At that moment, Sam decided not to trust Enrak Grof, who seemed entirely too wrapped up in his own self-interests. Sam would plan his escape without the Trill, unless his participation was absolutely necessary... and foolproof.

 

 

"What's the ship like?" asked Sam.

 

 

"It's a Cardassian antimatter tanker, specially equipped. You start training on it right away. You will need additional crew of six, and Joulesh and I have prepared a preliminary list of names. We have everyone we need right here." "I'm sure of that," muttered Sam.

 

 

Grof ignored his sarcasm and went on, "We need two specialists in material handling, a tractor-beam specialist, and a senior transporter operator." "And Taurik. I want the Vulcan." "That leaves one more," said Grof. "Me." Sam blinked at him. "You're going along on this mining expedition?" "Everything depends upon it," answered the Trill.

 

 

"Now that their engineers have been proven wrong, it's up to us to finish the job. And show them how valuable we are." "How dangerous is this going to be?" The Trill smiled. "Only as dangerous as we make it." "It's too dangerous," insisted Will Riker. "Captain, please, I beg you to reconsider." Captain Picard, who was lying on an operating table in sickbay, closed his eyes and tried to block out the concerned voice of his first officer. He concentrated instead on the sound of Dr. Crusher and Nurse Ogawa preparing their instruments. It sounded like fine silverware in use at a banquet.

 

 

"Captain, we have many other people who could do this mission," insisted Riker.

 

 

"Nonsense," said Picard. "We're so shorthanded that every able-bodied crew member is indispensable.

 

 

The fact is, you can captain the ship, making me more dispensable than the majority of the crew. I also have the most expertise working with Ro Laren, and she can be a bit prickly." "She's one of the reasons this is so dangerous," growled Riker with frustration.

 

 

"I'm sure Mr. La Forge and I can handle whatever she throws at us." Literally and figuratively, Picard thought, recalling her formidable fighting spirit. "And Data will keep us on long-range scans." "What if he loses you in the Badlands?" Riker persisted.

 

 

"Nothing is without risk, Number One. If we need rescuing, we'll release our subspace beacon with a coded distress signal." "Still, Captainw" The captain finally opened his eyes and gazed sympathetically at his first officer. "You won't be able to talk me out of it, Will. The truth is, I need a break from this hit-and-run fighting, and you're better at it than I am. If I can investigate Ro's story, I'll feel I'm making a difference." "I hope this isn't a wild-goose chase." "I hope it is," said Picard gravely. "A false rumorweven a trap intended to catch usmwould be preferable to finding an artificial wormhole in Dominion control. If we find that it actually exists, then the fate of the Federation rests upon our actions, right here." Riker scratched his beard. "I suppose it's pointless to tell you to be careful in the middle of a war, but be careful." "You, too." Beverly Crusher strode over to the table and shook her head. "Captain Riker, your persistence will be duly noted in my log, but you failed yet again to talk some sense into him. That makes two of us. Now we need to get on with the procedure, because I have a full schedule of appointments today." Riker glanced quickly at the tiny implants resting on a tray held by Nurse Ogawa. Picard tried not to look too closely at them either. When he awoke, his face would be altered to look Bajoran, and he would be given an earring.

 

 

"I'll check on the repairs to the Orb of Peace," promised Riker as he backed out of the operating room.

 

 

Brandishing a hypospray, Beverly gave the captain a professional smile. "Relax, Jean-Luc. I have to give you an anesthetic, but you'll only be out for a short time." Picard nodded, thinking that he wouldn't mind a few minutes of blissful ignorance. As he felt the pressure of the hypo on his neck, he allowed his tense shoulders to relax. The urge to do something would soon be over. Like Don Quixote, he would be chasing either windmills or the biggest dragon in the kingdom.

 

 

Sam Lavelle stood on the somber, gray bridge of the Tag Garwal, studying schematics of the antimatter tanker under his command. Sam had studied Cardassian vessels for years, and never more intently than in the weeks leading up to the war. This design was well known, on a par with Starfleet tankers of similar vintage. The Tag Garwal was no speed demon or luxury liner, but it was built to be sturdy, dependable, and uncomplicated. Sam didn't think he and his handpicked crew would have any trouble mastering the craft.

 

 

Professor Grof sat at an auxiliary console, running diagnostics on the tractor beam and the transporters a deck below them. He occasionally glanced at Sam to see what he was doing. The uncomfortable silence between them was beginning to make Sam nervous, and he tried to think of a subject safe enough for small talk.

 

 

"Thank you for translating the manuals," said Sam.

 

 

"You're welcome," replied Grof brusquely. "But that was really Joulesh's idea. Are you satisfied with the ship?" "I won't know for sure until I take her for a little spin." "About those little spins," said Grof. "You'll be closely watched. An attempt to make a break for it would be suicide." "You don't have to lay the company line on me," said Sam angrily. "I know how things work around here. We're more expendable than the Jem'Hadar, or even the Cardassians..." "You may be expendable, but I'm not!" protested Grof. "I'm irreplaceable, no matter who wins this thing." "Don't you even care/" Sam scowled. "Why should you? You're already on their side." "There's more to being a prisoner than your feeble mind can envision!" hissed the Trill. "The Federation is the power in the Alpha Quadrant, and that's why the Dominion is testing us. Although you can't see it, everything we do in this secret complex is being judged and tested. For example, you had no idea they were paying such close attention to you, but your ability to voice dissatisfaction while being calm and reasonable was very impressive to them." Grof sighed with frustration. "As you know, the Dominion has no real faith in the Cardassians-- they're just convenient locals. Someday this war will be over, and we'll have to live with the Dominion. If you and I are a success on this mission, the worth of the entire Federation will go up in the eyes of the Founders." "Oh, wonderful. Do you think they'll give me a promotion?" Sam winced, knowing that he was losing the battle to avoid controversial subjects. He had to end this topic, before he said something he regretted to this traitor.

 

 

"Listen, Grof, I'll do the mission, and I'll work with them--but don't expect me to like it. I'm in this for survival, not science, or to score brownie points." The Trill looked deeply disappointed, but he managed to say, "As long as your attitude remains pragmatic, we should succeed." "Fine," snapped Sam. Although he knew he should keep his mouth shut, he didn't like Enrak Grof. There had to be some way to needle him without talking local politics.

 

 

"So, what's it like to be an unjoined Trill?" asked Sam.

 

 

Grof snorted. "You mean, what's it like to be a second-class citizen? Imagine your planetary society has a small segment of people who are automatically considered superior to everyone else, and they automatically get the best careers. Imagine that these people have several lifetimes of experience to draw upon, and you're just starting the only lifetime you will ever get. How would you like to compete against them?" "I take it you didn't pass the program?" "No, I failed," admitted Grof. "My field docent didn't like my attitude, or some such. Of course, when eighteen initiates apply for every available symbiont, they can afford to be choosy." "So you found a field in which to excel, to spite them." Grof's dour, hirsute face broke into a slight smile.

 

 

"I suppose I can thank them for some of my ambition and drive. But I firmly believe that I would have been doing this same work even if I had joined with a symbiont." "Maybe that's why they didn't take you," said Sam, "too headstrong." Grof frowned. "At any rate, it has taken me twice as long to have my work and my theories recognized. I should have led teams on which I was only a member, because we had to have a joined Trill in charge." "But the Dominion accepted you right from the start," said Sam, putting it all together.

 

 

"Yes," snapped the Trill. "Being unjoined has never been a detriment here. They recognized me as a man of science. In many respects, the Dominion represents a clean slate for the Alpha Quadrant." "That seems to be what they're going for--a clean slate with us wiped out. And you're helping them." Sam inwardly cursed his one-track mind. This was the very same conversation he had just tried to derail.

