The Green Hills of Home
SURRENDER
Part 2 – Necessary Compromises
This story is rated R due to graphic violence and non-consensual sex. This is not in every chapter or even found frequently, but it is there. Be forewarned.
Book Bibliography:
The following books are described/quoted in this story:
The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams
Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams
Chapter 13
For the first time in a lifetime, I am alone. Ezri and the children are outside, allowing them a chance to play. The new people from Sloan's group have brought other children and they have already found new friends.
I'm not ready to go there yet, to look at the faces of the survivors. I'm not prepared to see the silent grief of the widows, or the children who are still asking why daddy is gone. I just can't face the price I paid quite yet.
I'm not ready to consider what I've sentenced these people to when we are removed from this place. I suppose they may tolerate me now, perhaps even speak to me. But I'm not sure I'm ready for that, ready to face the price those like Justin Carlan paid for my refusal.
Miles is hovering near, his voice in my head. 'He understands,' he whispers.
But he didn't want to die like that. 'Nobody wants to, but it's over. He knows what they wanted.'
*I* don't. It is frustrating when Miles decides to hold a conversation. I can feel him in the room. But he knows more than he's willing to say. Or can say. But eventually I might get it out of him.
'He loves his daughter. He knows what they wanted. He would have rather died, even the way he did.'
What do children, *babies* have to do with it? Sometimes Kira alludes to Sisko having visited her dreams, and I wonder if he leaves as many mysteries as Miles.
But at least Miles was more specific. Sloan said it was genetic research. What is he trying to do, remake *us* so we are the perfect slaves that will have the last little bit of freedom stripped away, the right to dream? Is he trying to make his own kind of Jem'Hadar?
But he's leaving me alone. He must have found someone to do his bidding. Not that I'm surprised . . .
I wonder what will happen when they die and his empire falls, if the caltie who took my intended place will live long enough to get very far.
I have the comfort of knowing *his* gods will still die, no matter how many plans they make. Too bad the Jem'Hadar will kill him before we have a chance . . .
Miles is still in my head. He gives a kind of mental shrug I can almost see. 'Look, Julian, you can't hide. They don't blame you."
Maybe. But I can still hear Justin scream, even if I'm told I'm forgiven.
His conversation is interrupted by the door opening and Ezri entering the room. He goes.
She's holding Tessie, half-asleep and nestled in her arms. I'm astonished to see the child I was sure we'd lost. "Brenda isn't taking care of her. She's sitting on the floor staring into space. Tessie wandered over to me crying. I don't care what they say I'm going to watch her until Brenda comes back."
My Ezri has changed, but now she has found a passionate reason to go on. She says very little, but never takes her eyes off the children, even those she isn't supposed to like Tessie. I don't know this woman. There is little trace of the Ezri I loved since the ordeal.
I'm afraid I've lost her completely. I don't recognize her anymore. Perhaps she is one of the early hosts, one of the mothers. I wouldn't know them. Or perhaps she is a wounded animal seeking a place to hide and to heal.
I must grant her that space. All I can do is hope she finds a way to heal. I push my own pain and confusion and guilt inside. There is no place for it now.
Tessie is almost there, eyelids drooping, and she puts her to bed in Molly and Yoshi's area under the table. The child curls into the blankets and is asleep almost immediately.
It's nice to have her back, even for a few minutes. I like her company. I'm getting sleepy just watching her, wishing I could hold her.
But I have been sitting up, trying to fight the dizziness and pounding it brings inside my head. I'd like to move around but I get so dizzy when I stand that I might pass out.
And someone is tapping on the door, waking me. I expect it to be Brenda or someone else coming for Tessie, or perhaps Kira, who checks on me often. But I don't recognize the voice. "Doctor, if I can help . . ."
I'd managed to get to the chair before I collapsed into it. I don't really want to deal with anyone, but Miles is in my head again. 'Let him help. You have to move around.' The doctor in me agrees even if I'd like to sit in this room until they drag us out.
"Come in, I guess," I say without enthusiasm.
He's tall and lanky, rather young, and nervous. I don't know him. "My name's Ray. I'm with the others. Look, I'm a medic. If I can do anything to help you," he offers.
I'm getting stiff sitting like this. I do need to get up. I *need* to walk around, even if I don't want to, and try to get back some of the strength they took. I'm not doing all that well on my own. "I'd like to take a walk, but I can't quite manage."
He glances at Tessie, looking back at me. "Look, I heard about Brenda. I know people saw Ezri take her, but, ugh, if you'd like my wife to watch her for now I'll take her. I mean, just in case somebody gets upset." He shrugs, a little uncertain.
I remember the way Ezri looked with the child in her arms, somehow complete. I don't want Ray or anyone else taking Tessie from her. I remember the halting tone she used when she gave her up, the way she sounded so broken. After Miles and the other, I won't deny her anything that makes her feel good.
He's still waiting, as if I'm going to say yes. I appreciate his offer of helping me, but not taking Tessie away. If there is a problem it will be ours.
"No, let her be," I threaten. As I say the words, the bitterness is too close, the anger ready to boil to the surface. I don't mean to snap at him, but I do.
He stands back, just watching, hesitating. "Well, if you want to take the chance I won't insist. Nobody's looks bothered anyway." But for a second the pain and the anger were all too clear, and he approaches with caution.
The flash of anger gone, I feel exhausted, the throbbing in my head twice as bad as before. "My head . . . " I say, hesitant, hoping I haven't scared him away. "It really hurts."
He moves over to my chair, where I'm holding my head, trying to stop the throbbing.
"Here, just hold still," he says. His hands find my temples, and with a gentle massage much of the pounding abates.
He asks, a bit awkwardly, if I'd like to lie down for awhile. I've been thinking of it for a long time, but standing up on my own was too hard to do. His hands are firm and support my weight as I slowly move towards the bed.
How can only a few steps be such a long way? It takes all the strength I can muster to make it and I collapse in relief.
A few hours later Ezri wakes me up when she returns for Tessie. She wakes her gently, but the child whimpers in her sleep.
