Marcole stayed awake that night. She could function on little or no sleep; had since she was a tiny child. It was inbred into her species, an alien race native to the Delta Quadrant. Her ears listened to Kathryn’s breathing, making sure that her friend was truly all right.

A heavy sigh cut through the silence of the night and a shuddering breath. Marcole wasn’t sure about the last one. It could have been a sob. Only Kathryn knew for sure what it was and Marcole wasn’t about to ask. She’d seen injuries like Kathryn’s before—the images preyed on her mind, had for what seemed like a lifetime.

There was a reason she looked after Kathryn like she did. Kathryn reminded Marcole of someone dear to her, someone closer to her then anyone else. Someone whose only crime had been to help another soul. A person who was frail and gentle on the outside and had a spitfire spirit on the inside.

Her twin, Elester.

Marcole, if she thought hard enough, could see Elester’s pretty face floating in the darkness, telling her to hold on just a while longer. She sighed herself and turned over on her side, putting an arm under her head. Outside, she could hear the sound of the guards outside. They would talk and occasionally, burst into laughter. She thought they laughed at the workers expense. They didn’t eat the same food everyday, didn’t have holy blankets. They didn’t have to wear coarse outfits of clothes.

No, they didn’t have to suffer.

Kathryn turned again, her forehead creased, her body shaking. Marcole considered taking her to the makeshift medical area. The only thing stopping her was the fact that she’d be required to come back to the barracks, leaving Kathryn alone and injured. Marcole had known some who had been taken to the medical area and either came back looking worse then they went in, or they were subjected to experiments that results were only seen later. In the worst scenarios, women would go in and come out looking fine and sooner then later, show signs of pregnancy. No, Marcole would care for Kathryn herself.

Maybe it was retribution for what had happened with Elester. They hadn’t been identical, that was for sure. Where as Marcole was tall and skinny, Elester had been small and slender. Where Marcole had bright red hair, Elester’s had been a golden shade of blonde. They had different temperaments, but were close. When Elester had been brought to the camp, she did as she was told, kept her mouth shut and did her work. But inside, she was scared. When she could, she helped others who couldn’t do the hard labor. She’d been caught a few times, tortured like Kathryn.

One day, Elester disappeared from sight. No one knew what had happened to her, but stories floated about. Some had her being dragged away one night from the barracks, kicking and yelling. Whispers had reached Marcole’s ears about how Elester was working within the mines to help the most sickly and old and innocent escape the confines of the mines and to freedom. Other voices said she had become a lady, giving herself for nothing to men at a brothel. Marcole’s investigations had led nowhere until one day five years before.

Elester’s tattered and torn body had been found at one of the outer reaches of the mine she worked at now. She’d been beaten, starved, raped. The environment had played a grotesque part as well in the tale, burning the pale skin almost to the point of blackness. Marcole had not only lost her sister, but her will to follow the laws.

That image played itself over and over in her mind, haunting her dreams. The revulsion, each and every time, made her physically sick. Even now, a few years later, Marcole could still smell the stench of decaying flesh and the hideous appearance. Elester’s death angered Marcole. If, for nothing else, she wanted to find the bastards who had killed Elester—to make them pay for what they’d done.

She heard Kathryn move again. She knew the bruising would feel better within a day or so, but what worried her were the coiled burns and the lump at Kathryn’s skull. Those injuries were the worrisome. Marcole was also concerned that the bar had probably bruised, perhaps even cracked a few of Kathryn’s ribs. The skin had been rubbed off of Kathryn’s wrists from her restraints and there were a couple of cuts that Marcole was sure would end up infected.

But the coil burns—they were the most hideous injuries. Marcole had never heard of anyone receiving the coil torture after being beaten. That was unheard of; until now. It bothered Marcole to no end. Coil burns looked bad on the outside, but inside was a different story. It didn’t just mark the skin. The longer it was applied, the deeper the burn went. Marcole had seen skeletons with evidence of the coiled burns on their bleached bones.

Then there was the concussion. It, too, worried Marcole. She had no idea how long Kathryn had been out before she’d stumbled back into the barracks. Kathryn, Marcole thought, had absolutely no idea just how lucky she’d been.

Yet Marcole was angry with Kathryn. She kept fighting, disobeying. In many ways, Kathryn brought on her own punishment, but Marcole knew enough about Kathryn to know that was who she was. Years of training had made Kathryn what she was; that, Marcole was sure of.

There was another factor Marcole didn’t like. That of owner of the mine. She’d seen the transport three or four times since Kathryn and herself had arrived. Elester had told Marcole a few times of something similar and Marcole had even been brought to the owners attention. Marcole had preferred the harsh conditions of the mine to the existence she’d have if she left. Marcole had noticed that the woman, along with her overseer, would stare for the longest time at Kathryn and herself; but more at Kathryn. Marcole had told her half truths to keep the facts clouded.

