TITLE: Surrender, Part 5-Endgame 
Overall Series: The Green Hills of Home 
Author: Valerie Shearer 
Contact: thenightbird@earthlink.net 
Series: DS9 
Part 5/5 
Rating: R 
Codes:Angst,B/Ez,Ob's,K/O,AU,Post-War 



                            Chapter 27 

                               *** 

It's pouring down rain outside, the frigid edge of the cold having gone.  It's rained almost daily for a week now, and the ground is a bog of mud.  The warehouse work is dry, but even the inside crews get soaked and covered in mud along the way. 

But then, the rain isn't as cold as it had been, neither a warm spring rain or a cold winter one.  But I've noticed people deliberately standing in it, letting the rain wash through their hair, rubbing their uniforms against grimy skin.  Its the best we can do for a bath. 

The snow is melted, the area around our barns turned to soft mushy ground.  The native grasses underneath have started to grow, but your feet still sink down into it as if it were a soft matt near the door. 

But something is wrong.  We all know that this part of Bajor is on the edge of spring, but we may not get to see it.  Shifts are short again.  Warehouse shifts end several hours before dinner and even road clearing is letting up, days without the grind of extra work. 

On the station it meant we were going to be moved.  We all assume it means the same thing here. 

I'm sitting on my matts, Tessie on my lap with her doll, when Cindy arrives.  The baby is crying and Tessie looks up and moves out of the way, making room for Cindy.  "Daddy docker" she says. 

Cindy sits, holds the baby.  Alessa looks fine.  Cindy stares at her lap.  "I think I'm pregnant," she says. 

I ask her a few pertinent questions, offer to do an examination.  She shakes her head.  "It's not that.  I can live with it whatever."  She looks vaguely towards the edge of the room, where the outcasts still live as if we didn't see them. 

"So why are you here?" 

"It's the father, or the one that will be eventually," she says. 

"Is this a secret?" I ask, a little irritated.  She's part of Daniel's family.  This is their business. 

She nods and I notice one of the outcasts stands hesitantly, the one we call Scrawny, and moves towards us.  I make no comment, but watch. 

Daniel does too, and I notice he stops there, waits until Daniel escorts him to my matts.  Cindy looks up at him worried. 

Daniel stands in front of him.  "His name's Andrew, we call him Andy.  We've talked to him, and as a family will vouch for him." 

I look up at him.  He watched as I killed Thompson, as Carl let his friend be strangled to death.  Jeffrey beat his feet and nobody stopped the boy.  He knows he isn't a part of our world.  But it sounds like he wants to be, and is asking permission. 

But why are they asking me?  Are they worried I'll throw him out the door at lockdown time? 

Cindy looks up, a little nervous.  "We'd like to get married," she says. 

I think I understand now.  Andy will have to move to Daniel's--or his own matts.  They are asking permission to let him go.  

I look at Daniel.  "You sure about him?" 

"I'll take him in," he says. 

"Fine by me, then." 

I'm hoping they'll leave, that Tessie can come back and play in my lap.  I love all the rest, but Tessie is my special friend. 

They are still there, waiting.  Cindy does stand up, baby in hand.  "Would you marry us?" she asks. 

I'm astonished.  I never asked how Luther got married, though I doubt it was official.  To us, here, it was and that is what mattered.  Others have paired up, but usually without ceremony. 

Cindy wants more.  I guess they want a way to formally accept Andy inside.  "I don't know what to say, but I suppose I can."  

They leave and Tessie comes back.  This time she has her sister's dolls too and wants me to play.  I do, holding Beja and Kara's dolls.  Molly and Kara don't play with them much anymore.  They aren't really children now, not even back from work as early as I was today.  I treasure Tessie all the more, holding on to her childhood with all I have. 

But I keep thinking of the upcoming wedding.  Ezri and I married because we had to.  It wasn't festive, and we didn't know what was beginning. 

For Cindy and Andy, it's a choice.  But unless spring brings some new burst of work, nobody here knows what is coming tomorrow.  I guess I ought to figure out what to say, give them more time together. 

Tessie is finally done with the dolls, and I watch the new couple.  They are sitting side by side on the family matts, playing with Alessa.  Daniel is talking quietly with them, gesturing towards the edge of their space.  I would guess they are planning where to put his things. 

She's probably already pregnant.  Why take any time away from them at all?  It's early tonight.  They have time to rearrange things. 

I take Tessie's hand and we go to Daniel's matts.  He looks up, concerned.  "Look, I don't see why he doesn't move sooner.  Even tonight.  We'll announce the engagement when everyone is here." 

Andy looks happy.  He's younger than I thought.  Having your entire life torn apart before your eyes makes you age a little faster.  But there is a spark there when he looks at Cindy that is alive and gives him back a little of what they took.  Cindy has changed from the scared mother who hadn't seen past the gate, but she looks more alive too. 

It occurs to me that families hold weddings.  Perhaps we'll welcome the spring with a few more of them.  If we have the chance . . . 

"When could we hold the wedding?" asks Daniel, honoring his role as head of the family. 

"Soon, I think."  I won't say more, but they nod.  We all understand why. 

Ezri is back and Tessie is tugging on my arm.  Daniel and family start rearranging their matts as soon as I go. 

Ezri has Molly and Kara with her.  Aside from being wet from the rain, they don't look all that tired.  She gets dry clothes for them and the girls retire to the corner to change.  When they return I'm given a hug and the girls go to see their friends. 

Ezri takes Tessie from me, giving her a kiss.  Yoshi is still asleep, but stirring from his nap.  "You look smug," she says. 

"Cindy is getting married."  I nod in Daniel's direction and she notices Andy.  "His name's Andy.  He was resurrected today when Daniel vouched for him." 

"Oh," she says.  "Vouched for him?  To you?" 

"I'm supposed to marry them.  They asked.  I was hoping you'd have some idea what I could say." 

She takes my hand.  "When's the wedding?"  

I stare at the door, at the light streaming in the skylight.  "As soon as we can," I answer, not meaning to sound grim but not able to stop myself.  

"Tonight.  Everybody will be back."  She is grim too.  "Everybody got off early.  We just had to wait for the transports or we'd have been here a couple of hours ago."  

They've been working further away, and the transports take them out and back.  Whatever it is, whatever they plan to do with us, we don't have long to wait.  Dorothy is back, and I have an inspiration.  "I'll ask Dorothy.  You get stuff together.  Just after dinner." 

She nods, looking around the room.  It will be a meager wedding.  But we'll have one before we lose the chance. 

                               *** 

The bin of clean uniforms has been dumped, and few left are being tossed back in.  The cleanest, newest ones were removed, and one on it's last legs was sacrificed for the bride to have a special outfit.  A little of the drinking water was sacrificed to let the bride and groom wash, though the bride used her wet clothes from earlier for most of it, and the groom was so soaked from today that he didn't need much more.  The old bin will be full of wet clothes and if we get in trouble it's tomorrow's problem.  

Tonight we are going to celebrate.  We are adding someone to our family.  I'm dressed in a newer uniform, as is Andy and Daniel.  We've modified one for Cindy so she may be married in a dress, like she wanted.  The rest of the bin was handed out to anyone who hadn't already changed.  All the children are gathered in a group together at the front, and will form a line for the bridal party to walk through.  The rest are sitting along the line, for once the sanctity of individual matts sacrificed for the occasion. 

The outcasts are allowed to watch, but only from a distance.  If they want in they will each have to ask, each have to prove themselves.  Andy has dragged in the bins and out the dirty things for months.  Some of them have done as much and perhaps, if we have the chance some day, we'll add them too.  But then a few of them have done nothing at all and stay in the back by the wall even tonight. 

We've assembled the particulars, and are ready to begin.  It will be simple--Dorothy suggested it would be best, using gestures rather than words--and they too will be very basic. 

The children have formed the lines.  In the back, Cindy and her family are ready, and Andy, lacking one, has had Luther and Nancy volunteer to stand in.  Everyone is sitting but the couple and their families.  

I stand, Ezri and Dorothy as well.  The children stand, two at a time, from the front of the line to the back.  Then Daniel and Andy step forward, waiting. 

"We are gathered today to welcome a new member of our family," I announce.  Andy nervously steps forward, Daniel just ahead of him.  They rest remain seated.  Daniel stands to my right, Andy, just behind him, to my left. 

Dorothy is just behind me, Ezri holding a small container for her. 

"Come forward," I say, and Daniel steps up to me first.  "Do you accept this man as part of your matts?" I ask. 

"I've gotten to know him, and though life has been hard, I will take him in."  Daniel uses the tone he does when he reads. 

Andy steps forward, and waits. 

"Do you wish to be a part of Daniel's matts?" I ask. 

"Yes," answers Andy, and Daniel stands besides him. 

Ezri hands Dorothy the container, and Dorothy comes forward, giving it to Andy.  We have certain small conveniences people have made.  The outsiders by the wall were never given any.  Now Andy has his own.  He takes the container from Dorothy, and turns to look at the rest. 

"Meet Andy," I say, and as he walks back towards the back, ready for the wedding, everyone stands. 

They knew of him before, but he didn't have a name.  I was careful to ask what he wanted to be called first.  Now he's Andy, and he belongs to us. 

When he reaches the back, the rest sit, except for the children.  We would make more of it, but the light will be gone soon.  

Dorothy moves ahead, down the line, as Ezri joins the others.  She'll represent our matts in the crowd.  

Andy comes forward first, Luther behind him, helping Nancy and getting her seated near the ceremony.  He stands behind Andy as adopted family. 

Daniel follows Cindy as she walks down the isle, one uniform sliced open with Ezri's knife to form an illusion of a dress around her that flows as she walks.  She is barefoot, her steps small and light.  Catherine and the older children follow and join Nancy, Bayla holding the baby. 

They stand before me.  "Please rise in honor of this joining." 

Everyone stands.  Andy takes her hand.  Rings have been donated, and Luther and Daniel hand each a ring. 

Andy takes her hand.  He is nervous.  The people around him are more or less still strangers.  "Thank you for giving back my life.  I feel welcome at your matts.  I pledge my love and loyalty forever." 

He slides his ring on her finger. 

She takes his hand.  "You have made me whole again.  I pledge my love and loyalty forever." 

She places the ring on his finger. 

They turn towards me.  "In the name of this family, I accept the joining of Andy and Cindy." 

I move back, out of the way.  It is their moment, not mine.  They stand, waiting as the rest sit as well.  I join Ezri and the children. 

One by one, someone from each set of matts gives them a gift.  None of them are large, mostly tokens, but then that is the value of gifts.  All of the gifts are small, probably practical things since we value them most.  But gifts are given in celebration, and that is what this represents. 

Lastly, all the other matts done, I pick up the little sticks.  It's only a few, but they were Jules favorite toys.  I place them in the basket Cindy holds, then stand behind them again.  

"Let us welcome our newest family," I say.  

The wedding is done.  The bride and groom walk back down the isle of children, basket in Cindy's hand.  The children wait as I follow and exit to the back in a double line.  People retire to their own matts as the dark night begins to fill our home. 

There is joy, a unity we'd not had before.  But there is terror too.  Everyone, even the normally late crews, were home early.  We declared ourselves a family tonight, but tomorrow they could tear it apart. 

But Daniel stops by our matts for a moment.  "Tomorrow, whatever happens, this mattered," he says.  

It may be a beginning, or an ending, but we made ourselves whole today. 

                               *** 

The morning light is pouring in the window, and Ezri is tangled in a blanket, our legs entwined together.  But something is wrong.  It takes a while to realize the bell didn't ring. 

The door is still firmly closed.  The sun is much too bright to be our normal waking time.  I'm not the only one that's awake, but nobody is willing to be the first to say the words. 

This is the end. 

Cindy and Andy peak out of a heap of blankets, Daniel sitting up, Catherine holding Alessa.  The wedding dress is tossed on the blankets, his clothes as well, and they retreat back to their nest.  They both look sleepy.  Whatever the day holds, they won't leave each other unless someone makes them. 

Ezri is awake, just holding me.  "We could see the transports yesterday, just before we were shoved inside.  I didn't hear them leave." 

"A lot of the groups are gone," I whisper.  

