Captain’s log, stardate: 51981.6.
Final preparations are being made to the brig, whilst the extra crewmen pulled from their regular duties to bolster Security being given their orders from Lieutenant D’Kehra. We will rendezvous with the Reliant in thirty minutes, at which point we will receive six Cardassian prisoners of war, who we’ve been tasked to deliver to Starbase 272 for Starfleet Intelligence.
There is a great sense of unease among the crew”and myself, if I’m honest. Over the last nine months we’ve had a few Cardassians onboard, survivors from battlefields we’ve run SAR-ops at, but this is different. Fortunately, we’ve been granted permission to exceed the warp speed restriction and Lieutenant Lanali assures me she can maintain factor eight-point-two for as long as we need, that means we’ll reach the station in seven days.
This is going to be a very hard week.
End log.
* * * * *
This would be one of the rare times the antiquated design of the Orion was actually of benefit, as the brig didn’t use forcefields like modern cells. The doorway was secured with charged bars, which stunned whoever touched them. It was a feature Lieutenant j.g. D’Kehra had always been a little dubious of, until now that was. Even if the power to the cells failed, the bars were made of a tritanium composite, which would take a phaser an hour to cut through, so whoever went in wasn’t getting out until Security let them. The rest of the bulkheads, as well as the ceiling and deck panels, were all reinforced and could withstand a photon grenade”apparently a feature that was added from 2290 onwards, after an explosion had taken out the rear wall of a cell onboard another starship.
She would also have three guards standing watch in the cell block, whilst one would be stationed in the armoury, and another would be monitoring from the main office. Everything that happened in those six cells would be watched and recorded from the moment the prisoners arrived to when they left. An extra precaution they were taking was for them to be beamed into the security complex and taken straight to their cells, after which then entire section would be blanketed by three transporter suppressors.
Seeing as how these six were classed as ‘high-value assets’, she wasn’t going to give the Dominion any chance of freeing them when they were in her custody.
“Reihyn to D’Kehra,” came the Captain’s steady tone through the intercom. When she’d last spoken to him it’d been in his bed that morning, where they’d gone over all the arrangements that’d been made as the sweat cooled on their naked bodies.
She smiled to herself as she responded. “Go ahead, sir.”
“We’re ready to transport. Are you go?”
Taking one quick look at her team, she raised her rifle and the others followed suit. “We are go here.”
A moment later the space in the middle of the seven armed security guards was filled with the blue shimmer of a transporter beam. Six shafts coalesced from blurs of energy into solid matter, in the form of six adult Cardassians, four male and two female, all but one in military uniforms. The one civilian of the group was the oldest, a man by the name of Lorat Danal who was apparently a political figure (though puppet was probably a better description) under the new regime. She knew each of their names, as well as the details behind their capture.
She gave a nod to her team. Each of them trained their rifles on a single member of the group and led them into the cell block, one at a time. All of the Cardassians scowled at them, though none resisted. If their roles were reversed, everyone knew how the grey-scaled bastards treated their prisoners. D’Kehra gripped the handles of her rifle tighter, wondering how many Starfleet POW’s had died since being captured.
Once the last prisoner had entered the cell block, the doors closed behind him. She kept her grip tight for a moment longer before finally letting up and turning to Crewman Hitserik. “Activate the jammers.”
The Rigellian-Chelon nodded his leathery head and tapped the command into the console he sat at. There was a faint hum, but no other indication that anything had changed.
“All three fields active and stable. We have one hundred percent coverage, Lieutenant.” He looked at another monitor. “Prisoners are in and cells secured.”
“Captain,” she called into the still-open comlink, “prisoners are onboard and secure. We are ready to proceed.”
“Acknowledged. Reihyn out.”
She tapped her combadge. “Watch two remain, all others resume posts.”
The cell block door opened again and three of her guards stepped back into the main office. The Cardassians knew nothing of what ships they were being transported aboard, so she didn’t want to let them know that herself and the seven guards they’d seen so far made up just over half of the department. For all they knew, they could be on an Excelsior-Class ship with dozens of guards watching over them.
