Chapter 6 - POW
In the dark room, where his and his associate's silhouette were outlined against a six feet-high window, the only source of light, Gul Deka watched his deputy bring in Prisoner N°5472.
That prisoner had been the last one of the Federation spy-team he had captured some weeks ago who had resisted to answer questions other than the so-called "big four"; name, rank, origin, birthdate.
Thanks to the Dominion's drugs, however, N°5472 too had been broken, and had rendered all information he possessed to the Dominion. Deka had learned that he and N°5486 were members of a Federation Special Unit. But since he had only been briefed on a need-to-know basis, he hadn't given away anything new. Nor had the others.
Special Troops were too high a risk to keep in captivity.
A sudden 'blam' came from the interrogation room. He turned to look, and saw his deputy quit the room, leaving a blood-stained body behind.
N°5486 had died two days ago.
And now the blood-soiled body of N°5472 waited for two Jem H'Adar to carry him away, to be shown to the other prisoners.
For this very purpose, Deka's deputy had used not a phaser, but an ancient projectile weapon to kill 5472.
In Deka's experience, the effect of a bullet wound in a skull had a far more demoralizing effect than a mere phaser burn. He was used to the sound of the weapon, but he had seen the Vorta start earlier, when 5472's life had been extinguished.
Like many Cardassians, Deka disgusted the Vortas. They were creepy, and not trustworthy, and despite the fact that they waged a war in the Alpha-Quadrant, they hadn't the guts to witness an execution. And they kept referring to that ridiculous human term. Atrocity.
Deka snorted.
The Vorta turned to look at him.
'Was this,' he gestured towards Lieutenant Renton's body, 'really necessary?'
'Yes. They would have made trouble.'
The Vorta sighed.
'In the end, I suppose, we have what we wanted,' he said.
'How can you say that?' Deka asked. 'They have given us no complete plans or data. Not even that machine.'
'The Android resisted your...violent efforts to extract data from his processor.' Vorta shrugged. 'He will do well in the mines. Has the prisoners' memory been erased?'
'Yes, but we don't know for sure if it worked completely. They might have flashbacks, or dreams.
'Then the Founder's goal has been achieved,' the Vorta said. His voice was marked with awe, when he came across the word "Founder".
'And what is that goal? All we got were imprecise sketches of the defense of T...'
The Vorta jerked his head violently to the left, and glared at Deka furiously.
The Cardassian's eyes widened. 'You can't seriously plan to attack that planet?'
'Why not? If it falls, the Federation will fall.'
'Why are you so sure about that?'
The Vorta smiled.
'Can the dragon exist without its head?'
'The Federation hardly is a dragon.'
The Vorta eyed Deka subspiciously.
'More like a lizard.'
***
When Tom Paris and Ro Laren stepped out of the barracks, Tom almost suffocated from the shock the extremely dry and hot air caused.
Corvus II was devilish, a desert world through and through. The ground inside the prison camp was rough and strewn with boulders and little sharp stones that sometimes even cut through the soles of his shoes.
What little water that had been placed on this planet by nature had been intoxicated by the Cardassians. Their heavy industries had mined the ores of the planet for years, ruthless, with no concern for the consequences on the environment. The poisonous smog their installations had released, had poisoned the worlds eco-system. Rain was extremely rare, and when it fell, it was nothing more than fluid toxic waste, a smelly acid.
There were only two replicators for the whole prison camp, producing nothing but compressed food, pressed into small cubicles or tubes, just enough to keep a few thousand prisoners alive.
Tom found out that Ro had already spent about six months in this hell, and she "had seen the sky " fourteen times.
The prisoners in the ore mines worked in cycles, six hours working, six hours rest, day after day. After each cycle of about 12 days of continuous work, the prisoners were allowed a whole day of "seeing the sky".
Tom was astonished to learn that the Cardassians would let the prisoners out of the force-field perimetre of the camp. But Ro Laren had explained it to him.
