young, also one of Sloan's people.  She smiles at us, "I'll just continue on from there," she says. 

Ford is drinking a series of Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters.  Here and there people smile to themselves.  This insane idea pops into my head.  My friend Felix could have created the Restaurant.  Vic and his band could have played there.  I'm sure Quark could have found a suitable recipe that would fit the drink.  I'd have liked to watch the universe end in a sumptiously gaudy dining area, sipping my own drink.  If only this was the End of the Universe, and we could go back before Felix died and holotechnology became lost to us. 

Abruptly, Ford spots an old acquaintance.  All his other old friends are dead since this is the end of the universe, except those currently at Milliways.  Hotback Desiato appears to be part of the band, makers of loud rock music played on instruments by remote control, their songs "on the whole very simple and mostly follow the familiar theme of boy-being meets girl-being beneath a silvery moon, which then explodes for no adequately explored reason." 

Come to think of it, most of the songs Vic sang were like that, more or less.  I wish I could hear them one more time.  But the readers voice fades and I see him, greeting us with a smile and a song, and quite abruptly I realize that Vic is dead too.  Quarks is gone and his holosuites dismantled.  I wonder if they gave them to someone else as a reward.  I wonder if Vic is entertaining someone else now, someone alien.  I wonder if he knows he's just as much a prisoner as we are. 

I let my mind drift, Vic replacing the resplendent Max Quordlepleen as the host of the end of the universe.  The lights dim in the restaurant and I imagine these are a little less bright.  People start to close their eyes, as the dome of the restaurant becomes transparent and above them lies  "a dark and sullen sky hung heavy with the ancient light of livid swollen stars." 

I join them as the universe begins to end. 

"A monestrous, grizzly light pounded in on them 
   -a hideous light 
   -a boiling, pestilential light 
   -a light that would have disfigured hell. 
The Universe was coming to an end." 

"For a few interminable seconds the restaurant spun silently through the raging void." 

Max returns to announce this is the end.  The band plays.  In my head I hear Vic, singing a soft rendition of "My Way." 

". . . and now I face my final curtain.  My friends, I state this clear, I state my case of which I'm certain. I've lived a life that's full, I traveled each and every byway. And no, much more than this, I did it my way." 

"For what has a man, what has he got, if not himself then he has naught . . . The records show I took the blows and did it my way." 

The tumultuous sky swirls above me, bathed in quiet eery light.  Vic's voice swells over it as he reaches the end of the song and I say good bye to him, to everything.  It takes a few minutes to notice the young woman has stopped reading.  

Slowly, I open my eyes to the harsh, ever-present brightness and wish I was--all of these people were--in the Restaurant with Ford and Arthur watching the end knowing they weren't there forever.  For us it is.  There is so little left.  We can't have it back, no matter what the next months and years hold for us.  Of course, neither can Arthur.  I wonder what goes through his head, if he is replaying the end of his own universe in his head as the skies swirl above him. 

The Jem'Hadar have paused, standing near the gate and we try to ignore them.  But we're being counted.  I try to get back to the Restaurant where the next place you go will be an adventure, but can't return there.  The Jem'Hadar are still by the gate, a lot of them.  Is this it, the end of our universe? 

The woman places the book on the reader's chair, her place marked, and goes back to her family.  We sit in silence, waiting for them to go, hoping they'll leave without us. 

We're sitting amid the swirling skies, not yet the end but inexorable moving towards it.  We can't stay here forever.  The fear is already back, wondering what comes next.  Nobody's ready to find out, not yet.  But if they leave us here long enough we will be. 

Another person has come forward, a tall man from our group with two small children.  They live near us and we hear the children cry at night.  He picks up the book, opening it to a different page then turning back to where we'd left off.  A large cow is approaching the table. 

It's getting late.  It's been a long time since breakfast and we're feeling hungry again.  But there will be nothing more today.  I see a few secret smiles.  Our culture had replicators, and we made our food from magic dust.  We didn't raise cows.  But most of the people in the room would be happy to ask the cow to shoot itself for them now. 

But the absurdity of it captures our imaginations.  I can see the lumbering cow as it introduces itself.  

" 'Good Evening,' it lowed and sat back heavily on its haunches, 'I am the main Dish of the Day.  May I interest you in parts of my body?'  It harrumped and gurgled a bit, wriggled its hindquarters into a more comfortable position and gazed peacefully at them." 

