CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

WARNING:

This chapter contains scenes non-consensual sex and torture. If you are 17 and under, of necessity you have to skip this. While there are no explicit or graphicdescriptions of sex, the images evoked are nonetheless disturbing.

******

Cardassia Prime - August 2371 - March 2372

Musical inspiration   - Mass in C Minor - Mozart

    - Requiem - Mozart

- Requiem - Gabriel Fauré

Kyrie eleison [Lord, have pity]

He refused to cry out in pain. The days had rolled into a never-ending miasma of agony, like lava flowing thick and slow, yet inexorably scorching the very earth and its foundations in its source knew it could only stop if the source could not give up any more of its precious elements. So his body was wracked by the rapacious weapon that cut into his brain, ate into every crevice and node, every valley and jutting edge - nerve endings that protested in panicked urgency for release, writhing in terrified sequence as they anticipated the next wave of malevolent impulses designed to test the subject's endurance. Long ago, he had heard the cries of his fellow inmates. One by one, he heard their cries stop.

Chakotay lay on the bed, no longer knowing which part of his body had been pricked, prodded, or stabbed, which bones had been broken with deliberate ease, as if someone had held a twig and just snapped it between his fingers.

He had become desensitised in a way, uncaring where his body was ravaged, only searingly aware of a burn throughout, a spread that never left him, unless sometimes, momentarily, released as yet another scientist or warrior claimed his body.

Once, he had told Kathryn that thinking of her would keep him alive.

Once, he thought he was immune to pain.

Yet, he’d discovered that, in detaching himself from that reality of agony by thinking, moving away from the hands that touched, and from the grotesques sounds and grunts, there was a way of disengaging.

To Gul Evek he had long ago lost his use.

Evek...

The moment he’d materialised on the bridge of the Vetar, he had expected to be beaten up, to feel the pain of the phaser rifle as some unidentified warrior dealt him a glancing blow to the head. He had expected to die that very moment.

Instead...

"So, we meet again, Chakotay - "

"I don't recall meeting you before, Evek."

"Ah, but we have common interests, have you forgotten?"

Evek was calm, but he could sense the rage under the bluish tinge of the Cardassian's skin. The way his lips curled slightly, not so much to indicate derision or hate or desire for revenge, but something that Chakotay thought was much deeper, more sinister.

Chakotay knew then that the gul meant business.

"If you know, then why don't you kill me now? Are you too much of a coward?"

He had seen the flinch, but Evek recovered.

"Killing you? Too easy, Chakotay. I’ve let Voyager go, for now - "

"You're losing the war, Evek. Your friends have become your enemies."

Again, Evek flinched so imperceptibly that only Chakotay noticed, though several Cardassian warriors stood around them, their phaser rifles trained on him. Was it a cold rush of air that worked its way across his back, and made his neck hair rise?

"We do not bow to the Dominion or the Federation. They can conduct their little war," Evek replied coolly, then raised an eyebrow, the lips curling into something that made Chakotay cringe. "I have what I want...what I always wanted."

"What do you - "

Evek snapped his fingers.

"Tarob!"

"Sir."

"Escort Chakotay to our Obedience Room."

Hardly had Evek spoken the words than Chakotay felt his hands being tied behind his back; he was shoved to the nearest exit and from there down several decks, until they came to a room. He was pushed inside, pushed so hard that he fell to the floor. Unable to break his fall, his head hit first. The force made him dizzy, and before he could even regain his balance, a boot connected with his midsection. He groaned as all the air seemed to leave him; blinded by the force that exploded behind his eyelids, he endured the next few minutes as the warriors booted him.

He tried not to cry out.

Then suddenly, the kicking stopped. He heard a voice, as if it came through banks of thick mist.

"Untie him."

Evek. He had not known when Evek had entered the room. Blood oozing from somewhere, dripped down his face and he could taste the warm, stickiness. He was forced on his knees and the warriors - had there been two or four? - fumbled with his hands. The relief of rubbing his wrists was short-lived. Something was happening. Evek never spoke again after that, neither did the warriors.

Pulled to his feet, rough hands with sharp nails that dug into his protesting flesh, started ripping his clothes from him. That was when he fought. He took a swipe at the first warrior, connecting his fist with a surprised jaw. The warrior roared; Chakotay swung and pounded into the belly of a second warrior, then his eyes exploded again as the butt of a rifle broke the skin above his temple. Crying out, he sagged to the floor, then was pulled up roughly while feeling the blows raining on his body.

Chakotay knew Evek was watching...

He knew his nose was broken. He felt the crack of a rib and couldn't breathe, every attempt causing a sharp stab that made him dizzy again. He couldn’t fight them anymore as they stripped his clothes from his body. Then they pulled at the chain and locket round his neck.

"Wait!"

Evek.

"We always take everything, Gul Evek," the warrior said, his fingers clasped round the locket.

"Not this one, fool."

The warrior was wise enough not to question the Gul's decision.

Awake! For morning in the bowl of night...

His mind grasped, like outstretched arms beseeching deliverance, to the present. The present was a bed of torture. The it was hard, but Chakotay welcomed the discomfort. It made him think of something else, anything else which would subjugate that which threatened to become his master. Think of Kathryn, he ordered himself as he stirred on the bed. Think of Hannah...Winonah... Winonah...where is she?

But the terror crept back into his brain, inveigled itself into becoming the master of his incoherent rambling. The faces came back, malevolent, grinning. He saw Evek's face, heard the laughter of the warriors.

Then Evek stood in front if him. He couldn't see clearly through his swollen eyes, but he knew from the smell that Evek was naked. Two hands covered the side of his head and drew him towards that nakedness.

Do not trouble the world with your woes, my son...

No words. Just a rough opening of his mouth and flesh invading him.

Alive, I am dead...

No words.

