The Green Hills of Home

SURRENDER

Part 2 – Necessary Compromises

This story is rated R due to graphic violence and non-consentual sex. This is not in every chapter or even found frequently, but it is there. Be forwarned.

Book Bibliography:

The following books are described/quoted in this story:

The Underground Man, by Ross MacDonald

The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

Chapter 11

Another long, dull day . . . worse since I invaded the evening's reading and do not have that to catch up on. Tessie spends a little time with me, and naps in her own bed, but mostly she's played with the other children. It's been hours since breakfast, and will be many hours more until anyone else returns. Tessie is asleep with me for the moment, but I've done all the reading I want to and simply feel restless.

But there's nowhere to go and nothing to do. I am keeping quiet so as to not wake Tessie. Again, I wonder if Weyoun considers this form of torture a special gift for saving the gods, or if it is as he intends it to be, the payment he believes we deserve for dragging out our jobs as long as Realand and company did.

There has been no sign of them, not even a rumor. We all assume them dead, but at least a rumor would confirm it, make it real. Perhaps that way, it would feel like Tessie was ours. Not knowing, there is still a sense of taking care, trying to hold back the fondness in fear she'll be taken back.

She's just settled down for her nap, sound asleep, when I hear the commotion-screams, shouting, children running.

I look at Tessie, worried. I didn't hear the gate open, but it is possible to push it gently. Hesitantly I go outside.

And freeze. Cindy is holding a little girl no older than Tessie. The child is crying hysterically. All the rest have retreated behind Cindy-all but Jeffrey and his sister. He's a little ways away, Calla held inside the cocoon of his arms. She's crying too. But I can't get my eyes off of Jeffrey, the cold, dangerous look in his face and body, the knight ready to strike at the first hint, protecting his princess from the angry dragon.

It's been growing closer and closer and finally the timebomb inside him has gone off. As I approach, he starts to back away, nearly dragging Calla along, keeping her inside his shield.

Cindy deigns to talk to me. "She's hurt," she says, indicating the little girl in her arms. "She and Calla had an argument about the toy, and Jeffrey decided to protect his sister with that."

Nearby, still where it fell, is a broken leg from a chair. I pick it up, Jeffrey retreating further, visibly dragging his sister along. There is no blood, but it is hard enough to do damage, especially to such a young child.

"I need to check her over," I tell Cindy.

The girl isn't hysterical now, but still sobbing. Cindy opens her arms, lets me take her to a nearby table where I check her condition. There's a large lump on her head, several bruises on her arm. But her eyes focus, and the skin isn't broken. She should be all right, though I'll check back on her later.

I tell Cindy as much. She's relieved, but still worried. "I'll keep her with me, have her rest. Is that enough?"

"As much as we can do. She's probably got a concussion, but minor. If she seems disoriented or her eyes don't focus, get me right away."

She nods, taking the girl. I advance on Jeffrey, continuing to back away until I am too close, naked fury in those eyes as I stand above him. "Let go of your sister," I tell him.

In answer he pulls back, trying to kick me as he starts to drag her. She starts to scream. But I'm faster and stronger, and take Calla from him in a sudden grab.

For a moment he is stunned, and quiets, but starts to crawl forward. I have Calla at the table, breathing hard and scared, near panic. But as far as I can tell she is fine.

I give her to Cindy. "Have her rest too. I'll take care of him."

Jeffrey backs away, under the tables. He's small, but the anger and venom in his eyes is still dangerous. I'm cautious as I approach. "Jeffrey, come with me. Now."

He ignores me, but I expected him to. But he looks away, just for a second as the table leg falls a little away from him. Distracted, he misses my hand grabbing him, pulling him from under the table.

He's a small angry animal fighting for its life. He tries to bite and kick and tear himself loose. I pull him back from the others, everyone staring as he struggles in my firm grip.

He demands to be let go, to have his sister, makes threats against me and the others if he's not released. Even so small, I take the threats as real.

Children killed on Bajor, children turned from childhood by those they attacked. Jeffrey is dangerous, and I wonder what will become of him.

But I remember the boy who trailed after his mother when his sister was born, who liked to draw pictures of castles and knights, who dreamed of the wonders of the universe. That child was destroyed in that cargo hold, though he will never say how.

How can I cooperate, even to revenge us, with monsters who make orphans of little girls and treat children so barbarically they make monsters of them?

Jeffrey is still struggling, but with less determination. I get Cindy's attention. "Have one of the older children get Tessie. I don't want her anywhere near him."

Two of the children Jeffrey's age scamper to my quarters, and a sleepy Tessie is led outside. I drag him along, fighting me again.

Jeffrey has to get himself under control, and be kept away from the rest. The injured child was so young. She could easily have been Tessie.

I drag Jeffrey inside, dumping him in the furthest corner. I sit on the chair, blocking any attempt at escape.

He stares, the most intense hatred I've ever seen in the child's eyes. If he could, he'd kill me to get back to his sister.

Taking a length of bandage, I issue a warning. "Don't move. Don't make a sound or I'll tie you up and gag you. I mean it."

