TITLE: Surrender,Part 3-Slavery
Overall Series: The Green Hills of Home 
Author: Valerie Shearer 
Contact: thenightbird@earthlink.net 
Series: DS9 
Part 1/60(Chxx) 
Rating: R 
Codes:Angst,B/Ez,Ob's,K/O,AU,Post-War 

Summary: The battle over Cardassia ends in an allied defeat and 
the beginning of the end of everything.  When does survival 
cross the line to collaboration? 

For full header please see Part 0/61

note:  This story contains elements of graphic violence and non-
concentual sexual acts.


   This story is set in the trek world, but is mostly about human 
reactions to the humiliation and degradation of long term 
captivity and what it does to them.  Many of the events are based 
on real world human events and habits.  I hope I've done a good 
job of showing what the loss of freedom does to the soul. 
   The trek background of the Dominion policy of using captives 
for forced/slave labor is based on the Dominion war series, 
published by Pocket Books.




                            Surrender 

                        by Valerie Shearer 


This novel is dedicated to the uncounted souls who have had to 
live the story of Surrender throughout human history.


what if ... 

The final battle over Cardassia has been lost and a few ships, 
the Defiant among them, are able to escape.  Most that try are 
destroyed.  But the Defiant is in need of massive repairs, and 
the Dominion fleet, with Breen support, follows the retreating 
ships, taking whatever is in the way.  Their first target is the 
Bajoran wormhole.



My heart turns home in longing 
Across the voids between, 
To know beyond the spaceship 
The hills of Earth are green. 

Across the seas of darkness, 
The good green Earth is bright; 
Oh, star that was my homeland, 
Shine down on me tonight. 

We pray for one last landing 
On the globe that gave us birth; 
Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies 
And the cool green hills of Earth. 

     Robert Heinlein, The Green Hills of Earth 


                         Part 3 - Slavery


                            Chapter 15

                               *** 

When the ship first left dock there was a rush of words, but now no one is talking.  We sit together in silent apprehension afraid of what comes next.  The children are huddled up to Ezri, though Molly is using my lap as a pillow.  Sloan is nearby, for once absolutely silent.  I lean my head back against the wall, listening to the sounds of the ship and hoping to find some clue to our destination. 

The ship hasn't gone into warp.  We must be far enough away from the station for it to be safe.  We could not tell what kind of ship we boarded at the dock.  

The food is being rationed carefully.  There wasn't very much, and we have no guess if there has been a ration cut or we will have a short trip.  In any case, we have no real way of telling how much time has gone by. 

In a way it doesn't matter too much.  Nobody has had any appetite since we left the station. 

I sit here in the dark, Molly sound asleep, and tell myself that in less than six months the monsters will die and we will have a chance at freedom.  I keep reminding myself of Kira's words that we can never give up hope, or it is over. 

But . . . how do you hope when home is gone, your people scattered everywhere?  Even if the Dominion crumbles when their gods pass into dust, what will be left in its wake but ruin and destruction?  

I'm not a student of history.  But I know enough of it to guess that the end will only mark the start of a new kind of misery.  The other mutants predicted that this war would end in defeat, with billions of dead and generations of slavery.  Nobody wanted to believe it.  But what if they were right? 

They're dead now.  They weren't allowed to live to see how close their prediction might be.  I wonder how Jack managed when his world collapsed around him.  I hope they didn't scare Patrick too badly.  He panicked so easily, like the grown up child he was.  At least Serena might be alive, probably trapped in a life like this if she survived. 

Don't think of them, or the family and friends they destroyed.  Hold onto memories, but the ones still here matter more. 

Molly is stirring, waking from a nap.  She rolls over and looks up at me.  Half-asleep, she murmurs, "Daddy," before she closes her eyes again. 

I know she isn't seeing me, but someday she will.  I never wanted children.  Even after Tessie, I dreaded having to watch as her youth was destroyed by this nightmare.  Now, after our vows to Miles, we have no choice but raise their children. 

It is unbearable to think of breaking my promise to Miles.  That alone sustains me now, the absolute need to believe that we can keep our promise, that out future will allow it to come to be.  I still can't bear to open the books, even if we could see to read them.  But even rolled in a blanket, along with the children we now call our own, they remind me of the debt I owe him. 

People tense as the sense of motion changes, and the ship begins to slow down.  We can feel the first pulls of atmospheric contact.  We are landing. 

Somewhere nearby, in the darkness, Kira says, "They're taking us to Bajor."  This is the first time she's spoken.  I had no idea she was so near. 

It makes a bitter kind of sense.  Bajor and the wormhole is their most heavily defended territory.  Weyoun will be here.  Perhaps he doesn't want me to get too far away and the rest will continue to serve as hostages. 

It's almost worth it if we stay together, if we aren't torn from the only family we have.  It will make my life harder, but it would be unbearable to be alone. 

And when *he* makes his new demands, gives me new orders, what can I do now that the children's lives depend on my actions as well?  Can I break my promise to their father, forged in blood and death, or must I betray my own oath to never cooperate with them again.  Will I sacrifice myself to save the innocent, like the Man in Black did to save his Buttercup? 

I feel the thump as the ship lands, a sudden vibration rising and then fading as the engines are shut down.  We watch the door, suspended somewhere between fear and relief that the suspense will be over soon. 

In the dark hold, Ray hurriedly passes out the remaining rations and they are stashed into bedding.  We wait for the unknown, surrounded by darkness. 

Eventually, after a lifetime, there is a groan and the door opens. 

Outside, there is light, but it's far off and not much brighter than inside the hold.  The Jem'Hadar order us out, and we slowly move towards the door.  One by one, children and bundles in hand, we pass through the hatch and are ushered to one side. 

Now we are outside on a dark night.  It's comfortably warm, and the stars are shining above.  Three moons light the night sky.  Under different circumstances, it would be a pleasant evening. 

Guards push their way into the still open hatch, probably looking for stragglers.  But they quickly return, having found none.  They stand in front of us, rifles at ready but not pointed.  Their leader, holding a padd, calls out names again, men first as before. 

"Bashir," he barks, and I step forward, leaving Molly staring at me while she holds Ezri's leg. 

I don't look back.  I can't bear to remember them like that.  I follow a guard, surrounded by unreality, as he points me to a brightly lit, half-covered building.  Inside, I stop, unsure of what they want, but I'm pointed towards an "x" marked on the floor, dropping my bedding as ordered. 

Almost immediately the scan begins and I notice the cone shaped device above my head.  A sensation of intense itching passes down my skin as the scan slowly proceeds, and next to me the bedding is scanned by another device.  

I make an urgent, silent plea to anyone listening.  *Don't take the books.*  We need them to remind us that this will end some day.  We need them to remember a little of what they'd destroyed. 

The guard that led me inside is waiting.  "There," he says, pointing with the point of his bayonet to a machine, also marked with an "x" in front of it on the floor.  Hesitant, I pick up the bedding but there is no objection.  I stand on the "x", nervous as another guard approaches.  My right hand is grabbed and shoved inside the machine, which locks it inside. 

The guard pushes a button.  My hand feels very warm and tingles a bit, but there is no pain.  A minute later it's released. 

I can't take my eyes off my hand.  Now there is a design marked on it, one of the Bajoran caste symbols.  I don't remember what it was called, but I do remember the position it had in the scheme of things. 

Weyoun said we'd know the worse.  I'm still staring at it as I'm urged on, grabbing my bundle and being pushed out into the night again. 

A roughly built cage sits near, and I'm shoved inside.  The door shuts and locks, and I look up at the others they've already marked.  We silently compare our hands, and all bear the same symbol. 

Ray moves near me, his eyes locked on the door.  There is more to worry about than obscure symbols on our hands.  There are the others, still waiting in the line.  He must be thinking of Raina and Kara.  I keep remembering how Molly and Kara like to play as one by one the men are shoved inside.  I especially worry about Yoshi.  He's just a baby.  

Jackson stumbles in later, moving slowly, almost in a trance as he stares at the locked door.  Realand arrives soon after, without Jeffrey, with much the same look.  I can't miss the worry, the obvious care he has developed for the little boy who has transcended childhood.  He must hope that Jeffrey is cowed enough or has learned enough not to challenge the guards.  Sloan makes his way inside very slowly, not even looking at his hand.  Daniel's whole manner is resigned, shoulders slumped, expecting nothing. 

The first woman stumbles inside, Cindy Carlan.  She is without the baby, and I glance at Ray again, suddenly grasping my hand.  Several women later, Ezri walks in, standing next to me, joining our quiet vigil as she stares at the door.  Brenda is also without Tessie, and as she stands next to Ezri, Ezri grasps her arm to steady her.  Catherine joins Cindy, lending quiet support as Cindy stares at her marked hand, obviously in shock.  Cheryl Jackson presses close to her husband, eyes also locked on the door, terror written in their eyes.  She is rubbing her belly with his hand, perhaps trying to find some solace in the child she still carries.  Raina is one of the last, Ray grabbing her hand as she comes near, pulling her to him. 

All the adults are here now.  But we wait, silent, edgy, for the children.  They have not separated us since our original capture.  Every eye is on the door, listening closely for the sound of their voices or the small taps of their feet. 

The universe slowly ends around us, time stretching ever slower.  But then the restaurant rotates back for the next day's customers.  The door opens.  Our children, herded together with the older ones carrying the babies, are pushed inside.  They stay as the were, crowded together, until the gate is locked.  Then, like a small whirlwind, they rush to family, Cindy and Brenda hurrying forward for their children, taking them from the Denebans older children who are carrying them, the small ones who can walk grasping parents as if they will never let go. 

Calla runs straight to her mother and is scooped off the ground and buried in her parents arms.  Jeffrey, standing by himself, just watches Realand, waiting.  Realand nods and the boy goes to him, head down.  But there is clear relief in Realand's eyes. 

Molly is carrying her brother, and Ezri snatches him as she collapses against us.  Kneeling down between our bedding we hold them close, Molly burying her face in our arms. 

It isn't until after we've assured ourselves that they are not hurt that we notice their hands.  Even little Yoshi has a small mark on his hand.  Not even the smallest children are spared. 

When they were pushed inside the cage I was overwhelmed by a joy and a relief so intense I will never forget it.  None of us will.  Cindy is holding Alessa, gently rocking the baby, her face covered with tears.  I can't cry, the joy too intense to react at all.  In that eternity endured before the restaurant rotated back into place, all I could do was ask, with growing desperation, the questions that still haunt me.  What if they had no use for children?  Had I somehow failed to keep my promise to Miles? 

Then the door is pulled open and the gruff voice orders us out, once again.  Slowly we file outside into the star and mood-lit night, herded towards a darker area with the outlines of a large building in the center.  Stopped in front of the dark shape, a large door is opened without anyone touching it, and we are pushed inside. 

