Something I wrote up quickly for an Ad Astra weekly challenge...
Sometime in late 2369
The whispers had spread through the refugee camps of Valo III like wildfire. And though the news they carried was bright enough to warm the cockles of even the darkest Bajoran hearts, there was hesitation. As Tilora Alyene packed up the few possessions she’d acquired in her nine years of life, she heard the darker chatter from the town Vedeks, and it wormed its way into the deepest recesses of her subconscious, breeding nightmares that left the remainder of her family perplexed.
By day, the conversations replayed themselves over and over in her mind, distracting her from her studies, and leaving her the victim of several prylar’s wrath. But now there were no classes for Alyene. There was only packing, and wisps of conversation; some carried by the wind, others by the insecurity repressing her psyche.
“How do we know this isn’t a trick? What if the Cardies have run out of slaves, and this is some ploy to bring us back?”
“The message came from Starfleet.”
“Yeah… like those spoonheads have never faked a subspace message before.”
“Our resistance sources say it’s true: the Cardassian vessels are withdrawing.”
“Yeah, and the Starfleet ships are taking their place. I’m sure they’ll be subjugating our people before the dust of the last Occupation has settled.”
“Starfleet isn’t like that…”
“I was alive when the Cardassians came. They didn’t start out like this either.”
“You must have faith, brother. The Prophets will protect us…”
“Right, like they’ve protected our kinsfolk back home.”
“The Prophets allowed many of us to escape. They read our pagh. They know we are not an aggressive people.”
“Right. Which explains why they allowed us to be repressed, and why they did not strike down the Cardassians themselves.”
“Brother, our faith defines us. How can you hope to return home, a man of the cloth, and preach about Prophets whose Will you question?”
“I don’t. The d’jarra system is dead. I can do what I wish now.”
“Aly!” The voice of her mother distracted Alyene’s attention away from her consideration of the Vedek’s discussion.
“What?” she said, tossing the rest of her things into the cargo box, and slamming the lid shut.
“Our transport is here. We have to go!”
---
The Tilora family had been of the Mi'tino d’jarra, which had largely consisted of wealthy landowners. When they’d fled to Valo III, they’d had considerably more resources than most of their peers, and Tilora Faelin had enough business acumen to live conservatively and frugally. He and has wife had gone back to school, and obtained degrees in neuroscience. Their practicality had allowed them to live where their Bajoran peers merely survived, though they endured criticism for not sharing more of what they had with others less fortunate.
They were the lucky ones, and they knew if. But rather than waste resources on Bajoran “beggars” who were content to grovel instead of making a life for themselves, they focused on forging the strongest familial bonds they could. Of their 11 children, 10 had survived past infancy, and each child was pushed hard to succeed. Tilora Alyene, the youngest, was no exception.
Alyene pressed her nose against the transparent aluminum window of the Federation transport. The PADD in her lap had a map of Bajor on it, and she looked down at it from time to time. “This doesn’t look the same at all,” she said. Where the map indicated cities, only smoke plumes remained. Lush areas with numerous lakes had been turned to deserts.
Faelin nodded, too shocked by the horrors that their home planet had endured to speak.
“You said Bennikar, right?” the human pilot said from the cockpit as the shuttle began its descent.
“Yes,” Faelin said. Even from their altitude, he could that there was little that remained. He looked over at Alyene, who was giving him a wide-eyed stare. “The Tilora family has lived in Bennikar ever since the beginning of recorded history,” he said.
Alyene grinned, but her mirth was forced. “Will I get to meet Grandmother and Grandfather Tilora soon?”
Faelin looked over to where his wife and the rest of his children were sleeping, before turning his attention back to Alyene. “Aly… the Cardassians… they did bad things to many Bajorans.”
“They killed them, or tortured them, or turned them into slaves,” she responded precociously.
“Where did you…” Faelin started, but then realized that Alyene was a clever girl, and one prone to eavesdropping on adult conversations. He sighed heavily, then nodded.
“So they’re all dead.”
“Most likely, yes.”