Neither of us want to think about today being our turn. 

But others are getting restless, no bell or breakfast having appeared.  Carl is sitting up, holding his youngest.  He looks scared.  If we are moved, nobody knows what happens to him. 

Gradually everyone wakes as the sun gets brighter than we are used to, and yet no one has gotten up, dared face the reality that whatever they plan it will be so soon. 

Tessie is awake, looking around the room.  She pulls herself from the tangle of children and crawls across the blankets to us.  I put her under the blankets in the chilly air, hold her in my arms.  "Hungry," she complains.  Molly and Kara already know and understand, and Molly is holding Yoshi, still asleep. 

Then the bell rings, a long ring, and the announcement comes. 

"Group 1 is ordered to pack all belongings.  Roll matts for transport.  Wait until you are called." 

We sit in silence at first, stunned by the words.  We have to leave here, this place that has become the only home we have left.  We already knew.  But it is different when they've given the order. 

People move slowly at first, pulling on uniforms, untangling themselves from blankets.  Dressing in our coats, we start to take apart the spaces that have come to belong to us, dismantle the little world we've made for ourselves. 

Ezri gets the children dressed, moving them off towards the corner for the normal morning routine.  I spread our blankets in double layers, packing the treasures we have gathered inside them along with pillows and the small bundles of memories that Jules left behind.  I stash the herbs among the books, the salt all used up.  I don't know what I'd do if that was left.  If they found it I'd be dead, but I doubt I will ever have a chance for more. 

We roll the matts last.  Nobody said how long we have and if we aren't done we might have to leave them behind.  We sit our bundled things next to our matts, still taking up our own spaces, and wait. 

At first, there is silence.  After the late waking, and the rush to pack, the quiet is eery.  Here and there, people go back to sleep, making due with the tops of the matts for a bed.  Carl sits huddled with his family, looking more scared than I've ever seen him.  Andy and Cindy never let go of each other, and the rest of the family closes around them as if to protect them.  Of all of us, they are perhaps the most resigned.  They've been moved most of all.  But they'd never been anywhere that was home before, and now it was going to vanish.  So the resignation this time was different, tinted by sadness. 

I remember Kira after we were first taken, just looking out the gate.  She'd grown up like this, but had known something better.  It had been ripped away, and I see the same kind of look in Daniel eyes.  We could not give them freedom, but we gave them back themselves. 

But its been a long time since dinner, and now the sun is shining into the middle of the room, almost noon.  Grumbling stomachs take their toll, and children can't sit any longer.  Without fuss, a couple of the smaller children find a few leftovers on the floor to make toys, and without any haste the other little ones have joined them.  Their play is quiet, aware of the strange, nervous day.  Parents are reluctant to let them go, at first.  I hesitate as Tessie pulls away, but with a glance from Ezri release her.  Perhaps it will take her mind off her empty stomach.  Molly and Kara don't move at all, sitting close, both too lost to be children.  Here and there little ones want their toys, but we don't dare open the bundles for them, rolled inside pillows and blankets.  If  the door is opened, and we must go, we wouldn't have time to re-roll them.  

The interminable day drags on.  After the initial rush of packing, there has been nothing.  With months of unending work the only measure, the long moments of nothing today are too stark a comparison. 

The outcasts have packed their bundles too, sitting on them by the wall.  But one of them, tall and skinny, pauses on his way back from a drink of water.  Strolling to the middle of the room, standing with the sun shining on his back, he looks us over. 

"Say good bye," he says.  "They parcel you out when they move you, wherever they have room.  At least most of you are healthy."  He stares at Andy, holding his new bride and daughter.  "Maybe you should have just bedded her." 

Andy stands, staring him down.  "Why don't you go and argue with the guards when they open the door.  Nobody would miss you." 

The malcontent is scowling now, staring at Andy.  "You think your pretty little ceremony means anything?  Not to them out there.  You're all just bodies to them.  They'll do whatever they want.  Better to just look out for yourself." 

He takes his time to go back to the wall, Andy following him.  Daniel intercepts Andy's arm, leads him back to his wife.  We don't hear them either.  Andy didn't remember.  "Just ignore them.  Remember?" 

Andy sits, puts his arm around Cindy, and nods.  But he still looks back, making sure his former companion is staying put. 

But the words still sting.  Even if they keep us together as families, the last evening proved we've become much more than a group of strangers locked together at night.  Nobody wants to lose that either. 

Then, Tarlan stands, looking towards the window above him.  "I believe that we shall be moved as a group.  There have been plans in effect for months."  His eyes are grim as he looks towards the rat cage.  "I was not willing to work with them on the development of this plan.  But I know enough of it to believe we will continue to be required here."  

Here and there, people glance at the corner where the malcontents live, reminders of our luck.  But we served the groups that worked in the factories, and they are gone.  

What now?  Is it enough to be needed here, so they won't move us too far?  Is it harder to be reminded of our status so bluntly than to be able to pretend for a moment that we are not just animals.  This was a barn.  We made it a home but to them we are still just animals. 

The skinny malcontent saunders over again, now looking at Tarlan.  "Maybe you should have done what they asked."  He looks at Carl, who looks away.  "You all claim to have this family.  Well, I'd play with them before I'd let them turn my son into a rat."  He stops in front of Tarlan, staring.  "Funny way to watch our for your family." 

I can understand how it feels to get them to see you, how you want to taunt them, force them into seeing the invisible.  I've been there.  But he's treading on dangerous ground.  Just because we are going to be moved, perhaps split up, he is taking the chance.  But everyone's keeping their feelings inside, bottled up right now.  He could push them a little too far with his words. 

But he is done, his torment over.  He starts to move away when suddenly, he can't leave. 

Tarlan and his family don't speak of the son relegated to rat status.  He knows about Carl, knows how rats survive if they do at all.  But you can see the seething anger inside, and the pain.  It wouldn't be hard to push until it found a target. 

For the boy's wife, it has.  She's standing in front of the man, smaller and younger.  And angry.  She slaps him as hard as she can.  Eyes drilled into his, she stares him down.  

"Do not speak of my husband as a rat.  Do not speak of his father as a betrayer.  He is a hostage to honor.  You will take that back or pay for it." 

He's amused, looking at her with scorn.  "Where I came from, you'd be ratbait too.  But I won't do that.  Don't want one of these fine citizens to murder me.  But I'll call a rat what he is by now.  Look at that thing over there," he says, staring at Carl. 

The room is tense, the children back in their parents arms.  She stands resolute before him, and he tries to get away. 

Then she punches him hard in the groin.  He doubles over, falling on the ground.  She kicks him too, getting his face, nearly his eye.  "You are the rats that scurry around in the corners here, and don't you forget it." 

She's ready for the next kick when I've had it.  She shouldn't have heard him at all.  I move up to her, pull her back, still fighting.  "You've made your point, now go." 

She looks at me, seeing no compromise, and leaves.  Tarlan takes her into his arms, and nods.  The thing on the floor groans. 

I pick it up by the arm, and drag it to its feet.  I pull it back to the corner and dump it in front of its friends.  

Returning to my piled up matts, I explain. "Some kind of trash on the floor." 

People nod, become quiet.  But with everyone on edge, something else will be said, someone was going to break the calm, if we didn't have a distraction. 

I look at Dorothy, sitting on her rolled up matt, looking as dejected as Daniel.  She looks up, momentarily, notices I'm watching her.  "Maybe Dorothy could tell us a story," I offer. 

It's up to her, certainly not an order.  She looks down again and then transforms.  She is our Dorothy, keeper of secrets and treasures now.  She stands, looking at the scattered people. 

"I'll need to move my matt," she says, dragging it along. 

Realand is near the middle, and stops her.  Taking one of his own, he moves it apart from the rest.  She nods and sits. 

"I think a special story is in order today."  She's looking at me, asking a question.  "Everybody ready?" 

There are nods around the room, even from the outcasts.  She begins, still looking at me.  "Once upon a time there was a little boy named Jules, and his friend the Avenger.  Before the Martians came, he lived in a place called Paradise."  

Everybody is looking at me.  I'd told her about Jules, his Avenger suit and the rest.  She pauses, waits for permission. 

"Go on," I say, and they look at her now.  "Little Jules lived with his Mummy in a vast underground city . . . " 

I close my eyes, listen to the story.  But I'm not alone.  A shaggy bear sits next to me, and, holding a little boy, the Avenger listens as his deeds unfold. 

                               *** 

It's getting near late afternoon.  The light has moved to the side now, the rays sliding along the floor, defining the shadows of our bundled life.  No one has come for us, and we listen as Dorothy tells the story of the Prince, and the Avengers destruction of his evil. 

There is a quiet cheer when he dies.  I notice they are all looking at me, but don't let them see. 

The door abruptly opens, and there is sudden, worried silence. 

A couple of calties in heavy coats shove in a box and the door starts to close.  "You'll be called in an hour," one of them says, obviously tired. 

They must be having a busy day.  I wonder if the whole area is being emptied instead of only our little part.  Dorothy waits, and I check out the box.  

"Rations," I announce.  Looking around the room, I pick several of the older children, calling them forward.  They stand before me, waiting for instructions. 

"Give one to each person until everyone has one, then we'll see how much is left."  It doesn't look like there will be much, but it is something. 

I nod at Dorothy, and she resumes the story.  The children pass out the food, and there are enough for perhaps a half a piece more for everyone.  While we wait they divide them, and people chew on the almost forgotten food. 

The mush here tastes different than it did on the station.  I suspect it was replicated there.  I think I like the natural version better.  Right now, even the chewy sticks taste good. 

Then the bell rings and Dorothy retreats to her matts.  

We sit, quiet, scared, not quite ready to face the unknown, another ending, another beginning. 

Who would have thought that this place, this barn could ever be something to hard to lose? 

                               *** 

It's very late when the door opens.  We sit and wait, quietly, even the outcasts near the wall cowed by the apprehension.  Several armed guards enter first, followed by more of the official looking calties, but none from Sir's staff. 

One of them stands between a couple of the guards.  "The head of each family forward." 

I stand, nervous despite myself.  The others, each from one of the matts, comes forward as well.  We form a rough line.  I'm about in the middle. 

Each of us is given a number on a chain and told to wear it.  I slip in over my coat.  Ezri takes my hand as I sit, Tessie crawling back into my lap.  

"When your number is called, bring all baggage outside, and line up." 

They start to call numbers.  We drag the heavy bundles outside, careful to keep them out of the mud, and are directed to a platform in front of one of the segments of a long transport.  At least the rain has let up today.  It would be even worse if we got soaked in the process.  The door is open and it's being loaded with our things. 

Placing the bundles and matts inside a bag, which is then numbered, we watch as its loaded inside.  Then we get in line. 

After all the numbers have been called and the baggage has filled two of the segments, a third one is opened and we are let inside.  

By the time we get to the door, it's almost full.  Ezri and I hold Tessie and Yoshi, the girls sitting in front.  The floor is dirty, dust and mud from other things moved before covering it, and the wire grid underneath is uncomfortable, despite the solid cover.  But most of all, I remember the little boxes they kept us in at the beginning, long ago now, when this one is full and they shut the door. 

It's pitch black inside.  Tessie is scared of the dark without her doll, and she's wrapped in Tessie's pillow.  She molds herself to me, burying her hands in my beard as she always does when she's scared. 

We don't move for a long time.  There were a lot of transports, each with the extended four segments.  There is a little noise as the first one is filled with others, then quiet, as they move their activity down to the next empty transport. 

Tarlan is in here.  I can hear his wife whispering a prayer to the Prophets.  I wonder is Sisko is listening, or if he's given up caring about us. 

Ezri moves close, Yoshi asleep.  I put my arm around her, and drift off in the dark to the red weed, the tripods and a taste of victory.  It was supposed to be here by now.  But Weyoun won't let that be, he and his traitors. 

The Avenger forgets to close the cage and drop the targets into their safe bin.  The tripod takes them, and I feel immense satisfaction for a while. 

Then the thing moves with a jerk.  The roads are rough, damaged by the winter and their hasty building.  We jog and bump along.  Now and then we stop as they reach a camp gate.  I count, five so far.  We're near the edge of camp, and out . . . where? 

