The Green Hills of Home
SURRENDER
Part 1 – Captivity
This story is rated R due to graphic violence and non-consensual sex. This is not in every chapter or even found frequently, but it is there. Be forewarned.
Chapter 2
Light. Bright light spills into the room, blinding everyone. It's been ten feedings-an unknown number of days-since the first rations. We figure there are about 140 people in here. Some of them are sick, a few died and were hauled out with the water. People cough and talk in whispers. The last few feedings have been very meager, the prisoner with the box being careful not to drop anything more than he is allowed. But it helps that we've been dividing up the food since the second feeding. It's made us feel a little less like trapped rats.
Time and days have lost their meaning. We eat when they feed us, and most people sleep in-between. It dulls the constant hunger a little.
Nobody has the energy for much else.
Ezri hasn't said much since the food got so scarce. She mostly sleeps, like the rest. Everything about this hell of a life has become like a bad dream, and eventually we'll wake up into the nightmare.
There has been too little food to ever forget the hunger, and when awake most people stare at the door, waiting for more to eat. Conversation is hard, not thinking of things that don't remind you of food. When I sleep, I dream about my lunches with Garak. He's probably dead by now. But all I remember of my dreams is the food. Most of the time Ezri and I curl close, her small body in my arms, and we keep each other warm.
Miles presses close for warmth, and sometimes the three of us curl together, but he usually stares at the floor, making motions with his hands. When I take him for water he calls me Ee'Char and I answer that way. Not a pleasant illusion, but better than wondering if your family is crammed into another room where the prisoners don't leave much food. He hasn't spoken to me or Ee'Char for a little while, and my few attempts to draw him out have been ignored. I hope he will talk later-if there is a later. But sometimes he cries.
It's been too long for there to be much hope of rescue, at least any time soon. Whatever they plan, we'll have to live with it. I tell myself that somehow the Federation is still fighting the war, that somehow the depleted fleet will win and there will be an end to this. I grasp this hope like the distant beacon of a lighthouse to a ship lost at sea.
Each time they shove open the door, the light is very painful and Ezri buries her face in my chest. I try to block it with my hand, but it doesn't help enough. The longer we are kept in this darkness the worse the pain.
But this time, there has been nothing thrown to the animals yet. They are standing there with the doors open and the horrible light driving us back.
This time it's Jem'Hadar, a few Breen thrown in, with rifles held at ready. No skiddish prisoner with food is in evidence.
I can't tell if I'm afraid or relieved that something different will happen. Miles slides closer, more alert than he's been in days. Ezri straightens a little, sitting on my lap.
Worf looks relieved, almost happy and excited.
They are moving towards us. "Up," barks the Jem'Hadar in front.
We push ourselves up on shaky legs, helping support each other, moving slowly, hugging the wall for support. As we approach the door, near the water, the guards begin grabbing people and pulling them out. I hold Ezri again and this time she grips me just as tightly. The light is too bright and hurts too much, and we stumble ahead blindly in the shimmering haze.
She's pulling back, away from the guards. I drag her forward into the pool of burning light.
"I will not be a slave!" declares a familiar voice, and Ezri tries to get away.
There is a fight. Several thuds indicate someone falling hard on the deck, Worf or the Jem'Hadar it isn't certain. But then there is rifle fire, sudden and final, and a last thump. The crowd freezes, unable to see in the bright light.
"Resist and you join him," yells one of the guards. Nobody takes him up on the offer.
Most of the people in this room have never faced anything like this and are terrified. I can't get Internment Camp 371 out of my head-and it was luxury next to this hell. Ezri, for all her lives, has not lived through this kind of nightmare.
She stops pulling, and suddenly leans against me. I wrap my arms around her, holding her upright. When she stands on her own, she is very passive, letting me pull her with me as we're swept forward.
Someone grabs my arm. Ezri and I stumble forward, both concentrating on staying together.
"Hurry up," orders the guard, through a Breen translator.
Ezri tenses, and a second later I know why as I'm grazed by the prod. For a moment I go numb, then the jolt of pain hits. Forcing stiff legs to move, we stumble forward into an agonizing bright fuzz, the pain from the light almost as bad as the charge of the prod. I can make out nothing in the glare, and close my eyes to the bright light which still shines through my eyelids. The only thing I allow myself to think about is Ezri's hand gripping my wrist.
We're back in the corridor, the air a little fresher, the light now tortuously bright. We're shoved back the way we'd come originally. We stumble blindly forward as the Breen prods convince any stragglers to hurry.
We stop, abruptly crammed against each other. She still has my hand. It's still fully bright here, and even with eyes closed my head hurts. We shuffle along until she's closer to me, and I put my arm around her. She presses against me, every muscle taunt. I am desperately afraid of losing her in this crowd.