"Brenda is still gone, but this one has lots of friends out there to play with right now." She leaves unspoken the rest, that we don't know how long that will last. Then she pauses. "Ray said he was going to get you up. Don't be scared of them." She tickles Tessie, who giggles a little. It breaks the dour mood. "If they were in that kind of mood I wouldn't be holding her," she says firmly, as if I was another child.
"What about Brenda?" I ask.
"She snaps out the moods like they hadn't happened. But she doesn't remember Tessie when she's in them." She looks at the child. "She didn't have anybody but Jason."
I look at Ezri and wonder if I could cope with it if they killed her, especially before Tessie and Miles and the family we have inherited. I'd have to go on for them now, but before?
Ezri and Tessie disappear and I get a little more sleep.
Ray knocks again, softly, but I'm already half-awake. I keep thinking of Ezri, how she has suddenly become the *mother* but isn't my wife. If she finds the strength to go on this way I am glad, but I will miss her just the same.
He helps me out of bed and makes me walk to the chair. I'm still dizzy and my head is still pounding but the ordeal isn't quite as bad. He's good, insistent but not too much. He's sitting, watching me as I stare at the door.
"I'll take you for a walk later. Not far, but you have to start."
It sounds like a nightmare, but I keep quiet. We both know I have to. I like that he understands. "I'd have liked to have you with me a few times, well, before . . . " I say awkwardly, trying to find an acceptable way to refer to the time when we were still free. Few ever talk about it, and there is no one term everyone uses.
"I worked with a combat aide station," he says, pausing. "After I got hurt they sent me back to ship duty."
It's like a story now. The war and the parts we played aren't real. But then the peace before sounds like a dream now too.
After a little time has passed, he gets me to my feet and I walk out the door, not far, but I constantly feel like I'm going to black out, and he steadies me as I stumble along.
I don't see much, but can feel the crowding, the little sounds of too many bodies in one place. It's so odd, so telling that time is running out. I pick up my pace a little at the thought. I don't want to be carried out.
But I'm relieved, too. The new ones don't know me, not really, and all they see is the broken remains of what I was. And my own group, where I was invisible, have cautiously begun to let me back inside. They don't talk-hardly anybody talks-but I don't feel alone.
Evening comes, and I am asleep when Ezri arrives with Tessie. "We can't get inside," she says, sadly. "I told them I would take her for the night and nobody stopped me."
Tessie is already asleep and curls around in the general bundle of children inside the blankets.
Ezri is happy, as if she has won some kind of victory. But I still wonder if the price was worth the cost. Or is she taking Tessie to show all of them-Realand and Weyoun both-that they cannot win in the end.
o0o
Ray's efforts pay off and the next morning I feel a bit better. He arrives early, just after Ezri has left with all three of the children, carrying my bowl of mush.
I'm even hungry today.
He helps me up to the table to eat, and is sitting guard when Ezri returns. She smiles at him. "Doing better today?"
"I think so." He looks at Molly. "Kara is waiting for you. All she talked about last night was your game."
She looks towards both I and Ezri, anxious to go. Ezri shrugs. "I'll be back," she says.
We're left with the two younger children. Tessie is pretending Yoshi is a monster and dashes around the room with appropriate noise.
You might even believe they were normal children if it wasn't for the wariness to other noises.
"We should take you out for a longer walk today," he says.
I still don't want to face them, but don't know if I could stand being stuck in this tomb either. "Not too long."
"It must be true that doctors make the worse patients," he says, this time smiling. "Long as it needs to be."
I can't really argue. Once I would have done the same. Ray would have been welcome in my infirmary.
But it is very heartening that we are still capable of helping a total stranger. Ray will never know how much that means to me. A part of me clings to his caring as a reason to go on, to not give up hope.
I know I should not recover too swiftly, even if that was likely. Weyoun is waiting for my health to improve or we'd have been gone like almost all the rest. I don't want to be shunted off to the unknown. I don't want my family to have to suffer. But I know that he won't wait too long. I must regain enough strength to face whatever he has planned without it taxing Weyoun's patience. I will leave this place on my own, or not at all. I think of that, and my pride, and push away all thoughts of our destination.
We wait until Ezri returns without Molly, and he gets me to my feet.
She leaves first, the children in a hurry to go. We take my walk, longer than the day before but not so bad this time. But it leaves me exhausted, and he lets me sleep.
I'm dozing when someone knocks on the door, entering hesitantly at my tired response.
It is Brenda. She looks around the room, worried and ready to collapse. "Someone said Tessie was here," she finally says.
"Ezri took her out to play," I explain, not really awake but unable to ignore the look on her face and the desolation in her manner.
"That, that's good." Then she looks at me, stricken. "I didn't want to take her, not that way." She looks away. "Then they killed Jason and I . . . "
She's collapses on the chair, staring at her shaking hands. If it was Ezri, would I feel the same?
"You didn't have much of a choice." It doesn't say anything about the real pain inside her, but I can't deal with that part.
"I couldn't help today. I knew he was gone, but then I had this *dream*, this vivid dream where he wasn't. Then," she says stumbling over the words, "then I woke up and knew he was gone and I just couldn't take it. I just couldn't manage," she says, her voice fading. "All I wanted to do was hold onto him."
"And Tessie?" I ask reluctantly, understanding the pain she's in.
"When the war was over, we planned to start a family. There were treatments for my problem, but we didn't really want children yet so it seemed fine to leave it that way. Then things worked out like this and all we had was each other." She stares at her hands. "Tessie wasn't part of that, not yet. But when I, well, woke up, the first thing was Tessie, and I was so afraid that she wasn't there."
It would be so easy to take the child back. All I need do is question that she won't forget again. I still love Tessie, even with Molly and Yoshi there now. I do want her back. But not at Brenda's expense. If something happens to Ezri or I, the other will not be *alone* anymore.
She sobbing now, murmuring incoherent things to herself. "Come here," I offer, arms extended. Brenda moves slowly, as if in a trance, but comes. She lets me hold her while she sobs. I keep thinking of Miles, how he won't leave, how I'm not sure I want him too.
