[STV: J/P Fic] Modulation VI
Modulation
Sydney Alexis
VI [Six]
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything but the idea.
Clarification: In music, modulation is employed when one is changing keys/tonal centers within a piece. Thus, the feel, idea, and emotion in the piece can change from a depressed to a happy sound.
Challenge #22: [from Angela Drews] Write a story in which the first line is, 'He could hear her screams and his heart raced.' Can be frightening, romantic, funny, sweet, whatever your imagination creates.
Within a darkened room, one of many board rooms within the Industrial Order's Administration building, sat seven men at one table. G'tan Kairon at the head, was the chairman of The Gathering committee. The success of the Kamien people rested squarely on his shoulders, and it was not something that he took lightly.
The six other men seated around the massive steel table wore the same black cloaks he did. Standard fare for these types of meetings, it protected their identity from the Kamien media. Like every culture, there were a few that felt their methods of gathering needed items from other worlds was unjust. Of course, few in the private sector knew of the existence of The Yard or The Farm. Regardless of what the others thought of him, he knew those on his world would die of starvation if he wasn't willing and able to complete his work was well as he did.
To G'tan's right, sat his top aid and best advisor. One of the few men that he trusted with his life, Talken was privy to more than any other member of the board. Engineered to be of political, military, and civilian mind, he was able to perceive problems from all three sides. Talken's suggestions had proven invaluable over the years.
To the chairman's immediate left, sat Chief Liaison to the Industrial Order, Gepek. Best described as a slimy weasel, the man did everything within his power to undermine the authority that G'tan exuded over this board. The remaining seats went to two military advisors who aided in capturing new detainees as well as selecting them and a media consultant who was responsible for cover up anything that would show the Industrial Order in a negative light up to and including The Yard, The Farm, and invasions of other world. In all, the committee on The Gathering had succeeded on maintaining the quality of life on Kamien without their knowledge for over two hundred years. With a new way of running the process though, the group was forced to bring in an eight member- a geneticist who was working on the Voyager Project.
Drummed his fingers on the Great Hall's table, G'tan sat, growing more impatient with each passing moment. Knowing the action irritated the others gave him some satisfaction. After all, he didn't like to be kept waiting-especially by a junior officer. This mere boy's life would be forfeit for taking such time to arrive, but this report was too important not to wait for. The information needed to be precise, and the officer in question was invaluable. Given the level of genetic sequencing and extensive background training alone, it would take four years to get a new worker to that same level. Time was precious on Kamien ground especially with the Industrial Order's Administration keeping such a close eye on this project.
The door creaked open slowly, and a slender young man was deposited before the committee by two armed guards. The junior officer removed his cap and tried to smooth down his hair before entering the room fully.
"You...you sent for me, sir?" A quivering voice intoned. Half question and half statement, the chairman stood from the massive chair at the head of the table and made his way toward the boy. Placing the flat of his hand on the boy's back, he guided him towards the front of the room.
"Tanari, is it?" The young man nodded in return.
"Tanari, I was fortunate enough to read your report before this meeting. Would you be kind enough to summarize it for the rest of the board."
"Yes, sir, G'Tol, sir. In my weekly update to his high worship, G'tan Kairon, I summarized this weeks activities on The Yard and Farm. Among them: the introduction of our newest detainees, the Exul, to the agricultural cultivation workforce; the successful take-over of the Tavener with a crew compliment of 1,793; The Wilbye mission of recovery and depletion is complete..."
"Get to the Voyager crew," Tumeric bellowed.
Tanari paused, running a hand through his short hair. "Two of the main species on Voyager- the Human and Vulcans- have been successfully reproduced. The first offspring of those individuals has also been brought underway. According to the Humanoid Holographic Projection, all children are healthy. Within the week, we will be able to determine if they are The Replicas or not."
"Do you conquer with The Doctor's findings?"
"Yes, G'tan, sir."
"And their developmental progress?" A board member voiced.
"As you know, our technology is not fully compatible with these Humanoids. Thus, the maturation injections have to be given every other week rather than once a day. The first Vulcan male that was released from the pods is already walking."
"And the female, BV-001?" G'tol inquired.
"She is still relatively young. Both The Doctor and Mr. Neelix assured me that Human children develop at different paces regardless of the amount of maturation serum we inject them with."
"Wouldn't the chambers speed up the process?" The Ambassador asked.
"No," Tanari said, shaking his head. "The chambers are antiquated technology. They only work on simpler species."
"And how are you going to handle the creation of BV-009?" One of the military advisors spoke.
"The Borg? Yes. That one we have a full laboratory working on. It may take as much as salvaging a Borg Cube to integrate her in," Tanari replied.
"Couldn't you just write her off?" The Ambassador asked, leaning back in his chair. "The Industrial Order is growing weary of the length of time you suggest this will take."
"Her interaction with the crew is one that Janeway spoke a great deal about in her logs. I'm not sure that 'writing her off' is such a good idea. It would mean entering it into all of their logs. Writing a convincing personal log of Janeway is not something I think that our men would be able to do as writing style is hard to copy," Talken, G'tan's aid responded, ignoring the ambassador's threat.
"And what of piloting this ship? We will need to make sure Paris' copy is just as capable as he is," The second military advisor questioned
"I conquer," G'tan said. "I suggest bringing him in to train the boy."
"What of Janeway? We had had plans to...," Talken started, but cut his thought short when G'tan silenced him with an upraised hand.
"Hush, Talken. That need not concern these men," he said, then turning towards Tanari, "Have them both brought into The Farm without anyone's knowledge. Wait until there is a reason for them to disappear though. Yesterday's incident at the shuttle repair station caused enough of a stir that the crew would notice if they went missing. Wait a few weeks and then collect them. Perhaps it would be a good test for your favorite assistant..."
"That might not be as simple as you suggest, G'tan Kairon," The Ambassador said, leaning forward once again. "My informants have said there is unrest amongst the guards. Kenoshia will be punishing the crew this afternoon at Tumeric's request."
"Lead guard Kenoshia and Tumeric seem to have forgotten their place. I told them to extend the length for this group until further notice. At the rate the crew is dying, there won't be any left for the third phase," G'tan replied, pausing a moment. "Contact Tumeric. I'd like to have a word with him. Mr. Talken, I would like both you and your new assistant to be on call in case he's already overstepped his bounds. Dismissed."
The familiar howl of the alarm called them to roll call that morning. Kathryn came out, heavily leaning against Tom for support. As predicted, Tumeric climbed the small execution platform before the group to address them.
"As you may or may not know, one of our guards is missing. While only a few of you were even on the shuttle maintenance crew yesterday, I believe that one of you might have heard the others speaking. That makes you all guilty. Now, I demand that one of you tell me where he is. You have thirty seconds to comply."
Silence fell upon the group. Eyes roving the crowd for answers. Some were pleading. Some angry. All knew what would happen next.
"Your time has expired, and so have two of you. Captain Janeway, I will let you choose. Pick two numbers."
Squaring her shoulders, she stared up at the figure that loomed above them. His shadow was cast across the group as the sun rose from behind the mountains.
"No," she replied evenly.
"No?" He repeated, mocking her tone. "No, huh? Seize her and her cell mate and bring them up here."
Tom and Kathryn were drug up the thirteen steps above the assembled crew. It was a familiar path she had taken before. Part of the labor she was assigned was to cut the dead down from the rafters and transport their corpses to the crematorium. This time, she took each step with purpose. Ignoring the pain and refusing Tom's help she stood before her crew proud for the first time in months. Today she would die with what was left of her dignity intacted.
"Prepare them," he yelled at Kenoshia who had followed them up the steps.
This was but a sick show that Tumeric put on. Like a peacock all too willing to show off his plumage, he would strut around the stage, laughter echoed through the compound, he yelled nonsense a the group in an attempt to upset those that were still not to numb that they felt each death.