There is not a sound inside.  I just want to get out of the dark, into the fresher air of outside after sitting in this tomb for hours.  The only good part is that it's warm.  But we are all wearing our coats, and there are too many people inside to take them off. 

Then it comes to a halt and sits.  And sits.  We can hear noise, bits and pieces of orders, sounds of people and heavy things being dragged off.  But we wait, still trapped in the dark. 

But if they are unloading us here, we could be just moved to another transport.  Or we could be at our destination.  We listen with the greatest concentration we can, hoping to hear a clue. 

One and a bit of a ration stick isn't much for the day and hunger starts to remind us of other, worse times, hoping we aren't going to repeat those again. 

We're tamed.  We behave, don't argue, have been kept healthy for some particular reason.  We could still be lucky. 

Finally, half of us asleep, the door is opened without warning.  A gun sticks in the door first, followed by an unfamiliar guard, human, caltie uniform smeared in mud. 

"Line up as families, by your number," he orders and leaves.  

We crawl out of the dark to late afternoon, the sun bright, almost warm, and have to shield our eyes from the brightness.  Tessie insists on being carried.  I stand in the middle of a line. 

Everyone is here, emerging from three of the cages.  The baggage cars are waiting.  There are no orbital transports in sight. 

But there are barns, big ones, two or three times the size of the other ones.  There are storage areas as well, open with people loading them already, other prisoners already arrived.  Around us, there are fields.  Just fields, everywhere, ready to be tilled, planted and harvested. 

No wonder they wanted so many of us.  Tarlan is in front of me, and he stares across the expanse.  "I turned them down, but they did it anyway," he mumbles. 

His project, I think.  I still wonder what torture that child has endured under the harsh hands of the human monster that gave birth to Jules.  Neither of us stopped the inevitable, but we didn't share the responsibility. 

There is always a line in the sand you dare not cross. 

Ahead is a tent, and family by family we're ushered inside.  It's so ordered, so planned.  Only calties could have been this efficient.  I think of the ones that the Avenger let the Martians have and sigh.  In time . . . 

Once inside, we're stopped by a desk.  The caltie sitting there looks annoyed, leaves his desk, looks towards Tarlan and family, then Ezri. 

I can hear the conversation, though nobody else can.  I have excellent hearing.  I look the other way so nobody will know. 

"Nobody said this one was mixed.  I have the machine set up for humans only.  It will take an hour to do them if I have to keep resetting it."  He's tired, annoyed, and just wants the day to get over. 

"How man nons?" asks the supervisor. 

"Just the Bajorans and the one with the spots, as far as I can see." 

"Well, their mistake.  Make them all human.  We don't have the time to mess around with the machine.  We've got two more groups to process before breakfast." 

I listen with care.  Whatever records they are keeping will reflect Ezri as human, Tarlan as well.  Maybe it could save her life. 

He comes back, starts the line moving again.  He fills out a form with information about the family, number of adults, ages and sex of children, species.  I notice all of us are listed as human.  But there are no names at all, not even the unused ones of the past. 

The line crawls along, slowly, as we pass his desk to a scanner.  I notice a medical tent further out, and assume we'll have to endure that too.  But maybe it will be done soon and we can eat.  All I can think about is Ezri right now, and food.  Tessie refuses to be put down and is getting heavy.  She's too scared to let go of me. 

Then we get to the machine.  Another caltie, a woman who looks too much like Slimy for comfort, sets something on it and my unmarked hand is shoved inside.  It gets warm, itches a little.  Then its over. 

I carefully pull out my hand.  There is a number, G1-47, and several codes easily recognizable as Federation file keys.  Human, especially, is recognizable. 

The rest of my family are numbered and we're pushed out to the next tent, examined quickly and sent towards a huge barn. 

No more names, I think.  Now we've reached the lowest level of identity, mere numbers on a list. 

'But,' says a voice, Miles again after so long, 'that list could save her life.  Probably yours too.  The disorganized way they moved people, I'd be surprised if he didn't loose track of where you are.' 

We follow each other inside, and stand, amazed, by the room. 

It doesn't really look any different.  The alcove is bigger, the bin of clothes in the same place.  The door seals just as tightly.  The skylight is bigger, letting in more light.  But there is space to spare. 

Our baggage is piled in a heap by the door.  We sort it carefully, making the outcasts do the heavy work.  It's still light enough to take our time, and Luther and I are sorting while the rest wander around, exploring. 

"Wonder when the rest arrive," says Luther, quietly as we divide the baggage, separating beds and matts by family.  It's still numbered, and Luther calls off the first number. 

Jackson hurries over, wearing a look of deep relief.  No matter what we have to do, it is better than where he was.  Carl takes their blankets.  The outcasts take the matts.  Then he stops, looks around the room.  "Look, I was thinking, we should figure out where to put these before we drag them all over the place." 

I notice he's looking at his hand, bearing the ultimate mark of humility.  But then, all of us do now.  Everyone has stared at the numbers, but nobody has said a word about them. 

But Carl is right.  We have the space to plan, at least for now.  I'm sure the space will be filled in time, but for awhile we will have room to breath. 

It makes us feel better, like we haven't lost more than we gained.  They haven't used names for a while, but they recorded them. 

Luther appears to be ready to call a number, but nodding at me, he calls a meeting instead.  Everyone makes their way to the space near the door, still hoping for food.  But Luther has an announcement. 

"This is our space.  We have to decide how to use it."  He's quiet, attentive.  Our people sit around us, waiting for the meeting to start. 

The outcasts have retreated, sitting behind the pile of things.  I almost ask them to stay, but not yet.  It must be their decision to be a part of us, not ours. 

I stand.  Dorothy watches from the side, rubbing her hand as if she could rub the marks away, but she is listening.  

"We have a lot of space here.  We should decide where to put the matts now, save space for other things.  Suggestions?" 

Tarlan stands, looking up at the windows above us.  "There will be a lot more light, mostly in the center of the room.  I say we make that our space, now, before others come and we have to share it." 

We don't want any others, but that isn't up to us.  But Jaro's suggestion is popular.  Daniel adds that it would be good for readings, with the better light. 

There are other things to decide, but it's been a long day and everyone here is overwhelmed.  Looking at Dorothy, I ask Luther to do me a favor. 

Her larger group has broken up, and she lives with a couple of the younger women, one of whom has recently taken a mate.  Dorothy herself shares her blankets with one of the men, though he doesn't claim more than that.  But she matters.  I want her in a position of honor. 

Luther comes back, gets the outcasts to look for a particular pack of blankets.  Nodding, he calls it out.  

Dorothy stands, and Luther and the others drag her things to the very middle, the very heart of our space.  "So we can all hear your stories," I tell her. 

She looks over the room.  "Yes, that," she says.  But she stops, looks at me.  "Thank you, Avenger," she says with the hint of a smile. 

We call out the rest of the numbers.  It would be better if we could just use our names, not allow their game to exist inside, but there are too many bundles.  Oddly, we have all the room we need, but crowd in much the same arraignment as before.  It is familiar, comforting, to be near the people you're used to. 

The outcasts settle against the outer wall, far distant from us. 

We've almost got things arraigned when the door opens a little and a box is shoved inside.  It contains more rations.  We divide them again.  Sitting on my matts, Ezri holding a sleepy Yoshi as he fusses with teeth, I remember the man in the cargo hold that day, how he saved us from ourselves. 

It's easier now.  We know they want us alive.  I can't think of how most of those people are dead, how none of us would recognize ourselves anymore. 

But it's harder too.  There are endless fields outside, hours and days of work waiting for us this spring and summer.  The warehouses are full, and will be more hours of work.  The Dominion will fall, but not right away. 

Before, we faced the unknown.  Now we know all too well what the future will bring. 

Ezri puts Yoshi to bed, and I take her hand, tracing the symbol with my finger, avoiding the number.  "Welcome to humanity," I tell her. 

She traces her hand down her spots, shrugs, takes my hand and holds it against the place where Dax hides. 

"If you say so," she says, yawning.  

For a flash she was Ezri, the woman they started to destroy that day. But she pulls me into our nest, so familiar, so comfortable.  She slides open her clothes, then mine, pulls me to her. 

There won't be any beach today.  We're too hungry and tired.  But after all the fear, I surrender to the immense relief that we all still have each other. 

                               *** 

                            Chapter 28 

                               *** 

The morning bell is the same.  It wakes us with a start today, the light all wrong in the room.  It is probably the same time, but with the window being so large it is much brighter inside. 

We look around.  It is comforting to be together, to have a reminder of what was home.  But this place, so large and open, is still a surprise. 

The bin is sitting by the door, and someone looks inside.  "The clothes are different," he says. 

Rising, people drift over to look.  There is a loose, gathered shirt and separate bottoms, the fabric thinner, less warm than what we are wearing.  While we're studying it, looking through the bin and trying to find sizes that might fit, the first announcement blares out at us from an unseen speaker. 

"Prisoners will dress in the work uniforms provided today."  We look up, studying the clothes in our hands.  This is the only bin.  It's large enough to have clothes for everyone.  The announcement continues.  "All prisoners will report outside at the bell." 

Everyone, even the small children have to go outside.  We don't know how things are run here, what is different about the rules.  Daniel picks up one of the shirts.  "Kind of stylish in a peasant sort of way," he says.  "Since this is all they gave us, I'd guess we wear this." 

He takes a shirt and trousers, and starts looking for what might fit his family.  Others do the same.  We don't know how much time they give us to dress, or what they plan to do with us outside. 

Most of all, we don't know when breakfast is.  The clothes matter only a little next to that. 

I find work clothes for Ezri and I, taking them back to our matts.  The children wait, nervously, as we watch the door.  

"What about them?" she asks, looking at Molly and her sister. 

"We couldn't find anything that small.  I guess we'll have to see what's there when everybody's done."  The girls watch with apprehension, but Ezri is looking at Tessie and Yoshi.  "I don't know about those two." 

She says nothing, still worried but knowing we are powerless outside the door. 

Changed, we look each other over.  The clothes are comfortable, looser than the coveralls.  We wear the boots we came in, adding our coats as well.  There isn't anything left for the children in the bin.  But it is quite clear that they must go as well. 

The bell rings, and the door opens.  Nervous but hungry, we file outside. 

The sky is brighter; we must have been allowed to sleep a little later.  As soon as we get outside we're stopped.  "No coats," says the guard. 

We make one last trip inside to leave our coats.  A little chilled we wait while the others emerge, sarki groups from several places, but most all are groups of worried, marked humans. 

There are a lot of prisoners here.  No wonder it took so long to move all of them.  There are lots of children, too.  It occurs to me that even very small children can help in fields. 

We're directed towards a series of benches, already occupied by some of the other groups.  They have no trouble getting us to go.  Everyone there is eating breakfast. 

There are three lines, and Ezri pulls me into the first.  It's moving rapidly, the servers very efficient.  I know they should be invisible, but I've served before, and wonder who gets to now.  

All six of them are Bajoran.  The bowls here are different too, divided in sections.  One holds mush and broth, the other side a scoop of cut up fruit.  We get a spoon. 

But the strangest part is the benches.  We've eaten inside on our matts for months, or outside sitting on the ground.  The benches are too tall, and the children perch in front of us with legs dangling, uncomfortable. 

We've been promoted too.  The benches were for only the more skilled groups before.  Looking at the servers, a new symbol on their hand, I wonder if we've just been replaced at the bottom. 

The food disappears immediately, a little faster than normal since we were so hungry.  We assemble in the open square, as ordered, following our meal. 

Near the edge of the warehouses, a small, solid building has been placed.  I recognize some of the calties from Sir's staff.  I'm not especially surprised when Sir comes out of the building, his outfit nicer than before.  He pauses, looks us over.  But its obvious he's nervous. 

Using a device that amplifies his voice, along with his discomfort, we are addressed.  "Today you'll be evaluated and given a work assignment.  If there is time you'll start work as well.  Each day you'll wear the work clothes provided, and remove them when you finish work.  When we get a count of children who will be assigned to work they will be provided clothing as well." 

