Devil in the sky, p.23
Devil in the Sky, page 23
“They’re energizing their weapons systems,” the Bajoran at the weapons console told her.
“Raise shields,” Dax ordered. “Prepare to drop out of warp. And prepare ready to hail DS9—we’re going to need help fast.”
The Cardassians hadn’t been fooled for long by her trick with the runabout. They’d been in close pursuit for the last eight hours, gaining steadily. She’d used every trick she knew to try to slip away from them, but all she’d managed to do was gain a little more time. The Cardassians hadn’t managed to get so much as a shot off at the Dagger yet, but she suspected that their luck was about to run out.
“Status?” she demanded again.
“Ready,” one station after another reported.
A phaser blast hit the back of the Dagger, rocking it violently. Dax clung to the arms of the captain’s chair, wishing Cardassians would equip their ships with safety belts like other intelligent races.
Another blast shook the ship. Only a few seconds more, she thought … according to the computer, they were about to enter Bajoran space.
“Deflector shields now down to seventy-eight-percent strength,” someone called.
“Now!” Dax yelled.
The Dagger slowed to impulse power without warning. She’d hoped the Cardassians would overshoot them and have to come back, but it didn’t happen. A third powerful blast shook the ship. The running lights flickered and died, then came back up at half power. Hopefully the passengers in the cargo hold had weathered the jolts without serious harm. Their section of the ship was taking the heaviest beating.
* * *
“Sir,” the naked ensign called to Sisko. “I’m picking up a ship entering this system at high speed. Wait, make that six ships … all Cardassian!”
Sisko turned. “Cardassian?”
“The lead ship is a Bruja-class military vessel. The others are much larger….”
Kira, he wondered, what the hell have you started? And where was the Amazon?
“Go to battle alert,” Sisko said, striding toward the operations table. A klaxon began to blare. “Get Odo up here on the double if he’s out of his bucket by now. Chief O’Brien, what’s our status?”
O’Brien shook his head grimly. “Only one weapons tower is operational, sir. We have a single bank of phasers.” He looked at Sisko apologetically. “My people are working as fast as they can, but those Hortas did a lot of damage.”
Unfortunately, Sisko thought, six Cardassian attack ships have enough firepower to make the Hortas’ rampage seem like a bad case of mildew. “I want those phasers ready to fire,” he told O’Brien. He was outgunned, but at least he wasn’t unarmed. “Lieutenant Eddon, put me through to the Cardassians.”
“Commander,” Eddon announced. “The lead ship is already hailing us.” She turned, surprise evident on her face. “It’s Lieutenant Dax!”
“Well,” Sisko said, “put her on.”
A static-filled image lit up the main viewscreen. It was Dax, sure enough, and from what little Sisko could see of the bridge behind her, she had a Bajoran crew. He recognized Dr. Bashir, but nobody else.
A thousand questions rushed through his mind. Where had all these Bajorans come from? What about Ttan? And Kira?
“No time to explain, Benjamin,” Dax said. “I’ve got a shipload of Bajoran nationals. We’re in pretty bad shape. Our shields are down to forty-four-percent power and we’ve lost warp capacity. The Cardassians are getting ready to fire on us again.”
“Hold tight,” Sisko said. “I’ll talk to their commander.”
He turned toward Eddon at the communications station. “Hail those ships.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “No answer.”
“Put this through anyway. They’ll be listening.” He paused a second. “Cardassian pursuit ships, this is Commander Benjamin Sisko of Deep Space Nine. You are ordered to identify yourselves. Decelerate and stand by for more instructions.”
“No response, sir.”
“Then we’ll send them a message they can’t ignore.” Sisko nodded at Chief O’Brien. “Give them a phaser volley across the lead vessel’s bow.”
“But, Commander,” O’Brien protested, “that’s all we’ve got! We’ll be defenseless.”
“I know, Chief. I know.” He turned his gaze on a wounded man with a red beard. “Captain Dawson, if you’d like to do the honors …?”