As the Orion leapt to warp the deck under her feet rumbled softly.
* * * * *
Everyone was on edge, that much was obvious, though for most of the crew (the young and inexperienced) that stemmed from fear. They would’ve all heard the stories about the Cardassian Wars, as well as their treatment of prisoners, the Occupation of Bajor and other planets, but had little first-hand experience of the enemy they were facing off against. For Diego Ramirez however, his stemmed from barely contained rage.
He had been born and raised on Ronara Prime, a world along the Cardassian border that had been on the frontlines of two major conflicts between the Federation and the Union, as well as all the sabre-rattling that had followed. Then came the treaty of 2370, which saw his homeworld removed from the protection of the Federation and forced to fend for itself within the newly created Demilitarised Zone. Ramirez had been a Chief Petty Officer at the time, with sixteen years of loyal service to his name, but that decision on the part of the Federation made him question the wisdom to it. Then the DMZ turned into a warzone, with the colonists attacking one another with whatever resources they could get their hands on. He’d started to ask the question no one wanted to hear: when was Starfleet going to intervene?
No one in Starfleet seemed willing to make a decision, even after the Cardassian Military was caught supplying weapons to their colonists”the DMZ wasn’t worth another war over. Then, in July of 2371, Ronara was attacked. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
He’d been the Cargo Chief onboard the Tian An Men at the time, which gave him considerable access across the ship, including the armoury; so he’d tagged cases of phaser rifles and photon grenades, as well as crates of ration packs, medical supplies and spare parts, appropriated a shuttle, beamed everything onboard and ran like hell into the Zone.
Thus began his life as a traitor. To this day, he didn’t regret his decision.
The following two years had been gruelling, living in old couriers and freighters, haphazardly reconfigured into combat ships, taking on a vastly superior enemy often with nothing but their own guile and stubbornness to rely upon. The men and women he’d lived with and fought beside became closer to him than family.
They were all dead now. He didn’t even know about those he’d left behind on Ronara.
The Spoon-Headed cowards had made a deal with the devil and now the entire quadrant was suffering for it. Ramirez couldn’t help but wonder if things had gone differently had Starfleet acted sooner. They would never know now.
When he’d first come aboard, Reihyn had ordered him to keep his opinions to himself, which he did, though that didn’t stop all those who knew he’d been Maquis from asking him”which was everyone onboard. He kept his replies short and as detached as he could. Some still tried to rile him up, but most had given up asking him.
Fortunately, with the ship so understaffed, it was easy to find a quiet place to work out some frustration, which was just what he’d planned to do as he headed though an empty section of deck ten, until a sound made him stop. He paused and listened in the dark”since no one was meant to be there it made no sense to keep the lights on. Just as he was about to write it off as one of the ships many creaks and groans, he heard it again. A faint metallic pop, the sound a panel made when being removed from the bulkhead. In the stillness of the empty corridors he couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
He tried to recall what was actually in the section, mostly science labs, all of which had been gutted and could be used as bunkrooms, an ESP junction, an auxiliary environmental station, a secondary water tank. Of course, it could well have been someone else doing the same thing he was, needing a private place to vent, or possibly some routine maintenance. But something just didn’t feel right.
Looking up and down the long curved corridor, he listened again and heard the noise again. It definitely sounded marginally louder coming from port, so he headed towards it. His time in the Maquis had taught him a great deal about stealth, which he applied now, keeping his footfalls light but covering ground swiftly. He was fifteen meters down the passage when he saw the beam of a flashlight, bouncing and shuffling around, quickly followed by a grunt of exertion and the thunk of a heavy bulkhead panel being set down.
Whoever it was, they were working with the environmental controls. He knew of no scheduled maintenance that needed to be carried out on the system.
Moving steadily, he neared the shadowy figure. They were humanoid, which ruled out Navix and K3 Brown, with a slight build, but other than that he couldn’t get anything more. They were so focused on whatever they were doing that they were oblivious to him, so he closed to within five meters. He set his fists on his hips.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded, his booming voice echoing throughout the empty section.