When she's quiet she pulls away, sitting and facing me. "I'm worried for Tessie," she says.
She should be worried for all of us, especially the children. When we are deported we have no idea what will happen to any of us. But you have to grasp the future believing it will go on in some meaningful way.
"If you can't handle her just bring her here. We'll watch her." She looks lost, still very alone. I still worry, remembering Scalman. "You aren't alone. You need each other."
She sits still. Slowly, she nods. "If I, if sometime I can't manage anymore, take her back. You're the only kind of father she's ever known."
Which is true. I wonder what Realand would do if I tried. Or did Miles and the others buy me that right as well?
She sits in the chair, keeping me silent company. But she's very tired, and Ray soon returns for more exercise. He takes her home, puts her to bed.
"Did she give you the girl?" he asks.
"She was going to. She almost did," I say, thinking over her words. As unstable as she is, it may be a matter of time. If we have that time.
"Good," he says matter of factly. "Making arraignments is important. She can't bury the dead. If you don't they bury you."
I keep thinking of Miles, invading my dreams and my days. Ray must be lucky. He hasn't lost anyone so close. But it's time to stand and walk and prepare for the future none of us can see where Ray's understanding may prove all too true.
o0o
Ray comes every day. He arrives before breakfast, always bringing my bowl. He waits while I eat and returns it to the servers. Usually, he eats his own at the same time.
He isn't Miles. I don't even know him. I wish I could tell him how much this means to me. If someone can care, if someone can still give their time as he has done, we have not lost everything.
Ezri regularly takes the children out to play. They have taken to her as if she had always been a part of their life. She is mother. When they are sad, she holds them while they cry. When Molly's nightmares get too bad she wakes and takes the child in her arms until she is relaxed. She's not Ezri then, but not lost either. Sometimes, when they've gone to sleep she sits and watches them. Even if she says nothing, I have the uncanny feeling that Jadzia is sitting besides me.
She watches Tessie too, careful not to get in Brenda's way. But I can see the look in her eyes, ready to take the child again. I know Brenda approves, but I want her to hold together as much for our sake as for Tessie's. To have her so close and know she isn't ours hurts too much.
I was her father for a little while. She taught us to care, how to push back the fears for a little while. Now we have Molly and Yoshi, and our promises to their parents. But I understand too much now. I have made a promise I will keep, be their father, but I'm not ready for that yet.
I can't stop seeing the flashes of blood when I think of Miles. I can't allow myself to take his place. I filled a role Tessie had never known, but when I hold his children, when I allow myself to fill his role in their lives, I'll have to let go of him.
Ray came back early today, suggesting a longer walk. I'm able to sit up much longer now. He is there when Molly and his own daughter Kara come rushing in after a toy. He watches as they disappear, growing very quiet.
"Molly is very lucky," he says. "She has Ezri. Some of our kids aren't so fortunate."
I know why he comes here. I know why he is taking care of me. He has to have something to believe in too. In my own way, I'm giving him a reason to go on.
I remember the man who forced us to divide the rations a lifetime ago. "We can't let them make us into animals," I say, remembering. "Had some of them already lost their mothers?"
"A couple," he says. "We're trying to take care of them. We'll manage," he says finally, resigned. Then he looks at me. Hesitantly, he adds, "Molly and her brother need a father too. You haven't even touched them that I can tell."
I could make an excuse. It still hurts to hold Ezri, but I do it. "It's their father, I can't . . . "
He's watching me. "He's dead, Doctor. Let him go. You can't bring him back by pushing away his children."
I've been dreaming about Miles. Sometimes I know he's there, and don't want him to go. Ray is right, but can't understand what it feels like inside to know . . . "I'm responsible for his death," I say.
"Then take the responsibility and care about those kids. They need you now. He doesn't." His voice is hard and firm. I can almost see Kira standing there.
There is an uncomfortable silence. It hurts, but he's right. "Miles was my best friend. It's hard," I say.
"Especially if he was a friend," says Ray.
"I know." I start to push myself up, ready to change the subject. "I'm ready for a walk."
"Not yet." He stands, looking at me. "I know what happened. I don't know what it feels like. But I know you have to go on. The only thing I *have* is my family. If . . . if something happened to me I would want to know that somebody else could give them what I couldn't anymore." He moves closer. "Look, you won't be their father, not yet, but they need to know you care. They need you to show them."
I close my eyes and sit again. I remember all the times I'd seen Miles watching his children, and the fear that lived behind the joy. It was something I had believed I understood, but only because of the knowledge I'd never know it personally. I would have no children to leave behind. Even now, Tessie's many losses a hard reminder, I am only beginning to understand. "Miles couldn't bring himself to say that. But he would agree with you."
Ray looks away. "They shot one of my best friends. His wife didn't make it back from work a few weeks ago. We lost a lot more people than you did over the last months. We've had to learn to live with it too."
Miles is so near, but grows more distant as I start to let him go. I cannot see the man that played darts with me anymore, just the blood covered body they made of him. We must have been lucky. We were important. Now we are just like the rest. It's harder to live with it when you fall so far.
But Miles gave us a gift we can never forget. He brought the books. When we were reading, we owned ourselves. We were given a way to escape, granted the gift of dreams. Miles will never leave us as long as we have the books.
It is time to read them again. I pull myself up, Ray steadying me. I move towards the stack of books on the edge of the table, and take the one on the top. When the families things were moved here, they brought the books as well. It's heavy, and he carries it for me.
My vision is still fuzzy, but passable. I'm still dizzy, but much better. I don't know how much time we have left. I don't know if this is the last time we'll have to honor the memory of the man who gave us so many hours of freedom.
Ray helps me out the door and into the now crowded area. I get a place to sit on a bench rather than the floor. We are still being fed once a day. There will be no dinner and we have a long day with nothing to do. But I hand the book to Kira, who holds it up for everyone to see.
"Get everybody out here," she commands. "We'll be reading today."