 

 

Grof stroked his beard and looked around. Then he lowered his voice to say, "Don't you see, this technology cuts both ways--it allows us to attack them through wormholes of our making. It democratizes the galaxy." He shook his spotted head. "To depend on a natural wormhole inhabited by semi-mythological beingsw only seen by one person--is absurd. What we're creating here is the transportation of the future, as important as warp drive or artificial gravity! Ships won't need to carry dangerous fuel like antimatter, because artificial wormholes will take you to the next solar system or the next quadrant in seconds." "And with slave labor, you'll have plenty of people to keep building them," muttered Sam. "But suppose I'm hardly any better than you. My friends think I'm a brave soul who disappeared fighting the good fight, and here I am with decent food and my own ship.

 

 

That reminds me, where do I sleep?" "Right here." Grof motioned around the cramped, utilitarian bridge. "The captain's quarters are quite nice, I understand. There is even a sleeping alcove directly behind us, off the bridge." Sam looked behind him and saw a small, curtained lounge where there would be a ready room on a Starfleet vessel. "Yes, this crate was built for longrange hauls. Well, if this is going to be home for a while, let's see what kind of entertainment we have." He tapped the console, and the main viewscreen flickered on. A row of closed airlocks greeted Sam's eyes for a few seconds; then the angle cut to a view of empty cargo holds, followed by vistas of the verteron collider and the prison complex. To Sam's delight, the spheres and shafts of the complex did look like a giant molecule floating in space.

 

 

"Hey, we're patched into the security feed," said Sam. "There's nothing like being part of the gang." They were treated to several tantalizing glimpses of various spacecraft docked around an outer sphere.

 

 

Sam plied the console and found a way to cycle more quickly through the images until he found their own oblong tanker. Its hull was gray with yellow stripes, and it was mostly featureless except for the dents and pits.

 

 

"That's us, huh? We won't win any beauty contests." Sam continued paging through the images until they had inspected a number of interesting locations, including laboratories, factories, and guard posts. He could see Grof getting nervous about scanning the security channel, and he was about to stop when they were suddenly thrust into a women's prison pod. Sam looked away with embarrassment, hoping the scene would switch soon.

 

 

A blur of action caught his eye, and Sam looked back at the screen to see a squad of twenty or so Cardassians rush into the pod. The Cardassians were wielding clubs and were wearing vests, helmets, and riot gear; they quickly surrounded the unarmed prisoners. The free-cycling program chose that moment to cut to another pod, which was full of bedrolls but otherwise empty. Sam frantically worked the controls, trying to page back to the first pod.

 

 

"Don't," said Orof softly.

 

 

Sam ignored him and finally cut back to the occupied pod. Two Cardassian guards were holding a woman by her arms and shaking her violently, while a glinn grilled her. There was no sound, and Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from the viewscreen to find it on the console. The other guards herded the prisoners away from the action, but the women pushed closer, anxious to see what was happening to their comrade. It looked like a disaster in the making, and Sam gripped the handrail in front of him.

 

 

Sure enough, when the glinn struck the woman across her face, her fellow prisoners revolted. This resulted in a ruthless crackdown, as the club-wielding Cardassians waded into the women, forcing them against the walls. As Sam watched in horror, he was glad there was no sound.

 

 

Grof finally reached over and pounded the console, turning off the viewscreen. By the stricken look on his face, it seemed as if the Trill was about to have a heart attack, or maybe an attack of conscience.

 

 

"See, they have a good use for the Cardassians," hissed Sam. "I'm not sure Federation personnel could replace them." Grof sputtered, looking as if he wanted to say something but had no words. He hurried off the bridge of the Tag Garwal, and Sam heard his footsteps clomping down a ladder to the lower deck.

 

 

Despite a rush of murderous impulses, Sam tried to stay calm. He thought about turning the viewscreen back on, but what was the point? His hatreds were already etched into his soul, and watching more atrocities wouldn't change anything. He had to maintain his cool, jaded faqade until there came a chance to strike hard against the Dominion--or die trying.

 

 

Eventually Sam put on the viewscreen, but he tuned it to an innocuous view of the starscape, dominated by the swirling gases and dust of the Badlands. In all of this vast universe was there no one to help them? Where was the might of Starfleet, and the vaunted resources of the Federation?

 

 

For all he knew, the war could be over, and no one was out there to give a damn. In which case, maybe he should be looking out for number one, as he pretended.

 

 

Sam reclined in the alcove off the bridge and tried to sleep, but his mind kept dwelling on images of space-suited prisoners, exploding like balloons in the cold darkness of space.

 

 

Ro Laren stood on the bridge of the Orb of Peace, marveling at the appearance of her crew. Dressed in rust-colored uniforms with dangling earrings and pronounced nose ridges, they could have been the cream of Bajoran youth. Of course, there was the older Bajoran sitting at the corm station. He was mostly bald except for two tufts of unruly gray hair hanging over his ears, which made him look vaguely absurd and absentminded, like an old librarian. His earring was also slightly askew, and Ro couldn't help but to smile at her former captain.

 

 

"She's your ship," said the pilot. "Take her out." "I'm going to need a code name to call you by," said Ro. "Your real name is a bit too well known. Do you know who you remind me of?. Boothby, the old gardener at the Academy." Picard grinned. "That's quite a compliment, as I had Boothby in mind when we devised this disguise.

 

 

Not very Bajoran, of course, but it will pass for a nickname--and a code name." "Okay, Boothby, set our course for the Badlands." Ro tapped her comm badge, a distinctive Bajoran design of a sphere and a fin, surrounded by concentric ovals. "Ro to La Forge. Is everything ready?" "Yes, sir," came the cheerful voice of Starfleet's best engineer. "We'll coax every parsec we can out of our warp drives, but this isn't a long-range craft. We can't cruise hours on end at maximum warp." "I know we're not going to outrun or outright anybody," agreed Ro. "Stealth and guile--that's what I learned from the Maquis." "That's well and good," said La Forge, "but I'm also worried about those plasma storms in the Badlands." "There are bubbles of calm in the storms," explained Ro. "That's why you have me along. Did you run the scans?" "Yes. We'll register as a Bajoran ship on anything but the most detailed inspection. Biological scans came up all Bajoran, too." "Thank you, La Forge. Bridge out." Ro tapped her comm badge again and said, "Orb of Peace to Enterprise: we are ready to launch." Captain Riker's somber face appeared on the viewscreen. He was still exhibiting his displeasure over this mission. "Launch sequence completed. We are opening shuttlebay doors. Good hunting." "Thank you," answered Ro. The viewscreen shifted to an impressive view of the thick doors and smooth silver walls that enclosed them. The sight only served to remind her how large the Enterprise wasmher transport had been swallowed whole inside one shuttlebay. Slowly the huge doors slid open, revealing the star-studded depths of space beyond the womb of the Enterprise.

 

 

Ro nodded to the conn. "Take us out, one-quarter impulse to a thousand kilometers." "Yes, sir," snapped the dark-skinned woman.

 

 

Picard smiled at his captain. "By the book. You still remember procedures." "Old habits," said Ro with a shrug. "They seem to work." With thrusters firing, the boxy transport lifted off the deck of the shuttlebay and floated out the open door. Picking up speed while it rushed past the twin nacelles of the Enterprise, the Orb of Peace soared into space.

 

 

Chapter Five

 

 

SAM HEARD FOOTSTEPS on the ladder, and he turned away from the ops console to see a thin, cadaverouslooking Cardassian emerge onto the bridge of the Tag Garwal. His first reaction was to grab a weapon to protect himself, but then he realized that it had to be official business. He was part of the gang now, Sam reminded himself; and this was his ship.

 

 

Nevertheless, the Cardassian gave him a suspicious glare as he stepped aside and let the elegant Vorta, Joulesh, rise from the hatch and join them on the bridge. Footsteps continued clattering on the ladder, and a moment later Taurik's head popped out of the hatch. The graceful Vulcan lifted his lanky body from the hole and stood before Sam, looking nonplussed by this sudden change in fortune.

 

 

"Taurik!" exclaimed Sam with delight. He started to rush forward to embrace his friend when he remembered where he was, and with whom. "It's good to see you." "And you," said Taurik with a slight nod. "There are more of us." He stepped aside to allow four more dazed Starfleet officers to join them on the bridge. Unlike the Vulcan, their faces ran the gamut from confusion to curiosity, and they glanced with apprehension at the Cardassian and the Vorta.

