Star Trek - Voy - Mosaic

by Mosaic

  Kathryn struggled to piece together the images in her memory. "I was in a shuttle... with the admiral..." Suddenly she remembered Admiral Paris and became alarmed. "Where is he? Where's the admiral?"

  "Your companion? I'm afraid he was more seriously injured than you. He is in a hospital facility, but he should recover completely."

  Kathryn was staring at him. She had remembered the final moments before the blackout. "You're Cardassian," she said softly. "Yes," smiled Camet, "and you are human. Our species haven't had much interaction. I wish this one hadn't been so unpleasant for you. Why were you on one of our moons?"

  Kathryn's head was clearing quickly. The Cardassian ship, the tractor beam, the admiral's final cryptic admonition-they were prisoners, no doubt about it, regardless of what this sleek and charming Gul had to say. "I wasn't aware it was yours. In fact, I'm sure it's in Federation territory."

  "Was in Federation territory. We have annexed it."

  "I'm not sure I understand how you can annex what is not yours."

  "It's quite simple. You take it." His eyes were not so kind now, she noted, and had become lidded, like a snake's. "Now, once more-what were you doing there?"

  "My name is Kathryn Janeway. I'm a Starfleet ensign and a member of the United Federation of Planets."

  Camet was waving off her words with a gesture of disdain and tedium. "Please, my dear, don't posture with me. If I choose, you will tell me what you were doing on our moon. You will tell me anything I ask, you will betray your mother, your father, your friends, and beg to betray others if I will just stop hurting you. That would be just before you went insane." He eyed her briefly to see how she responded to this statement. Kathryn did her best to be perfectly neutral.

  "But I don't want to do that. You're quite young, quite lovely. And you seem intelligent. So I hope you'll see the wisdom of cooperation. After all, if you had a legitimate purpose on the moon, I have no quarrel with you. I understand that the Federation was unaware of our recent annexation."

  Kathryn considered his statement. It sounded utterly reasonable-a tactic, she knew, of a skilled interrogator. On the other hand, she knew her heroic stand was, as he said, impossible to maintain, and she remembered the admiral's admonition as they were captured. Best to keep this Gul talking. "We are on a scientific expedition, studying massive compact halo objects. We established a sensor array on that moon two mons hs ago and we were returning to collect data."

  "Ah. A mission of scientific endeavor."

  "Exactly."

  The door opened and another Cardassian man entered with a satchel. Gul Camet instructed him to treat her injury, and the man began to clean the wound; his touch was gentle and experienced. "In that case, Ensign Kathryn Janeway of the United Federation of Planets, why were there extremely sophisticated surveillance devices installed in that array?"

  Kathryn wished that she knew nothing about the other mission of the Icarus, so that her innocence would be real, not feigned. "There weren't. You must be mistaking elements of our sensors."

  "I most certainly am not. And it leads me to believe that this "scientific' expedition of yours is really a military operation for gathering intelligence."

  "Forgive me, Gul Camet, but your statement has a touch of paranoia to it." He smiled, but it was without mirth. "You may be right. We are a society which has always distrusted outsiders. Unfortunately, that has always proven a necessity." He gestured toward the physician, who had finished cleaning and dressing her head injury. "Please show the ensign one of our implants."

  The physician reached into his satchel and lifted out a round, flat device that was smaller than a communicator and constructed of what looked like a skinlike polymer. Gul Camet took it and held it out, inspecting it. "It's a remarkable device. Implanted anywhere in your body, it can receive commands from me which produce a level of pain which can only be called astonishing."

  Kathryn slowed her breathing, trying not to show her fear. "How foolish," she said. "You must realize that one will say anything under torture. It's a ridiculous method of getting information."

  "Of course it is. That is not the purpose of our techniques.", is the purpose?"

  "Power. Control. The satisfaction of completely breaking the will of another being."

  Kathryn felt an icy chill. She knew he was telling the truth, that once he began to inflict pain there would be no stopping it, there would be no confession, no outpouring of information that would make him stop. She was doomed.

  "I regret that you have chosen to be so uncooperative. I would have preferred to treat you as our guest, with comfortable quarters and abundant food." He shrugged, a delicate gesture that bespoke genuine disappointment. "But as it is..."

  The door opened once more and two guards entered. Gul Camet nodded toward her and the guards approached her, took her by both arms, and jerked her roughly to her feet, hurrying her toward the door so quickly she was trotting to keep from stumbling.

  Down the long corridor they ran, Kathryn struggling to keep her footing, but inevitably losing it and falling to her knees, at which point one of the guards kicked her savagely in the thigh, a sharp, painful blow that made her cry out involuntarily. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could and they resumed their headlong race, out of the corridor and into the stone courtyard she had exited a short time ago. The guards now flung her to the ground; she got to her hands and knees and tried to rise, when one of them ripped off the bandage the physician had just put on her head wound and then drove his fist viciously into the injury. It spurted blood which ran into her eye, blinding her on one side. Then she felt herself shoved toward the opening into the box, the pen, the cage, she had so recently exited.

