The Battle of Betazed - Charlotte Douglas [30]
Dal no longer cherished any hope for survival. Moset’s assistants had transferred one Betazoid after another from the pods to the laboratory tables. Dal had been painfully aware of the agonies they’d suffered there. None of them had ever returned to their pods.
Now he wished he’d volunteered to be the first chosen from his group. In the beginning they had died quickly, but Moset must have learned in the interim how to keep his subjects alive longer, although the result of his experiments was always the same—death.
Not all Moset’s subjects had died, however. Dal was aware of the presence of others scattered throughout the station, but most were in a deeper state of stasis than Dal’s companions had been and were unable to communicate. Only his highly developed telepathy allowed him to sense the ones that were still alive.
Knowing his inescapable fate, lying paralyzed day after day, week after week, while his fellow Betazoids died under Moset’s painful ministrations, had been its own kind of torture. Not only had Dal had to listen to the screams, he’d had to feel their terrible fear and acute pain. Dal felt as if Moset snuffed out his life over and over again.
His only hope of escape was a speedy death.
He attempted to focus his thoughts away from the gruesome activities of the lab, to console himself with memories of his childhood, a happy time free of worry and pain. He remembered his first glimpse of his wife Lorella during his days at the university. Their favorite meeting place had been the botanical garden, filled with fragrant flowering plants and exotic off-world greenery. Later, he’d enjoyed his assignment as a science teacher at his first post in the Northern School District.
He worried now over what had happened to Lorella and the children. Were they even still alive?
He and his family had survived the initial invasion and had immediately joined the resistance. The Jem’Hadar had captured him while he’d been on a reconnaissance mission. They’d stunned him and detained him in a holding cell until they’d gathered enough prisoners to ship to the station. At least, thank the gods, his wife and children had escaped his fate. Moset and his assistants, however, had often discussed among themselves the fact that the resistance had been destroyed, so Dal doubted that any of his family still lived.
A weak mental whimper emanated from the mind of a woman who lay strapped to Moset’s table, and Dal’s nerve endings burned with empathy for her horrible pain. He hoped, if his family were dead, that they’d died quickly. Some things were worse than death.
He’d often wished he could emulate the selfless attitude of the Jem’Hadar. Along with Betazoids, these soldiers also served as subjects of Moset’s deadly experiments. The Jem’Hadar had no fear. Their only thoughts were to serve the Founders, and apparently they had no qualms over dying for their cause, whether in battle or under Moset’s knife.
As hard as he’d tried, Dal could find no purpose to Moset’s experiments. He knew enough science to hazard many guesses, but none seemed reasonable. Of one thing, however, Dal was certain. Moset was insane, and that very insanity made it impossible to divine the doctor’s intent.
Moset and his assistants entered the laboratory, signaling the beginning of another round of tests—and probably the beginning of Dal’s last hours, as well. He faced the prospect stoically. Days ago, his fear had given way to resignation. Dying on one of those surgical tables would be his fate.
An assistant approached Dal’s capsule and manipulated the controls. In a sparkle of light, Dal was