“With pleasure, Commander!” The captain of the Puyallup tapped decisively at a bank of controls, and half a second later three short bursts from the station’s phaser banks split the distance between Dax’s ship and the Cardassians.
“Sir!” Eddon addressed him. “I’m now getting a transmission from Gul Nogar of the Ramoth’s Revenge.”
“Put him on.”
The image of a Cardassian officer filled the viewscreen: black and silver uniform, corded neck, and an arrogant, supercilious manner that set Sisko’s teeth on edge. Nogar leaned forward, lip curled back, and snarled: “Hold your fire, Commander Sisko. We are in pursuit of a criminal ship. Your assistance is neither required nor requested here. It is an internal Cardassian matter.”
“That ship has requested political asylum here,” Sisko lied, “and I’m afraid the provisional authorities have granted it.” Sisko leaned forward over the Ops table. For a man facing an armada with no weapons to speak of, Sisko thought he must look remarkably unworried. “The ship is, as I’m sure you’re aware, piloted by Bajoran nationals.”
Captain Nogar stared at him without blinking. “I did not know that.”
“You are, of course,” Sisko went on in his most charming voice, “welcome to dock at DS9 and enjoy our shore-leave facilities while you plead your case to the Bajoran government. I’m sure they will be very eager to hear from you. I’m sure we can have a definitive answer for you in, say, six to eight weeks.”
“That is not acceptable.” Nogar’s eyes narrowed as he peered at Sisko through the viewer. “My understanding was that your station had recently suffered certain … difficulties?”
This is it, Sisko thought. Either he falls for my bluff or we’re space dust.
“Some minor disturbances, nothing more,” Sisko said casually. “Kids acting up, you know how they can be. The entire station has never been in better condition, including our state-of-the-art weapons systems. If you fire again on that ship, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to return fire on their behalf. Defending Bajor and Bajoran nationals is part of our charter here, as I’m sure you know.”
“Hold,” Nogar said, and the viewscreen went blank.
“Commander,” Ensign Sanger said. “We’re being scanned by the Cardassians.”
“Block those scans, mister,” Sisko ordered. “Your life depends on it.”
“Yes, sir!” Sanger said, suitably inspired.
After a long, endless moment Nogar resumed his transmission. Sisko smiled calmly, despite the mounting tension in Ops. “Commander,” Nogar said a trifle archly, “in the interest of furthering the spirit of friendship”—it seemed like an effort for him to spit out that word—“and cooperation between our people, we will let you have your Bajoran nationals, if that’s what they are.”
Despite the pounding of his heart, Sisko could almost hear the unspoken “this time.”
“Thank you,” he said. “And if you or your crew would like to visit our station—”
Captain Nogar disconnected with an audible snarl of displeasure.
* * *
Odo met Sisko at the airlock when the Dagger docked at DS9. Sisko was glad to see the constable solid again. Before their eyes, the huge clockwork door rolled aside, revealing a narrow passageway.
Julian Bashir was the only one waiting there. “Infirmary, I need fifteen stretchers down here, stat!” he called, darting around Sisko and Odo with a barely mumbled “Hello, sir.” He sprinted down the corridor and vanished from sight.
Sisko exchanged a puzzled glance with Odo. “Perhaps we’d better go aboard,” Odo suggested.
“My thoughts exactly,” Sisko said.
Odo went through, then into the ship. The hatch led into an antechamber, which was empty, then into a corridor. Odo turned right, and Sisko followed on his heels. They could hear voices from ahead.
The corridor opened into a cargo bay, where literally dozens of injured Bajoran men and women lay waiting for treatment. The smell of blood thickened the air. Most of the prone bodies looked more bruised and shaken up than injured, but more than a few had serious wounds. Sheets covered what looked like half a dozen bodies off to one side … casualties?
And in the center of the room rested Ttan. Sisko nodded in relief. The mission had been a success … more than a success, from the looks of things.
“Benjamin, over here.”
Sisko followed the voice back to Dax. She was off to the side, bending over one of the injured Bajorans. Sisko joined her. The injured Bajoran turned out to be Major Kira, whose leg was in a splint. Kira looked as angry as a Denebian horned groat.