The Jem'Hadar remain at the gate, just watching.  The man takes a moment to pause, looking towards them then pointedly turns back to us and begins reading.  If this is the end, we will always remember what we were doing.  Reading about a cow anxious to fulfill its reason for being in a restaurant watching the end of the universe is a good place to be. 

There is a low murmur and dreamy faces, thinking of the cow.  Then the Jem'Hadar begin to move away, leaving us alone this time.  Arthur and Trillion are horrified and Zaphod is just hungry.  Arthur is debating with the cow when Zaphod orders four thick steaks and the cow contentedly lumbers away.  The universe is still thundering around them. 

Minutes later, the steaks arrive.  Ford and Zaphod dig in with enthusiasm.  Trillion shrugs and joins them.  Arthur stares at his dinner feeling a bit ill.  Meanwhile, the band keeps playing.  I hear Vic's band, softly playing tunes I'd come to love in the background.  

"All around the Restaurant people and things relaxed and chatted.  The air was filled with talk of this and that, and with the mingled scents of exotic plants, extravagant foods and insidious wines.  For an infinite number of miles in every direction the universal cataclysm was gathering to a stupefying climax." 

With the guards gone we let ourselves be there, hear the chatter, smell the scents.  If only we could share the food as well, but judging from some of the faces, even that is shared.  Even as the universe is about to end we celebrate our own victory over those who own us.  They can make us do what they want, but they can't go the Restaurant with us. 

Little personal victories mean a lot right now.  Who knows if we'll have a chance to laugh again in a week or a month?  But now, here, we have a portal to another world they cannot enter.  At the Restaurant, we are free. 

Max\Vic moves to the stage again.  " 'This,' he said, 'really is the absolute end, the final chilling desolation, in which the whole majestic sweep of creation becomes extinct.  This ladies and gentlemen is the proverbial "it."'" 

"He dropped his voice still lower.  In the stillness, a fly could not have dared clear its throat." 

There is not a single sound from us, only the strong voice of the man reading, resonating past the gate in a declaration of our own identity. 

" 'After this,' he said, 'there is nothing.  Void. Emptiness. Oblivion.  Absolutely nothing . . .' " 

"His eyes glittered again--or did they twinkle?" 

" 'Nothing . . . except, of course, for the desserts and a fine selection of Aldebaran liqueurs!' " 

After all, it is a restaurant and the food is why you come, not the entertainment.  Not that entertainment is a bad thing, but right now food has taken on an abnormally big value to us. 

Max\Vic works the audience while the Universe draws to a close.  All I can think of is Vic and his jokes and teases to the audience.  After awhile, the holographic audience wasn't necessary.  He was even better after that, with people to impress.  Somehow, he helped us get through some very hard times with his songs.  I miss him, especially now when those songs could help so much. 

Max/Vic is sitting on a tall stool, chatting away as the universe counts down the last eight minutes of its existence.  " 'It's marvelous though,' he rattled on, 'to see so many of you here tonight--no, isn't it though?  Yes, absolutely marvelous.  Because I know that so many of you come here time and time again, which I think is really wonderful, to come and watch this final end of everything, and then return home to your own eras . . . and raise families, strive for new and better societies, fight terrible wars for what you know to be right . . . it really gives one hope for the future of all lifekind.  Except of course'--he waved at the blitzing turmoil above and around them--'that we know it hasn't got one . . . '" 

I didn't understand before.  But now, with Molly draped across my lap, I know why.  Because you have to.  Because if you didn't nothing would have any meaning at all.  Because even if you can't make it perfect, you want it to be better for your children, even if you are only standing in for someone else.  I understand Kira, too.  We don't *ever* dare give up, or we've lost even the crumbs of life we have left.  Life isn't just food and drink, sleep and work, its dreams and hopes and belief in something.  Even when there isn't much to believe in and dreams are hardly real you have to have them. 

The waiter arrives with a phone, someone having called Zaphod.  The journey planned for him, driven to madness while trapped in a box with the entire universe, is still anticipated.  Even if they miss the end of the Universe, Zaphod and company leave the gaudy room in search of escape.  They never left Frogstar, where the giant vortex lies, just jumped ahead a few eons in time. 

Marvin is parking cars, and having tired of the Heart of Gold, Zaphod and Ford discover a replacement.  It is so . . . dark.  You can hardly make out the shape.  They borrow it for an early departure away from Frogstar. 

Ford is impressed.  Everything is so totally *black*. 

While in the Restaurant, "things were fast approaching the moment after which there wouldn't be any more moments." 