"This is your assigned sleeping area.  Your duties will be explained in the morning."  

The door shuts and locks.  It is pitch dark inside.  Molly is hanging onto my hand with a death grip and won't let go.  She just grips a little tighter as I try to loosen the hold so I can put down the bedding.  I never want to let her or Yoshi out of my sight again. 

Then, after the initial shock, we start moving around, exploring the place by feel. 

"I found matts," Ray exclaims. 

We follow the sound.  We drag matts off the pile, people grabbing them as they are tossed down.  At first, we divide them one per family, but in the end there is enough for all to have their own.  Grouping them together in the dark, each family begins arranging their bedding, and quite suddenly the room becomes very quiet.  After all the fear, emotional exhaustion quickly takes its toll. 

I'm careful to hide the books between a couple of the matts.  We spread out our bedding, the children cuddling close to us. 

Ezri has not said a word.  Outside, in the light, she had the eyes of a tiger protecting her young.  I was terribly afraid I might lose all of them if the guards touched the children.  But with Yoshi and Molly near, she gives into the exhaustion and I can feel her collapse against me.  Adjusting herself, she pulls the children close and takes my hand, draping my arm over the rest. 

I pull the blanket over us, and kiss her gently.  "I guess this is home," she says.  It's Ezri.  I'm relieved about that.  Right now, I especially need her. 

But I could swear that Miles is standing next to us, invisible in the gloom.  'Not forever.  Don't give up, no matter what.  It will end.' 

"For now," I say. 

The room quiets quickly, the only sound the now accepted murmur of moving bodies.  The children are already asleep, soon followed by the rest as sleep draws us in. 

Morning will answer the questions we dread, but for a little while we allow ourselves to rest, having at least survived the journey. 

                               *** 

The clanging of a loud bell jars us awake at dawn, different than the one on the station.  Groggy, we take a second to realize where we are.  Light is filtering inside the building from high windows at the top of the plain dark walls.  The soft rays of dawn fill the room.  I don't remember when I last woke to a planetary dawn. 

For the first time, we look around the room.  The walls are straight and high, leading to a ceiling with windows covered with a heavy grid along the sides.  There is nothing in the room but a large bin to the side, and a small alcove apparently for our personal needs.  The floor is covered with some kind of hard, but slightly spongy material, and the mats stick to it.  At one end is a tightly fitting door that lets in no light. 

One of Sloan's group, gazing around the room from its center, says with resignation, "All they need are the stalls and the horses." 

One of Miles men, still sitting on his matt nearby, says quietly, "Maybe we're the horses." 

We are living in a barn, housed like livestock.  Is that all we are now, animals to be used until our usefulness is done?  The image takes a minute to sink in and we sit back down to wait. 

"Outside, now," orders a voice over a loudspeaker.  It is hidden somewhere in the ceiling.  We stand, slowly, more than a little apprehensive. 

The door opens to the first rays of dawn.  Silhouetted against the pale sky are groups of other nearly identical buildings.  Hesitantly, we make our way outside. 

Using their rifles, the guards motion for us to line up.  They take a quick count and back away as someone approaches from a distance.  He's wearing much nicer clothes than we have.  His wears no beard.  He steps towards us with two armed guards to protect him.  

He is human.  He needs them. 

"Today your duties will be explained," he says. 

A few people mutter things under their breath.  But very quietly. 

"Follow me," he instructs, expecting obedience.  Nervous, we follow his guards, always positioned between us, trailed by a larger group of Jem'Hadar.  

Watching him as he strides ahead, I wonder if that was the great prize Weyoun was offering, the chance to be visibly hated by my own.  I wonder how long this one will last once the Jem'Hadar are gone. 

But now that there are the children, what if Weyoun asks again?  It is only a matter of time and will I have to agree for their sakes or break my promise to Miles? 

Ahead is an open area covered with a roof, and we stop in front of it.  At one end is a large pot of sorts, heat radiating from the base.  He looks us over and points at three of the men, casually noting, "You," as he passes them.  "You work down there," he says, pointing to the end of the shed with the pot. 

All three of them are Sloan's people, and I watch as they obey his order, moving slowly towards the pot but without any hesitation.  What happened to us in the last months that we accept the orders of a traitor with so little fuss?  They lost more people than our group.  Maybe they think there are already enough dead and lost, that to stay alive matters more than useless things like a pretense of respect. 

The rest of us move towards the middle of the shed.  Someone is waiting, and I note his hand bears the same symbol as ours.  "The warming bins are started first," explains the man.  He looks away from the traitor, not willing to look at us. 

Maybe he'd been where we stood before and remembered the way it felt to be treated like this.  Maybe he'd gone beyond feeling anything. 

A series of bins sit near the large pot, a pale glow reflected around them from a series of pipes placed underneath.  We watch as the red glow grows brighter under the bins.  The three chosen before wait near the large pot, watching as the other man joins them.  He uncovers one of the bins, set at the end, and we are suddenly very interested.  It is full of the mush we're very familiar with by now, and it's been a long time since I've had anything to eat.  He has them filling a bin of bowls with a soup from the large pot, then dropping in a chunk of the mush.  I doubt I'm the only one whose mouth is watering. 

We hardly need any encouragement to line up.  The three men hand each of us a bowl and spoon, along with a cup we may fill ourselves.  It's still only water, but by morning even that is welcome.  

We sit on the bare soil of a floor to eat.  When we finish each bowl is dropped into a bin of water to soak and we're directed outside again. 

The sun is up.  It is a comfortable temperature.  If we weren't *here* it would be a perfect day. 

All but the smallest children are sorted out, with a parent staying with each of them.  Many more of the adults are added to the group, and they are told to follow yet another guide, trailed by guards. 

Cheryl Jackson, alone among the others, is exempted.  She is ordered to return inside, her belly bulging with child.  The babies and toddlers are send inside with her.  Cindy looks back, her baby staying behind, as if she wished she could still fill that role. 

"That group will work the fields.  This group is to be trained as food servers." 

Ezri disappears with the children under our care to be field labor.  

The rest of us are divided into smaller groups, and I'm among those sent back inside to change.  Cheryl and the children look away this time, but there is no privacy for any of us now.  And it feels good to put on clean clothes.  We cautiously return outside to wait. 

"Those of you assigned serving duty will change to clean clothes  before breakfast in the future," we're informed. 

I guess I'm a server.  I try to remember the people who'd brought our food on the station.  After awhile they became invisible.  I guess that is our function in this place. 

The day proceeds slowly, each of us designated as servers sent with someone already trained the first day.  We're told how to measure the amount per bowl, and warned to follow the rules.  We don't talk to the other prisoners, or make any special contact with them or we'll be punished. 

We spend all morning serving breakfast after the bins of mush have been heated and the broth dispensed into the large insulated jars. 

Mid-day is spent cleaning the sheds. 

Using the rest of the bins of soaked grain, we serve them dinner in the evening.  We look longingly towards the food, but dare not touch it for ourselves. 

The people we're feeding have different symbols on their hands, and I recognize some of them, too.  I guess they are considered skilled labor, and worth a little more in the scheme of things. 

It is made very plain that we are the very bottom.  After we're done serving, we clean the bins and jars, and start the next days mush soaking, already delivered when we arrive after serving dinner.  Each bin is filled to a line with cracked grain of some kind, and then with water and covered.  We leave the shed, and help the others who are finishing with the cleaning of other things used in the camp. 

The work is hard, the bins heavy, and the hours long.  We are exhausted by the time we finish for the day.  Finally, the rest come back from the field, and we are served our dinner.  It is more of the mush, now cold, dropped into bowls of broth.  By then it's sticky and floats in stale lumps.  It's turned both slimy and chunky.  One last bin is saved for breakfast tomorrow. 

We eat it anyway.  It's hard to wait so long to eat, but harder when you have to feed others before.  But we are strictly forbidden to eat any of the food.  We will be deported if we're caught.  Even the stale, sticky mush we eat tastes acceptable by then. 

After eating, a load of vegetables brought from the field is washed and cut up.  They are added to the large pot along with more water.  Only then does our day end. 

It's almost dark.  We're ushered back into our barn and the doors are locked.  There is just enough light to find our bedding and mats.  I check the books and they are undisturbed.  An extra ration is still there.  But I'm not hungry.  I'm too tired to be hungry. 

Ezri and the children are dirty and sweaty and exhausted.  They fall asleep immediately.  I hold them, finding some comfort in knowing they are here. 

Historically, slaves have been allowed families.  It gives them a reason to keep going, and something to lose if they fight back too hard.  

I understand now.  We are fed well enough, and despite the austere nature of our barn, we have reasonable shelter.  The hours are long, but the work isn't overly difficult.  But every second out of this building is controlled.  We aren't allowed to talk, or touch any of the food we dispense. 

We are invisible to everyone, even the other prisoners. 

Tomorrow will be the same as today, as will every other day that follows until . . .  Short of an accident, we could be doing this for a long, long time.  Almost nothing is said by the others, lost in exhaustion, the realization that our new life has already been began, and the seasons will change little about the days.  But I glance towards Luther, huddled with Nancy.  Somehow, I must believe that when the Founders die, we will find a way out of this. 

If not, what is there to go on for? 

But Ezri pulls me towards her, the children snuggled together behind me on the warm night.  She curls next to me.  "Maybe we can find the beach again," she suggests. 

Not tonight, not with so many people so near, and so tired.  But we've gotten used to other things and this will be just another one to accept as part of life. 

I kiss her, for a flash the trees are there, the ocean splashing nearby, the fine sand of the sandbar sticking to my side.  She presses against me, holding my hands.  "Moonlight," she says.  "Gentle waves.  We should sleep well." 

Above me are the moons of Bajor, and the ocean's salty tang scents the air. 

Sleep wins and I curl up with my family for the night in a place that is ours alone. 

                               *** 

Once, we had walls to separate us.  Each family had a little place to call their own, grey walls to stare at but they defined a certain space that we could claim as home. 

Now the walls are gone.  We place our matts together, leaving space between them for others to move about, and call them boundaries. 

Once, we had walls to give us a place to be alone, to dress, to sleep, to visit our respective beaches.  Now we have blankets, and the mutual agreement not to hear and not to see.  We cannot hide now, our lives lived openly in view of all, but we make our own walls. 

Once the people with Sloan were strangers.  Now, living so close it is impossible to not know them all.  Now we have started the process of making new friends.  On the station, with the mass of bodies and the uncertain future, no one wanted to make a connection to someone who might be gone in a few days.  But here we are marked and grouped and stored together.  Now, the group that had been mine and the one Sloan had been added to are slowly merging together. 

I've kept Sloan's secret, though I suspect a few have guessed.  I don't know if it was for him or for Nancy.  I like Nancy.  She is one of the few here who has retained a trace of real compassion for others. 

