Chapter 8

That night, Sito was having trouble sleeping. And, not least because of the uncomfortable bed; she would have given anything to not have to spend another night in that God-awful bed. Her mind had been plagued with all sorts of disconcerting images. They swirled around her head, but refused to disappear.

Ever since she had landed, or crashed, or however she had actually come to be on the infernal penal colony world, she often found herself in an intense state of thought. The rough labour and long hours made it somewhat difficult to find time for herself, but she nonetheless was thoughtful. It was hard not to think about her circumstances – and when, if, how, they would ever change. If they would improve or worsen. She didn't much like the idea of the second possibility.

As she lay in bed that night, her eyes wandered about the room. The musky smell – of which the origin she had still not yet been able to figure out – hang about like nobody's business. Small chirping sounds filled in the moments of silence. The quiet times when nothing stirred, except of course, the occasional curious Cardassian Vole, or troops marching briskly outside someplace.

The nights were always warm, but not really unpleasantly so. Sito wondered by how much the temperature would increase if it were summertime. The Cardassians, she knew, would probably be having a field day whenever they found out that they were stationed there. Cardassia II was slightly cooler than its Prime counterpart, as it was further away from their star. Nonetheless, it was still very warm. Unlike Earth's neighbour, Mars, Cardassia II possessed a very similar atmosphere to that of Cardassia Prime.

Sito thought that the planet on which she was imprisoned would be an ideal replacement for Risa, should that particular planet ever decide to go out of business. Certainly, the temperature was warm enough, but it had been destroyed by the Spoonheads. They had desecrated a lot of the surrounding land. Of course, it would never be truly lush like Bajor was, but it would not have been so desert-like, so barren and so lifeless, if the Cardassians had never come.

That night, the air was particularly sticky, hazy. Sito daren't even bother sleep under the covers, instead choosing to rest on top of the sheets.

That previous day, she had spoken to a couple of other prisoners. The two of them were convicted of conspiring to murder some Cardassian Legate during the Occupation. While the Cardassians who executed millions of innocent Bajorans at the same time walk away freely; nothing but an unsavoury label on their heads, Sito thought, disgusted. The two other captives were quite old, probably the other side of fourty. They had sullen faces, but Sito could see how desperate they were to get out of the penal colony. They were quick to let on that they were husband and wife, and had been for twenty years.

"If you don't mind my asking," Sito had said to the pair of them. "How long have you been here? On this colony?"

The woman had answered. She pursed had her lips. "Oh, this… colony is new. Relatively speaking."

"How new?" Sito had asked, anxious to know they answer. Starfleet had records of most planets that had an M-Class atmosphere in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, regardless of whether or not they were Federation members. She gathered – hoped – that Starfleet would be able to find some sort of information regarding the illegal and rights-discarding penal colony. Federation starships that frequently traversed past the Cardassian system would definitely pick up the increases in carbon emissions and shipping activities on their sensors. If the colony was only recently established, the difference was likely to have been logged.

The balding man had considered, his expression absent yet pensive. "Hmmm… five years or so." His hazel eyes had narrowed. "We didn't have much time to consider the timeframe."

"Sorry," Sito had said quickly. "I didn't mean to…"

His wife had looked at him sharply. "Benal, it's not the fault of the young lady," she had told him in her smooth, silk-like voice.

Sito swallowed, bit her lip. "Have you been here long?" She went back to her original question.

"One month since its installation," the female Bajoran had replied solemnly. Sito had to read between the lines to catch even a glimpse of the stoically hidden sadness of the woman. Five years on a Cardassian penal colony. Sito couldn't help but wonder how the two individuals had managed to stay alive and look relatively healthy for so long.

Her conversation with those people – the only people, bar Kitos Moran, who had bothered t even look at her with a complimentary glance, let alone talk to her, kept running about her head. Finally, though, she settled her head back into the pillow and absentmindedly touched her hair, the warm air endowing her with drowsiness.