Casting a glance towards the pair, Tumeric smiled with evil satisfaction at seeing them teetering precariously above the ground. All that was left to do was draw the lever back. Using the quiet of the moment, he lapsed into a sermon about respect. More to hear his own voice than anything else.
Tom reached out, grabbing hold of Kathryn's hand. "This almost seems like a scene from an old B-movie I used to watch in the holodeck. You wouldn't believe the line I have rattling around in my head.
"Oh?"
"If I have to go, I would rather die with you," he whispered.
Kathryn squeezed his hand and sighed. "It would have been nice...," she said, after a brief pause.
"What?"
"All the stories you told me. It would have been nice if it really happened."
Tom was silent when he looked at her. A sadness colored his face.
"Tell you what; you get us out of this and you might just get lucky," Kathryn added, smiling.
Tom laughed bitterly, turning to look at her. "Guess we cheated death one too many times," she added.
"Never know. Buster Kincaid could always come crashing through The Yard wall," Tom replied, squeezing her hand. "There's something that I've been meaning to tell you. Guess now would be the best time...I..."
"And now you will remember the power of the Kamien people," Tumeric said, striding towards them and pulling the lever.
The gallows, having not been built properly, did not kill either on impact. There, dangling from the ropes, they watched the faces of the crew go grim. The need to breathe again was powerful. Such a small amount of air was sifting through her windpipe that Kathryn felt lightheaded. Tom's hand slacken within hers. Casting a glance towards him, she noted that his body had gone limp. Realization was enough, she stopped struggling.
"What is the meaning of this?" G'tol Kairon called, nearing the center of the compound. He drew a phaser from his belt and fired at each rope. Both bodies fell unceremoniously to the wooden decking.
"My Lord, they refused to divulge the location of the missing guard. I dealt with the situation as I usually do."
"And in doing so you violated a direct order from a superior officer. Return to the guard tower...both of you. Now," G'tol said, evenly.
"But, sir..."
"Are you questioning me, Tumeric? I could have you killed for less."
"No, sir," he said, turning on his heel and walking quickly towards the tower. Kenoshia quickly fell into step behind him.
A low mumble broke out about the crowd. Never had they witnessed any of their crew being protected. They had also never seen another soldier standing up to Tumeric's tirades. Watching in stunned silence, they watched the tall, pale leader raise wrist towards his face and speak into it in whispered tones. Moments passed before he turned to regard the small group.
"Carefully carry the captain and Mr. Paris into their cell then return to your work stations. If any guard questions why you are late, tell them to contact G'tol Kairon. You are dismissed."
Kathryn awoke to find a small Kamien leaning over her, scanning her with what appeared to be a Starfleet issue medical tricorder. She moved to sit up and place distance between them, but the man placed his free hand on her torso to stop her.
"Please, Captain, be careful. Your injuries are still healing."
"Who are you?" She managed to say, her voice still raspy.
"My name is Tanari. I am a doctor. G'tan Kairon asked me to treat both of you as he disapproved of Kenoshia's choice to execute you."
"How considerate of him."
"I suggest you limit the amount that you speak within the next few hours. I managed to heal your larynx, but it will be tender for a few days; your vocal folds are swollen. Mr. Paris, on the other hand, will not be able to speak for at least two days as it could cause permanent damage."
Kathryn nodded in response. "I was also able to heal most of your older wounds. You will, however, have a number of scars. The dermal regenerator salvaged from Voyager wasn't able to repair the superficial damage to the dermal layers on your arms and back," he said, pausing. "It is obvious that you must have been through many beatings," Tanari added.
"You say that as if you regret it."
"I am a doctor first, Captain. My duty is to heal, but I cannot ignore the needs of my people over the lives of those that have no ties to me. Ethical standards must also be put aside because standing up against G'tan would mean my death."
"Surely you can look over what is left of my crew while you are here," Kathryn started.
"I am afraid not. Not medically anyway. I can, however, have your food rations increased. Good evening," he said, rising.
"Thank you," Kathryn said, meeting his eye sight.
"You're welcome," Tarani said, exiting the cell. "Take care, Captain of Voyager."
G'tan Kairon and his aid, Talken, sat behind his massive desk. Before them, amid the massive gray slab walls, were rows of screens- each one devoted to a separate area of The Yard and Farm. The current location that was enlarged in the center was that of the Captain and Tom's cell. She was kneeling on the ground beside him, wordlessly running the palm of her hand over his cheek.
"What do you make of the captain's relationship with Paris?" G'tan asked.
"If you believe that I was in error in choosing to pair them in their cell..."
"You jump to conclusions, Talken. I was merely asking what you thought of their relationship. From every personal log that I have read of hers, she seems to have this great underlying message that starting a relationship with anyone on her ship would not only be against decorum, but it would complicate things to the point that she would be unable to focus on her duties."
"Humans are an emotional species. However, I believe that the captain was more worried about having to choose between two people that she cared about once again. The devastation that she spoke of at the loss of both Justin and her father was alarming. To slip into such a path of depression..."
"Do you think that that is why she clings to Paris? As a way to keep herself grounded."
"That is a possibility, my Lord. To reach out to the only person that she is physically able to as it were. However, she has not passed that final boundary like some of the others have. In that regard, she stills keeps her place in perspective."
"Would she cling to Paris in that manner if she felt that her life depended on it?"
"They have a codependent relationship. We both witnessed that while they hung on the gallows. While an unexpected test, it certainty has proven that her emotional well being does rely on Tom Paris to some extent."
"I always pictured her as independent though..."
"You have to realize that she has been stripped of everything that she holds dear. A single-minded mission to get her crew home is all that she worked towards for all those years. Now that she is free of that, I believe that, when she realizes there is no escape, she will become distraught."
"And Paris...has he reached this level of acceptance?"
"On one level, Tom Paris wishes what his captain does- escape. Yet another level exists where he does not want this to end as he feels a relationship developing between the two of them."
"But do you think that he loves her?"
"That I cannot be certain of. On many levels, yes, but I am not convinced that the feelings he has are solely love and not the appearance of love as his mind perceives it. Spending as much time as they have in a survival mind set could be the catalyst. He might see a relationship as the only way to survive even if it be through a child."
"Tom would accept a child but the captain would not?"
"That is something I am not sure of. She responded well to Naomi and yet there is extensive log entries in which she struggles with the idea of raising a family while running a ship. In the end, she usually came to the conclusion that the child would distract her too much from her final goal. One could argue that, because there is no longer a long term goal..."
"Talken, you are starting to sound like that damned Vulcan," G'tan said, turning back towards the screen. Paris had woken by this time and was writing questions to the captain within the dirt of their cell. A closer view of the camera lens showed Kathryn was relying Tanari's visit in full detail.
"When do you think they will be ready?"
"Soon. A few weeks at most. I would like to see how they interact with the crew if given preferential treatment. Jealousy, as I am told, is a powerful emotion among humans."
"Do you have anything in mind, Talken?"
"Typically our prisoners are grouped by sex and marched to disinfection once a week, correct?"
"Yes. That is standard procedure."
"Why not allow each of them their own time. A new uniform as well. Something to make them feel guilty and their crew mates jealous of them. It will also give us the opportunity to remind Janeway of her former status. This will help determine if she has broken ties to her old life."
"Due to the incoming winter and your frail body design, you have been assigned to new posts for the duration of the winter months," Tumeric said from his vantage point above the crew. The locations are those which are indoors. Just because of the change does not mean that we will be making things any easier on you. The same level of work is expected. And, despite the current rumors, I am still in charge of The Yard, understood?"
In the early morning hours, the crew below clung to the flimsy blankets that they had wrapped around their shoulders. As they listened to Tumeric speak, each could make out the thin cloud of vapor as they breathed.
"Kenoshia will read your new assignments," Tumeric said, walking towards the guard tower.
