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Occupation of the Mind	By : Jack-O-Lantern Category: Star Trek > Deep Space 9 Views: 666 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek: DS9, nor the characters from it (save for the OC I created within the bounds of the established universe). I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter Five
Gul Dukat did come back. A month or so later, I saw the parade of grey. As I clocked out for the night, I saw him gazing out the window on the second floor towards the wormhole. I felt him calling to me. I cleaned my hands, removed my hairband. I took the spiraling stairs slowly, walked through the thinning crowd under the dimmed light. I stopped six feet away and drew in a breath. My face flushed at the betrayal of my own wants. To come to a man who had not even looked in my direction. To heed the silent calling. I knew better. He knew when my shift ended. He knew I’d see him. He knew his mere presence told me what he expected.
“It is truly magnificent isn’t it?” he smiled at the glass and shook his head. “It is truly a shame…” That they had not known about the wormhole while they were here? Would Bajor have ever been freed?
I stepped closer.
How much of that smile was for the wormhole, and how much was for me?
-*-
His presence left me rattled. I felt trapped. Confused. When he left me late that evening, I returned to Quark’s. “The usual?” he asked.
“No, I…” I took a moment to word my lie. “I’m feeling adventurous. I’d like to try something with a little more action.”
“What’d you have in mind?” I had consulted the library. There was a lot of human history in the computer’s stores, a history I had never heard before. I’d found, long before my parents had been alive to even think of conceiving me, the peaceful, diplomatic humans of Starfleet had had a past marred with violence. Things like the occupation of Bajor and worse. I had found that some wars captured the imagination far more than others and it was one of these wars, these occupations, that I had chosen to immerse myself in.
I stood in a foreign tan and black uniform with a band around my upper arm in front of the large office building looming in front of me. A cold wind whipped around me as the strange wheeled vehicle I’d arrived in drove off to await my return. 20^th Century Earth. World War II. I was playing a British operative sent to infiltrate and steal classified documents and pass them off to my contact. I had some understanding of the history behind my role, but not much. However, for me, it wasn’t about the story, but the setting. And the alterations I had made to it.
I walked up the steps through the tinted double doors. Another military officer at the lobby desk looked up at me. I gazed over the ridges around his stern, dark eyes, the way his neck flared out under his collar. It was strange seeing a Cardassian in another nation’s uniform. He saluted me and I mimicked. The character had been human. I had the program substitute all enemy characters with a Cardassian template.
I continued upstairs. There were rows of desks, rows of Cardassians working at them. I felt the familiar adrenaline that anticipated capture, that waited for them to find something wrong. I didn’t know why I needed to put myself here…but maybe facing them in whatever way I was going to, would end this terrible restlessness in my head. As much as it was unlikely that there were any programs reenacting our painfully recent struggle, I would have received disturbed curiosity with my interest in reliving it. I had chosen a premise I thought would be accessible and similar enough in tone. I wanted to look my captors in the face, unbeknownst to anyone else, and try to sort out this ceaseless, nagging emptiness. I couldn’t imagine what I’d find, but I was desperate for any way to make it stop. I didn’t want to feel this anymore.
I found it strange to be walking among them as an equal of sorts. I was unescorted, well clothed, breathing in cool, clean air. Unopposed.
Near the elevator I needed to take down to Records stood a green-uniformed Cardassian. I approached and displayed my clearance.
“You’re a new face. First assignment?” His nametag read HOFMANN.
“Um…Yes, sir.”
“Mm… I suppose they didn’t teach you to salute your superiors during training?”
“Forgive me.” I saluted him.
When my arm was down at my side, he grabbed my face and snarled, “Don’t let it happen again!” My heart beat faster. This felt more familiar.
“Yes, sir.”
I took my time down in that room, only half looking at the documents. I didn’t have a specific plan, but it certainly wasn’t going to be what the program had laid out for me. Not for the first time I thought I was being foolish, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was here for the same reason I was here on this station. This nameless, deep-seated urge driving me towards absurdity. But here in this private domain, I didn’t have to worry about how I seemed. All these characters were fictional, non-sentient. It didn’t matter what they thought of me if anything at all. This was the best place to be foolish. I could let go of everything and explore this need.