Jeffrey was about to say something and stops. He looks at the floor, drawing himself back, looking as if he was a snake coiled to strike should anyone come near.

It quiets outside. Cindy reads them a story. I listen, distracted, but not paying much attention. I never take my eyes off of the boy, waiting for my first moment of inattention, his first chance to run.

Finally, after what seems like hours of watching, he looks up, staring straight at me. "You deserve to die," he says. "Calties all deserve to die."

I've heard the term, the local slang for the helpful collaborators Weyoun has found. But it's the first time it's been applied to me and it hurts. I should keep my promise, but he hasn't moved. And I'm struck by the coldness in his eyes. It's not anger now, not the kind that inspired the attack on the child. This is cold, pure hate. If he could he would do it.

He does not move, just stares. I want to go away from him, stop seeing the reflection of myself in his eyes. I want to stop the little voice that believes he's right. But he is too dangerous right now. He has given me a function in this place again, and I will take it.

The room quiets, except for Jeffrey's stare. I notice he's still tense, but tired. Eventually he'll fall asleep. Cindy's not reading anymore. The children are playing or talking in their little voices. I wish Jeffrey could be like them again.

Then, when he looks asleep there is a sudden noise and I'm distracted. Jeffrey is gone. I notice him under the bed, something in his hand. I can't tell what it is, but can't let him out.

I pretend not to see him until he turns, inching towards me. He's got a piece of metal, hard, rusty, and sharp. He must have been hiding it before. There is nowhere to back away, no place to go. He's got the knife in his hand, can reach my leg. Here, especially if it's deep, that would be enough to insure a miserable death.

I kick him, missing the knife, and he skidders under the bed. I back off, knowing how little he has to do to succeed. The boy shrinks along the wall where I can't reach him without being slashed by the knife.

I must lure him out. Standing by the bed, I kneel towards him. "You want to kill me. Try."

He inches towards me, knife extended. I'm counting on my reflexes, and as soon as he is close enough snatch his arm, twisting it hard until he drops the knife, kicking it away with my other hand. Not sparing him, he's jerked to the bed where I first tie his hands, then his feet.

Still struggling, I dump him on the floor by the wall, facing away from me. I push my foot into his back. He may be a child but he was going to kill me. I don't kick him but want to.

"You say one word, and I gag you. You move and I blindfold you. Understand?" I move my foot away, tapping him with the toe. He jumps a little.

Later, watching him from the bed, I study the knife, wrapping it in some bandage to keep from cutting myself. It's sharp, home-made and deadly. Jeffrey doesn't move. But I remember the look in his eyes, and am sure he's killed before. What sort of hell did they put our children in? What kind of place would turn a child into an executioner?

I realize he's asleep. But I can't relax. What happens now, with a child killer in our midst. Or should I keep that particular observation to myself. They all know he's dangerous. Perhaps some of them wouldn't have minded too much if he'd not missed with the knife.

A tap at the door wakes Jeffrey, the only sign that he stiffens a little.

Through the open door, Kira says grimly, "Go check the child again. I'll watch."

I leave Jeffrey to her. She briefly notes that he's restrained, and I show her the knife. "He had this," I note.

She eyes him with concern. "He try to use it on you?"

"Tried. He didn't get far." I decide to leave it at that and Jeffrey says nothing.

Outside there is gathering around Calla and the other child. Her parents are pale and scared, looking towards Jackson and his wife with worry.

I'm almost noticed. The child is fine, probably with a headache but not serious. I inform the parents and intend to leave.

But Jackson corners me. "What about Jeffrey?"

"Kira's with him," is all I say.

"What happened to him? Did he tell you? Sometimes he talks in his sleep, says terrible things. But that's all he ever says about it, in his sleep." Jackson is close to collapse. I try to lure him away, want him to know to watch his son, but he is quickly falling into a helpless stare.

It is Cheryl Jackson who asks. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, but I found a knife on him. I tied him up, had to after that."

She nods, sadness mixed with resignation. "Jeffrey will have to be kept away from the other children. It's been made very plain that he won't be allowed near them, or the others will take action. I'm not sure how. If you can, could you watch him, at least for now?"

I don't want to see the child turned executioner. I don't want to remember the coldness in his eyes, the calmness as he tried to slash me with the knife. But if this is something I can do to belong, I'll help. "As long as I can. Calla is fine. But I'd keep him away from her for now, if you can."

She nods. "We'll make sure." She is hiding the pain, worried over her son, the way her husband is near collapse. But she is strong, taking Carl's hand. "Could you bring Jeffrey to our quarters now?"

"Sure." I hate the thing Jeffrey has become, but it felt very good not to be invisible.

Kira is sitting on the bed, watching as the boy squirms on the floor. "The parents want him now. I'll bring him."

"I'll come." She watches as I heft him off the ground, carrying the knife herself. "I'll take care of this before it becomes a problem for everyone."

I have to drag Jeffrey there. He refuses to walk. Calla is in her parents room, Jeffrey going alone to the other. "I'll untie him," I offer as I drop him on the bed.