He pauses, trying to sound as if he's comfortable with his promotion, and the depth of his betrayal.  "Once you receive an work group number, it will be added to your hands." 

He trips over the words.  He must be good at running things or he wouldn't be here, but he doesn't like using his authority, hesitates too much.  He always let the lieutenants give his orders before, even if they made up some of them.  And even if *his* hands are clean he doesn't like the numbers, that much is plain.  But Sir has few options.  Should he ever be suspected of disloyalty, he would be lucky if he got to wear one.  He won't say a word. 

But people glance at their hands.  We're used to the sarki caste patch by now.  But this other is different, harder to live with.  It takes away too much.  We were too stunned by the day to look too closely the night before.  But here it is conspicuous and we can't stop from seeing it. 

We've been nothing more than bodies to them from the beginning.  Names were taken, but hardly ever used.  This only makes official what had already occurred in reality. 

But we can't escape the reality now.  Inside, we will cling to our society and enforce our rules.  But only because they don't care what happens there. 

Sir sounds very relieved when he finishes.  "The other rules will be explained later.  Do not leave this area or you will be disciplined severely." 

He retreats, the manager once again, safely tucked away from the reality inside his office.  I notice the dark haired caltie that liked Carl so much is nowhere in evidence.  He hasn't been around for the last week or so.  I wonder if he got caught, if he no longer will get in Carl's way. 

I remember how Carl described the punishment for calties that broke the rules.  He was always careful with Carl since Sir didn't approve.  I wonder if Carl is hoping the caltie understands what it's like to have the gun at his head now. 

Sir's lieutenants have no problems with using authority.  We've been standing in rough lines, keeping each group together.  Then they change everything. 

"All men to this side," the chief lieutenant announces.  "Women over there.  Children in the center." 

Tessie is holding my hand, and now she wants me to pick her up.  Ezri has Yoshi, firmly fixated on his mummy now, as Tessie is on me.  Molly and Kara stumble ahead, resigned, and with much hesitation we follow them. 

Kara reaches for Tessie, but she won't let go, her little hand clenching my beard, pulling so hard it hurts.  Tessie has had a succession of mothers, but only one father.  I am the center of her world and I feel as I am betraying her when I pull loose her hand, let Kara pull her away.  Molly is already holding Yoshi firmly in her grasp.  The two children hold their younger siblings close, huddling together as more children are added. Carl watches, afraid, as Calla and the baby are left with Daniel's children.  Jeffrey, for once, looks worried as Realand gives him a stern look.  Realand is limping slightly from a bruise on his foot.  It would be enough to cause a fall, and Jeffrey would kill anyone who hurt Realand now. 

The men are shunted to one side and ordered to wait.  They sort the obviously pregnant women out, take their numbers and send them back inside.  They pick through the children next, making the slightly older ones stand, discussing their future as if they were things. 

I can't watch.  All I can see is the little Vorta, and wonder what torments he's endured.  But not from me.  Molly and Kara are moved away from the rest, the little children taken back inside as their numbers are recorded.  I look at Molly, so quiet and resigned.  She isn't yet ten.  But she's all grown up now, all the youth torn away. 

A voice in my head, Miles, is just as resigned.  'It's okay.  All I ask is they be alive.  This place shouldn't be so bad.' 

I'm not up to talking to him.  But all we have are fields.  I can guess what sort of days we'll have for the foreseeable future.  I don't have to pretend about the Founders anymore.  Everyone here knows that somehow the Dominion managed to survive their demise. 

Now we have our own to hate, and whatever Miles says, it's worse. 

The men are moved too far away to see the rest, and I'm among some forty men picked for a detail.  We're ordered to line up, and at the end of a line a caltie is taking numbers.  When it's my turn I'm expected to give my number, but can't.  I have managed to forget it.  I have to look at my hand.  "G1-47," I mumble. 

I'm sent inside, to another machine that makes my work detail number part of my existence too.  Since we're the first to be marked, we are funneled into a transport and locked inside. 

It's a bumpy trip, but when we are let out the rest of the camp is far away.  All around us is ground that's dried and brown, wet and probably muddy when you work with it.  

A red-headed caltie that's new, normally pushing papers for Sir gives us the lecture.  "The day's assignment is between the taped areas.  You'll get lunch in an hour or so, and before you go home you finish with the rest.  If you don't you spend the night in the cage." 

He turns the lecture over to someone else, one of the guards.  They carry Jem'Hadar rifles and prods.  "You turn the soil, aerate it, and try to get out the lumps.  If they won't break up don't worry.  It will be wet down again later and you can try then."  He steps closer, fingering the prod.  "You are not permitted to talk, even whisper.  You will be moved to the cage if the soil isn't worked well enough."  He smiles.  "No dinner in the cage, and it's cold at night." 

I remember when I first woke from Jules world, how everything was unfamiliar, how I vowed to work slow, only as fast as I had to.  Looking over the amount of ground we have to dig up, I can tell that is over too. 

"Any attempt to escape will get special punishment.  We'll just shoot anyone who gets past the line." 

He steps back, and I wonder how long it will take to get used to this.  Despite Jules afterglow, I hardly thought of the work again before we were moved. 

For the first time in ages, we get lunch.  It's served by two Bajoran servers with the new marks on their hands.  Mostly a bowl of broth with some mush in it, but without it we might not be able to work so hard.  At least we have value to them.  I remember Luther's warning, what happened to the injured back at the station. 

Despite the lecture, the guards keep their distance, don't get in our way.  But the ground smells odd, and I wonder if that has anything to do with it. 

The long day drags on, shovels busy, and I notice Tarlan is among the field maintenance crew.  He's exhausted, but there is some special bitterness in his eyes today he's kept hidden before. 

Finally, the last chunk of muddy soil is broken up, and covered in odd-smelling mud we climb back into the transport.  Pealing off the filthy clothes, we stumble back inside, leaving our boots to dry by the door.  Tessie sees me, and before I can finish dressing is in my lap. 

But Tarlan makes his way to my matts, dressed in his coveralls now but still smelling of the oddly scented mud.  Ignoring Tessie, he looks at me, anger in his eyes.  "The project, as they call it, continues to haunt me." 

Tessie is settled, but I make her go.  "You said something about that before, right after you were . . . " 

He stares at the door.  "It was private research, a way to reclaim land without a lot of fuss.  I tried to get the ministers interested, but Bajoran politics being what they were," he sighs.  "Nobody was interested.  It wasn't Bajoran." 

"It is now," I say. 

"No, it is *theirs*.  Everything is theirs," he mourns. 

I reach under the blankets, feel the lump where the books are hidden.  "Not everything." 

But Jaro is leaving.  "No," he says.  "Not in here." 

He pauses, scratching his arm.  "Be careful of the chemical.  I understand the traces can be hard on the skin.  You were supposed to wash after exposure."  Jaro sighs. 

Just as Ellie and Cassie were supposed to have protective gear when they worked on the com system, but we don't get that kind of consideration. 

"I'll be careful.  Maybe wash up the best I can.  Tell who you can." 

Then Tessie is back, snuggled in my arms.  Yoshi toddles over to me as well, even if he really wants Ezri.  I stare at my hand, their hands too.  Only the babies were spared. 

I worry about the chemical, but most of the mud was on my work clothes this time. 

The older children return, Molly and Kara stripping off grimy clothes and hurrying back to change.  We will have to figure out a way around that problem.  They join the others, tired and depressed.  Molly hugs me and I notice a work group number already.  Kara smiles, pats Tessie on the head and goes to get her comb, drawing a protesting Tessie away to have some of the snarls straighten out.  Kara dotes on her, even if Tessie doesn't always understand. 

Ezri and a group of women enter, Molly bringing her mother her coverall.  It's getting chilly, and Ezri climbs inside the blankets as soon as she can. 

She's watching the door, and the bin.  She stares at her hand.  "General field crew 3," she says. 

"Field maintenance," I reply. 

"Not all that different than the summer," she says. 

But not for me.  I seldom had easy jobs, but there was a variety.  Now there will be nothing but sameness, a cog installed in a giant machine that is slowly grinding along.  I would gladly go back to being on scrub to this. 

She pulls me closer, noticing but ignoring the smell.  "At least they all know it will end," I say. 

She turns away, "Not any time soon.  Not for us." 

We are sitting in silence when the door opens and one of Sir's men stands in the door, the red head, looking us over.  I notice he's looking at me, trying to decide. 

He has a problem, I realize.  He can't use my name, but he doesn't know my number, and he is hesitant to come too far inside. 

He decides to point.  "You, Sir wants to see you," he says. 

I disentangle myself from Ezri.  I'm careful to keep my hand out of view.  He can't look that way. 

I follow him out the door, playing a game with my hand.  It makes it easier to pretend I'm not so nervous. 

He pauses by the door, trying to look.  But my hand is hidden inside clasped fingers, and he gives up.  "I have him," he says. 

Sir looks up, notices the way I'm holding my hands, and nods.  The caltie backs up, near the door.  

"Go, leave us," he says. 

I wonder if he believes the rumor.  I'm sure he's heard it.  I'm certain he knows about my reputation.  But he looks very tired.  How did he start, I wonder, just saving himself and his family and then getting so lost he couldn't get out?  If Weyoun hadn't taken me to Odo, if I hadn't known about the details about Earth, might I have been inclined to turn, might I be like Sir now, trapped in a place he cannot escape? 

The door shuts.  "Sit, why don't you.  I suppose your tired." 

It is almost as if he wants my cooperation.  But the chair looks comfortable and I haven't felt a soft chair in a while.  I sit. 

"Was everything in your baggage undamaged?  I did instruct my people here to unload it with some care.  I understand yours might have been a bit heavy." 

I can't think of anything to say.  Does he know about the books?  Weyoun did, but he put no value on them.  I have a feeling that Sir does value them, that he wants the books to be safe even if he can't read them. 

I wonder if he doesn't have some himself, or know where he could get them. 

"No one found anything missing," I tell him, adding carefully, "our one was in perfect condition." 

I could swear he looks relieved, almost as if he was concerned. 

I realize I'm being deferred to as a kind of leader, even if nobody but Sir notices outside our barn. 

"Doctor, I have gotten permission to exclude certain persons from work.  I intend to include women who are with child, and those with injuries that should be allowed to heal.  It will no longer be up to my staff."  He glances at a padd, and I wonder again about Carl's friend, just what happened to him.  Sir is not happy with his lot in life, but I assume he'll use what authority he has and knows just how little that is. 

He shuffles things around on his desk, finding a pad of paper, then a pen.  "I will need the numbers, both work group and personal.  You can go ahead and say why.  I assume there will be more babies later.  You and a nurse of your choice still have my permission to deliver them, even if you miss work." 

Somehow, I'm moved by his tone.  I didn't expect it.  It wasn't anticipating this.  "Who do I give it to?" I ask, certain this is skirting the rules. 

"Him, red hair out there, the one who got you.  Don't remember his name, he's new." 

He must trust him more than the others.  I'm ready to go, taking the pad of paper and pen, when he stops me.  "Look, none of my people will be making any more personal demands anymore.  I trust they'll remember why." 

He says it with satisfaction.  For us, all we have are little victories.  For Sir, too, perhaps that is all that is left. 

I decide to be presumptuous.  "Sir, Tarlan is aware of the origions of the new fields.  There's a chemical used that can be dangerous.  He's worried we could get sick from it." 

He looks at me, "Doctor, I didn't realize.  I'll arrange some sort of showers for your crew.  If there is a problem I'll make sure there is a good explanation, other than yours."  He pauses.  "I'll figure some way to get you into the other groups to examine the rest.  But thank you, for now." 

His look says this is private, between us.  He won't let them know the information came from me, and I won't endanger his position.  "Thank you, Sir.  For everything." 

For once, I mean it.  When the whole world falls apart, Sir will fall with it.  But he knows that already.  He can't buy safety, but maybe a little satisfaction. 

I walk back, preoccupied, wondering how Sir lives with himself. 

Not long after that, the bell rings again, the door opens.  We wear our coats this time, most slipping on wet muddy boots and trying to wipe them the best we can on the grass. 

