God's Hand 3
By Erin

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Ezri began to breathe slowly, as she established a steady, constant rhythm and her heartbeat began to lower itself down to normal.

All the while, she was concentrating on her breathing, she began to slowly raise her hands. At the highest point she could reach, she twisted her arms so that her right cuff was aimed at the metal floor.

Just as slowly as she had raised them, she lowered them towards the floor, stopping before they hit the floor. She was taking no chances that any metal on metal sound would bring that huge, ugly guard running in with her phaser blazing.

She raised her arms again, forcing them up higher than before, ignoring the stilettos of pain that shot from her hands to her shoulders.

Ezri took a final, deep breath…

And drove the handcuffs – the right cuff – against the floor with all the strength she could muster.

There was a faint snap, that she could barely hear over the ringing sound in her ears, and the right cuff popped open, just as Kira had promised.

Ezri bellowed in triumph, a Klingon war cry both Curzon and Jadzia had used in their own conquests.

The doors then slid open, just as Lela said, and the guard charged in, her massive frame blocking what little light filtered through.

"I said ‘keep quiet’!" she bellowed as she pulled her weapon from her hip and pointed it at the Trill. Ezri, her blood surging with adrenaline, spat on the guard’s boot.

The guard fired, and Ezri’s universe spiraled into the small red dot at the end of the blaster’s muzzle. Then it all when black.

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She floated back to consciousness, surrounded by voices.

"We can help Damar," Ezri croaked.

(Of course,) Lela soothed.

Ezri sat, stretching her legs in front of her. While she was unconscious, someone had turned on the lights. Three parallel glowtubes ran the length of the ceiling. She held her hands up in front of her to study the damage done by her handiwork.

Her right hand had livid purple and red bruises around her wrists. She could only feel a dull, bone-deep ache, but she didn’t to risk any pain by letting it touch something. Her left hand was much less bruised, and the handcuff hung on her wrists like a post-modern bracelet, the right cuff swinging limply.

On an impulse, she slid it back into place, and waited for it to slip out. But it didn’t. The cuff only came out after she gave it a sharp tug.

Ezri grinned, wide and feral. "Brilliant."

"Now that the handcuffs are off, what’s step two?"

"That first thing is easy," she said as she tapped on the release button for the leg restraints.

"I don’t think Dukat had anything to do with that. He might be insane, but he’s not stupid. I bet it was the guard. She doesn’t strike me as being very bright."

"Yeah?"

"Okay, fine," she said, as she laid back down and snapped the3 leg restraints around her ankles.

(How are you hands?) Lela asked.

"I…not bad. They still ache like hell, but it’s not as bad as it was before I was stunned."

"For once."

(Oh, ha ha,) Joran snapped. (I almost forgot to laugh.)

Ezri rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, when a scream, faint but sharps, cut through the air like a knife. She froze suddenly, her breath caught in her throat, and her heart skipped a beat. "OhFirstJoinedWhatWasThat?" she stammered.

"But…I …I have to help him!"

"They’re torturing him!"

Ezri bit her lower lip as she ignored the lightness in her sinuses, the stinging at the corners of her eyes, the quavering of her jaw. "We can’t just sit here and do nothing!"

"But-"

"But why?" she cried. "Why him? Why me?"

And that was when the door to Ezri’s dark, dank cell opened to admit the guard, accompanied by another Bajoran, carrying something between them. Ezri, blinded by the light streaming in from outside the cell, couldn’t see anything more than a lump being dropped on the floor.

The guards then left, and she took that opportunity to study the thing on the floor beside her.

The sight that greeted her made her heart freeze.

There, lying in a beaten, bloodied heap beside her, was Damar. He was completely naked, and covered in more cuts and bruises that Ezri thought possible to inflict to a humanoid body.

His back, buttocks, and thighs were covered in needle-thin, vertical cuts, so close together they made it look as if the skin had bee stripped completely bare. A distant, rational pat of her announced that those came from a whip, and not a very good one at that.

His chest was covered in an uneven pattern of bruising that Ezri knew came from being struck repeatedly with a small, blunt object…like a fist. This was further evidenced by what had been done to Damar’s face: His left eye was swollen shut, his nose was broken, and his upper lip was split in two places.

Seeing the damage, she bit her lower lip and chastised herself for being so whiney about the pain in her hands. She couldn’t image what he had suffered… Whip marks crosshatched his arms and legs, and they were also freckled with dark spots she recognized as burn marks.