Now we wait. The light hurts our heads, but the press of bodies is warm. From time to time we're pushed forward. Finally, after an eternity, someone shoves us into another room, followed by the unmistakable sound of a door locking.
o0o
We are locked inside a box, trapped in the absolute dark. Outside is light that is too painful, Jem'Hadar that would shoot us and Breen that would torture us. I don't know what happened to Miles, but I still have Ezri. We have room to move around, but we will not let go of each other. She holds me as if we release our hold we'll still lose each other, as if we will drown in a sea of bodies alone.
She knew what Worf was going to do. She probably thought she could cope with it. But sometimes she's wrong. I don't know how many people have died since the attack and surrender. All I know is the first death we felt so personally was his.
We can hear noise, the box not sealed, but the Jem'Hadar and Breen with their little rods are outside the door, locked away from us. I remember the Breen that helped save me when we'd escaped from the camp. I remember the jolt of their prod. I wonder what else will be different.
Whatever is to come will be soon. We sit, entwined in each other. I hold Ezri in a kind of death grip, both of us afraid that's what it will become. Nobody says a word. They are undoubtedly listening. But I don't want to leave this place, this dark safety.
We have no warning when the door is opened, this one sliding apart silently. Bright light floods the room and we are once again blinded. They don't make us stand, just drag us out of the box. Reluctant to leave, I hold Ezri tight and she pushes herself against me too. But they pull her away from me.
I grasp her hand, trying to pull her back. She fights just as hard, but a sudden yank and I almost fall, jerked back by the arm.
I should be stronger, but how long has it been since we've had enough to eat? I think of Miles desperately clinging to his vision of Ee'Char to make his loss tolerable. I have no escape from the pain. Maybe we didn't know each other so well before, but in the . . . weeks? since this began, she's my whole world. They can't take it away.
All I can think of is losing her as her hand is pulled off mine with the help of a painful jolt at the wrist. I try to lunge away, somehow get her back, but a probe suddenly grazes my spine and I nearly collapse, the guard jerking me along. Numb, I let them drag me, blinded by the light and the pain and the fear. We had so little time together. If only I hadn't hesitated so long, taken so much time to tell her how deeply I wanted to be with her. If only we'd known there was no time for games.
I understand why Worf did not want to live. Without Ezri, I don't particularly care one way or the other.
I am pushed into a room. "Undress," says the Breen. My uniform is filthy but it's the last piece of my life they haven't taken. I hesitate until I hear the telltale charge of the prod, hurriedly undressing, throwing my uniform onto the floor. I stand in the room naked, blinded by bright light, unwilling to visualize any of this in my mind.
"Respond when tapped," orders the guard.
"State your name," says the voice. Vorta, from the intonations, but not Weyoun.
"Ezri Dax," she says. Her voice is steady and even. I hadn't known she was in the room, how many of us stand here naked to be examined like animals. But she'd been so afraid before. Did she see me in the bright light? Did I make a sound I wasn't aware of? I don't care about the rest, not now, just that she is here. But . . . odd the way she said, "Ezri".
After a light tap, I give my own name, minus the doctor or the rank. The three others follow suit. I don't know any of them.
It is the longest moment of my life.
"Your position on the station," he continues.
We each give our rank, where there was one, and state what we did before we became their property. I tell them I was chief medical officer. Ezri says she was a counselor, no hesitation in her voice, no uncertainty about her identity. Two of the others were in engineering. The last one is a civilian.
Now that they know who we are, I'm certain we'll be executed. I don't want to remember this as the last moment I might share with Ezri.
The Vorta then asks the civilian a question. "Your wife, what position did she hold? Is she alive?"
Why does the Vorta care? I can't get my mind off Ezri. I can't see her but can feel her standing so near, yet so far away. I promised we'd not be separated. But the only choice that matters here is his.
The civilian says she was Ops. He didn't know what had happened to her. He gives her name. He stumbles over the words.
The Vorta asks the rest of us the same question, what family do we have and are they alive. He is taking some kind of notes.
I'm questioned first. I say Ezri is my wife, that we'd made plans. I don't know why, perhaps out of desperation. I sense it matters.
"You'll be listed as married," he says.
Stunned, I almost drop the things as something is pushed into my hands, clothes of some sort. They are either grey or blue, I can't tell with the bright fuzz. I dress. I feel a little better that way.
"Hold them for now," says the Vorta.
Nobody needs any encouragement to hurry. I just want to be back in a locked room where nobody can touch us again. We feel our way down a cold hallway to another cell, this one dark but not pitch black. I can see a little as the door closes and she sits next to me.
Her eyes ask the question. I answer it with a kiss. I don't know if we would have married, should the war have ended better, but that moment is our proposal, acceptance, and marriage. I hold her, taking all the comfort I can from not being alone.
o0o
Ezri is dozing, but I can't sleep. I stare at the gloomy light, wondering what gave me the sudden inspiration to claim her as my wife-to-be. What have I done? When they dispose of us, will she go where I do now? If it were anyone other than the Dominion, I might count on having some value. The Mexicans saved the doctors at Goliad to treat their own, while executing all the rest of Fannon's men. But these creatures do not allow medical treatment of prisoners. I am less use to them than the most junior of Miles crew.