Chakotay would hear the grunts, the coarse coaxing in an alien language, the heaves and poundings into his protesting body; the  sounds would stay in his consciousness, ripple along the undulating hills and valleys of his brain and goad him, taunt him into fighting.

B'Elanna, you could beat one or two of them...but five, six, seven...?

There was a bed of sorts in that room.

He never slept alone.

Always, a body forced itself on him, stretching his flesh, never allowing him to close his eyes and sleep. And the smell would remain. Sedeka - Seska – had smelled Cardassian.

Where was the fight? Where was the fight?

Once, Evek spoke.

"Try anything, Chakotay, and you will see retribution..."

He knew that Kathryn and her crew would be endangered.

Always, an armed warrior or two, in case he tried to fight.

"Open your mouth."

Kneeling on the floor, he turned his face away from engorged flesh. Then two hands would grab his head and lead him to it. Like a listless child not wanting to eat, the flesh would nudge, nudge, nudge, never forced - for that had long been dispatched with - and slowly the flesh would find a path past torn lips, teeth and settle deep inside before roving, grunting, pounding...

"My turn..."

"My turn..."

"My turn..."

"My turn..."

Those words became the litany of the dammed.

In the night, a hand would press him to go down on all fours...

Seconds later, invasion, crude and bestial.

"Now, Chakotay, this is how Sedeka liked me," Evek would say some nights when he stayed the whole night. On his hands and knees the gul’s body would cover his; Evek would ride him and whisper close to his ear, "you killed my abhail and I need a distraction, you understand?"

When Chakotay didn't reply, Evek would grunt into his body for several minutes, then suddenly stop.

"You understand?"

Chakotay wouldn't reply.

Then an enraged Evek, too fired up in his bestial passion, would punish his body. Afterwards, Evek would lie next to him and caress his face. Chakotay would recoil from the caress, but knew it was impossible to offer resistance. His rib had not healed properly, and his nose had been broken again.

"Think of Kathryn, Chakotay, how sensual it is with her," Evek's words would mist across his cheek as he lay spooned behind Chakotay. "It's good, isn't it?" Then Evek's hands would find his own flesh and stroke it. Chakotay fought, fought the urges, images of Kathryn sensually sidling against him, punishing his senses.

What shall it be tonight, Kathryn? Nice or not so nice?

Fight it, Chakotay. Fight it. Fight it. Fight...

The hand and fingers would become gentle around him, and when Kathryn's sighs once more clamoured in his brain, he lost the fight. Evek would give a cry of victory as Chakotay's flesh became hard in his hands.

When it was over, Chakotay refused to shed a tear.

Some days, Evek would enter the room with two or three other warriors.

Disengage yourself, Chakotay. Feel not the shame...Feel not the humiliation.

A mouth would cover his flesh and coaxing him to arousal and with gross carnal pleasure, extract his fluid from him.

Fight...

Fight..

When the three left, Evek would spoon himself against Chakotay again. Tiredness. Sleep. Unable to keep his eyes open. Fingers curling around him, leaving him flaccid. Sleep...

Always, he knew Evek. Sometimes, God help him, he couldn't help himself as Evek coaxed him and he gave and gave. Fingers curling round his flesh, stroking, his own gasps as he reached the edge, then Evek's little cry of pleasure as he came. He had become used to Evek's body, spooned to his during the night, stimulating him, two bodies writhing. Sometimes, as a reward, Evek would allow Chakotay to ride his mouth or his body once Evek had stroked him to a stiffness so that he couldn't protest anymore.

Once, he tried to fight Evek, tried to fight back, refusing the gul any entrance to his body. Then, there was only a word, a command, and Evek would leave, replaced by three warriors who punished his body for hours. When they were done, Evek would return.

"That is so you will reject their bodies and accept mine..." he whispered against Chakotay's ears. Then Evek would enfold his flaccid shaft in his big hand and stroke gently until he got it stiff again.

"You want me..."

A tear would escape and run hotly down shamed cheeks as he allowed the caress until a frenzied few minutes later, Evek's body would be joined to his. They would lie gasping afterwards and with his body clasped against Evek, they would fall into a slumber.

Dream of Kathryn... Dream of Kathryn...

Open your mouth, Chakotay.

Bend down.

Somewhere, he heard music, beautiful, celestial music that seemed to come down from the very portals of heaven. In his head it rolled gently into soft pianissimo, cadences of voices. Once, Kathryn had played it for him.

"Do you like it, Chakotay?"

"What is it?" he asked, more intrigued by the harmony of voices and melodious chords.

"It's called a kyrie."

"Greek?"

"Yes."

Only later, he would learn the meaning of kyrie eleison.

Lord, have pity...

**** 

Lachrymosa

Chakotay groaned, his mind heavy with troubled thoughts of Evek. The journey from the Badlands to Cardassia Prime had taken a month. He wanted his treatment at Evek's hands to become a blur, a haze in which life in the Obedience Room was surreal; he could try and disengage himself standing outside his body looking at how they ravaged him. He could be dispassionate and think it was happening to another Chakotay, someone whose misfortune it was to have a similar name, or a similar tattoo. He could look with detachment how the other Chakotay was brought to arousal and how they would bring in Cardassian female warriors to draw his seed from him. He could look impassively at how the other Chakotay, forced, beaten, tortured into submission, eventually gave up and allowed the warriors to use his body, every day, every night. That Chakotay allowed Gul Evek to fondle, to coax, to rouse him into a terrible, agonising, shameful frenzy. That Chakotay allowed Gul Evek to bed with him most nights.

"You killed Sedeka. This is your punishment," Evek would say while he grunted above Chakotay.

"This is only my body," Chakotay would reply.

Then Evek would show the other Chakotay just how much his body belonged to him, and the other Chakotay, too tired to disengage himself from the reality of being mated with a Cardassian gul, would respond, for how, when memories of Kathryn assailed him, could he prevent his body from reacting? Evek never beat him, or tortured him into submission. That task belonged to warriors who would soften up and prepare the other Chakotay until he lay helpless on the mattress; then Evek would send them all off and remain behind.