 

 

"Here is your crew," said Joulesh with pride, "except for Professor Grof, who will join us shortly. I believe you know Lieutenant Taurik." "Yes." The Vorta motioned to the remaining two men and two women, who were unfamiliar to Sam. All looked to be older, career officers. "Chief Leni Shonsui, transporter operator; Commander Tamla Horik, tractor-beam operator; Chief Enrique Masserelli, stasis engineer; and Lieutenant Jozarnay Woil, material handler. All were department heads on their own ships." The Vorta smiled, quite pleased with himself. "Two men and two women. Two are human, one is Deltan, and the other is Antosian. When you include the Vulcan and the Trill who are part of our team, I believe we have put together a representative cross section of the Federation. All humanoids, I'm afraid.

 

 

I would have liked to have a Horta or one of your more exotic species, but this ship is built for humanoids." Sam pointed to the Cardassian on the suddenly crowded bridge. "What's he doing here?" "Trainer," answered Joulesh. "I know you pride yourself on knowing everything, but you are bound to have questions which can only be answered by an experienced officer. In particular, I'm concerned with tractor-beam operations." The Vorta clapped his hands together. "I almost forgot--I should introduce you. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the ship's captain, Lieutenant Sam Lavelie." The newly summoned crew looked suspiciously at Sam, as if he were one of the unfamiliar consoles that surrounded them. He couldn't expect to have this crew's loyalty or respect, so he would have to make do with their fear and curiosity. Plus Sam knew he would have their instincts for survival on his side.

 

 

"How much have any of you been told?" he asked.

 

 

"Very little," answered Taurik. "I was told that I was needed for a special task. Until I saw you here, I considered it likely you were dead." "Likely, but not quite." Sam scratched his bare chin, which he had shaved for the first time in weeks.

 

 

He was also wearing a nondescript but new blue jumpsuit, while his shipmates were still dressed in rags, with unkept hair and unshaven faces.

 

 

"It's very simple," he began. "We're going on a mining expedition to extract Corzanium from a black hole. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?" Woit, the Antosian material handler, gaped at him.

 

 

"Corzanium? But we've only been able to extract that in minute quantities. What are they going to do with it?" "Reinforce the mouth of the collider," answered Sam bluntly. "But that's not our concern. We have a ship and a job to do--if we're successful, they've promised us our freedom." His new crew stared at him with expressions ranging from incredulity to belligerence. Taurik merely looked thoughtful. Can't they read between the lines? thought Sam with frustration. In the company of a Vorta and a Cardassian, they weren't going to be able to talk frankly. It was time for this group to realize that they were being given a rare opportunity.

 

 

Sam thought back on how frustrated Grof had been when he hadn't jumped immediately at the chance to join up. He frowned. "I know none of you volunteered for this duty, but you were specially chosen.

 

 

Each of you impressed our captors in some way or another. If you don't want to join this detail and go back into space, just let me know. You can go back to your pods and your normal duties." With a half smile on his face, Joulesh looked curiously at Sam. Both of them knew that these people were never going back to their regular pods and work routines, no matter what happened. When no one called Sam's bluff, the Vorta allowed himself a full smile.

 

 

"Very well," said Joulesh. "Shall we begin?" After securing clean uniforms for everyone and taking a tour of the tanker, they began the long process of familiarization. There was special emphasis on operations of the bridge stations, tractor beam, transporter room, stasis fields, and the antimatter containers that had been converted to store Corzanium. By the end of the day, the reluctant crew members had embraced the challenges of their task and were offering suggestions on how to proceed. Sam could tell that Joulesh was quite pleased by their progress, while the Cardassian trainer barely hid his contempt.

 

 

Sam and Taurik found themselves observers during a session on how to manipulate the robotic arm mounted to a mining probe.

 

 

"I've got a side job for you," Sam whispered to the Vulcan.

 

 

"Yes?" answered Taurik, keeping his voice low.

 

 

"I want you to inspect the ship and see if there are any monitoring devices aboard." The Vulcan glanced at him. "You wish to know if we can speak freely?" "Right." Taurik nodded in response, and they went back to listening to the lecture.

 

 

By the end of a long shift, they were joined by a taciturn Enrak Grof, who barely grunted as he was introduced to the rest of his shipmates. The Trill briefly explained that he had been occupied with finishing his regular work and calculating how much more Corzanium they would need to complete the project. He assured them he would not have to return to the laboratory, and he was joining them for the duration.

 

 

As they continued their training, Sam watched his new crew. They were as experienced and competent as any captain could possibly hope for, but they were hardened by their weeks of captivity. Except for Grof, they were probably loyal to the Federation, but were they loyal enough to give up their lives? Was he kidding himself in thinking that they could accomplish anything but saving their own skins for a few extra days? The chances were good that they would all die in this foolhardy undertaking.

 

 

"Very good!" exclaimed Joulesh, clapping his hands with delight and snapping Sam from his reverie. "I believe we have made wonderful progress, ahead of schedule. In fact, let us move up the test flight to the next shift. The Founder will be so pleased!" The Vorta nodded to the Cardassian, who had been surly but helpful for most of the training. "You are dismissed." With a parting snarl, the Cardassian climbed down the ladder and disappeared, and Joulesh considered his cadre of prized pupils. "We are entrusting you with an enormous responsibility, I hope you realize that. Yes, you have an opportunity to act foolishly and register your discontent, but you also have an opportunity to further science and improve relations between our peoples." Sam looked around at his crew. Almost all of them were stone-faced over this twisted reasoning, even Grof, who had avoided Sam since his late arrival. Was he still thinking about the beatings they had witnessed? Or was he still angry over the senseless loss of life caused by the Cardassians?

 

 

The burly Trill had barely hidden his contempt for their Cardassian trainer, and Sam was beginning to consider him neutral but still unpredictable. If any of them had any sense, they would avoid being drawn into a conversation over motives and politics with this slimy Vorta.

 

 

Joulesh continued to smile gamely at his impassive audience. "I know it's been a difficult shift, and you must be tired. This ship has lodging for a crew of twelve, so you have ample room to spread out. The replicators in the mess hall have been reprogrammed for Federation tastes, and everything on this craft is fully functional, except for the weapons systems, of course. They were never much to speak of, anyway." The Vorta started for the ladder, then he waved back to them. "Use your intelligence, and don't act rashly. I will see you at your test flight. Yes, the Founder will be so pleased!" As soon as the Vorta left the ship, Taurik moved to the ops console and began to run diagnostics and scans of the ship. Sam hovered over his shoulder, as Grof and the four new crew members looked uneasily at one another.

 

 

"What's the catch to this?" asked Enrique.

 

 

"They're not going to give us a ship and let us fly off into space, are they?" "Yes, they are," answered Grof. "As I've been telling our captain, the bond between the Dominion and the Cardassians is weak, because the Cardassians are incompetent. We have a chance to make a favorable impression." "Belay that," growled the bald-headed Deltan, Tamla Horik. "Despite the pretty words, I say we're aiding and abetting the enemy." "Keep it down," warned Sam. "We don't know that we're not being observed." "Actually, Sam, I detect no monitoring devices or listening coils," said Taurik. "I believe the ship is, as Joulesh said, unaltered except for improvements to the containment lockers and the absence of weapons.

 

 

There is no reason why we should not speak freely. In fact, our odds of success depend upon the ability to communicate." "Finally somebody is making sense," muttered Grof. "Listen to the Vulcan. This isn't a joke or a test--this is a vital mission for the success of the greatest invention in our history. I've already explained all of this to Lieutenant Lavelie, but the artificial wormhole will outlive all of us, including the Dominion and the Federation. This invention turns the entire galaxy into one neighborhood." "Giving the Dominion the chance to take over the whole Milky Way," snapped Leni Shonsui.

 

 

"Don't bother arguing with him," muttered Sam.