And if they do want me as a doctor, will I be made to treat them? I saved the Vorta when we crashed, during the war, after destroying the white supply depot. I still remember the way the Jem'Hadar watched as I operated, hoping they would not choose to end the operation prematurely by killing the doctor.
We've seen the Jem'Hadar First execute his Vorta, and the same one I saved betray his own soldiers. And yet, within the Dominion each has a purpose. What will ours be? They took a lot of prisoners during the war. I doubt they just locked them up like those of us at Internment Camp 371. So much has changed. They were eradicating the Cardassians the last we knew. What exactly is planned for us?
What skills make one useful to them? Is Jake in one of these little rooms? Kasidy? Is being family to the Emmisary enough this time?
But there is noise, and the door slides open. The bright light wakes up Ezri and she stares groggily at the fuzzy shadow that pushes a box inside our cell. Then the lights disappear again as the door closes.
One of the others is there first. "There's a lot of rations here," he says, amazed and excited. He starts passing them out, and we each get three bars all to ourselves.
Three bars counts as a feast now. My grumbling stomach no longer associates them with Deyos and his mercurial power. All I can think of is how full I feel.
"Maybe we're okay," says a young woman, sitting close to the civilian from my interrogation. "They must have a reason to give us all this food."
Nobody makes any comments, aware the walls have ears, but just the same we feel a little better about our future. Then, later, a second box appears with three more bars per prisoner. It's been weeks since we've had that much to eat, and everyone feels slightly ill by the time we're finished.
But we do not complain. We'll take whatever crumbs they give, and even be grateful for it. We wait, not knowing what we are waiting for.
Perhaps a few hours later, still full but feeling better, the door opens again and a voice coming from the haze orders us to get up and out.
We straggle through the door, wary, and yet less concerned than before. We've had days worth of food in one. It has to mean something.
The guards order us lined up against the walls, not just those from our cell but a lot of others. Ezri is next to me, but we don't touch except for a little squeeze of her hand. I'm afraid to take it in mine standing here with all the guards, not knowing if they approve. If we're to be lucky, I dare not ruin that luck. If not, perhaps Worf was right.
The light is still too bright and we can see very little, but hear as the guards move towards us. They begin calling names. Ezri and I are among the first called, along with the civilian and the young woman, apparently his wife. The rest of us in the cell are called too, along with family.
We step forward into a second line and wait.
I stand, wondering what this means, especially to those they don't choose to call, as our group grows bigger. I hear Miles name, listening for Keiko and the children, but hear only his. I recognize a few people from Miles crew. I'd recently confirmed Jackson's wife was pregnant, though neither she nor the other children were called. Scalman had been treated for an injury recently, and he is luckier. He has his family with him. A lot of the people called have families with them. I can feel Ezri touch my hand, just a little. It will be harder for those without with so many reminders of what was lost.
Eventually they finish, the hall still too full of people, and the second line is ordered to move. We file slowly after one another now, numb from some mixture of fear and relief, not pushed in a crush, feeling the wall as we can't see in the light.
At the end of the walk is another locked room. This one is smaller than the open bay but larger than the little cell. The light is dim, but doesn't hurt. We have room to move around. Nobody says a word until the door closes.
We take a count. There are fifteen people in the room. Everyone but Miles and Jackson is with family, though I don't know the others well enough to tell if everyone is there. Scalman and his wife hold onto their children, and the others sit down by the wall, keeping close to each other. The woman from Ops and her civilian husband are still with us, but I don't know them. We can see a little, and look each other over, both worried and relieved.
Miles ignores everyone, feigning off my attempt at a reunion. He just stares at the door, away from the others. Neither he nor Jackson look at one another. I wish I could find the right words to say, but if it was me and Ezri was missing I doubt any would help. The rest just leave them alone, lost somewhere between grief and hope. But Jackson keeps looking at the children.
A while later, the door slides open and another box is pushed inside, it closing immediately. Eagerly, we nearly tear it open, expecting more rations. But this time it is better. It's full of blankets. Each of us claims one, wrapping it around ourselves, and three remain. Abruptly, Miles takes the extras, cradling the blankets tenderly in his arms. He keeps mumbling something too quiet to hear. But we all know what he's thinking. Why would there be more blankets than prisoners? Why too few for all of the missing family?
There has been no conversation. We dare not guess where this room will lead, what particular value we hold the others did not. We watch the door, hoping for food and, after the blankets, some other luxury.
All but Jackson. He is very still, his head back, eyes closed tightly. He hasn't warmed himself with his blanket. He's just clutching it in his hand.