Chakotay could look then at the other Chakotay and hate him. The luxury of that emotion soon became a necessity. Every time he pictured the Obedience Room, he was filled with hatred, revulsion and, guilt and shame. Mostly humiliation that he had become so weak. That way it was easy to put the blame on another person.

Sometimes, the two Chakotays fused into one, and he would become himself, standing once again inside his own conscience and consciousness, and feeling intense self-loathing.

He had been glad when they arrived at Cardassia Prime.

"So, Chakotay, I leave you here at the Science Institute, with Doctor Brogandor," Evek said, smiling as he escorted Chakotay off the Vetar. Chakotay had been dressed for the first time, and he felt uneasy in the coarse fabric of Cardassian clothes, more because his body had become accustomed to being naked. He was able to walk, his nose that had been broken a second time, had healed. He was still not able to breathe properly and he suspected that the cracked rib must have pressed against his lung tissue. The rib had knitted too in the last weeks, with the latest injury inflicted by one of Evek's warriors treated by Evek himself. Three cracked ribs and a concussion...

"You're leaving," Chakotay said sarcastically, sensing that Evek's 'work' with him was finished.

"We have a war to win, Chakotay," Evek said calmly as if nothing in the past month had happened between them. "Therefore, the Vetar must be about its business. I have avenged my sons and my lover. That is enough."

"I don't think you're finished, Evek. I can see it in your eyes. But you were instructed to bring me here, weren’t you? You could have killed me. So the great Evek must bow to a higher order."

Chakotay had known from his conversations with Sedeka that Evek, like all other guls, reported to the Cardassian High Council. Therefore, instead of killing Chakotay outright, Evek had to carry out orders. Those orders were to bring Chakotay to the Science Institute. He saw how Evek pursed his lips, but the glint in his eyes told Chakotay that the gul was going to try something else, if he couldn't get Chakotay. He had shuddered that day, thinking that Voyager might still be in danger. Voyager and Kathryn... Chakotay thought that Evek had no conscience, yet he beat up the warriors who attempted to remove the locket from Chakotay's neck.

Many nights - every night, he supposed - he clung to Kathryn's locket with Kathryn and Hannah's pictures. Those nights when he had the strength to open it, he would stare for hours at their smiling faces. Many times he would caress their faces and tell himself that he was fine, that one day he would be free again and be home with his family. He pictured their smiling faces, Kathryn leaning forward to plant a kiss on his nose, Hannah screeching with glee when he blew bubbles against her soft belly. He pictured Kathryn and Hannah as he’d seen them on Kathryn's birthday. Both sleeping peacefully, and the lines of strain gone from Kathryn's face, even if only temporarily.

By the time Evek left the Science institute, Chakotay had been glad. No more was he fodder for Cardassian sexual depravities, and even if he were to endure the most excruciating torture, it would be better that being a slave to their grotesque sexual demands.

On the Vetar he was tortured to bring him to submission, so that he couldn't fight anymore. On the Vetar he was brought to submission in a manner that made him hate himself, feeling the constant shame burning him up. On the Vetar, the only thing he could hold on to, to maintain his sanity, was Kathryn’s locket, which he’d clutched like a man drowning. 

Chakotay gave another soft groan as a wave of pain spiralled through him. His body was constantly on fire. The high bed was hard and uncomfortable, yet it served to keep his mind away from what had been done to him here.

He tried to recite passages from his beloved Rubáiyát:

Awake! For Morning in the Bowl of Night...

But new voices, voices even more terrifying and sinister than all of Evek's warriors, penetrated his consciousness. Chakotay moved his head away from the voices, an involuntary gesture that made him wince again in pain.

Voices of doctors - butchers - and their assistants...

"This subject has a good body, and sound constitution..."

Wrong. My body is wasted...What would you want with a wasted body?

"Then I think  Prisoner 0099 will do for this morning."

He had lain on the high bed and extensive tests had been conducted, his arms in restraints.  Brogandor looked down at him.

"I see you have had injuries to your ribs." Chakotay had only nodded. What more could they want to know? "And," Brogandor continued, "you have suffered multiple fractures to your left leg. Indications are you incurred this injury about three years ago." Chakotay turned cold at the tone of Brogandor's voice. He balled his fists, beads of perspiration trickling down his face and settling in his neck. He had no time to consider that it was ticklish or think of the discomfort. Chakotay closed his eyes as he felt Brogandor's breath close to his face. "Then, Prisoner 0099, you appear to have a high tolerance..."

For pain...

They broke his legs. Like skewers, spikes were driven through skin and bone. The first wave of pain hit him suddenly as he realised that they were scraping sensitive nerves and crushing his bones. How many did they drive into his legs? He lost count. His lips bled that day and he’d tasted his own blood, warm and sticky as his body arched off the bed.

He knew pain.

No anaesthetic, no warning to soften any blows, no kind words. They wanted him to howl his torment. Did his sweat turn to blood? He was certain of it, else how could something flow towards the corners of his mouth and taste like it was blood?

"Good. All the spikes are in, Doctor."

Then Chakotay started to vibrate on the bed, and arched high off it as he heard what must have been a thousand cracks simultaneously. He never lost consciousness, never screamed in agony. Did they flick a switch somewhere that activated the pins to fracture his bone into tiny fragments? In retrospect, he realised he was giving them more ammunition. If he howled continuously, who knew? They might have given him a little reprieve. Instead, he just groaned, pursing his lips that were already raw the way he bit them, and writhing as every nerve in his body was on fire with pain.

Then, the slow impulses afterwards, electrical shocks to his legs and brain. Another person had entered the room and stood next to the bed. How had he not seen that there was another Cardassian? From his uniform, even through the glaze of agony, Chakotay noticed that he was probably superior in rank to a gul.