"Shuttle Maintenance: Joe Carey, Thomas Paris, Seven of Nine, Vorik, Carl Brahms; Sewing Factory: Kathryn Janeway, Samantha Wildman, Naomi Wildman..."
As Kenoshia read the list, the gathered into the appropriate lines. Single file, they stood shivering until each of the remaining fifty or so were divided accordingly. Sam and Naomi stood behind Kathryn.
"Seems like you'll be working the sewing machines with us," Sam whispered.
"Are you in for a treat. I tried to learn how to use one of those things once," Kathryn said, laughing.
"It's not as hard as it looks, Captain. I can teach you."
"You've been working in the factories the whole time?"
"Yes. They noticed that I had a talent for it and were pleased at my output so they kept me there. Naomi is a great assistant. She collects new bobbins, thread, and fabric for those on the alley floor."
"I wonder why they chose to place me in the sewing factory instead of on shuttle maintenance," Kathryn wondered aloud.
"There is rumors that Joe picked up from one of the guards that Tumeric ordered you and Tom be placed on different work details."
"March," a voice bellowed.
Onward through the snow covered ground, the line moved towards the waiting factory. Once inside, they were shackled to their machines and permitted only a few moments to get acclimated. Kathryn removed her shawl and shook her hair to rid of the snowflakes that still clung to her hair.
"Where is the on switch for this thing?" Kathryn said, looking over at Sam. the younger woman laughed.
"It uses a foot pedal, Captain. There is no on switch."
Three weeks later...
The sewing machine before her hummed loudly as she pushed the heavy fabric beneath the needle. The texture of the cloth was like canvas only much thicker. The difficult part was applying the proper amount of pressure to the pedal so that it sewed but didn't snag.
In the early days, Kathryn found herself having to stop mid-seam just to untangle the thread from the needle. Sam watched her in her peripheral view, chuckling as she watched her commanding officer's shoulders square in anger. For her part, Sam was a near expert at the machine. She was able to finish four uniforms per hour to Kathryn's one per day.
"I really am beginning to hate this foul little machine," Kathryn whispered to Sam.
"Shh...you'll upset it."
"It?" Kathryn repeated skeptically.
"You talked to Voyager and believed it understood you. What's so different?"
"The two are totally separate things. Voyager was a complex...," she started.
"Machine," Sam finished.
Kathryn raised the needle and snipped the thread after finishing the latest seam. She reached for the next piece. "Point taken."
"Looks like it's almost lunch time," Sam said, motioning to the placement of the first sun.
"Let me guess. Weak broth, a slice of bread, and a cup of brown water."
Sam laughed and continued on. "Think you can manage your machine on your own? I'm being moved to the looms after lunch."
Kathryn's gaze went from her work to meet Sam's. "The looms? Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure," she replied, tucking a strand behind her ear. "They need someone else since the last...accident."
"Sam, that was more than an accident," Kathryn said, her glance being drawn towards the room upstairs. "That girl was scalped... they let her bleed to death on the floor."
"It was only because she had such long hair. She got too close to the mechanism. I just have to be careful."
"Why move you? You're one of the best they have in here..." She thought aloud.
"Don't know," Sam said, shrugging.
There was a long pause in the conversation. Neither one willing to break the silence. The looms were one of the most dangerous places to work within the encampment. Since their arrival, twenty three people had been killed in that room. Most of them bled to death from injuries they received from the equipment. The cutting implements usually got stuck, and the guards wouldn't shut the power off. Thus, a sacrifice was sent into the machine to push the blade up and remove the bunched fabric. In most cases, they weren't able to move in enough time to avoid the razor-sharp cutting blade that came whirling down.
"Captain..." Sam started.
Kathryn smiled. Sam was one of the few people that had insisted on calling her by her title since their stay here stretched into months. She and Harry...
"Yes?"
"If I...if I don't make it out of that room one of these days, promise me you'll look after Naomi."
"You didn't have to ask," Kathryn replied in a whisper.
"Twenty minutes to lunch. Finish up your work," one of the guards bellowed.
Mid-afternoon slowly turned into evening. Kathryn sat in the main sewing alley, working on her latest uniform. This time, a lead guard's from the Industrial Order. Her attention was divided though. She kept gazing at the seat beside her and the door to the loom room. Sam had only been in there for a few hours. Of course, her place had already been taken. This time, by a Kazon. He stared at her for sometime, anger evident on his face.
"You are Captain Janeway, aren't you?"
"Yes," she replied, quietly.
"How long have you been here?"
"Too long...a few months. I couldn't tell you. We arrived when the weather was still fairly warm."
"My commander will never allow himself to be captive. It is a matter of pride."
"Where is he?"
The Kazon, no more than a boy of ten, pointed with his shackled arm towards the stairs. "He is making cloth, but he will never allow this to continue."
Kathryn narrowed her eyes, a bad feelings stirring inside her. "What do you mean?"
The boy merely smiled. "It was told to us that, when one plans an escape, all members of that cell block die."
"That's true."
"We are all on the same cell block," the boy explained.
"No..." Kathryn whispered, realization setting in. She stood, yelling for the guards, but it was too late. The purple warning klaxons on the walls began blinking, a shrieking sound filled the room.
She cast her eyes up the stairs, watching as gray smoke billowed out from the loom room. Dread filled her as she saw flames just behind the glass of the door.
"The building's on fire!" Someone yelled behind her.
Guards scurried around the room, running towards the exit. Prisoners began to scream as they were struggled to break free of their shackles.
"We have a good five minutes before the room fills with too much Carbon Monoxide," Kathryn murmured. She reached up into the casing on her sewing machine and removed the needle, using it to pick the lock of her manacles. By now, she was coughing from the smoke. Her chest felt heavy, and the flames were dancing down the wooden staircase. Large beams from the ceiling began falling into the alley. Turning, she saw a phaser one of the guards dropped. Smiling at her luck, she grabbed it and began freeing prisoners in the alley.
"Get these people to safety," she said to Naomi as she fired on her chains. The little girl nodded and took off towards the door to help people out.
Kathryn turned towards the stair, her chest burning, coughing violently, she darted towards them. Cautious to avoid falling debris, she made it to the landing and the door... what was left of the door.
"Sam," she called.
A faint moan in the corner. She turned to see a guard beneath a large panel. 'To hell with him' she thought.
"Sam!"
From the distance, she heard a weak response. "Captain..."
The room was engulfed in red and orange flames. It roared louder than she remembered. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Her inner voice yelling at her to escape...that rescue was crazy. She, of course, ignored it. Stumbling forward, arms in place to protect herself. She crawled on her hands and knees towards the sound, trying to keep low for breath. Just a few more feet, she thought to herself.
Samantha Wildman lay in the corner, curled up beneath a fallen weaving machine panel. Too heavy to lift off of her, Kathryn fired away with her phaser until just the area around Sam was left.
"I'm going to lift this, but I need you to crawl out from underneath."
A muffled sound her reply, Kathryn lifted up the corner. Arms trembling under the weight, her skin became singed by the super-heated metal. Sam scurried out from under the fragment, half screaming from the pain of a broken leg.
Kathryn let the debris fall back to the floor with a thunderous crack. She suppressed a scream as it pulled the top layers of her charred flesh with it. Turning towards Sam, she noticed the jagged wound it had caused. It was already bleeding badly. Kathryn tore off the fabric of Sam's left pant leg to expose the entire wound. Using that same fabric, she tied a bandage to the wound.
"We've got to get out of here. Can you make it to the door?"
Sam nodded lightly and eased herself up using the remainders of the loom machine. Kathryn put the other woman's arm around her neck and helped her towards the door, avoiding the fiery debris that fell the best they could.
The heat was intense and unrelenting. Sweat poured from every pore and yet her body was shivering. Hyperthermia was setting in... she could feel the palms of her hands blistering from contact with the metal frame that pinned Sam. No doubt she wouldn't be able to work for weeks...if the guards let her live.