Ezri is watching Brenda, but does not intrude.  Brenda and John Gregson, one of the widowers among Sloan's group, are sitting together, just quietly talking.  We grant them the only privacy we can, that of distance.  Tessie is playing nearby and Ezri is trying not to look.  With someone to hold her Brenda is improving, sharing her grief and blankets.  You can't be alone here.  I don't think it's love, but Gregson's wife died a month ago and at least they can share the pain they hold inside.  Since she met him, she's not disappeared into herself once. 

Here that could easily be fatal. 

Cindy is exhausted and sleeping, Catherine holding Alessa, the baby snuggled in her arms.  Perhaps the two women remind each other that no matter how hard life becomes, there is occasionally some joy.  Cindy is both friend and daughter, the child never lacking someone to give her attention.  Catherine's stern warnings have made Cindy's adjustment a little easier and Alessa has reawakened a spark of life inside Catherine that was almost lost. 

Alessa will always have family as long as they can be there. 

Even Realand isn't alone.  I don't know why he took over Jeffrey, but now the boy is all he has left.  I would have killed him had the man not stopped me, but it changed things.  Jeffrey lost one father, but now he has another. 

We are becoming our own society with our own rules again.  They even allow me to be a part, even if I still stand near the edge.  I'm not forgiven, nor will I ever be, but in this brutal world we've come to live in sacrifice, even of friends, matters more.  The guards kill who they want, when they want.  That is the basic truth of the world we live in now. 

I didn't understand that before.  I don't know if they really did either.  But I can't say what I would have done, now, or what I'll do if--when--he drags me back to face him again. 

How many will die then?  Or would it be better to let them exile me forever than murder my own children. 

I wish Kira was still here.  I'd like to ask her.  But she's been sent away because she's not human.  This is a human group.  We are separated strictly by species with only a few exceptions based on marriage, like Ezri. 

I am afraid for her, were I to be pulled away.  We serve the other groups, a smattering of species scattered over half the alpha quadrant.  But aside from her I've seen no Trills.  Would they ship her away, or let her stay as the mother of human children? 

Work took longer than usual today.  Everybody is tired and ready to sleep.  But Ezri trails her finger inside my clothes.  "Let's see, dawn, gentle waves, and birds." 

Snuggled inside our blankets, I start to undo her clothes.  "I'm for night, lots of stars, birds but the tide should be out." 

She is done undoing mine, her fingers reaching inside, already teasing me.  "Ok, night, but I want waves." 

I reach inside and tickle her back, pulling her to me.  "Agreed.  Night, stars, birds and waves." 

I slide off her clothes, leaning up close, teasing with my tongue, as her breasts are uncovered.  The stars are shining overhead.  The night birds sing their special songs, and the waves swirl around the sandbar.  We are at the beach, our beach, and the rest of them have faded away. 

                               *** 

The earliest glow of dawn is lighting the ceiling, not yet morning, but I'm already half-awake.  Ezri is snuggled very close, and one of the children has rolled on top of the blankets wrapped around us so we can't move.  It's so much warmer now.  I'm getting uncomfortably hot but don't want to wake anyone. 

Sleep is important.  We're expected to work hard, and without it we fall behind and someone gets punished.  I'd like to get back to the pleasant dream I was having about the beach on Risa and finish counting Ezri's spots.  But all that is wiped away when the morning alarm goes off. 

Molly jumps, and the blanket is loosened.  The little girl sits up, looking about in panic.  Even children can see it's too early. 

It's only been a couple of weeks, but the routine is well defined.  It's only when it changes that we are alarmed.  Why are they waking us up so early? 

The alarm rings a second time, this time longer.  Almost everyone is awake, sitting up on their beds and staring at the door.  There is no conversation.  Children have claimed the comfort of their parents laps, and the adults hold onto them with grim faces. 

I keep thinking there has been no trouble--certainly not from us.  But we paid for Odo's vendetta before he did.  They don't tolerate resistance, and I've heard a few rumors. 

I wish I could tell them just to wait, that our time will come.  There is no need to make life more miserable that it already is.  Most of the time the guards never find the actual guilty party.  They take someone that was near enough to whatever was done and make them an example.  Then they cut rations for everyone else in the group to make sure it's not forgotten. 

We know, because we don't have to serve them dinner then.  And everyone has heard about the compound beyond the gates further along the pathway we are by now familiar with.  Inside the gates, few ever leave once they have entered. 

Has there been some trouble?  Is the early waking some sort of punishment we haven't heard of yet? 

The first bright rays of dawn are emerging when the doors are opened.  

"Out," orders the head guard, and we straggle past them into the still gloomy morning. 

"Line up," orders another guard, and we form a line in front of our barn.  

Standing near the door, I watch as the Jem'Hadar carry several containers inside.  They reappear too quickly to have had time to search, and seal the door shut behind them.  Then they trigger the devices, and there is a low pitched whine I can hear more than most.  

It's giving me a headache, and I'm trying to ignore the pounding when I suddenly understand what they are up to.  A fine wisp of some pungent chemical is scenting the air.  They are fumigating our barn. 

I wonder how long the smell will hang on, if it will damage the books or soak into the blankets so completely that it will come to be a part of the overall smell of unwashed bodies and general grime that we no longer notice. 

On the station, despite promises, showers had been sporadic and there had been none at all at the end.  But the station was relatively pristine.  Here, crowded even closer, we work in dirt and mud and the things that live in them.  A small black bug, much like a flea, has come to join us.  We don't know any other name for them, so we call them fleas.  I don't mind the smell of the chemical or the morning surprise if they eradicate the pesky things.  They probably carry disease, or they wouldn't bother.  But tonight the reasons they've rid us of the pests will be immaterial. 

Then a small vehicle rolls into our compound, setting up in an open spot near our work area.  Several people, all prisoners but none human, quickly assemble a tent of sorts around it, pulled down from a storage area on top.  We can see bright lights, bodies moving around, the shadows erecting something inside. 

The guards pick the first four of us to go inside, Cindy and her daughter, Brenda and Tessie.  They follow with great hesitation, but don't dally. 

Cindy has already finished her crash course in surviving captivity. 

We are moved forward, sent inside the tent four at a time.  I wish I was closer, and the suspense would be over a little sooner.  But it proceeds relatively quickly.  The first four sent inside reappear with clean clothes, relieved to be released, but unhurt by the procedure.  I relax a little. 

They pick through the line, taking children first, accompanied by their mothers this time.  I watch as Molly and Yoshi hurry outside, their coveralls worn but clean.  Ezri nods, flashing me a look of reassurance.  Her hand smooths the soft fabric of her new clothes. 

I get clean clothes when I serve, but the rest don't.  I know that none of this is for our personal benefit, but just the same there is a secret satisfaction that they are doing something that makes life a little better.  Ezri isn't the only one that is playing with the soft fabric.  And nobody will miss the fleas. 

Finally they get to the men and my curiosity is satisfied.  I'm almost impatient to go, noticing the bugs as they crawl in my hair.  But I'm in one of the last groups to be chosen.  Jackson looks towards his wife and daughter as he's pulled out of line.  We follow with anticipation rather than fear. 

We enter the first room, curious and still a little anxious.  It is lit from bright artificial light.  The harsh light looks odd here, where nothing is illuminated except by sun and moons. 

In the corner is a bin marked "Contaminated Items" in Standard, and we're ordered to undress and toss our clothes in the bin by one of the calties, standing by the door.  We glance at him, but only briefly.  It's hard not to hide the hatred.  But if any of them are killed we'll pay, so for now we obey them as if they were Jem'Hadar. 

I'm past being bothered by my nakedness.  In our barn, now denied any personal privacy, we have made new rules.  We give ourselves the only privacy we have by not looking.  After awhile, there is nothing of any interest to see anyway.  And it's been muddy lately and I've been on scrub.  I willingly surrender the filthy clothes.  My arms are clean from the elbows down, but the grime is visible on my skin above that.  I can't tell what else there is.  Maybe there is a sonic shower. 

We're ushered into the next room.  Another of the calties points at a scanner and we grasp the bar as ordered, each in turn.  I glimpse at the results as I pass the control.  They are looking for internal parasites.  I pass.  But Jackson doesn't, and he's detained while a hypo is pressed to his neck. 

We pass into the next little room, and something is injected just into the skin.  The caltie explains it will prevent us from being infested with various bugs.  My hopes of a shower are fading, and the abrupt manner of the calties is annoying.  We have to leave them alone, but we don't have like it.  I ignore the tone, giving him a look of disgust, and he rushes us into the next room. 

There is a table with boxes of clean clothes.  I pick my size and dress, waiting by the door.  The clothes feel good, softer than the ones in our bin.  I suspect they are newer or cleaner.  I'm still disappointed there was no shower. 

I return to the line.  The sun is casting a rosy glow over the place.  I like it better than the bright lights. 

The calties and their equipment go back into the vehicle, and it leaves. 

It's time for our normal waking.  I wonder if we'll be locked out until evening.  The head guard eyes us as we wait.  Abruptly, he barks, "Your monthly decontamination is done.  You will assemble for breakfast." 

We're dismissed, and the early crew, released first, already has our breakfast prepared.  We sit in the relative cleanliness of the tent eating our mush, and enjoy our soft clothes. 

We sit as families, children close to parents, giving each other the only comfort we can in the open glare of the guards. 

But where I'm sitting, I can see Realand.  Jeffrey is near him, attentive, watching as people pass.  Realand appears to be concentrating on his food, but I can see his careful watch on the boy, and a certain satisfaction as well. 

Then Jackson, getting himself another cup of water, passes by.  Jeffrey looks up, fixing his father with an intense look of hatred.  Jackson hurries by, but Jeffrey follows him with his eyes, Jackson nearly tripping over several people in his haste to get past.  Then the boy smiles, a curious combination of childish glee and malevolence, looking thoughtfully at the guards waiting outside.  Realand watches with what appears to be satisfaction. 

Jackson doesn't see, barricaded behind his wife and the others but I cannot help but wonder what Jeffrey is planning.  Realand has the boy under complete control now, Jeffrey staying close to the only father he knows.  But Jeffrey is learning well, and I fear Carl will pay for his anger. 

But not today.  Ezri runs her hand down the soft fabric, and I am amazed at the softness of my own new clothes.  It's ashamed they'll be dirty by evening.  But at least the fleas will be gone.  Maybe, if they do it often enough, they won't ever come back.  That alone is worth putting up with a morning like this. 

                               *** 

We don't talk at work.  Sometimes, when Sloan is working near me he'll use one of our hand signs, but not often.  They are private in a place where privacy is almost unknown.  We keep them for things which are important. 