Kathryn turned her head again, a soft moan escaping her mouth. Marcole got up silently and fetched some cold water and a couple of rags. She gently unfastened Kathryn’s dress and pulled it away from the offending burns. She bathed the burns yet again. Kathryn made no sound or movement that allowed Marcole to believe that Kathryn was aware of what she was doing. Marcole folded one rag and dipped it into the cool water. Wringing it out, she put it on the bump just behind Kathryn’s ear. She knew that it would feel better later, then if she hadn’t done anything.

“I promise you, Kathryn,” Marcole whispered into the night, “they’ll have to kill me before I let them do worse to you.” She looked through the broken window up into the moons of the planet. “They’ll have to kill me.”

**

Shalmon sat in the main room of his cabin, pondering over what he’d experienced today. For all intents and purposes, he’d only gone to Chakotay to tell him that trying to escape was pointless. The next thing he knew, he was learning about animal guides. He’d been surprised by his when they had finally gotten into the vision. Shalmon noted the amount of patience and care going into the vision quest.

The amount of patience Chakotay himself possessed. Shalmon thought that was a most incredible gift.

In the time he’d spent with Chakotay, he’d found a man with a deep respect for nature and her gifts. He respected the land; walking back, if he picked up something to examine, it went carefully back into the same place as it been picked up from.

Around him, were example of the same care. Though until this moment, Shalmon had not given it much thought. His late wife had taught herself to pick the blossoms that littered the hillsides, carefully clean it, and weave it together to make rugs that didn’t wear thin. Until this moment he hadn’t given much thought as to how he came by what he had, only that he had it. It was then he realized just how shallow he could—scratch that—actually was. He got up from his chair and picked up his cup of tepid tea.

He dumped the remainder into the sink and rinsed the cup. Shalmon looked through the paned window into the sunset. The colors mixed vibrantly.

“Look at the colors, Shalmon. A beautiful end to a glorious beginning. And to think, in a few hours, it begins again!” His wife would say. She would quit washing dishes at that point and drag her husband out the door. There, she would stand on the top step, the wind blowing her golden hair to the side. He’d move and stand two steps below. There, Roget would lean against her husband, her arms draped over his shoulders, her small breasts pressed into his back. Then they’d share the same breath and view and think similar thoughts.

Shalmon shook his head to clear it. It had been a long time since he had thought of the sunset as thus. Had thought about those nights when the two were almost inseparable. A smile graced his lips. A memory that he’d almost forgotten and swept aside.

He looked around the room, almost as if seeing it for the first time in his life. So much of Roget was here. Shalmon was sure if he closed his eyes and achieved the level of peace he’d found today, then he would be able to actually smell her scent, feel her breeze as she walked by him. He opened his eyes and smiled.

A small thought danced through his mind—the interruption earlier when Chakotay had been brought out of his meditative state. It was strange, watching him, listening for sound that only he could hear. He knew then what it was, a link to someone close to him, yet far away. Purely instinctive, and yet it made perfect sense to Shalmon. He’d heard the emotion in the younger mans voice as he spoke of this ‘Kathryn’.

Shalmon noted the way the mans faced transformed when he spoke of this woman. This ‘Kathryn’ must have been something—had some very impressive gifts. There was the way Chakotay had looked at the sky, like they were her eyes. Things that Shalmon, himself had done when in the midst of falling in love with Roget.

He stepped outside and leaned against the railing, watching the smoke rise from various cabins. In the distance, he saw the cabin Chakotay shared with three others. There, he saw the tall man outside, looking up into the sky.

To a life that no longer existed and to toward the east—where a woman named Kathryn was.

**

Marcole sat beside Kathryn, stroking her hair. She was certain that Kathryn was running a fever, but her own body temperature made it difficult to tell on others. For some reason, earlier when Kathryn began moving restlessly, stroking her hair had calmed her down. She’d rather make sure that Kathryn slept well instead of having her drag through the day. Marcole knew they’d think of Kathryn as lazy. That would cause further punishment.

Besides, a cramped wrist was a small sacrifice for a friend. She’d endure.

Kathryn turned her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. Taking the cloth from her neck, she dipped it again in the water, wrung it, reapplied. She’d debated more in the hours since she’d started this about taking her to the medical area. But she wasn’t going to risk it.

“Cha…ay,” Kathryn mumbled in her sleep. Marcole thought it was probably the other that had stood accused with her. Someone who meant the world to Kathryn.

“Shhh,” Marcole whispered quietly. “Keep your dreams, they’ll get you through this.” The gentle smile again graced Kathryn’s lips. Marcole sighed and looked out to see the sky becoming light. Dreams were the only thing worth holding onto here.

The only thing.