And then she saw something that made her lean in much closer…A thread of blood trickled down his inner thigh –one of the few areas left untouched – that didn’t seem to originate from the whip marks.

She traced it up along his thigh with her finger and felt a shiver of revulsion churn her insides when she reached the source. Blood was trickling from his anus.

"Oh, First Joined, he’s bleeding internally! Is…is he sick…what…what’s going on…?"

"What?"

"Dukat…" she spat.

"Oh, poor Damar," Ezri said as she wrapped her arms around him, trying vainly not to touch any of the bruised areas. "What can we do to help him?"

He opened his eyes slowly, and blinked at her, barely stirring in her arms. "Lieu…Lieutenant?"

"Ezri," she corrected gently. "I’m Ezri."

He looked at her, and blinked as realization struck. "I am Kheiel, then."

He then closed his eyes, as his body became limp in her arms and his breathing slowed slightly.

"Da – Kheiel?"

(Ezri! Let him sleep!) Lela hissed. (He needs it as much – if not more – than you did earlier.)

Ezri traced the ridges that trailed down Damar’s shoulders, carefully laid him on his right side on the floor. She scooted away, and sat, staring at the broad expanse of his back, the open welts glistening in the glowtubes’ light.

She then shuddered, suddenly and violently, and turned away in disgust.

(It’s only normal,) Audrid soothed.

"What? The fact that I’m fascinated by another man’s pain? That’s normal?!"

"Like an oek’he flying straight into an open flame?"

"It’s…it’s just…it’s so horrible."

(The simple fact that you realize this is a great comfort to me. If you were not horrified by what had been done to Damar…)

"Oh, stop moralizing, Curzon!"

"Shut up."

Ezri peeled off her jacket, balled it under Damar, and then carefully eased him onto his back, so that he might lay on something other than the cold, hard floor.

"Why isn’t she bleeding?" she asked suddenly. The whip welts still hadn’t scabbed over, and they were ‘dry’. In fact, the only blood flowing on his body was the thin trickle from his anus, and even that had begun to dry. Considering the wounds that Dukat had inflicted upon him, Damar should have been slick with his own blood. It...it was almost as if…

Ezri was nearly sick at the very thought.

It was as if someone had carefully and lovingly wiped the blood from Damar’s body. She forced down her mounting nausea. What…What kind of perversion could have driven that monster to clean Damar’s wounds but not to heal them. And at that, her resolve strengthened. She was now even more determined to escape before Dukat had a chance to hurt her…or to hurt Damar once again.

He will die, a small, rational voice inside of her said. It was the voice of her training, the voice of the woman she had wanted to be before she had been joined. If Dukat tortures Damar again, he will die.

She glanced involuntarily around the room, and then back at Damar. "I can’t just sit here and do nothing!" she shouted.

"I…Yeah, I guess. But sometime it’s difficult to accept that the only thing I can do is just sit back and wait. I’m so used to…rushing in and doing stuff. It’s what I learnt at the academy and at home.

Lela gave her the symbiotic equivalent of a shrug. (In this case, dear, you don’t have to sit back and wait. You can go to sleep. In fact, I’d rather recommend it.)

"Lela, I’ve been unconscious twice. I don’t need to sleep."

"Why?"

"He’s a reptiloid; I thought they slept when they were cold."

"You don’t know anything, Curzon."

"Shut up."

(Did you hear yourself, Ezri? You need to sleep.)

"Fine."

She kicked off the leg restraints and laid down on the floor beside Damar. Since anyone who saw her curled up beside next to him would know she had escaped her bonds, it was no longer necessary to keep up the charade.

Ezri snuggled into the crook between arm and abdomen, her head on his chest and her arm stretched across his belly.

Moments later – as Lela had silently predicted – she was sound asleep.

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Moments – or hours – later, in a dreamstate where the perception of time was but a finely crafted illusion, Damar’s arm snaked around Ezri, almost as if by it’s own accord and cradles her tightly against his body.

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Ezri’s sleep was not so peaceful

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"Sil’scin!" she gasped, awakening with the word on her lips.

Damar brushed a sweaty lock of hair from her forehead and stared at her, his eyes wide, blue, and full of concern. They rose, almost as one, to a seated position, and she collapsed against him, her breath hot heavy, and labored. "A nightmare," she said, as an answer to his unasked question. "Oh, First Joined, a nightmare!" She recalled none of it, save for an overwhelming dread, but it was all she could think to say.