People drift out of the little rooms they cling to as home before even that goes away. It's crowded, and the reader sits in a chair in the middle so everyone has a better chance to hear.
Ray offers to read first. His voice is strong, and he nods at me as he begins. We close our eyes and are drawn into the improbable life of Arthur Dent, currently the guest of Slartibartfast, designer of planets, especially ones with lots of fiords. We find that we haven't forgotten how to laugh.
"It is of course well known that careless talk costs lives, but the full scale of the problem is not always appreciated.
I think of Sloan, wondering what has been done to him, if he has survived it at all this time. Or did he play the game? Somehow, though, I trust him to keep the secret.
"For instance, at the very moment that Arthur said, 'I seem to be having tremendous difficulty with my life-style,' a freak wormhole opened up in the fabric of the space-time continuum and carried his words far far back in time across almost infinite reaches of space to a distant Galaxy where strange and warlike beings were poised on the brink of frightful interstellar battle.
I see the fleets posed near Cardassia, ready to live or die but finish the war however it happened. Would we have been so anxious if we'd known how it would end?
"The two opposing leaders were meeting for one last time."
"A dreadful silence fell across the conference table as the commander of the Vl'hurgs, resplendent in his black-jeweled battle shorts, gazed levelly at the G'Gugvuntt leader squatting opposite him in a cloud of green sweet-smelling steam, and, with a million sleek and horrible be weaponed star cruisers poised to unleash electric death at his single word of command, challenged the vile creature to take back what it had said about his mother."
I let in the words, smell the steam surrounding the G'Gugvuntt leader, see the fleet waiting to deliver death.
"The creature stirred in his sickly broiling vapor and at that very moment the words, *I seem to be having tremendous difficult with my life-style* drifted across the conference table."
"Unfortunately, in the Vl'Hurg tongue this was the most dreadful insult imaginable, and there was nothing for it but to wage terrible war for centuries."
The fantasy fades a little; we lost the war but somehow, in other ways, the war must go on.
"Eventually, of course, after their Galaxy had been decimated over a thousand years, it was realized the whole thing had been a ghastly mistake, and so the two opposing battle fleets settled their few remaining differences in order to launch a joint attack on our Galaxy, now positively identified as the source of the offending remark."
"For thousands more years, the mighty ships tore across the empty wastes of space and finally dived screaming on the first planet they came across-which happened to be the Earth-where due to a terrible miscalculation of scale the entire battlefleet was accidently swallowed by a small dog."
" 'It's just life,' they say."
Here we sit, crowded and still, listening to the words as if we are tasting forbidden fruit. The slimy green vapors of the G'Gugvuntt leader drift around us as we see that last meeting, hear the sickly broiling burbles, and we can feel the icy stare as Arthur, in quiet discussion with Slarti about the universe, unintentionally starts a terrible war. The whole incongruity of it is appealing, and Ray has done an excellent job of the words and the tone. We start to applaud. The guards, by now ever present, come closer but we ignore them. If we worry them we make our own lives a little more bleak, lose this place a bit sooner than we might have, but what will be will be.
After all, it's just life.
Imbedded in Arthur's brain is the answer to the greatest question of all time, just what did Deep Thought mean when he said the answer was 42? What was the proper question to ask? Trillion's mice, now revealed to be somewhat other than disposable rodents, desire to buy his brain to find it, although they will have to remove it and slice and dice it to find the secret. Arthur declines. Maybe nobody else would miss him, but he'd miss himself.
How many of us would have understood for a moment before life was ripped away from them?
The mice have other ideas, and Arthur is about to have his brain removed when the Galactic police arrive in search of Zaphod. And just as the best laid plans of men were ruined by the Vogons, the best laid plans of the mice were defeated by the rather heavy awards Slarti had collected as they made contact with the thugs heads sent to collect Zaphod.
So they shoot instead. Or planned to, as somehow their life support packs all fail at once. Several people are boldly staring at the Jem'Hadar, making their own silent wishes. I keep my own eyes to myself. Loose talk and all that, or the wrong glances . . .
*His* best laid plans will not come to be. He ruined our plans for our lives, we pay him back in kind. Even if loose talk happens, our revenge will still come to be.
I feel Miles near, laughing. Nothing has really changed for us, but I feel better. Miles loved readings. He deserves to hear the whole book. It's a small measure of justice in this cold universe.
But Slarti comes through, and while Arthur thumbs through Ford's copy of the Hitchiker's guide figuring he has to live here he might as well learn something about the place, Zaphod suggests the Restaurant at the End of the Universe for lunch. We have finished the first book of Arthur's adventures.
And then, Miles is gone. As the next reader steps up to the chair, taking the book from Ray, I feel alone. In whatever makes up the afterlife, they still tell you what to do. Maybe he only got to take care of unfinished business and hear the end, but now it's done.
The young woman, one of Sloan's group, looks up until she has our attention. "I'm Nancy, for those who don't know me. Next up, the Restaurant at the End of the Universe."
There is a sadness to her that is unmistakable. Is she one of the widow's? And there is a notable silence as we have to decide but cannot debate. Is there time to finish it? But if we stop, are we letting *them* take away this little slice of freedom.
"Read it." I'm surprised to see it's Realand. Nobody bothers to argue. She takes a drink of water to prepare.
Sloan's group has already read it, but they are avid listeners. I keep thinking of Miles, how he'd lent me the book when I was being shunned, how he'd cherished this time when we owned our lives. He deserved better. I owe a great debt to him and do not know how to pay it back. However cautiously, I am being allowed to exist again, a special debt. He brought us the books, but will never get to hear this one.
Suddenly everything shuts out, all the laughter and even the light. It had been dimly lit in that room. I remember most of it now. But it is like watching a horror movie, just pictures that aren't real. The others they executed are scattered along a wall, all fallen in the unnatural positions of death. Keiko is slumped over, still alive, so still you might think she was just sleeping except for the blood.
And Miles lies in the middle of a dark red puddle, curled up and half face down. The blood is his own, and it obscured the slashed organs that rushed out when they hacked him apart. It is the way I see him now, each time I allow myself to remember him.