'I think it belongs to the mentality of this place,' she had said. 'If nothing but death would await us, after a while, people would just lay down and die.
So, we have alternatives. If we do not behave and do whatever they want, there are the tripods. Tripods are those small cages, standing on three legs. You have to kneel in them on a sharp edge, your arms cuffed behind you at about head-height. They won't give you anything to eat or drink, just put the tripod in the plain sun and leave you, for every other prisoner to see.
They are used to execute people as well. I once saw a prisoner die in one of those things. For five days they left him in there. Then he was dead. They forced everyone to take a good look at his corpse. Oh Tom, it was terrible. Those bloody rats had already started eating him, and he was nothing more then skin and bones. It was disgusting!' At that time, several tears had run down her face, and Tom had hugged her fiercely, to comfort her, and himself.
'But there is still hope,' she had said later. Every two weeks they let us go up that mountain there – she had pointed to Mount Szabo – and that helps. You won't believe it until you did it yourself, but it helps!
And we know we always have the choice. Either we can come back from the mountain, or...or we go for the walk.'
Paris had frowned. 'You mean, leave the camp site?'
'They won't hinder you. Nobody knows exactly what happens after you go, since nobody ever came back, but it has to be better and mercifuller that the tripods. At least there'll be animals or cliffs to make you a quick end.'
'And you call that hope?'
'When you've been here for a while, you'll understand. You can't live here, if you don't know that you have at least a choice, that there is more.'
With a loud noise, the guards had announced the end of the rest-time. The two had been led away to work.
In the time that Tom had been here, after they had stopped to interrogate him, Ro had practically adopted him, showed him everything there was to see, explained him what he needed to know.
When they weren't working, they were sleeping, eating, or sitting on the floor of their barracks, and talked.
He didn't remember what had happened after he had been captured, only that he had been asked questions. Every night, he had the same dream though, a small blue and green marble rolling across the floor, and a huge Cardassian stepping on it, breaking it.
One day, when he returned from his working shift to the barracks, Tom had caught a glimpse of red hair. He had peered over the open place and discovered a tall woman, the red, long hair dirty, the face full of bruises, being led away by two guards, in the Gul's office's direction.
'Doctor Crusher,' he shouted, but the woman hadn't turned around to look at him. The guards did though. They gave him the worst beating of his live, kicking him with their heavy boots, kicking his head and his genitals. He could feel some of his teeth explode in his mouth, under the pressure of a heavy wooden baton.
He never dared shout at someone again, and he never saw one of his team-mates again.
Slowly and painfully, Tom Paris learned what is was to be a slave.
Three days later
Federation News Agency Broadcast
Decembre 24th, 2364
-
Ladies and Gentlemen, we interrupt our current program for a Special News Broadcast.
-
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I am Juliet Clark, and you are watching a Special News Broadcast, brought to you by the Federated News Agency.
Our sources in StarFleet HighCommand have informed us, half an hour ago, that the latest encounter between our and Dominion forces have resulted in an outstanding success for the Federation.
As you will know, this agency has reported about a battle, a week ago, when no details of the engagement were known.
A fleet of six hundred ships, supported by a Klingon force, had set out from StarBase89. Its mission was the re-conquest of Deep Space Nine, because of its vital tactical position near the Prophet's Wormhole.
On the way to their destination, they were engaged by a Dominion fleet. The following battle resulted in a victory for our side, and the enemy fleet retreated back to their previous position. Unexpected support came from a fleet of Romulan Warbirds, that helped our side defeat the Cardassian-Jem H'Adar alliance. Currently, peace negotiations between the Federation and the Romulan Empire are being held.
The initial attack on the occupied Deep Space Nine space station though, had to be called off, due to a serious engineering malfunction on a great part of the fleet.
Yet, it is said that, if the war continues to go as well, he will be over by the end of this very year.
Thanks to the selfless, personal sacrifices of many of our officers, the Federation could now be well on the winning side of is this war.
Our deepest sympathy to the families of our dead, or of those under the mercy of the Dominion's ruthless torturers.