"Prisoner 0099. Chakotay, Starfleet, formerly Commander of the USS Ormskirk, turned Maquis."

"What the hell do you want?" Chakotay hissed through clenched teeth as he balled his fists.

"Destroyed Cardassian munitions factories."

He wasn't going to admit it, he was still thinking when another salvo of shocks ripped his body from the bed.

"Tell us where the next strike of the Federation will be, Chakotay."

That was when Chakotay realised why Gul Evek was under instruction to keep him alive.

"I tell you nothing, fool."

"It would be wise to speak, Prisoner 0099."

"You'll get nothing from me."

"What are the specifications of the USS Prometheus?"

Chakotay, too dazed to think clearly, groaned when the electric shocks rippled through him again.

"I know nothing," he responded instinctively. "Nothing, you hear?"

"The Prometheus, Prisoner 0099. Tell us what you know."

"And I tell you I don't know!"

Later, he couldn't determine what the time delay was - each series of shocks fused to become one long agonising journey to the very portals of hell. He wasn't going to tell them that Tom Paris had designed specs for a brand new vessel with revolutionary capabilities. The admirals’ last communication with Chakotay had been to inform him that he might be taking command of the new vessel as soon as it was completed at the Utopia Planitia shipyards. They had been thinking about granting reprieves to the Maquis and get them working again within the Federation during the war. No one knew this, and Cardassian spies were everywhere.

"How many vessels like the Prometheus are they building?"

"I know nothing."

Then the shock treatment began again, when they drove needles through his skull.

Once, a bright flash surrounded him and he saw Kathryn. Had he lost consciousness? He couldn't decide. All he knew was that the pain must have been pushed aside. He saw Kathryn and they were walking along a beach with palms.

"Where are we, Chakotay?" Kathryn asked. She had worn a white slack suit and he a loose fitting jacket and trousers. She had given him an amused smile when he told her to dress for the occasion.

"Venice Beach, 1996."

"Venice Beach? California? The area drowned after the last quakes."

"Yes. I wanted to bring you here. Naturally, if you want to be alone without all the rollerbladers and skate boarders and other...er..."

"I want to be alone, Chakotay..." Kathryn purred as she leaned into him and rested her head against his broad chest.

"With me."

"Naturally."

"And we get to do things..."

"Naturally.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

"Only about a hundred times, Chakotay."

Then she raised her face to him and he was overcome with the wonder of loving her. The sun's rays threw glints of gold off her hair, her smile dazzled and when he lowered his head to kiss her, she gave a contented little moan as their lips touched.

After the kiss, they found a secluded spot and again, Kathryn raised her eyebrows in amusement.

"Chakotay."

"Hmmm?"

"We're in the holodeck of the Crimond."

"Yes," he replied, distracted by Kathryn's smile and the sultry look in her eyes.

"You just deleted all the holocharacters."

"Hmmm."  He just wanted to kiss her, run his hands through her hair and feel her softness as he hugged her to him.

"So why the secluded spot?" she asked.

"Because, Kathryn, it has the ambience of delicious illicitness about it. We're away from prying eyes..."

"Nonsense - "

"Shut up, and kiss me, Kate."

Then the images vanished and the pain returned. He had lain on the bed, gasping.

"Take the Prisoner away," said a voice. He didn't care anymore who spoke.

He had been thrown in a cell, his legs crushed, although the spikes had been removed. He had lain on his stomach, breathing heavily and willing away the agony of aching legs.

"Better turn over, sir, and let me straighten your legs..." The voice sounded cultured and Chakotay lifted his head and turned dazedly in the direction of the voice. The face was a blur although after several seconds staring at the face, the blur cleared. The man looked Ketarchan, Chakotay thought. By the stranger's address Chakotay assumed that he was aware of Chakotay's identity and rank.

"Who - who are you?"

"I am Captain Gredor, of the USS Pendennis," replied the prisoner.

"I - I am - "

"I know. Captain Chakotay, Maquis cell leader."

Chakotay nodded and turned onto his back, trying to sit up straight and brace himself against the wall. Now he could see there were two beds in the cell. He looked at the bed and when Gredor saw him, he moved to help Chakotay onto the bed.

"My legs - "

"They must be broken in a thousand pieces, Captain. The spikes are designed to shatter the bone and usually fifteen spikes are driven through."

"You haven't - ?"

Gredor smiled grimly as he kept Chakotay's legs straight for several minutes.

"No, they haven't done that to me, Captain. I was useful for other, creative purposes..."

"I...understand," Chakotay ventured.

"Perhaps...not," Gredor said as he left to lie on his own bed, resting his head on his arms. "I happen to have replicated lungs, kidneys, a spleen, after they punctured every organ to test how long I would survive."

"Yet they kept you alive."

"Yes," Gredor had sighed, "they're keeping us alive. There's something afoot. I don't know what they're planning - "

"How many are here, at this facility?" Chakotay asked, giving a groan when he shifted.

"Including you? One hundred and fifty prisoners, all Starfleet, Captain."

**** 

Chakotay came with a jerk to the present. That first day when Gredor spoke with him, he had learned that there were a hundred and fifty prisoners who had been captured during skirmishes with Cardassian vessels. One hundred and fifty prisoners, guinea pigs for Cardassian butchers' experiments. Two of the prisoners had legs amputated... Their numbers had already shrunk to just over one hundred. More would die.

How long had he been here?

He had been brought every second day to the table where they drilled spikes through his body to test his tolerance for pain He dreamed often of Kathryn and Hannah; sometimes others entered into those dreams and he'd see Roshana, or Admiral Paris or his own father or Admiral Ponsonby. Somewhere, Kathryn was on Voyager, fighting the might of the Cardassians and the Dominion. Somewhere, Kathryn was holding Hannah in her arms and thinking of him. He wanted to tell her he was still alive, and thinking of her. He wanted to reach her in his silent quests and assure her that he'd be back with his family again, no matter how battered his body was.