 

 

"I've already said everything you're going to say, and he won't listen." "And what's the deal with you?" asked Leni. "What did you do to make captain in the Dominion?" "I could ask you the same thing about your assignment to this ship. All of us have been blessed, or cursed, by the same fate. We're here, we have a ship, and we have a job to do. Let's get on with it, and we'll worry about everything else later." Enrique edged toward the ladder. "Does that replicatot really have any food we want?" "I think so," answered Sam. "Go ahead and enjoy yourselves, because I figure we probably won't survive, even if we don't do anything stupid." "The odds of completing this mission without being destroyed are approximately ten to one-- against," added Taurik.

 

 

Sam chuckled, letting the tension drain out of his handsome face. "Thank you, Taurik. Do you see?

 

 

There's no sense fighting with each other. The chances are good that we're going to die in each other's company, aboard this strange ship, no matter what we do. But at least we'll die in space, not chained in a cell." Grof scowled and strode toward the ladder, pushing Enrique out of the way. "We're not going to die-- we're going to succeed.t" He clomped down the ladder, his footsteps ringing all over the small ship.

 

 

Sam watched the Trill disappear into the hatch, then he whispered, "With or without him, we're going to make an escape. But not until I say so." "Approaching ships," warned Data.

 

 

Will Riker bolted upright in the command chair of the Enterprise. "How many? From where?" "Three ships, Jem'Hadar battle cruisers, traversing sector nine-four-six-two on an interception course at warp eight," answered the android.

 

 

The acting captain of the Enterprise jumped to his feet and strode toward Data's station. "Who are they after? Us, or the Orb of Peace?" "It would seem to be us, sir. It has now been nine minutes and thirty-two seconds since the Orb of Peace entered Cardassian space, and they appear to be undetected." The android looked earnestly at Riker.

 

 

"Estimated arrival time of the Jem'Hadar: twenty-one minutes and thirty seconds." "Are there any Starfleet vessels that can help us?" "None that can reach us in time." Riker scowled. "We can't stand up to three cruisers.

 

 

We have time to run, but we'll have to stop tracking the away team." "Not necessaily, sir." Data cocked his head. "The Enterprise must retreat, but I could take a small shuttlecraft and land on the sixth planet of the Kreel solar system. With the shuttlecraft's sensors, I could monitor the transport until the danger has passed. If I maintain my relative position, I could monitor them indefinitely." "That's a class-Q planet," said Riker with distaste, imagining its cold temperatures and deadly methane atmosphere. Then he realized that class Q or class M was all the same to Data.

 

 

"Its inhospitality will prevent the Dominion from following me. I can land in the polar region where the methane is frozen." "We can beam you down," said Riker.

 

 

"I would prefer to have a shuttlecraft, so I can be mobile." Making an instant decision, Riker motioned toward the turbolift. "Go." In a blur, the android leaped from his seat and rushed off the bridge. A replacement officer, who looked young enough to be Riker's daughter, settled into his vacated seat.

 

 

"Bridge to shuttlebay one," said Riker, "prepare a shuttlecraft for Commander Data. He's on his way." "Yes, sir," came the response.

 

 

The acting captain tugged on his beard as he paced the circular bridge of the Enterprise. This was his worst nightmare--taking over the ship in the midst of a crisis without Captain Picard, Geordi, or Data. Not only was he worried about his friends, but he was worried about the effectiveness of the crew without her senior staff. He was surrounded by newly minted ensigns fresh from the Academy; half their names he didn't know. Riker wondered whether Beverly Crusher would like to take over for him now.

 

 

"Estimated arrival time of enemy ships: nineteen minutes," reported the young ops officer with a slight tremolo to her voice.

 

 

The captain stopped behind the conn. "If they want to chase us, let's lure them to the rendezvous point and get some help. Set course two-five-eight-mark- sixfour." "Yes, sir." The blue-skinned Bolian plied his console. "Course set." Riker strode toward Ensign Craycroft. "Tactical, send a message to Starfleet and tell them we're on our way, and that we're bringing companywthree Jem'Hadar battle cruisers." "Yes, sir." Ensign Craycroft turned on her communications panel and began to enter the message.

 

 

Riker looked back at ops. "Commander Data?" "He is entering the shuttlecraft Cook. Launch sequence in progress... opening shuttlebay doom." "On screen." Riker stepped back to see the hurried launch on the viewscreen. For the second time that day, he watched a small ship soar from the belly of the Enterprise, looking like a bat escaping from a cave into the dead of night.

 

 

"Five hundred kilometers, six hundred kilometers, seven hundred kilometers--" droned the ops officer.

 

 

"Good luck, Data," muttered Riker. "Conn, prepare to go to maximum warp. Engage." In a halo of golden light, the sleek starship elongated into the sparkling starscape and vanished.

 

 

Thousands of kilometers away, a tiny shuttlecraft veered toward a medium-large planet engulfed in noxious ivory gases.

 

 

Ro Laren paced across the tastefully illuminated but cramped bridge of the Orb of Peace, thinking their return to Cardassian space had been too easy, too uneventful. Unless a big operation was afoot and most of the Dominion ships were occupied, they should have been hailed or intercepted by now. After all, they were making a straight shot across a war zone toward one of the Dominion's most sensitive areas.

 

 

"No sign of any ships?" she asked Picard, who was still seated at the conn. In their agreed-upon chain of command, she was captain of the ship, and he was in command of the mission. For a veteran officer, the captain had been remarkably calm about taking a subordinate role to her own. Perhaps a real captain didn't need to have a special chair, extra pips on his collar, and everyone saluting him. Captain Picard's bearing and dignity were enough to warrant the respect of anyone in his presence.

 

 

He shook his head. "There is traffic in several solar systems along our route, but no one seems overly interested in us." "It's too easy," said Ro with concern. "We're being watched, evaluatedwI can feel it. By the time they come after us, it will be too late; they will have made up their minds." Picard tugged on his earring, a tic he was beginning to develop.

 

 

"Then let's alter our course," Picard suggested.

 

 

"Pick a typical solar system that is inhabited, go there and look like we're doing some trading." "That will throw us off our timetable," said the ops officer.

 

 

"Getting killed will throw us off even more," replied Ro, glowering at the man.

 

 

Picard nodded to his officer. "Find us a likely planet. Quickly." "We have goods to trade, don't we?" asked Ro.

 

 

"Yes," answered the captain. "We replicated a supply of zajerberry wine, Bajoran silk, and tetralubisol. Plus, we have a box of Bajoran religious tracts." "If we survive this, maybe I'll read them," muttered RO.

 

 

"Won't it look odd for us to be trading with a Cardassian colony?" asked the ops officer.

 

 

"I wouldn't be terribly concerned about that," answered Picard. "According to Starfleet Intelligence, the Cardassians developed quite a taste for Bajoran goods during the occupation, and Bajor is still trying to rebuild its economy. Under the circumstances it will just look like a wise business decision." Behind her, the ops officer sighed loudly, not happy with his options. "There's a Cardassian farming colony on the sixth planet of System H-949." "All right then. Set course for it and make our way slowly, at warp one," ordered Ro. "I want them to see that we've changed course." Since Picard was stationed at the conn, it was his decision whether to obey the order, and everyone on the bridge was watching him. Without hesitation, he punched in the new coordinates. "New course entered. We'd better come out of warp to change course." There was a slight tremor in the primitive craft as it slowed and made an awkward course correction.

 

 

Then the warp engines revved once more, and the transport shot into space, headed toward an obscure Cardassian colony.

 

 

Ro sighed, not certain whether her relief was over the course change or the fact that the fake Bajorans had obeyed her order. Her authority over this crew extended solely from Captain Picard, and no one else.

 

 

Without his faith in her, she was nothing but a grubby refugee to this crew of young upstarts. They were brave and eager to face the enemy, while she was jumpy and cautious. In Cardassian space, surrounded by the enemy, she much preferred her collection of well-earned fears to their naivet6.