***
In the dark room, where his and his associate's silhouette were outlined against a six feet-high window, the only source of light, Gul Deka watched his deputy bring in Prisoner N°5472.
That prisoner had been the last one of the Federation spy-team he had captured some weeks ago who had resisted to answer questions other than the so-called "big four"; name, rank, origin, birthdate.
Thanks to the Dominion's drugs, however, N°5472 too had been broken, and had rendered all information he possessed to the Dominion. Deka had learned that he and N°5486 were members of a Federation Special Unit. But since he had only been briefed on a need-to-know basis, he hadn't given away anything new. Nor had the others.
Special Troops were too high a risk to keep in captivity.
A sudden 'blam' came from the interrogation room. He turned to look, and saw his deputy quit the room, leaving a blood-stained body behind.
N°5486 had died two days ago.
And now the blood-soiled body of N°5472 waited for two Jem H'Adar to carry him away, to be shown to the other prisoners.
For this very purpose, Deka's deputy had used not a phaser, but an ancient projectile weapon to kill 5472.
In Deka's experience, the effect of a bullet wound in a skull had a far more demoralizing effect than a mere phaser burn. He was used to the sound of the weapon, but he had seen the Vorta start earlier, when 5472's life had been extinguished.
Like many Cardassians, Deka disgusted the Vortas. They were creepy, and not trustworthy, and despite the fact that they waged a war in the Alpha-Quadrant, they hadn't the guts to witness an execution. And they kept referring to that ridiculous human term. Atrocity.
Deka snorted.
The Vorta turned to look at him.
'Was this,' he gestured towards Lieutenant Renton's body, 'really necessary?'
'Yes. They would have made trouble.'
The Vorta sighed.
'In the end, I suppose, we have what we wanted,' he said.
'How can you say that?' Deka asked. 'They have given us no complete plans or data. Not even that machine.'
'The Android resisted your...violent efforts to extract data from his processor.' Vorta shrugged. 'He will do well in the mines. Has the prisoners' memory been erased?'
'Yes, but we don't know for sure if it worked completely. They might have flashbacks, or dreams.
'Then the Founder's goal has been achieved,' the Vorta said. His voice was marked with awe, when he came across the word "Founder".
'And what is that goal? All we got were imprecise sketches of the defense of T...'
The Vorta jerked his head violently to the left, and glared at Deka furiously.
The Cardassian's eyes widened. 'You can't seriously plan to attack that planet?'
'Why not? If it falls, the Federation will fall.'
'Why are you so sure about that?'
The Vorta smiled.
'Can the dragon exist without its head?'
'The Federation hardly is a dragon.'
The Vorta eyed Deka subspiciously.
'More like a lizard.'
***
When Tom Paris and Ro Laren stepped out of the barracks, Tom almost suffocated from the shock the extremely dry and hot air caused.
Corvus II was devilish, a desert world through and through. The ground inside the prison camp was rough and strewn with boulders and little sharp stones that sometimes even cut through the soles of his shoes.
What little water that had been placed on this planet by nature had been intoxicated by the Cardassians. Their heavy industries had mined the ores of the planet for years, ruthless, with no concern for the consequences on the environment. The poisonous smog their installations had released, had poisoned the worlds eco-system. Rain was extremely rare, and when it fell, it was nothing more than fluid toxic waste, a smelly acid.
There were only two replicators for the whole prison camp, producing nothing but compressed food, pressed into small cubicles or tubes, just enough to keep a few thousand prisoners alive.
Tom found out that Ro had already spent about six months in this hell, and she "had seen the sky " fourteen times.
The prisoners in the ore mines worked in cycles, six hours working, six hours rest, day after day. After each cycle of about 12 days of continuous work, the prisoners were allowed a whole day of "seeing the sky".
Tom was astonished to learn that the Cardassians would let the prisoners out of the force-field perimetre of the camp. But Ro Laren had explained it to him.
'I think it belongs to the mentality of this place,' she had said. 'If nothing but death would await us, after a while, people would just lay down and die.