But others talk.  We never look like we hear, but the rumors are as numerous and varied here as on the station.  We share them in whispers, compare them, treat them like forbidden fruit.  Not even the middle of a prison is isolated enough to deny the news. 

We've heard about the local Bajorans. 

Two days ago, the air was smoky and brown, burning brush and wood and buildings in the distance where there used to be a Dominion processing plant. 

Sabotage means death.  Yesterday, after dark when we were locked inside our barn, we heard the transports as they brought in prisoners, lots of them.  They didn't come here.  They went to the barred and closed section where you don't come back. 

They probably will deport most of them.  Off world, they'll be of some use for a little while.  Here, they might have friends to avenge them. 

But some of them will die today.  Breakfast was early and we were assembled to watch as they were marched out of the compound, a reminder to everyone of the price of resistance. 

And it is a reminder of the advantages of loyalty as well.  The first group, numbering among them a scattering of species, are the women.  All are young and attractive, already dressed in the provocative and flashy clothes that will be their uniforms.  Visible on the bare, clean flesh are decorations, some obscene, probably made much as our hand marks were forged.  This is their lot, to offer their bodies to the calties as rewards for their loyalty. 

I wonder if Marta is satisfied.  At least she got to marry him. 

They walk past with heads down, ignoring us, and I imagine they wish nobody was here to watch.  But they are lucky, just as we were.  If they did not have the brothel, they would face death or deportation. 

Slowly, they disappear from view.  Realand is watching, others as well, and I wonder if they are thinking of Marta too. 

But the women are replaced by others, men and women, filthy and beaten and half-naked in their rags.  Their hands are bound and they stumble forward without looking where they are going.  They are cleaning house, eliminating those they've already used up. 

Here and there among them are those added recently, probably those to be executed for the fire.  They stumble too, still too disbelieving, not yet resigned.  I can't tell if they show pride or not because I can't look at their eyes. 

Weyoun said we'd have the worse, but these doomed souls stumbling towards their execution are a reminder that he will not give up all his options.  No matter how bad our lives may seem, there is something worse to threaten. 

The next group are the hardest to look at, recent arrests, all marked with the emblem of kasari, heading for the transports assembled to take them from home.  They are the deportees.  Most of them are likely blameless, but happened to live in the same town, or have as friends people who are believed to have burned and killed. 

No doubt, some of those assumed guilty were, but proximity is all that matters.  I wonder if any of the torch bearers are hiding now, what goes through their minds when they hear the transports lift off taking friends and neighbors who's only sin was to know them into exile and slavery.  How do they live with themselves, or do they count it as just another price to pay. 

At least, someday, these people may have the chance to come home.  In their own ways they are more fortunate than us. 

The parade continues, Bajoran families crowding together, holding onto children, driven along like animals, taking nothing of their own.  Jackson holds Calla close, Cheryl's hand resting on her prominent belly as if it will shield the child inside from this spectacle.  Molly just watches, Yoshi hiding behind.  Ezri stares, and I wonder if she's replaying the moment in the corridor when we were herded into captivity, when she lost herself.  But she keeps her arm around the children and holds my hand. 

Cindy is sitting near us, her baby wrapped up and snuggled in her arms.  She looks away, as do Brenda and Gregson, holding on tight to Tessie.  

But I can't stop watching Realand.  The look in his eyes of anger and bitterness, of loss, is tangibly.  And Jeffrey, staring calmly at the living parade, is drawn near, Realand keeping him close, speaking softly to the boy. 

If he survives, Jeffrey will get his revenge in ways no one will mind except the victims.  Perhaps that will be Realand's best revenge, making sure he lives long enough for that moment to come.  Perhaps that was why I let him live. 

The last stragglers pass by, groups of older children without parents.  Bayla and Willy watch without any expression at all.  At least they still have their parents. 

And then they are gone.  The guards motion for us to rise and our work day begins.  In an hour some of those that passed by will be dead, and some shunted off to the unknown.  We've been there, but not now.  We live in our barn, fed and sheltered and worked but still, somehow, we know that for now we remain lucky. 

                               *** 

I worked late today, on scrub, and after absorbing my dinner I'm just glad to rest.  I peal off the muddy shoes and store them in the niche we reserve for mud.  I'm ready to peal off the rest, but look up to find Brenda standing before me. 

She's holding Tessie, her look worried, nervous.  She hasn't tried to talk to me since we kept the child on the station.  Now that she is recovered, we keep distance as well, not wanting to make the memories too bad. 

But she hesitates before she speaks.  She keeps back, not broaching our space as defined by our matts.  "Could you come and look at John's foot?  He cut himself today." 

I'm not really prepared to be a doctor this moment, with nothing to work with.  But she looks desperate enough I don't want to ignore her.  "I can't do anything but bandage it," I tell her. 

"If you could even do that," she says, worried.  It was different on the station, cleaner.  Here infections kill you.  She knows that as well as anyone. 

I pull myself out of my blankets and follow her to her matts, waiting until she sits.  John Gregson is lying on his side, his foot wrapped up in an old uniform.  It's still seeping blood. 

Gingerly, I pull it back.  It's not too bad, as cuts go.  On the station I'd say it was no problem.  But I could be a doctor then.  He tenses as I move the skin, careful not to touch it.  It's a clean cut, not overly deep.  "I need some water, something to wash it off.  And get me some cloth, clean if you can find it." 

I put pressure on the cut while I wait, watching as he bites his lip.  The bleeding has slowed, but I wonder if I should let it bleed more, clean it better.  Just one dusting of the anti-biotic powder they supplied before would make a difference.  It won't be much, but I'll wash it and bind it.  If he's lucky it won't infect.  I hope he's lucky, for Brenda's sake.  

Tessie has crawled over to my lap, and is snuggling.  She feels so right.  I hope he survives for Tessie's sake too. 

Brenda arrives with a pail of water, also a uniform taken from the bin.  She isn't supposed to take it, but nobody will really notice.  I wash the foot while she watches, Tessie still near. 

"Look," she says.  "I know it's . . . difficult, but don't be a stranger."  She pats Tessie.  "She still talks about you.  If . . . "  She doesn't finish the sentence.  She knows how bad the cut could be.  Or it might heal.  It's all up to chance, and the mud and weather. 

"We won't," I say, wishing it didn't hurt so much to have to leave Tessie behind.  I love Molly and her brother, but we had this child ripped from us, and the wound is still too fresh. 

She leaves the child with John, following me back to our matts.  Hesitantly, she asks, "How bad?" 

"It's clean.  I bandaged it the best I could.  It has a good a chance as any to heal." 

She is watching, though.  She knows.  If he's lucky it will heal.  If not there is nothing I can do. 

"Thank you," she says. 

I can't work miracles.  Maybe I can't do anything, but somehow Brenda, like Ray, has made a difference in my life. 

But I'd like to do more, to reclaim my identity somehow.  And we are on Bajor.  I've studied the herbal cures they often used.  Maybe, just maybe among the carpet of green insisting on its right to exist are a few of the plants that might give me--and the rest--a little better chance.  

                               *** 

The chilly mornings are giving way to the early signs of summer, and instead of sitting together in the shed we eat our breakfast on an open area near the warehouse.  You can tell where the transports normally travel when they make their deliveries, but the area that is left alone has a soft layer of grasses now.  

In the morning the grass is still damp, but not wet.  It's peasant to sit and eat on the soft carpet.  We don't feel so crowded as in the shed.  But there is another reason.  We're all very visible.  They can watch us much better in the open, with nothing in the way to hide behind. 

The local Bajorans have left a legacy of more than blood.  There has been much more trouble since the executions.  They were done in full view of the field crews to make sure everyone understood. 

Maybe people saw their future.  If I didn't know how soon this can end, how the core of our captors empire has already been shattered, I might feel the same. 

But now, all it brings is more control, more rules and more misery. 

We are never without guards out of our barn now.  There is no time to sneak a conversation, or overhear news.  We get disciplined if we're suspected of talking at all.  The little news we gleamed from camp rumors mattered more than we knew. 

So we sit, silently, and eat our mush.  The sun is almost warm.  The sky is clear and otherwise it might be called a beautiful day.  

There is no trace of smoke anywhere.  Nobody has dared to repeat what the Bajorans did.  Would they deport all of us to who knows where? 

Ezri is eating, her thoughts to herself.  They spend hours working now, always under close watch, and she is often silent at night as well.  Molly is licking her fingers, having mushed the bowl of gruel to a soup she's scraping with her hand.  Yoshi is sipping his spoonfuls of food, slowly, messily.  Too bad it isn't funny here.  Children learn to be neat because otherwise they are hungry. 

My own family preoccupied with food, I glance around the half circle of grass.  I notice movement, Realand making his way past the others to relieve himself.  He's been ill lately, some spring virus.  He's left Jeffrey alone. 

But I look back, and Jeffrey is gone.  Perhaps Realand had him come as well, but it doesn't make sense.  Then I see a hint of movement.  There is a clump of grass behind a small rise and I am certain someone is hiding there. 

Just ahead of Jeffrey are the Jacksons, Carl staring at his bowl, Cheryl finished and trying to stand.  Calla waits as her mother is helped up and goes with her. 

Carl isn't paying attention to anything but the food now.  I keep watching the clump of grass.  Realand isn't back, and I wait nervously as Carl finishes his broth, scraping the remains of the mush with his fingers. 

Then, abruptly, there is movement.  A rock sails from behind Carl--directly behind him--and hits the nearest guard squarely in the back of the head. 

It is as if everything starts to move in slow motion, a drawn our nightmare that nobody wants to be real. 

The guards are very attentive now, their rifles pointed at us.  Nobody moves.  Realand has just come out, noting Jeffrey's absence, and Cheryl is standing by the door, grasping her daughter's hand, staring at her husband as he sits frozen in place before the guard. 

Then the guard leans over, picks up the rock, walks straight toward Carl and smashes it against his head.  Carl falls, dropping his bowl, the fear building, screaming that he didn't throw it, repeating it over and over.  But they don't listen.  The clump of grass behind him is still, but I'm sure Jeffrey is inside it.  

Carl is dragged out, still begging them to stop, but nobody can help him.  They don't care who threw the rock, just that we see what happens afterwards.  His head is bleeding, and he's fighting them now as they use their feet to subdue him, keeping it up until he stops moving.  

A couple of the calties, standing in the background, move forward.  They haul Carl's limp body to their shoulders and start down the road to the locked compound. 

Cheryl collapses, falling back and only at the end catching herself as she sits on the ground.  Calla is tugging on her mother, watching the body of her father disappear, in shock.  Realand hasn't moved, but looks towards the place Jeffrey is hiding, his face grim and eyes riveted. 

Nobody will tell them about Jeffrey, but he'll pay anyway, just as Carl has for turning against his son. 

The rifles are lowered.  One of the officials--a well dressed caltie--steps between them.  "One week half-rations," he says, and walks away. 