At some point he learned that the Dominion had turned on the Cardassians, yet here the prisoners were, as if the Cardassians were denying they were losing the war, and continuing their experiments.

He had been brought in again today. After the first few times when they broke his legs - experiments to test how long bone could take to knit without any medical or orthopaedic intervention - they reset the bones, although it was excruciating to walk. He had longed again for the crutches he had used on the Ormskirk, when they helped him to move about and to take weight off his aching leg while it healed. Sergei’d had to break his leg several times because the bones weren't knitting correctly.. Now, his legs were just two appendages that trailed behind him when he tried to walk.

"And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,

Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,

Lift not thy hands to It for help - for It

Rolls impotently on as Thou or I."

The latest pain regime... He had given up wondering what purpose any experiment was for. The Cardassian doctors were no more than butchers who had begun to derive diabolical pleasure in simply inflicting torture and mutilating prisoners. Maybe there never was a time they had any honour and doctor's integrity in them.

One night he had been thrown back in his cell, to find Gredor lying face down in a pool of blood. Forgetting his own pain, dragging his unwilling legs to where Gredor lay, he turned over the comatose man. Chakotay had cried out in agony as he looked at Gredor's face. They had cut away the protuberances on his forehead. Gredor must have been fully alert when they cut him up. Chakotay took a rough cloth from under the bed and gently wiped away the blood.

Gredor had slowly regained consciousness, whimpering with pain as he became aware of it. For hours Chakotay held his friend, for they had become friends, and rocked him until the pain had receded to a low throbbing. He had stemmed the flow of blood and soon after, Gredor had fallen into a restless sleep.

Chakotay had met some of the other prisoners. The Inquisitor had given up questioning Chakotay; after several days of electric shock treatment and crushing the bones in his legs, but still not getting any information out of him, he declared sullenly, "Doctor, you may do as you wish with this patient..."

How long had they been here? How long? Weeks? Months? The days had meshed into a never-ending darkness in which he constantly kept himself alert by thinking of his family. Though his arms were in restraints, he always imagined he was caressing Kathryn's locket, always thinking of her and thinking of their baby.

There were days he wanted to scream his agony and give in to the butchers and do their bidding. Just like on the Vetar, when beaten into submission and eventually giving in to Evek, he wanted to do the same with the doctors who were mutilating them. One of the guards told him they dumped the bodies of prisoners who’d died just outside the Medical facility of the Science Institute.  No one could tell where the bodies were disposed of, or how. Gredor, whose  grotesque and misshapen face had healed to the point where he could at least breathe through his nose, was still alive. It would be possible to do corrective surgery on his face, but they had to get back home first.

Get back home...

"We must stay alive, for their sakes," Gredor told him, referring to the young prisoners whose emaciated bodies were rotting but who had been left to die from their privation. With Gredor who refused to give up, the two of them tried to comfort other prisoners, and though Chakotay had been worse off than others, he would drag his body to a fellow prisoner and help him through his dying moments.

Yes, there were days he wanted to cry out in agony, but kept himself from doing so. They called him stubborn; they called him arrogant and strong; they told him he defied all known parameters of pain thresholds. What the hell was that? It affected each individual differently. They had shaken their heads and given up on him. Now, his legs, misshapen from the constant abuse, had healed too, bones irregularly knitted, but there was less pain. Sometimes his head felt like it could burst open. What they had done to his head, he didn't know, but during the last weeks the constant agony was so bad he wanted to drive a spear through his skull and cut out the malevolent intruder.

Never did he shed a single tear.

One night, lying on the rough bed in his cell, he tried to blank out the screams of other inmates who were being tested. He clutched at the locket and closed his eyes, imagining he was seeing Winonah.

One day, when you find her, make her our daughter...

He might never see them again.

Don't think of a worst case scenario, he chided himself. He was going to see them again. Phoebe, with her angry face, Gretchen who’d always loved him, Admiral Ponsonby who looked on him as a son, Hannah who screeched when he tickled her tummy, Kathryn who loved to read. He pictured her sitting in the lounge of their apartment.

"So, you're reading Persuasion  again?" he had asked her.

"Hmmm."

Kathryn had been sitting in his big chair, the one she’d had specially manufactured for him, the one she always joked no one else but Chakotay would sit and relax in. The sun had been shining brightly that day and Kathryn had been quiet, restful. She also took no notice of him.

"What's it about?" he asked. He had a very vague idea, as he was more into reading his Rubáiyát, but he couldn't resist anticipating the look on her face when she lowered the book to smile at him. He always liked her smile. He had drowned in it the first time she’d opened her door for him half a lifetime ago.

"Oh, it's about six hours of reading pleasure."

He loved it when she teased him.

"Looks like you're into the first hour of it."

Then Kathryn had looked up. That was the moment he’d caught her. Her hair glinted in the light of the sun's rays that flooded the lounge, and with the way her head tilted as she turned to face him, and the slight smile, Kathryn looked as mysterious as La Giaconda. Mysterious and beautiful.

Later that day, he showed her the painting.

He called it Kathryn in the Light...

Chakotay closed his eyes and somehow, a tear escaped and rolled down his cheek.

**

Sanctus

Chakotay was brought to the present by a hand that shook him roughly.

"Wha- what?"

He wondered what was happening as they freed his hands from the restraints. He looked at the other beds, fifteen in all, and saw the others were also freed from their shackles. For a moment hope flared wildly inside him, and the fire that already raged in his body, intensified. In the next instant, he felt a thin prick in his neck.

"This is the final stage of the treatment," the doctor said, grinning evilly.

Chakotay turned to look at the other prisoners and saw that they too, were given some kind of injection.

"What is it?" he asked Brogandor.

"You need not know. Now, collect your belongings."