His brow furrowed. "What ever it was, you were thrashing around rather animatedly." A pause, that seemed to draw out like a knife. "Ezri, I didn’t know you could speak Kardasi?"

"I…I can’t. Was I speaking aloud?"

"Yes. You were having a conversation with a man named Iloja about, well, a poem, I believe."

"A poem! That’s what it was."

"What was?"

She traced her fingers along his jawline. "My…my dream. I was on Vulcan, with Iloja of Prim. Well, not me, but Dax. Tobin," she amended, touching her belly with a single fingertip. "He was telling me about a poem he had just written called ‘Sil’scin’, and he was just getting around to explaining what the title meant when it just…stopped. Tobin probably forgot the rest of the conversation." She laughed. "I have so many memory fragments floating around in my own head, it’s sometimes a wonder I can remember my own name. And there are times when I can’t."

"I remember that poem. I had to write an essay on it when I was twelve."

"What does it mean?"

"What?"

"Sil’scin."

"The poem, or the word?"

"Both, please."

He sighed. "Well, the poem was about a woman who was murdered in a most vicious manner. Somehow – it isn’t really specified –she’s reborn as a teenager, barely into puberty. She – he – then tracks down the murderer and strangles him with his own hair. Quite brutal, even for Prim."

"I know. I warned him about that. I think it might have been Vulcan that did it to him, though. The land and the sky were always as red as blood."

"Interesting. Well, sil’scin – the word – is very, very old, before Kardasi came into existence. I think it might actually be Khetani, or even late Hebitian. Translated literally, it meant ‘Hand of the Gods’. It designates the ones that are handpicked to exact divine judgement. It is said that they are the victims of crimes, their souls reborn into adult hosts, forced by fate to confront their killer though a series of great coincidences."

"That’s what he meant!"

"Ezri, what are you talking about?"

"Kheiel, I am a sil’scin. I am the adult reincarnation of Jadzia Dax, meant to exact vengeance against the one who slaughtered her in cold blood." She looked up at him, eyes wide and hopeful. "Would Dukat believe this?"

"I…I’m not sure. He’s changed, that at least is obvious, but I’m not certain it has made him superstitious…"

"We can at least try."

"I’m not arguing that. He’ll surely listen, as it is quite an original argument, but as to whether he would believe it…"

"Would you?"

"Perhaps, but I am more susp – superstitious than Dukat. His people abandoned their beliefs when the state declared itself atheist. My people never quite got around to it."

"I heard of that." She paused, as she went over the last snippet of conversation in her mind. "Kheiel, what did you mean when you said he’d changed?"

"He’s quite mad, that I’m sure of. He…he hears things that aren’t there. He thinks they’re gods, descended from above."

He winced suddenly, his face distorted in a mask of pain. Ezri stared up at him, mouth agape, and pulled way when she realized it was she who was causing him such pain. She had touched his wounds, and while he had been able to ignore the pain for a short time, he had his limits. And he had reached them.

Ezri licked her lips, her mouth dry. "Lay down," Ezri muttered as she helped him to the floor.

(He’ll be all right,) Curzon reassured. (I promise you.)

"He was tortured!" she cried. "How can he be all right?"

(What makes you think it was Dukat?)

"Yes, he would."

"He would. This is personal."

"Not what?"

"How’d you know?"

Despite herself, despite the situation, despite everything, Ezri collapsed on the floor beside Damar and began to laugh hysterically.

Damar was watching her, a quizzical look in his eyes. "Are you all right, Ezri?"

"No. No, I’m not," she aid, sobering. "You just sleep. Let me worry, Kheiel."

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Exactly six hours after the two guards had dragged Damar back to the cell, they returned.

Ezri had spent much of that time trying to think of a plan of escape. Her own combadge had been taken from her when she had fist been captured, and she didn’t see how she could steal one from the guards. No matter how skilled Tobin was at sleight of hand, she doubted he could show her how to lift anything from the Bajorans.

There was a small grate set in the far corner of the ceiling, but it was far too narrow, even for Ezri.

"We’re trapped," she said glumly.

(Yes, but-) Curzon had begun before he was interrupted when the doors grunted open and two Bajorans stormed into the room, heading for Damar. She knew why they were here.

She knew where they would take him.

She knew what would be done to him there.

And after that, she knew he would die.