Carl is standing nearby. The devastated look is fading, replaced by anger. He stares at the boy, one hand held in a fist. "Don't bother."

I flee the room. Cheryl is trying to talk to him, calm him down, but I doubt she'll succeed. I think of Marta and the battering she'd received. And Donnie and the way she kept away from her father. What are we becoming?

"Little bastard," mutters Carl as I run away from reality, thinking of Tessie and Ezri and how good it will be to hear the story tonight.

o0o

The Dominion war is over. The end came today as the Federation signed an unconditional surrender. Ross, representing Starfleet, and the highest ranking survivor of the Federation council signed the document. Even this far away, we got all the details.

The crews came back early so they could hear the announcement. I was watching Jeffrey, still hardly moving since the beating he took from his father. We were all called out, and details were told. I kept thinking of Ross with a rifle at his back, the numb realization still too hard to take that it is over.

Ross and the others are probably dead by now. Nobody will say it-nobody wants to think it-but the Dominion doesn't just let you surrender. They make examples. I still remember Admiral Ross's speech about war . . . inter alma silent leges. In war there are no rules. Certainly not in this one, except the winner makes the rules, decides who lives and who dies.

And now we are the conquered people. Now, if we had believed it would come to be, we know that the only liberation will be our own. It should be easier for me, knowing it has been set in action. But it isn't. I was maneuvered into this as I have been so many other things.

I wonder, when they executed him, what did Ross think of? All the rules he'd broken, the compromises he'd made, all for naught? I don't know why I still hate the man, despise him for what he was, but I hope he lives. I hope they lock him in a room and make him beg-force him to capitulate and accept the kind of humiliation we live with and understand what it feels like to be used like a puppet on a string. Maybe I could forgive him then.

And if he's alive, maybe others who matter more are too.

We had more fruit with dinner. It is round and slightly yellowish. The skins are thin and a little tart, with the meat of the fruit very sweet. I have no idea what they are called.

I hope to never see another of them. I'll never forget why they gave them to us.

Everyone is very silent. A lot of us had? have? family or friends on earth, and little hope of ever seeing them again.

Cheryl Jackson took her son home, tears in her eyes. Her entire family lived on Earth. Most likely they are dead by now. Strange, I can think of her family dead, but not my own.

We've all heard the rumor about the Klingon home world, laid ruin and it population eradicated like Cardassia. No reason to expect any different for Earth. Except Earth was home . . .

I keep thinking of Arthur Dent, trying to make the vaporizing of home real and that complete stranger who got through his disbelief. I think of my parents, and friends left behind. And yet, like Arthur, it isn't real. But there was a neighbor, an old man who lived near my family the last time I was there, who grew roses. His garden was his life and passion and reason for staying alive. He had every color in every size plant and flower he could make room for.

His roses are gone now. He is gone too. All I can think of is his pleasant smile and the wonderful scent of his garden. I hope he died before they burned his flowers. It would have broken his heart. I must believe my parents died quickly. They made mistakes, but at least before I lost them forever we came to understand each other.

I'm sure they are dead. The Dominion would not let the Federation's determined resistance go unpunished.

This vivid image of bodies . . . of soot blackened shapes in the smoke filled sunset . . . of the reek of death on the wind . . . I can't chase it away when I close my eyes. It was a short work day after the announcement. I retreated to our quarters today to get away from the rest of them.

There is a sense of numbness, a complete disbelief that we are a conquered people, that millions, maybe billions of us have already been eradicated. It's too much to take in. It's too much to believe.

Some of us are just sitting in the common area. Others have retreated to their quarters to sit with family. Ezri is quiet, stunned. She's not human, has only visited Earth, but the fate of Trill and many other places may well be the same. We can only guess; she doesn't know if her home, her own kind have survived at all.

And it's far worse when you have to live with it alone. Miles brought back more books yesterday. Eveything we've read before is here now. No trades were even discussed. They are going to send more of us away to . . . where? But we'll probably be the last.

I didn't bother to ask, since nobody paid any attention to me, but looked through the pile and found another two books to read. I'm not welcome at readings but I go anyway. I know Miles would leave the book out where I could read it alone during the day, marked to the place they stopped, but I still need them. They pretend I'm not there and I let them. They won't forgo readings to spite me. If I had to be alone all the time I'm lose my mind. But it's hard to care right now. We all share this grief, but they won't let me in-not even for a moment of silent support. I don't know if I'm really in a mood for satire, not now. But I like to hear them laugh. If they still do, still can.

There is a brief reading tonight, despite the news. Arthur is not the only human left alive, a woman who now calls herself Trillion having followed a guy named Phil from a party months before. Arthur remembered her, having tried hard to win her from Phil. But Phil turned out to have two heads and three arms and be from outer space, and Arthur hadn't a chance.

I smiled a little at that, wondering if my attempts at luring Jadzia had looked as pitiful. But I have her now. She is there more often than Ezri and it still hurts. Worf is dead, but I still feel as if I've stolen her when Jadzia banishes my Ezri completely.