Limping under the weight of the support she had to give Sam, they reached the landing to find the stairway had been obliterated by the fire. Kathryn felt her heart sink. It was the only escape from the building. Below them, stretching out through the entire alley were flames and the remains of sewing machines. Fallen beams blocked the only exit, and the landing beneath them was buckling under the fire's wrath. There was no visible path of escape.
Tom was being fast-walked back from shuttle maintenance with a small group. They slowly climbed the last hill before the encampment was visible when he first saw the plumes. Black smoke swirling through the atmosphere like a cancer spreading through a body. As he reached the crest, his fears increased. Before him stood a towering inferno that was once the uniform factory. Billows of smoke poured from every crease in the ceiling the fire had cut. Flames shot through them as well, each like a tower growing higher with the explosion of machine fuel. Orange, red, yellow, and some white hot flames slowly worked to envelope the factory. Eating, replicating, spreading, it lurked through like a quiet killer. The small warning sounds of creaking wood followed by large sections of the roof flying through the air. Madden screams of the workers as they dashed away in terror. In the center of it all, little Naomi stood, staring at the building. Her eyes were wide in terror.
Forgetting his place and the dangers of stepping out of line, Tom raced towards the child. His heart pounding in his ears. "Kathryn!" came his piercing cry. Eyes training themselves against the night, searching for her silhouette against the flames. Faster he pushed his body. He legs screaming in pain, but were ignored. His lungs ached from shrieking her name. Finally, he arrived by Naomi's side. A haunted look grew in the little girl's face. Terror from visions a child should never witness.
"Mommy and the Captain never came out," she whispered.
The factory's walls were beginning to fail. Still, Tom moved forward towards the glowing mass. A hand grabbed his shoulder to stop him. A rough voice whispered from behind. "Kyrie Eleison," Somewhere, somehow, he recalled the phrase. Thousands of years later and still whispered in this affront.
Tom sank to his knees. The snow seeping into the thin cloth of his pants. Too numb to notice the biting cold. "If your Lord has mercy, why are we still here?" he replied.
"There was a window...near the rear machine. It was used to keep the machines cool in the summer," Sam said between coughs.
"Come on," Kathryn replied.
As quickly as possible, both stumbled through the blaze towards the back of the room. Two windows, almost too narrow in width stood on the far corners of the room. The fire had long since broken the panes. Each had flames crawling up the wall and out the window.
"There's no way. We'll be burned alive," Sam warned
"I'd rather die trying then die in this dump."
Kathryn helped Sam towards the window, using a rag to clear the remaining glass shards away. "Jump down, be sure to block your face with your hands. Tuck you legs under and roll away from the building in case you're injured. I'll follow once I see you're out of the way."
"Aye, Captain," Sam said, jumping through the window. "I'll see you down there, ma'am."
Kathryn nodded, watching the younger woman do as she was told. From her perch, she saw onlookers rush towards her. Biting her lower lip, she dashed towards the window and did the same.
Naomi was the first to see it. The single figure falling from the window. Some of the crowd raced towards the object, but Tom found he couldn't move. Fearful of what he might find, his legs refused to take any action.
Screams followed. Air caught in his lungs, tears streaming from his cheeks, he raced towards them when called. Please let it be her. He repeated it in his mind a hundred times over until it sounded more like a benediction than a thought.
His steps were slow and methodical. Mentally preparing himself for whatever he might find. Half praying that if one had to perish it wouldn't be Kathryn. The figure before him had a leg twisted at an odd angle, badly burned legs, arms and face... finally he allowed himself to see her. Blonde hair...it was Sam.
"Help me carry her away from the building," he said evenly.
"Captain Janeway is still up there. She said she'd follow me," the blackened creature murmured as they pulled her a safe distance from the fire.
A pause...a lifetime...he felt his heart beat twice as fast when he saw her falling from the window. She landed a few inches from Sam's landing space with a slight groan exiting her lips.
"Kathryn," he heard himself whisper as he approached.
The crowd of prisoners returned to help him carry her towards the clearing.
The night wore on as he tended to injures. Ashes, crimson of blood with the white snow that fell on the rows of wounded. The end result was a blanket tainted red and black.
"Seven," Tom called out. The blonde approached quickly and stooped next to the captain. "I'll need someone to bury Kathryn under the snow. It will stop the burns from getting any further into her skin. I'll also need some water...boiled and warm. See if you can find any thread and a needle too. Be sure to boil them."
"A crude but effect method," she said, standing. With a nod towards Tom she moved to Naomi. "I'll need your assistance."
Naomi lifted her glance from her mother's wounds to the towering figure beside her. She inclined her head and followed Seven across the snow.
Tom moved from Kathryn to Sam. He smiled at her as he checked her pulse.
"You're going to be okay. Just hang in there."
"The captain?"
"She's got some pretty bad burns, but she can wait for now."
He untied and lifted the bandage off. "This wound is pretty nasty. I'm going to have to clean it out."
Naomi returned with a small dish filled with warm water. She handed it to Tom and smiled weakly at her mother. Tom turned to the guard nearest them.
"I'm going to need a blade...a knife or a piece of metal."
The guard gave him an incredulous look which Tom disregarded. "I need it to help her. If I was going to stab you with it, I would have to get close enough to do it. You'd all have ample time to shoot me."
With a grunt of agreement, he pulled a long dagger from his left boot and handed it to Tom handle first.
"Naomi, take this to Seven and tell her to put it in the fire until the tip is glowing."
After the girl had ran off, he turned his attention back to his patient. "Sam, I need you to listen to me. I'm going to flush the wound with this water.
It was almost laughable. The progression of medical science that Tom studied out of curiosity would come in handy. Early human medicine was archaic at best. The lack of cleanliness and sterilization...it was a wonder mankind lived as long as they had.
Lifting her leg so that it was bent at the knee, Tom poured the water over her wound, allowing it to cascade down into it. Sam ground her teeth to stop herself from screaming. The pain was intense. As he worked, Seven returned with the super-heated blade and the needle and thread.
"I'm going to use this to cauterize the veins in your leg to stop the bleeding. When I finish, I'll have to stitch you up with thread. Do you understand?"
She signaled her understanding, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Seven, I need you to hold her down while I do this."
Seven knelt down by Sam's head, holding her arms in place. When she was in position, Tom gave one last glance to his patient.
"There's more than one spot."
A pause followed and then he lowered the metal to her reddened flesh. Tiny tendrils of smoke rose, the smell of seared meat, and the screams of a wild animal filled the air. Her voice stopped short when he pulled the tip up. Again he brought it down before she had time to recover. Her screams broke into agonizing sobs. Her chest heaving while her voice went silent.
How had they come this far? To be lowered on a scale until they were no better off than their ancestors half a millennia ago. They had no means to fight back. Broken in spirit and body to a point where this had become their only memory. Thoughts of escape fleeting and dangerous. Forced to walk the thin line between death and life, and for what? The chance, however slim, that they might escape? Weeks melted into months and there were no closer than they had been.
Starfleet had never understood Maquis mentality. The desire to rise up against the Cardassians and take back their lives, their land... and fight for the memories of those lost. Anger surged within Tom the likes of which he only recalled having in New Zealand and before. The animalistic need for escape and revenge. But, unlike the days of his misspent youth, it wasn't he that he wanted dead; it was the Kamien. Not just the guards or the Industrial Order, but the entire race.
"You can't understand what it is to be Maquis," B'Elanna had told him. "To fight side by side by someone, and then, one day, to have them die on the ground beside you. To morn their loss for no more than a second and then have to pull the phaser from their bloody hand, and fire at the bastard that just killed them to save your own life."
B'Elanna was right. He could hear the pounding in his ears louder than a thousand canons and every fiber of him wanted to kill every guard out there.
"Lieutenant?" Seven said evenly.
Tom shook his head and lowered the needle to Sam's leg. The resistance would have to wait until another night. For now, he had to keep them all alive.
