LEGACY
An Alternative History of the Dominion War
Year Two – Metamorphosis
Part 1 - Occupation
Chapter 3
Carl Jackson hugged his son, sound asleep on his lap. It was almost noon. The Jem'Hadar had forced them to the upper deck not long after dawn. He had made sure his family was dressed for the cold morning when they went to sleep. Yesterday he'd been taken and spent the day in their custody. He assumed that they'd come for the rest today.
Calla was still nursing part of the time, and Jeffrey liked a late snack. Thought it was officially against the rules, Cheryl kept a little food in the house, saved from dinner, for him to help him sleep. They'd split the food when he was returned. A glass of water was left on a low table for the children, who couldn't reach the sink and he had insisted on that being drunk. Water to Residential had been shut off yesterday morning. The Jem'Hadar had banged on every door and woke them, but except for staff like himself, had simply ordered them to remain inside under military curfew. Nothing had been said about water, but after his day, seeing the bloody messes they'd left he would take no chances on breaking a rule.
Jeffrey complained he was hungry. Calla wanted a drink of water. Cheryl didn't complain, but he could tell she was suffering, Calla nursing her dehydrated mother. But how could he tell his children that the soldiers wouldn't let them have any of those things, and how could he explain that he didn't know when they'd change their minds?
The cold morning had given way to a much warmer afternoon. The breeze which had kept it tolerable with them dressed so well had disappeared. The sun was hot now. Jeffrey kept pointing at the creek behind them, but Carl held him too tight for him to run.
He and Cheryl put up with it. His mouth was dry and lips were cracking. He felt a little dizzy and light headed. It was very hard not to stare at the water himself, but he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
The food had been welcome, but it was salty. It had just made them a little more thirsty than before. He hoped, once they'd searched everywhere, that they'd be allowed to get water.
Jeffrey kept complaining that his stomach hurt. Carl didn't let on about the small but growing cramping he was suffering. Cheryl hadn't said anything at all. But she was still nursing Calla. He knew she was worried about losing her milk.
Each of the five groups the Residential section had been divided into were sitting together. The Jem'Hadar had marched them up to the deck in groups. He knew his neighbors were reluctant to have anything to do with them, but today they were sitting very close.
They wouldn't take a chance on the Jem'Hadar noticing them.
Carl remembered the mess they'd left the first time they'd searched his things. But now, sitting in the hot sun with his children growing dehydrated, he didn't care what they did as long as they could go back inside soon.
He had seen the bodies they'd left yesterday. He kept looking at Jeffrey, thinking of the children of Telanora. Were they dead? Had they been used by the Dominion to experiment? Were they lucky that they had been spared?
Did the adult survivors keep going with dreams of finding their lost children?
Cheryl was holding Calla, trying to shelter her from the sun, and keep her still. But she was an active child, and after squirming and twisting hadn't gotten her out of her mother's grip, she'd settled on crying out her frustration. But the sun was warm and she finally wore herself out.
Carl was afraid they'd quiet her their own way. He couldn't hide the relief when she finally went to sleep. Cheryl was leaning against him, half asleep herself.
He was grateful they were in the middle, out of close view of the Jem'Hadar. Those near the front were being closely watched. Near the back they were just a mass of bodies.
Yesterday had been horrible, not knowing if he'd ever see his family again. But today was worse, knowing what they'd done in the square. He didn't want his children to have to see anything so terrible. But he knew if anything was hidden in this section that they'd execute the ones they caught, probably everyone in the household. Ag hadn't all ended up dead because they had questions to answer. These people had no such value.
They hadn't touched the homes yet. They'd been setting up a blue line of pickets along the edges of the section and scanning everywhere outside their homes. There were a lot of Jem'Hadar but they were working very slowly and carefully. Carl knew how much Cheryl had hated Sisko's raids, but guessed she was grateful for it now.
And the long wait in the cold and now hot sun would insure the people they held were tired and hot and miserable, too. He remembered the day They had claimed the planet, and that long, long day. He only wished it would be as simple this time as having to listen to a long speech.
Cheryl was asleep. He nudged her and she woke. The children had it a little easier if they slept, but he and Cheryl would keep watch.
If there was anything in his power to prevent it, they would not hurt his children no matter what it cost.
o0o
Michael Emery sat very still, the baby cradled in his arms. Shandra was curled next to him, not well at all. She was dizzy, holding her stomach and had refused to nurse the baby. Little Tasha was too young to wait. Her thin cry was too loud. He'd let her suck on his finger until she fell asleep.
Shandra stirred, holding her blanket around her. "I'll try again," she said, but she looked flushed and exhausted. He gave her the baby, and she leaned against him while she nursed.
He was getting dizzy too. There had been a little water but he'd made sure she had most of it. He didn't want anything to happen to Tasha.
They were prepared for the Jem'Hadar's arrival that morning. But many were not. His own quarters were further back, and he would not have been sitting so much in view. But hers were near the pathway to the offices, and they'd been moved out first.
The Jem'Hadar were watching too closely. Shandra wasn't able to keep the baby quiet and he was afraid.
But he watched as they scanned every inch of ground. Sisko had staged so many searches that anyone still hiding contraband was very lucky-or in this case very unlucky. Nobody had liked the searches, but the first few days a lot of things had been found in the box that weren't medical or agricultural instruments.
How many lives had Sisko saved by his little reign of terror? Michael knew that should things be found in that section they'd be treated the same as the rest. Or perhaps they'd be locked inside their little huts anyway.
But the line of blue posts they were making was done, and the scanning was almost finished. He nudged Shandra, making sure she was awake.