 

 

"They're here," said Picard grimly as he studied his screen. "Two warships are now in pursuit of us. One Jem'Hadar and one Cardassian." "I knew they were watching. Maintain course and speed." Ro turned to face the crew. "We have to confront them and prove who we are--to get them off our tracks. Had we waited too long, heading directly for the Badlands, they would've decided on their own that we were spies. How much time do we have?" "Eleven minutes until interception," said the ops officer, a trace of fear in his formerly condescending voice.

 

 

"When they hail us," said Ro, "be friendly and do whatever they ask. Remember, the Cardassians treat their riding hounds better than they treat Bajorans.

 

 

We're awfully lucky that we got a Jem'Hadar ship in the mix." "We usually don't feel that way," said Picard with a wan smile.

 

 

Ro tapped her Bajoran comm badge and spoke in a loud voice. "Captain Ro to the ship's complement: all off-duty personnel are to go immediately to the cargo bay and unpack the zajerberry wine. Put out samples of all the cargo. Arrange it nicely, as if it's always on display. Bridge out." "Shall we go on yellow alert?" asked the ops officer uncertainly.

 

 

"No, don't do anything that looks even remotely aggressive. We'll either talk our way out of this or die here and now." The lanky Bajoran gazed at Picard. "I notice that one of the 'improvements' you made to my ship was to add a self-destruct sequence. Feel free to ready it. I, for one, don't want to be tortured. How about you?" The captain cleared his throat and returned her gaze. "I'll bring it up on my console, keeping it in the background. I won't move from this station. If capture looks imminent, I'll arm it with a ten-second delay." Ro nodded. "We always did think alike." "We're being hailed," said tactical.

 

 

"On screen." Ro turned to look at the viewscreen framed with platitudes, and fear clamped her spine.

 

 

Instead of the spiny Jem'Hadar face she had hoped to see, a bony, scaly Cardassian face stared at her. He smiled with the delight of a sadistic schoolmaster having caught a tardy student.

 

 

"And what have we here?" he said snidely.

 

 

"Bajorans in the Cardassian Union? Roaming freely?" "Good day to you, noble captain," replied Ro in as obsequious a tone as she could manage. "We are no longer enemies--we are practically allies, thanks to the benevolence of the Dominion." That wiped the smirk off the Cardassian's face.

 

 

"Come to a full stop and prepare to be boarded." "We would welcome that," said Ro brightly, "as we are looking for the opportunity to trade with your people." "What do you have that we could possibly want?" asked the Cardassian doubtfully.

 

 

"Zajerberry wine," answered Ro slyly. She knew that Picard's comments had been on the mark. The Cardassians had developed a taste for the stuff while they occupied Bajor. She had once smuggled some out of Quark's place on Deep Space Nine to buy the release of Maquis prisoners.

 

 

"Prepare to be boarded." The Cardassian scowled, and the screen went blank.

 

 

With movements that were so fast they could not be fully appreciated by a human eye, Data scurried around his type-9 personnel shuttlecraft, the Cook.

 

 

He quickly filled two shielded cases with tricorders, weapons, tools, a distress beacon, and emergency supplies, leaving food and water behind. The android took a final glance at his console and confirmed that one of the Jem'Hadar battle cruisers had indeed broken off from the others and gone into orbit around Kreel VI, the uninhabited planet on which he had taken refuge.

 

 

If Data didn't want his shuttlecraft to be detected and destroyed, he had to shut down all systems. Plus, he knew it would be prudent to run some distance from the shuttlecraft in case the Jem'Hadar sent down a probe and discovered it. Fortunately, a scan of the planet for life signs would not reveal his existence.

 

 

Unfortunately, after he turned off all systems, he would be unable to track the Orb of Peace. After the danger passed, he would have to depend upon the transport's last known position and scan from there.

 

 

It would be highly imprecise.

 

 

Experiencing a sense of urgency, Data powered down the shuttlecraft. After a brief pause, the interior of the small vessel was plunged into total darkness.

 

 

Data could sense his surroundings perfectly well as he opened the hatch manually, something which would have required two humans to accomplish in the heavy gravity of Kreel VI.

 

 

Monstrous winds and sleeting methane snow pelted Data as he darted outside, carrying a large case in each hand. His feet crunched on the frozen tundra, and he didn't even want to think about how cold it was. Data set down the cases long enough to shut the door; then he surveyed his surroundings.

 

 

Visibility was almost zero in the blizzard, and Data relied upon his built-in sensors to locate an outcropping of rocks about three kilometers away. As the only landmark in the area, it would have to serve as his destination.

 

 

At a fast jog, leaping over fissures, he crossed the uneven ground, conscious of the opaque ice beneath his feet. The very fact that the Jem'Hadar had stopped to look for him on this inhospitable planet proved that their technology was quite advanced.

 

 

They were thorough and determined--a dangerous adversary. Although the Jem'Hadar were biological beings, Data felt some kinship with them. Like himself, they had been engineered to serve without question in a multitude of situations, and they did so without complaint or selfish motives.

 

 

He heard a wrenching explosion somewhere behind him, and a sheet of methane blasted his back. A human would have been pitched off his feet by the impact of the shock wave, but Data just kept loping across the uneven terrain, hardly able to see his own legs in the driving snow. He suddenly detected high readings of radiation, enough to kill most creatures.

 

 

With his emotion chip turned off, the android felt no fear, but he spent a microsecond deciding that he was in serious trouble. His shuttlecraft probably destroyed, his shipmates scattered in different directions, he was all alone, except for an enemy cruiser with a complement of several hundred Jem'Hadar. If the Enterprise was destroyed, nobody in the universe would know where he was, even if he did manage to survive this incident.

 

 

Data's most unsettling conclusion, however, was that his mission had already failed. If the shuttlecraft was destroyed, he could not track the Orb of?eace, nor could he catch their distress beacon when they released it. They were also on their own.

 

 

His legs began to pump uphill through ice and rubble, and Data realized that he had reached his destination. The rocky tor offered scant shelter, but it stood forty meters tall and might disguise his mass and metallic components from their sensors.

 

 

As there was nothing to see, Data didn't bother to look for a vantage point. He set his cases down at the first level ground he came to, then crouched between them, ready to use them for shields. The tor seemed to consist of bedrock, which was some consolation to the android, because it might withstand an attack.

 

 

Data waited, watching for the Jem'Hadar to emerge from the dense clouds and snow that swirled all around him.

 

 

A dabo-girl smile plastered to her face, Ro Laren stood by in the cargo bay, which had been hastily converted into a showroom. She watched halfa dozen Cardassians paw her merchandise and shove her crew around, while another half a dozen trained their weapons on the helpless Bajorans. A gray-haired gul named Ditok had beamed down with the inspection team, and he rifled through the silks, then moved on to the red-clay bottles of wine.

 

 

"An excellent vintage," chirped Ro. "Would you like to try some?" He glared at her. "You have the impertinence to think that I would drink while on duty. Or that I would even like this Bajoran urine?" His men chuckled politely, while Gul Ditok grabbed a bottle and hefted it. "Probably replicated, if it isn't totally fake." "I can verify its authenticity," promised Ro, "although the truth is in the tasting." She hoped the Starfleet replicators had been up to the task--some Cardassians were experts on zajerberry wine.

 

 

"Doesn't matter," snarled the gul, "you have a bigger problem, no documents." Ro offered him a smile of regret. "As I have told you, we have just entered this sector, and we were about to make our first stop, where we could apply for permission. We welcome your visit." The gul scowled, as if he much preferred Bajorans who made trouble. "Is this what your proud people are reduced to, slinking around with trinkets, like a tribe of Ferengi?" Ro lowered her voice. "To be frank, we are curious to get to know the Dominion better. We are neutral in this war, you know, and it's fairly clear how it's going to end." The gul laughed. "Ah. So now you're cowards, but at least smart cowards." A young glinn hovering nearby whispered something in the ear of the gul, and he glowered at them.