Ezri sat up and faced them, with a cold, steely glare Curzon had perfected when dealing with Klingons – and other stubborn species – so many years ago.

Both guards shot her derisive glances, did not slow down, did not stop, but kept walking towards Kheiel as if following a divine path. Anger and fury mounting in her like the inexorable path of molten magma in a volcano, she leapt to her feet, and with long, shaky strides, stepped between the guards and Kheiel.

"No!" she snarled, and this time, they did stop.

But it was only to exchange glances before starting anew.

"No," she repeated. "You can’t have him. You won’t. You’ll have to kill me first."

The two guards laughed and the redhead built like a mountain said, "won’t be hard. You’re a little frail."

"I once killed a man with my bare hands. If you come closer, I’ll kill the bot of you, as well." Ezri would not be able to, but Dax had no such objections. The symbiont had spent many years, in most of her hosts, learning various methods of self-defense that were as quick and as bloodless as possible. In the five months that Ezri had been joined with Dax, she had spent many hours acquainting herself with those skill, and for the first time they would prove useful.

The guards looked at each other, at her, and then left.

Ezri watched them leave, and collapsed to the floor beside Damar.

"Th-thanks Audrid."

Audrid gave a small smile - or Ezri thought she did – and continued. (Dukat’s a Cardassian, and they are more curious than a little baby exploring the world for the first time. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know how you know Damar, and his curiosity would kill him if he didn’t bother finding out.)

"You’re brilliant," Ezri said with a low groan, her throat dry. "But you’re completely nuts. That’s what she was going to say."

The cell doors slid open again and the behemoth female Bajoran stepped in. "Come," she said to Ezri, gesturing her weapon at the corridor.

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A few minutes’ walk down dark, identical corridors, walking, walking, walking, until Ezri no longer knew where she had been, the guard came to a halt in front of a set of doors. Ezri knew, at that moment, tha5t she was being brought before Dukat. To talk or to be tortured, she knew not. Nor did she care.

The doors slid open silently, and Ezri strode in without even a glance at the guard. For a moment, she thought she was in the wrong room. These were living quarters.

She glanced around for a moment, and then she saw him. Dukat was kneeling in front of an altar, his hands upturned in prayer, and his form bathed in gentle starlight.

‘Monster, monster, monster’ was all he mind cried at her, and even if she had never been joined to Dax, she would have known it just as well, for his exploits were nearly legend within the Federation. And yet…

And yet, he seemed so at peace, kneeling there. There was a serenity about him that even the symbiont could only dream of.

‘He killed Jadzia,’ something snarled inside of her.

I know, she replied, and took a step towards him. "Dukat."

He looked up. "Ah, hello. I was looking forward to speaking to you, but I never expected it to be so soon. You see, Yuna,"

"Damar wasn’t very forthcoming when it came to you. In fact, he was rather closed-mouthed, and much more than usual. So, tell me. Why are you here?"

"I was captured," she snarled. "By you."

Dukat laughed softly. Hands clasped behind his back, he strolled towards her. "I don’t blame you for your bitterness, but I do hope you can understand that I only did what I did to protect my people. You and Damar were a threat, a threat that had to be dealt with."

"is that why you tortured him, then? I fail to see how a freighter can be much of a threat to a space station. Or was it for a more personal reason, Dukat? Why don’t you just admit that you did it for Ziyal."

"Now how did you – No. It wasn’t for Ziyal at all. There is no way I could honor her memory properly if I tortured a man in her name. Besides, I’ve forgiven Damar for that a long time ago. He only did it because he had to, and I understand that now."

"Then why?"

He looked at her strangely, as if she were a slow child, unable to grasp a simple concept. "For the reasons I told you when I took the two of you hostage: you invaded a holy place, and for that you must be punished."

"I don’t get that – what do you mean, holy place? Empok Nor is just an abandoned space station."

"Ah, but it is much more than that now. This," he motioned at the walls, obviously meaning to encompass the entire station, "is the first place where we will not be persecuted for our beliefs…"

"It is the first place we have been able to come together as a community. You see, Yuna, how can there be anywhere more holy than this?"

But do as Lela said: let him talk. "No. No, I can’t," she said meekly.

"But we aren’t here to discuss that, now are we? Tell me, Yuna, who are you? What were you and Dukat doing lurking in that nebula?"

She saw no deception in his features, only simple curiosity. He believed what he was saying. But that meant…

"Yuna? I’m waiting."

"I’m sorry. I was just gathering my thoughts."