The guards retreat and people start to move, just a little.  Realand is closest to Cheryl, and he leans over her, helping her into a better position.  Her face is blank, disbelieving.  He puts the little girl in her arms, and slowly starts moving towards Jeffrey. 

But most people simply finish their food, slower now, knowing there will be no dinner.  It's impossible to miss Realand as he moves towards Jeffrey's hiding place.  Jeffrey will pay this time.  Even Realand will not protect him now. 

The work bell rings.  I watch as with the movement of the others, Jeffrey is hauled out of the bush, and Realand moves towards the barn.  Nobody will notice if he doesn't show up in the field.  He drags the boy inside, returning a few minutes later to help Cheryl inside too. 

Jeffrey has already been controlled, somehow.  I know Realand had ropes hidden in his bedding and suspect Jeffrey is tied up securely now. 

He makes his way out as the rest assemble.  

It will be a long hard day, serving others knowing we have nothing more until the next morning.  Realand, moving slowly, stares at the ground.  But a lot of us can't stop the glance up the road, wondering if Carl will be among the next to be marched down the road, if he even lasts that long. 

And Jeffrey, will Jeffrey join his father in dying a hard and painful death?  Tonight when we return, will our judgement be as hard as theirs?  Have we become no better than them? 

                               ***

                            Chapter 16

                               *** 

Stomach grumbling, I feel Cheryl's belly.  She is lying on her side, staring ahead and holding on to Carl's pillow.  Everything of his is still in place.  Nobody has heard if he's still alive, thought executions are generally visible. 

Cheryl isn't giving up hope, but she hasn't said a word to anyone since Carl vanished.  Except for the tribunal about Jeffrey, nobody has said much at all. 

It has been almost a week.  At least I'm back on scrub now.  It's hard enough to be so hungry, but to have to serve food to others all day you can't touch is torture. 

Jeffrey is alive.  Every morning he sits by his mother and is allowed to eat a little of his food.  He gives the rest to his mother and little sister.  Then he leaves, Realand making sure he doesn't try to steal any other food. 

We told the guards when they asked that he was too sick to go out.  Jeffrey couldn't argue with his mouth tied.  When rations go back to normal he'll be allowed a little more freedom, but for now he lives under a blanket with Cheryl there to make sure he stays. 

Jeffrey doesn't fight us.  He knows he's lucky--better off than Carl, no matter what we do to him. 

Cheryl had false labor pains earlier and I verify she isn't ready to give birth, the baby not yet dropped.  But soon, I think.  I wonder if I'll be allowed to deliver the child or made to work instead. 

But it's getting late.  Luther is working close down tonight and as the door opens he wanders towards me, indicating with his hand that he has some news.  We wander a bit away, where there are few potential listeners. 

"I saw Carl today," he says.  

I glance at Cheryl, now holding his pillow to herself as if it was Carl.  "How bad?" 

He looks away.  "He's one of the rats."  They use rats to clean out the water pipes and other places that are likely to kill you.  "He's fresh out of the box.  You can tell by the brand being so new." 

People like Carl are branded for life.  Life tends to be rather short for them. 

Luther turns away, hesitates, and won't look my way at all.  "He should be okay.  He's pretty.  One of the guards likes him.  He'll make sure he's got enough to eat." 

Rats get one-third rations.  It's not enough.  But there are ways to get food, things to trade.  Carl probably has a chance to make up for the rations if the guard is really interested.  Rats are guarded by the scum of the calties, beneath the attention of the Jem'Hadar.  Just how they keep their prisoners in line is immaterial to the other guards. 

"I'll tell Cheryl he's alive.  Not the rest . . . "  I don't know how to tell her how he'll survive, though she can probably guess. 

I remember lunches with Garak, playing a careful game.  He never touched me, but I knew he wanted more than friendship.  I liked Garak, cared about him, but knew all too well that I could never really trust him.  

I still remember the Garak that lives in the alternate universe, so like my luncheon date, and just as dangerous.  The only difference was the world they lived in.  In my world, Garak didn't dare push me into the relationship he so wanted.  But just the same, now and then, there was hunger in his eyes, and I took care to tread carefully around him. 

I'd considered what might happen if he ever tried.  But he didn't know my secret.  I could have killed him if that is what it took to make him let me be.  

Carl doesn't have that option.  The only game he's playing is with his life.  He can sell his body or die a slow, miserable death.  

Luther sits down on the edge of the pathway, near an empty matt.  He turns away from me, staring at the ground.  "She'll know.  Sooner or later.  They make them rats by systematic rape.  And they offer other prisoners food to do it.  Carl won't argue if they feed him."  He pauses.  "Maybe he'll try it himself." 

I look at Luther, note his nervous hands, his hunched position.  He knows what it feels like to be broken.  Does he know more about the lot of the rats than he's willing to say?  His voice is flat, lifeless.  His hands are shaking badly now.  Nancy said it took a long time before she could touch him.  That was on the station but every policy has to start somewhere. 

Luther played games with me, just like Garak, but for him, too, the games ended with the Dominion.  Both of them are dead now.  The Luther who shakes so badly is only the shell that's left. 

"Sometimes they release rats," I say, hoping not to think too hard about his future. 

"In a few months, when they've used him up.  But he'll still be branded.  Just one infraction, and he's back there for good." 

He turns, looks at me.  Our eyes meet for a moment.  Both of us know what it is to be owned.  Carl will just be owned in a slightly different way. 

But he's nervous.  There is something else.  He holds out his hands, touches a homemade pocket in his clothes.  "Here, I can't manage right now.  Be careful, don't lose any." 

Cautiously, I reach into the pocket and find something sticky and sharp, like sand but not sand.  He has stolen a handful of salt from the larder brought at closing to add to the broth. 

With his help, I gather it together and hide it in a pocket I've made, using a loose piece of cloth I carry for bandage to hold it.  I don't know what to say.  He'd be deported if he was caught.  I can be deported as well for taking it from him. 

"Thought it might help," he mumbles.  With a faint smile, he pushes himself to his feet, stumbling towards Nancy. 

I should tell Cheryl, but I'm just not ready.  She knows how they treat the rats, how they are branded and beaten and starved.  To know he's alive will help, but to have him so near and yet not be able to even contact him just might be harder.  And when he comes home--if, that is--she'll not know him anymore. 

Instead, I carefully measure the treasure in my pocket.  It isn't much, but then, carefully soaked into a cloth, it would last for a few days at the least, long enough to see if John's cut will heal. 

My matts are deserted right now, Ezri and the children with Brenda.  John is asleep, and Ezri is holding Tessie while Brenda teases Yoshi. 

I hide most of the salt under my own matt, on the pretense of checking the books.  A strip of cloth  with the salt rolled inside is stashed in my pocket.  I go to visit, and check the foot again. 

John stirs, and I can tell he's in pain.  He was lucky for a while.  I was able to keep it bandaged enough that it kept clean, but there is a spot of infection now.  Unwrapping the bandage, I sniff the foot. 

It isn't a bad one, but enough, here.  If he gets lucky again the salt will make a difference.  

Brenda gets the bin with water while I remove the old bandage.  The stolen uniform has been reduced to strips of fabric and is stored under my blankets. 

She helps hold him, Ezri keeping the children out of the way, while I wash it.  It's worse, the redness spreading further and the first hint of yellow near the wound.  I hope Luther's gift saves his life, but it has to be done carefully, surreptitiously.  If I get caught, I don't want to take anyone with me. 

The salty layer of bandage is soaked and applied to the wound, fixed in place by more strips.  Ezri notices the difference but says nothing.  John jerks a little as the salt starts to seep into the wound.  "It's very tender.  It will sting a lot." 

Ezri glances at me, then back at Luther.  She says nothing.  Brenda takes my hand.  "Whatever happens, we'll remember this." 

Carl is living in hell and we are only higher class slaves.  But for a moment I felt whole.  "Keep believing," I tell her. 

How many months are left?  I've lost count, but probably too many for Carl and John.  She needs to hope, but I know how little chance he has in the end.  And Carl is already lost. 

But then Miles is in my head.  'Good, you remember that.  Remember, you owe me.' 

How can I forget?  They let me back in, but at the cost of too many lives.  

Ezri trails me back to our matts, children following behind.  She gives me an odd look, then says, "Stings?" 

Another secret, one I can't let them know, not ever her this time.  One secret tore me from these people.  Perhaps this one, if Gregson manages to live, will help balance the score a little. 

                               *** 

Ray is watching as I dress the wound, now puffy and yellow along its length.  My carefully folded bandage is soaked, and I place it on the growing infection with regret.  Without Luther's gift John would probably be dead, but it won't be enough.  All we are doing is making him live a little longer, suffer more pain.  He already has a fever.  He can't walk on the leg and has been left behind for the last three days.  Brenda watches, holding Tessie and staring at the foot.  We all know what's going to come of it, even Brenda and John.  He holds his breath while I bandage the wound, and collapses when I finally finish. 

Brenda is staring at me now.  She carries Tessie to Ezri and gives the child to her.  "Her fussing makes it hard to for him to rest.  Could you keep her tonight?" 

Ezri hugs the child.  "Sure," she says, looking at me, watching as I nod.  He'd dying and I know how noisy Tessie is.  No matter how much salt I soak into the cut it won't stop the infection anymore.  Privately, I decide to save the rest for someone it might keep alive.  It's the only thing I can do for him, let him die without prolonging it more than necessary. 

I keep thinking about frontier medicine and getting your wish. 

Brenda follows us back to our matts.  She sits on the edge, watching both of us.  Ray is still watching, breaking all the rules and following her.  She pats Tessie in the head, and smiles.  "If something happens, promise you'll take her back.  I mean promise.  Don't let them take her away.  I know you can do it." 

Ezri looks worried.  "We'll take her, just like we promised her grandmother.  But you have to make a promise to us too.  I know how bad John is.  But you hang on whatever happens." 

"You can't stop the infection," she says, matter-of-factly.  "Whatever you were using isn't working."  She looks away.  

I remember the first time I had to tell a loved one nothing could be done, the way they looked at me as if I'd failed them.  We had the miracle of Federation science, and yet sometimes it failed.  The woman could not conceive of it.  I was an intern then, and two other doctors had been called in to confirm my diagnosis. 

I wish Brenda would look at me that way.  At first, she'd hoped, but never really believed.  Giving us Tessie is proof enough that's she's given up.  But she never really expected anything else.  I almost wish Luther had not stolen the salt.  It would be long over now and Brenda would have dealt with his death in whatever way she has learned. 

"No," I admit.  "But I tried.  I'll keep trying," I offer, wondering what she'll say. 

"It won't help," she says flatly.  "Why risk trouble?" 

Why indeed?  If anyone should know better it's me.  But Ezri answers instead.  "He's a doctor.  He has to." 