But I wasn’t familiar with what the program had in store. I didn’t know how I could keep myself from progressing. I didn’t want the storyline, I wanted the place. I wanted to exist here. Winning, succeeding… I didn’t care about any of that.
I returned upstairs, heading back the way I came. The man from before stood at the coffee machine. He turned an idle eye to me before I glanced away. I reached the stairs and stopped. No one was stopping me. How much farther might I get before I reached opposition? How much farther before the story enveloped me and kept me from my true purpose?
I gazed down the stairwell, hating myself, before I returned to that room. I found the man that had grabbed my face, Hofmann. Knowing how absolutely hopeless I was going to sound, I braced myself and asked, “Excuse me, sir. Can you escort me to your supervisor? There’s something very important I must tell him.” He snorted.
“You tell me, and if it’s that important I’ll tell him.” Some unwell part of me wanted to get caught. But I didn’t know how to make the program catch me unless I outed myself. That wasn’t how I wanted it. But it seemed as if that’s how it’d have to be done.
“Yes, sir,” I acquiesced before admitting, “I’m with the British Secret Intelligence Service sent here to steal classified information.”
He’d laughed at first. He thought it was a terrible, misguided joke. He thought I was being utterly absurd. I second-guessed myself. Even this non-sentient program thought I was utterly foolish. I had thought that maybe I should abandon the whole shameful thing. Instead I swallowed it down and quietly insisted it to be the truth.
It wore thin on him and at first I was in trouble for my unprofessional flights of fancy, brought before the man I had requested to see, Major Richter, to show off my insubordinate attitude. I confessed my traitorous nature all over again. I gave them more information, trying to convince them. They couldn’t believe I’d just volunteer this information, sabotaging my whole operation. I couldn’t give them any satisfactory explanation as to why. But eventually, they did start to believe me. And once they believed me, I refused to say any more. They’d asked me why I confessed. They wanted to know if I was sympathetic to them. They wanted to show me mercy. I teared up. I didn’t want mercy.
I wore out their good nature. They tied me to a chair and grilled me with questions that I respectfully refused to answer. The Major delivered a powerful backhand. My cheek alit with hot pain and I tasted warm metal on the inside of my mouth. It was a small taste of the product of my tampering. I had disabled the safety protocols. “I’m afraid I can say no more. I know your time is valuable, so don’t hold back,” I told him. I wanted this over with.
Maj. Richter sighed. “As you wish.” He nodded to Hofmann. He took his place in front of me and slammed a boot into my chest. I gasped as I fell back. There was a crack as I fell on my arms which had been bound around the back of the chair. I let out sobbing breaths in place of a scream as I stared at the bright light overhead. My weight kept the back of the chair pinning my broken limb at a terrible angle. Hofmann took out a baton and beat me across the chest and stomach. Now I cried out, sobbing with each heavy, bruising hit. This was a pain I hadn’t missed. The worst part always was not knowing when and if it’d stop.
He jerked me up by the front of my shirt. I gasped as the weight lifted from my broken limb, leaving a new white hot pain to flow through as it shifted. He stood over me as I sobbed.
“Are you ready to talk yet?” he barked. I couldn’t answer. I felt speechless, paralyzed. “Well?” he pressed, tilting my face up with the end of the baton. I looked him in the eye, studied his face, knowing he didn’t know me. His understanding of me was completely different. He didn’t know I was part of a race he sought to oppress. He didn’t know I was an inferior person he should delight in torturing. He thought he was dealing with an equal, a threat. Someone to simply extract information from. There was no recognition, no sense of our shared history. No condescending sadism. This wasn’t the same.
Fear washed over me when, before I could make sense of my decision, I shook my head. I regretted my answer even as I gave it. My body tensed before I had finished moving. Why I did it, why I couldn’t stop myself, I don’t know, but my teeth clamped shut against a scream as the baton cracked against the side of my head. Though I couldn’t be aware of it, the darkness was merciful.
- 4
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- 6
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Occupation of the Mind