“The smoke is too thick here,” the pilot said. “Can we transport you down?”
“Yes,” Faelin said, though his tone suggested that he was regretting even coming to Bajor in the first place.
Alyene stood up, and began to wake her siblings. A few minutes later, the Tilora family had been transported down to the planet’s surface. Alyene looked around, then coughed. Everywhere she could see was either red dust or black smoke, and neither was particularly breathable.
“Aly, cover your nose with your shirt,” her older brother Taran said, and the red-haired girl quickly complied.
“Come on,” Faelin said. “The city is this way.”
They trudged along in silence for the 3 klicks that separated them from their destination, but though Alyene said nothing, her mind was racing. She wondered why they’d returned to Bajor when Valo III was their home. She feared that the Vedek had been right, and there were no Prophets… which meant nothing was protecting them.
Perhaps it was just how overwhelmed she was, or how fatigued, but Alyene found that notion oddly comforting. Her eyes widened as she saw something off in the distance, a grey-black spire that seemed to spear the very heavens above. Faelin saw it too, and he stopped suddenly.
“What is it Faelin?” Aly’s mother asked. To prevent losing any of the children in the dust storm, she’d taken up the rear.
“Nothing,” he said, as he began walking again. He knew too well just who had built that structure… and it wasn’t Cardassians. It was their Bajoran slaves.
“It’s so big!” Alyene exclaimed, as she yanked her hand from where it was held by her father. She ran off towards it, coughing as she went. The buildings on Valo III were largely one story high, and she was excited to see all the sights that Bajor had to offer.
Faelin increased his speed to run after Alyene, fearing she would end up in one of the famous Cardassian booby traps, but she was far faster than he was. “Aly!”
As Alyene closed in on the structure, she found that it was surrounded by a fence of dark metal. She frowned, as it stood between her and the building she was so curious about. Wondering if she could climb the fence, she looked up, then shrieked as her eyes met two clouded, unblinking ones.
As Faelin caught up to his daughter, he found the source of her fear; for atop each fencepost was the disembodied head of a Bajoran.
Sometime in late 2369
The whispers had spread through the refugee camps of Valo III like wildfire. And though the news they carried was bright enough to warm the cockles of even the darkest Bajoran hearts, there was hesitation. As Tilora Alyene packed up the few possessions she’d acquired in her nine years of life, she heard the darker chatter from the town Vedeks, and it wormed its way into the deepest recesses of her subconscious, breeding nightmares that left the remainder of her family perplexed.
By day, the conversations replayed themselves over and over in her mind, distracting her from her studies, and leaving her the victim of several prylar’s wrath. But now there were no classes for Alyene. There was only packing, and wisps of conversation; some carried by the wind, others by the insecurity repressing her psyche.
“How do we know this isn’t a trick? What if the Cardies have run out of slaves, and this is some ploy to bring us back?”
“The message came from Starfleet.”
“Yeah… like those spoonheads have never faked a subspace message before.”
“Our resistance sources say it’s true: the Cardassian vessels are withdrawing.”
“Yeah, and the Starfleet ships are taking their place. I’m sure they’ll be subjugating our people before the dust of the last Occupation has settled.”
“Starfleet isn’t like that…”
“I was alive when the Cardassians came. They didn’t start out like this either.”
“You must have faith, brother. The Prophets will protect us…”
“Right, like they’ve protected our kinsfolk back home.”
“The Prophets allowed many of us to escape. They read our pagh. They know we are not an aggressive people.”
“Right. Which explains why they allowed us to be repressed, and why they did not strike down the Cardassians themselves.”
“Brother, our faith defines us. How can you hope to return home, a man of the cloth, and preach about Prophets whose Will you question?”
“I don’t. The d’jarra system is dead. I can do what I wish now.”
“Aly!” The voice of her mother distracted Alyene’s attention away from her consideration of the Vedek’s discussion.
“What?” she said, tossing the rest of her things into the cargo box, and slamming the lid shut.
“Our transport is here. We have to go!”