I'm not sure who Ezri is now.  I thought she was herself, in counselor mode, before but now I wonder.  There is a little of Jadzia but someone else I can't make out too. 

"Not always," says Brenda, staring at me.  "If Jeffrey was hurt would you treat him?  Realand?  I doubt it." 

I really don't know.  Carl is still among the rats thanks to his son.  We had rations cut just as the virus hit our people hard, and the lack of food meant a lot more people got sick.  I really don't know if I'd let Jeffrey just go ahead and die. 

"Maybe Realand," I say, watching as he tows Jeffrey to his mother to help her straighten the blankets.  Realand never liked Carl, thought him too weak, but he likes Cheryl.  I'm not sure he regrets Jeffrey's revenge against his father, just the way it hurt everyone else.  But I don't enjoy the reminder.  "Look, we'll watch Tessie.  But you are her mother now, no matter how it happened.  You owe it to her to keep going." 

I wish she could understand.  After the massacre I didn't care much if I lived, but Miles died and left his children to me.  It saved my life.  I want her to give Tessie the same gift. 

She doesn't say anything.  "You'd do a lot better job," she says as she drifts back to John, lying on his back now, his breathing shallow and ragged.  She can spend more time with Tessie later.  John doesn't have the time to wait. 

Ray watches as she leaves.  "She's going to give up when he dies."  He looks towards Cheryl.  "First Carl, now John, probably Brenda too.  Who's next?"  

"Nobody knows," says Ezri, watching as he stares at our matts. 

"Is that all there is to life now?  Working and eating and sleeping and starting all over again, taking a break when someone dies?  No wonder people are giving up.  On the station it wasn't all that different.  But we had distractions that they don't control.  We had books."  Ray keeps watching, concentrating on me. 

Ezri looks at me too.  "We still do.  We just don't read them." 

I fumble with my blankets, mindful of the secret store of salt hidden along with the books.  "We do have the third book.  But we don't have much time to read." 

"Nobody's going to care about that.  And when John dies and Brenda falls apart and you take the child do you really think they will let you if you won't even let them *read* your books?" 

I realize our promise about Tessie won't be easy.  But Ray's right.  Brenda has accepted us, but will the rest?  I already know that this time they won't take her away, no matter what.  There won't be a lot of time to read, but even if we have only a few minutes they will belong to us. 

"We'll start tomorrow.  As soon as everyone is here I'll pull out the book."  I wait until Ray starts to stand.  "But I get them, nobody else."  I don't know if the tone is from Miles legacy or the knowledge that the books are protecting a more dangerous secret than the dreams they inspire. 

"I'll pass the word," he says, moving slowly away.  Then, looking at Brenda he says, quietly, "Maybe another one, one we've read.  Like you said there isn't much light.  Oz, maybe." 

John won't hear the end of it, and Brenda may give up anyway.  "Oz sounds good.  Why don't you read first, since it was your idea." 

Life is dull and hard and sometimes brutal.  But as Ray moves from matts to matts and people glance our way, all I can think of is Arthur and his journey, and wonder what new oddities we'll find.  I want to read about Ozma and her dust, savor the defeat of the Nome king.  I can't save John and Carl will live or not, but Arthur and Zaphod and Dorothy and Ozma--and all the others--will bring a small thread of life back.  On the station we needed something to give us a reason to go on, and need it all the more here. 

Whatever tomorrow brings, there will be tomorrow night and perhaps the day will go a little faster. 

                               *** 

Daniel is reading.  Our family of Denebians hardly ever react to this place.  But when they read, it is as if a magic thing happens and something buried comes to life. 

Tonight he's reading about Dorothy and her visit with His Majesty of Bunburry--the sumptuous dinner, the rabbits dressed with care in satins and formal clothes.  The king is unhappy, though, caught in his kingship.  Rabbits, to the king, were intended to be forest creatures, not live in sumptuous palaces.  He blubbers all the time and especially to Dorothy who will still listen. 

We don't blubber.  We are caught in this terrible place and can't resign either, but we just go on. 

Sometimes.  John is very sick now, his fever high and constant.  If I could take off the leg it might have helped, days ago perhaps, but I have no means of doing it.  And if he can't walk, can't work, he would have no use to them at all. 

Ezri is holding Tessie, the child asleep in her arms.  We've had her at our matts for days, especially since the fever got bad and John is drifting in his own world.  Brenda spends all her time--except work, of course, sitting by him, trying to feed him a little broth, hoping he'll hang on just a little longer. 

Even like this, she's holding together.  As long as he lives, as long as she has a chance to share a little of her life with him, she manages.  But when he dies she will have only Tessie, the child already physically given to Ezri. 

Daniel is nearing the end of the reading, the king finding that just, perhaps, he'd like to take along his favorite suit and other things should he return to the forest.  After all he's used to them by now. 

Then a scream stops him mid-sentence.  Brenda sits bolt upright, John's limp hand falling lifelessly from hers.   Her body is taunt, eyes fixed on John.  Just watching, staring, she doesn't move. 

I hurry to her matts.  Ezri puts Tessie down and follows.  She takes Brenda in her arms as I confirm what everyone suspects. 

John is dead now.  All the suffering is done.  I close his eyes, cover his face.  Now, Brenda matters more. 

"He was sleeping," she says as if it was a waking dream.  "I was holding his hand.  Then he just . . . jerked, his whole body jerked, and everything went limp."  She's shaking now, being firmly held by Ezri.  "He's gone now," she says, softly, the shaking stopped.  She simply collapses into Ezri's arms. 

She just stares at her hand, the last part of her to touch his body.  She isn't crying, isn't reacting at all.  She's slipping further and further away instead. 

Ezri wraps her in her blanket and pulls her up, taking her to our matts for the night.  Ray wanders over and together we wrap the body in a blanket, regretting the loss but with nothing else to put him in. 

Since the doors are locked, he stays until morning.  We carry the body to the storage area near the side, and cover it as best we can.  But no one will sleep all that well tonight until morning when he can be carried to the dead room. 

Daniel looks around, still holding the book.  He's almost done with the chapter, and we still try to finish the chapter if we can.  Ezri is holding Brenda, Tessie snuggled with Yoshi and Molly already.  Brenda still hasn't moved or spoken or reacted in any way.  Ray stands, looking at Daniel.  "Go ahead and finish," he says. 

Daniel finishes the last page, the king declaring his throne his favorite seat, since he's grown so used to setting on it, and the court ladies approach for Princess Dorothy, representing Queen Ozma, to be presented to the court. 

The book is carried back to me and I put it away, the remaining salt carefully buried away from the book.  Brenda is pulled down, Ezri still holding her, and I put blankets over them.  

It's dark now, certainly too dark to read, but I can't sleep.  Decon is coming soon and I look forward to it as I flick some of the fuzzy bugs out of my beard.  They don't appear to cause disease but they itch as they crawl.  Since the scratching leads to sores they get rid of them most of the time too.  It's too warm tonight to be comfortable wrapped around Ezri, even if Brenda wasn't there.  It is certainly too warm to have a dead body in the corner. 

I remember once that Garak said the one thing he regretted about the way his father died was that there was no funeral.  Tain would have liked that, enjoyed the power he had in death as well as in life, drawing all the important people who still instinctually feared him to his final moment.  I wonder if John believed in anything, if he minds having his body disposed of and his memory the only memorial he'll get. 

Miles still haunts me.  Will he stay with Brenda in death, perhaps keeping her from losing herself entirely?  Or will his touch simply draw her closer to joining him? 

I don't remember going to sleep, but the bell goes of as usual in the morning and I'm lying with my blanket around me next to the edge, Brenda still in Ezri's arms.  It's less comfortable that way, but we don't have time to worry about that.  I'm on early crew today, and have to hurry.  While I'm getting ready, Ezri rouses Brenda, who stares at her and then her own matts.  Then she faints. 

I remember the moment I woke the second time, when it fell to Kira to tell me Miles was gone.  I know where she is now, could help her but have no time.  The children are up, waiting to eat, and Ezri pulls Brenda to the pillows to wake.  At least she misses Ray and several others removing the body as the door opens.  I have to go, rushing out a bit late, Ezri still sitting by Brenda. 

They eat when we get our breakfast ready to serve.  I don't need to add anything else to remind them of my misdeeds. 

By the time we're ready, Ezri is guiding her out, still in shock but moving.  She follows in line and takes her bowl, staring at it, and sits as Ezri makes her.  Done with serving our breakfast, I sit with them, making Brenda eat.  If I put the spoon in her hand, dip it into the food, she'll absently eat the contents.  Otherwise she doesn't see it at all. 

How she will last the day I don't know.  But I am on scrub today, and have to go.  Ezri takes her hand, the children going back inside.  Molly is just barely too young for the field work gang now.  Next summer, she'll go with Ezri. 

I remind myself that next summer the Founders will be dead and all will have changed.  But not the fields.  Maybe the day will be easier if you aren't doing it because you have to. 

Everyone's very quiet, obviously very tired.  I suspect a lot of people couldn't get to sleep.  We lose people, but usually in the field or out of the barn.  This death, so prolonged and visible, was very personal. 

I find a hunk of fruit in the bin from one of the higher-caste groups.  Nobody is watching and I manage to eat it myself.  The rest of the day I keep looking to see if anyone knows, and manage to stop worrying about Brenda entirely. 

But we assemble for dinner after I'm finally done, filthy and muddy and tired.  Ezri greets Molly and Yoshi as if she's always been their mother, and this time includes Tessie as well.  I look around but do not see Brenda.  I can't ask out here, but use a simple finger sign I'd taught her, a question mark traced in the air.  She shrugs, which I take to mean she hasn't seen Brenda for some time. 

Other people are looking around, trying not to be too obvious, but nobody has seen her.  Dinner is rushed, Ezri gathering the children and hurrying them inside.  I drop in the used bowls, grateful I've done my extra work for the day in the morning and don't have to work close out crew. 

"Where is she?" asks Catherine, looking at Ezri. 

"I don't know.  She was next to me most of the day but when we moved fields I lost her.  Anybody see her after that?" 

Nobody remembers her from then on.  She didn't come back into camp.  When they find her hiding they'll shoot her.  If we're lucky they'll not bother to figure out which group she came from. 

The night crew returns, including Sloan.  He looks very grim.  

Realand is with them.  "We heard a couple of shots," he says, standing near the door.  "It was near the fields." 

He moves ahead to release Jeffrey, restrained when alone after a threatening gesture yesterday.  The boy sits up, eyes down, as Realand lets him go. 

The door is locked.  If that was Brenda, then she's already gone.  If it wasn't she'll be dead by morning. 