The figure spun and stood, pointing the brilliant light straight at his face, quickly followed by a muffled, “Frak!”
Before he could say anything else, the flashlight swung towards his head. He brought his hand up and caught them by the wrist, twisting it so they dropped the light and yelped, before pushing their arm behind their back and slamming them into the bulkhead.
“Computer, lights.”
The corridor went from pitch black to brightly lit and he had to blink rapidly to help his eyes adjust. When they did, he looked at the face pressed against the smooth gunmetal grey wall. Of all those on the crew, the last person he’d expected to see was Corpsman Tabitha York.
“What the hell are you going here, Petty Officer?”
“Let go,” she growled, trying to wriggle free, but he kept his grip tight, making her yelp as she struggled.
“Answer me.”
“I was taking care of those frakking Cardies!”
He glanced down at the open panel, suddenly realising what she meant. “You were going to vent the atmosphere, suffocate them.”
“Yes.”
“What if you’d sucked the oxygen out of the entire security complex? We would’ve lost at least four crewmen.”
“Headquarters would call that ‘acceptable loses’,” she said with a humourless laugh. “Help me, Chief. We can rid this galaxy of six more of those bastards! They don’t deserve to live, not after they’ve killed so many who did!” He noticed her eyes well up with angry tears.
He paused a moment before finally asking. “Who was it?”
Feeling her body shudder as she sobbed, he relaxed his grip. “My twin brother, Ethan. He was on the Harriman.”
The Harriman had been lost with all hands just ten days ago, taken out by a squadron of Cardassian cruisers as they’d gone to the aid of a stricken hospital ship. With so many names of the dead, wounded and missing coming in each week, he’d long since given up trying to keep track of them all.
“I’m sorry, York. As much as you may think killing those Cardies in the brig will help you, I can tell you this, it won’t. It’ll just make you into one of them, a murderer.”
“They deserve to suffer.”
“I know they do,” he told her. They all do, a voice in the back of his mind affirmed.
* * * * *
Corpsman York lay sedated on a biobed, whilst Captain Reihyn, Doctor Baxx, Chief Ramirez and Counsellor Myza stood in the CMO’s office. The Chief leant against the wall, arms folded, Baxx sat behind his desk, looking deflated, whilst the Captain looked at the young woman though the transparent aluminium window. Myza sat in one of the chairs opposite the Bolian surgeon, feeling as miserable as the rest of them looked.
“I can’t believe I missed that,” she repeated. “I set the computer to search all the names that are posted, looking for any that may have connections to the crew. I don’t know what happened, how could I have missed her twin brother?”
“Damn computers,” Baxx muttered, pushing his desktop terminal to the side.
The Rigellian turned back towards the room. “No one’s blaming you, Counsellor. I read every single name on that list; I should’ve seen it too.”
“York’s never been a social butterfly,” Baxx began, “but even I noticed a change in her this last week, more sullen. I thought all the work was just starting to get to her. I never had a chance to ask if there was anything wrong.”
“There’s enough blame to go around,” admitted Reihyn. “The question is, what can we do to keep this from happening again?”
“Put an end to this damn war.”
She gave Baxx a small smile. He was at a point in his life where he didn’t care what he said or to whom, even a starship captain. A quick look at Reihyn showed that he shared the sentiment.
“All department heads will have to remain vigilant, report any changes in behaviour to you, Counsellor. Hopefully, we’ll prevent this from happening again.”
“What about York?” Ramirez spoke up. “What’ll happen to her?”
They looked at each other for a moment, before all eyes rested on the Captain. “Given the circumstances, I’m not going to write her up for this, but she can’t stay onboard. When we get to Starbase 272, I’ll see if she can be rotated off the crew. Counsellor, I’d appreciate an assessment from yourself so she can get the long-term help she needs.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll also double check the listings; make sure that there aren’t any others onboard who may have lost family recently.”
* * * * *
Mecell Koen bolted up in bed, the sheets soaked with sweat as he wept, terrified at the nightmares that haunted his waking mind making him feel as though he was surrounded and in immediate danger.
“Lights!” he rasped.
