Post 215: After the Rain

Stardate:70608.1000
Title: After the Rain
Author: N’Dura
Scene: Bajor
Time: Current

The flood waters that came from the incessant rain coursed down the unpaved streets of the Bajoran village. Well, it was more of a town than a village, nestled between rolling hills that would have been picturesque if not for the scene of devastation that lay waste on the land.

They waded knee deep from house to house, searching for survivors, the injured, and the dead.

By sunrise, the team, exhausted and running on fumes, N’Dura, Fox, and Jariel and his translator, Marianne Rogers, sat on a field stone fence, munching rations. The sun, on the horizon began to through streaks of crimson against the azure sky. Water levels were receding, but that didn’t make things better – it made them worse.

And hopeless.

“Oh … God.”

She stood, standing on the fence to see further. And as far as her eyes could see, the drowned, bloated bodies of dozens of Bajorans lay strewn in fields. They could not unrun the flash flood that came with the hurricane winds. Mowed down by the winds, the water came next, rushing over them.

It was no longer a rescue mission, it was a recovery mission.

Lt. Fox Margolies stood up and gazed from behind N’Dura. She gasped and slowly dropped to one knee. “So many… “ her voice drifted off.

[[Ahn-kay ya, ay-ya vasu. Coh-ma-ra, di-nay-ya.. Ahn-kay ya, ay-ya vasu. Coh-ma-ra, di-nay-ya..]]

It was the voice of Rogers, repeating the Bajoran death chant that Jariel was signing. She seemed almost in a trance.

“Rogers, shut up!” N’Dura barked. Marianne nearly jumped, scared silent at the harsh tone of the Klingon’s command. Fox shot the Klingon a reproachful look that more or less said 'don't shoot the messenger...'

Then turning towards the Vedek come Gardener, she spoke more civilly.

“Jariel, there is nothing we can do for these people.”

This time Rogers had gathered her wits and began to translate the Vedek’s furiously signed words.

[[Maybe not their physical selves… but their spiritual selves… We cannot leave them…]]

The intensity of his words, and the conviction he conveyed was not in his words, but emanated from his body language.

“The living need us more.”

[[NO.. they need you more.]] he argued.

The Klingon gazed at him, studying him really.

She wiped the rain from her face with one soaked sleeve. “Very well, you and Rogers may remain… “

“Fox, you ready?”

Margolies drained the hot tea from her thermos and spun back on the cap.

Taking a hard look at the twisted landscape, she fought back tears… and then she began to sing… as she lifted her backpack and swung it over her shoulder… it was a melancholy tune… but, still, it gave her the strength to put one foot in front of another… and to trudge after the Klingon… who had already turned her back on the dead.

Swing low, sweet chariot,Comin' for to carry me home;Swing low, sweet chariot,Comin' for to carry me home.

I looked over Jordan,And WHAT did I see,Comin' for to carry me home,A band of angels comin' after me,Comin' for to carry me home.

And as they left the scene to return to the base camp, they could here the melody echoed from the voice of Marianne Rogers, as she repeated the Bajoran chant.

[[Meek rak dorrah Pah-wran...
Yelim cha ono kosst amojan...
shay ta-hel ter-rah no'vala de-ram...
aka'lu far che...]]

to be con’t…

Lt. Cmdr. N’Dura
Chief of Security
USS Independence