They had very little. He had none, except the clothes he wore, and Kathryn's locket round his neck. He could never understand why they didn't rip it off and destroy it. Chakotay ambled with back to his cell, where Gredor was already waiting for him.

"Where are we going?" he asked Gredor.

"I wish I knew. I'm feeling sick, Chakotay. That injection... Did they poison us?"

"Move! Move!" came the guard's voice. Gredor pulled Chakotay's arm round his neck and braced him as they walked out to the cell. "Hurry!"

Chakotay looked at Gredor and saw the beads of sweat in his neck. Chakotay knew he looked the same. Already he felt feverish, the pain in his head unbearable, but with Gredor's help they managed to move forward.

After what seemed like an hour later, they were all transported to a ship, and unceremoniously bundled into the cargo holds. They were being taken somewhere, taken off Cardassia Prime. Was the planet under attack? Why were they taken off? he wondered.

One prisoner, whom Chakotay didn't recognise, was seated next to him.

"Warp 7, it feels like, Captain," he offered. His voice sounded hoarse and his face looked battered. He too, had the same feverish look as the other prisoners.

"You're a pilot?" Chakotay asked, his own voice strained.

"Aye, Captain. Chief helm of the USS Excelsior."

"You know me?"

"Aye, sir. We heard that a Captain Chakotay had been brought to Cardassia Prime as a prisoner." The young man was out of breath when he finished, and his chest heaved. "I trained...under...you at the Academy..."

"What is your name, son?" Chakotay asked. They had rarely been brought into contact with other prisoners, and Chakotay had met only about half of them. Most he didn't know. This young man's voice had an oddly familiar tone to it.

"Freyne...Freyne Detroit, sir..."

Chakotay leaned forward, away from the wall and turned to look properly at Freyne. He would never have recognised him, he thought with some anger. The face looked misshapen, almost like Gredor's, but Freyne Detroit was human...What had they done to him?

"Freyne..."

"Yes, sir."

"He's appears very ill, Chakotay," Gredor spoke next to him as he too, leaned over to look at Freyne. Chakotay nodded, his own head wanting to burst. He was building up a fever very fast.

"I don't want to die...sir," Freyne said heavily.

Chakotay touched Freyne's forehead, remembered the young man who had been so excited at the time when they trained and performed the Epileng Cross Manoeuvre. Freyne had spoken then about his friend Tom Paris, whom he swore was the best pilot in the quadrant.

"Freyne, now listen to me, will you?"

Freyne nodded, turning his face so that he looked Chakotay in the eyes. In the half light of the cargo bay, Chakotay saw the fever, the shaking hands. He took the pilot’s hand in his, and hardly noticing that Gredor had crawled to where a few other prisoners were huddled together, he gave the trembling hand a reassuring squeeze.

"We're all going to get out of here. All of us, you hear me? Not a single prisoner will be left behind. You can be half dying on your feet, but we're all in this, and all of us will survive..." Freyne's eyes closed. Chakotay shook him, the action making his head spin and leaving him dizzy. When Freyne opened his eyes, Chakotay bit out, "You hear me?"

"Aye...sir..."

"Good. My guess is they're going to dump us somewhere. We've outlived our usefulness for them, but they're not giving us back. Before Cardassia is overrun by the Dominion or the Federation, they'll get rid of us first."

"H-How did you know, sir?" asked another prisoner, sitting close by.

"They thought I was unconscious... I listened, caught odd phrases. Cardassia is losing the war..."

"Our people will look for us..."

"Yes. They will."

Chakotay sagged back against the wall, not letting go of the almost comatose Freyne's hand. He didn’t dare lose hope. They were looking up to him and Gredor, the most senior officers amongst the prisoners. With his free hand, he clutched at Kathryn's locket again and brought it to his lips, closing his eyes as he did so. Death was a Foe they all had to beat. They couldn't have survived the death camp only to die in a little known, little explored star system, ignominiously coming to their ends as nameless soldiers, nowhere recognised, nowhere remembered, nowhere buried. Kathryn would remain in his thoughts and on her he would focus with his last breath, every bone in his body, every fibre that threatened to expire, so that he could live.

Yet, as he held the locket to his lips, he could feel the fever overtaking his body. He knew without a doubt that they had all been infected with some alien virus. A slow death, he realised, consistent with Cardassian torture methods, and somewhere they were going to be left to die. A great tiredness descended on him. He tried to keep awake, to focus, but the violent throbbing in his head, the heat that was busy eating him up, slowed him down, made him weak again, too weak to fight. He closed his eyes.

Wake up, sleepy head.

Keep awake! Awake!

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night

Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to flight:

And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught

The Sultan's turret in a noose of gold.

Wake up. Keep awake, Chakotay.

Then his eyes opened, and the other prisoners, all lying unconscious or sitting against the bulkheads became a blur as he tried to focus. But no image sharpened. With a start, he realised that he was still holding Freyne Detroit's hand.

"Keep awake, Freyne. We will get out of this..."

"Yes...sir..."

"Good..."

The spirits protect me, Kathryn...I will get through this...I will...

***** 

Jarok was a D-class planet. The thin air made breathing difficult, and it was already difficult to inhale as Chakotay's chest constricted with a sharp pain. He coughed for several seconds, big wracking coughs that the force of which brought him to his knees. He had tried to stand, but his legs, crooked from the way the bones had knitted, were too weak to hold him up.

"Leave me," he barked as one of the prisoners tried to help him. "We must find shelter."

"Already seen something, sir, that could help," one prisoner said.

"It should shield us from the sun, and there's water," Gredor said, as he ignored Chakotay's injunction to leave him alone and calmly braced his friend. They moved slowly in the direction of the outcrops and the few trees about a hundred metres from where they had been beamed down. Chakotay coughed again, and Gredor stood still, waiting for the bout to subside. He had the fever too, but he was in better shape than many of the prisoners.