 

 

"I'm reminded that your flight pattern shows you came from Federation space, or what's left of it. How do you explain that?" "We did come from Federation space," answered Ro. "We were trading there first. In fact, that's where we obtained the tetralubisol. It's the finest space-rated lubricant you can buy." "I know what it is," muttered the Cardassian.

 

 

One of the young pseudo-Bajorans approached the gul with a pamphlet in her hand. "Would you like something to read? It's very inspiring." He slapped the padd out of her hand. "Get away from me! You're all sheep, the lot of you. Bajorans!" He spat on the deck.

 

 

Despite the burning bile surging up her throat, Ro stuck to her plan. "We honestly come in peace. With the Dominion rolling over two quadrants, we haven't got anything to gain by remaining loyal to the Federation. The Federation did nothing but interfere, anyway." "There's a grain of truth," said the Cardassian.

 

 

"Have you got any more truth in you?" "Only that you once fought against the Dominion, and now you regard them as allies. Can't you do the same with us?" For a moment, it looked as if the old warrior would accept her entreaty of peace; then he burst out laughing. "Bajorans, my dear, are hardly the Dominion." His sunken eyes ran down her lean body. "You personally are quite attractive, Captain, and perhaps you do offer something of worth. We must have a private conference later to discuss it." Ro gritted her teeth and tried not to vomit. "Then I could offer you some wine." "I'm afraid not," he said with a sympathetic smile.

 

 

"We have to confiscate all of the wine. Contraband, you know." "What? What/" sputtered Ro, although she had expected this turn of events. "You can't take our whole cargo... I mean, we need to make a profit!" "Experience is always a great profit." Gul Ditok snapped his fingers, and his soldiers roughly herded the Bajoran crew away from the cases of wine. Within seconds, they had transported every bottle from the cargo bay to their warship.

 

 

Ro tried to feign a mixture of indignation and horror at this outrage, while she was secretly relieved that they had accepted the bribe. Could she possibly hope they would leave it at that?

 

 

"Now are you satisfied? Can you let us go?" she demanded.

 

 

"Not yet. I want to see your bridge and your weaponry. Our scan suggests that you have photon torpedoes." "Only six," said Ro. "You never know when you'll confront an asteroid belt, pirates, or some other obstacle that requires intervention." "We don't have pirates in the Cardassian Union," said the gul testily.

 

 

"Ah, but we were just in Federation space, where they have no respect for law and order." Once again, the gul looked disappointed that his prey was so amenable. "Take us to your bridge." Gritting her teeth, Ro led the way to the bridge, which was only up one level via a spiral staircase.

 

 

When she entered the control room, she was glad to see that the lights were dimmed to a soothing level.

 

 

Captain Picard and two other duty officers were the only ones present.

 

 

The Cardassian gul and his entourage muscled their way into the cramped room and began peering at everything and everyone. Captain Picard stood immediately and smiled at the visitors.

 

 

The gul looked at his conn screen. "What is your maximum speed?" "Warp three," answered Picard.

 

 

The Cardassian laughed. "Aren't you embarrassed to be flying this thing?" "It's preferable to fighting in the war," said Picard with a shrug. "We have a message of peace to bring to the Dominion." "We shall see about that." The gul gave a sidelong glance at his retinue, and they grinned knowingly.

 

 

"Gul Ditok!" snapped a voice. "Look what I have found." They all turned to see a female glinn standing beside an open cabinet, holding a Starfleet hand phaser. It was a shock to Ro and everyone else in the crew, as they had been careful not to bring any obvious Starfleet equipment on board. All of their phasers were Bajoran or Ferengi.

 

 

"Aha!" declared the Cardassian. He was so melodramatic about it that Ro instantly knew what had happened--the phaser had been planted!

 

 

"You are enemies of the Dominion, in league with the Federation," proclaimed the gul. "We are seizing this vessel and taking you prisoner." Picard shot her a glance, then immediately turned to his console. His fingers pressed several membrane panels before the gul slapped him in the head and knocked him out of his chair. The captain tumbled to the floor, but he gazed up with a satisfied look on his face.

 

 

"What have you done?" bellowed the gul.

 

 

"We have eight seconds to live."

 

 

Chapter Six

 

 

Ro HAD NEVER SEEN a Cardassian's eyes widen, because of the thick bones which encircled their eye sockets.

 

 

But Gul Ditok's eyes grew very wide when Picard told him that he had seconds to live. Every person on the bridge of the Orb of Peace looked terrified, and Ro's eyes went instinctively to the platitudes framing the viewscreen. "Place yourself in the hands of the Prophets," suggested one phrase, which was a proper sentiment under the circumstances.

 

 

Gul Ditok barked into his communicator, "Beam us up! Immediately!" As their sparkling shapes vanished from the bridge, Picard leaped into his chair and punched his instrument panel. Ro flinched, certain that the next instant would be their last.

 

 

When they weren't blasted to bits, she opened her eyes and looked around. "I counted more than ten seconds." "I changed my mind and set it for thirty," admitted Picard. "I put the shields up, so they can't transport us off. You'd better start talking to them." Ro motioned to Tactical. "Open a channel to the Jem'Hadar ship. Put me on screen, whether they acknowledge or not." She strode in front of the viewscreen and pouted angrily. "This is Captain Ro Laren of the Orb of Peace. Is this how the Dominion treats its neutral trading partners? We come here in peace, and you steal our shipment of zajerberry wine, you threaten my crew, and you plant a weapon on our ship so that you can illegally seize us!" She closed her eyes again, expecting quantum torpedoes to slam into them. When that didn't happen, Ro went on. "We know there's a war, but our work goes on. We are a religious people, and we just want a chance to trade goods and ideas. In this modest vessel, we couldn't do you any harm." Ro tried not to think what a huge lie she had just delivered, but she was doing the best she could in this one-way conversation. Ro glanced down at Picard and saw that he had only paused the self-destruct sequence. There were fifteen seconds left, and his fingers were poised to resume the fatal countdown.

 

 

The viewscreen was filled with two imposing warships--the mustard-colored Galor-class warship and the Jem'Hadar battle cruiser, its hull pulsing with a vibrant blue light. Ro looked at tactical. "End transmission." "Yes, sir." "Are they arming weapons?" "No," said the officer on tactical. "They're sending coded messages back and forth to each other." Ro looked at Picard, and he gave her an encouraging smile. "You're doing fine." She nodded and swallowed. It felt good to yell at them, even if every word was a lie.

 

 

The tactical officer gasped with surprise. "They are... they are sending us documents! One set allows us passage in this sector, and the other is an order to appear on Cardassia Prime in seventy-two hours to discuss a fine for our offenses." "They gave us a ticket," commented Picard with a touch of amusement in his voice.

 

 

Ro looked puzzledly at the human. "A ticket?" "It's an old Terran phrase," said Picard. "It means that we received a summons to appear later, so trial and punishment is put off. Acknowledge it and thank them." "Yes, sir." Ro didn't breathe calmly until the two great warships glided into graceful turns and disappeared into space. For several seconds, the bridge crew stared at the glittering starscape, scarcely believing that the threat was gone.

 

 

"Keep them on sensors," ordered Ro, "for as long as you can." "Yes, sir," answered the ops officer.

 

 

"Resume course for the farming colony until we're sure they're gone," said Ro, her mouth feeling parched.

 

 

"Aye, sir," replied Picard as he carried out the order. "We'll have to make a run for the Badlands sooner or later." "I know," answered Ro grimly. "Let's calculate exactly how much time we'll need to make it. When we get a window, we'll go." "Let's hope for a large window," added the captain.

 

 

While buffeted by swirling winds and heavy methane snow, Data set up a portable scanner on the rugged outcropping and tried to take readings.

 

 

Although the electromagnetic interference and radiation levels were high, they weren't disruptive enough to hide his shuttlecraft, which was still sitting out there, an alien artifact on an icy plain. At least it hadn't been totally destroyed.

 

 

He couldn't detect any other machines, vessels, probes, or life signs near the shuttlecraft, but that didn't mean the area was safe. The range of his portable instruments didn't allow him to tell if the Jem'Hadar ship was still in orbit around Kreel VI.