Morning was very quiet. Trillion had heard about Earth, and she stares at the two white mice which are the only link with Earth that remain. That night she can't sleep. Ford is too excited about his escape from exile and lies awake. Life isn't going the way Zaphod expected and it's keeping him awake. But Arthur is too tired and he sleeps.

The rumors had been rife that Dominion forces had taken everything near home. We all knew it was just a matter of time.

Then, yesterday's reading was oddly cheering. The Heart of Gold, passing through every point in the universe, has found the legendary planet Magrathea, once so rich it simply disappeared and is now just a "fairy tale".

But it exists and the Heart of Gold is orbiting the dark planet. A missile attack is launched, and Zaphod is oddly excited.

" 'Hey, this is terrific!' he said. Someone down there is trying to kill us.'"

" 'Terrific,' Arthur said."

" 'But don't you see what this means?'"

" 'Yes, we are going to die.'"

" 'Yes, but apart from that.'"

" '*Apart* from that?'"

" 'It means we must be on to something.'"

" 'How do we get off it?'"

Then Arthur has the idea of restarting the improbability drive. The missiles become a bowl of petunias, which thinks "Oh no, not again," as it hits the planet, and a sperm whale which has a brief, if confused, bit of life before crashing into the planets surface in a big wet thud.

We went to bed with visions of the absurd and it made it easier to sleep, easier to forget how soon it would end. Then, this afternoon, the surrender of the Federation was announced and the petunias and the whales and the mystery of Magrathea was shattered by reality.

I'm keeping Danielle's book. I turned to her today, rereading it again, this time just for the flavor. The part I read most often comes just before the assault when her father came to the building to tell their story. He was squeezed out of his job, became very ill and the bills got too far behind. There wasn't a place for him when he recovered. The debts were huge. They lost the house because they ran out of money and even selling everything they had left wouldn't make a difference.

Each time I open the book to that passage I'm struck by the reality that I could have walked right by him-and probably did. Danielle was with him and I saw her among the crowd. I search my memory for her face, but can't find it. I feel connected to this girl in a deeply personal way and won't let go of her.

I keep thinking about her life. I grieve with her when her father is killed during the assault. She watched as he was shot, held him as his blood spilled out on the street. She never forgot it. She never forgave them. Just as this day is one none of us will ever allow to fade.

The grief and shock and horror of this moment will live with me the rest of my life. I can't stand the thought of having helped the monsters now. I wonder if some of these people would rather have died than have me save them.

But I have a secret to savor. When the changelings start to die, they'll know. It will not take very long. There will be no time to make plans . . . just like those trapped in the places they picked as examples.

But it is going to be a long six months. For the others, I do not exist. I would even welcome their disgust over being invisible. But I dream of the day when I can tell them why. They must know I did not betray them. Still, even more, I'd like them to feel the satisfaction of getting revenge.

o0o

Not a single word was said at breakfast today. Ezri held Tessie last night, and I wrapped myself around her. I don't know if we slept or simply gave in to the shock. We didn't even consider going to the beach. What if it had bodies floating in the waves?

Our people dragged themselves out of bed and stared at the tables, ate in grief and filed out without any hint of feeling. I was handed Jeffrey, still black and blue but more aware, and almost welcomed the need to be more watchful today. He doesn't look at me, just stares at the floor. But if he didn't hurt so much, he'd have tried something.

I'm more alone than ever now. Tessie stays with Cindy most of the time, Jeffrey in the way. I've heard that word-caltie-in passing, though I only assume it's about me. I hurry by, don't invade their privacy.

Now that we are fully owned by them, the only dignity we get is what we make for ourselves. But I know if Weyoun asks again what I'll say. I can't look at Jeffrey, remember the child he used to be, and ever cooperate again.

What happens to him next? Does he take the route Worf did? Or does he fume silently until he explodes again, and perhaps this time his father will beat him a little too long. Or does he somehow grow up and become one of the vicious young killers Kira is too familiar with?

Whatever becomes of him, the bright, inquisitive child is dead. The thing in his body now is a monster which will consume whatever traces of the boy remain.

Another tap on the door, and Carl is there. "We're back early. I figured you'd like to get rid of him."

Carl strides over to his son and nearly drags him out. The boy is clearly in a lot of pain, and I wonder when the next beating will start. Carl does what he is told. He never stalls, never annoys them. But he sees the world around him too, and Jeffrey is his personal reminder.

"Is everybody back?" I ask, hoping for an early reading.

"No just the Ops crews. Nothing much to do now." Jeffrey tries to twist away from his father's grip, and Carl yanks him back. "He hasn't tried anything, has he?"

"No. He just sits and glares."

"Better not do anything," mutters Carl as he tows his child away. I think of an old story, how fairies would take a child and replace it with one of their own. If only that had happened to Jeffrey. Then we might find him again some day.

Jeffrey hates the monsters. But I think in time he'll hate his father as much as he does the others, or perhaps more.

I retrieve Tessie, needing a reminder that children still exist that aren't like Jeffrey, and she hugs me. Somehow, it makes up a little for the rest of them.

More time drags by, playing with Tessie, reading a little, holding her during her nap.