She was exhausted and thirsty and he was ready to take the baby and help her up if he had to. He already knew the Jem'Hadar had no patience.
She sat up, rubbing dry eyes. But she was wide awake as the Jem'Hadar approached, holding Tasha protectively under her arm.
The Jem'Hadar stopped suddenly, directly in front of them. "Up," ordered the leader. They stood, some less steady than others. The other sections were still sitting. He wondered if it would be better to know what they were going to do, or get it over with sooner.
He held onto Shandra as they were pushed back to the lower deck and in front of their little houses again. Stopping, the Jem'Hadar surrounded them.
"Line up by families."
A cold wave of horror passed through Michael, remembering the report on Talanora. They'd lined them up that way, then ripped them apart. They'd slaughtered and kidnaped and tormented them. He stood in front of Shandra, holding the baby shielded in her arms, but knowing there was nothing he could do. Had they made some terrible discovery none watching could tell? He could not bear the thought of losing either of them.
Tense and alert, Shandra stayed close to him. He thought she was using him to help keep her balance. She was too dehydrated and he was afraid she wouldn't be able to feed the baby.
But the Jem'Hadar were simply scanning them. Each had to stand a little in front, and they keyed ID tags first.
When he was keyed they stopped him with a rifle. "You do not live in this section."
"She does."
He spoke calmly. He took Shandra's hand. "And my daughter."
The soldier looked away towards the Jem'Hadar in command, but it was holding up things and he let him go. Shandra was keyed, the baby too small to be tagged, and all three were scanned.
"In front of your dwelling," ordered the next Jem'Hadar. Michael knew they had ranks but he had no way of telling what they were. He just obeyed all of them.
He had gotten caught in one of the daily searches, and it was odd to stand with her and wait. But there were no stares and nobody was watching. And Sisko's people hadn't been armed and ready to kill.
Her neighbors were first. The Jem'Hadar scanned the inside, but searched too. A pitcher with a little water was brought outside. It was poured at their feet.
The family was moved to the pathway. The daughter was nearly fourteen and stayed with her parents. The next house was entered. This time more water was found, poured out like the first.
But there was more. They'd kept food. There was a little left, the plate sat on the ground by the guards. The two men were very still, tense and scared but had no option but freeze or run and die. But they were bound. They had girlfriends who often stayed. Michael hoped the enemy didn't know about them.
The Jem'Hadar dragged them away, the men too stunned and terrified to move on their own. They disappeared up the pathway towards the deck.
Michael was deeply grateful they'd drank all they had. Sometimes Shandra brought home a little food, but she hadn't been able to sneak any out the last week and there was nothing to find.
He knew they didn't really need an excuse to kill. But while saving food was officially not permitted, many did anyway. He hoped they had been so hungry they had all eaten and drunk their fill and it was gone or they might have a new bloodbath.
Or would it matter? Would they find some other reason? He'd heard how the Ag people were forced to watch an execution to make the point that they should cooperate. But the Dominion wanted the teraforming project. As guilty as many were, they had a way out.
The people in Residential were of no value. What if they were just in the way?
He didn't watch as they entered Shandra's house. She was in a single unit. It didn't take long. He and Shandra were left alone.
But the two men were gone. And those found with water had been separated. They were being forced to lie face down on the pathway.
Michael didn't look at them. He and Shandra and the baby were moved to a more sheltered place along the walkway. Others who passed were added to the group.
But the water savers were growing in masse. The smaller children were sent to those who had behaved but older ones went with their parents.
It took forever. They were told to sit. He held Shandra close and rocked Tasha to help keep her calm. He was afraid she'd cry and they would stop her. When they'd checked every house in Subdivision A the lucky ones were told to stand.
Emery pulled Shandra to her feet. A little girl of perhaps three who's parents had been sent to the path has pressed herself against them. He took her hand, then lifted her into his arms.
"Return to the deck," they were ordered.
He stumbled down the roadway. There were much fewer than before. When they arrived, the next group were being marched back to be searched.
They were directed to an area near the line of blue posts and told to sit. But in the back of the deck some devices had been installed. Once, the Chief had assigned his staff to a study of Dominion technology, and he thought they were generators of some sort. It was odd they'd bring advanced technology to a place strictly denied it. He kept staring at them, though.
Then he remembered. They generated a force field. The deck was to be used to detain them. It was warm now, but later in the afternoon the cold would return and it would be miserable. If left through the night, it would be very cold. Some of these people weren't dressed well enough for that.
The little girl had gravitated to Shandra, and she had her arm around her now, Tasha curled on her lap. She hadn't even looked at him since they'd been scanned. She was pale, but he thought it was mostly from fear.
Eventually, section B was finished and some came back. Two more were marched past with hands bound. He gathered that those who passed were added to his select group. After C was done he noticed Jackson and his family moving hesitantly along in the line.
But there were a lot of people missing. Talanora and their random selection of survivors kept coming to mind. The ones they'd bound were moved beyond where he could see. One other had been dragged along, so scared she couldn't walk. The others separated from them were still on the lower deck.
Shandra had gone to sleep, leaning against him with the children cuddled in her arms. Perhaps she was more reassured than him, or just too tired to care. But Michael could not rest. He watched constantly, on edge whenever the Jem'Hadar moved any closer.
But D was done, and then E. D had contributed two more bound prisoners, and E one more. Perhaps half the residents were missing. Those moved to the deck were ordered to stand, then shifted to the side. There was a corridor left between them and the field generators.