Ezri is holding Tessie, telling her she'll stay here now.  Tessie kisses her and Ezri is holding on tight, the look of a mother cat in her eyes.  Most people look, breaking our rules, but are too stunned, or don't care enough, to react. 

Realand is finished with Jeffrey.  The boy moves towards his mother, looking almost willing to help this time.  He won't be restrained tomorrow if he behaves tonight.  But now Realand is looking at us, especially Ezri and Tessie. 

He doesn't like it.  Brenda can't be her mother anymore, but he still doesn't want me to have the child.  Nobody says a word, watching as he makes his way around matts towards us, hesitant but not backing down. 

Ezri is holding the child to her breast, daring Realand to try.  She'd kill him if he touched Tessie. 

If she had a chance.  He'd be dead before he could get to Tessie or Ezri.  She won't be taken this time.  I'll kill him first. 

I stand, walking in front of our matts.  I remember his foot, the way Tessie reached for Ezri the miserable morning that followed, and the small tight room he had us shut in.  I do plan to pay him back for that.  I'd rather not have it now, but that is up to him. 

He stops, a few matts away, and waits.  I step forward.  The people near us retreat a bit. 

He opens his mouth to speak, looking around the room.  Every eye is watching, but none of them are about to interfere this time.  There will be no mob, just he and I. 

"The child needs a new family," he gets out before I step forward, too close for comfort. 

I keep thinking of his foot, the bruises, the room and the pain of having Tessie disappear from our life.  He will not take her this time.  I glare at him, the anger inside welling up but kept contained.  Still, he can't miss the look of pure hatred on my face. 

"She already has one," I state flatly.  "Brenda asked us to take her.  And her grandmother did before that, even if you stole her that time." 

I give him my full attention, and he stumbles back a little.  I almost hope he dares to challenge me.  John died because we don't matter enough to get the simplest of medicine.  Brenda died--or will--because we aren't allowed the time to grieve.  I need to vent the anger and Realand will do just fine. 

He hasn't left, but he's scared.  He keeps glancing at Jeffrey, now standing, looking worried himself.  I suppose he'd miss him if I killed Realand. 

"It has to be agreed upon," he says, almost timidly.  But I suppose I do admire his courage.  He can see that I would like to kill him now and yet he hasn't backed off. 

I'm tired, though, and want some rest.  Nobody is going to help him.  He's lost the mob to me this time.  I turn and very pointedly stare at Jeffrey, who backs off and sits.  Then I stare at him. 

"Remember what I said about the books.  And my family.  I still mean it." 

Realand looks at the others, staring at both of us, all of them caught up in the suspense.  He droops his head, then shoulders.  He looks around the room, addressing them rather than me.  "Then have her."  

He goes back to Jeffrey and the boy sits very close, as if Realand was protecting him.  I retire to our matts and our three children.  

For a long moment nothing is said, but then Ray stands.  "Brenda would want us to read," he says, looking towards me. 

I look at Realand.  "Yes, she would.  He should start," and I take out the book. 

Chapter 21 is titled "The King Changed his Mind."  As I hand the book to Ray and he makes his way towards Realand, somehow it fits just right. 

I promised Brenda.  This time I kept my promise, just as I will keep the one I made to Miles.  Ezri is holding the child, still daring anyone to take her away, and I put my arms around both of them.  We slide down on the matts, and our new daughter is asleep before Realand gets three pages along, held in the safety of her mothers arms. 

Now that it's over all my strength fades, and I rest in their company until Realand finishes the chapter and we sleep, the last act of the tragedy all done now. 

                               *** 

I used to sit with Miles, share meals with him even when we seldom spoke.  Then they killed him.  It was so hard facing the first meal alone. 

But Ray was there, helping me as I took my first walks, giving me back something I thought had been lost just as I gave him a reason to go on. 

Now, whenever I can, I sit with Ray.  We don't talk a lot.  I don't know about much of his life, before here, and he doesn't know of mine.  But that doesn't matter.  The world that came before now is immaterial.  Now we have Molly and Kara to watch, and perhaps to dream of what life might have been for them in another world. 

Kara and Molly are inseparable, the sort of best friends only children can become.  We don't talk about how grateful we are that our children can still have friends, that there is enough of the "child" left in them to play. 

And I don't want to get close to anyone, but Ray has gotten past my defenses.  Almost all my old friends are missing or dead.  Ray is the only new friend I have, but he has proven he is a friend more than once. 

I can't afford friends, and they can't afford me, but he doesn't care.  What matters to Ray is his wife Raina and his daughter Kara.  Once I wouldn't have understood, but now I do.  

Even Realand understands that now, even if the boy wasn't born to him. 

But John and Brenda's deaths have changed things for us.  They reminded us that we can't assume anything about tomorrow.  The way their lives ended have made the immediate all that more important. 

For Ray, it is Kara's next birthday.  He wants to give her something better than a new doll, or a toy he's fashioned out of the garbage that we clean up.  He wants to give her something that will be special in case there isn't a chance to celebrate the next one. 

I just hope he doesn't find that special gift, because the chance of getting caught is too great.  You get deported for stealing, and every time I touch the books I worry someone will find my secret ball of salt and I will be gone.  At least the salt might save a life. 

It's warmer now.  When the bell goes off, the sun is almost up and it stays light for a little while after we're done.  Some of the children get up early.  Sometimes we read more, or just talk after we're locked in while the light fades. 

It is a great gift, this little bit of light.  For a few minutes we have some time for ourselves. 

Molly and Kara wake up early now, taking a little time in the morning to play.  Once work starts they have other responsibilities, caring for all the younger children left behind that Cheryl alone cannot watch.  Kara is just a little older than Molly, and for both this will be the last summer as children. 

I love watching them play.  I marvel at how they still grasp every chance to still be children. 

I'm sure if we were allowed to pick, I'd be relegated to the dregs of our work.  But we aren't and I am still alternating between scrub crew and serving crew.  Serving crew is easier but there are rewards to be found on scrub if nobody is watching. 

Especially, there is fruit.  Some of the others get this round, sweet fruit.  Sometimes, like the day Brenda disappeared, we find pieces of it.  It's too dangerous to bring them back, being caught for stealing, opening everyone to punishment.  But if you can eat it without being seen you might have a taste of something sweet.  

I hate serving them fruit.  It is so hard knowing you don't dare touch it. 

I am on serving crew today.  Ray is on scrub.  We finally finished breakfast, and are immediately rushed back for clean-up.  It's been hot and we stall as much as we can without the guards noticing.  Somehow we get behind.  We are warned the cleaning is to be finished before dinner.  If not we do it after we'd done the rest. 

The other crews took forever to get their food today.  We are going to have to hurry to finish.  Rushing the cleaning, all I can think about is tonight when we might have enough light to read a little. 

Books take a long time to read now.  We have so little time to read, with longer days leading to later work.  But even if all we can take from the day is ten minutes at the end, it is ours, a small victory over them.  Ozma was about to send her dust to the tunnel, and I am looking forward to reading it again. 

I can tell something is wrong before we even get back.  There are too many guards.  We enter our own compound, looking around cautiously.  Everyone is tense.  The crew is working, but hardly paying any attention to what they are doing.  The guards are very attentive. 

The first thing I notice is that Ray isn't there.  I know he'd found fruit and smuggled it in for his family before.  But recently someone in one of the other units had their family transferred here after being deported for stealing, the family demoted to our status.  Somehow, I doubted he'd take the chance again. 

My best guess is I was wrong.  I can only hope my guess is premature. 

We do our work, nobody providing an explanation.  We manage to finish before it's time to start on dinner.  It takes forever to get dinner done and the rest of the things that follow. 

When the rest come back, tired and dirty, I watch for his wife.  She searches for Ray and doesn't find him.  Kara clutches her mother's hand. 

Ezri is standing near them.  I often wonder who she is now.  But I think she's just Ezri, worried about her friend.  We eat.  The vegetables come and we finish them quickly. 

They let us go into our own place. 

Nobody has to ask.  Kara and her mother sit on their mats, staring out into the emptiness.  One of the others comes forward, one of the men from Ray's crew. 

There is not a single sound. 

"He found a couple of pieces of the fruit.  It's Kara's birthday pretty soon.  I think he meant them as a gift."  He becomes silent, as they freeze. 

It's not a surprise.  It's happened.  But not to us, not yet.  Brenda is gone, but at least we know she's dead. 

Ray will never see his family again.  He'll be shipped off to one of the convict crews, where men and women are stored separately.  He'll be used until there is nothing left.  His wife and daughter will never know where he dies. 

Weyoun is wrong.  This isn't the worse.  But he would not let go of all his options.  He still has something more dismal to threaten me with. 

I sit on my matts, Ezri hugging the children.  Raina and Kara are sitting alone, and I want to hold them, share in the emptiness his disappearance has created. 

I want to tell them that revenge is already done, that we just have to wait.  But then, it won't help Ray.  I remember when he took care of me and proved that a little of our lives still belonged to us.  It will be months before the changelings die and convicts are considered disposable.  It's doubtful he'll last that long. 

Nobody has seen Carl for awhile either.  The changlings will die too late for him too.  Cheryl has gone to Raina and is sitting with her, just holding her hand.  We don't interfere. 

Ray's matts were near, and I can see Kara as she looks at her mother, tears in her eyes.  Molly is holding my hand, squeezing it so hard it hurts.  She's staring at her friend, and as we go back to our matts she pulls us closer, and holds on tight to her brother.  She knows what it's like to have parents disappear.  Yoshi is still too young to really understand. 

But I'm worried about Ezri.  She holds the children, but is too quiet, too tense.  I look into her eyes but only see pain.  This is tearing her apart.  Sometimes she is one of her former selves.  But then sometimes, like now, she isn't any of them, just lost. 

Ray is gone, and I'm scared that Ezri is too.  How long will it take before she isn't the sum of her parts, but only glimpses of them?  When will it be too long for her to ever come back together and be Ezri again? 

                               *** 

I have delivered all of Cheryl's children.  Not long after we first came to the station, Jeffrey was one of the first Federation births.  Carl and Cheryl knew they were bringing children into a dangerous world, but family mattered too much to leave her behind.  And then, just days before the war began, Calla was born.  Cheryl and the children stayed on the station despite the danger.  In the end it probably saved their lives, but at the time they didn't know it would, only that they needed each other too much. 

But Carle was born this morning, her mother alone except for the few others left in the deserted barn.  Nobody has seen Carl for a week, even with everyone looking for him when the rats were visible.  Either he's dead or has been pulled into the half-world of survival that is available to him.  Either way, he won't be back.  Carle will never know her father. 

She's named after him, a remembrance of all the worry he'd had over her birth.  But Cheryl didn't even have them wake me until she was fairly well along, and I did my first examination in the dark, feeling with hands what I couldn't see.  