But we are added to the dinner lines.  The three sets of servers are back, the same ones, I notice.  I don't let them see that I recognize them.  But I hope that somehow they understand.  They deserve their own little victories too.  It's more mush and broth, and another scoop of fruit.  But with lunch, we had an extra meal today.  We must work very hard, but we must matter to someone.  I wonder if it's Sir, if lunch was his doing. 

We eat quickly, without fuss.  Nobody wants to be out in the chilly air any longer than necessary.  When the door locks, we settle back in relief. 

There is time for a short reading.  But we've been telling stories more often of late, especially Dorothy's.  I nod towards her.  She stands, looking tired and depressed.  But she comes.  "What story do you want to tell tonight?" I ask. 

It is as if she is touched by magic.  She stands taller, brightens.  "I'll have to think.  Something inspiring, after today." 

"That sounds good.  Ready?" 

She sits on my matts.  Ezri watches as she pats where the books lie.  "In a moment.  First we must talk." 

"Go ahead," I say, the bloom having faded to a look of resigned gloom. 

"You must be very vigilant with these now.  There will be others.  They don't need them now, but later, with planting and harvest and all the other parts of this life, we won't be enough.  You must make it plain to every single one of them that you mean your promise, and if it comes to it, carry out the threat.  No clemency anymore.  This treasure is worth more than a few lives." 

If I killed someone, would Sir mind?  I get the impression he knows about them, and would not object to my keeping them safe.  Or would his be enough protection? 

But she's right.  And there is her, too, just as valuable.  She hurt her back a while ago and continues to aggravate the injury with the work.  I worry about that.  "Look, I can exempt people.  Sir told me.  Keep it quiet, but you know about that."  

She nods.  She understands her place of importance in our society, her place when it comes to secrets.  "The caltie is dead.  I heard.  He couldn't have Carl so he tried someone else and got caught.  I guess it wasn't an easy death." 

I glance at Carl.  "Does he know?" 

"Yes.  I told him."  She pauses, looks at me as if she's trying to decide about something.  She just looks at Carl, considering.  I wonder if she's noticed the cold hard thing hiding inside, if she has seen the moments, fewer now that he feels more secure, that the little smile crosses his lips for a flash. 

If she knows, does Dorothy keep the cold thing under control by threatening to expose him?  Even now, if they knew, Carl would find himself shoved out the door just before lockdown. 

"Look, you matter as much as those."  I point at the books.  "You won't last with the heavy work.  Your back injury will just get worse.  But I think you should watch the children.  Permanent job.  Maybe you could teach them a little, when you can." 

"He'll never buy it."  

She didn't see Sir.  She didn't see the look in his eyes when he told me about Carl's friend.  She didn't see the relief when I said my baggage was in good shape.  "I'll try anyway." 

"You do that, Avenger," she says, brightening a little. 

"I'll tell him you said hello," I add. 

"I believe we are all here."  She is wearing a thoughtful look.  "You may make your announcement now." 

Everyone moves to their matts, watching as Dorothy settles down between us.  She stands when the room is still and quiet.  "In the time between the end of one world, and the beginning of another, a man of vision can make a difference.  Standing alone in the forests of Britain, the young Arthur encountered an odd, compelling man.  A shiver passed through him as the piercing eyes of the old man looked inside, fixing Arthur in a terrible gaze.  'Boy, does your master know you have wandered so far from home?'" 

"Arthur could not move.  Even in rags, there was a wild wisdom about the man.  'I have the afternoon to myself, my master away,'" he said. 

"The old man came closer, the wildness a part of his being.  'You have duties, my boy.  You must learn all about the world.  Come, share my shelter for a time if you may be away.' " 

"Arthur hesitated, looking back along the worn forest path he'd taken, unsure if he should run or embrace the power in the man's eyes, which were not old at all.  He stepped back a little, a comforting sense of familiarity filling his being.  That road led to home, to the master who had taken him in and kept him well.  But the pathway ahead drew him forward, towards the mysteries in the old man's eyes.  He had, in truth, come to the forest to be alone, to consider the odd dreams that haunted him and he could not explain.  If he took too long, they would miss him." 

"But as he stepped towards the cavern in the rock the old man made his home, a wondrous excitement took young Arthur.  He marveled at the visions in his head, of prancing steeds with well appointed knights, of the excitement of spring and new ideas, of sunshine in the midst of storm.  Somewhere was a sadness, a grieving, but it was far away now.  Arthur, squire to Kay, briefly stopped, looked down the path he had come and stepped ahead with a sureness that he did not understand." 

"The old man nodded, motioned him to come.  'You have chosen destiny, my boy, but do not expect an easy road.'" 

"And thus, Arthur of Britain, decedents of kings, boy taking a day for himself, stepped into the future." 

                               *** 

I close my eyes, the mud sliding off my arms, the sore places no longer stinging me.  I wish it was longer, but before it's done watch as Jaro rubs his arm, note how the sores are healing well.  I don't know how Sir managed to pull it off.  We were warned not to take advantage of the room, deliberately cover ourselves in mud.  But that was window dressing, and it is still an marvelous thing. 

I hope there isn't trouble so Sir has to take away the little advantages he gives.  I'd hate to lose the showers. 

They arrived a week ago.  It took a few days, but the continued exposure to the chemical left in the altered soil was causing rashes and sores.  I did the best I could, but have very little that could help.  The showers did the rest.  Mine are almost healed.  Jaro's arm had open sores, and the chance of infection was almost certain. 

Sir probably saved his life.  Now, we wear our coveralls to the changing area, put on our work clothes, and when we return shower off the mud before dressing.  We even have special boots so the mud isn't tracked back to the residential areas.  In a few months, when sun and rain have broken down the residue there will be no problem.  But now it eats at the skin, and the forty of us on this work detail were all suffering. 

It will be hard then if he has to take them away. 

Our number has to be written somewhere on our coveralls, though, and I wrote mine under the collar.  At least it doesn't show.  It's been several weeks since we arrived, and we are starting to get used to them. 

The others, when they get covered in mud, can clean themselves off as well.  It wasn't necessary.  But even they change in the work lockers now, and the bin inside our quarters has disappeared along with most of the mud. 

It's too bad, since there were certain advantages to it.  I've made note to Sir that especially with babies due this spring there is need for diapers.  Now there is a small bin of the no longer usable work uniforms for us to use as we want.  

Dorothy made all the little ones dolls yesterday.  When we got back Tessie couldn't wait to show me.  Since Dorothy's been excused to watch the children they are drawn to her.  Dorothy can be as hard and unforgiving as the rest of us, but she hasn't forgotten how to be their friend, to show them wonder.  She's too nervous to go beyond dolls to the alphabet and numbers.  But she mentioned it.  Maybe in time we can try that too. 

I don't ask why Sir is being so cooperative.  I don't care as long as we keep our showers and the other things. 

Trailing after Jaro as we go inside, I notice he's looking at his hand, very depressed.  We don't dare talk outside, especially with so much to lose, but inside is different.  He's standing there, staring at his matts, his hand.  Then he almost collapses on his matts. 

Nothing notable happened today.  The field was harder than normal and the chunks of ground left too big.  We'll have to dig it up again but by then it should be soaked through and rather easy.  We'll be more muddy but then we are always muddy now. 

Work is just work now.  It happens.  We get through it. 

It rained a little, but later, when we were filthy and it helped get rid of much of it.  Jaro shouldn't be so down unless something else happened. 

He looks up at me, motions for me to sit.  He takes my hand, tracing the symbol of my species, then the one on his own hand.  "I understand now," he says in his accented Standard. 

"About the records?" I ask. 

"Like your wife, I suppose I can be grateful for bad record keeping."  He looks at his hands again, this time at the old sarki brand.  "You've seen the new caste symbol." 

"On the servers?  Yes.  I don't know what it's called."  I'd heard but Jaro needs to tell me himself. 

"Voltari.  Like your rats, it is near the name of a vermin.  Most of the humans call them taries, but they refer to themselves as voles." 

I'd heard, but the defeat in his voice worries me.  "The new underclass." 

"My people keep resisting.  Now that they have no status at all they fight even harder." 

I keep thinking of Kira, wondering what happened to her.  She was moved so abruptly I wonder about Odo.  But I don't see him giving in, not ever for her sake.  In that case, she'll be back here in a little while. 

Weyoun won't lose his chance at persuading him to cooperate.  He won't make her wear a tari brand and work until she gets too sick to go on.  Odo would never cooperate then. 

There is the rumor about the Founders.  It's believed here, but probably isn't known elsewhere.  But Weyoun is paranoid, and doesn't want to be murdered by his own soldiers.  No Jem'Hadar will come near this place.  And I wonder if he's trying to lure Odo with gifts like Kira now.  He's probably even willing to give him back his books if it might make Odo cooperate. 

Weyoun never learns.  I wonder if he regrets sending Ezri and the rest away, if he can dig through all the numbers on file to find me again, even if Ezri is no longer officially Trill. 

I wonder if the caltie that saved her has lost her too.  Or perhaps I hope so. 

For Odo the torment will just get worse.  But for some of us it's over.  Carl, now that his tormentor has been paid back, is stronger, more sure of himself without becoming the monster inside him.  And Weyoun thinks Ezri is dead, the children gone, and believes me alone.  He has nothing he knows of to bargain with. 

I can't imagine being asked to play again.  The next time I get my chance to put my hands around his throat I wouldn't bother indulging myself, just crushing it. 

But now, I think Jaro needs the revenge more.  "My people are being destroyed," he says.  "The voles do not eat so well, nor do they have the luxury we live in.  Others have been torn from home and given up.  We cannot give up when we stand on our own land." 

I'd rather live like them on Earth than like this with nothing left of home.  His gloom is catching.  "You have a home." 

He looks at me, smiles.  "You do as well.  Here.  When this ends, there will be almost no doctors.  You may take what you want then.  Bajor will embrace you with open arms."  He sighs.  "Perhaps then my people's unfortunate arrogance will have faded." 

He traces the marks on his hands again.  "I had news today.  One of the servers slipped me a message.  My son is dead." 

Most of the people I knew a year ago are dead.  It is hard to feel anymore.  I'm more surprised that the servers dared make contact.  "How?" I ask, meaning more how the contact was made than anything else. 

"He is dead.  That is enough.  He died the day they locked him in that tomb.  I do not want to know what they turned him into before his body gave up."  He looks at Carl's matts, currently empty but I get the point. 

"I can understand why, but that's a big risk for a server to take."  I don't want details.  I just want to know if it was a special favor or not. 

He looks down, composing himself.  "Teala wanted you to know that many of the grasses and plants could be of use.  The problem is we have no access to them." 

"Especially with the showers.  Not that I'd change things," I add. 

"My people do, all sorts of things.  But they will not do it for free."  He looks at me, wondering how much I'm willing to risk. 

"I wouldn't expect that," I say, wondering how dangerous a conversation this is, if any prying ears are near.  "You say they don't get much." 

"Food would be enough.  Don't ask details.  You should not know." 

I don't want to know the details.  If I'm found with things smuggled in I'll be dead, sooner if I'm lucky but I wouldn't count on it.  He knows that.  None of them will know where the things they trade go either. 

I realize he wants me to decide.  How many lives do I hold in my hand, how many could be saved, could die if anything was discovered.  

I'm still not used to the attention, and almost wish I could go back to being an outcast.  But I am a doctor.  Even Sir calls me that in the privacy of his office.  He can't protect me either, but maybe each of us are buying a little satisfaction. 

"How soon?" I ask. 

Jaro smiles.  "A little while.  It will take time for the plants to grow."  He looks at me, very serious now.  "You are sure?" 

I remember how it feels when Sir calls me Doctor, how I feel as if I am no longer property.  "Certain," I answer. 

He nods.  Nothing more will be said.  Teala will tell me what I have when it arrives but that is the first I'll know. 

Jaro and his wife will be the most at risk, know the most, and I have to trust him.  But there is a hint of satisfaction, of revenge in his eyes.  He won't say it, won't put to words the grief inside for the son who lived too long, but will pay them back just the same. 

Just as I will.  With each life that is saved I'll defy them a little more.  It will be so good to be a doctor again.  I can't wait for the spring now, for all the new beginnings. 