As the darkness vanished, he looked around at the remaining shadows and found nothing lurking in them, except his boots under the table on the opposite side of the room. Still his breathing was sharp and shallow, the terror of his dream staying with him. He climbed out of his bed and peeled off his sleepwear, which was ringing with perspiration.
Even alone in his room, he felt uneasy, looking all around him, just to make sure the shadowy figures that plagued his nights weren’t going to come for him. He stepped into the small private head, stopping in front of the basin and filled it with cold water. He splashed it over his face and shivered as it ran down his neck and dripped onto his chest. He looked up at his reflection in the mirror, seeing his ashen complexion and the fear in his own eyes”something that was never far away whenever he took the time to look at himself. He straightened up, so as to see his bare chest reflected hack at him. Raising his hand and traced the scar he bore, a lasting physical reminder of the day he lost his mother, all he had known of his family. It started on his left collar bone, near his shoulder, came down a diagonal path to just below his right nipple. At the time he hadn’t felt the deep slash, so numbed by being forced to watch the brutalisation and death of his mother, he’d never felt his own pain. It would’ve killed him, had it not been for the nun who had found him. She had bound his wounds and nursed him back to health, though he was so weakened by the worse moment of his young life, that he couldn’t even remember her name or even her face, just her kind turquoise eyes.
He blinked back the tears of memory that threatened to flow down his cheeks, grabbing a towel he patted his face and body dry, then headed back into his cabin. He knew that he wouldn’t get any more sleep this night, so he grabbed some loose clothing and headed to the mess hall, needing something to help steady himself, also wanting to see familiar, friendly faces.
The Orion was by no means a small ship, but the lack of crew onboard gave her an even greater sense of size. He kept up a brisk pace until he reached the mess, entering to find ten others dotted around the tables. With replicators being one of the systems that were unsalvageable, the crew still relied of ration packs for food, though had managed to get a drinks dispenser working. He forewent anything solid, not trusting his tight stomach to keep it down, instead ordered a camomile tea”one of his few friends at the Academy had introduced it to him as a way of helping him relax.
With hot mug in hand, he sat down at an empty table, not seeking any company but not wanting to be alone. He held it with both hands and stared into the amber liquid, inhaling the fragrant steam and closing his eyes as he took the first sip. It was a little ritual he undertook, focusing on the familiarity and simplicity of the tea, whilst letting the world around him slip away.
“”he freaks me out,” a faint voice from another table pierced his veil of calm.
“Which one? They all look the same to me.”
“The one with the plasma burn on the side his face. His creepy, amber eyes””
Mecell’s eyes shot open and he spun towards the table behind him, knocking over his mug, heart hammering in his chest as any tranquillity he may have found evaporated like the steam from his tea.
“What?” he gasped, looking at the two human security crewmen.
“Sir?” asked Anders, a petite, freckled redhead.
“O…one of the Cardassians…he has amber eyes and…and…”
“A plasma burn on the right side of his face,” Patel confirmed.
Unsteadily, he got to his feet, his body feeling heavy and cold to its very core. He left his table and spilt drink, stumbling towards the exit. Behind him the two guards called after him, sharing a worried look with each other, before Anders tapped her combadge.
Mecell staggered into the corridor, barely remembering where he was and having no clue just where he was going. It’s not possible…it can’t be him. Please, dear Prophets, don’t let it be him, was all he could think, over and over until it became a mantra. Even though he had only been ten at the time, the faces of the men who’d taken his mother from him would stay with him until the day he died. The four-man squad had found them sheltering from the elements in an abandoned farm house, and as rain lashed the remains of the roof and wind whistled through the broken windows, they had spent hours violating her. As bad as the others were, relishing her screams and grinning as they punched her for struggling, their leader was even worse. He’d held Mecell still and forced him to watch, slicing open his chest when he’d tried to look away, then after the others had had enough, he took his turn, taking her life by the time he’d finished. His face had been marred with a plasma burn on the right side; but it was his eyes, his vicious amber eyes that haunted Mecell’s nightmares.
He fell against the bulkhead and slumped to the deck, muttering, “It can’t be him.”