In the morning, the dead would be found and buried.
Next
Sydney Alexis
VI [Six]
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything but the idea.
Clarification: In music, modulation is employed when one is changing keys/tonal centers within a piece. Thus, the feel, idea, and emotion in the piece can change from a depressed to a happy sound.
Challenge #22: [from Angela Drews] Write a story in which the first line is, 'He could hear her screams and his heart raced.' Can be frightening, romantic, funny, sweet, whatever your imagination creates.
Within a darkened room, one of many board rooms within the Industrial Order's Administration building, sat seven men at one table. G'tan Kairon at the head, was the chairman of The Gathering committee. The success of the Kamien people rested squarely on his shoulders, and it was not something that he took lightly.
The six other men seated around the massive steel table wore the same black cloaks he did. Standard fare for these types of meetings, it protected their identity from the Kamien media. Like every culture, there were a few that felt their methods of gathering needed items from other worlds was unjust. Of course, few in the private sector knew of the existence of The Yard or The Farm. Regardless of what the others thought of him, he knew those on his world would die of starvation if he wasn't willing and able to complete his work was well as he did.
To G'tan's right, sat his top aid and best advisor. One of the few men that he trusted with his life, Talken was privy to more than any other member of the board. Engineered to be of political, military, and civilian mind, he was able to perceive problems from all three sides. Talken's suggestions had proven invaluable over the years.
To the chairman's immediate left, sat Chief Liaison to the Industrial Order, Gepek. Best described as a slimy weasel, the man did everything within his power to undermine the authority that G'tan exuded over this board. The remaining seats went to two military advisors who aided in capturing new detainees as well as selecting them and a media consultant who was responsible for cover up anything that would show the Industrial Order in a negative light up to and including The Yard, The Farm, and invasions of other world. In all, the committee on The Gathering had succeeded on maintaining the quality of life on Kamien without their knowledge for over two hundred years. With a new way of running the process though, the group was forced to bring in an eight member- a geneticist who was working on the Voyager Project.
Drummed his fingers on the Great Hall's table, G'tan sat, growing more impatient with each passing moment. Knowing the action irritated the others gave him some satisfaction. After all, he didn't like to be kept waiting-especially by a junior officer. This mere boy's life would be forfeit for taking such time to arrive, but this report was too important not to wait for. The information needed to be precise, and the officer in question was invaluable. Given the level of genetic sequencing and extensive background training alone, it would take four years to get a new worker to that same level. Time was precious on Kamien ground especially with the Industrial Order's Administration keeping such a close eye on this project.
The door creaked open slowly, and a slender young man was deposited before the committee by two armed guards. The junior officer removed his cap and tried to smooth down his hair before entering the room fully.
"You...you sent for me, sir?" A quivering voice intoned. Half question and half statement, the chairman stood from the massive chair at the head of the table and made his way toward the boy. Placing the flat of his hand on the boy's back, he guided him towards the front of the room.
"Tanari, is it?" The young man nodded in return.
"Tanari, I was fortunate enough to read your report before this meeting. Would you be kind enough to summarize it for the rest of the board."
"Yes, sir, G'Tol, sir. In my weekly update to his high worship, G'tan Kairon, I summarized this weeks activities on The Yard and Farm. Among them: the introduction of our newest detainees, the Exul, to the agricultural cultivation workforce; the successful take-over of the Tavener with a crew compliment of 1,793; The Wilbye mission of recovery and depletion is complete..."
"Get to the Voyager crew," Tumeric bellowed.
Tanari paused, running a hand through his short hair. "Two of the main species on Voyager- the Human and Vulcans- have been successfully reproduced. The first offspring of those individuals has also been brought underway. According to the Humanoid Holographic Projection, all children are healthy. Within the week, we will be able to determine if they are The Replicas or not."
"Do you conquer with The Doctor's findings?"
"Yes, G'tan, sir."
"And their developmental progress?" A board member voiced.
"As you know, our technology is not fully compatible with these Humanoids. Thus, the maturation injections have to be given every other week rather than once a day. The first Vulcan male that was released from the pods is already walking."
"And the female, BV-001?" G'tol inquired.
"She is still relatively young. Both The Doctor and Mr. Neelix assured me that Human children develop at different paces regardless of the amount of maturation serum we inject them with."
"Wouldn't the chambers speed up the process?" The Ambassador asked.
"No," Tanari said, shaking his head. "The chambers are antiquated technology. They only work on simpler species."
"And how are you going to handle the creation of BV-009?" One of the military advisors spoke.
"The Borg? Yes. That one we have a full laboratory working on. It may take as much as salvaging a Borg Cube to integrate her in," Tanari replied.
"Couldn't you just write her off?" The Ambassador asked, leaning back in his chair. "The Industrial Order is growing weary of the length of time you suggest this will take."
"Her interaction with the crew is one that Janeway spoke a great deal about in her logs. I'm not sure that 'writing her off' is such a good idea. It would mean entering it into all of their logs. Writing a convincing personal log of Janeway is not something I think that our men would be able to do as writing style is hard to copy," Talken, G'tan's aid responded, ignoring the ambassador's threat.
"And what of piloting this ship? We will need to make sure Paris' copy is just as capable as he is," The second military advisor questioned
"I conquer," G'tan said. "I suggest bringing him in to train the boy."
"What of Janeway? We had had plans to...," Talken started, but cut his thought short when G'tan silenced him with an upraised hand.
"Hush, Talken. That need not concern these men," he said, then turning towards Tanari, "Have them both brought into The Farm without anyone's knowledge. Wait until there is a reason for them to disappear though. Yesterday's incident at the shuttle repair station caused enough of a stir that the crew would notice if they went missing. Wait a few weeks and then collect them. Perhaps it would be a good test for your favorite assistant..."
"That might not be as simple as you suggest, G'tan Kairon," The Ambassador said, leaning forward once again. "My informants have said there is unrest amongst the guards. Kenoshia will be punishing the crew this afternoon at Tumeric's request."
"Lead guard Kenoshia and Tumeric seem to have forgotten their place. I told them to extend the length for this group until further notice. At the rate the crew is dying, there won't be any left for the third phase," G'tan replied, pausing a moment. "Contact Tumeric. I'd like to have a word with him. Mr. Talken, I would like both you and your new assistant to be on call in case he's already overstepped his bounds. Dismissed."
The familiar howl of the alarm called them to roll call that morning. Kathryn came out, heavily leaning against Tom for support. As predicted, Tumeric climbed the small execution platform before the group to address them.
"As you may or may not know, one of our guards is missing. While only a few of you were even on the shuttle maintenance crew yesterday, I believe that one of you might have heard the others speaking. That makes you all guilty. Now, I demand that one of you tell me where he is. You have thirty seconds to comply."
Silence fell upon the group. Eyes roving the crowd for answers. Some were pleading. Some angry. All knew what would happen next.
"Your time has expired, and so have two of you. Captain Janeway, I will let you choose. Pick two numbers."
Squaring her shoulders, she stared up at the figure that loomed above them. His shadow was cast across the group as the sun rose from behind the mountains.
"No," she replied evenly.
"No?" He repeated, mocking her tone. "No, huh? Seize her and her cell mate and bring them up here."
Tom and Kathryn were drug up the thirteen steps above the assembled crew. It was a familiar path she had taken before. Part of the labor she was assigned was to cut the dead down from the rafters and transport their corpses to the crematorium. This time, she took each step with purpose. Ignoring the pain and refusing Tom's help she stood before her crew proud for the first time in months. Today she would die with what was left of her dignity intacted.
"Prepare them," he yelled at Kenoshia who had followed them up the steps.
This was but a sick show that Tumeric put on. Like a peacock all too willing to show off his plumage, he would strut around the stage, laughter echoed through the compound, he yelled nonsense a the group in an attempt to upset those that were still not to numb that they felt each death.