The band plays in a frenzy awaiting the end, twenty seconds away.  The stony faced members of the Church of the Second Coming of the Great Prophet Zarquon leap ecstatically as the Prophet materializes before them.  Hotblack arraigns to put the Black Ship on autopilot so it will crash into the sun when the time comes.  The Great Prophet Zarquon is asked to speak, taking the mike and trying.  But he's rather befuddled, having just materialized.  He doesn't get beyond the first few plans he tries to speak of.  Then the universe ends. 

The reader closes the book, again noting our place.  We want to hear more but are getting restless.  People are moving about, stretching and yawning.  The intense experience of viewing the End of the Universe has made us tired.  We'll take a break and read more later.  But for now a lot of people are finding a quiet place to dream of food and drink and a place where when the universe ends you just rotate the Restaurant back in place for the lunch crowd. 

                               *** 

It feels late.  It's impossible to tell, with the lights, but my stomach is grumbling so badly it must be near nightfall.  We've done all the reading for the day, only a few readers remaining.  Tomorrow something will end.  It could be the book.  It could be much more. 

Stomach hurting, I need to move around, fill it with water if there is nothing else.  At least we have as much of that as we need.  I take my cup, Ezri already half-asleep, and begin the tricky walk across the common area. 

Now it's covered with bodies.  They had matts, but don't even have that now.  They lie, huddled together, sharing pillows to soften the hard floor.  I step carefully around and over them, but they have left enough of a path that it isn't hard to manage. 

Near the tables, and the water, Cindy is sitting with her baby.  Next to her sits Catherine, stroking the child.  Ray had mentioned people were doubling up to try and relieve the crowing.  Ezri had said Cindy had moved in with the Denebans. 

Alessa is fussing like a normal baby.  It's odd to see a child who hasn't yet been marred by this place.  Maybe Catherine is taking a little solace in her. 

I get my water, sitting while I drink the first cup.  Cindy watches the gate, distracted by the child's fussing but never taking her eyes off the barrier that locks us inside. 

"You've never been out there?" asks Catherine. 

"Not once," she says.  "I have this picture in my mind, but I can't make it come together.  I saw the injuries.  They killed my husband.  But somehow I have these good memories, with the children playing and laughing and listening to stories." 

"Hold onto them."  Catherine is also staring at the gate but her expression is calm.  "You'll need something good to remember.  At least we had a little peace while we've been here." 

"I'm scared," says Cindy.  "Look, if something happens, well, I think you'd take good care of her." 

Catherine pats the baby.  "I'll try.  But don't worry too much.  I've heard rumors." 

I edge closer to them and they choose to ignore me. 

Cindy still doesn't look down, but there is curiosity now too.  "From who?" 

"Some calties who were talking.  Something about the farm." 

Cindy isn't reassured.  "I've never been on a farm." 

"It could be worse.  I could live with a farm." 

Cindy just looks at her, finally taking her eyes from the gate.  "What was it like before you came here?" 

Catherine looks away, down.  "There were hundreds of us all taken at once, all civilians.  They didn't have anything for us to do, just shoved us into these big pens.  Nobody bothered to take names at first, and when they did it was only some of us.  The rest, well the rest got shoved back inside.  I don't know what they did with them.  But we got put in work parties, and it was better that way.  We've been hauled a lot of places, just bodies but they feed you if they need you." 

She falls silent.  Cindy looks at her baby.  I think of Yoshi, who will remember nothing of the world that he was born into, who will be a child of defeat and surrender and slavery.  I know we'll try, but we won't change that. 

"Sometimes I wish she'd never been born.  But then I think about Jason, about how all I have left of him is what's in her, and . . . "  Her voice breaks, and she's barely holding back tears. 

Catherine isn't impressed.  "Jason saved her life, probably yours too.  He was somebody they wanted and you didn't die before she was born in some pit on Cardassia."  She waits until Cindy looks up.  "She had a chance to be born.  Don't regret that.  He even got to meet her."  She pauses, staring without sympathy at Cindy.  "Take what you can.  Just let the rest slide." 

"I don't know how to do that."  Cindy is staring at the gate again as Catherine stands, patting the baby's head.  

Catherine sighs.  "Maybe you'll be lucky.  Maybe all of us will be lucky.  But just don't count on it and you won't be disappointed." 

Cindy doesn't move, doesn't take her eyes of the passing guards.  The lights blink, our first and only hint of the time.  I stand, getting one last drink, and watch as Catherine takes Cindy's hand. 