Two hours later, all were huddled together in smaller groups, never so far where that they couldn't see the next person. Minutes earlier, two prisoners had approached him. Even now, as Chakotay lay reclining against the trunk of a tree, he wondered how the prisoners had been allowed to keep some of their possessions. He seriously doubted it could be attributed to the good nature of the Cardassian guards; more likely they’d hidden their prized possessions very well.That he kept his own locket was a directive from Evek as a reminder of what he’d lost.

"Captain Chakotay..."

"Yes?"

He looked at the two, both human, both of whose faces were puffy. Already their skins showed signs of a haemorrhagic fever.

"My name is Lieutenant Anderson of the USS Newcastle."

"Here, sir, we thought you might have a use for this," said the other. "I'm Ensign Waldorff, Captain."

Anderson gave him a PADD.

"I've the names of every prisoner alive, Captain, and the names of the fifty-five who died on Cardassia..."

Chakotay's eyes, bleary and heated from the fever, widened.

"I will not ask how you kept this away from them, Lieutenant. Thank you. You wish for me to keep a record of all other reports here."

"Aye, Captain."

Waldorff had a cloth bag from which he pulled a book.

"I heard you once, sir, recite verses from this book," said he, "and I would like you to keep it for me, sir."

Chakotay frowned as he caressed the gold embossed letters on the rich leather-bound book.

"Why?"

"I - I thought, sir, if - if in the event of my death… I have no family... You must keep this book."

"Waldorff, sit down here," Chakotay commanded. When the young ensign was seated next to him, Chakotay gripped his shoulder. "Here, alone on this godforsaken world, we are your family, Waldorff. Haven't you heard a word I said? These prisoners here, they are your brothers. Never forget that, will you? Now this book, I appreciate your offer, but I cannot keep it for myself, okay?"

"Why not, s-sir?" Waldorff stammered.

"Because we are going to make it. Right now, Federation vessels are on their way to Jarok."

"But - but the book, sir, it belonged to my grandmother - "

"All the more reason you should keep it. I'll hold on to it for you, if that's okay, since my own copy..." Chakotay sighed, then winced as a sharp pain stabbed his chest again. When he calmed again, his voice was softer, kinder, "You will get home again, son, and you will marry and then you will introduce your children and their children to Omar Khayyám's Rubáiyát. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"You okay, Waldorff?" Chakotay asked.

Waldorff nodded his head slowly.

"I will get home again...sir."

There was enough water, they discovered, and while all of them could manage to drink, the exercise of just swallowing proved difficult; Chakotay fell back exhausted after he had dragged his body to the nearest waterpoint, only about fifty meters away. They needed shade and they needed water. For now, it was enough. His legs had stopped aching, but it was his head he wished could drop off his body. It felt swollen, foreshadowing the onset of nausea. He rested his body against the same trunk he had chosen as his spot. The men were brave, tested beyond their strength, but they were holding up, whatever the degree of the affliction each one had. All were suffering from raging fevers brought on by the injections they were given before being removed from Cardassia Prime. Chakotay's fingers felt for the book Waldorff had given him. He grimaced as he held it up, trembling fingers opening it till his hand fell on the Rubáiyát he was looking for.

He rested his head against the trunk, closed his eyes, seeing the words move rhythmically, like pearls, across the page...

The Moving Finger writes; and,  having writ,

Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line

Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

What would he change of his life? How could he change anything? If he had never gone and knocked on Kathryn's door, who knew whether any of what he had experienced since meeting her would have taken place? Would his life have followed a different path? That was certain, as if another Chakotay walked along that path, where there was no Kathryn; therefore, there would be no love, no Hannah, none of the things that had enriched this Chakotay's life because of Kathryn. She became his destiny, and his destiny was woven forever with hers. They were two, they were one, they were Kathryn and Chakotay.

If he wished all of what happened to be obliterated from his life, then there would be no Kathryn.

Alive, I am dead without my Kathryn...

He wanted her; he could not imagine the rest of his days without her. If he’d never met her, he would never have known that he could love another being like the very breath of his life.

I cannot cancel half a line...

He was brought back to the present when he heard a prisoner groan loudly.

"Let me die... It's too much! Too much!"

Chakotay looked in that direction and saw two others who were trying to comfort Freyne Detroit.

The other two looked at him as he crawled to where Freyne lay.’

"His condition has worsened, Captain," said one.

"The pain is too much for him, Captain," said the other.

"I'll stay with him," Chakotay responded, his own voice sounding weary.

"Captain? Captain..."

"It's alright, Freyne. Help is coming..."

"How do you know, Captain?" Freyne asked, then groaned again as his body arched.

"Because I know. Just believe it, will you?"

Freyne shook his head, the look in his eyes pathetic in its need to be consoled and reassured. He grasped Chakotay's hand and held on to him like a man drowning. Chakotay lay back, exhausted. His body was drenched in sweat, and his legs had started to ache again with a fierce intensity. He grit his teeth as he stifled a moan. He looked around him, saw many of the prisoners, some of whom he had only just come to know, lying prone, or curled up. Some, he could see, were experiencing tremors. They had no medication, no relief. If help didn't arrive soon... He sighed. In the morning, there might be more who had succumbed to their privation and pain. That thought alone made him grasp for the PADD Anderson had given him. Soon he occupied himself with studying the details of each prisoner, and adding a few more notes.

Amidst intense pain he began to detail the treatment, torture and methods applied by the Cardassian doctors. Everything he could remember, he jotted down. It was necessary that the Federation know just what manner of sadistic animals the Cardassians were. They honoured nothing, believed in nothing and had a total disregard for human dignity and life. He had seen the results of their work, had come face to face with unbearable atrocities committed by them. Chakotay looked around him, saw everyone still lying quietly, waiting. Later, he knew, they had to get some fires going to prepare for a long, cold night. None of them had adequate covering and he feared that there might be more dead in the morning.