Then the others were marched up the deck, past Michael's group and into the area surrounded by the force field generators. They were scared and hesitant and perhaps relieved to have it soon done. But rifles were pointed at then and they moved as ordered. He could see the hesitation when they saw the outside pen they'd be put in. Few probably knew exactly what it was, but perhaps most of them guessed. Even one night outside would be awful.
Then the field came on, and they were surrounded. It was invisible, but a few tossed a rock at it. The rocks crumpled and the internees backed off into a huddled mass in the middle.
The Vorta appeared, walking up the pathway behind them and surrounded by Jem'Hadar. Apparently he didn't feel safe alone here. He wasn't. But anybody threatening him would die long before they came close.
He stood and watched his prisoners. Looking at those in the force field, he wore a grim look.
"Due to gross and ample violations of the rules given to you last year, this colony has been placed under Martial Law. Each section will be separated by a gate. Only those authorized to pass through the gate will be permitted to do so.
He turned towards the hospital. Several Jem'Hadar were busy erecting a series of pylons at the bend in the pathway. "The medical division has been put under house arrest. Rations will be limited to one third normal when they are provided. Supplies will be reduced." He looked at Michael's group. "You may take those too ill to the hospital, but patients will be under house arrest as well until they go home."
Shandra was awake, staring at the Jem'Hadar. She held Tasha and the girl very close, and her eyes were filled with fear.
The Vorta indicated the offices. "The most serious offenders will be detained in this section. None will be allowed to pass through it." Another gate was being started, the first support posts in place. Michael tried to tell himself that for them it might be better. Why put up a gate if you were going to lock all the doors?
Then he turned his attention to them. Looking mostly at Michael's group, he spoke to both sides of the deck.
"This section will be allowed a measure of freedom. No contraband was found. Once the detention of minor offenses has ended, you may move about freely within this blue line. Those who cross it will be shot."
As he spoke, two men were dragged from the far gate near the offices, Shandra's neighbors. The Jem'Hadar moved to the blue line nearest the detainees, leaving a large gap between them, and shoved them across. "Stand," they were ordered.
Slowly and stiffly they complied.
A younger woman and what was probably her brother were dragged in next. They were placed a little further down, where the detainees on the end could see. They also stood as ordered, past the blue line..
Then the remaining four were pushed down the small corridor between groups of prisoners. He could tell they'd been beaten. The two men that had lived next to Shandra and the woman from C were among them. He thought the other man was one of Vance's old aides, but hadn't ever met him.
They were pushed across the line at spaced intervals so everyone would have a good view. Then, the crowd watching in sudden terrible anticipation, the Jem'Hadar moved into place, raising rifles aimed at the stomach.
"To make sure that *all* of you understand fully, these offenders will serve as examples."
They shot at the same time. Michael stared, fascinated by the way each collapsed, some on their sides and some head down. He knew this was a form of slow death. Their victims would bleed internally. He knew that there was nothing on Cyrus to stop the slow wasting away.
He wasn't thinking of food or water anymore. He was stunned by the sudden, almost random choice of victims. But inside, he was simply numb.
But he and Shandra and the baby were alive. The ones in the pen, once they were done with their own punishment, would be released. The ones that were dying would die because nothing could stop them from bleeding to death.
Glebaron spoke again, giving them time to stare at those executed for their crimes.
"These offenders were outside the blue line. They were executed. Any of the rest will die in the same manner if the line is crossed."
Michael pulled Shandra close. She was still staring, watching as the woman from C bled into her coat, now ringed with red, bright blood. At least Tasha was too young to see it.
But there were other children. He'd picked up the little girl when they'd raised their rifles, and covered her face with his hands. She cringed when they shot.
He'd seen art from the children of Bajor. This little girl would draw the same kind of death filled images. Maybe Tasha would be spared ever seeing something so cold. Maybe they wouldn't stay long enough for her to know about brutality. But he couldn't think beyond the next few moments right then.
"As of yesterday, no food or water was permitted in your dwellings. These people were found in violation. Tomorrow at noon they will be permitted to return to their homes."
He looked at the huddled group, taking great care to avoid the forcefield. They'd almost saved a little water for morning. He shivered with the memory. The afternoon would bring a cold wind. The evening would see a sharp drop in the outside temperature, and rain was still likely. The morning warmed slowly, but by mid-morning it would be very hot again.
He hoped they could take it. He knew the offense was useful, and had created a random selection of examples, but a little voice inside him knew *he* wasn't caught in the trap. Shandra and Tasha would be safe inside tonight. That was what mattered.
"The others may return to your dwellings. You will be permitted a container of water per each three persons. This is to last the next two days while you are under strict curfew. Do not leave your dwellings."
Michael pulled Shandra to her feet. She was still staring at the bodies. But she stumbled along with him and the little girl. At the pathway towards the lower deck he was given a large bottle of water to carry. The girl moved towards Shandra and gripped her coat.
Reaching her quarters, he pushed open the door, not fully closed. Shandra and the two children stumbled inside. He carefully balanced the water and sat it on the table.
The little girl looked longingly at the door as he closed it. "I want mommy," she said.
"You'll get mommy back in a few days. We'll take care of you for now."
She ran to Shandra, who had put the baby in her crib. The child crawled in her lap and started to cry.
Michael felt relief wash over him. The others were locked up in little boxes. For them it would only be a few days. They were alive and inside. No matter how bad it was, things could be so much worse. There had been no food yet, but perhaps it would come soon. But they had water.
He found a cup and poured Shandra a small drink. She sipped it slowly, wetting her dry lips. She shared a little with the girl, then gave him back the cup.
He had a full glass. There wasn't much. They'd have to ration it but he wanted to make sure Shandra would get enough. He gave her one more glass and put the cup next to the bottle.