The room grows brighter, and the horror fades. I push it away. I made a promise to Miles that I would care for his children, and I cannot do that with my mind locked into that room. They need more than hatred. I force myself back to the book.
Nancy is very self-conscious, but reads slowly, very careful not to stumble over any of the words. This moment is very special to her, and she holds the book with great reverence. So much is gone. These books are valuable treasures to us.
"Two of these strange, apelike creatures survived."
"Arthur Dent escaped at the very last moment because an old friend of his, suddenly turned out to be from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelgeuse and not from Guildford as he had hitherto claimed; and, more to the point, he knew how to hitch rides on flying saucers."
I picture Arthur Dent as he stares at space, wishing he had a little more to remember the Earth than his dressing gown. We have lost so much, but the books will keep alive our memories of home.
"Tricia McMillan-or Trillian-had skipped the planet six months earlier with Zaphod Beeblebrox, the then President of the Galaxy."
"Two survivors."
"They are all that remains of the greatest experiment ever conducted-to find the Ultimate Question and the Ultimate Answer of Life, the Universe, and Everything."
How many of us remain, I wonder. Kira said there were thousands on Cardassia, and few would come back. And each place there was resistance there was another slaughter. More than two, I know, but still too few . . .
I take a deep breath. It still aches a little when I breath deeply. Two survivors of a massacre, Ezri and I. All the others Weyoun had brought as hostages are dead. Arthur and Trillion. All the others, still confined to Earth, have perished too. We are alive, but still targets, just like the two remaining ape-like creatures the Vogons missed.
Nancy has found her rhythm, and her voice is strong as she goes to the next chapter and the Vogon's attempts to take care of their mistake.
"If you are wise, however, this is precisely what you will avoid doing because the average Vogon will not think twice before doing something so hideous to you that you will wish you had never been born-or (if you are a clearer minded thinker) that the Vogon had never been born."
I remember the first few days at the internment camp when I'd discovered the basic nature of the Jem'Hadar, just as all the people left here have come to know. When the Founders die, the Jem'Hadar will eventually go as well. I suspect nobody will miss them.
"In fact, the average Vogon probably wouldn't even think once. They are simple-minded, thick-willed, slug-brained creatures and thinking is not really something they are cut out for."
The Jem'Hadar are walking by, slowing suspiciously by the gate. Her voice gets a little more quiet, and we have to listen carefully. People are trying not to look at the gate.
"The fairest thing you can say about them, then, is that they know what they like, and what they like generally involves hurting people and wherever possible, getting very angry."
Eyes turn towards the gate where the Jem'Hadar have stopped, and nervously back towards the woman.
"One thing they don't like is leaving a job unfinished-particularly this Vogon, and particularly-for various reasons-this job."
The Heart of Gold is being scanned by the Vogon ship, and Zaphod is annoyed with Eddie the Shipboard Computer for refusing to go to the Restaurant at the end of the universe. But Arthur is even more annoyed. He just wants a cup of tea, and not the brown stuff the synthesizer thinks is tea. After a long explanation of tea, its history, practice, even folklore, the Nutri-Matic Drinks Synthesizer has called on Eddie for help. When Eddie has solved the mystery of tea it can go somewhere else, but right now it's occupied.
Abruptly, I think of Miles, standing next to Zaphod, patiently trying to talk Eddie out of making tea and growing frustrated by the effort. I smile a little. For a moment the room and the blood is banished. But the anger is so strong, and the grief. Miles would have enjoyed reading about Eddie.
Ford spots the Vogons but the computer is still into tea.
I remember the stunned shock on the Defiant when the Breen weapon shut down every system, leaving us dead in space with the Jem'Hadar locked on, ready to destroy her just as the Vogons will the Heart of Gold in four minutes.
While the computer is still busy working on the quandary of what is tea, Zaphod decides he must contact his great grandfather before they all die. A seance is held. The old man isn't very pleased with things. I remember sitting in the escape pod, wondering if they would let us live. In that moment, I was closer to my family than I had been in a long time. Perhaps faced with death we all reach for family, to confirm how they feel-or just to say good bye.
The Vogons keep firing, surprised and rather disappointed that there had been no chase. But as the Heart of Gold is about to be demolished as Earth was before it, the computer solves the mystery of the true nature of tea.
" . . . the bridge filled with billowing smoke and the Heart of Gold leaped an unknown distance through the dimensions of time and space."
The Jem'Hadar have moved away, and there is an audible sigh of relief at out hero's escape. We survived Chintaka because they let us live, granted life to us in exchange for the palatable feel of defeat we took home with us. But Arthur and Ford and the others lived because they escaped. Sometimes it works that way.
They hold us prisoner. They control most of our lives, but do not own us. With each word, we take back a little more of ourselves.
They may deport us tomorrow. They may take the books away when they do. But for now, we shut them out with laughter.
o0o
I have a headache and need to rest. But I've been alone too much. All these new people are strange to me. Nancy introduced herself, but there are too many strangers here now. The little illusion of *our* place has been broken.
Ray asks if I'm ready to go back and I shake my head. "I'd like to sit for a while."
"Good. I'll check back in a little while." He moves towards the corner where a young woman I've never seen is sitting with the little girl who was playing with Molly. His wife, I assume. I'm glad for him. I wonder if they are sleeping out here, on the floor like most of these people.
It's so noisy with little conversations, and the movement of bodies. I reminds me too much of the cargo bay even if we were left in near dark then. Now we have light so bright it makes it hard to sleep in the glare. But we didn't know what awaited us then. I suppose, we are again in much the same place now, but not the same people.
We had hope then. Now we just have survival.
Someone touches my hand, a soft voice I recognize as the reader, Nancy. "I was a very good friend of Luther's," she says.
Weyoun had said *our* families. Once, Luther had said Nancy would care for him. I'd forgotten the name. "Did you take care of him?" I ask, wondering how much to presume.