---
The Tilora family had been of the Mi'tino d’jarra, which had largely consisted of wealthy landowners. When they’d fled to Valo III, they’d had considerably more resources than most of their peers, and Tilora Faelin had enough business acumen to live conservatively and frugally. He and has wife had gone back to school, and obtained degrees in neuroscience. Their practicality had allowed them to live where their Bajoran peers merely survived, though they endured criticism for not sharing more of what they had with others less fortunate.
They were the lucky ones, and they knew if. But rather than waste resources on Bajoran “beggars” who were content to grovel instead of making a life for themselves, they focused on forging the strongest familial bonds they could. Of their 11 children, 10 had survived past infancy, and each child was pushed hard to succeed. Tilora Alyene, the youngest, was no exception.
Alyene pressed her nose against the transparent aluminum window of the Federation transport. The PADD in her lap had a map of Bajor on it, and she looked down at it from time to time. “This doesn’t look the same at all,” she said. Where the map indicated cities, only smoke plumes remained. Lush areas with numerous lakes had been turned to deserts.
Faelin nodded, too shocked by the horrors that their home planet had endured to speak.
“You said Bennikar, right?” the human pilot said from the cockpit as the shuttle began its descent.
“Yes,” Faelin said. Even from their altitude, he could that there was little that remained. He looked over at Alyene, who was giving him a wide-eyed stare. “The Tilora family has lived in Bennikar ever since the beginning of recorded history,” he said.
Alyene grinned, but her mirth was forced. “Will I get to meet Grandmother and Grandfather Tilora soon?”
Faelin looked over to where his wife and the rest of his children were sleeping, before turning his attention back to Alyene. “Aly… the Cardassians… they did bad things to many Bajorans.”
“They killed them, or tortured them, or turned them into slaves,” she responded precociously.
“Where did you…” Faelin started, but then realized that Alyene was a clever girl, and one prone to eavesdropping on adult conversations. He sighed heavily, then nodded.
“So they’re all dead.”
“Most likely, yes.”
“The smoke is too thick here,” the pilot said. “Can we transport you down?”
“Yes,” Faelin said, though his tone suggested that he was regretting even coming to Bajor in the first place.
Alyene stood up, and began to wake her siblings. A few minutes later, the Tilora family had been transported down to the planet’s surface. Alyene looked around, then coughed. Everywhere she could see was either red dust or black smoke, and neither was particularly breathable.
“Aly, cover your nose with your shirt,” her older brother Taran said, and the red-haired girl quickly complied.
“Come on,” Faelin said. “The city is this way.”
They trudged along in silence for the 3 klicks that separated them from their destination, but though Alyene said nothing, her mind was racing. She wondered why they’d returned to Bajor when Valo III was their home. She feared that the Vedek had been right, and there were no Prophets… which meant nothing was protecting them.
Perhaps it was just how overwhelmed she was, or how fatigued, but Alyene found that notion oddly comforting. Her eyes widened as she saw something off in the distance, a grey-black spire that seemed to spear the very heavens above. Faelin saw it too, and he stopped suddenly.
“What is it Faelin?” Aly’s mother asked. To prevent losing any of the children in the dust storm, she’d taken up the rear.
“Nothing,” he said, as he began walking again. He knew too well just who had built that structure… and it wasn’t Cardassians. It was their Bajoran slaves.
“It’s so big!” Alyene exclaimed, as she yanked her hand from where it was held by her father. She ran off towards it, coughing as she went. The buildings on Valo III were largely one story high, and she was excited to see all the sights that Bajor had to offer.
Faelin increased his speed to run after Alyene, fearing she would end up in one of the famous Cardassian booby traps, but she was far faster than he was. “Aly!”
As Alyene closed in on the structure, she found that it was surrounded by a fence of dark metal. She frowned, as it stood between her and the building she was so curious about. Wondering if she could climb the fence, she looked up, then shrieked as her eyes met two clouded, unblinking ones.
As Faelin caught up to his daughter, he found the source of her fear; for atop each fencepost was the disembodied head of a Bajoran.