Miles looks peaceful, the extra blankets in the crook of his arm as if they were a baby. I won't ask him, wouldn't break the silence, but he's too peaceful now. Either he will get back his family, or believes he will. But what sort of promises did he make? Looking at Jackson, lost in a desperation he can not share, I am certain he would have promised anything to have Cheryl and the children.
I suspect, given different circumstances, that he is not alone.
Dragging worse than before, more undefined time passes. Another box of rations, again three per person, and we gorge ourselves. Miles looks a little better, but he never lets go of the three blankets. Jackson takes the food, but eats it without noticing what he is doing. Ezri has fallen asleep after all the food, and I keep watching him. What sort of hell is he lost in, grasping for hope when he has no right to have any? As the hunger fades a little, less demanding now, we can think of more than food. We're all aware that very few of us were called to the second line. What became of the rest?
We try not to think of that. For some reason, we are given blankets and food that makes this place feel like luxury. What makes us special? Did they pick a few Cardassians to save before they killed off the rest?
Scalman's wife Tina distracts us briefly by pulling the blanket out of Jackson's grip and wrapping it around him. He takes her hand, and she takes him in her arms. Scalman moves, he and his wife on either side of Jackson, as he holds him protectively.
Miles never lets go of the blankets. I only hope he knows more than he's willing to say and isn't just lost. But I won't interfere and won't let Ezri bother him either.
Not that Ezri has said much since Worf died. She watches, as if a distant observer, but it's almost as she really isn't here.
Maybe it's her way of coping. Nobody can really deal with why we are here, where the rest were sent, not now. Too many friends, too many people we care about are missing. After they dim the light in an artificial night, we all fall asleep wrapped in our blankets.
Everyone is sleeping when a noise startles us awake. It's still "night" but the door is open and a flash of the bright light fills the room as the guards push someone inside, a woman and children.
Jackson looks at them, a hope so intense he nearly hurts his head as he sits up. Then, just as quickly, he crumples into Tina's lap, her hand soothing his shaking form.
Keiko stands in the middle of the cell, Molly gripping her hand and Yoshi in her arms. Stunned, silent, she starts to move slowly towards Miles. Wordlessly, she collapses into his arms. They hold each other and their children, bundled in the extra blankets. It grows quiet again, and everyone sleeps.
o0o
We awaken to light, not bright, but brighter than the "day" before. Keiko is dressed in the same clothes as we are, the children in a smaller version of the same thing. Miles is curled up with them, the children tangled together with the parents. She just looks at us, saying nothing.
Jackson watches the children for a few moments and looks away again. Scalman's children are staying close to their parents, and he puts his arm around them.
Everyone but Keiko watches with anticipation as the door slides open. The box of rations has enough for everyone again, and she and the children lose no time in eating theirs. The rest of us, the desperation sated a little, take more time with our food. Miles whispered conversation with her brings silence in the room, but he's being too quiet to hear. Nobody asks, despite intense curiosity over where she'd been. I wonder how we'll feel when she decides to talk. Lost in the mystery of our fate, nobody says much at all.
The long, worrisome day drags on, everyone waiting for the next box of food. The boxes have been scavenged already, pieces having become small toys for the children and the parts of a game for the adults. The children have found each other, Scalman's six year old daughter Tricia playing dolls with Molly. The three year old boy wanders back and forth from his sister to his parents.
Sometimes Jackson holds him. The little boy has taken a nap in his lap. Carl is holding very still so as not to disturb him, always on the verge of open grief, but holding it back just enough to go on.
We decide to exchange names, for those willing to talk.
Townsend looks up, his eyes half focused, alone with his son, almost twelve. The boy's face is puffy, as if he'd been hurt recently. Ralph explains, quietly, as if he was talking about someone else, "Ralph Townsend," he says, then adds very calmly, "My wife is dead. There was an explosion," he says and stops.
The boys wounds are half-treated burns. He must have been with his mother. He wears no expression at all.
"Realand, I was working on communications. My wife Cassie and my step-daughter Marta," offers an older-looking man, his daughter sitting between he and his wife. She's perhaps fourteen, but not entirely human, her face carrying an exotic beauty even in this dingy place. She does not look up, sitting quietly with her hands folded together, a deep sadness in her eyes.
I introduce myself, Ezri giving her name too quietly. Miles mumbles his name and those of his family, but ignores us afterwards. Scalman quietly takes his turn, giving Carl Jackson's name for him. The woman and her civilian husband are Brenda and Jason Harwell.
Everybody is quiet again. Jackson is crying now, Tina just holding him. If there were no blankets provided, there is little hope of them being alive. But he can't say good bye, not yet. In a way, Townsend is lucky. He's free to grieve. Carl is just caught on it's knife's edge.
Eventually, they darken the room again, and we have "night". The last thing I remember thinking as I fall asleep is there must be a good reason they're going to all this trouble, that we must be lucky.
Then we know how fortunate we are to be useful. It's still the middle of the night, but Keiko suddenly begins to talk, everyone waking quickly. Her voice quiet, with no inflection at all, she almost whispers the words.
