The Boy Who Never Smiled - Part 1

Posted on Thu Jan 9th, 2014 @ 10:20pm by Vendenje Kamdram

Mission: Picking Up the Pieces
Location: Bajor, Gallitep Labor Camp
Timeline: During the Occupation

The Boy Who Never Smiled, and Other Uplifting Tales

--

Confession

The Cardassian was stripped to the waist. Heavy chains clasped his hands together and were bolted to a metal plate in the ground. He was on his knees, and long, unkempt hair hung in thick black locks around his battered and bruised face. One side of his face was so badly bruised that he could barely see out of the eye. Ash eyes seemed to drift and lose focus.

Heavily armed Bajoran men and women, each dressed in shabby and ragged clothing, carried battered weapons, stood around him. They were haggard and rough, and many bore the scars of war and hard labor. At the center a single man stood. He was rough-hewn, and looked far older than he actually was.

With a heavy sigh the old man grabbed hold of a rusted chair and dragged it before the Cardassian. He sat down on it, his slight frame slumping heavily. “So,” he said, “let’s hear it then. From the beginning.”

The Cardassian’s eyes shifted up to the Bajoran’s face. “This is my story,” he said. “This is… This is my confession.” He looked away. “My betrayal.”

“Betrayal?”

”My betrayal of the Cardassian Union...”

Real World

The Glinn waited patiently. His broad, thick features were like clay, gray and cold. His dark ash eyes were large, and seemed to miss nothing. His broad nose was hooked, and the ridge that ran down it was narrow.

The dark corridors of Terok Nor were silent, vacated, and dimly lit. Quietly, orange-red lights hummed, and he closed his eyes. He felt the heat of them. He felt-

"Glinn Phaneron," a rough voice said.

Phaneron turned. "Here," he said. The handsome and young Glinn snapped at attention.

A much older male eyed him warily. "The Gul will see you now," he said.

Phaneron bowed curtly and followed the man down the winding hallways that led from the waiting chamber to the Gul's office. "You seem nervous," the elder officer said, his eyes never straying from their destination. "That's probably for the best."

"It is?" Phaneron asked.

The older man said nothing as they slowed to a stop. "The Gul is inside," he said.

Glinn Phaneron swallowed as the doors slid open. The lights were dimmed and he could see nothing of what was inside. "Well?" the older officer asked. "Don't keep him waiting boy. The Gul is not a patient man."

Phaneron nodded, sliding into the darkness. "Sir?" he whispered as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He could see a lounging sofa, and beyond that a simple desk with a glowing holo-display. Beyond that curving oval shaped windows wrapped around the circular chamber.

Standing before one of the windows stood a figure that filled Phaneron with dread.

"Glinn... Phaneron, was it?" Gul Mosel turned to look at him. He had viper-like features; neck ridges that flared like the hood of a cobra trailing up to an angular and narrow face. His pitch-black hair was slicked back perfectly, and his ocular ridges coiled around his eyes like a snake around prey. When he smiled his broad mouth seemed to almost split his narrow face, and Phaneron felt himself shrinking back.

Mosel was a minor provincial Commander, on Terok Nor for a conference with Cardassian command. Normally he would be on the surface of Bajor, at Gallitep Labor Camp. It was clear he was enjoying the brief respite from the decaying side of Bajor. In his thick hand he held a dark maroon liquid in a black goblet. He took a slow sip of it as he stared intently at Phaneron. For a moment the Glinn thought that Mosel might lunge at him, devouring him like honge would devour a taspar. Instead he merely looked away. "Phaneron," he said, "are you a loyalist?"

"Sir?" Phaneron started.

"A loyalist," Mosel repeated, turning to face him.

"I don't take your meaning, Gul," Phaneron said. "If you are asking if I am loyal to the Union... Of course. If it is something else..."

Mosel's smile dropped. "There are those who don't approve of what we're doing here on Bajor," he said. "Did you know that? A minor league of dissenters, crying out for us to vacate this world and return control to the Bajorans.”

Phaneron looked away from the Gul. “I… I wasn’t aware,” he breathed.

“Of course you were,” Mosel said. “There isn’t an officer on Bajor or Terok Nor who hasn’t heard whispering. What is important to me right now is to know where you stand. I need to know, Phaneron… Can I trust you?”

Phaneron’s ash eyes shifted back to the Gul’s face. “Of course, sir.”

Mosel smiled. “Good. I need a special envoy to bridge a gap between myself and the provincial governments in Gallitep. There have been an increased number of worker riots as of late, and I need to put them down swiftly.”

“If I can help,” Phaneron said, his tone cautious. “I’ve had very little interaction with the Bajorans though, I am not sure exactly what I can do.”

“It won’t matter,” Mosel assured. “You won’t be speaking to the provincial government.”

“Sir?” Phaneron’s brow lofted in confusion. “If I won’t be speaking to them, then…?” Dread realization fell across him.

“Right,” Mosel said. “It seems you understand. I’ll have a team assigned to you. I expect this shouldn’t take you longer than a day or two, but I will give you three just in case.” Mosel slapped his hands on his thighs and let out a heavy sigh. “Now, with that unpleasantness behind us… Will you share a drink with me?”

Phaneron looked away again. “I… Ah, perhaps I should…” He thrust a thumb over his shoulder, doing his best to quell his dread. “I should probably get started as soon as possible, Gul.”

Mosel paused, and then nodded. “Of course. Dismissed, Glinn Phaneron.”

As Phaneron disappeared through the doorway another figure, an elderly, stately dressed Cardassian in white robes, stepped out from behind one of the side passages in the room. “You know you can’t trust him to do this,” he wheezed.