 

 

Data was neither impatient nor imprudent, and he could have sat there for weeks, waiting until it was absolutely safe to venture forth. But every moment he delayed reduced the likelihood of finding the Orb of Peace with the shuttlecraft's sensors. His own safety was not an issue, except that if he was captured or destroyed, his mission couldn't possibly succeed.

 

 

Overriding these concerns was the necessity of finding out if the shuttlecraft itself was still intact. In the pelting blizzard, he repacked his cases and began his descent from the tor. Not only was the storm worse than ever, but the daylight was beginning to fade. By the time Data covered the three kilometers to his shuttlecraft, the visibility was terrible, and he was forced to plug directly into his tricorder to scan the area.

 

 

Thirty meters from the shuttlecraft, he discovered a dark crater brimming with radiation, and he set down his cases and crouched between them. He assumed the crater was the remains of the blast he had felt earlier, which meant that the Jem'Hadar had missed his shuttlecraft. Or perhaps it had been a warning shot, intended to flush him out of hiding. Data grabbed a phaser, a tricorder, and a bandolier loaded with photon grenades, which he slung over his shoulder.

 

 

Despite all indications that the Jem'Hadar had left the planet without finding him or his ship, Data hesitated and continued to take readings, both with his tricorder and his internal sensors. His friend, Geordi, had an expression: "If it looks too good to be true, it probably is." In this case, it looked too good to be true.

 

 

As he searched for esoteric pulses and energy readings, Data detected the low-resonance hum of a light source which shouldn't be there in the foggy darkness.

 

 

It wasn't a strong light source, more like a photo cell or a photoreceptor.

 

 

A motion detector. On a planet with no life, it was a simple but effective warning device.

 

 

He concentrated his search on the few meters in front of the shuttlecraft and pinpointed the location of the motion detector--directly in front of the hatch.

 

 

Was the alarm intended to alert the Jem'Hadar that he had returned? Or was it even more basicma bomb intended to turn both him and the shuttlecraft into scrap? If he took another step closer, he would probably find out.

 

 

The trick was to get closer without getting closer.

 

 

The android did a careful calculation and determined that he was seventeen meters away from the device, and it was at ground level. He stepped backward several paces, ran forward, and leaped twenty meters into the air.

 

 

In a high arc, Data soared through the methane atmosphere and landed with a thud on the roof of the shuttlecraft. He paused, waiting to see if he had activated the alarm, but the device continued to emit a low-resonance hum. Because it was on the ground, its range apparently didn't extend to the roof, and the shuttlecraft itself hid his movements.

 

 

Because a bomb was a more immediate concern than an alarm, he had to deactivate it. But getting too close would have just the opposite effect. Despite all of his precautions, Data realized that direct and swift action was required.

 

 

He looked around the roof of the shuttlecraft and spotted a deflector dish, which had to weigh at least two hundred kilograms. He grabbed the dish with both hands and yanked it from its mounts, snapping the metal as if it were plywood. Calculating the exact location of the motion detector on the ground below him, Data leaned over the edge of the roof and dropped the dish on top of it.

 

 

With a satisfying crunch, the humming stopped.

 

 

Data noted that both he and the shuttlecraft were still intact, but he crouched down and drew his phaser, making sure it was set on heavy stun.

 

 

They came quickly. Four figures in gray space suits materialized on the ground below him, and Data didn't wait for them to react. He fired two bursts from his phaser, felling two of them; then he leaped off the shuttlecraft as they returned fire.

 

 

Data dropped into a crouch and fired twice more.

 

 

The space-suited figures twisted from the impact of his phaser beams and slumped to the ground.

 

 

Figuring the casualties would be retrieved quickly, the android grabbed a plasma grenade, armed it, ripped off the adhesive, and stuck it to the chest of the closest Jem'Hadar in less than a second. With movements so swift that no one could have followed them, Data planted a live grenade on each enemy body and leaped back. It was a particularly brutal way to dispatch with a foe, Data knew. But he also knew that brutality was unavoidable in war.

 

 

In the dark, swirling fog, the fallen Jem'Hadar soldiers sparkled brightly as their molecules were swept off the planet. Data calculated the horrible chaos that would erupt on the Jem'Hadar ship when the four plasma grenades exploded in their transporter roomrain point-five seconds. With any luck, the rupture would be bad enough to cause a breach in the hull, occupying his pursuers until he could get away.

 

 

Data fetched his equipment and opened the hatch of the shuttlecraft, dragging his reflector shield and supplies after him. His movements a blur, the android powered up the small craft, fired thrusters, and zoomed away from the surface of the planet. The fact that he was still alive a few moments later assured him that his diversion had been a success.

 

 

Reaching full-impulse speed in seconds, Data piloted the craft in an elliptical arc which put him on the other side of the planet, away from their sensors.

 

 

He ran a brief scan before he vanished over the dark horizon and noted with satisfaction that the Jem'Hadar battle cruiser was in low orbit and descending quickly. He doubted whether the massive ship was capable of atmospheric reentry, which meant they were in serious trouble.

 

 

There was no time to appreciate his unexpected victory over the much larger ship, because Data had a Bajoran transport to find. He zoomed out of orbit and entered warp drive, missing the spectacular explosion that sundered the ivory clouds of Kreel VI.

 

 

Will Riker gripped the arms of the command chair and held on as the Enterprise was jolted by a Jem'Hadar torpedo. An ominous rumbling sound surged along the length of the vessel.

 

 

"Shields down to thirty percent!" shouted Ensign Craycroft on tactical.

 

 

Riker checked his readouts. "If we can hold on just a little bit longer... Where the devil is the fleet?" It was a rhetorical question, because he didn't expect an answer. Apparently, the Dominion had launched a massive offensive all along the Cardassian border, and the ships chasing the Enterprise were just two of many. The fact that there were only two was also troubling, because it meant that one of them had broken off to pursue either Data or the Orb of Peace.

 

 

He couldn't worry about them now. The Enterprise shuddered again from the impact of another torpedo against her weakening shields. Riker glanced at Craycroft, and the ashen expression on her face told him everything he needed to know.

 

 

"All residual power to shields," ordered Riker through clenched teeth. It was tempting to come about and make a stand against the enemy, but Riker knew it would be the last stand. He wasn't prepared to lose the Enterprise until he could run no farther. The fleet had to be out there... somewhere.

 

 

"Sir!" gasped Ensign Craycroft. "The Carla Romney and the Sharansky have responded to our hails!

 

 

They'll intercept in two minutes." Riker allowed himself a grateful sigh. "All right, hail the Jem'Hadar and tell them we want to surrender. Conn, come out of warp to full impulse." "Verifying that order to surrender," said Craycroft.

 

 

"Yes, because we know they like to take prisoners.

 

 

Don't lower shields, but ready phasers. Conn, be ready to go to warp on a moment's notice." Riker settled back in his chair and straightened his rumpled uniform. He had lost about ten kilos since the war began, and the tunic hung on him. Too bad there was no time for anyone to appreciate his thinner physique.

 

 

Craycroft listened intently to her earpiece, then reported, "They say to lower shields." "On screen," ordered Riker, sitting upright in the command chair.

 

 

When a glowering Jem'Hadar appeared on his viewscreen, with a stream of white surging into the veins on his neck, Riker gave him his most charming smile.

 

 

"I am Commander William Riker of the Starship Enterprise. We are prepared to surrender. However, our shield strength dropped to a point where an emergency backup system took over, and our computer currently has command of the ship. We apologize.

 

 

We hope to rectify this problem in--" He glanced at his panel. "One minute." "They're arming phasers!" warned Craycroft.

 

 

"Fire phasers!" barked Riker.

 

 

They got off the first salvo, which rocked the Jem'Hadar battle cruisers at point-blank range and delayed their barrage for a few seconds.

 

 

"Maximum warp!" shouted Riker, leaping to his feet.

 

 

The young Bolian on the conn responded instantly, and the Enterprise shot off into space as the Jem'Hadar cruisers pounded the region they had vacated.