Cindy held her hand the whole time.  She helped her breath.  She filled in where Carl might have, except Carl probably wouldn't have been allowed to stay.  Nancy sat with her all night, but had to go with the others for work. 

I didn't know if I'd be allowed to remain, given that she hadn't given birth by the time I was to leave for work.  But after the early crew gave them the message, a smooth-faced caltie arrived and came to watch.  It was odd, spooky, especially the way he looked at her, the creepy smile on his face.  Then he just walked away and I was told that I was excused for the day, Cindy as well, and to deliver the child. 

I still wish I could believe it was for her benefit.  But she doesn't matter enough.  

Cheryl was calm, knowing what to expect, and I suppose that helped.  And it was an easy birth, at least for here.  Several clean uniforms were commandeered to put under her, and then dumped back in the used bin.  We've already figured out they don't count how many are there, so if a few more disappear than normal nobody will know.  

Several more have been reduced to piles of diapers, but at least the fabric is so worn it will be soft.  Carle will have a little comfort in this life. 

But as Cheryl slept, Cindy collapsed next to her, I tried to rest.  All I could think of was those men who called themselves doctors and yet did not wash, and the disease they called childbirth fever that came from their own filth.  I cleaned myself the best I could, but I can't tell if it was enough. 

I kept thinking about frontier medicine, about how I finally got what I wanted so badly. 

Is this our future?  We dress in the uniforms we're given, growing more worn with each batch, with bearded faces and grimy bodies we no longer notice.  Ezri used to push back imaginary pieces of hair, but now she has real ones, shaggy clumps that have grown out from her always carefully trimmed hair.  The men, hair dragging in tangled clumps, had the worse of it hacked off the last decon but they left the women's hair longer this time. 

What if she infects, dies in the same kind of misery as John, because I could not clean myself enough?  The child has already lost her father; I don't want to be the one to cost her a mother. 

I liked being a doctor, but even that part of my life is compromised.  Cheryl didn't turn me away, just as the others won't, but there is so little I can do for any of them I almost wish I could refuse.  

But just as they don't comment about Tessie anymore, as I've been allowed back in the society, I can't deny them whatever I can do.  All there is left are the little victories, and we all know to savor them. 

But I keep watching Cheryl, sleeping now, her children around her, even Jeffrey, wondering if she saw the look in the caltie's eyes. 

Luther is watching too, wearing his hidden face, the one he wears when he has secrets to tell.  He makes his way to my matts, gestures to walk away. 

In a quiet corner, he asks calmly, "That caltie this morning, did he touch her?" 

It's an odd question.  There is an undertow of pain in his voice I can't miss.  "No, just looked.  And smiled." 

"I think he took Carl for himself.  The same crew he was with was out there today and Carl's gone.  And the caltie, I remember him, the way he looked hungry when he looked at Carl." 

"She didn't notice," I say, hoping it's true, remembering the smile, the way Ezri was used to try to make me cooperate. 

Was I Carl's reward for being good?  Has he sufficiently humiliated himself to allow a safe birth for his child?  

Does it matter to Carl as long as Carle was born at all? 

Does Weyoun know that we have custody of three children now, that he has even more hostages to torment me with when he tries again? 

Eventually the caltie will get tired of Carl, perhaps use him up.  Carl will be disposed of somehow and even if it's been a trip to hell it will be over.  Cheryl will go on alone, but no longer be his hostage.  

For them there will be an end. 

For me, there is no end short of the collapse of their empire.  I know we wanted Tessie, but did I really do her a favor by insisting? 

Sloan stares at the door.  "Carl won't let him touch her.  He'll do whatever he has to to make sure." 

It's true.  For him it's simple.  For me, perhaps for Luther now that he and Nancy are so close, it isn't quite the same. 

The night crew arrives late, too late for a reading tonight, and we all go back to our families.  Tessie crawls next to me, wrapping her fingers in my beard.  Ezri is quiet tonight, eating quietly and playing with Yoshi.  Molly can't stop talking about the baby. 

But it's getting dark.  The children crawl together, and I take Ezri in my arms.  "Anything wrong?" I ask, not really expecting an answer. 

"Be careful," she says.  But it isn't Ezri.  I don't have any idea who I'm holding tonight, but she feels good in my arms anyway, and I push away the fear that someday there will be nobody to hold. 

                               *** 

It is summer and the sun rises earlier now.  The bright rays of dawn lighten our sleeping room before the alarm.  The children wake with the light and use the time to play.  There is no chance during the day.  There is too much work to do. 

Molly and Kara are inseparable.  Ray's widow Raina is a part of our family, and in our own way she and I lean on each other, especially when Ezri goes distant on me and I don't know who she is.  In our own way, both of us are alone. 

The girls are playing, giggling over some game, when there is a snarl from one of the men. 

"Quiet them down or I will do it myself," he says, standing up suddenly, moving towards the girls. 

Everyone is startled.  The children have played like this ever since it got light so early.  Nobody ever complained.  The girls stare at him, surprised but not afraid. 

Kara starts to play with her doll again and Molly turns away from him, her doll "talking" to Kara's about the loud man. 

Abruptly, he kicks Molly. 

She screams, grabbing her doll.  Kara runs away too, both to their mothers. 

I stand, staring at him as he watches, suddenly aware of my attention.  But I don't move, and he takes my inaction as a measure of safety.  Perhaps he thinks it's too close to the bell.  But I'm just waiting.  I want to see how bad he hurt my daughter.  Ezri feels for broken ribs and Molly squirms, but she nods that Molly is all right.  

But I don't move.  People are watching me warily, especially Realand.  Tessie is hiding under the blanket, holding her little brother.  But this time they needn't worry about me. 

Molly is crying now.  Ezri is holding her, checking her side again.  But there is rage in Ezri's eyes.  Looking up, she stares at him.  Then she hugs the little girl, and picks her up.  Standing, she kisses Molly and puts her in my arms.  She isn't Ezri now, and I decide to let her deal with the violation instead.  As she moves towards him, I can see the anger rising, growing to a fever pitch.  She is still calm, but ready to explode just the same. 

He stands by himself, still fuming.  He starts ranting.  "These kids, they just make it hard for the rest of us.  I'd like some sleep in the morning."  He stomps away, everyone watching him. 

He was in Sloan's group, and I guess he lost his wife early on.  He has kept to himself ever since. 

Ezri keeps following him.  Silently, directly in front of him, she stares into his eyes.  "You will never touch another child," she hisses. 

I stare at them, suddenly uncertain and almost willing him to let it be.  The bell will ring soon.  I'll deal with him myself later.  I hold Molly towards Raina and she takes her.  

Looking into Ezri's eyes, he's startled.  He can see the anger, but not the threat.  She is so much smaller than him.  He backs away.  "Just keep them out of my way," he snarls. 

Then, without warning, she knocks his feet out from under him.  Taken by surprise, he lands flat on the ground, face down.  She is on him instantly, twisting his arms behind him.  Panicking, he struggles violently but she has him firmly pinned. 

Nobody touches them.  I move a little closer but even I am cautious. 

I can see the cold fury in her eyes.  She can neither see nor hear us.  Unexpectedly, he stops his struggles and becomes very still. 

Abruptly, Ezri thrown off guard, he frees an arm and pulls out a piece of metal with a fairly sharp edge and aims it at her.  Enraged, she twists his arm, and takes it away.  She yanks his head up by the hair, and he freezes as the metal edge is pressed against his throat. 

I must stop her before she kills him.  If she lets the anger rule her she may never be my Ezri again.  And for him, the lesson will work much better.  He'll always wonder if she is just waiting for a better moment. 

I move closer, still moving with caution.  She is hissing in his ear, "You aren't safe around children.  We should do something about that."  Then she starts to hum a tune. 

Joran's tune.  I freeze, remembering that Joran slit the throat of the man he killed.  Ezri pushes the edge against his throat, chocking him. 

I approach with great care.  She will not know me.  I am concentrating on the hand holding the blade.  I have to stop her from using it.  I'm afraid if she kills him I'll lose the part of her that's Ezri forever. 

She lets it up and he is gulping air.  Sloan approaches, nodding to me, using the hand signals we'd developed long before.  We try to be very quiet.  Everyone else moves back. 

I nod.  Sloan calls her, and in the second she's distracted I grab her hand and pull the knife away from her victim.  Sloan helps me hold her down.  She fights us, trying to twist free, as the man gets away. 

We drag her to a corner and push her down.  Holding her hands and legs, keeping away from her attempts to bite, we let her struggle. 

Abruptly, she collapses.  Raina holds the children, and I hold Ezri.  Everyone else backs away. 

I can feel her change.  The taunt muscles relax and she ceases to struggle once she sees it is me.  She looks up, confused.  Molly and Yoshi are crying.  Tessie is still hiding under the blanket.  Sloan is watching the door. 

She looks up at me as I release her, and then at the man she nearly killed.  

I don't know who I'm dealing with.  But she sits down, holding out her arms.  "Molly?" she asks is a soft voice. 

The little girl moves uncertainly towards her, but buries her head in her mother's shoulder and cries while Ezri rocks her.  Yoshi comes to, on his own, and she holds both of them.  Finally, hesitantly, Tessie crawls out of the blanket and runs to her, sliding between the others. 

The alarm goes off. 

People start moving around, in a hurry to be ready for the day.  She stays still, sitting on the floor.  Raina gently takes the children.  Ezri stares after them until she buries herself in my arms. 

I hold her for a few minutes, but there is little time for comforting.  She looks up at me, anger and grief and confusion mixed together.  "Tell him to stay away," she says calmly.  "He might not be so patient next time."  I understand she means Joran.  In case she wasn't impressive enough, I'll add my own reminder. 

Then I look into the eyes of my wife.  Ezri says, softly, "I just remember wanting to kill him." 

But for now we have to be ready.  The brief time we have for ourselves is over.  "You didn't," I say. 

She looks at me, the fear allowed to show.  "What if you're not there the next time?" 

She hides the pain.  All her pent up rage for the last months having been spent, she looks exhausted.  But there is work.  She lets go of me, still Ezri, and takes the children from Raina.  "We've got to get ready," she tells them, and they follow her to the door. 

I have serving duty today.  I have to change clothes.  I rush over to the bin of clean uniforms.  

I watch as the man finally moves forward, still shaken.  He tries to get past me but I follow him.  

I'm next to him now.  We're outside and he doesn't dare react to the threat.  "Leave my family alone, and the children too.  Don't make it any worse for them.  I won't stop her next time."  Just in case he misses the point, I pointedly glance at Jeffrey.  "That is, if she has a chance." 

I don't have to say that Ezri will remember him.  

"Just leave me alone," he says. 

I'm willing to do that if he does the same.  We part understanding each other perfectly. 

Nobody says a word.  But he'll never come near us again. 

                               *** 

end, Surrender, part 3a