Mosel wore a morbid smile. “Yes, well.” He looked at the older Cardassian. “We shall see. Either he will do it, or we will find our way into this dissenting group. We will bore it out from within, and crush it under foot.”

--

Dead Sister

Phaneron led the Cardassian forces into the Gallitep province.

Shock troops, heavily armored and carrying powerful disruptor rifles, spread out through the shanty-town. Make-shift structures that served as the domiciles of the Bajorans that lived there seemed paper thin and frail to Phaneron. An officer stood next to him and he turned his head towards him, his eyes still straight ahead. “Find the Provincial leaders,” he said. “Do not kill them, though. Bring them to me.”

The soldier nodded and then ordered his troops forward.

Phaneron wore standard-issue Cardassian armor, and had a side-arm strapped to his right leg, but beyond that was unarmed. As the soldiers began raiding homes he started to walk through the mud streets. The town was in shambles, and he could hardly believe that anyone actually lived there. The streets – if one could actually call that – were pitted and rutted, and filth, both Bajoran and animal, lined them. The smell was overpowering, and was a mix of waste and body odor. When they had first stepped off of the troop transport he had covered his nose for a brief moment. The soldiers had all enjoyed a laugh at his expense. Phaneron found nothing about any of this even slightly humorous.

He could hear women and children screaming as men were dragged from their homes. It was early evening, and the second shift had only just ended, so these men had already spent the better part of sixteen hours working in the mines. Many were still caked in rock-dirt, and more still had probably only just sat down for their evening meal. Each male was individually ID’ed and then released, except those that came up as part of the provincial leadership.

Phaneron ignored the work. The men were being rounded up and dragged to the transport site where the bloated troop carrier sat. Instead, he turned his attention to something just beyond the town.

It was a grove, of sorts. Dried and dead grass led up to a muddy hole that had once been a small pond or lake. Most of it had dried up, but some remained. A small girl was there. For a moment everything seemed to melt away as he watched her careful movements.

She couldn’t have been any older than seven. Her delicate fingers – oddly clean in such a dirty world – gingerly held a wooden bucket. The bucket dipped down and slid into the murky water. She had long, matted blonde hair that was wild and wore a simple tan dress. Her feet were bare, and tiny. She turned and saw him. Her eyes were large and the most striking green color he had ever seen.

He had expected to see fear in her eyes, but her tiny features held none. She simply stared at him for a moment before a boy – also with strikingly green eyes – appeared, scooping her up and taking her away. In his eyes the only emotion he shared with Phaneron was hate.

The Glinn looked away, turning back towards the shanty.

As he made his way back to the troop carrier he was surprised to see Mosel there. “Sir,” he said by way of greeting. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Mosel tilted is head slightly. “I am only here as an observer,” he said.

Phaneron swallowed. “I see,” he said, looking at the collection of Bajoran men. Most were older or middle-aged.

Mosel walked up beside Phaneron and leaned close. “You never had any intention of killing these men,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” He clasped a hand on Phaneron’s shoulder.

“It’s not that,” Phaneron quickly said. “It’s just… I’ve never killed anyone.”

Mosel patted him on the shoulder. “There’s a first time for everything.” He nodded to the side-arm.

Phaneron drew his weapon and stared at it. A thumbpress released the safety and the side-arm hummed to life, the green readout displaying a full charge. He felt his heart-rate race as he stared at the men. “I…”

“What?” Mosel said. “We must be strong,” he said, his voice booming so that the Bajoran’s that had begun to gather around them could hear. “The riots must end! If they do not, more Bajoran blood will be spilt.” He looked at Phaneron. “Do it now.”

Phaneron pointed the weapon at the head of the first man. The man did not look up. “Do it already, you damn coward.”

Phaneron felt hot tears begin to form around the edges of his eyes as he pressed the weapon into the man’s skull. He wanted to beg the man for forgiveness. “I don’t have a choice,” he said. I have to get close. He looked away and pulled the trigger. The man jerked violently and then fell over.

Mosel smiled as he looked at the shocked looks on the faces of those gathered. “I love you,” he said. “When will you understand that? I adore you! Gallitep, you are my soul!” He laughed. “But like a good father, I must punish you when you act out!” He pointed at Phaneron. “Next!”

Phaneron felt sick as he walked to the next man. As he pointed the weapon at him this man looked up. Striking green eyes – the same as the young boy and girl – stared up at him. There was a measure of fear in those eyes as they stared at each other.

“Pappa!”

Phaneron and the man both looked back as the young girl bounded towards them. “No,” they both said, almost in sync. “Turn back Alei!” the old man shouted.

Mosel was two steps ahead of Phaneron as he stepped beyond the Glinn and snatched the girl up in a brutal arm. He threw her down to the ground and the sadistic Gul pressed his boot on her chest. “What is this? More dissent!”

“Sir,” Phaneron started, his tone pleading, “She’s but a child!”

Mosel shot him a dark look. “You say that as though a child should not know or obey the rules!”

Phaneron shook his head. “Please don’t do this,” he said.

Mosel drew his own sidearm and pointed it down at the girl. His gaze never left Phaneron’s face as he pulled the trigger.

Chaos erupted. The most shrill and pain-filled scream filled Phaneron’s ears as everything melted away. For a moment he thought it was his own voice. He collapsed to his knees. The boy from before appeared almost from nowhere. His lithe frame erupted into a flurry of deadly movements as he leapt on the nearest soldier and knifed the Cardassian male in the throat. As the soldier dropped the boy slipped his disruptor out of its holster and opened fire. The first two shots killed two more soldiers dead, while a third winged Mosel across the forehead, dropping him.

The green-eyed boy pointed his weapon at Phaneron and the entire world went white.

--

Vendenje Kamdram
Frieghter Captain