"My husband died when the station was taken, but they picked me for cargo duty anyway. I guess I was just lucky, in the right place when they came to look." She pauses. She could just as easily have ended up stuffed in a transport to Cardassia. "It wasn't until we'd been moved up here that I met Luther. They shoved him inside, and he was just . . . lost. He stared at us, tried to hide. Most people avoided him, could smell the trouble he could bring. But I didn't have anyone. I didn't care."
I begin to see how lucky we were, how specially hand picked and how carefully we were treated. Most of her group was there to work and were always instantly replaceable.
"How bad was he?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of courtesy.
"I took care of him like he was a baby at first. It took days before he gave his name. We didn't have cots, just matts on the floor of our little boxes, but we had a little privacy. I held him all night at first, and he'd cry. He kept calling me Jessica. Finally I made him repeat my name, and he actually started to look at me.
"That was his wife. He hadn't seen her for a long time." Or I assume.
"I thought a mother or a wife. Maybe a daughter, but it didn't seem like one. He acted like a child at first, let me feed him, but eventually he started to eat on his own." Twiddling her wedding ring, she looked at me with grieving eyes. "Luther saved my life. Otherwise, I wouldn't have cared if they killed me or not."
Miles said we were lucky, that our families were treated with care. Looking in Nancy's eyes, I know how true it was. I keep remembering how our luck has ended now, how soon we will discover the kind of life Nancy already knows.
"You saved his too. When I first met him he was . . . damaged, but not completely lost. I think he cared what happened because of you."
She smiled. "After they took him to work on that *project*, things changed for me. I got off the really hard work. I guess they used me to make him cooperate." She looks around the room, especially at those of our own group who were sitting with our families. "Like they did with them," she says, especially looking at Ezri.
"Did the others understand?" I ask carefully, feeling her out.
She looks down, "Sometimes. I learned to ignore them."
At least we more or less shared the guilt. "How about Luther?" I ask, finally able to satisfy my curiosity.
"He didn't notice. They didn't pay a lot of attention to him before either. They didn't trust him before and certainly not after." She pauses. "But he was all I had, and I *knew* he wouldn't betray us."
"You do know what he worked on," I add, cautiously.
"More or less. He never really said. But it was something that mattered a lot to them to treat me like they did."
They don't know. Sloan never told them, or perhaps they never believed him capable of something so complicated. If it becomes known he worked with me, he'll share my reputation.
Of course, it won't matter to him. If he's been gone this long, he won't be back. But it would matter to Nancy.
Our conversation is interrupted by a small confrontation. Jackson, carefully making his way across the crowded floor, comes a little too close to Jeffrey, sitting by himself while Realand was getting some water.
Jeffrey glares at him, turning around and giving him a look full of venom that everyone in the vicinity notices. Most of them were with Sloan's group and have no idea why.
Jackson freezes. He starts to back away, but there is little room without stepping on the people behind him. Finally he stops, caught up by the hatred of his son.
Realand has gotten his water and is slowly making his way towards the two. Jeffrey takes his fist, stretching it out as if holding a knife, and makes one silent gesture, striking downwards, with his meaning absolutely clear.
Jackson tries to get away, but can't get past the people around him.
Realand finally returns, first staring at Jackson and the people around him. "Let him leave," he growls at the assorted people in Carl's way.
Most of them know noting of the story but they move quickly, and Carl hastily retreats. Then Realand turns his attention to Jeffrey.
The boys hand is still held as if it was gripping a knife, his eyes following as Carl escapes. But Realand does not approve. He grabs the hand and jerks the boy abruptly to his feet, then slaps him hard across the face.
Jeffrey crumples, falling on his knees, hiding his face. He does not make a sound. Realand waits for a moment before letting him go. "Back, now," he says, as the boy scrambles to his feet, moving as fast as he can. Realand stops him. "The box tonight and tomorrow. Or no breakfast. You decide."
Realand doesn't lay a hand on Jeffrey, but the boy stands, looks at him. He hangs down his head. "Box," he mumbles.
The crowd watches with interest. But no one, not even those who don't know about Jeffrey, try to stop him. The look in the boys eyes was enough of an explanation.
"Go," orders Realand, and the boy moves, scared and yet with little trace of anger.
First Jeffrey, then Realand disappear into their quarters. Carl, sitting very tense with his wife, half way collapses into her arms.
Nancy has been watching, her look sad. "That's not the father," she says.
"Carl, over there, is."
She shakes her head. "None of ours have been that bad," she says. "But they aren't children."
There is no sympathy, just a cold acceptance of reality. Jeffrey is a dangerous animal that used to be a child. He's was hurt more than the rest, but nobody really expects them to stay the children they were, least of all people like Nancy who have lived through a worse hell than we have.
I look at Molly and Yoshi, playing with a few other children, and wonder how long it will take before they lose the last traces of their youth in the world that we are soon to know. I know Miles warned me, but it hurts anyway.
"I didn't plan on having any," I tell her, watching me. "But things happen."
"Yeah," she says, quietly. At least for her and Luther it won't happen. If he's still lucky, Luther is dead by now.
"I only met him a few times," I lie, mostly for any listeners. "But I'd met him before. Just seeing somebody you knew . . . "
She smiles, a little ghost of one, but I can tell she knows I'm lying, that she knows what he'd been doing even if the others don't. "He said he'd never work with them again, no matter what, after they leveled Earth." Then she adds, "Not that that will matter much when they send us away. I'm sure we'll work, just not voluntarily."
I have this grand vision of all these people standing together, simply refusing to move, unwilling to work at all. Then the blood as they die, as Sloan probably died. But they will, for the simple fact they like being alive.
Miles is in my head, whispering again. 'So will you, but don't forget. It will end.'
"This can't last forever." I can tell she wasn't told the secret, that Sloan kept that to himself. She doesn't know all the details, but has probably guessed.
Then she pauses, her tone thoughtful. "Luther told me not to give up hope, that there is a way out. I promised him I wouldn't but it's hard," she sighs. But you have to, she adds without words.