Eventually the rest of the crews get back, much later than normal. Nobody is trying very hard. It took hours more to do what they did the day before. Ezri goes straight to our quarters and kisses Tessie, then gives me a silent hug.

It's different now that it's over, that the last bit of hope has been destroyed.

Even dinner is late, everyone waiting impatiently, staring out at the gate.

First, the cart rolls in, and while we're all lined up for our food the gate is pushed open a second time.

We've accepted that most of the people we knew on Earth are dead, that some of our own here have gone as well. We know the dead do not come back, we say good bye and go on. But sometimes they do.

Four Jem'Hadar march inside, holding onto a disheveled prisoner. They shove him ahead, causing him to lose his balance and fall. He's filthy, covered in blood, and not reacting to them at all.

But while we don't pull out of line, especially with the Jem'Hadar there, everyone stares. Kevin Realand has defied all the rules and come back alive.

They withdraw, leaving him where he fell. There is no sign of the women, no inkling of what became of them, but too much blood on him to bode well. A few people start towards him, but he starts to push himself to his own feet on shaky legs, finally standing, and slowly, mechanically, gets in line for dinner.

Ralph Townsend, near the front of the line, takes his bowl and leads Realand to a seat. Placing it in front of Realand, he silently gets back in line.

Dinner proceeds in silence, Realand eating slowly, nearly collapsing once. I should check to see how he is, but I doubt he'd let me, and even if I did, what difference would I make? He will ask if he wants me to, or I will insist if it is something I can fix. But whatever led to the blood soaked clothes can't be fixed that easily. I let him go, stumbling back towards his quarters, wishing as much as the others that he'd explained, that he'd tell us they were alive, just not here.

We've lost too much. Even if it's Realand, to get one of them back matters.

Miles is sitting next to Jackson, Jeffrey not in view. His mother is taking his food to him in his room. Once, Miles threatened Realand not to hit his wife, but he sits next to a man who beat his son unconscious. No matter that the boy is psychotic by now. Once, Miles would never have accepted a man who beat up a boy. But now, it keeps the danger under control because the boy is too badly hurt to hurt anyone else. We used to have standards. We used to be civilized. Now we have a code of survival.

Nobody has started to read, and I don't want to sit around out here. Tessie is sleepy, and I pick her up to put her to bed.

She hasn't changed, grown taller or heavier or learned any new words. But she's different. Before dinner she was a child we were watching. Now, seeing all the blood, the horrific look in his eyes, she is ours. I'm absolutely certain that her grandmother, even if she hadn't been ill, will never come back to us.

Ezri returns a little while longer. "We're doing a real short reading," she whispers.

But she's looking at Tessie. "Anybody know anything?" I ask.

"He does," she says. "But he won't say. Give your daughter a kiss."

She's asleep, dreaming. I kiss her lightly on the forehead, not wanting to wake her. "She did what she believed was right," I say very quietly.

Ezri just nods. "Someday, Tessie will be very proud of her."

The reading is very quick, and we adjourn to our rooms and our families, and I hold them both as if nothing will ever tear us apart.

o0o

Alessa Riland Carlan was born today. I delivered her late in the afternoon with her father Justin holding her mother's hand. She was born in the cramped quarters of her parents inside this locked cage.

She is the first child of our group to be born a slave.

Not all of her family is gone. She is named after her grandmother, who was on Earth and is probably dead by now. Her mother had family that lived on one of the colonies they captured early in the war. Nobody knows about them. At least she has her parents.

One of the older children came to get me when her mother went into labor this morning and there was no one to ask for her to be taken to the other doctor. Realand, left behind as well, was recruited to watch Jeffrey. He knew about the end of the war by then, and the way Jeffrey had snapped. Jeffrey must have remembered his old reputation because he slunk into the corner and didn't move.

I didn't like the look in Realand's eyes much either when he said Jeffrey wouldn't be allowed to hurt anyone. But then I'd rather that than having to declare someone dead or watch them die slowly if Jeffrey got loose.

Returning, Jeffrey was crouched in the corner, a cut on his cheek that hadn't been there before. I didn't like the look in Realand's eyes either. He's hurting so much inside he needs to smash someone to let it out. He hasn't said a word about the women.

Once, Ezri would have tried to draw it out. But she's not the same woman who tried to help Worf and Jackson long ago. She isn't Ezri now, or Jadzia, or any of the others. Since the beating, she is a tumbled mixture of all her selves as demanded by the moment.

Most of all, she's Tessie's new mother.

But for me today was such a good day. I understand they would have preferred the other doctor, but at least there were no complications. Now her mother will have one more child to watch during the day.

The way things are going, Cindy will never know what a workcrew is like-at least one of them here. She won't watch little children all her life.

Having been granted the gift of my life again, it will be harder to take my days anymore. I sit in the front sometimes, even if I'm ignored. I like to watch Tessie play, the others talk in their childish voices. At least they weren't born slaves like Alessa.

Watching Jeffery, I've been rereading The Underground Man, the book Ezri and I got as a wedding present. Miles returned it to us when it had made the rounds. I cannot forget the father, marred as a child, damaged in ways nobody understood. And then there is the tragedy of his own son, damaged as he had been.