"They put the rest on a ship. We were told we were being sent to Cardassia. They plan to strip it bare and use us to do it. They already killed all the Cardassians."
During the battle over Cardassia we saw the reports of what was happening on the surface. We could guess . . . But it is still unbelievable that they had wiped out a whole species just for defying them. Silence follows, each of us aware that we are very lucky people, that we may have been allowed to survive.
But it is also a warning. I think of the blight. Perhaps for the Cardassians to die quickly instead of a little at a time is easier. And what of Earth, and the other places that are going to resist until there is no other option but surrender?
Eventually Brenda asks, rather faintly, "All the Cardassians?"
"We were told," says Keiko. "I don't want to know if it's true." She pauses, looking at Miles. "I think they were looking for us but had the wrong name. The ship was ready to leave when we were pulled off and brought here."
Jackson looks at her, a desperate hope in his voice. "Did . . . did you see my wife at all? My children?"
Keiko still speaks with no expression, but her eyes are full of relief. "I had these two with me when we, when they took us. Before they put us on the ship we tried to find our children, and I guess if we'd known we might have just claimed all of them."
Complete silence has filled the room. Everyone is watching Jackson as he stares at her in horror. "What happened to them?" he asks.
"Nobody knows. They just took them away." She looks at Carl, almost sorry. "Maybe Cheryl will find them if they go on the same ship."
But he does not hear that part. He collapses back against Scalman and his wife, just staring, no longer sobbing.
Tina says quietly, "Leave him alone now." He rolls towards them, and she holds him again.
Nobody dares put it into words, but why us? Each of these people had important jobs on the station, and except for Jackson their families have been spared. They must have picked and chosen carefully among their captives. We are of some special use. With the families they have hostages.
Miles breaks the silence. "They let me pick nine people to keep. I picked them for ability. I couldn't choose any other way."
"Thank you," says Scalman, very hesitantly.
"See if you do in six months," answers Miles, his voice dragging.
Ezri buries her head in my shoulder, and we hold each other. After the certainty that we'd die together, I can't allow myself to think of how we'll live.
"It's not Cardassia," says Keiko, quietly. Reminded of our luck, we drop the subject, hoping luck is the right word.
o0o
If the artificial days are correct, we've been locked in this room for almost five days. The box of rations arrives twice a day, always with three each. Even Miles children have stopped gobbling them down. We take as much time as we can to eat now. There is nothing else to do but sleep, and it's easier at "night".
I can't think of missing friends anymore. It's easier to think of the ones on the ships as strangers.
I'm only vaguely aware we all need to wash, that my face is covered with a deepening layer of beard. Men are starting to scratch themselves at night, trying to stop the itching. Most simply try to pretend it was always this way.
The boxes have been used to make things that help pass the time, but really nothing will do that. We are in transit, waiting for the unknown. There is too much that is impossible to talk about. I can't think about what is going on out there, beyond the station. Is the war already over? Have our people been overrun, or are they still fighting. I can't tell how long it's been, but I know the Klingons would never surrender. The Federation? I thought I knew. I almost hope they do. But I doubt it.
We don't talk about that, about how little it matters to us how the war is going if our side doesn't win soon, about how the Federation officially declared the missing as dead within months. Did they have some inside information we weren't allowed to know?
For us, it could be worse. Most of the people captured with us will spend the next months cleaning up dead Cardassians. Some of them might live long enough to end up with us someday. It is a tiny hope that friends might live that keeps us going.
We try to talk, but it hurts too much to remember old friends now dead or gone. We don't deal with the future. Mostly we listen for sounds, any sounds, and try to guess what they mean. We don't speak of the questions with no answers, or our fears and anticipation of what might come when they open the door.
Ezri talks now and then, thoughts that come out of nowhere. She still isn't here. She eats and sleeps with the rest of us, pays attention to sounds, but it is as if there is a wall between us.
We've just been fed, and she's gnawing on her last bar, her expression thoughtful. "Worf hated these. He told me once when the Breen had us. When they said we'd be turned over to the Dominion he complained they'd quit giving us the algie, make us eat this stuff. Maybe that is why he let them kill him."
I just stare at her. I wonder if she even *sees* this room. "He wanted to die with his version of honor," I say, wondering if she'll hear.
She stares straight ahead, almost at me but . . . not quite. "He always was worried about that. Jadzia used to tease him about it."
Who am I talking to? I've never "seen" Ezri as a patient, but she'd tried now and again to draw something out of me. It almost sounds like she is lost in that part of herself, safe from all that's going on.
"We all did," I tell her, hoping she'll give me some clue.
Then the dreamy look vanishes, and her eyes are grim. "He did what he had to. Maybe he knew something we don't."
She's looking at Jackson, sitting back with his eyes closed, eating a ration bar in silence. If anyone could help him, maybe she could. But what would she say, what sort of hope could she hold out without telling a lie?