So, we have alternatives. If we do not behave and do whatever they want, there are the tripods. Tripods are those small cages, standing on three legs. You have to kneel in them on a sharp edge, your arms cuffed behind you at about head-height. They won't give you anything to eat or drink, just put the tripod in the plain sun and leave you, for every other prisoner to see.
They are used to execute people as well. I once saw a prisoner die in one of those things. For five days they left him in there. Then he was dead. They forced everyone to take a good look at his corpse. Oh Tom, it was terrible. Those bloody rats had already started eating him, and he was nothing more then skin and bones. It was disgusting!' At that time, several tears had run down her face, and Tom had hugged her fiercely, to comfort her, and himself.
'But there is still hope,' she had said later. Every two weeks they let us go up that mountain there – she had pointed to Mount Szabo – and that helps. You won't believe it until you did it yourself, but it helps!
And we know we always have the choice. Either we can come back from the mountain, or...or we go for the walk.'
Paris had frowned. 'You mean, leave the camp site?'
'They won't hinder you. Nobody knows exactly what happens after you go, since nobody ever came back, but it has to be better and mercifuller that the tripods. At least there'll be animals or cliffs to make you a quick end.'
'And you call that hope?'
'When you've been here for a while, you'll understand. You can't live here, if you don't know that you have at least a choice, that there is more.'
With a loud noise, the guards had announced the end of the rest-time. The two had been led away to work.
In the time that Tom had been here, after they had stopped to interrogate him, Ro had practically adopted him, showed him everything there was to see, explained him what he needed to know.
When they weren't working, they were sleeping, eating, or sitting on the floor of their barracks, and talked.
He didn't remember what had happened after he had been captured, only that he had been asked questions. Every night, he had the same dream though, a small blue and green marble rolling across the floor, and a huge Cardassian stepping on it, breaking it.
One day, when he returned from his working shift to the barracks, Tom had caught a glimpse of red hair. He had peered over the open place and discovered a tall woman, the red, long hair dirty, the face full of bruises, being led away by two guards, in the Gul's office's direction.
'Doctor Crusher,' he shouted, but the woman hadn't turned around to look at him. The guards did though. They gave him the worst beating of his live, kicking him with their heavy boots, kicking his head and his genitals. He could feel some of his teeth explode in his mouth, under the pressure of a heavy wooden baton.
He never dared shout at someone again, and he never saw one of his team-mates again.
Slowly and painfully, Tom Paris learned what is was to be a slave.
Three days later
Federation News Agency Broadcast
Decembre 24th, 2364
-
Ladies and Gentlemen, we interrupt our current program for a Special News Broadcast.
-
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I am Juliet Clark, and you are watching a Special News Broadcast, brought to you by the Federated News Agency.
Our sources in StarFleet HighCommand have informed us, half an hour ago, that the latest encounter between our and Dominion forces have resulted in an outstanding success for the Federation.
As you will know, this agency has reported about a battle, a week ago, when no details of the engagement were known.
A fleet of six hundred ships, supported by a Klingon force, had set out from StarBase89. Its mission was the re-conquest of Deep Space Nine, because of its vital tactical position near the Prophet's Wormhole.
On the way to their destination, they were engaged by a Dominion fleet. The following battle resulted in a victory for our side, and the enemy fleet retreated back to their previous position. Unexpected support came from a fleet of Romulan Warbirds, that helped our side defeat the Cardassian-Jem H'Adar alliance. Currently, peace negotiations between the Federation and the Romulan Empire are being held.
The initial attack on the occupied Deep Space Nine space station though, had to be called off, due to a serious engineering malfunction on a great part of the fleet.
Yet, it is said that, if the war continues to go as well, he will be over by the end of this very year.
Thanks to the selfless, personal sacrifices of many of our officers, the Federation could now be well on the winning side of is this war.
Our deepest sympathy to the families of our dead, or of those under the mercy of the Dominion's ruthless torturers.
***