"Gotta go home now.  Even you know the rules."  I remember Ezri mentioning that Cindy had given up her quarters after Jason's death to be away from the reminders.  I'm afraid for her.  Most of us have some idea of what we are to them, and what we're likely to be in the future.  But Cindy has none, and she is headed for a very hard lesson all at once.  I hope Catherine can help her, even if she can no longer remember how to feel sympathy. 

"I guess," she says, letting Catherine pull her along, making their way through the mob.  I follow at a distance, watching as they disappear together inside their quarters, Cindy decidedly nervous, Catherine carefully resigned. 

Such a odd combination, I think.  Catherine has seen it all and no longer cares.  Cindy is terrified of what we'll find.  But somehow, for both of them, this has been a haven. 

Maybe for all of us, but that is almost done.  The guards count and watch and stare now.  Very soon this will be over and we will again face the unknown.  Cindy faces it with dread, and fears of the absolutely unknown, Catherine with some sort of resignation. 

I remember the box they stored us in before they brought us to this level, how after a while it almost became welcome to be hauled out and face the future. 

We are almost there now, again.  When the readers are done, the last of out plans will end with the closing of the book. 

                               *** 

Breakfast went fast today.  The invisibles with the cart were in a hurry.  I keep wondering why as I shift around in my seat, Molly sitting next to me.  She's taken to staying near Ezri and I since the details of their parents deaths came out.  At least Yoshi is too young to understand.  He just misses them. 

Most everyone has had a chance to read.  Today it has been hard to concentrate.  There are more guards and they walk past too often.  Sometimes they stop and watch for a moment.  The last few people are reading their selections today.  

The first is a woman from our group, one of the widows.  She stands, curled up on the floor, hardly reacting to anything around her.  Her eyes look unfocused, and she steps around and over people without looking at them.  A pang of guilt tugs at me.  Am I the reason her husband is dead?  She is managing, but just barely.  It wouldn't take much to push her off the edge. 

But she sits carefully and picks up the book.  Paying no attention to anyone, she leafs through the pages until she finds her selection.  She starts to read, giving the book all of the attention she is capable of sharing. 

Zaphod is about to be sent into the Total Perspective Vortex.  He's trying to find a way out, but without much success. 

"At that moment another dismal scream rent the air and Zaphod shuddered." 

" 'What can that do to a guy?' he breathed." 

" 'The Universe,' said Gargravarr simply, "the whole infinite Universe.  The infinite suns, the infinite distances between them and yourself on an invisible dot, infinitely small.'" 

Zaphod's protestations fall on deaf ears, and he's led to a tarnished steel dome in the middle of the plain. 

". . . a door hummed open in the side, revealing a small darkened chamber within." 

" 'Enter,' said Gargravarr." 

"Zaphod started with fear." 

" 'Hey, what, now?' he said." 

"Now." 

Her voice is so strong, with such authority.  Inside the story she's come alive.  I hear a familiar voice in my head.  Miles, once again back to listen.  'Good,' he says.  'She hasn't said a word since they took her husband away.' 

The guards are more numerous today, someone almost always near the gate.  We're being counted again, but the woman doesn't even notice.  Her audience tries to concentrate on the story rather than the guards, but there are many who glance back at our watchers now and then. 

Zaphod enters the chamber and discovers it is merely an elevator, which begins to descend toward the Vortex. 

" 'I must get myself in the right mind for this,' muttered Zaphod. 

" 'There is no right frame of mind', said Gargravarr sternly." 

At the bottom of the elevator is a single upright steel box, just large enough for a man to stand in.  The Vortex appears very simple.  A single thick wire connects the box to a pile of components and instruments. 

" 'Is that it?' said Zaphod in surprise." 

"'That is it.'" 

"Didn't look too bad", thought Zaphod. 

He hesitates.  But he enters the box. 

"After five seconds there was a click, and the entire Universe was there in the box with him." 

The guards are getting more active, counting us a second time.  She neither hears nor sees them.  She closes the book, standing and placing it slowly on the chair.  Everything she does is as if she moves in slow motion.  She steps around the packed audience again, and settles back on the floor in a small ball.  

She exists in her own universe now, too.  I try to distract myself from the guilt that in my own way I sent her there as I watch the last person to read approach, moving nervously ahead.  But Miles is still there.  'No you didn't,' he whispers in my ear.  'She'll find a way out.  Always remember you did the right thing, no matter what it looks like now.' 