He had never tasted anything so sweet.
"I'm hungry," mumbled the child.
With nothing to eat for two days, everyone was. "I can't help that," he told her.
She crumpled into Shandra again and cried softly.
He checked the room. They must have used scanners since there wasn't anything moved. Or perhaps they didn't bother to search, but just looked for what sat out in the open.
They'd found enough examples. It didn't matter after that.
Shandra had made a little bed for the girl on the small couch. She was wrapped in a coat and crying softly to herself.
"We'll be okay," she said.
He tried to think of those caught on the deck, but they were off in the distance. Luck had been with them today. Tomorrow wasn't here yet. He crawled into bed with Shandra, letting go of everything but her warmth. The numbness faded a little but he knew it would never completely leave him. But maybe with Shandra and this little Tasha to love and care for, he could live with the images and the blood a little bit easier.
Tomorrow would come when it did. But today was over. That was enough for him now.
o0o
Cheryl stiffly entered first, put Calla in her bed, and collapsed on their own.
Carl stumbled in, pushing Jeffrey towards his toys, and made sure the door was shut tight. He wished they had used locks, as Sisko had. He was afraid Jeffrey would go outside.
Then he started to shake. Yesterday, he'd been marched past the bludgeoned bodies in the square, but he hadn't committed their crimes. But today they'd watched close up as eight people had been murdered. They weren't dead yet, but given a day or so and a lot of agony, they'd be gone soon enough.
Maybe those they'd hacked apart were lucky. They died fast.
But these victims were too close. If they had not split the food the night before, they might all be dead, or slowly dying.
Who would be holding Calla that night? Would Jeffrey have watched their deaths?
He sat on the bed next to his wife, shivering as if chilled. "We could be . . . . "
"We aren't," she said, a firmness to her tone he clung to. "We need some water. They said two days. But I'd save a little."
He tried to shake the image of her standing by the blue line, then falling.
"I'll get you some."
He took a pen first, marking the bottle so they could see when half was gone, then dividing that into quarters.
Cheryl got the first drink. She passed it to Jeffrey, who gave the cup to Calla. He held it for her so she wouldn't spill any. Then he took a sip for himself.
"We will survive this," said Cheryl. "Just remember that."
They shared the rest of the cup and another, drinking it in sips. Calla was tired and cranky, but for once he didn't mind her crying. Jeffrey sat with his blocks, making haphazard piles and smashing them with his fists.
Carl watched as his wife lay down with his daughter, giving her a chance to nurse and settle down. Jeffrey rammed his blocks around for hours.
Carl watched, knowing how close he'd come to being orphaned. There was so much anger there. He had been shielded from watching the executions, but had heard, and seen the bodies. He was old enough to just understand. When he was older, when they could take revenge, what would become of him?
At least his mother and father would have the chance to try to make a difference. Carl laid down next to his wife and let her hold him. He did not know when they slept but when they woke it was getting dark outside and the room was growing cold. Jeffrey was asleep, laying on the floor with his blocks scattered around him. Calla was awake, playing in her bed.
Even with the sleep, the exhaustion of the day was catching up with them. He put Jeffrey to bed, making sure he was wrapped well in his blanket. The boy didn't even wake up. Carl envied him. He had his blocks to smash. Carl didn't have anything Calla was brought to her mother for a little nursing, and Carl picked up the blocks.
He stacked them carefully. The figure had two legs and was a block above that except for the head. He just stood staring at his block man. He raised his foot, wanting to smash it as Jeffrey did, there being so much anger inside him. But the boy was asleep. Calla was curled up next to her mother, both relaxed. He did not want to disturb the silence or the peace. He raised his foot, just holding it and let himself imagine the blocks falling, scattering all over the floor. But he did not see blocks but blood and body parts as they flew away, scraps of reptilian Jem'Hadar skin torn away from the flesh. He sat down his foot, still seeing the traces of blood as it faded.
Someday. But for now, it was a very cold night. He slid close to his wife, wrapping his arms around her. Calla was curled against her mother and he lifted the girl up so she lay on top of them, then covered the three with the blanket, tucking it in so the cold would not get in.
He woke once with a nightmare, putting Calla in her own bed and wrapping her well. Then he settled next to Cheryl and she held him. Outside the wind was blowing. He spared those freezing outside a passing thought, but it was quiet and he'd had enough to drink that he could think about his empty stomach instead. Cheryl pulled him close and they settled in each others arms.
It was a warning dream. There were no more chances to be taken. This time they had been lucky. Perhaps the next they would not. But he would forestall that day as long and as well as he could.
o0o
Cary shivered in the wind. They were huddled together in a tangle of bodies, but it didn't help when the icy wind flowed over them. He had his jacket and boots on, and had taken his hat.
Inside his pockets were his gloved hands. Some were wearing far less and only the bodies surrounding them were keeping them warm. His preparations tabbed him for the outside ring where the wind found open places to penetrate the clothes.
Noon was much too far away. He was thirsty and hungry and scared, but most of all he was cold.
Yesterday, when the Chief's staff had been hauled into the nightmare, he'd counted himself lucky. He had been taken past the bodies, but tried not to see more than he had to. They were red, blood covered heaps. He didn't know who they had been and didn't want to. They had returned he and his crew to their quarters first. He remembered how his roommates had been backed away when the Jem'Hadar opened the door and pushed him inside. Maybe they should have remembered, he thought rather bitterly.
He'd told them to make sure all the rules were in place and to dress warmly because they'd come there the next day. Then he'd retreated to his room and not come out until the door was opened and the orders to leave were bellowed inside. They hadn't taken his advise and were without coats. He had slept in his coat and boots and hat, gloves in his pocket.