Carl hasn't said a word since Keiko told us about the children. He eats, he sleeps, and stares at the other children in the cell, but never looks at anyone else. I'm afraid for him. When we get to the part where we find out what they want of us, will Carl even be capable of doing it?
I keep asking myself what they want of me. I can see why some of them were spared the hell the rest have been sentenced to. The station was heavily damaged, and Miles and his Ops people have the specialized knowledge of how to keep the hybrid Cardassian/Bajoran/Federation systems functioning. That accounts for most of us. The others have a reasonable function on the station as well.
But I am a doctor and they don't allow medical treatment. They let Tain die at the internment camp. They killed all the wounded this time. What use is a doctor under those circumstances?
Most of our friends have been shipped off to probably die on Cardassia. How do we justify our cooperation? Or do we let them send our families off to harvesting the dead and tell ourselves that nobody can accuse us of collaboration?
Sometimes I want to stay here, guards safely on the other side of the door. But each time it's opened to feed us we expect it to be over, and each bite of our rations is a reminder of what we are to them. There is nothing to do and we often retreat to sleep. But each time we hear a sound near our cage we wake with a start, certain the door will open and we'll be dragged out to face whatever future they have made for us.
I need answers. We all have to know why we're here. No matter what lies on the other side, we have to get out of this cage before we all end up like Carl. If they are watching, it should be plain that it's time. They have already robbed us of home and possessions, and now take the rest. We accept their crumbs without complaint. Now, we almost look forward to their choice of our future, for it has to be better than this.
Our main distraction are the children, making use of the scraps of boxes for toys. We marvel at how their minds can transcend this place, even after the cargo pens. They are our entertainment, along with a few games made of box scraps. It helps pass the time when we have too much of it.
And there are stories, all carefully culled from our childhoods before war and death colored their memories.
"My father was so relieved we had a special dinner, all my favorite foods, but he wouldn't let me out of the house for a week until my friend went home." Brenda, telling us about her great adventure lost with a friend when she was seven.
People glance at Molly, almost the same age. We don't let ourselves think of the lives our own children may lead in their world.
There are so many things left unsaid. We hope that the war will end with our liberation, but it is impossible to forget the battle above Cardassia. It was a devastating defeat. It's hard to hope when you know how bad things were at the end. How long do we wait before we give up? After they let us out of here, will we hear any news? Will we be able to believe it if we do?
The carnage in the Cardassian sky was almost our last hope of victory. Was there enough left behind to keep fighting, or is its legacy debris and slavery. What is left to fight with? Where is the seed of hope that victory might come at the end?
If the Dominion wins will they let us go home? We can't forget the fate of the Cardassians. If the Federation keeps fighting, will there even be a home?
o0o
For once, everyone is wide awake. Rations are late. There has been very little noise, and it's always very busy before we're fed. In this dreary nothingness, even meals supplied by guards have become extraordinarily important.
Then, everyone tense, comes the sound of feet, too many of them. The door slides open but no box is shoved inside. A lot of guards, both Jem'Hadar and Breen, wait outside the door.
"Out," says the head guard, adding a gruff "Now," when we don't move instantly.
Grabbing blankets and the small things we've made, we stand very cautiously, careful not to hesitate. Slowly, with a mixture of nerves and expectation, we move into the corridor. It's still bright, but we can see reasonable well now. Ezri and I hold our blankets along with each other. Miles and Keiko carry the children. Scalman and his wife have their hands full with the children and Jackson, keeping him moving although he doesn't seem to care. The others follow in a bunch, keeping close.
We take care to keep away from the guards. They have the prods, all of them. We move when they say to go.
We're herded towards a turbolift and pushed inside. Those with children are allowed ahead. Jackson is cornered between the Scalmans, keeping him moving. He's given up. How many of the rest might give up, too, if they were left alone.
We look up, nervous, as it rises to the habitat ring. Filing off slowly, we wait where other guards point us to go. As we wait, silent and apprehensive, others are brought up on the turbolift. Where we are standing, it's hard to see any difference from when it was our station.
Among them are others like Jackson, looking absolutely lost. But as we wait, the turbolift arrives with a haggard looking group of women, looking much worse than the rest.
Carl looks up, seeing her. Scalman tries to block him from moving, not trusting the guards, but Carl shoves his way past us, eyes locked on his wife. He ignores both us and the guards as he reaches her, falling into her arms.
At least he found Cheryl. There are a lot of people in the way, and she looks dirty and tired, but otherwise well enough. Maybe her child will have a chance to be born after all.
Carl doesn't move as people crowd around them, too absorbed in his relief. Miles watches with worry, holding Molly closer. I think I understand. The Jackson children are still missing.