Something is going to happen soon.  Our mood is suddenly very tense.  He's older, probably one of those few picked as needed among Sloan's group.  He reminds me too much of Miles. 

He doesn't pretend he's isn't spooked by the mood.  But he turns to a page and begins to read.  His voice is nervous and quiet.  We have to listen hard to hear. 

Early on, aboard the Vogon ship, Arthur struggles to make some sense of the destruction of home . . ."There was no way his imagination could feel the impact of the whole Earth having gone, it was too big . . ." 

Our mood is sorrowful, and scared.  We lost one home.  Soon, I think, we will lose another.  So much was left only as memories.  But this time I cannot think of Earth.  I'm terrified of leaving this place, being scattered to the wind and everything we cling to being lost in the end.  He does not read for long, ending a page or so later and placing the book on the chair, standing and looking outside the gate. 

We are done.  There will be no more reading today.  Nobody can really concentrate anymore with the promise of deportation coming so near. 

The other books won't be touched.  I will not permit it, but nobody really minds.  We don't have time for another book now.  It is unthinkable that we might never know the end.  I have all of them now, even the ones we never read.  They were the last books Miles ever brought us.  It would hurt too much to open them now.  Nobody wants to think about the people who died, but we can't stop remembering either. 

Miles has been here all day, just at the edge of my awareness.  I even savored our lumpy meal this morning with his help.  He keeps whispering.  'Keep believing,' he's saying now, as they count us for a third time today.  At least breakfast was hot.  It tastes better that way, for all that matters.  Right now, taste is nearly immaterial.  There is a constant, dim awareness of hunger that never quite goes away. 

We're losing track of day and night in the constant brightness.  Sleep is hard with the crowding and worse with the hunger.  But the most difficult part, never forgotten, is the anticipation.  What are they waiting for? 

There is a sudden noise as the gate is opened by three Jem'Hadar.  

"Bashir to the gate," he orders. 

I am sitting with Kira, watching the children play and nervously stand.  She squeezes my hand before I slowly walk forward.  Ezri doesn't move, but doesn't take her eyes off of me. 

Reluctantly, I approach the gate.  I'm ushered through.  It locks behind me as I stand between them. 

I keep thinking of Zaphod walking into the Total Perspective Vortex and coming out sane.  Perhaps I can as well, but my enemies are quite real. 

Abruptly, my hands are yanked behind me and manacled to a chain around my waist.  My right leg is weighted down by a heavy ring around my ankle.  They poke me in the back and I slowly follow them, barely managing not to drag my leg. 

So much for privileges. 

They can't make me hurry.  The leg iron is too heavy for that.  I drag myself along, hardly noticing where I am.  But I know who will be waiting at the end.  Eventually we reach Weyoun's office.  I recognize it now.  I wish I didn't. 

I drag myself just inside the door and stop.  I wish they'd left the leg iron off.  Somehow I'd find a way to get to him before they killed me. 

It isn't the time for that, but they can see and feel the anger.  I stand still, carefully ignoring Weyoun.  I pretend not to hear him when he asks his question.  "Have you reconsidered, Doctor?" 

Doctor.  He must be desperate.  I wonder if they are having trouble finding people willing to betray their own after what they've done. 

I don't answer. 

The Jem'Hadar come closer and I try to back away.  I don't mean to.  I just can't help it. 

"If you don't answer my question you'll be extemely sorry," says Weyoun. 

Who this time?  "I will not work for you, under any circumstances." 

"Any?" asks the murderer.  "You can have the best we offer or the worse.  You will work, nonetheless." 

"I will not do your research," I say as adamantly as I can, nervous of the Jem'Hadar so near. 

"It is your choice, then.  I think you may wish you had taken my option."  He gestures to the Jem'Hadar, who move back.  "Take him back." 

I don't look at him or my guards.  It's hard enough to walk at all with the weight of the leg iron.  But at least it's over. 

They hurry me on the way back.  Outside the gate, they undo the iron and handcuffs and I'm roughly shoved inside.  Ezri hurries over when I stumble and helps me up. 

"I refused," I say.  

"Good," she says, but I can see fear in her eyes.  Ezri is there, but not alone.  Curzon is keeping her company.  As she takes my hand I notice the way she holds herself. 

I hope Curzon is enough comfort to get her through today. 

Just what have I done to these people, I wonder?  In what remains of the six months, will the Founder's die without us to celebrate?  I promised Miles to save his children.  I hope that I have not broken that promise. 