He never imagined they'd have left the water. They had mutually agreed to put up with each other, but he'd had traces of blood on his shoes when they brought him back. They should be here, freezing in the wind for their carelessness. He would make sure they paid him back.
Even before they'd been sorted out and put in this little death trap, the day had been worse than the one before. The morning was too cold, and when his heavy clothes had finally warmed him the sun came out and it was far too hot. He hadn't had enough to drink and his mouth and lips and stomach hurt. His vision was a little blurry, from the bright sun and the dryness in his eyes.
Then they'd been sent to stand in front of their houses. It was too much like the searches Sisko had staged. He had only been there once, but almost understood why his neighbors glared at anyone with pins now.
He wished they had known how hard that was. His was that of an underling, by his own choice, but he knew how it worked. People appreciated his work, but that was only possible because it was *permitted*. Sometimes the oddest things were refused, and others they had already written off as impossible were allowed. He could not have stood to be a major staffer. They had to attend the meetings where everyone pretended that their plans meant something. They had to pretend it wasn't a lie.
But now was the time for truth. Dead bodies ripped apart. Terrified people stuffed in a cage while they shivered, afraid to go near the edges. It was deadly. One of their number lay dead, electrocuted by a touch. He would have preferred to not have his jacket and been near the center of their huddle, and not so close to the deadly field. Each time they pushed out, he shoved whoever was against him back.
The wind was picking up. Somehow the force field kept it at bay but not the cold. Everyone was exhausted and cold and desperate and he just wanted it over and in his warm bed. He had, once when they were gone, searched their room for contraband, just in case. He should have checked before he went to sleep and drank all the water. They would be angry but they would all be warm now if he had.
The huddle slid closer to the side and he and the others pushed back. He could remember so clearly when the pitcher had been brought outside, and he'd seen the cold, hard look in the Jem'Hadar's eyes. They'd already taken a few of his neighbors to the walkway. He'd froze for a second, thinking of the bodies they'd seen the day before.
He'd wondered if that was his fate? Would they kill someone for storing water?
But he moved. He'd lay down on his stomach, resting his head on his folded hands. He wondered when they'd shoot. How long did it take for you to die if they shot you in the back?
He had been numb when they'd moved the others away. But he couldn't stop wondering at the randomness. Everyone saved water. Sisko had never shut off their supply, but there were frequent interruptions as they tried to improve it. Some had known better, given the situation after the Jem'Hadar had locked them in, but most probably didn't even think of it. It was random and unpredictable and no one would ever forget the cold night.
Luck had been with them the day before, but as the time dragged on and the pebbles ground their way into his legs, he knew all of it had run out.
There had been silence after the others were moved away. With nothing to distract him, he imagined they would pick and choose who to kill. If nobody was there to watch it wouldn't be such a good lesson to the rest. He didn't care if anyone he knew was saved. All that mattered was that he lived. He was innocent after all.
Then, hours gone by, his stiff, tired body was made to stand. He had seen them bind some of the others. It was a relief, and almost a surprise, that they were left alone.
But they'd been pushed by the guards. The others weren't. He was afraid that if someone fell it would be the end.
The deck had been divided into two sections. He saw the field generators and knew what they were. He almost stopped before the force of other bodies pushed him inside.
The Dominion used them to store prisoners.
The others went un-penned.
He stood, watching as the force field was initiated. There was a buzz you could barely hear, but it tingled your skin. He'd gotten used to that part. He only hoped that it would keep out wind and rain too.
Then the Vorta had brought in his other prisoners, and demonstrated the blue line. The girl had been very close. She was barely sixteen. She stared quiet and terrified as she stood, looking down on the line. When they shot her she had her eyes closed, standing stiffly as if she was a living statue.
She was shorter than the rest. The Jem'Hadar must have been aiming at her stomach where she'd take a long time to die. But he hit higher, and she slumped down and to the side.
She was bleeding very heavily. They'd hit an artery. At least she'd die very quickly.
Then they were told that they'd be left out in the dark, cold night. But all he could see was the girl, blood pooling at her side on the pebbly ground. She had had a measure of luck. She'd been hit wrong and was probably already dead.
The others were allowed to leave. He told himself it would be a hard night, but after noon came it would be over. He could manage somehow.
He'd stayed where he was for a time. He watched as the girl's body grew pale and stiffened. Staring at her, he told himself that his room mate often hid food too. How close had the three of them come to dying with her?
But the cold came suddenly. Despite his coat, he kept shivering. They mingled themselves together, those with coats further to the edge. Somehow it seemed *wrong* that those with some thought of the possibilities were on the outside, so near the deadly field. The man that died had been looking out when he got too close. But Cary could remember the smell of the burns as his flesh had charred. It was too cold to smell anything now, but when it warmed it would fill the little deathtrap and they would all remember it.
Cary kept bent against the others. The deadly line was too close, and he didn't want to accidentally brush it. That was all the man had done. He kept thinking of his roommates. How could they take the risk? Or were they so used to ignoring him they had not even heard?
But they hadn't seen the bodies. He wondered if they might have been more careful otherwise.
When this ended, he wanted new quarters. He couldn't stand the though of sharing a house with someone who'd been so careless. What else would they do? Would this horrible night be enough of a lesson?
Then, suddenly, the lights came on. It was the middle of the night. The wind whipped icy air past their huddled tangle. It would only get colder.
The field was off. He could tell by the lack of tingle and the disappearance of the hum. The wind blew around them at its full driving force and everything grew worse. The Jem'Hadar lined up before them.