“Major?” Sisko asked, kneeling. “How are you?”
“Good,” Kira said through clenched teeth. “Mission accomplished, sir. And then some.”
“I see that. Very well done, Major. I’d be surprised if there aren’t a few commendations in your future when news of what happened comes out. There’s only one thing …”
“What’s that?” Dax asked.
“What the hell happened?”
Dax laughed and began to fill him in. Kira scowled through the whole story, but obligingly filled in the parts Dax didn’t know.
When they finished, Sisko nodded thoughtfully. “That’s quite a story,” he said. “But I still don’t quite understand how you made it to the ship after you broke your leg, Major.”
Dax said, “Julian told me she fainted from shock. He carried her aboard.”
Kira snorted. “Fainted from shock indeed.”
Sisko raised his eyebrows. “It sounds like you two make quite a team.” Clearly there was more to the story than what he’d already heard. He’d have to worm the whole truth out of Julian later that week.
Then Julian beamed in with a dozen other helpers. He began giving orders, beaming the most seriously injured straight to the infirmary in record time.
“I think everything is in order,” Sisko said, rising. “I’ll expect full reports from everyone tomorrow. Odo, give them a hand getting off, will you? I have some calls to make … and a family to reunite.”
“Yes, sir,” Odo said.
Sisko crossed to where Ttan had been waiting patiently. The Horta shifted as he approached.
“I know you can understand me, but can’t reply,” he said. “I want you to know your eggs have hatched and all your children are safe except one.”
The Universal Translator on Ttan’s back made a garbled noise.
“If you’ll follow me,” Sisko said, “I’ll take you to our chief engineer. If he can’t fix your translator, he can fit you with a new one.”
Turning, he tapped his communicator. “Chief O’Brien, report to the docking ring.”
* * *
Under other circumstances, the Promenade would have fascinated Ttan. All around her, humanoids of various shapes and composition went about their business in a colorful, spacious environment very different from the caverns of Janus VI. Most were busy repairing storefronts and displays.
Ttan felt only a rising sense of apprehension as they neared the infirmary. The commander of the station had explained how he had beamed her children to safety on a nearby moon. Still, she dreaded the prospect of facing the remains of the one child who had not survived.
The human named O’Brien walked beside her. He seemed very sympathetic to her loss. “I have a child of my own,” he confided. “I can only imagine what you must be going through. I wish we could have saved her.”
“Thank you,” Ttan replied. Her new translator worked perfectly, but could not convey all the sadness she carried inside.
“Here we are,” O’Brien said. He stopped in front of a black door alongside the infirmary. “Dr. Bashir needed all the medical facilities for the wounded, so they moved your child into this holding facility.” He touched a panel and the door slid aside.
The station’s Place of the Dead was clean and spare, lacking even the most rudimentary etched ceremonial decorations. It was a place of no soul, without the comforting weight of tradition and history.
In the center of the chamber, atop a strange piece of machinery covered with controls and monitors, lay the child. A boy, she saw at once, so large and healthy-looking that she couldn’t believe he was dead.
Oh, my son, she lamented silently, why did you travel so far to come to such a barren place? Please forgive me. I never imagined my ambition and dreams of adventure would cost you your life.
“Let me turn off the stasis field,” he said, touching one of the controls. The golden glow around her son faded as the energized field dispersed. “Take as much time as you need. I know you’ll want to say goodbye.”
Ttan glided across the floor toward her child. The translator produced the unmistakable sound of sobs.
O’Brien cleared his throat. “I’ll wait outside,” he said.
Before the human could leave, however, an odd sizzling sound came from the medical equipment underneath the dead Horta. Sparks suddenly flashed from an array of burning circuits. Smoke billowed up to the ceiling.
Ttan froze. Was this some sort of malfunction, she wondered, or a bizarre human rite of cremation?
O’Brien rushed forward with a cry of alarm. Her baby twitched. Acid dripped from its cilia. “My God, it’s eating the unit!” the human shouted.