Casting a glance towards the pair, Tumeric smiled with evil satisfaction at seeing them teetering precariously above the ground. All that was left to do was draw the lever back. Using the quiet of the moment, he lapsed into a sermon about respect. More to hear his own voice than anything else.
Tom reached out, grabbing hold of Kathryn's hand. "This almost seems like a scene from an old B-movie I used to watch in the holodeck. You wouldn't believe the line I have rattling around in my head.
"Oh?"
"If I have to go, I would rather die with you," he whispered.
Kathryn squeezed his hand and sighed. "It would have been nice...," she said, after a brief pause.
"What?"
"All the stories you told me. It would have been nice if it really happened."
Tom was silent when he looked at her. A sadness colored his face.
"Tell you what; you get us out of this and you might just get lucky," Kathryn added, smiling.
Tom laughed bitterly, turning to look at her. "Guess we cheated death one too many times," she added.
"Never know. Buster Kincaid could always come crashing through The Yard wall," Tom replied, squeezing her hand. "There's something that I've been meaning to tell you. Guess now would be the best time...I..."
"And now you will remember the power of the Kamien people," Tumeric said, striding towards them and pulling the lever.
The gallows, having not been built properly, did not kill either on impact. There, dangling from the ropes, they watched the faces of the crew go grim. The need to breathe again was powerful. Such a small amount of air was sifting through her windpipe that Kathryn felt lightheaded. Tom's hand slacken within hers. Casting a glance towards him, she noted that his body had gone limp. Realization was enough, she stopped struggling.
"What is the meaning of this?" G'tol Kairon called, nearing the center of the compound. He drew a phaser from his belt and fired at each rope. Both bodies fell unceremoniously to the wooden decking.
"My Lord, they refused to divulge the location of the missing guard. I dealt with the situation as I usually do."
"And in doing so you violated a direct order from a superior officer. Return to the guard tower...both of you. Now," G'tol said, evenly.
"But, sir..."
"Are you questioning me, Tumeric? I could have you killed for less."
"No, sir," he said, turning on his heel and walking quickly towards the tower. Kenoshia quickly fell into step behind him.
A low mumble broke out about the crowd. Never had they witnessed any of their crew being protected. They had also never seen another soldier standing up to Tumeric's tirades. Watching in stunned silence, they watched the tall, pale leader raise wrist towards his face and speak into it in whispered tones. Moments passed before he turned to regard the small group.
"Carefully carry the captain and Mr. Paris into their cell then return to your work stations. If any guard questions why you are late, tell them to contact G'tol Kairon. You are dismissed."
Kathryn awoke to find a small Kamien leaning over her, scanning her with what appeared to be a Starfleet issue medical tricorder. She moved to sit up and place distance between them, but the man placed his free hand on her torso to stop her.
"Please, Captain, be careful. Your injuries are still healing."
"Who are you?" She managed to say, her voice still raspy.
"My name is Tanari. I am a doctor. G'tan Kairon asked me to treat both of you as he disapproved of Kenoshia's choice to execute you."
"How considerate of him."
"I suggest you limit the amount that you speak within the next few hours. I managed to heal your larynx, but it will be tender for a few days; your vocal folds are swollen. Mr. Paris, on the other hand, will not be able to speak for at least two days as it could cause permanent damage."
Kathryn nodded in response. "I was also able to heal most of your older wounds. You will, however, have a number of scars. The dermal regenerator salvaged from Voyager wasn't able to repair the superficial damage to the dermal layers on your arms and back," he said, pausing. "It is obvious that you must have been through many beatings," Tanari added.
"You say that as if you regret it."
"I am a doctor first, Captain. My duty is to heal, but I cannot ignore the needs of my people over the lives of those that have no ties to me. Ethical standards must also be put aside because standing up against G'tan would mean my death."
"Surely you can look over what is left of my crew while you are here," Kathryn started.
"I am afraid not. Not medically anyway. I can, however, have your food rations increased. Good evening," he said, rising.
"Thank you," Kathryn said, meeting his eye sight.
"You're welcome," Tarani said, exiting the cell. "Take care, Captain of Voyager."
G'tan Kairon and his aid, Talken, sat behind his massive desk. Before them, amid the massive gray slab walls, were rows of screens- each one devoted to a separate area of The Yard and Farm. The current location that was enlarged in the center was that of the Captain and Tom's cell. She was kneeling on the ground beside him, wordlessly running the palm of her hand over his cheek.
"What do you make of the captain's relationship with Paris?" G'tan asked.
"If you believe that I was in error in choosing to pair them in their cell..."
"You jump to conclusions, Talken. I was merely asking what you thought of their relationship. From every personal log that I have read of hers, she seems to have this great underlying message that starting a relationship with anyone on her ship would not only be against decorum, but it would complicate things to the point that she would be unable to focus on her duties."
"Humans are an emotional species. However, I believe that the captain was more worried about having to choose between two people that she cared about once again. The devastation that she spoke of at the loss of both Justin and her father was alarming. To slip into such a path of depression..."
"Do you think that that is why she clings to Paris? As a way to keep herself grounded."
"That is a possibility, my Lord. To reach out to the only person that she is physically able to as it were. However, she has not passed that final boundary like some of the others have. In that regard, she stills keeps her place in perspective."
"Would she cling to Paris in that manner if she felt that her life depended on it?"
"They have a codependent relationship. We both witnessed that while they hung on the gallows. While an unexpected test, it certainty has proven that her emotional well being does rely on Tom Paris to some extent."
"I always pictured her as independent though..."
"You have to realize that she has been stripped of everything that she holds dear. A single-minded mission to get her crew home is all that she worked towards for all those years. Now that she is free of that, I believe that, when she realizes there is no escape, she will become distraught."
"And Paris...has he reached this level of acceptance?"
"On one level, Tom Paris wishes what his captain does- escape. Yet another level exists where he does not want this to end as he feels a relationship developing between the two of them."
"But do you think that he loves her?"
"That I cannot be certain of. On many levels, yes, but I am not convinced that the feelings he has are solely love and not the appearance of love as his mind perceives it. Spending as much time as they have in a survival mind set could be the catalyst. He might see a relationship as the only way to survive even if it be through a child."
"Tom would accept a child but the captain would not?"
"That is something I am not sure of. She responded well to Naomi and yet there is extensive log entries in which she struggles with the idea of raising a family while running a ship. In the end, she usually came to the conclusion that the child would distract her too much from her final goal. One could argue that, because there is no longer a long term goal..."
"Talken, you are starting to sound like that damned Vulcan," G'tan said, turning back towards the screen. Paris had woken by this time and was writing questions to the captain within the dirt of their cell. A closer view of the camera lens showed Kathryn was relying Tanari's visit in full detail.
"When do you think they will be ready?"
"Soon. A few weeks at most. I would like to see how they interact with the crew if given preferential treatment. Jealousy, as I am told, is a powerful emotion among humans."
"Do you have anything in mind, Talken?"
"Typically our prisoners are grouped by sex and marched to disinfection once a week, correct?"
"Yes. That is standard procedure."
"Why not allow each of them their own time. A new uniform as well. Something to make them feel guilty and their crew mates jealous of them. It will also give us the opportunity to remind Janeway of her former status. This will help determine if she has broken ties to her old life."
"Due to the incoming winter and your frail body design, you have been assigned to new posts for the duration of the winter months," Tumeric said from his vantage point above the crew. The locations are those which are indoors. Just because of the change does not mean that we will be making things any easier on you. The same level of work is expected. And, despite the current rumors, I am still in charge of The Yard, understood?"
In the early morning hours, the crew below clung to the flimsy blankets that they had wrapped around their shoulders. As they listened to Tumeric speak, each could make out the thin cloud of vapor as they breathed.
"Kenoshia will read your new assignments," Tumeric said, walking towards the guard tower.
"Shuttle Maintenance: Joe Carey, Thomas Paris, Seven of Nine, Vorik, Carl Brahms; Sewing Factory: Kathryn Janeway, Samantha Wildman, Naomi Wildman..."