He forgot about the cold. They had rifles out. Maybe they couldn't shoot through the forcefield.
The Vorta was there too. In the shimmering artificial daylight, his bright clothes glimmered and shined.
"There are eleven bodies that must be moved. I require two volunteers for each. As a reward, you will be allowed to return to you quarters at dawn. Those not chosen but who volunteer will be allowed a cup of water."
He thought of the mangled bodies in the square, and the stiff body of the girl. He didn't like touching dead bodies. He'd not been able to do it when the Antelope crashed and doubted he could now.
But maybe they wouldn't choose him. Maybe he'd at least get a drink of water.
People were untangling themselves. One by one, they hung back and then stepped forward. With so many to choose from, he could take a chance.
He stumbled forward, but hesitantly. Others were not so reserved. The night was very cold and to get inside was great temptation. Even if all they got was a sip of water, it was worth the chance.
The guard pointed at him. "Come," he said.
Cary almost stepped back. He hated touching blood. The shoes from yesterday were in the back of his closet since he didn't know if he could touch them with the blood they'd gotten on them. He didn't want to see death so intimately.
But they had rifles. He followed, forcing his reluctant feet to move.
Another man, half-dressed and shivering, was told to follow.
For a moment, he thought they'd lead him to the offices. He didn't want to think of the mangled bodies there. He didn't ever want to see them again.
But they rounded the force field, and the guard pointed at the girl.
She was stiff, knees bent with one foot higher than the other. Her clothes were soaked with dark, clotted blood. His partner bent to pick up the feet, grasping both legs awkwardly. He swallowed hard and reached under her shoulders. She rolled onto her back. Her eyes were still closed. She wore a look of anticipation.
But she wasn't real. Her body was fully stiff and yet still heavy. The skin was clammy against his wrists where his sleeve had ridden up. His partner was having trouble he was shivering so badly.
Cary moved slowly. The guard pointed to the pathway towards the hospital, where several of the body carriers were already waiting.
They waited longer. The dead from the offices had to be carried further. They'd been wrapped in blankets, and drooped too much. He decided the girl with her stiff body was easier.
They moved through a line of guards at the beginnings of the gate. It was hard holding onto the girl and climbing the hill. But the hardest part was knowing he would always remember her.
It was easier if she was just a body. But she became real on the trip to the square outside the hospital.
They were ordered to leave the bodies outside the side door, next to the body of one of the medical people slumped in the fine layer of native grass. The man who'd brushed the forcefield had been added too.
He stopped near the pathway, wondering if they went back. The first strains of light were forming in the sky. It was almost dawn.
The Jem'Hadar told them to line up. Some had blood all over their hands, or smeared on their clothes. He was lucky. But he could *smell* her on his gloves.
There was a table with water jugs sitting by the trail. "Go to your quarters. Take one jug of water per person. Do not go anywhere else."
He took his jug of water. He hated touching it with the contaminated gloves. But he wanted the water so much he could barely wait to get home.
There were guards watching. He opened his door, surprised that nothing had been moved. But he took the water in his own room.
The others would wait until they ask when they were released from the pen. He would take his time. Perhaps it would remind them the next time they wanted to chance disaster.
Stripping off the gloves, he threw them on the floor. Then, he untied his laces and pulled off the heavy work boots.
Only then did he see the blood. It was all over them. He just stared at it.
But he was home. It was warm inside, next to the icy outside air. He wanted to sleep without shivering. Taking the water, he poured himself a full glass.
It was ice cold. They'd taken it from the main water supply and it was clean and clear. He sipped it slowly, wishing he could have more.
But it had to do for three dehydrated people for two days. He'd give them their portions or they might drink it all.
He hid it in his clothes. They'd wake him if they tried to look. Before they got any, he had a few things to say to them.
But as he rolled in his blanket and tried to sleep, he could smell the musty blood and feel her stiff body. She was so young. Even here, she should have a chance to live.
He'd tried not to look at the rest. Some were still alive. Would they leave them in the dirt until they died, or end it early?
But he couldn't sleep with dreams like that. He'd managed. He was home hours earlier than he might have been. He was warm and as safe as one could be in this world. Lying comfortably in his bed, the accumulated tensions slipped away and the exhaustion took over. His wife stood, looking at him, laughing, smiling as he reached for her, then he rushed towards her, the dead girl and the cold and all the rest of the horrible day falling away when he reached her arms.
Somewhere, she lived and smiled and probably mourned. But he would be with her in his dreams again. Each night she called and he ran to her, but before he woke she slipped away. But someday he keep her from leaving. He'd hold her again and share a kiss.
Exhausted and hungry and shivering, he let himself slip into memories of a time when there were no dead sixteen year olds to haunt his dreams.
o0o
Julian sat flat against the wall, staring out the door. It was physically barred, but he doubted that was for more than visual effect and was certain the force field behind it was at the minimum disabling. The cell walls were hard and cold, especially against bare skin. The walls were a grid as well, and the edges dug in after a little while. He had not been there as long as the huddled group of naked prisoners across the cell, mostly from Ag. All of them apparently had been found with contraband. The guard had informed him as he was being dragged to the door. Kay was missing. They shifted around, stunned and scared and humiliated by their nakedness. He ignored them. The Jem'Hadar had shoved him inside a little while before, but he didn't know how much since all he could feel was the fiery pain in his leg.