                               *** 

                            Chapter 29 

                               *** 

The older children are no longer made to work.  They had a few jobs for them, but that must be done.  Only the adults are working now, and even they are returning sooner than before. 

My group's work is independent of the spring.  The ground we prepare will not be planted until later, the chemicals still too active.  After the chunks of treated soil are broken up, we must dig organic material into the soil.  Only after that has been completed and the field is allowed to lay fallow for a time will it be ready.  But next year, next spring, there will be an enormous amount of fields to plant.  Either they will use machines, or there must be many more of us.  

The warehouses are always busy, but we don't do that anymore.  

But the days are getting warmer.  It rains almost daily, and despite the showers we still track in mud.  Boots now sit away from our matts so we can keep them clean. 

We couldn't before.  We won't give that up so easily. 

But once the rain breaks, once the existing fields are ready, the barn will empty of all but Dorothy and the mothers-to-be and the little children.  The hours will be long.  It will be like the spring before, when we first arrived, but then basic farm life has been like that since people stopped wandering, whatever their status in society.  They lived through it and so can we. 

But we have a little more help now.  Two families arrived this afternoon, baggage bound up in a container, matts hauled inside by the outcasts as we noted their arrival. 

They aren't like the outcasts, just two small families with three children between them, not the rough men they forced on us before.  Maybe Sir doesn't want anymore of them.  Until Thompson and his friend made their mistake, all they were was trouble.  Before we took in others with little fuss.  But we aren't the same now.  Now, whoever they are, to us they are still outsiders.  

They stand to the side, just past the entrance, watching us as we look them over.  The youngest child is little older than Tessie.  They keep looking at their hands, reminding us of our own marks again.  I realize after a few minutes that everyone is looking at me. 

I stand up, nodding to Luther to come as well.  The outcasts are waiting a ways back, watching.  "Welcome," I say, getting their attention.  They still look nervous.  "You can put your things over there." 

Nearby, but not within our own space, is an open area we left for new arrivals.  They are stunned, tired, and probably hungry, and likely just want to get out of our way.  We'll have to get used to them.  When we decide to let them in they can move their matts to our space. 

The outcasts haven't moved and I point at them.  They come forward again.  We all get curious glances from the new arrivals, especially with the way the outcasts are doing what they are told.  Mostly, they watch Luther and I as their matts are dragged along to the space we are willing to give them. 

Their belongings come next.  We leave them alone while they unpack.  There are a few of us not back and we don't get dinner here until everyone arrives. 

When they are done, Luther asks if anyone's explained.  One of the men, a tall brown haired man with a thick beard shakes his head.  "No, we were moved here from a work camp on one of the moons, and they sent us inside here.  No explanations or anything." 

We haven't worked this out, how we explain.  But Dorothy comes forward.  They are intimidated by me, but she looks safe enough. 

"We work fields here.  Let's see where you're assigned.  I watch the little ones."  She nods towards the child.  "What's her name?" 

"Annie," says the woman, "my niece.  My sister . . . " 

She doesn't have to explain.  She shrugs.  Dorothy kneels by the child, backing away towards the woman.  "I'm Dorothy.  I care for the little ones, and I tell them stories.  I'll tell everybody a story tonight." 

The still look wary, worried about us, but we give them space.  "A story would be nice," says the woman.  

The other family, two children closer to Molly's age, sit and watch.  They stay close, wary of the new place and the suspicion with which they are greeted. 

Annie's aunt looks at Dorothy.  "I'm Cassie, my husband is named James.  We were all moved out of camp yesterday.  This is Bajor?" 

Realand looks up, a sudden, stricken look in his face.  She must be dead by now, I think.  Like Jaro's son, she had the misfortune of surviving. 

Dorothy sits with them, holding the child.  "Yes, I believe the Bajorans called it Dassar province.  I don't know what they call it now.  But unless it's by accident or they are tarsi, the Bajorans are gone." 

"They just had us on the moon, lots of different kinds of people but no Bajorans." 

I look at Jaro, holding his grandson.  There is a hard look of anger and pain in his eyes.  Teala's head is bowed, eyes closed.  It fits with what we've heard, that like other places the natives have been deported.  Ezri holds Yoshi, looking down.  They deported most of the Trills, too. 

Cassie is looking at her hand.  Dorothy looks at the marks.  "General field crew 2, like my daughters."  Dorothy refers to the two younger women who live with her as her daughters.  I sometimes wonder if she didn't have her own once upon a time.  

"We will have more to do later, with spring," Dorothy explains.  "But for now it's not too bad.  We get three meals too." 

They all look up at the mention of food.  If it's like us, they probably weren't fed much over the last day.  The husband hesitantly asks, "Have you had dinner yet?" 

Dorothy actually smiles at them.  "No, not everyone is back.  We even have benches to eat on, though I think some of us would prefer to eat here where it is warmer.  And fruit." 

I can tell that all the rest they wonder about can wait as long as they didn't miss dinner. 

Luther joins her.  It's fascinating to watch as he nods, so different than the man I first met or the one they broke to pieces.  "There are a lot of rules here, but I'm sure they'll tell you.  But tonight, they don't let you talk at meals.  Or outside at all.  They do mean it." 

Cassie nods, "As long as we get fed," she says. 

The others, sitting back on their matts, have said nothing.  We had assumed they came together, but Cassie and James don't appear to know them.  Dorothy moves towards them, watching as they grow more tense. 

"Are there any stories your children especially like.  If I know any of them I'd be happy to tell them tonight." 

But they pull back, not allowing her near.  "Anything will do," says the father, nervous, pushing her away. 

There is anger in his eyes, and a raw grief that hurts.  I notice their clothes are rather worn, that they don't have many more possessions than the outcasts did.  Luther sits with Cassie and James, watching carefully.  I'm ready to move, as are others, for no matter what happened to them before they were sent here, we will not allow them to harm Dorothy. 

But she backs off but does not go.  "I'll tell some good ones.  What are the children's names?  They won't be working for now, and I'll be watching them tomorrow.  I like to put names to faces. 

They aren't even looking at their hands.  The man, nervous, pulls the children closer.  His wife says in a small voice, "Bazi and Linna," then collapses. 

Dorothy comes closer, taking her hand.  She tries to pull it away but can't.  I realize Dorothy understands these people far better than we do. 

"Please, tell me.  I am alone now but I wasn't always."  Her voice is gentle, soft.  The man holds the children tight, the children pushing against him.  "He was three, only three years old.  My son.  He'd been hurt a few days before, couldn't walk."  He stops, takes a ragged breath.  "They dragged him out of my arms and shot him, then they locked us in a cage with others." 

Dorothy is shaking a little, and I wonder if the same happened to her family, or if she simply lost them along the way.  "You've come from further away, then." 

"They had us in the cage for a week," says the woman.  "Then they put us on a transport and we came here." 

"It will be better here," says Dorothy.  "They'll be enough to eat, work but there is always work, and your children will be important here.  I'll make sure they are well looked after when you're gone." 

The man still won't let go of the children, and Dorothy backs away.  There is silence in the room, even the other new arrivals considering the contrast.  The outcasts understand, as do Dorothy and her people.  But most of the rest do not. 

The door opens and the new people stare, nervous.  The last few of us return.  Dinner will come soon, and then Dorothy can tell her stories, make the magic that helps the night come alive.  

We still read the books, but not as often.  Dorothy has an endless store of tales to tell, and we love to hear them. 

Dinner passes quickly again, Cassie and family seeing nothing but the food, the others, still not having identified themselves, eating absently, the children never leaving their grasp. 

The night comes, everyone in bed, and Dorothy stands in the middle of the room, looking at the sky.  "Once, there was a boy who never grew up," she says.  "His name was Peter Pan." 

She spins the magic around us, of the boy and his friend Wendy, gone on a visit to the magic of Never Never Land where children stay young forever.  Even the evil of the Captain Hook can't take away the wonder.  She leaves off before the end, promising to finish tomorrow. 

I peak at the new people, snuggled in their blankets.  Cassie and James hold their daughter, and lie back with eyes closed, losing themselves in the boys adventures.  The others, still unnamed, sit close, the man still keeping the children near.  I'm sure they hear, but I don't know if they listen.  Perhaps some day, but now all they know are their fears. 

Realand is looking at me, then the silent newcomers.  He did not kill Tessie, but still tore her away.  I did not kill Jeffrey, but would have had it not been for him.  But we still have our children.  And thanks to a man who wanted my wife, mine are still alive.  Miles once asked if it mattered that they be alive, and I still don't know.  But looking at the new family, I realize I knew all along.  

"We kept our promise," I whisper, "Or, you did." 

Ezri is awake, looking at me.  I see doubt in her eyes.  "I don't know if I'd have killed him or not.  Not anymore."  She pulls me closer and I let her, wrapping my arms around her.  "I don't know if Joran would have let him." 

She hasn't spoken of it for a long time.  Maybe the caltie has lost track of her, or found someone else more exotic.  All the records say of G1-48 is human female.  

"We have them now, that's what matters."  

She cuddles up to me, sliding closer.  "That's everything." 

It is late.  I let the dark night fade and the beach come, holding her tight, the water quiet, the sky lit by a brilliant moon.  She's already asleep, and I soon join her. 

                               *** 

The sun is sneaking across the sky, slowly, casting odd little shadows across the open square.  It takes all morning to feed us, and we eat a little later than we did before.  For some it means a little more sleep.  For some of the children, it means a little time to play.  But after the sporadic, often changed assignments and cold mornings waiting in front of Sir's office, the absolute predictability of life here is almost dull.  Spring will change things, of course, but not the sameness.  The only difference will be what field is being worked, and how long the day is. 

But some things are very different.  Sir's people were always careful around him.  But he used to hide in his office, and when he wasn't looking they did what they wanted. 

Then Carl's friend made his fatal mistake.  Sir let him die.  Sir stays quiet, obedient.  But he changed, perhaps pushed as far as he will allow.  He does not break the rules, but he holds the rest to his. 

Carl is different now.  It is as if he has been set free.  His owner, should he choose, could still claim Carl.  But the promise he made to us, that he would never trade favors again, became easier to keep.  None of them would dare as much as look at Carl now.  The fear is gone.  He can put together a semblance of a life. 

We are still prisoners.  We are still slaves.  But Sir has his own rules and we have a defined place in his world.  The guards no longer interfere with us unless we give them a reason. 

Here, in our compound he is god, but outside he can't tell the Special's what to do.  And when the Specials come here to look for bed warmers, Sir can't do more than watch. 

He excuses the victims after they are done, but it hardly makes up for what the Specials did.  But then most of the supervisors wouldn't do that much. 

There were three of them today, none of them familiar.  But they had nice coats, and *his* little patch on their sleeves. 

One of them took the youngest of Dorothy's daughters this time.  

Dorothy wasn't in the mood to read tonight.  There was no story.  Nobody was really interested in listening. 

Ezri sat and held Tessie all evening, with nothing to say.  Maybe the one with the tattoo won't be back, but I hear from others that she is always noticed, that sometimes they talk about her.  What happens when one of them decides she's too exotic, too different to resist?  Does she come back dazed and hurt and lost like Dorothy's daughter will be?  Does she come back at all?  

But when the children had gone to sleep she took my hand, the one with the numbers, and traced them against my skin.  

"I saw them, when they came inside today," she says slowly.  "I watched as the one in charge looked us over, and for just minute, he stopped by me.  He didn't touch me, but just the way he *looked*," she shivers, "I could feel his hands . . . " 

It's too close to my own nightmares, and I don't know what to say.  Little flashes of Slimy, her hands tracing my body, make me forget about Ezri for a moment.  "But he didn't touch you.  Remember that." 

She stops, looks at me.  "She did more, didn't she." 

"Yes."  We go to the beach, hold each other in the days and nights of our private place, but nothing more than that. 

"She hurt you, badly," she says, not as a question. 

"Yes."  If we did more than lie together in the sunshine I'm afraid the blood would come back. 

"But didn't rape you," she continues, the Ezri I first met, the one I first fell in love with. 

"No," I insist.  If I let her touch me, if we play pretend the way we used to I might think she's Slimy, I might forget and try to kill her. 