Still, Chakotay continued his witness of what he’d experienced and what others had experienced at the hands of the Cardassians. Leaving nothing out of what he remembered, even in the haze of continual pain, he wrote on. A record must be left, he knew. A record of one hundred men who lived to witness the deeds of the enemy.

They would survive to tell the tale.

Come early evening, Chakotay rose heavily to his feet, stumbling as he tried to stand up straight, and addressed the men.

"We must start some fires. You know what groups you are in. Each group has been appointed a leader. Be back here in half an hour..."

It didn't take that long to collect wood. Gredor, who currently looked the ablest of the lot, started rubbing two sticks, using the dry twigs as kindling. That way, once one fire was started, they could all start their own from the first one.

One by one, the fires came to life, all in a large circle, with ten men sitting or lying round each fire. Chakotay was satisfied. They had no food, but the water that was available would last for some time. In the morning, they could start scouting around for food. Those who moved around still, were eager to help and it warmed Chakotay's heart when he saw how they assisted one another, especially those who couldn't walk. Chakotay had wanted Freyne in his group; Anderson and Waldorff were put in charge of their groups. Gredor had some of the sickest men in his.

"I'm fitter than most, Chakotay," he said without boasting, "and I can help more of the sickest amongst us. They're holding on. These are tough men..."

"I know. We will get home, Gredor."

Chakotay admired Gredor. Most of his face had been cut away, or at least, his great ridges and the scale-like protuberance from his jaw into his neck were sawn off.. Yet Gredor remained upbeat, very different now from the almost dying man who had been thrown back in their cell and left to die. If Gredor said they'd live, he'd uproot all the trees and move the great outcrop in the distance just to prove it.

"Chakotay..."

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Gredor's voice sounded concerned, and Chakotay waved it away.

"I'll survive, Gredor, if that's what's troubling you."

"They gave you a double dose of whatever they injected us with," Gredor said, his voice low that the others couldn't hear.

"I know. I have been having...excruciating headaches, Gredor," he admitted to his friend.

"And it's getting worse. You're burning up with fever, my friend. All the others...it seems to have halted. They don't look like their conditions are deteriorating."

"Then I'm glad. In the morning, we can search for food..."

"Chakotay..."

Chakotay was looking at Gredor, but his friend's face blurred for a moment. He became dizzy, and when Gredor's hand gripped his shoulder, he opened his eyes, a tired movement he was unable to mask.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me about that locket..."

"I thought I did..."

"Tell me again."

"My wife. She's the Captain of Voyager - "

"That new vessel?"

"Yes..."

"They'll come, Chakotay. Just keep believing it." Gredor squeezed Chakotay's shoulder and left to rejoin his own group. Chakotay grimaced. Gredor's wife was waiting for him on Ketarcha Prime. They had three young sons...

Beside him, Freyne Detroit had fallen into a restless slumber, and the other eight prisoners assigned to his group were all lying quietly. It was getting colder despite the fire and Chakotay prayed his men would last at least till the morning. They could get water, share whatever food they found and just wait. There was nothing they could do but wait and help one another, invoking the courage of all great men of the ages to help a group of helpless prisoners through their trials and get them home alive.

Chakotay closed his eyes slowly, his fingers clamped protectively around the locket. The Rubáiyát lay next to him. He hadn't wanted to tell Gredor the truth. He was afraid - afraid he might not make it; afraid that it would be too late. He was drenched from the fever.

A thousand needles stabbed into his brain, red-hot darts that ate through every nerve. Something - a spark that burst like an exploding star, lit up in his head. The image of a face that looked like Kolopak's flashed before him. Was he hallucinating?

No. He saw Kolopak as clearly as if his father was standing in front of him.

Kolopak...

Do not fear, my son. Your courage has touched those around you. They look up to you. Lead them, as you have always done. Your strength is keeping them alive. Live, my son, so they may live.

My body is broken, Father.

I know. But your spirit is whole, my son.

*** 

Benedictus

In the early hours of the morning, when the men were still sleeping, some of them tossing restlessly, or moaning from their pain, Chakotay opened his eyes. He was experiencing convulsions, his body shaking; his fingers trembling and weak. With great difficulty he took Waldorff's book and on his stomach, for he could walk no more he dragged his body slowly up the small rise to the tree he had sat against the previous day.

Pain.

He was dazed from the pain, the coarse ground eating into his skin as his legs trailed and  using his elbows to drag himself centimetre by excruciating centimetre forward. Somehow, he wanted to get to his tree, away from his group. He wanted to lie there and look at the sky, see for the last time the blue that could remind him of Kathryn's eyes; see for the last time the men who had held on so steadfastly to their hopes and their dreams.

Dying might be a welcome sight after all.

You belong with your Kathryn and your daughters, Chakotay...

I cannot any longer...

Almost there.

The tree beckoned.

Exhausted, Chakotay reached the tree, the book falling from lifeless fingers as he gave in to the portals that opened in the skies. Why did the sky turn?

I am dying, my Kathryn...

Chakotay, my son...never give up, never surrender.

Father.

He lay on his back, one hand still on his chest, the other outstretched as if he were reaching for something indefinable, yet something that he sensed was a life buoy. His eyes were open and strangely, the pain had receded, as if it allowed him a moment to see things clearly around him, above him, even inside his own heart.

The sky was blue, very blue, like the brilliant azure of the Aegean.

Kathryn smiled kindly at him. Hannah reached for him with eagerly outstretched little arms. Winonah... Winonah? Winonah touched his tattoo shyly, then she too, smiled a tender little smile.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

Above him, he saw the eagle, hovering, hovering, then slowly descending. Chakotay lifted his hand to touch the eagle. He saw a face, a smile, hair that shone like golden threads.

"I waited for you to come, my Kathryn..."

***********

END CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

Chapter 38