After the Vorta had been done with him, he'd been put in a holding cell and untied. Numb, he'd stared at the door, not knowing if the next step was the interment camp or more prodding to change his mind. He'd been sleeping when the Jem'Hadar had opened the door and pointed their rifles at his head, ordering him to strip. He couldn't stand, but perhaps they had figured that out because they were very patient, at least for Jem'Hadar, as he undressed. Sitting on the floor of the cell, that one not a wire grid, he had rolled on his side and pulled his knees to him. The bad leg was throbbing from the movement, but he rested it against the floor and tried to be as still as possible. The guards had retrieved his clothes and left him alone for some unknown time. Long enough he'd slept sufficient that the pain diminished a bit, before they returned. He had heard their approach, anticipating the door being opened, and was hauled up from the floor without warning and dragged out.
Then they had dumped him in the cell with the others. The first thing he realized was none of the officials were there, no Willman or Sisko or Miles. But the ones found with contraband sat hunched together against the wall, stripped and shivering. Somehow he had never equated himself with them. They did it to rebel. He kept the instrument just to survive. But he guessed to Them it was all the same.
The cold crept up on him. His leg hurt a little less as he started to shiver. The grid dug into bruises from his being dragged and he wondered if he was to be executed next to his companions or if the vorta would continue to try to persuade him to agree. Vaguely, he remembered sharing warmth with Jadzia when they were trapped in the icy cold that time. But the memory was spoiled, knowing she was an official in Sisko's little cadre. Even if he accepted the Vorta's offer, she would be gone. He looked longingly at the huddled mass across from him, but knew even if he was welcome that the pain would not be worth it. But then, the cold was forgotten and any temptation to cooperate tempered by the first they'd hauled out of the cell.
The forcefield behind the bars faded and everyone watched, nervous and hesitant. Then the barred door was pulled open. The first man, one of the young Ag staffers who had probably thought he was defying the enemy, was called to the door. He pulled himself to his feet reluctantly, trying to cover himself, and stood nervously while the guards approached.
They pointed ahead. He tried to move but couldn't. All Julian could think of was the nurse they'd shot on Cyrus when they'd first come.
But he stood, frozen, by the door for a long moment. The head guard grabbed his arm and tore him from the door, the ag man falling on the floor where he landed. He didn't move at all, just lay on his side with every muscle tense.
Then they kicked him in the stomach. He'd tried to move away, but the other guard kicked him along the spine.
He gasped, suddenly still. His legs fell limp. Julian watched in morbid fascination, the young man's breathing coming in gasps.
He'd put his hands over his face. Then he lay there, waiting for death.
Everyone in the cell was staring in horror. The guards must not have had authority to decide the fate of these prisoners. Another Jem'Hadar arrived with some sort of scanner. After a brief scan, he pointed his weapon at the man and fired.
The prisoner jerked. The shot was aimed at his heart, but must have missed. His shoulder landed on the floor, blood spilling from the wound.
Then the Jem'Hadar drove his bayonet through the spine, into the abdomen. All the tension disappeared from the body as life faded.. But they left him there to remind the others of the cost of disobedience.
It hadn't been that way at the internment camp. Prisoners were beaten but they were taken past the wall and never seen again. Some even returned, as he had. Most did not have the esoteric value Deyos must have considered him to. He suspected he still did, but the young ag staffer hadn't. But they'd all walk past the growing pool of blood, careful not to look, but even more careful not to hesitate.
Gradually, one by one each was called out. They all moved quickly and did not hesitate, walking delicately past the body. But it was impossible not to step in the blood. The bayonet had been pulled out, and the still figure lay in a large pool of it by the time his turn came. But he could only crawl to the door. They waited, and kicked the body to the side, grabbing him off the floor and dangling him over their shoulders.
He could see the blood spattered on their shoes. And hear the sound as his secret instrument had hit Jenny's blood, and the world had ended. His leg was swinging back and forth, sending waves of agony and he passed out on this way to a new oblivion.
o0o
Lonnie Broadman sat in the office her mentor and friend and tormentor had used. He was gone now. She didn't expect him to live. Bashir was gone, too, and would likely die as well. All that remained was her. She had patients for whom she could do nothing. Maybe Bashir might have saved them, but she would probable kill them if she tried.
But it didn't matter. Supplies were very low. If a patient was marginal, medicine wouldn't be wasted on them.
She knew about triage. She'd even worked within its hard limits back when the Antelope came to ground. But this was different. Now, there was so little. So much depended on the will of each to survive.
There were already more death certificates. She couldn't say for sure what had happened to several and didn't feel like using the tricorder, so she was a little more vague than she liked.
She was so tired. A trickle of water still came from the pipes leading into the hospital, and a small amount of food had been saved from the night before they came. It had been filled with more of the scarce water and boiled. Everyone, staff and patients and families now trapped inside were rationed small bits of it.
Nobody knew when there would be more. As it was they had little more than barely flavored broth.
She had no idea what had happened outside. Those who passed the scan were sent inside the hospital, and the doors had been locked. She was almost surprised that the power hadn't been cut too. The trickle of water took hours to collect from the one faucet that was working.
Inside, it was very noisy. Patients screamed and cried when the scarce meds ran out and the pain was too much. Those with fevers talked to unknown ghosts, and sometimes screamed at them. Children who wanted parents who'd been taken away sobbed out their sorrows.
There were people everywhere. A small room had been set up for the children to sleep, away from most of the noise and fuss. It was too full. But it was a little better than making them watch the play of life and death that dominated the rest of the place.
The old staff rooms had been crowded with as many beds as possible. Staff shifts were redone so they could share the scarce sleeping space. Patients had been re-evaluated with her own experience in mind. Surgical cases were put in the "red" section, those who might survive. Those needing surgery but not yet having had it performed were in yellow if they'd live anyway. But most needed the surgery to survive and their place in red was a death watch. They might live or die but she couldn't help them. Only Bashir could and he was probably dead.