Jeffrey has been warned that should he make any trouble I'll give him back to Realand. He hardly moves now. The boy's kept a prisoner among prisoners, the abuse passed on from guard to us, visited on our own.

I dwell on Danielle's fate. One of the books Miles got was a history of the 21st century. Some of the premier terrorists of the age that followed the Sanctuary Districts were survivors of the riots who could not forget.

Will the children living through this, at least those old enough to remember what was lost, harbor dreams of revenge that poison their lives even if the monsters die and we are free? Will Alessa Carlan ever have any idea of what has been taken from us? Will Jeffrey grow to be as mean as the society that made him into this?

I already love Tessie, but sometimes wish someone else was there to raise her. It would take equipment we aren't likely to have for Ezri and I to have a child. I can't bear to watch this new world twist and damage my own and not be able to do anything about it.

I don't want to stare at the walls again tomorrow. Jeffrey will have to make due with Realand. I'm going to try to go with the others, see something of the life they live before it, too, disappears.

The odd part is, I believe Weyoun intends this reprieve from work to be a reward. He doesn't know it is more a silent revenge. I don't know if the guards will let me, if they count or just watch bodies, but I must try to get away before I lose my mind.

Today, though, it was lucky I was here. I used to enjoy delivering babies, with the joy of a new life and the promise it held.

But what does this child have to look forward to, even if the monsters die and we fight our way to freedom? The ideal and the dream are gone. All she'll have is surviving, be it enslavement or the ruin left by the war.

I feel sorry for her. Her parents dreams will be nothing more than stories. Our world will be as much a fantasy as Oz was to Aunt Em.

But it *was* good to be a doctor again.

I guess I'm lucky. No matter what happens to us and our people, they'll always need me. Even if Weyoun and his kind have decided all of us are disposable, they will not be here forever.

After, my life will be as it was during the war, with not enough hours in the day and never enough supplies. But we will be free then.

No matter the cost, that moment can't come soon enough.

o0o

Cindy gets to spend the day in her quarters with her newborn today. Cheryl Jackson, by now also visibly pregnant, has taken over watching the children.

But I didn't try to get into line. Something is wrong. The bowl was taken to Jeffrey, but not returned. I was informed that Realand would watch him today, but Cheryl looked exhausted, on the edge of emotional collapse. Carl, on the other hand, was much calmer.

I decide to wait until the rest are gone, and then go to investigate. Realand is resting in one room, Jeffrey confined to the other.

"What are you doing in here?" he demands. "You have no business in my rooms."

"I want to check on the boy."

Realand watches carefully as I move closer. "Don't go in there. You weren't asked."

"You're not going to stop me," I say, pushing him back. He still hurts. He lets me by.

"You won't like it," he warns.

I don't. Inside, confined to a box, Jeffrey lies on his stomach. He's naked, his back covered with welts from a cot strap. At least there are no open wounds. But Jeffrey is huddled in the box, his hands tied. Before, there was anger and coldness in his eyes. Now there is a bitterness that goes very deep. But mostly he is lost, cringing at my touch. I have the feeling Jeffrey has been shattered inside and nothing will ever put him back together.

Realand is eating a bowl of mush, but he already had one.

"What happened?" I ask, not hiding my dislike of the whole situation.

"Kid tried to grab his sister. He's not allowed near her, or anybody for that matter. His father punished him." Realand is casual about it, continuing. "Nobody's business but theirs."

I watch as he eats. "Is that what they're paying you to keep this quiet?"

"No, just make sure he stays put. He gets out of the box I use this," he says, holding up the cot strap. "I've had some practice with it on a whore."

Marta had welts too, deep ones. I wonder about Cassie. "And your wife? I think you were warned about that."

The horror in his eyes makes me forget Jeffrey for a second. The anger is bubbling, near the surface. I don't want Jeffrey to suffer for it. I keep thinking of Stanley Broadhurst's son, caught in the same vicious cycle as the father. Jeffrey is damaged, dangerous. But Carl is turning his son from a timebomb to something worse, something irretrievable.

Realand's eyes narrow, spewing venom. "Never mention my wife. You don't deserve to speak her name." Then he turns away, stands, and slaps me.

It's unexpected. She's dead, but he must know details. I'll allow him that, won't retaliate. But I'm worried about the boy. I don't want to make things worse.

"I won't. Just leave the boy alone. He's not going anywhere." It's the best I can do for Jeffrey now. Realand is grieving, angry. Until he works it out he's as much a timebomb as Jeffrey.

I can feel the angry glare as I go. But he stays with the boy and Jeffrey behaves. When Jackson returns early I decide to take it up with him.

I corner him in the hallway. "What did Jeffrey do?" I demand.

"You said to keep him away from Calla," says Jackson, irritated. "He wouldn't do it. I won't have him hurting her."

"Did he actually hurt her, or did he just try to be near his sister?"

Carl is on-edge, nervous. "He won't hurt her if he never goes near her."

"You didn't answer my question."