He was still there when D’Kehra found him several minutes later. His eyes staring deep into his past, he didn’t see her crouch beside him, didn’t feel the warm hand on his face, didn’t hear her soft voice say his name.
“It can’t be him. It can’t be him. It can’t be him…”
* * * * *
Sioll Baxx looked at the monitor above the bed Ensign Mecell occupied, right beside Corpsman York. Both physically fine but suffering from serious wounds, ones to the psyche he wasn’t sure could ever be fully healed. Not for the first time, he was immensely glad to have Counsellor Myza onboard”problems like these were beyond his skill to cure, and a damn sight harder to even begin to deal with. In times of war however, it was often these problems that went unnoticed and untreated, becoming worse with the passage of time. It depended on the strength and will of the person suffering from them, just how long they could bear the burden, or just what might trigger the trauma.
Poor kids, he thought to himself, looking from one bed to the other. York had lost her twin brother, apparently the first in the family to become an officer, but he had no idea just what was at the root of Mecell’s breakdown. Bajor had still been an occupied world when he’d retired, though he had served with two of its people before leaving Starfleet, and had learned from them some of the hardships they had faced growing up under the boot of the Cardassians. When the Union had finally withdrawn, he had strongly considered signing up with a civilian relief organisation and going to help out, but his granddaughter had managed to talk him out of it”she was the only one who could ever get him to change his mind about anything.
He looked back at the others in the ward, he’d shooed the medics on shift out, had them seeing to other duties elsewhere, so he, the Captain, Lieutenant D’Kehra, Counsellor Myza, and Crewmen Anders and Patel could have the room to themselves.
“I’ve given him a mild sedative; he’ll be asleep for a few hours.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Reihyn, his voice soft and eyes filled with sadness as he looked at the younger man. No doubt they would all be wondering just what he’d gone through that would result in this.
The Rigellian-Enex turned to the two guards, who stood stiffly next to the door. “What happened in the mess hall?”
“We’d just come off our watch in the brig, sir,” began Anders who, at just a little over one-point-five meters, wasn’t what most pictured when they thought of a security guard. “We went to the mess for grab a bite, and were talking about the prisoners.”
“I saw the Ensign come in, get a drink and sit down. I smiled and nodded at him but he looked lost in thought, so we didn’t bother him,” added Patel.
“I had just said about how one of them was creepy,” Anders continued, “his eyes just seem to bore into your soul.” She visibly shivered.
“Ensign Mecell asked us about him, his appearance. He then got up and left, looked like he was going to collapse any second.”
“That’s when I contacted the Lieutenant, I know they’re friends and thought if anyone could help him, she could.”
“I found him slumped on the floor on deck four, near catatonic.” She looked at the biobed. “In all my years in Starfleet, I’ve never seen anyone like that before.”
Reihyn set a supportive hand on her shoulder, before he looked back at the enlisted crewmen. “He didn’t say anything else? Didn’t give any indication what might be wrong?”
“No sir,” they replied in unison.
“Thank you, you’re dismissed.”
They nodded and quickly headed out of ward, leaving the officers to their deliberations. Baxx was at a loss for words, which was unusual for him, and felt useless in his own sickbay”also an odd experience for him. He looked back towards the Captain and noticed his hand was still of D’Kehra’s shoulder. He wasn’t a psychologist, but had been around a long time and seen more than any of the kids in the room at that moment could ever dream about. He smiled to himself, the cynic in him losing out to the old romantic.
“Who is the man that’s done this to Koen?”
“Gehn Almor Karn,” the Security Chief said, turning away from her friend, which made the Captain’s hand drop from her shoulder. “He was the former adjunct to Legate Turrel. He was onboard a Hideki-Class ship the Agamemnon encountered on the edge of the Badlands.”
“How did he lose a post like that?”
“Karn is suffering from Oonar Syndrome,” Baxx added. Before the prisoners had been beamed aboard, he’d been given their medical records, just in case they required any treatment. “It’s a degenerative neurological condition among Cardassians, really quite rare. The first stage is so mild, those who contract it don’t know they have it, just a little absent mindedness and déjà vu. By the time the second stage kicks in, it’s too late. It strips the patient of whatever filters or barriers they may have.”