I promised Miles, too. Perhaps if she can keep her promise, I can find a way to keep mine.
o0o
I'm doing better, making my way on my own though Ray still is playing doctor and nurse. My head hurts all the time, but not too badly, and I like feeling at least a little welcome at readings. It's good being able to laugh, to really listen and join in the ebb and flow of the story. It helps banish the horror movie that keeps playing in my head when I forget to make it stop.
But we're taking a break now, people moving around, stretching their legs after sitting for hours. There isn't anything else to do but read, and while Sloan's people know the end we don't. Lost in the oddly comforting life of Arthur Dent, we all pass the time a little easier.
Ray stays near, Ezri sitting with Brenda and Tessie at the moment. Molly and her friend Kara are sitting between us, Kara holding her doll.
People keep their children near. Ezri is holding Yoshi, and I'm keeping watch on his sister. We don't let them wander anymore.
But Kara has her doll and Molly had left her's behind today. She walks the rag and paper doll to Molly, tapping on her hand. In her own doll's voice, she asks, "Mrs. Mommy, can Beja play?"
Beja is Molly's doll. Molly pulls herself up, and in the best adult voice she can, says, "Yes, dear, when she's done with her nap. I'll go see."
Molly starts to get up, annoyed when I push her back down. I won't let her go alone. And I forgot my water cup and need a drink. "I'll wake her up. Stay here with Ray."
Ray nods, the girls disappointed. But they stay. I make my way carefully through the sea of people, a little clumsy from the occasional lack of balance, but very much needing the walk, especially by myself.
As soon as I get to our quarters, I can tell something is wrong. Immediately checking the table, I can tell the books have been moved. Scanning them, I notice the Oz book is missing.
Then there is a sound of slight movement in the room and I block the door. A shadow moves under the bed, and I inspect it cautiously.
Jeffrey is hiding there, holding my book against his chest. I cannot bear the thought of someone touching the books, but stealing one makes me livid. I stare at the boy, hiding out of my reach, and begin to lift the cot.
Crawling on hands and knees, he tries to run, hoping to slip past me, but I grab a leg and jerk him back knocking him flat on the ground and forcing him to drop the book.
I'm still between him and the door. But I ignore the boy and retrieve the book, examining it carefully for damage. He watches warily. He's lucky, I don't see any. If I did he'd never make it out of the room alive.
Jeffrey is on his knees again, then on his feet. He's backing away, slowly, hoping somehow to escape before I can grab him. Or perhaps assuming that now I have the book I'll let him leave.
I'm sure Realand will discipline him, but that won't be enough this time. He is a thief, or tried to be. In this society, thieves often die. Judging from his face, Jeffrey understands too.
He starts to back away, slowly at first, then faster as I continue to follow. He's trying to face me down, probably planning a distraction and a dash for the door. But my arm shoots out and grabs his before he's ready, and I drag him roughly along the floor, then out the door, dropping him in front of me but not letting him go.
This is not just for Jeffrey, the thief, but for any of the other potential ones out there. They will not touch my books, Miles books. I will kill anyone who does. I don't know about Jeffrey, but want to.
I pull him to his feet, suddenly slapping him on the cheek so hard he lands on the floor again before he can try to get away.
Glaring down at him, I realize he's not moving, too stunned to run. But he'll try, and my foot smashes into his leg where he has it curled and he tries to roll away, whimpering a little. Who'd have known the little monster could sound so scared. I move upward, smashing my foot into his buttocks near the tailbone, not ready to injure him but wanting him to hurt very badly. More kicks follow and he tries to pull away, when I move towards his back, annoyed by his efforts.
Noise distracts me and I don't kick him that hard, probably saving his miserable life. He stops moving, huddled on his side, trying to protect his stomach and head.
He knows what it is to be beaten, how to protect himself. The rage grows inside me, the desire to hurt him more than anyone has before, to make him pay for his attempt at theft before a final swift act of mercy.
I want him dead.
But there are people around now, and they are looking, nobody trying to stop me but giving me room. For a flash I'm on the floor and it's Realand's foot. But the rage is too much and I draw my foot back again, hitting the boy in the side, rolling him onto his stomach.
Now he isn't moving at all, unconscious. But he is breathing and I haven't touched the worse places. I'm disappointed, wanting more, but want the assembled watchers to know why.
"Nobody takes my books," I declare, foot drawn back for a final kick that is meant to end it however it works out.
But I pull my foot back, nearly stumbling. Suddenly Realand has put himself between me and the boy. Quite noble of him to risk taking the kick for the little monster. But the score I have with him is not ready to settle so soon.
He looks up at me, trying to demand, but before he manages to put it in words it has become a plea. "Don't kill him," he says, realizing that he can't stop me if I choose to.
I walk around him, looking at the crumpled boy. He's breathing regularly enough, not like he would if I'd managed to injure him internally. He's probably hit his head, and will hurt badly for days, but will live.
And remember-as the rest here will. I wonder how many of them wish I'd finish the job. I doubt many of them would risk Jeffrey's revenge if they stood in my place. But I like the way they are looking at me, with wary respect and fear.
I glare down at the boy, tapping him with my foot while Realand watches nervously. "That piece of trash stole one of my books. The books will not be touched." I pull back my foot as if I was about to deliver the coupe-de-gras, Realand shuffling towards me but stopping, eyes fixed on the boy, afraid. "Remember, I'll kill the next one that tries it." I move back, letting Realand retrieve the boy, stopping him in his tracks with my look. "Go. Get that filth out of my sight. But remember you're responsible for him. He gets anywhere near my family or my things again and I'll kill him, and you since you let it happen."
Realand shifts the boy's position, supporting his head and carrying him carefully in his arms. "He won't bother you again," says Realand, nervous and worried. He knows I mean every word. So do the rest. I watch as he hastily retreats, glad to have the chance to escape.
The rest of them are watching, still frozen in place. "Any takers?" I ask, glaring at all of them, pleased to see them shake their heads, watching as they back away from me.