"He touched her, that's enough. What? You want him? You want to wonder when he's going to find another knife and stick it in your back?" He turns and faces me. "My son is dead. That *thing* in there isn't my son, whatever it looks like."

It's too close to my own thoughts, too close to the truth. But Carl is making it worse. "You beat and starve him and he will be. Is that what you want? Did you give Realand that strap so he'd finish the job for you?"

Carl stares at me. "It's an animal. If it touches Calla it doesn't eat for a day. If I had a cage to lock it in I would."

Realand has come out. He's staring at me. "Maybe you should raise it. But I doubt you'd want it around that little girl you stole."

For a moment I quit thinking about Jeffrey, about Carl abandoning his son, about how close that hits to home, or might have. For that moment all I can think of is Tessie. "Her grandmother asked us to take her."

"Before she knew about you." Realand is holding the strap, ready to snap it at me. The explosion inside him is building and I keep out of his way. Then he backs off, snorts at me, "Lucky you, I've got to watch the animal." He shakes the strap at me, "Stinking caltie."

He slinks off into the room. Jackson is watching. "Better watch out," he says. "He's not the only one who thinks that way."

He stomps away, leaving me alone.

Ezri is back by the time I venture out again, playing with Tessie. I keep my distance, wary of Realand and his threats, and Jackson's warning. Realand is looking for a target, and his best option is me.

But Tessie pulls out of Ezri's arms and runs to me. Realand is watching, staring, eyes narrowed. She's persuaded to go back to Ezri, after I make some excuse.

I keep out of sight until the dinner cart arrives. Realand eats a bowl for himself and takes one for Jeffrey. I keep quiet, hoping to appeal to Cheryl later, too preoccupied by my own worries. I sit apart from them, and Ezri has picked up on my nerves and doesn't try to approach. Tessie is tired, and falls asleep in her arms.

I've just gotten up to retreat to our room and out of his sight when Realand attacks, moving behind me, kicking hard behind my knees. It comes as a surprise, and I land on my knees, falling on my side.

Before I can move Realand lands a hard kick into my stomach and the world blurs.

But I can hear him. "This thing," he's saying, "This filthy thing on the floor has taken a child he doesn't deserve. He claims her grandmother agreed, but that was long before he betrayed us. And we can't ask her anymore."

Silence has fallen on the room, and his answer to my attempt to get out of his way is another hard kick, this time in the side, knocking the breath out of me. My hand is on the floor, and he presses his foot on it. I freeze.

His voice is different now. "You all want to know. My wife is dead. She wasn't killed by the Jem'Hadar. There's been too much sabotage. He has help now."

He moves his foot off my hand and I pull it back, a hard kick in the back my reward. I can't leave now. There is a ring of people all around me, and each kick is harder, hurts more. I roll on my stomach hoping to protect myself the best I can.

"He found this monster in prison, ready for execution. He likes to kill, to rape, to torture. He was spared so that he may serve the founders."

His voice is almost a whisper now, the room silent. I don't move, listening intently, hoping the words don't remind him too much of the anger inside.

"I was separated from the others. They already knew about the sabotage, what it was. He demanded I tell him which woman had done it." He stops, with a sharp intake of breath. "I didn't lie. I didn't know. He said we'd have to ask them."

His voice drops so low it's hard to hear, but everyone listens. His foot is further away. I keep watching it, hoping he forgets about me.

"I was brought to this room, both locked in cages, both naked. He asked me again, and I didn't lie to him." He puts a foot on my back, pressing his foot into tender bruised skin. I'm not sure he is even aware of me. "The monster is waiting, and he explains about him, how he'd killed 20 women, *how* he killed them, how long it took before he tired of them. Then he asks which one."

It's like a story, but it's real too. People are getting closer. Ezri is just outside the main ring, trapped in her own cluster of people.

"I wouldn't answer. He tells the monster to pick. He opens the cages, reaches in with his filthy hands . . . then he goes to Cassie, pulls her out, takes her to his place . . . "

Realand speaks slowly, haltingly as the memories come. "He started to tortured her, raped her, made her scream. Ellie, Ellie watched too. He wasn't done when she stood, offering her body to the monster. She confessed to everything. Weyoun made him put Cassie back in her cage. Then he had the monster take Ellie, just play with her, make sure she didn't change her mind."

"He accepted the confession," his voice hardening, the foot moved. "And made Cassie the punishment. To watch."

Realand's voice is quiet as he describes what was done to his wife, how she was ordered to be killed at the end. I tense as he draws his foot back again, then stops.

"Then Ellie," he says, looking at Ezri holding Tessie, then down at me, "Ellie was *given* to him. His possession, his toy. He used to keep his victims alive for weeks. Weyoun was impatient with him. The monster only had her for a week before she'd just be executed . . . if she was still alive." His voice becomes dull, lost. "I spent the rest of the time in one of the little buried cages. When she died, he'd let me go. He told me before they shoved me inside. He didn't take too long, most of a week, but all the time I was there I kept seeing what he was doing to her, remembering Cassie."