"Now. Let’s star from the beginning, then, Yuna – "

"I’m not Yuna."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My name is not Yuna. Damar lied to you."

Dukat let out a sharp laugh, and stepped closer. "What are you talking about?"

"He lied to you. You whipped him, you burned him, you beat him, you raped him. He didn’t break. He lied to you."

"That’s impossible!"

"Is it?"

"he couldn’t have lied, even if he wanted to!"

"Oh, really? Well, how do you explain this? My name is not Yuna. Never was. Never will be. I’m Ezri Ti – Ezri Dax."

Dukat’s eyes widened, and he paled slightly, but Ezri still pressed on. "Damar brought me here to exact justice upon you, and I’ll tell you why.

"You recognized my name, I know you did; I saw the look in your eyes. I was there when you killed her. I was there, because I was her!"

"What?"

"I was Jadzia Dax. And I still am Jadzia."

"Then…then, you must be…"

"I am the sil’scin of Jadzia Dax, here to avenge her death." She began to scan the room unobtrusively, searching for something she might use as a weapon.

"You can’t kill me!"

"You should have thought of that before you slaughtered me."

"You’re not Dax," he said suddenly.

"Yes, I am. I remember one of the last things I saw before I died was you, bending over and saying that you never intended me any harm."

"How will you kill me, then?" he snarled defiantly.

"Whoever said I would kill you now. And don’t think of it Dukat," she said, at the look in his eyes. "if you kill me, you’ll just have two people haunting you…"

There! Lying casually on a table was a simply knife beside a plate. She took the few steps that separated her from it and wrapped her fingers around the hilt.

While he was distracted…five paces separated them…

Curzon whispered ‘there’, and she buried the knife in his chest. Dukat collapsed to the floor, screaming and clawing at her.

"Stop that," she said, and slapped him.

The doors then slid open, and the guards charged in, their weapons drawn. It took them only a moment to absorb the scene and realize what had happened. "You killed him!" the redhead screamed.

Ezri looked up at her and calmly said, "No. He’s not dead. He might be, if the inclination strikes. At the moment, the blade is in his lungs. It hurts, but it’s not life threatening. But if I put any weight on it is this direction, like, say, you phaser me and I fall on it, it’ll tear open his heart, and then he will die."

"Do…do as she says," Dukat gurgled.

"Now give me your phasers. We’re going to let my friend out. A trade, if you will. Dukat for Damar."

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It was only a short walk form Dukat’s quarters to the cell, to the transporter. Ezri, Damar, and Dukat were beamed to the Ghriah’s bridge.

There, Ezri plotted a course outside the station’s weapons range. Once far enough from Empok Nor, she beamed Dukat back.

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Damar returned from sick bay, his wounds healed, to find Ezri sitting on the floor by the captain’s chair, her head buried in her hands.

"What’s wrong?"

She looked up, startled, and wiped at her eyes. "I’m sorry…this is all my fault. We were supposed to capture Dukat, but we didn’t and you got tortured instead."

He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. "No. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be dead."

"That’s what they say, too. But I just don’t…"

He then silenced her the only way he could think of: he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Her lips were as soft as she was, and just as sweet.

She tightened her arms around his neck and opened her mouth. It was like a breath of arctic air. He slipped in his tongue, reveling in her exotic taste.

Damar broke contact.

"Here?"

"Yes."

Only moments and they were both down to skin. One look at Damar’s naked form, and Ezri smiled.

"What is it?"

"It’s so pretty," she said, and leaned over to kiss the head of his penis, which had already begun to rise. "I had one like that once."

"I know. When you were a man."

"Yeah, well, that too. But I once had sex with a Cardassian who had a penis like that, although not as big."

He stifled a laugh, and kissed her again. Her arms around his neck, she pulled him to the floor.

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Hours later, they laid entwined in each other’s limbs, their bodies slick with sweat, watching the stars streak by on the viewscreen.

"What about Weyoun?"

"What about him? This is none of his concern."

"Those kids he was going to…"

"I can handle him. One of the wonderful things about clones is that they don’t remember what the last one did without a particular implant from their predecessor’s brain. A…transporter accident should take care of it."

She laughed, and kissed his chest.

I know, Jadzia, I know, Ezri replied, suddenly melancholic. I wish it weren’t. I…I just wish this could go on forever. This moment.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him once again. His hands trailed down her, brushing her spots, and he pulled her towards him.

~ The End ~

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