                               *** 

Everyone knows it will soon be done and we will be gone from here, perhaps to lose each other.  We cling to this little illusion of privacy as if it were real.  Before even the illusion is gone I want to spend some time alone with Ezri.  I take her hand and the children follow.  We are in our room when the announcement comes. 

"Prisoners, gather your things.  Report to the gate." 

We have so little, just our bedding and the books.  The children have a few small toys and we gather it all into two bundles. 

I am determined to take the books.  If they confiscate them later I'll know I tried.  It is the last piece we have of our society and I will not lose it without a fight. 

Ezri carries Yoshi and the smaller bundle.  Molly takes my hand.  I have most of the books.  It's heavy, but I dare not show that to the guards.  We pause as we leave behind this last place that is ours. 

I came here with only a few things, now all gone.  As we make our way slowly towards the gate I wonder what became of them.  I carry a treasure in my pack, but it is one of our culture.  They have destroyed home, and taken even the tokens we brought to remind us of it. 

I want to hold Kukalaka.  I want one last reminder of what I was.  But then, perhaps a child with nothing else will get him.  Maybe that's better. 

All the seats are filled, so we find a place on the floor.  Everyone is nervous, glancing at the gate as the Jem'Hadar line up next to it.  Everywhere, the children cling their parents, not making a sound. 

We are afraid.  What comes next?  Most of those saved from Cardassia have already been removed from the station.  As far as we know we're the last group left. 

If this is the best they have to offer, what is the worse? 

The gate creaks open and we back away as far as there is space for us to move.  Those, like us, in the rear are shoved tightly together.  This time they are armed with rifles.  There is a further retreat as the Jem'Hadar pour inside and push us even closer and to the side. 

Molly is holding on so tightly it hurts.  

They turn their rifles on us, holding us at gunpoint while they search through the enclosed rooms. 

Within minutes they are done.  "Up," we're being ordered as we untangle ourselves from each other and our bedding.  I pick up Molly, worried she'll get lost. 

Slowly, we're pushed out the gate.  Neither of us have a free hand to hold onto the other, but I keep as close to Ezri as I can.  We form an uneven line and follow the guards down corridors that used to be home. 

Now, there is no home. 

We are heading toward the turbolifts when we come to a sudden stop.  They push us towards the wall. 

Something is wrong.  We were expecting to be moved below to the holding cells our women were forced to build.  They store prisoners in transit there.  But what is this?  Why are we being stopped near the docking ring? 

We wait, trying not to look too scared.  Molly is flattened against me, her eyes wide with fear.  I concentrate on her own fears to keep mine at bay. 

Abruptly, the head guard calls out the first name.  One of Sloan's group takes a tentative step forward.  The guard ushers him across the corridor. 

Are we being picked through again?  People hold on to children and press close to family as if it might make a difference. 

Jackson's name is called and he steps forward, his eyes locked on his family left behind, towing a large bundle of their possessions along.  Then Realand is called and glares at Jeffrey before lifting the boy and taking his first, tentative step forward.  The two men, side by side in the line, carefully avoid looking at each other and any accidental touches.  Even Jeffrey is cowed by the moment, holding onto Realand as if he can offer protection from the unknown.  He ignores his father completely. 

I can see Cindy holding her baby, and the way she looks down when Justin's name is called. 

Daniel marches across the hallway as if he's been there before. 

They have called all the men.  I gave Molly's name but did not let go of her, as the others with children have done.  I am immensely relieved to be allowed to keep her.  But then, they would have had to tear her off my arm she's holding on so tight. 

"Ezri Dax Bashir," they call.  She is the first of the women.  Molly pulls on my hand but does not move.  

Ezri steps forward and gives the Yoshi's name.  We lock eyes, afraid she'll be sent some other direction.  But the guard simply points for her to join us. 

We get to stay together for now.  I realize I've been holding my breath. 

They call the rest of the women and then the older children.  We stand nervously watching the guards and the door and the faces. 

Brenda stumbles across the hallway, Tessie holding tight as she tries to hold her bundle behind her.  I look and her eyes are focused.  This time the stumble is only from fear. 

Cheryl Jackson, holding Calla and a small bundle is especially nervous being pregnant. 

Daniel's wife Catherine walks ahead, her children called individually after all the women, as if she was in a waking nightmare. 