“He’s losing his mind and Starfleet Intelligence considers him a ‘high value asset’?” Reihyn mused aloud.
“In this state, he’s quite valuable, Captain. Think about it, we all have secrets or personal information we keep just to ourselves, not to mention whatever classified nonsense you get fed, Oonar strips the brain of the neurochemicals it needs to suppress that knowledge, as well as their emotions”so if they get scared, they can’t push it to the side and work through it. It turns them into an open book, though some will hold out longer than others, in time they will tell and experience everything.”
Reihyn nodded as he understood. “So all someone has to do is ask the right questions about what they want to know and Karn will tell them.”
“Depending on how far along he is, then yes. He must’ve had access to a lot of information as a Legate’s adjunct”no wonder Intel are keen to get their hands on him.”
“I might have to see if Gehn Karn has anything to say on this then.”
“Captain,” Myza spoke up, drawing their attention, “given his mental state, I think it might be better if I speak with him.”
He looked from her to Mecell and back. “I thought you’d want to be here for Koen.”
“He’s sleeping right now, there’s nothing I can do until he wakes. If I can get something from Karn, something that might help, then that’d be a better use of my time and of greater help to the Ensign.”
Slowly he nodded. “Alright, but I’m coming in with you.” She bowed her head in acknowledgement. He turned back to Baxx. “Keep them comfortable, Doctor. Let me know if there’s any change.”
“You’ll know as soon as I do.”
Reihyn and Myza headed out the exit. D’Kehra lingered a moment at the foot of Mecell’s bed, looking at the young man. Baxx moved over and stood beside her.
“For all the times we talked, all the time we spent together, I still don’t really think I know the first thing about him.”
“I know one thing,” he said, uncharacteristically softly, drawing her dark eyes to him. “He has impeccable taste in friends.”
The Orion gave him a sad smile before looking at the sleeping Bajoran again.
* * * * *
Myza had never been into the cell block. Her first visit was an unpleasant one, as each of the six cells were occupied and all six pairs of eyes glowered at her and the Captain. Karn was in the last one on her left. Once they reached it, Reihyn nodded at their security escort.
“Open it.”
Crewman Ytog entered the command into the wall panel. The glowing bars went dark then retracted into the bulkhead. Inside, Karn sat on his bed, scrutinising the Benzite and Enex that had come to visit him. The burns on the side of face extended to the back of his head, as such he didn’t have an ear on his right side and his hair didn’t start until the crown of his head, but as disfigured as that made him it was his eyes that were truly terrifying. She had never seen such a colour on a Cardassian and Anders was right, they pierced straight through her.
She fought to keep her composure as well as the urge to smack him. She kept her face neutral as she stepped inside and stopped well out of his reach. Reihyn stood beside her, arms folded across his defined chest, using his height and build to present as imposing a figure as he could. Karn barely registered his presence, his attention more focused on her.
“I’m Lieutenant Myza,” she began, using her rank to be more formal with the prisoner. “I’d going to ask you a few questions.”
He squinted at her slightly, his deep eye sockets darkening, making his eyes stand out even more. “Are you from Starfleet Intelligence?”
She ignored his question and began with her own. “Were you on Bajor during the Occupation?”
“Yes,” he replied simply, his eyes quickly flicking down and up, back to hers again. “You’re the first Benzite I’ve met face-to-face, and I must ask if all you females are as enticing?”
From the corner of her eye she saw Reihyn flex, but remain where he was. Karn glanced at him quickly then back at her. She ignored him again, not playing his games.
“Did you witness any atrocities?”
“No.”
“What?” Reihyn finally spoke.
She held out her hand, stopping him. “Did you witness anyone being beaten?”
“Yes.”
“Killed?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill any Bajorans?”
“Oh yes, quite a few.”
“Just fighters with the Resistance?”
“No.”
“Civilians?” He nodded. “Elderly? Children?”
His smile widened. “Oh yes. They were all filth to be dealt with.”