As Kenoshia read the list, the gathered into the appropriate lines. Single file, they stood shivering until each of the remaining fifty or so were divided accordingly. Sam and Naomi stood behind Kathryn.
"Seems like you'll be working the sewing machines with us," Sam whispered.
"Are you in for a treat. I tried to learn how to use one of those things once," Kathryn said, laughing.
"It's not as hard as it looks, Captain. I can teach you."
"You've been working in the factories the whole time?"
"Yes. They noticed that I had a talent for it and were pleased at my output so they kept me there. Naomi is a great assistant. She collects new bobbins, thread, and fabric for those on the alley floor."
"I wonder why they chose to place me in the sewing factory instead of on shuttle maintenance," Kathryn wondered aloud.
"There is rumors that Joe picked up from one of the guards that Tumeric ordered you and Tom be placed on different work details."
"March," a voice bellowed.
Onward through the snow covered ground, the line moved towards the waiting factory. Once inside, they were shackled to their machines and permitted only a few moments to get acclimated. Kathryn removed her shawl and shook her hair to rid of the snowflakes that still clung to her hair.
"Where is the on switch for this thing?" Kathryn said, looking over at Sam. the younger woman laughed.
"It uses a foot pedal, Captain. There is no on switch."
Three weeks later...
The sewing machine before her hummed loudly as she pushed the heavy fabric beneath the needle. The texture of the cloth was like canvas only much thicker. The difficult part was applying the proper amount of pressure to the pedal so that it sewed but didn't snag.
In the early days, Kathryn found herself having to stop mid-seam just to untangle the thread from the needle. Sam watched her in her peripheral view, chuckling as she watched her commanding officer's shoulders square in anger. For her part, Sam was a near expert at the machine. She was able to finish four uniforms per hour to Kathryn's one per day.
"I really am beginning to hate this foul little machine," Kathryn whispered to Sam.
"Shh...you'll upset it."
"It?" Kathryn repeated skeptically.
"You talked to Voyager and believed it understood you. What's so different?"
"The two are totally separate things. Voyager was a complex...," she started.
"Machine," Sam finished.
Kathryn raised the needle and snipped the thread after finishing the latest seam. She reached for the next piece. "Point taken."
"Looks like it's almost lunch time," Sam said, motioning to the placement of the first sun.
"Let me guess. Weak broth, a slice of bread, and a cup of brown water."
Sam laughed and continued on. "Think you can manage your machine on your own? I'm being moved to the looms after lunch."
Kathryn's gaze went from her work to meet Sam's. "The looms? Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure," she replied, tucking a strand behind her ear. "They need someone else since the last...accident."
"Sam, that was more than an accident," Kathryn said, her glance being drawn towards the room upstairs. "That girl was scalped... they let her bleed to death on the floor."
"It was only because she had such long hair. She got too close to the mechanism. I just have to be careful."
"Why move you? You're one of the best they have in here..." She thought aloud.
"Don't know," Sam said, shrugging.
There was a long pause in the conversation. Neither one willing to break the silence. The looms were one of the most dangerous places to work within the encampment. Since their arrival, twenty three people had been killed in that room. Most of them bled to death from injuries they received from the equipment. The cutting implements usually got stuck, and the guards wouldn't shut the power off. Thus, a sacrifice was sent into the machine to push the blade up and remove the bunched fabric. In most cases, they weren't able to move in enough time to avoid the razor-sharp cutting blade that came whirling down.
"Captain..." Sam started.
Kathryn smiled. Sam was one of the few people that had insisted on calling her by her title since their stay here stretched into months. She and Harry...
"Yes?"
"If I...if I don't make it out of that room one of these days, promise me you'll look after Naomi."
"You didn't have to ask," Kathryn replied in a whisper.
"Twenty minutes to lunch. Finish up your work," one of the guards bellowed.
Mid-afternoon slowly turned into evening. Kathryn sat in the main sewing alley, working on her latest uniform. This time, a lead guard's from the Industrial Order. Her attention was divided though. She kept gazing at the seat beside her and the door to the loom room. Sam had only been in there for a few hours. Of course, her place had already been taken. This time, by a Kazon. He stared at her for sometime, anger evident on his face.
"You are Captain Janeway, aren't you?"
"Yes," she replied, quietly.
"How long have you been here?"
"Too long...a few months. I couldn't tell you. We arrived when the weather was still fairly warm."
"My commander will never allow himself to be captive. It is a matter of pride."
"Where is he?"
The Kazon, no more than a boy of ten, pointed with his shackled arm towards the stairs. "He is making cloth, but he will never allow this to continue."
Kathryn narrowed her eyes, a bad feelings stirring inside her. "What do you mean?"
The boy merely smiled. "It was told to us that, when one plans an escape, all members of that cell block die."
"That's true."
"We are all on the same cell block," the boy explained.
"No..." Kathryn whispered, realization setting in. She stood, yelling for the guards, but it was too late. The purple warning klaxons on the walls began blinking, a shrieking sound filled the room.
She cast her eyes up the stairs, watching as gray smoke billowed out from the loom room. Dread filled her as she saw flames just behind the glass of the door.
"The building's on fire!" Someone yelled behind her.
Guards scurried around the room, running towards the exit. Prisoners began to scream as they were struggled to break free of their shackles.
"We have a good five minutes before the room fills with too much Carbon Monoxide," Kathryn murmured. She reached up into the casing on her sewing machine and removed the needle, using it to pick the lock of her manacles. By now, she was coughing from the smoke. Her chest felt heavy, and the flames were dancing down the wooden staircase. Large beams from the ceiling began falling into the alley. Turning, she saw a phaser one of the guards dropped. Smiling at her luck, she grabbed it and began freeing prisoners in the alley.
"Get these people to safety," she said to Naomi as she fired on her chains. The little girl nodded and took off towards the door to help people out.
Kathryn turned towards the stair, her chest burning, coughing violently, she darted towards them. Cautious to avoid falling debris, she made it to the landing and the door... what was left of the door.
"Sam," she called.
A faint moan in the corner. She turned to see a guard beneath a large panel. 'To hell with him' she thought.
"Sam!"
From the distance, she heard a weak response. "Captain..."
The room was engulfed in red and orange flames. It roared louder than she remembered. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Her inner voice yelling at her to escape...that rescue was crazy. She, of course, ignored it. Stumbling forward, arms in place to protect herself. She crawled on her hands and knees towards the sound, trying to keep low for breath. Just a few more feet, she thought to herself.
Samantha Wildman lay in the corner, curled up beneath a fallen weaving machine panel. Too heavy to lift off of her, Kathryn fired away with her phaser until just the area around Sam was left.
"I'm going to lift this, but I need you to crawl out from underneath."
A muffled sound her reply, Kathryn lifted up the corner. Arms trembling under the weight, her skin became singed by the super-heated metal. Sam scurried out from under the fragment, half screaming from the pain of a broken leg.
Kathryn let the debris fall back to the floor with a thunderous crack. She suppressed a scream as it pulled the top layers of her charred flesh with it. Turning towards Sam, she noticed the jagged wound it had caused. It was already bleeding badly. Kathryn tore off the fabric of Sam's left pant leg to expose the entire wound. Using that same fabric, she tied a bandage to the wound.
"We've got to get out of here. Can you make it to the door?"
Sam nodded lightly and eased herself up using the remainders of the loom machine. Kathryn put the other woman's arm around her neck and helped her towards the door, avoiding the fiery debris that fell the best they could.
The heat was intense and unrelenting. Sweat poured from every pore and yet her body was shivering. Hyperthermia was setting in... she could feel the palms of her hands blistering from contact with the metal frame that pinned Sam. No doubt she wouldn't be able to work for weeks...if the guards let her live.