Jackson isn't alone. Other men from other turbolift loads push their way towards the women, still looking a little dazed. Whatever awaits us, it is immaterial to them now. Miles kisses his daughter, and I wonder how he would have managed the last week without them. The first reunions complete, the other women begin drifting towards the others, pushing their way towards men who could not see them before. Nobody shouts, the guards too visible, but a silent relief fills the space where despair had lived before.
At least, for some. No children have appeared, and it is obvious that some of the newly reunited are still not whole. Carl and Cheryl, holding on tightly to each other, are searching the crowd.
It's taking a long time for all of us to be assembled. There are a lot of guards but they don't seem to care if we move around. Nobody would get far enough to matter if they tried to escape, anyway.
I still can't get over how much it looks like the place we left, what, months before?
But we soon discover just how different a place it this has become. The guards move closer and we keep away from them and their prods. A short walk past the main corridor and we see it.
There is a gate, locked and guarded, and we stop in front of it.
Then the guards part and a group of children, small and large, pushed together, rushes towards us.
Carl moves instantly, he and Cheryl wrapping arms around Jeffrey and Calla. Jeffrey, seven, has his two year old sister in his arms. For a moment he pulls back, stiffly, as his parents find them again.
The gate opens with a squeal, and we are pushed inside. Ezri and I walk in slowly, both nervous and relieved. Others, especially those newly reunited with family, are shoved along until everyone is inside. Then the gate crashes shut.
The Vorta steps near, Weyoun himself, nodding at the First. The Jem'Hadar addresses us, "This is your living area. You will be left alone if you cooperate. You may not leave unless you have a work assignment and the proper pass."
I remember Kira describing Terok Nor-the walls and guards and filth. So now we have an answer. But the questions are harder to ask.
o0o
Our new home is a barricaded corridor, with a series of subdivided and stripped quarters behind it. The corridor has become an open space, a group of tables positioned near the gate. Everything about it is plain and grey and dull, the most prominent feature the large, locked gate.
But compared to the cargo bays and little cells that came before, it is absolute luxury. Everyone is milling around, just looking, intentionally ignoring the gate.
The open space beyond it, the tables, and especially the enclosed quarters in back are far more important now. As long as we are theirs, there will always be a lock between us and freedom.
Ezri is standing by the gate, looking over the space we are allowed to claim. She's still holding her blanket, watching the people, especially Jackson and his family, sitting at a table, just holding each other. Molly and Tricia are busily exploring the place.
Miles is milling around the largest space, near the tables. I wonder if he's trying to guess where this used to be, or if he knows. Then, pausing, he finds a notice. Reading it to himself, he mumbles, "Wonder what all this costs," to me.
I'm trying not to think of that right now. I'd much rather appreciate the space and the tables and choose not to answer. He is reading the notice a second time, and I look over his shoulder. It is a list of room numbers and names. I trace down to our names. Ezri and I get one room, number 12. Miles and family get two, number 4. Jackson and his family are listed as getting two as well, along with Scalman. Tracing my finger along the list I pause on Jackson's name. "They knew where they were all the time," I say.
"Guess I was lucky," whispers Miles, shaking his head.
Most of us are standing by another wall, in a semi-circle with someone reading another notice out loud. Miles and I wander over to join them.
It is the rules that we will have to live with in this place. Some of them are quite specific, some very general. I suppose it depends on how they want to use them.
Each of us, save the youngest children, will be given a work assignment and be allowed to leave our cage. Some will get a special pass to do particular jobs, and I don't want to know what sort of rules apply to that-not yet. I suspect I'm one of the chosen few. The others will have to settle for guards. I don't know what's worse, having to work under their watchful eye, or having them "trust" you with, I assume, very bad consequences if you betray that trust.
The other rules are quite plain, clearly dominated by a theme. Anyone found to have committed sabotage will be executed. Anyone caught stealing or in an area not permitted will be executed. Anyone refusing an order will be "disciplined". I wonder if that means disappearing to Cardassia.
There are no comments about the rules. Nobody is going to care anyway. But we're overwhelmed by the private rooms, and the tables, and all the open space. If we're going to be used in any case, we might as well live a little better.
Miles keeps staring at his hands, mumbling to himself about the cost of all this. Miles and I have gone to look over our quarters and Miles is studying ours with our families still outside. I finally broach the subject. "I'll bet they want us to fix up the station, or at least you. Why else would they have asked you for names?"
"I . . . " he pauses, staring at the plain room where Ezri and I will live. "I wish they hadn't. If they'd just asked about them I'd feel better." He sits on our bed. "Then . . . then I wouldn't have sent . . . . "
I understand. I'm still afraid of what they'll ultimately want of me, still uncertain why I'm not in one of those pens heading towards Cardassia. I can't allow myself to think of the best reason. But Miles is right. Where does cooperation become treason? Where does your families survival cease to matter?
"You were ask a question," I say, quietly. "You answered it. You gave them the best people, and that's all you could do."