“Were you ever in Tozhat Province?” she probed, knowing from Mecell’s personnel file that it was there on Bajor he was born and grew up.
“I was stationed there for two years, led my own squad.”
“Did you ever set upon a mother and her son; he’d have been about nine or ten years old. Dark complexion.”
She noted a quick narrowing of his eyes, so slight she would’ve missed it had she not been paying very close attention to them. “Yes,” he replied, a slight tightening of his voice.
“Did you murder her and leave the boy behind?”
“One less vreii spawning more terrorists.”
She turned her back on him and looked at the Captain, before heading for the exit. From behind she heard Karn stand up suddenly.
“Is that it? Don’t you want to know about fleet deployments? Or the location of Jem’Hadar barracks?”
She stopped and looked back at him. “No. You’d just lie about them anyway.” With that she stepped out of the brig cell and headed for the block exit, Reihyn close behind her.
* * * * *
“What do you mean he’s lying?” asked Commander Elned, the Trill intelligence officer base on Starbase 272. “Oonar Syndrome makes it impossible for him to lie.”
“I don’t know how he faked those results, Commander, but he did. Throughout our talk I noticed micro-expressions indicative of a lying Cardassian.”
“How do you know that, Lieutenant?”
“Whilst training to be a counsellor, I spent a great deal of time studying Cardassian psychology and behaviour”given the animosity surrounding them, I thought it prudent to understand how they think so I could provide insight should it be needed.”
“It’s a good thing too, Commander,” Reihyn interrupted from the other side of the conference room table, “or we could’ve lost a lot of ships and people on his lies.”
“I want him tested again.”
“Unfortunately, we lack the equipment necessary to run those tests or, believe me, we would’ve supplied you with the results.”
“How long until you reach two-seven-two, Captain?”
“A little over one hundred and twenty hours. Five days, then you can poke and prod him all you like.”
“Understood. Elned out.”
The screen on the bulkhead reverted to its previous display, showing ship stats and reports. They turned back to face each other and Reihyn found himself grinning. “Nicely done, Counsellor.”
She flushed. “Thank you, sir. I never thought all my studies would be put to such use, though I have to say it was very gratifying.”
“I’m sure it is.” His smile faded. “But will this be of use to Ensign Mecell?”
“I hope so. At least I now know what the cause is; I can try to figure out a way to help him.”
“I’m tempted to see about having him reassigned with Petty Officer York, so he doesn’t have the added stress to deal with.”
“Captain, if I may suggest, hold off on that. Yes, this is a high-stress environment, one he was not well-suited too then he first came onboard. But who he is now is different to nine months ago. Looking at his record, he has never really fit in anywhere, throughout the Academy he had difficulties integrating”which most likely stem from his childhood”though here, on the Orion, he has made friends and found a place where he feels safe.
“Not to mention your influence on him.”
“Me?”
“You’ve shown incredible trust and faith in him, despite being academically very poor and having confidence issues, you’ve kept him on the bridge through thick and thin”when many others would’ve replaced him with someone more experienced.”
He felt himself blush. It wasn’t every day that people said nice things about him, in such a direct and sincere manner. “Well who am I to judge anyone based on their experience? I’m one of the youngest Captain’s on active duty, some would say too young. For whatever problems Koen may have, I like the kid. As a starship Captain, if I can’t try to build up and support someone who really needs the time and attention, then what is the point in having the fourth pip on my collar?”
“You know, sir, you'd would make a fine Counsellor”should you ever consider a career change.”
“Why thank you, Myza.”
She glanced at the time, displayed on the monitor. “He’ll be waking up in a couple of hours, I’d better go and prepare.”
He nodded his understanding and stood up with her. But whilst she went for the exit, he moved over to the viewports and looked out at the stars the streaked by them. He couldn’t help but wonder how many others were like Mecell or York, scarred by the effects of the Cardassians and this war. He could only hope that when it arrived, 2375 brought with it a quick resolution.