One by one they call our names, even the ones they killed.  The only ones left out are Miles and Keiko.  They are keeping some kind of record.  They must have picked them at random and didn't know who was left.  The guard ushers us down the corridor, ordering us to wait by a door. 

It leads to the docking section.  This wasn't what we expected to happen.  It shatters the fragile lies with which we have protected ourselves. 

We wait, trying not to look to nervous, trying not to fidget.  It feels like we've been here a long time.  The guards are watching us carefully.  Ezri is next to me and the children are clutching us with iron grips. 

Then someone is being towed down the corridor under guard.  As he gets closer, I realize it's Sloan.  I watch as they remove the handcuffs and he starts to slowly stumble towards us. 

I can see Nancy from where I'm standing.  She doesn't move towards him, but for a moment there is a flash of absolute relief and even joy in her eyes.  Then distress, as she watches him stumble ahead, eyes unfocused. 

As for Sloan, he looks defeated.  For the first time, I believe none of it is an act.  There is no special ship waiting to fetch him away at the end of his mission.  He has no more options left than we do. 

We're still left standing, waiting.  Sloan is next to me just staring at something, his eyes not focused. 

Nobody has said a word.  We're too stunned and wary of the Jem'Hadar to talk.  But Sloan hardly notices.  He looks at me, or perhaps almost sees me, I can't quite tell.  He looks away so fast to his imaginary place that I don't know if he is even aware of where he is. 

"There were files, just random ones, and they made me restore them."  He's mumbling, not looking at me but I know I'm meant to hear.  He looks up again and for a few seconds makes eye contact.  "I didn't see any reason for more of us dying over a few files," he says, his voice utterly flat, without any hint of inflection.  "There's so many of us gone already, all scattered."  His voice trails off, and he goes back to staring. 

I'm stunned by what has happened to him, but more worried the guard will notice his talking.  "Shhhh . . ." I say.  I've got Molly by one hand and am holding our things with the other or I'd make him look at me. 

He doesn't hear.  But the Jem'Hadar block the corridor behind us and the doors open, then we're pushed towards the docking ring.  Sloan follows us, very quiet now. 

I'd rather think about Sloan than ourselves.  I've decided he must have been caught doing something.  Perhaps he tried suicide and it failed.  Or maybe they broke him.  I've hated him and been afraid of him and now all I can do is pity him. 

We're stopping.  The corridors are very bright.  They've changed them, made them look different.  It doesn't feel like we're being taken off the same station we came home to in the Defiant. 

Maybe it's a little easier that way. 

I notice Sloan is sticking close to me.  I'm mostly concerned with not losing track of Ezri and Yoshi.  

The air locks open.  We move forward slowly.  I wonder how many people are saying silent good byes.  The people behind us are pushing, and we are shoved inside the ship together. 

The light is dim inside.  We're funneled to the right, and into another open cell.  But Ezri and I and the children are together.  Gathering them close, we make a space for ourselves with our bedding bundles. 

The door shuts, and it's almost dark.  We have no hint of what comes next.  But the Jem'Hadar are on the other side again and we relax a little. 

"He said I'd be sorry," I tell Ezri.  "He said we'd get the worse."  Molly has curled up with her brother, too intimidated by the sudden darkness to stray.  

"We'll manage," she says, her voice uncertain.  "You owe it to them."  She strokes Molly's hair as the little girl moves closer.  "We owe it to Miles and Keiko," but now I can hear the strength that must carry her through whatever lies ahead. 

I'm not sure who she is now.  Not Ezri or Curzon or Jadzia.  She's familiar enough I'm sure it's one of her hosts, but she moved differently with the children, reacting with an already deeply entrenched sense of protection Ezri is just learning.  

I let their parents die.  I can't possibly abandon the children, or fail to care about their days. 

I'm their father now. 

Since Weyoun gave up so quickly, I'm sure they have found someone else.  Maybe Sloan will remember what kind of files he restored.  I'd like to know what I refused to do.  Sloan is mumbling quietly to himself.  I can't understand the words, but listen.  I'm hoping he'll give me a clue.  I'm dreading he's going to say something that will endanger us all, but most of it is gibberish.  I think he's in shock.  I hope he'll come out of it and remember to be quiet. 

It's easier to think about Sloan than what happens when this ship reaches its destination.  It's preferable to worrying about what will eventually be on the other side of the airlock. 

Miles said it would end.  But it will be very bad before that time comes.  I know he will forgive us if we can't keep them safe, but looking at Ezri I realize I'd never forgive myself.  Which part of her is holding Molly, comforting the little girl as she cries in her sleep?  