"I wanted my family back. He said they were alive. He didn't actually make any promises, but it was plain enough." Miles words are bitter but resigned. "I'm pretty sure any of those unfortunates they shipped out of here would have done the same if they had the chance." He looks up at me. "You did."
He means Ezri. I can't look at him. "I couldn't lose her. Not so soon . . . . "
He stands, looks me in the eyes. "Hold on to her Julian. You'll need her. We'll all need somebody."
I can't deny it. Instead I change the subject. "Well, they cleaned the place out pretty well. Nothing left that I can see." There are no replicators, or terminals or anything which might be used against them. Maybe they learned something from Tain.
Miles studies the room. "We have another little room, with a big cot but nothing else. The other room is the same as this one."
Our new home has a table and chair along with the cot-like bed set next to the wall. We've been given no other clothes but the blue, faded to grey coveralls we got before. According to the rules, if we behave, we will get a shower every week and new clothes each month. Boots will be provided for work.
The best part are the cots, and even better the pillows, two hard little lumps but after the last month it doesn't matter what they feel like. Much like the blankets, it is as if we have stepped into a haven of comfort. And we have a room to ourselves, a place to hide from the rest. Even if they watch, it could be so much worse. It's still a prison, but far better than a bare floor without even the illusion of privacy.
"Maybe the food will be better," says Miles, looking at the table. But food is served communally in the area near the gate with the tables. Breakfast will be served before we go to work and dinner after our shift is done. The posted rules do not explain how long a shift lasts. When we are not working we may do what we want, but must stay in our cage. Being out of "our" area without reason is grounds for immediate execution. Non-cooperation means our privileges will be revoked. The rules didn't say what was considered a privilege.
Someone taps at the door, and Jackson is standing there, looking a little nervous. "Uh, Doctor, . . . " he begins.
It feels like a lifetime since anyone has called me that. Miles is sitting on our cot, and I come to Jackson. He's still in shock, but better. I remember the moment I found Ezri in the crowd for a flash, how intense the relief had been. What if I'd never found her, would she be gone?
"How are they?" I skip the fake words of comfort.
"Real tired. Cheryl didn't get much to eat, and she, she won't say much about the way it was. They only took her out of the holds below a few hours ago." He pauses, looking around. "She didn't know anything about the kids until they showed up here."
I glance at Miles, looking away. Is he grateful that his children were spared that special hell, or has he banished the thought?
"How are they?" I ask in my professional voice, though from what I saw, Ezri could probably be of more help, if she can help anyone now.
There are tears in his eyes. "Alive," he says. "What else, I don't know. But Cheryl is pregnant, ugh, could you look her over?"
I don't look forward to this, not seeing Jeffrey. I keep remembering the lost, distant look in his eyes I'd seen when they were sitting at the tables. I hope in time it disappears and a little boy is still there. But I like being able to help them, even if all I can do is check Cheryl's condition. "Are you in your quarters?"
"Yes," he says, quietly, defeated.
"I'll come with you," I offer, as Miles stands.
"I'd like to get Molly to sleep," he says, Jackson moving back so he can leave.
The interior of Jackson's quarters is identical to ours, except for the smaller room. Cheryl is lying down, staring at the wall.
She looks thin, but not too bad off. "I'm going to feel for the baby," I explain, as she rolls over.
I can't do much, but she hasn't lost it so food should help. She's borderline malnourished, but if we're fed as much as we have been she'll recover from that. I hope the baby she carries will as well.
"I was so afraid I'd lose her," she says, closing her eyes. "They didn't know about her and I was afraid to tell them." My exam done, she rolls to her side, away from view. "Then, then they said where we'd be going and I almost hoped I would." Touching the added walls of their quarters, one being an original, she says very quietly, "not that this will be too good, but . . . "
I nod at Carl, going to comfort his wife. Or just be with her. For now, that's enough.
In the other room, I can see Jeffrey curled up tight with Calla, holding her protectively with his arm. Even asleep, he's tense, ready to fight.
He is no longer a child. He isn't asleep, looking back at me with the wary eyes of a threatened animal. Calla is sleeping, pulled back in the protective cage of her brothers arms. I pity Carl. He thought he'd found his children.
I leave, taking my time as I go to get Ezri. She greets me with a smile this time, all the distance vanished. "Making a late house call?" she asks.
"Sort of," I mumble. "We have a bed. And pillows. Want to try them?"
She pauses, resisting as I take her hand. "Too bad Worf gave up too soon," she says, and puts her arms around me. "Well, let's go home."
We don't hurry. It makes the space feel bigger if you walk slowly. But this is all the world we have now.
Despite the walls and the cots and the pillows, this is still a prison. We still belong to them, and Weyoun can control us without the Jem'Hadar using their rifles or the Breen their little prods. He can cut rations. That was how Deyos kept his prisoners in line at the camp. Certainly, Weyoun will do the same, should we give him a reason. He's aware that it's very hard to ignore it when your children are hungry.
end, Part 1, Chapter 2 of Surrender