  When the door was slammed behind her, the dark and the quiet were a welcome haven from the guards' cruelty. But she knew that sanctuary would be fleeting.

  She lay curled on the ground, freezing, knowing the cold earth was draining more of her body heat from her than was wise, but too tired to do otherwise. She had spent several hours on her hands and knees, then sitting, trying to let as little of her body come in contact with the ground as possible.

  But the effort was too great, and she was exhausted. She had to get some sleep. Her head had finally stopped bleeding after she kept her palm on the wound for half an hour, and had crusted over once more. But it ached with a dull, throbbing pain. She tried to isolate the pain in her mind, wrap it up, toss it out, and she succeeded in reducing its impact. She felt a drowsiness come on her; if she could sleep for a while she could recoup some of her strength, and then she could concentrate on how to get out of this predicamept.

  Tlien the screaming started.

  She bolte rl upright. cracking her head on the ceiling as she did so. Someone very close by was screaming horribly. She realizeij he must be in the stone courtyard just outside. The sound was ghastly, a throat-rending shriek of unendurable agony, and Kathryn instinctively shrank back against the far wall of the little cubicle, as though moving half a meter would get her away from the horrible sound.

  She put her fingers in her ears and began to sing: the first tune that came, unbidden, to her lips was a lullaby her mother had sung to her when she was small. "Kathryn klein, ging allein, in die weite welt hinein... but and stock stelat ihr gut, ist ganz wohlgemut... aber mutter weinet sehr, sie hat keine Kathryn mehr... Kathryn klein, ging allein, in die weite welt hinein... his

  The words, she remembered, were about a little girl who put on a hat and took a walking stick and set off into the wide world alone. Her mother was sad that she was going, but knew that her daughter had to make her own way.

  Kathryn sang it loudly, then even more loudly, and was finally yelling it, over and over, trying to create a balm that would shut out the horrendous sounds of a man undergoing torture.

  It was quite a while before it occurred to her that the screams she was listening to were those of Admiral Paris.

  By that time she was somewhat numbed to the horror of what she was hearing.
She had been able to disconnect her mind from the reality of the situation and objectify it; the shrieks took on a surreal quality that made listening to them a curious, hallucinatory experience that was, if not wholly tolerable, a bit less horrendous.

  were they trying to get information from him? Surely the admiral would realize that withholding it was empty heroism. No, Gul Camet had made it clear what he was after: the domination and destruction of the spirit. And Janeway had no doubt that he would achieve it-first with the admiral, and then with her.

  How could she prepare for this ordeal? were there any mental exercises that might help her endure it? Was quick capitulation the answer? She thought not-it would be distrusted. Gradually she realized that nothing could help her escape nightmarish cruelty, and with this inevitability, she felt her stomach clench with fear.

  Now the screaming subsided, evolving into a series of low moans which weren't comforting, but which perhaps indicated that whoever was torturing the admiral had, for the moment, stopped. Did that mean they were coming for her'? She drew great tortured gulps of air. Suddenly she was aware of a tiny sound behind her. She shifted awkwardly in the cramped space and turned to see a small glowing dot appear in what was the back wall of the pen-a dot that traveled swiftly down from ceiling to floor.

  Was this the beginning of some form of torture? were they going to bake her in this metal box? She drew more deep breaths, striving for calm, fighting fear, yet feeling utterly vulnerable in this dark, cramped space.

  And then there was a ripping noise and she felt arms reach in and grab her, hauling her roughly through the back wall, now bent outward. She gasped and started to cry out involuntarily, but a gloved hand was clamped firmly over her mouth. She felt herself dragged along over rough terrain, the sudden intake of fresh cold air telling her she was now outside. She tried to get her footing, but it was impossible; whoever had her in his firm grip was too strong, and too fast. Afraid of twisting an ankle if she kept trying, she finally relaxed and allowed herself to be dragged. Then she was hauled upright and jammed up against what felt like a large tree. A faint glow of starlight provided some illumination, and Kathryn realized she was indeed outside, held in the grasp of a man dressed entirely in black, hand still pressing on her mouth. Then his mouth came close to her ear, and a voice whispered to her-a voice that sounded strangely familiar: "Be quiet. Understand?" She nodded, and the gloved hand came away from her mouth. She was aware of a lean, hard body pressed against hers, the mouth still near her ear. "Wait here. Don't make any noise. Be ready to run when I get back." And then she realized it was Justin Tighe. She nodded and he released her; she felt him moving away from her, was vaguely aware of other dark shapes moving with him, back in the direction from which they'd come. And then she understood: these were the Rangers, the elite commando corps Admiral Paris had spoken of. Her partner, the intimidating Lieutenant Tighe, was one of them!

  They had rescued her, and now they must be going back for the admiral. That would be a far more dangerous feat, she realized, involving combat with the Cardassians, who would then be alerted to their escape and would marshal all their forces to capture them all. She began looking around her, trying to divine the plan, wanting to be ready for anything. She seemed to be in a dense woods that was damp and uncomfortably cold. Somewhere nearby she could hear water, a sound between a drip and a gurgle; she couldn't identify it.

  Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she could distinguish individual trees. She knew she could see well enough to run through these woods. And the sounds she now heard indicated she'd have to do just that. Voices, calling out, yelling, the sound of phaser fire-the Rangers had engaged the Cardassians. Did that mean they had Admiral Paris? Or had they been attacked before they ever reached him?

  She was disconcerted to realize that the sounds of the skirmish were moving away from her. What did that mean? Was she being abandoned? Did the Rangers have a transport site somewhere? Could she find it if she were left alone? She struggled against panic. This was at least a situation in which she could function: she could take action, she could make choices, she could do something. As the sounds of the voices receded yet farther from her, she stepped away from the tree.

  And was immediately slammed inffby a man whose approach she had not heard at all.

  "I told you to stay put," he hissed, grabbing at her arm and starting her in motion through the trees. "Now move!"

  She broke into a run behind him; he wove his way through the trees, zigging and zagging in what seemed like a planned pattern. Her breath grew ragged; she realized fatigue, hunger, and thirst had all taken their toll on her. She ignored the burning of her lungs and kept running.

  And suddenly stumbled onto a dark form on the ground and went sprawling. She realized it was Justin she had fallen over; he was curled on the ground clutching at his ankle. She crawled toward him and saw his face was grimacing in pain.

  "My ankle..." he rasped. She realized he was lying just beyond a large root that poked up from the ground; he had caught his foot on it, and now it was twisted at a grotesquely unnatural angle: it was broken. "Keep going," he ordered. "Transport site... thirty meters ahead... clearing...

  "Why can't they beam us from here?"

  "Transgenic field... have to get to site... stop asking questions..."

  Kathryn heard voices behind them, drawing nearer. The Cardassians were right behind them. There was another sound, too-an unearthly howling from several bestial throats.

  "Go, was he said, in a tone that brooked no questioning. "Those are Toskanar dogs-they'll tear you to pieces."

  But Kathryn had another idea. She had discovered the source of the water sound she had heard earlier-a marshy swamp a few meters away, surrounded by reedy growth. Grabbing one of Justin's arms, she dug her feet into the ground and began pulling him toward the marsh. "Get out of here," he protested. "You have to make it to the transport site before they reach us."

  "Stop giving me orders, Lieutenant. This time you'll have to listen to me." He was lean, but well-muscled, and in her weakened condition she struggled to drag him. He helped as best he could by propelling himself with his other arm, and in this way they lurched the several meters toward the marsh. She pulled him into it behind her, then released him to snap off two of the reeds that grew along the bank.

  "We're going under," she announced, giving him a hollow reed and then pulling him far enough into the mud that they could fully submerge. She could hear the voices of the Cardassians and the eerie wailing of the Toskanar dogs; they weren't far behind now.

  She put the reed into her mouth and saw Justin do the same; she lay backward in the mud and forced herself under icy, brackish sludge. She felt it seep over her face, slowly entombing her in a silty mask, covering ears, cheeks, mouth and eyes, and finally her nose. Thick and gritty, it was substantial enough that she worried for a moment that they wouldn't be able to submerge completely. But gradually she felt the chill muck encasing every part of her body; the thin reed was her only connection with the world above the marsh. She breathed slowly, trying not to think about the fact that the thick mud felt like concrete, hardening around her, gradually crushing her to death.

  Her ears were filled with mud, but she could hear dimly the sounds of the Cardassian troopers and the howls of the Toskanars. The muffled sounds grew slightly louder, and that volume was maintained. Kathryn deduced that the group had stopped nearby. The dogs were clamoring loudly-had they found a scent? Wouldn't the marshy mud eliminate their human odor? She sensed something moving against her side and immediately her heart hammered. were the Cardassians probing the mud? If so, she and Justin would quickly be found. But then she felt fingers reaching for hers and knew it was Justin. He clasped her hand, squeezing it in comfort, and she responded gratefully. The chilling mud seemed a tiny bit warmer.

  After what seemed an interminable time, the sounds of the troops and their animals moved on, but both of them knew it wouldn't be safe to surface for a while. They might have l
eft someone behind. They might be coming back. But another danger was becoming apparent: hypothermia. Kathryn was numb from cold and had lost feeling in her feet. Only the hand that Justin's held had any sensation. She conjured up images to help combat the chill: hot, humid Indiana summers... baking on a tennis court, sweating, running for the net... sun tingling the skin... splashing water on her face to cool off... putting a wet towel on her head to shelter her from the sun... she envisioned herself drifting through space, floating toward the sun, its golden heat drawing her closer and closer, warming her with fiery light, and not until she had dived into its molten depths was she even beginning to get warm...

  Something was hauling her upward, out of the ooze. She scrambled to get her balance, eyes still covered with mud. She heard Justin's voice. "We have to go now."

  She spat out the reed and dug at her face with mudcovered fingers, managed to scrape away enough to open her eyes slightly, peering at the woods through gritencrusted eyelids.

  "We might have bought ourselves enough time to get to the transport site."