"And this thing," he says, anger bubbling again, kicking me hard, "This thing worked with him, just like the monster that tormented our women, tortured them to death." I've barely gotten my breath when his foot slams into me again. Everything is fuzzy now, repeated blows to the same bruises throbbing intensely. "And the worse insult is he's stolen her grandchild." He kicks me again twice in quick succession, the first making me roll a little to my side, the second catching me in the stomach.

He wants to kill me, to make up for Cassie and Elaine. I can't get away, can't move. Maybe if he does he'll leave Ezri alone, not demand Tessie.

Then Kira's voice, louder than his, rational, takes their attention. She pushes her way through the crowd, pushes Realand and his foot away. Then she looks down at me, eyes too hard.

"Quit. Don't kill him. Maybe he might deserve it but you don't want to be like that thing that killed the women."

I can hear them moving back, my vision too blurry to tell much. But Kira is still here. The foot is too far away to touch me. I don't move at all.

"What about the girl?" Realand, still angry.

She taps my side with her toe, not hard but it hurts anyway. "He doesn't deserve her. Her mother was murdered by them, grandmother too. She died out of loyalty to *us*. The child can't be left with a traitor."

She's going to take Tessie. She's saving my life, but somehow it doesn't matter all that much.

There is the sound of a commotion, and I wonder if it's Ezri, if they are trying to tear the child out of her arms. "Stop," orders Kira. "Now, she's a different matter. She has a choice. She can have that thing, or the girl, but not both."

I can't speak to her. Realand is too near. If I try he'll kick me again, never let me say it. But I want Ezri to take the child. She must not be dragged down in disgrace with me.

But she hasn't said a word. She's moving closer, the crowd letting her through.

"Make up you mind, Ezri," says Kira. "They won't wait."

"Take her," she says, and I can hear the terrible catch in her voice. Tessie is confused, calling to Ezri, finally crying.

Then Ezri is besides me, sitting like a protective tigress with a cub. Something about her is wrong, not Ezri, not Jadzia. I hope not Joran. Realand is too near for that.

"I had to. You know why," she whispers.

Kira moves them away, most of them stepping around me, a few not bothering. She's talking about the future, with more orphans, more children to give homes, how they need some rules. Ezri and I are forgotten, left alone.

They give Tessie to Brenda and her husband. She can't have her own.

Someone comes closer, and I tense. But it's Jackson. "Up," he says. Between he and Ezri they drag me off the floor. "You go to the back room tonight. Her too."

Nothing matters now. I knew the ultimate price when I "cured" the Founder. I didn't expect it to hurt this much. At least Elaine got to die.

The back room is a little dark closet. Jackson dumps me on the floor. Ezri sits besides me. Every bruise is throbbing, every tender place inside me spasms when I move.

For a little while, all I can think about is the pain.

But later-I don't know how late since the lights are still bright-Realand opens the door. He stands there, blocking the light. All the anger is burned out, his voice soft, hurting.

"I didn't tell them about Ellie. She's alive. That thing broke her into little pieces. She just wanted to die, for him to finish so it would be over. But there was some kind of trouble. The thing got confessions. He made her help him. Then the Vorta gave her to him as a gift."

He pauses. "But she's dead. I was taken to her before they released me, so I'd know. She . . . she did what he told her, no matter what. She would have killed me but he stopped her. He just wanted me to know." His voice drags. "And the boy, he chewed his way loose during the nights meeting, hid with his sister. When we found them Carl was ready to kill him but I stopped him. I'm taking the boy. I won't spare him, but I won't act like Carl either."

Realand shuts the door, trapping us inside the little room. It hurts to move, but we find a way to hold each other.

"Kira saved your life," says Ezri. "She did more, saved his as well."

"Maybe even Jeffrey." I add.

"I had to give her up, you know that. She'd just keep getting hurt." Ezri slumps, defeated.

I can't think about Tessie yet, the hole her taking has torn inside us. Ezri tries to explain it, tries to make it sound better, but for both of us she's still waiting in the room, when we're let out of this darkness, and will be there with her happy hugs.

Without her it would be so empty now.

We try to sleep. But I hurt so much and it's too cold and the floor is too hard. Eventually I fall into an exhausted stupor until the bell rings.

We have to wait until someone opens the door, but try to untangle ourselves. "I'm going with the crews today. I'll find a way. I'm not letting him control me anymore."

Ezri squeezes my hand.

Miles is standing before us as the door opens. "You can go home tonight." He hesitates. "Look, the kid is fine. Brenda will take good care of her." He doesn't leave. He stammers again, "I think I know how you feel."

Then he walks away, and I remember the Miles who stood by me when I was revealed as a genetic freak. Somewhere that man still exists, buried under layers of guilt.

We stumble towards breakfast, the first few finished and already in line. "They rush you when you're at the end. They don't bother to count," advises Ezri quietly.

I eat, slowly, and slide between several others who won't deign to notice. Neither do the guards as I pass through the gate.

I will not be left alone today. Weyoun will not decide. He has taken all he will be allowed and whatever comes of it, with this act of defiance I take back a little of my life.

End, Part 2, Chapter 11 of Surrender