Overcome with happiness, she lunged forward to embrace her son. She gripped him as if she would never let go. She felt him snuggle closer to her. The soft scent of his baby acids, so mild compared to her own, filled her with maternal pride.
“Commander,” she heard O’Brien say. “I think you’d better get down here. I can’t believe it, but … the baby’s alive! The shock of the vacuum must have put it into a coma.”
Mother? the baby asked.
That’s right, she said. I’m here.
EPILOGUE
QUARK SURVEYED his bar proudly. The sightseers had gone, but the profit remained. Five days after the Hortas had been beamed to the rogue moon, things had almost returned to normal. No, not quite normal, Quark decided. Odo was worse than ever.
The constable, leaning on the bar, shook his head and scowled, as he’d been doing repeatedly over the last few days.
“What is it this time?” Quark demanded.
“I’m just remembering how agreeably amorphous the Mother Horta’s shape was,” he said. “Now I’m stuck back in this awkward humanoid form sixteen hours a day to deal with the likes of you.”
“You can always turn into a gaming table,” Quark said. “I’ll put you to good use. The two hundred and forty-third Rule of Acquisition clearly states—”
“Or I suppose I could turn back into a Horta and finish this bar for lunch,” Odo growled.
“Not necessary, not necessary!” Shaking his head, Quark swaggered over to the table where Dr. Bashir was, as usual, flirting with Dax. Quark doubted the doctor’s efforts would be any more successful this time. After all, Quark thought, if I can’t get anywhere with her, what chance does that eager puppy have?
“Another bottle of this excellent vintage,” Bashir called with a grand gesture.
“Coming right up!” Quark replied. “The Chateau Picard, right?”
“Uh, no, the good stuff,” Bashir said.
As Quark fetched another bottle from behind the counter, Major Kira stormed in. Her leg had mended nicely, Quark thought, but her temper hadn’t.
She stomped up to Bashir, snapped, “I have never fainted from shock!” Then she turned and stomped back out. Bashir blushed furiously. Dax looked amused.
Shaking his head, Quark brought a bottle of fifty-year-old Thunderbird back to Bashir and Dax, unscrewed the cap, and refilled both of their goblets.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Not right now,” Dr. Bashir said. He turned to Dax. “For a second there, I thought she was going to slug me!”
Dax rose, her face an icy mask. “I’m getting very tired of the slug remarks, Julian.” She stalked after Kira.
Julian rose. “But Jadzia—!” He ran after her.
Yes, Quark thought, things were definitely getting back to normal. Wiping his hands on his apron, he calmly screwed the cap back onto the bottle and carried it behind the bar. No sense wasting it, though of course it would show up on Dr. Bashir’s tab.
He went into the storeroom to check on his new workers. Looking very unhappy, Nog and Jake were both on their hands and knees, laying a new tile floor.
Nog said, “We’ve almost finished fixing all the holes in the floor, Uncle.”
“Good,” Quark said. “Next you can start on the walls.”
Jake groaned. Nog hissed in displeasure.
“Unless,” Quark went on, “you want me to mention to your fathers how that first baby Horta got loose. Not to mention who deactivated the stasis field.”
In reply, the two boys redoubled their efforts. Neither met his gaze. Quark cackled happily. With any luck, he could string them along for the next six months. He had a lot of repairs in mind … they’d save him a fortune in maintenance costs.
* * *
Actually, Jake had already ‘fessed up to his father. He couldn’t admit that to Nog, though; he knew his friend would lose all respect for him if he found out. So, Jake thought as he carefully affixed another tile to the floor, I have to lie to my friend about telling the truth to my dad. He groaned, and not just because of his tired muscles. Trying to deal with humans and Ferengi at the same time made his head hurt.
Not that it mattered in this case. His dad had still insisted that Jake help repair the damage he’d caused. And, as far as Jake knew, his father almost always got what he wanted, one way or another.
* * *
Benjamin Sisko had been refusing Vedek Sloi’s calls for the last five days. Finally, in the sanctuary of his private office, he deigned to answer.