Limping under the weight of the support she had to give Sam, they reached the landing to find the stairway had been obliterated by the fire. Kathryn felt her heart sink. It was the only escape from the building. Below them, stretching out through the entire alley were flames and the remains of sewing machines. Fallen beams blocked the only exit, and the landing beneath them was buckling under the fire's wrath. There was no visible path of escape.
Tom was being fast-walked back from shuttle maintenance with a small group. They slowly climbed the last hill before the encampment was visible when he first saw the plumes. Black smoke swirling through the atmosphere like a cancer spreading through a body. As he reached the crest, his fears increased. Before him stood a towering inferno that was once the uniform factory. Billows of smoke poured from every crease in the ceiling the fire had cut. Flames shot through them as well, each like a tower growing higher with the explosion of machine fuel. Orange, red, yellow, and some white hot flames slowly worked to envelope the factory. Eating, replicating, spreading, it lurked through like a quiet killer. The small warning sounds of creaking wood followed by large sections of the roof flying through the air. Madden screams of the workers as they dashed away in terror. In the center of it all, little Naomi stood, staring at the building. Her eyes were wide in terror.
Forgetting his place and the dangers of stepping out of line, Tom raced towards the child. His heart pounding in his ears. "Kathryn!" came his piercing cry. Eyes training themselves against the night, searching for her silhouette against the flames. Faster he pushed his body. He legs screaming in pain, but were ignored. His lungs ached from shrieking her name. Finally, he arrived by Naomi's side. A haunted look grew in the little girl's face. Terror from visions a child should never witness.
"Mommy and the Captain never came out," she whispered.
The factory's walls were beginning to fail. Still, Tom moved forward towards the glowing mass. A hand grabbed his shoulder to stop him. A rough voice whispered from behind. "Kyrie Eleison," Somewhere, somehow, he recalled the phrase. Thousands of years later and still whispered in this affront.
Tom sank to his knees. The snow seeping into the thin cloth of his pants. Too numb to notice the biting cold. "If your Lord has mercy, why are we still here?" he replied.
"There was a window...near the rear machine. It was used to keep the machines cool in the summer," Sam said between coughs.
"Come on," Kathryn replied.
As quickly as possible, both stumbled through the blaze towards the back of the room. Two windows, almost too narrow in width stood on the far corners of the room. The fire had long since broken the panes. Each had flames crawling up the wall and out the window.
"There's no way. We'll be burned alive," Sam warned
"I'd rather die trying then die in this dump."
Kathryn helped Sam towards the window, using a rag to clear the remaining glass shards away. "Jump down, be sure to block your face with your hands. Tuck you legs under and roll away from the building in case you're injured. I'll follow once I see you're out of the way."
"Aye, Captain," Sam said, jumping through the window. "I'll see you down there, ma'am."
Kathryn nodded, watching the younger woman do as she was told. From her perch, she saw onlookers rush towards her. Biting her lower lip, she dashed towards the window and did the same.
Naomi was the first to see it. The single figure falling from the window. Some of the crowd raced towards the object, but Tom found he couldn't move. Fearful of what he might find, his legs refused to take any action.
Screams followed. Air caught in his lungs, tears streaming from his cheeks, he raced towards them when called. Please let it be her. He repeated it in his mind a hundred times over until it sounded more like a benediction than a thought.
His steps were slow and methodical. Mentally preparing himself for whatever he might find. Half praying that if one had to perish it wouldn't be Kathryn. The figure before him had a leg twisted at an odd angle, badly burned legs, arms and face... finally he allowed himself to see her. Blonde hair...it was Sam.
"Help me carry her away from the building," he said evenly.
"Captain Janeway is still up there. She said she'd follow me," the blackened creature murmured as they pulled her a safe distance from the fire.
A pause...a lifetime...he felt his heart beat twice as fast when he saw her falling from the window. She landed a few inches from Sam's landing space with a slight groan exiting her lips.
"Kathryn," he heard himself whisper as he approached.
The crowd of prisoners returned to help him carry her towards the clearing.
The night wore on as he tended to injures. Ashes, crimson of blood with the white snow that fell on the rows of wounded. The end result was a blanket tainted red and black.
"Seven," Tom called out. The blonde approached quickly and stooped next to the captain. "I'll need someone to bury Kathryn under the snow. It will stop the burns from getting any further into her skin. I'll also need some water...boiled and warm. See if you can find any thread and a needle too. Be sure to boil them."
"A crude but effect method," she said, standing. With a nod towards Tom she moved to Naomi. "I'll need your assistance."
Naomi lifted her glance from her mother's wounds to the towering figure beside her. She inclined her head and followed Seven across the snow.
Tom moved from Kathryn to Sam. He smiled at her as he checked her pulse.
"You're going to be okay. Just hang in there."
"The captain?"
"She's got some pretty bad burns, but she can wait for now."
He untied and lifted the bandage off. "This wound is pretty nasty. I'm going to have to clean it out."
Naomi returned with a small dish filled with warm water. She handed it to Tom and smiled weakly at her mother. Tom turned to the guard nearest them.
"I'm going to need a blade...a knife or a piece of metal."
The guard gave him an incredulous look which Tom disregarded. "I need it to help her. If I was going to stab you with it, I would have to get close enough to do it. You'd all have ample time to shoot me."
With a grunt of agreement, he pulled a long dagger from his left boot and handed it to Tom handle first.
"Naomi, take this to Seven and tell her to put it in the fire until the tip is glowing."
After the girl had ran off, he turned his attention back to his patient. "Sam, I need you to listen to me. I'm going to flush the wound with this water.
It was almost laughable. The progression of medical science that Tom studied out of curiosity would come in handy. Early human medicine was archaic at best. The lack of cleanliness and sterilization...it was a wonder mankind lived as long as they had.
Lifting her leg so that it was bent at the knee, Tom poured the water over her wound, allowing it to cascade down into it. Sam ground her teeth to stop herself from screaming. The pain was intense. As he worked, Seven returned with the super-heated blade and the needle and thread.
"I'm going to use this to cauterize the veins in your leg to stop the bleeding. When I finish, I'll have to stitch you up with thread. Do you understand?"
She signaled her understanding, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Seven, I need you to hold her down while I do this."
Seven knelt down by Sam's head, holding her arms in place. When she was in position, Tom gave one last glance to his patient.
"There's more than one spot."
A pause followed and then he lowered the metal to her reddened flesh. Tiny tendrils of smoke rose, the smell of seared meat, and the screams of a wild animal filled the air. Her voice stopped short when he pulled the tip up. Again he brought it down before she had time to recover. Her screams broke into agonizing sobs. Her chest heaving while her voice went silent.
How had they come this far? To be lowered on a scale until they were no better off than their ancestors half a millennia ago. They had no means to fight back. Broken in spirit and body to a point where this had become their only memory. Thoughts of escape fleeting and dangerous. Forced to walk the thin line between death and life, and for what? The chance, however slim, that they might escape? Weeks melted into months and there were no closer than they had been.
Starfleet had never understood Maquis mentality. The desire to rise up against the Cardassians and take back their lives, their land... and fight for the memories of those lost. Anger surged within Tom the likes of which he only recalled having in New Zealand and before. The animalistic need for escape and revenge. But, unlike the days of his misspent youth, it wasn't he that he wanted dead; it was the Kamien. Not just the guards or the Industrial Order, but the entire race.
"You can't understand what it is to be Maquis," B'Elanna had told him. "To fight side by side by someone, and then, one day, to have them die on the ground beside you. To morn their loss for no more than a second and then have to pull the phaser from their bloody hand, and fire at the bastard that just killed them to save your own life."
B'Elanna was right. He could hear the pounding in his ears louder than a thousand canons and every fiber of him wanted to kill every guard out there.
"Lieutenant?" Seven said evenly.
Tom shook his head and lowered the needle to Sam's leg. The resistance would have to wait until another night. For now, he had to keep them all alive.
In the morning, the dead would be found and buried.
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