"But you won't go to the beach anymore.  You jerk away if I try.  If she didn't rape you, what did she do?" 

"She took the beach," I say. 

Ezri is frustrated, but staying professional this time.  "No, you gave her the beach.  You let her take it.  Now demand it back." 

She is pulling open my clothes, running her hand over my chest.  "Stop," I say quietly. 

"Who am I?" she asks.  

My heart is pounding, muscles tense.  I've broken out in a heavy sweat, but it's not that warm.  I can't tell her who I see.  

"Julian, tell me who this hand belongs to." 

She's exploring where she wants and I can't move.  I feel frozen in place at her touch.  "Hers," I snap out, angry. 

"Why?"  She says it quietly, calmly as if the hand and its exploration was independent of her.  "You know it's my hand.  You know I don't want to hurt." 

The panic is rising, the need to stop her, whoever the hand belongs to, to stop the hand, to hurt it. 

I grab her wandering hand, holding it very tight, stopping it. 

"Good," she says.  "Now, tell me what she did to you." 

It's a jumble in my memory, the pain from the prods, the ropes, the knife, the way she was forced to go, the way she came back--always comes back, even after she was dead. 

I tell her what I can, what words can convey.  We speak in whispers.  I have responsibilities now.  I can't fall apart in front of them. 

Finally, I tell her about the wet lump, how I made it. 

"You're afraid you'll do that again." 

"I already did," I mutter, looking at Carl's matts. 

I'm still holding her hand, keeping it away.  "It was still rape," she says.  "Maybe only in your mind, but you stopped it.  I would have too." 

She's here because she didn't have to fight him off.  I'm here because I did.  I let go of her hand.  She gently slides it onto my shoulder. 

It feels good to have her near.  

"Tell me about it," she insists.  "Tell me what it felt like to be helpless, then strike back."  I can almost hear Kira forcing me to tell her how the people I sacrificed had died after they killed Miles. 

"No."  If I put it into words, I'll never separate Ezri from the monster that hurt me. 

"She's dead, Julian.  You killed her.  She can't come back." 

"You don't understand," I say, trying to turn away. 

"No, I don't.  But I want to.  I see him looking at me, wanting me.  I try to imagine what would have been . . . " she stops.  

"You'd have killed him," I say.  "You'd all be dead now." 

"Probably.  But I have to know." 

"Ask Chela when they bring her back." 

She has no answer, but then nor do I.  Slimy hurt me, intended to do more, but that only happened in my mind.  The Thing drew pictures and leered at Ezri but only traced her spots.  She sees him do more in her dreams, but she's lucky. 

Chela won't be lucky.  Dorothy will want me to examine her, make sure she will recover, at least her body.  Somehow I'll have to keep away the nightmares after I've finished.  The memories will never go away. 

But Ezri puts her arms around me, and we roll on our sides, cuddled close.  "I'll go with you when you check her over," she says. 

Tessie is murmuring something in her sleep, a song I think.  Dorothy has been teaching them the songs of their cultures, and they smile when they sing them. 

We both reach for her, real and important and alive.  The huddle of children resettle themselves and are quiet. 

We're lucky, both of us.  Our children are here, not shot dead during an evacuation of prisoners.  We have our nightmares, our demons, but we still have each other. 

"Late afternoon, the sky a brilliant red with little patches of clouds," I say. 

"Birds, lots of them.  All singing."  She always likes noisy birds.  I suppose tonight. 

"Low tide, gentle lapping waves, and . . . crickets." 

"Crickets?" she says. 

"You picked birds."  I give her a kiss, not a big one, but a kiss.  

She kisses me back. 

She's very gentle about it, not really even pretend, and I don't try to help.  But we lie on our sandbar with the noise of the birds and the chirping of the crickets competing with the wind.  It's different.  We've never had crickets before.  I can separate this place from the one the wet lump changed forever. 

I take back the beach and Ezri does too. 

                               *** 

Dorothy is sitting with Chela, holding her close, and hasn't shown any sign of a story yet.  Nobody will disturb them.  Chela was sent back this morning, four days after they took her.  I examined her as soon as I got off work, and she's lucky the physical injuries weren't bad.  But she's been violated repeatedly.  If any of the Specials decide to come back, I wouldn't give them much chance if any of us should happen to get near. 

Killing a Special would be very bad for us, but the general desire for revenge might matter more.  If we're lucky the Specials, having had their fun, will leave us alone. 

Ezri is with Nancy, feeling her full belly, nodding as the baby moves.  Kara and Molly are sitting on either side of their little sister, Yoshi experimenting with his first stumbling steps. 

Then I notice what my daughters are doing.  Tessie traces a letter on the blanket.  Kara says, patiently, "A". 

Tessie copies it again, Kara repeating the letter.  Tessie tries, almost but not quite right. 

Dorothy is teaching them to read. 

"Daddy," she says, trying to escape but is trapped between her sisters.  Her hair is brushed, little wispy curls dancing around her head.  Kara's mousy brown hair and Molly's black fringe, after a recent hair cut, look perfectly natural here.  Parents are who raises you. 

I snag Yoshi as he dashes away.  Sometimes Ezri has this lost look when she looks at the babies, knowing she won't have one of her own.  But she has family.  

I tow Yoshi over to his sisters.  Tessie insists again, "Daddy," she calls. 

"Draw an 'A' for daddy," I say, sitting with Yoshi on my lap. 

She does, but she likes some of the other letters better.  "Te," she says, drawing a crooked T.  Then crossing two lines, she makes an X. 

Molly patiently tells her what it is.  Tessie tries to squirm away. 

But I've got something to do.  "Stay here, all of you," I add as I approach Dorothy. 

She lets me sit next to her, and I notice Chela is almost asleep.  "How's she doing?" 

"She'll live," says Dorothy. 

Rumor had it, long ago, that her group came to us from Cardassia, survivors of an almost certain death sentence.  This is hardly the worse thing she can imagine, though she understands the trauma. 

"Shall we read a story tonight?" I ask. 

"There is enough light.  Certainly."  She may be a hard woman, but she will not leave Chela tonight. 

I evict the children, now teasing Yoshi,  to get out a book to read. 

Then the comfort of the moment disappears.  A book is missing. 

I promised, and Dorothy made her point very clearly.  Maybe somebody will die tonight.  But the rage is different too, colder, under control. 

I check hurriedly to make sure.  The small book, the one with pictures, that we'd never read is gone.  I stand, getting everyone's attention.  They expect me to announce a reading. 

But they must see the anger, because they grow so silent.  "One of my books is missing.  There will be no readings," and then I add, "or stories," looking at Dorothy, "until it is returned." 

I look them over.  I don't really expect any of our own to take a book, but then we aren't alone now.  I watch the new ones, Cassie and James holding Annie, and the other family, still nameless, looking about in confusion. 

Then I see it, just a flicker of movement, but enough.  One of their children has just tried to hide something. 

I start towards them, nobody stopping me, but uneasy looks going around the room.  I move up to their matts, step across to where the child had hidden the book. 

I take hold of both, retrieving the book carefully and dragging the child off the matts, pulling her to the open area nearby. 

She tries to get away, run to her parents, but I don't let go. 

"Thief," I accuse her. 

She's shaking her head, mumbling something incoherent.  I ignore that, and anything else she says, pulling her up next to me.  I yank as she tries to duck away and she yelps. 

"I made a promise a long time ago," I say, looking at Realand and Jeffrey, now just watching with evident interest.  "This is a thief.  I will dispose of it." 

I move towards the front.  The doors aren't locked yet but will be very soon.  She'll be outside then, and when they find her she'll be shot.  I start dragging her to the door, and now she's screaming.  

I look at Dorothy, her hard, tragic face.  She will not interfere. 

The girl's screams have ceased, but now she's twisting and pulling desperately as I drag her to the door.  Abruptly I drop her, using my foot to keep her from running. 

I have my hand on the door.  I'm strong enough to force it open enough to throw out one thief child. 

Then, a cold seething rage still filling me, I look up and see the father's face, devastated, stricken, broken.  Tessie screams at me, her sisters holding her back. 

I recognize the look in his face and see it on mine the day Tessie was taken away. 

Abruptly, I lift the child and throw her over my shoulder, moving behind the matts to the back of the room.  There are storage bins there, small but she'll fit.  I won't forgive her, but I will spare her life. 

Pulling one of them open, I drop her in and close the door. 

"She stays there for two days.  You can bring her water, one meal a day.  Keep away otherwise."  The father has moved back to his matts, staring in relief.  I walk to his matts.  "You go near and she stays another day each time I see you try it." 

He almost collapses.  "I'll keep away," he begs.  "Just let her have her doll." 

"No toys.  She should have been put out.  But she's a child, and I'll make an allowance."  I glare at him, and add as a warning, "this time." 

He collapses, holding the doll.  He's afraid of me, knowing I could still change my mind, throw his daughter out the door to be murdered after they were done playing, or perhaps added to the decorated women. 

I don't know how much I like his being afraid.  It surprises me. 

He doesn't take his eyes off the matts he's sitting on, hardly moves.  I'm standing near, my shadow crossing his.  "She loved that book.  Dorothy has been reading it to them during the day.  She wanted to see if she could read it by herself." 

I look towards the back, where I have condemned her to darkness.  I wish my children wanted to read.  It would be a victory over those who took everything.  

But she stole.  She'll learn not to if she wants to live with us. 

"She stole.  She can ask later.  She can try with Dorothy after I let her leave her matts.  For now, when she's let out, she sits.  If she moves she goes back." 

He nods, shaking a little.  But there is an odd feeling about the room.  I'd almost call it respect, if I cared. 

I move away, and he pulls his family together.  His other child stares at me as if I'm a monster.  I ignore her and the rest as I go back to my matts, to my children. 

Ezri has returned, is holding Tessie and Yoshi as the older children watch.  I sit, ignoring the rest of the room.  I ruffle Tessie's curls, putting away the book. 

"I remembered Realand," I tell her. 

"Good," she says.  

But Dorothy surprises everyone by standing.  "I think I feel like telling a story anyway," she says. 

Chela is asleep, and the family huddles together, missing their daughter but she will come back to them unlike the boy taken before.  

No lesson tonight, just a story of a dream.  Zefram Cochran digs out a life in the remnants of the world after the bombs of the third world war.  Then he had a dream, and the Vulcans come. 

Beginnings, I think.  Is there, somewhere among us, another Cochran, another man willing to dream that will make a difference when the time comes?  Is he or she born, a child, or is this a dark age that we must climb out of without anyone's help but our own? 

                               *** 

Redhead called me again today, sparing himself the embarrassment and remembering my number this time.  I was taken to Sir again, this time just to his door, and I was allowed to open it and enter it myself. 

Sir was preoccupied.  He had a pile of papers on his desk.  Vaguely, I remembered a lifetime ago when I used to have to spend half my time doing reports.  I notice they don't give him a padd, just sheets of paper and pens, no matter how loyal he might be. 

At least I don't have to do that anymore. 

I'm very wary, just the same.  *He* called me in alone.  *He wanted what could no longer be allowed. 

But Sir motions me to sit in a chair, very utilitarian but I guess that's what he gets.  He shuffles papers around for a moment, wasting time.  Then he looks up at me, genuine concern in his eyes. 

"How is the girl, Doctor?" 

I know he can't stop them, but somehow it is a surprise that he asks. 

"She'll live," I say, using Dorothy's words.  Chela has been resting, letting her body heal.  As for her mind, when she's awake she mostly sits and stares at the floor.  But Ezri spends a lot of time there, leaving the children with Nancy when I'm gone. 

Maybe she can find some peace for herself this way.  When Luther finally broke, when I forced my hand, and he whimpered on the floor, I knew what they had done to him.  It was as if a burden was lifted from my own life.  I was not broken like him, not entirely, but he is my constant reminder of what might have been.  It has helped to sort out the reality from the nightmares. 

But Sir has some other reason to call me in.  He hesitates, calls me to his desk.  "This is for you, for the woman," he says. 

I can't resist looking and I am astonished.  It's a couple of children's books. 

"My son's," he says quietly. 