I hardly know who she is anymore.  Before they came, she was becoming Ezri Dax.  The combination of youth and age utterly intrigued me.  But she is coming apart now, each part of life dominated by a different personality.  The woman who tenderly holds the children is different from the one who would kill anyone who tried to hurt them.   She is strong and tender and wise, but never at the same time. 

I miss the woman I knew, the one they've shattered into pieces.  

I put my arm around her.  She settles in my arms.  But it isn't Ezri.  She feels wrong. 

I hold her anyway.  She's managing the best she can.  That's all any of us can do. 

                               *** 

The door has not been opened.  The ship has not moved.  But our eyes have had time to adjust to the dim light and we've discovered the water and supply of rations locked inside with us. 

Ray is lying down with his wife and daughter.  Like a lot of the people here they have escaped into sleep. 

Sloan has quit mumbling to himself.  Ezri and the children are curled up together sleeping. 

I have to move around a bit.  I can't stand to sit any longer. 

I notice Sloan has gotten up as well and is standing near me, his expression empty. 

They're probably listening.  I don't care anymore.  "We thought you were dead," I say. 

"I guess I'm hard to kill," he says, tapping his temples suggesting my own attempt at questioning him.  "You and . . . "  He pauses, taking a deep breath and banishing the nightmare for a little while.  "You should know." 

He demands I look at him.  He gazes down at his hands.  I nod.  We are entering dangerous territory and must take great care. 

I ask, with my hands, which he is, real or clone. 

He thinks about it.  "After what happened, would you call me Luther?" he asks, heavy with emotion that is very real. 

But his hands say the rest.  He signs "Weyoun" and then "dead".  Then he points to himself and signs "real". 

I understand something.  This is the Sloan that once believed, and had that belief ripped from him by 31.  This is the man that gave up family and friends in the end, and was left alone with nothing but 31 to believe in. 

But they existed only to save the Federation.  And the Federation is gone, burned to ash and dust.  Even the dream is fading.  By the time this ends there will be nothing left by stories of who we were, the legends of a lost history. 

We have all lost too much.  He has lost everything.  Now he turns to us to find a little of the meaning that makes it worth going on. 

He closes his eyes and looks away.  He's not in shock anymore, just deeply depressed.  

"I fixed their files so they let me live," he says, his tone flat, lost.  "It was mostly patient files," he continues, staring at his hand as it starts to tremble.  He moves a little away, looking across the cell at nothing.  

His voice is very distant.  "I was in the process of disabling the main computer when they took the station, when they . . . " 

He stops, looking away, but before he does there is a glimpse of hell in his eyes.  "At least I shut it down, and most of the files were damaged."  He shakes his head.  "I'm a lab technician.  I think I did pretty good for someone who didn't know what he was doing." 

The last part was for my benefit.  Either he'd been planting files, or he had been doing a shutdown.  It didn't really matter.  He'd lied to them and they'd bought it.  Sloan knew what he was doing.  He just got caught.  I look at him, staring at something invisible. 

He got them to believe the lie, but the price was high.  There are tremors in his hands.  He moves constantly, head and hands and feet.  He can't keep his eyes focused for very long. 

I wonder what they did.  I don't believe his behavior is an act.  He'll never talk about it, but it has destroyed him. 

I remember the man who kidnaped me, and who ruined my sleep for months waiting for him to come again.  This was not the same man.  Perhaps, as it destroyed what 31 had made him it took away the coldness they had put there too.  Without knowing, they had made him into the man he claimed to be. 

I like Luther Sloan.  I still worry he's been damaged beyond repair.  I am relieved to see enough is left to salvage. 

Is 31 is still around, somehow lurking in the darkness in their special ships?  I want it to be true, but doubt it.  What's left, the Federation gone, its buildings and people left behind to rot.  There is nothing to protect anymore.  But there is revenge. 

I'll never ask Sloan about it.  If they don't know about 31, I'm not going to tell them.  

Abruptly, the ship jerks.  People wake up, start looking around.  Ezri sits up, arms encircling the children, gripping them so hard they squirm.  It breaks my heart to see the terror in her eyes as the slow vibration of the ship's engine pulsates around us. 

What will become of her, of us, if anything happens to these children to whom we owe such a terrible debt? 

We are no longer docked.  

One thing ends.  Another begins.  

                               *** 

End, Surrender, Part 2