The rest were divided in terms of available supplies. If more came in, she'd move patients as needed. But everyone knew who was in charge. Scared and hungry and devastated, they obeyed because they needed someone to tell them what to do.
They knew they were under house arrest. They had been informed of that the first evening. Knowing that they would not be going home had helped organize things. It would be better to know when and if supplies would arrive, but she'd have to live with that.
But that morning the door was opened. A message was passed inside that she and two staff members would come out at once. She grabbed the first two nurses she found and nervously stood by the door.
It was the same corridor that Willman had used to place the box. The light was murky. There were no windows inside to tell them if it was day or night, and the little light reflected under the locked door didn't help.
The door opened. It was just starting to get light. She gulped the fresh air. Somehow, they'd already stopped noticing how foul it smelled inside.
Then she saw what awaited her. Outside, lying on the gravely ground, covering the small patches of fine native grasses, were thirteen bodies.
None of them moved. She didn't want to disobey the guards. And she could see the wounds were massive and bloody. They were executions. She couldn't pretend about how bad it might get if she had to face this.
"You must issue death certificates," she was told.
She had nothing for notes. Inside, a tag reader would verify their names, but most of their tags were covered in blood and would have to be dug out of wounds.
"I need paper," she said.
"You may have one of them get it and return," she was told.
The last nurse nodded and waited. Then Lonnie had an idea. "I need my tag reader too."
"She may get it."
The nurse disappeared inside the hospital. Despite the cold and the presence of death it wasn't so enclosed. The air smelled better. The breeze carried away the stench of the oldest bodies.
"May I examine them while we wait?" she asked.
"Work," said the Jem'Hadar.
She realized he was giving her a measure of authority. Only a small one, but it felt good. She didn't know as much as she should, but he didn't see the fears or sense of failure. He saw her as the Number One in her group. He was programmed to accept that sort of position and respect it.
She ordered the nurse with a brisk, no nonsense tone. "Get the tags off those two," she said, pointing at the two hacked open corpses that had died first, along with Jenny.
The nurse hurried to obey. The Jem'Hadar waited with what appeared to be calm patience.
The tags were dug out of torn flesh, and laid on the dead men's heads. Lonnie herself would have to read them. Willman had set up the prodical and she still followed it.
She gently took Jenny's tag from her shirt collar. By the time the nurse returned with pens, a board and forms, the tags had been removed on all patients.
Lonnie's hands were bloody, and she held them out to the guard. "I can't touch the forms with my hands like this."
He pointed to a small basin once used to wash out lunch dishes. It still trickled a small dribble of water, and dirt had clogged the drain. The murky water inside wasn't clean, but then the patients wouldn't care.
She dipped her hands in the basin and washed off the blood. Shaking her hands in the cool breeze, she let them dry.
The guard waited patiently, apparently not in any hurry.
She went to the first, Jenny, and read the tag. The little pin was attached to a small transparent bag at the top. The information was recorded and she filled out the rest. Time of death, two days before. Cause of death, execution by Jem'Hadar rifle.
It would do. Eight more of the bodies had much the same recorded, except the time of death. For some, it had been very recently. They were covered in sticky old blood from the first wounds, but it hadn't killed them soon enough. The Jem'Hadar had finished them off just before she'd been called out.
The others were listed as death from dismemberment. Massive trauma to the major organs had caused them to bleed to death. But most of it was drained out, and the remains were already decaying in the sun. She guessed they'd died the same day Jenny did. The last body had been electrocuted. She passed each report to the nurse who had retrieved the forms as she finished it.
She felt empowered. Even if he'd probably shot the wounded, she thought he'd respect her tone. "What do we do with the bodies?" she asked.
"We will take them to your morgue. You may deal with them there."
She was grateful for that. She wouldn't have to wash off more blood right away.
He wasn't finished. "When this is done, assemble you staff in groups of three. You will each have five minutes to take what you need from your quarters."
This was a surprise. She needed clothes. She hoped for a few personal things. If they hadn't been scattered it shouldn't take long.
"I'll have them ready. Should I have them wait here?" she asked.
"By this door. Wait an hour."
She nodded. Briskly, she ordered her staff inside. The air was heavy and smelled of blood and medicines and crowding. The five minutes she'd have to get to her quarters would be appreciated for more than what she could pick up.
Inside, she waited until the door was shut before she relaxed a little. "Wash up," she told the nurse. "I don't want you to bring in an infection. And see if we have any family of these people here. I'll do notifications if it's necessary."
She went to her office and closed the door. Out of view, she slumped in her chair.
They had murdered thirteen people. They would kill more. She remembered asking Bashir what the Dominion was like, and his hesitant answers. She understood now. She didn't have words to express the pain inside her, and could not even deal with the anger.
She had to give the orders. She had to be the calm at the center of the storm. She couldn't afford to grieve or let anger out. Later, but not now.
Composed, she wrote a quick order for each department to be ready when called to go to their quarters. She added a few conditions of her own. There would be one bag only. She allowed personal items. She would permit a book or two. But nothing large could be taken. Necessary clothes were allowed, but not too many.
They might never see any of the rest, but inside there wasn't room for anymore.
She gave it to the nearest nurse. It would be posted and announced. She would go last, just in case anything went wrong.
The captain of the ship did not desert the crew. Willman knew this. In his own way, he'd tried. But she'd have to try harder, and this time they must not fail.
end, Legacy Year 2, Part 1, Chapter 3