"I thought perhaps the children might like to read them."  He says it softly, without inflection.  He has hidden the books in the folds of the medical report he expects me to fill out.  I slide the books back inside with care that nothing shows.  

"How is the general health of your group?" he asks, now sounding official again. 

"Well enough," I say.  Then I add, quietly, "Dorothy is most grateful for the rest.  Her back is doing much better." 

He shuffles papers again.  "Perhaps, later, when the season starts I'll see if she can watch over the general population of small ones." 

Only then do I notice a small picture of a girl, perhaps two, on his desk.  She's smiling, holding a real doll. 

"She would be an excellent choice," I say, making my own tone businesslike too. 

He nods.  "Well, give your report to Redhead again.  I'll get it from him." 

I'm dismissed, but he looks up as I approach the door.  "I can't stop the Specials.  I would if I could," he says quietly, then goes back to his work. 

When the end comes, when it's the calties turn to die, I wish Sir luck.  He'll need it. 

He's walking a fine line, sliding carefully between two hardened rocks, and if he doesn't take care--if I don't as well--both of us could be crushed between them. 

                               *** 

The rains have let up.  The usable ground is wet, soft, ready for the seed that will give us a reason to survive.  The Season is here. 

It is warm today.  There is a light breeze that keeps the sun from being too hot.  The sky is clear after a light rain during the night.  The hardy native grasses are already filling in the bare patches of dirt. 

The grass makes the place a little less ugly. 

Spring is finally here, after a long cold wait.  It has been a very long winter, and an even longer and harder year.  Even here the first warm day is a treat. 

A year ago the station was taken, along with everything else that mattered. 

Different things matter now. 

I no longer taste the gruel.  We get a variety of fruits now, and I rush through my soupy gruel without noticing any flavor.  I look forward to meals now, for a little taste of sweetness. 

I don't let myself think about how much it would hurt to have it taken away.  If Sir's dealings are discovered we will be the first to suffer.  He will be the first to die.  The rest know about the Founders, but not the reason we got fruit.  I'd like to think of it as my gift to the rest, even if they will never know. 

I've managed to forget what it was like to choose what you wanted.  It's easier that way.  Some of the children here have never known anything else but the grains we are fed.  Yoshi is so young he doesn't remember the world he was born into at all. 

Miles said we could not protect them.  Yoshi and the other children will not be a slaves all their lives.  But neither will they know the kind of feasts we had.  For them, it will be enough to have something to eat.  They won't particulary care what it is. 

Our children eat their soup first, because we insist.  But they smile about the fruit. 

I'm not sorry I cooperated with Weyoun, but each bite of fruit is a reminder.  Even without it, I'd never allow myself to forget.  The sweetness makes the general misery of my life more tolerable.  

If he wants me again, if he makes any demands, I won't cooperate.  It would be an even greater betrayal than before.  I am the Avenger.  I lead my people as the red weed slowly dies above us.  

The changelings are dead now.  But we must bide our time, take each day as it comes, each field as it grows.  Someday, maybe not tomorrow, or even next year, but *someday* all of this will fall to ruin and we will have our say. 

When that day comes, we will take back what *he* has stolen, revenge what his people have destroyed. 

He grieved for the Founders, saved their empire for them, and for himself, too. 

Is it as devastating to watch the death of your gods as it is to see all the dreams you ever had destroyed? 

I remember his grief when I told him about the Founder.  It is a proper revenge.  But he *likes* being in charge.  He's gotten used to it.  In a way, while the Founders were alive, he and all the other Vorta were just as much slaves as we are. 

How ironic.  He took our freedom and we gave him his. 

Kira remains elsewhere.  I doubt Odo is cooperating so she may be back. 

If Weyoun still worries so much he's using Kira as a gift things must not be under as good control as it looks.  

There are more Bajoran groups now.  They are preparing the land, hauling the heavy loads.  We have been bumped up a notch. 

Of course, the ones here are lucky.  Most of the rest were deported. 

They still aren't behaving, no matter what *he* does. 

We behave.  All we do is feed our own, and there is no point in resisting.  We have little enough as it is, too little to lose.  Some of the others don't behave.  It's never big things.  But equipment breaks.  Supplies get ruined.  When they find someone to blame the sacrifice is deported and rations cut for their group for a month. 

They aren't particulary careful about investigating.  I wonder if the guilty party feels anything when someone else pays for them.  

Group 1 will not be one of them. 

We don't think about the future.  What kind of status will we have when the survivors are more concerned about their own than the alien foreigners left behind? 

But it will be better than it is now.  It has to be. 

Nancy is due soon, already lost in the dreams of her new child.  Several other women are due before that.  I will deliver more sarki babies.  For the mothers and their babies, birth will return to being the painful and risky journey it once was.  

There will be more little hands for the fields.  I suspect it will stay that way for a long time. 

But later, the children will work the fields for their own survival, not at the orders of someone else.  That matters, even if life itself won't change much. 

The Dominion is doomed.  Piece by piece, Weyoun is pulling back and dragging the prisoners they hold to places like this.  Little kingdoms are already springing up in the abandoned territories.  

It's no secret that the Dominion is dying. 

But the Federation is dead.  All the dreams and beauty are gone.  In the Dominion's dying wake, the last vestiges of what we were will be destroyed. 

We will make sure it is not forgotten.  Some day a new Arthur will create a new round table and there will be a future. 

Dorothy will make sure we do not fade away before that. 

But I'm still reminded of the wishful way the Bajoran's talk of the Bajor that used to be, before the Cardassians, with its graceful buildings and ordered society.  Will our memories sound as melancholy? 

Will our values be as compromised and broken as theirs?  Will survival have cost us the things that could not be destroyed by the war itself?  Or has that already come to be? 

We have dreams.  You can't live without them.  But we dream of basic things now--better food, open doors, time to read a book in the daylight.  We keep our dreams simple.  It makes them easier to believe in. 

We keep our personal dreams to ourselves. 

I can hardly practice frontier medicine here.  Even to do that is my dream. 

But later, they'll need me.  I remind myself of that when I have to watch people go with no way to help them.  

We have other dreams too.  We have revenge.  It has already come to pass, I know, but that isn't enough.  I want Weyoun and the others to pay for what they've done. 

But *how* do you pay for the destruction of a whole quadrant, and the enslavement of species after species?  We can destroy Weyoun, but it won't make life any easier in the ruin they have left behind. 

The Cardassians *left* Bajor.  No doubt, many of the people they'd tortured and starved for fifty years would have enjoyed paying them back in kind.  But there was too much to do after their liberation.  They had the freedom to starve on their own then.  

Maybe the Dominion will too.  We will be left in much the same way if Weyoun and his soldiers go willingly, will we care why as long as they are gone? 

Still, *he* needs to pay . . . 

Perhaps it is true we all pay for our crimes in the end.  Cardassia did.  Even if there are any living Cardassians left, the planet they called home has been reduced to an airless rock. 

When the changelings died, they leave behind nothing but a sea of grey dust to blow away in the wind.  What will my cost in killing them be?  Perhaps I am paying for it now.  We had our revenge.  But we remain slaves. 

I had to help Weyoun to save my family.  We have fruit because of it.  We live under their domination, but we have not been massacred by the Jem'Hadar.  It was necessary.  It was not yet time.  We must wait for the Vorta's house of cards to fall.  

Revenge isn't as satisfying as you'd expect.  There is always a cost you don't anticipate at the time. 

Someday, when it can be put into words, I will ask Luther what went wrong.  Perhaps nothing; it kept us alive after all.  Perhaps Weyoun has done a better job of covering the truth than expected, but they are still retreating.  Eventually there won't be much more than this sector left, and we'll have our chance at freedom. 

I can't forget that it took the Cardassians fifty years to leave.  Weyoun's charade will not last that long, but the fear remains.  Perhaps he will not be so willing to abandon this place.  Perhaps the Jem'Hadar will discover his secret and all will be lost. 

But that is the future.  I don't think about the future. 

The field crew is returning.  We're nearly done with our duties.  Molly and Kara hold each others hands, and trot after their mother.  Yoshi, too little to work, abandons his play and runs on uncertain legs to hug his sisters.  Tessie races after him, her brother's favorite game. 

Ezri finds me and takes my hand.  Despite Sir's cooperation, she worries that I'll become to noticeable, that one day she'll come back and I'll be gone. 

We go to the beach again, and now we do much more than listen to the waves.  Ezri spends a lot of time with Dorothy and her daughter, who still hasn't said a word since they tore her apart.  I'm equally worried that because Ezri stands out she'll be gone too, and either dead or destroyed like Chela.  

We keep our fears for each other quiet, lest they become too real. 

We have responsibilities.  I'm their doctor, the one that can ask things of Sir.  She has her children to raise. 

The Ezri that was such a contradiction of youth and age is gone.  And the Ezri that was splintered into her parts is healing.  But I love this woman who is strong because children need strength.  I can hardly tell where the bits of Jadzia leave off and the Ezri I knew begins.  But she isn't either.  I see a new woman who is both of them and neither, still emerging and growing into Ezri Dax. 

I still miss the woman I knew.  But this strong, tough woman will survive.  Have we all changed as drastically as Ezri?  Miles once told me that the most important moment in his life was Molly's birth.  I understand now.  I found my way because of the children, and Ezri her strength when she was alone. 

We promised Miles they would survive.  We are keeping our promises. 

In a little while we'll sit together on the grassy area outside our quarters and have our dinner.  It takes too long to feed all of us and use the benches.  The tarsi's who serve are too busy to look at us anymore. 

We're reading again, a book smuggled in by the most recent arrivals, who offered it as proof they would not make trouble. 

It's by Dickens, originally published as daily parts in a newspaper.  We read one an evening.  We hadn't been to Victorian England before.  

Work is just work.  It happens.  It ends.  Then we live our lives. 

This has been a good day.  I'll remember it longer than all the bad ones, when the guards are in a bad mood or the food is late or there has been trouble and we all pay for it. 

Someone claimed to have seen Kira today, but I doubt it.  *He* wouldn't be so careless anymore.  He'll keep her locked up in a safe place, and this isn't it.  

Luther helps his wife ease herself down, and is feeling the baby move. With her due so soon he can't talk about anything else. 

Life goes on.  Tessie can draw half the alphabet now, though she doesn't know what most of the letters are.  Molly stumbles over the words in books for children half her age, but she'll learn. 

We don't have much, but we will not raise them as animals. We will give them our dreams and memories so they will not forget where they came from. 

I understand what Kira meant about believing, no matter how bad it gets. 

Ezri's watching Jaro's grandchildren, and one of them looks up at me, her eyes so much like our own now. 

We've already promised him if he can't care for them we will. 

Teala looks up as I hand her a bowl.  For a moment our eyes meet.  We share a moment of resolve.  She has a bundle hidden under her coat and I'll find out what she's brought me tonight.  

This life will end.  We will end it when the time is right. 

I know it won't take fifty years.  

Ezri tickles Yoshi, and he giggles.  Luther Sloan smiles as his baby turns a somersault. 

My mush is gone and I get to eat the fruit.  But they've skimped on it this time, and there's only a few bites.  There are too many of us now.  They don't have enough to go around. 

Dorothy is sitting with Chela, making sure she eats.  Sometimes she refuses.  If the Special ever comes back, Dorothy would kill him.  But she's too important.  He wouldn't live long enough for her to know. 

Cindy and Andy are holding each other.  She was right about the baby.  Two more of the outcasts have been accepted and married. 

The rest just sit by the wall and never stop being prisoners. 

The Dominion/Alpha quadrant keeps shrinking, more damaged survivors ending up here.  It can't last.  The Bajorans still fight them, and occasionally a lot of them die for it.  

We don't.  We're lucky.  We know the Founders are gone, that there isn't anyone left but Weyoun and his hated Specials to keep it going.  

He's already failed.  He's losing his empire to little bullies everywhere, the only kind of leader who can survive in his world. 

He's losing, but we already lost.  This will end.  Life will go on just like it has, just like it is now.  But the Specials will be gone, the calties and their hands will be dead. 

This will end.  It won't take a lifetime.  I just wish it didn't feel like one. 

                               *** 

End, Surrender, Part 5 

End of Surrender