* * * * *
For the last five days, Mecell Koen had spent almost the entire time in sessions with Counsellor Myza, whenever he wasn’t sleeping, eating or being checked over by Doctor Baxx. For the first time in his life he’d told another living soul about what had happened to him as a child, he’d relived the attack second-by-second as he’d wept and Myza had listened to it. She never once interrupted or pushed him on, telling him to take his time and tell her when he was ready.
He let it all out, followed by the nightmares he had to this day, the memories of the men who’d murdered his mother were forever with him, and how just hearing that the worst one of them was onboard was too much for him to bear. Myza had told him not to be under any illusions, that the hard work was ahead of them and that coming to terms with what had happened and recovering from it would take a while.
Just six hours ago, 2374 had ended and 2375 had begun. A whole new year lay ahead of him and he had no idea as to what it might hold. He was so drained that he couldn’t even think about what might happen tomorrow much less ten months from now. In a couple of hours they would reach Starbase 272 and officially hand over the POW’s to Starfleet Intelligence, and later that night the crew would have a belated New Year’s celebration. He doubted he would go, not feeling up to a crowd just yet.
Before he could even think about the evening, there was something he needed to do”even though it terrified every fibre of his being.
Taking a breath, he approached the door, the sensors registered him and parted, and he stepped into the security office. He was surprised to see D’Kehra seated at the main terminal, watching over the monitors like a Tozhat falcon. She looked up at him and was shocked to see him standing there. His plan had been to order whoever was on duty to let him into the cell block, even though he was technically on medical leave.
“Koen?”
“Um, hi D’Kehra.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I…eh,” for a brief second he thought about trying to lie, but he had never been very convincing. D’Kehra was also excellent at spotting tells and ticks that gave people away, so he suspected she already knew his. That left just one option, the truth. “I need to see him. Karn.”
A worried look crossed her face. “Koen, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please.”
She scrutinised him for a long moment before rising. “Matapang, take over for me.” She then fixed him with a look. “You’re only going in there with me, no arguments.”
“Yes sir.”
They walked over to the cell block entrance and she gestured for him to go first. Stepping into the short passage, he glanced at each of the Cardassians he passed, though their faces meant nothing to him. They either glowered at or ignored him, a young Bajoran out of uniform obviously unworthy of their attention. His progress down the well-lit hall was slow, every step closer to Karn made him want to turn and run away. But he kept going, he had to do this.
When they reached the cell, he took a deep breathe before turning and looking at the man who had haunted his nightmares for twelve years. He was lying on the bunk, glanced over at Mecell, sneered and shut his eyes.
“You are Almor Karn, aren’t you?”
“Druq off!” he snapped, all pretence of his medical condition now dropped.
“I am Mecell Koen.”
Karn swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet, approaching the energised bars. He stopped thirty centimetres from them, a savage smile on his disfigured face. “Should that name mean anything to me?”
He pulled the top of his shirt open, showing his own scar, the one Karn had given him. Realisation dawned on the Cardassians face and his smile grew wider before he started to cackle. Mecell felt a shiver run down the length of his spine and along every nerve he had.
“How’s your mother, boy?”
“Safe from you.”
Karn laughed again. The sound drew the attention of the other prisoners, who peered through the bars to see what was so funny. “So why did you come here? Are you going to threaten to kill me or watch my so-called war crimes trial, cheering as they carry me off to be executed?”
Mecell shook his head. “I’ve lived in fear of you ever since that night, but that ends now. You can’t hurt me anymore.”
He puffed out his neck ridges. “Want to bet, boy?”
He squared up his shoulders, facing down the man who had been a cancer in his mind throughout his life. “Yes,” he said simply, then turned and headed for the door.
“What? Get back here! Your vreii of a mother begged for it!”
If he yelled anything more, Mecell didn’t hear it as the doors sealed behind him. His heart pounded in his chest and his whole body shook, unable to quite believe he had managed to do it. D’Kehra stopped by his side and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, pulling him close to her, beaming down at him. He smiled back up at her, thankful for her strength at that moment, as he wasn’t sure he could stay on his feet on his own.
* * * * *
END
Story Notes: This story deals with the the fallout of the rape and death of Mecell's mother--though I've tried to avoid any graphic/explicit details.