I turn away, entering our quarters, and sit with the dropped book, examining it closer. There is a small nick that wasn't there before, at least that I can remember. Of course, it could have happened some other way. But just the same I almost regret the leniency I showed the thief.
But inside, alone, all the emotion is done now. Realand and his monster charge have been warned. Everyone else has been put on notice. I could see the looks of fear in their eyes, and the rough respect as well. Nobody else would have gone after Jeffrey and left him alive. I don't know if I worry or not, but I know that today I played my game perfectly.
I remember the doll. I pick up Beja carefully, keeping her little dress arranged as Molly had done that morning. I get my water cup too. I'm still thirsty, and anxious to hear more of the book.
The corridor is deserted now. I'm calm, all the anger spent. The books are safe, my family will be left alone. Realand and his foot are still owed back, but that comes later when the time is right. For now, he knows there will be a time.
Miles left me the books, a little piece of our past and future, as a guardian, just as much as he did his children. I will protect both with my life, or the life of anyone who takes them.
Odd though, Miles is near, but can't get close. He's watching from a distance, his face an unreadable mask. 'I'll keep all of them safe,' I tell him but he can't hear either.
I notice that the pathway is cleared a little faster than it might have, and nobody gets in my way when I go for water. I hand Molly her doll, the girls having found a new game, and Ray gives me a curious glance. Eventually everyone is settled to read, Realand poking his head out and then retreating away. But no one does. The book sits on the chair, untouched.
Ray nudges me, and I notice Ezri staring with worry. "They're waiting for permission," he says.
I realize I've made them do what I want for once and it feels very good. But they have permission to read this one. Don't they understand?
"Who wants to read next?" Ray offers.
The group is still too quiet, the reading compromised. Daniel finally stands up and looks at me, his eyes asking permission. "I will," he says.
"Let's do it," I say, and Ray glances at Ezri, her eyes fixed on me. Daniel steps forward, takes the book, still watching me, and starts to read.
And then all the terrors vanish as the magic takes over and we are free.
o0o
The readings done. It's late, at least according to our bodies, even if we are denied any other clues. I've listened to the reading until it broke up, and gone back to rest.
Someone pushes open the door. I expect Ezri, but unexpectedly find Kira filling my door. Hands on hips, it's clear she has something on her mind.
"It was a good thing you didn't kill the boy," she says. "Not that you didn't intend to."
Her whole tone is disapproving. I don't want to hear it. I glare back at her, angry. "I didn't kill him. Is that enough?"
"No," she says, moving across the room, standing right in front of me. "You intended to. The only reason you didn't was Realand pled for his life and you liked the idea of sparing him."
"I did spare him," I counter. "I didn't have to."
"You're lucky," she says, sitting down on our chair, staring at me. "You kill someone, you cross the line."
"I've killed before," I say. "Haven't I already done that?"
"Not this way." She pauses, thinking. "Or maybe you have. There was Odo."
I saved Odo, but then I remember his counterpart in the other universe, the one ready to execute me. "I was defending my life."
"True, but you still killed him. Your first I believe."
She stops, her manner softer, more worried. "Look Julian. You kill the boy, you push this anger too far and it will control you. You used it with Jeffrey, let it go, but I warn you, once you let it out, you belong to it."
"What's this about?" I ask, wondering why she's bringing this up now.
"You. You and Ezri. Have you noticed how she's teetering on the brink? Have you even seen how she's ready to crumple? Then you almost turn killer. Did you see how nervous she was? Did she wonder if the next thing she says will set you off, or Ray or me? Maybe one of the children? Julian, you have to keep that rage inside. If you ever let it out it's all over. Remember who it's for-not these people."
"The boy is a thief," I say, keeping my voice under control. "He stole one of the books-Miles legacy, in case you have forgotten. If he'd damaged it I *would* have killed him on the spot."
"And nobody but Realand would have missed him. But you would have destroyed yourself as well. Don't you see that?" She takes my hand, pulling me up to a sitting position. "They know now. They won't challenge you anymore. You made your point." She pauses, shifts around a little. "But you have to keep the anger under control now. In their own ways they respect that little display, but only if your careful. They understand about the books. They would understand your family, even do the same if it was theirs. But they might not if it's about some little thing that doesn't mean the same."
"I suppose you would know," I mutter, wishing she didn't make so much sense. Ezri had been nervous after the incident, watching me. I love her, don't want her afraid of me.
"Whatever happens, and it might just be that everyone here is moved somewhere else, you could matter a lot to them in the future. But only if you keep control. They don't want a madman as a leader."
"I'm no leader." I can't imagine anyone accepting the man who saved the Founders as a leader.
"You could be. I don't know where we're going, but it won't be easy. However much you don't want to admit it, you got them to listen. Nobody else has. Remember, I grew up in a world like this. People respect strength, no-nonsense authority. They need it. You could be their leader, if you'll do it."
"Why should I?" I ask, remembering the way I'd been excluded, the way Realand had stolen Tessie with all of their approval.
"Because it's a reason to go on. Because it's something to believe in. This will end some day. When the Cardassians left, we had our home to rebuild. You don't have that. You have to find some way to go on, keep from drifting a thousand directions. You don't have to like the job, just take it."
In a matter of months the Founders will be dead, and we'll have to face having no home, no identity. I just don't see anyone wanting me around. Maybe Miles, if he was alive. But not me.
But I've noticed the way Ezri is never the same anymore, the way I hardly know my wife. I don't think the others really care what happens to me, but she does. And Kira's right. Whatever comes of us in the immediate future, I can manage as long as my family is there.
"I'll watch it," I promise. "For Ezri and the children, for Miles too. The rest . . . "
"Good. Think about it. You've got what it takes."
She leaves, closing the door, and I rest again. But I can't sleep. What if she's right? What will come when this is done, when the Founders perish and Weyoun falls? What if all we have is some small bit of wasteland, but even then, more to lose?
I watch as she leaves, closing the door, not sure if I want the months to go slowly while we find a way or so swiftly we won't even recognize freedom when we find it.
End, Part 2, Chapter 13 of Surrender