 

 

Riker had no illusions that he had crippled the battle cruisers in any way, and he was running for his life even as the Carla Romney and the Sharansky zoomed past them on the viewscreen, two blurs of light in the infinite blackness.

 

 

"Reverse course and go to one-third impulse," he ordered. "Let's hang back and see what's happening.

 

 

Ready photon torpedoes." There came a chorus of "Yes, sir"s as his young crew executed his commands. A moment later, the birdlike form of the Enterprise glided into a graceful holding pattern, framed by the serene starscape.

 

 

On the viewscreen, it was anything but serene, as the Jem'Hadar cruisers were caught flat-footed by two Akira-class starships, which unleashed a phaser barrage as they swooped past. Space rippled around the Jem'Hadar warships as they absorbed a devastating bombardment of pure directed energy.

 

 

"Target four torpedoes on closest foe," ordered Riker.

 

 

"Targeted," reported Ensign Craycroft.

 

 

"Fire!" While her allies came about for another attack, the Enterprise launched a stream of shooting stars at the closest of the stunned Jem'Hadar ships. The cruiser's sleek hull glowed with brilliant phosphors as she powered up to go into warp, but the torpedoes slammed into her before she could get away.

 

 

Explosions rippled along the hull of the battle cruiser as her sister ship successfully escaped into warp.

 

 

Riker watched with grim satisfaction as the Carla Romney and the Sharansky swooped back into view, hurling a dozen more quantum torpedoes at the crippled ship. The barrage obliterated the cruiser's shields, then the cruiser itself; it exploded like a sun going nova, hurling flame and debris into the cosmos.

 

 

There had been no opportunity to take prisoners, not that the Jem'Hadar were ever known to surrender.

 

 

Without taking time to gloat over their kill, the Sharansky and the Carla Romney shot off into space in pursuit of the second cruiser. Riker sighed and slumped back into this chair. "Any other ships in the area?" "No, sir, all clear," answered Craycroft, the tension draining from her voice.

 

 

The captain rubbed his eyes. "Inform Commander Troi that she's on bridge duty, and set course for Starbase 209. Before we go back into action, we need to unload those Maquis passengers." "Yes, sir." Riker rose stiffly from the command chair, feeling as though he had been caught in a barroom brawl. He wanted to go chasing after Data's shuttlecraft, the Bajoran transport, and the escaping Jem'Hadar cruiser, but there was only so much they could do in a day.

 

 

Despite all the business left unfinished, it was time to rest and lick their wounds.

 

 

Against the odds, they had survived this day, earning the chance to do it all again tomorrow. He could only hope his friends had also survived one more day.

 

 

Captain Picard stood on a dusty patch of ground, surveying a speckled field of waist-high, blacktasseled grain. He couldn't believe how odd it felt to be standing on terra firma, gazing at a leafy horizon and a cloudless blue sky. A warm breeze stroked his face, bringing greasy smells of Cardassian food bubbling in communal pits.

 

 

It had been a long time since he'd had any liberty-- so long he couldn't remember the last time. Although the visitors were surrounded by sullen Cardassians, inspecting their wares, the war seemed far removed from this peaceful farming community. What had begun as a forced stop to bolster their cover story had turned into an unexpectedly pleasant respite.

 

 

Picard turned to see Ro talking to the leader of the village, a gangly Cardassian dressed in simple brown clothes. At first they had appeared standoffish and suspicious, but now they were relaxed and cordial.

 

 

These farmers were not typical of the Cardassians with whom he had dealt. For one thing, they didn't even possess spacecraft or transporters, which necessitated the trip down to the planet. The tetralubisol was of only minor interest to them, but they wanted to buy the whole load of Bajoran silk. They postured very little, as if the typical Cardassian arrogance had been beaten out of them.

 

 

Ro was supposed to be haggling over a price for the silk, although the farmers didn't seem to have much to offer except for food and hospitality. Picard had the feeling that these lonely people welcomed contact with anyone from outside their limited sphere, even Bajorans, and they were in no hurry to conclude the deal.

 

 

He knew he should be mingling with the customers, but he wanted to look around. They had to find out whether Ro's story about the artificial wormhole was true, and every minute they delayed could be vital.

 

 

Picard stepped away from the outdoor bazaar, which consisted of gray tarpaulins strung between windowless geodesic domes. The domes were an all-purpose design that would have suited humans as well, except for the lack of modern facilities. It almost seemed as if this place were purposely kept primitive.

 

 

The captain strolled nonchalantly along a path that ran beside the field of grain. When he was sure he was out of earshot of the noonday shoppers in the bazaar, he tapped his communicator badge.

 

 

"Boothby to Orb of Peace," said Picard.

 

 

"Bridge here," answered the cheerful voice of Geordi La Forge. "How goes it down there?" "Fine. We've moved most of the Bajoran silk, but I'm not sure how much our captain is going to get for it. The crops are very impressive down here." "If you're inquiring about our friends," said La Forge, "they're still hanging around. It must be a slow day for them." Picard tried to hide his disappointment. It was hard to imagine that a Galor-class warship and a Jem'Hadar battle cruiser had nothing better to do than observe one tiny merchant ship, but that seemed to be the case. "Keep me posted if the situation changes. Out." He turned away from his self-absorbed conversation and bumped into a Cardassian woman who was strolling down the path. She sprang back, cradling her basket of fruit to her chest, and stared at him as if he were a bandit.

 

 

"Pardon me," said Picard with concern. "I'm so sorry. Did I injure you?" He instantly regretted his feeble words, because this was a fit woman in excellent health who was much more offended than injured. He couldn't be too certain of her age, because their leathery skin didn't show much wear, but she was a handsome Cardassian.

 

 

"Who are you?" she asked accusingly.

 

 

He pointed lamely to the sky. "We're merchantsin we came to trade. Our ship is in orbit." "Bajorans?" she asked doubtfully.

 

 

"Yes," answered Picard. "Have you met our people before?" "Yes, in prison." The woman scowled, as if she had said too much. She brushed past him and hurried down the path.

 

 

But Picard now was intrigued, and he charged after the woman. "Madam, can I give you something for your inconvenience?" "Give me something?" the woman asked, peering strangely at him as if she had never gotten a break in her life. Just as well, Picard thought sadly. There wasn't enough latinum in the Alpha quadrant to compensate this woman for the unhappiness evident in her vivid green eyes.

 

 

"Have they sent you?" "Who?" "Don't be coy. Are you telling me that you don't know what this place is?" "I don't know much about this place," admitted Picard. "It was just a name on a chart to us until a while ago." She snorted a laugh. "Well, somebody in your party must have a sense of humor. This colony, this communal farm, is an indoctrination center. Despite the lack of guards and fences, it's a glorified work camp." Picard nodded gravely, thinking that explained the absence of off-world transportation and modem technology. "What crimes have you committed." "Things like this," answered the woman snidely.

 

 

"Talking to the wrong people, saying the wrong things. I can't help myself." "You're dissidents," said Picard, realizing that they had indeed picked the wrong colony to call upon.

 

 

Instead of throwing off suspicions, coming here might have aroused them more.

 

 

"Ah, but we're toothless, powerless dissidents," whispered the woman. "We've been spared, but we can't leave here. We've been genetically altered--if we try to eat anything but the food we grow on this planet, we'll die." She offered him a shiny yellow fruit. "Want some?" Picard shook his head, feeling terribly sorry for the woman and her fellow political prisoners. He wanted to tell her that Dr. Crusher could reverse the genetic engineering, but Beverly wasn't with him. He reminded himself of his conversation with Ro; they couldn't save the prisoners, only the Federation, if they were lucky. No doubt this was one of the colonies that the Cardassians had insisted they had the right to build in the Demilitarized Zone, and the Federation had let them. What appeared to be idyllic farmland was just another prison camp for the most forgotten of Cardassia's victims, her own people.

 

 

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

 

 

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you sure you're not a spy?" "No," lied Picard, wondering which side she thought he was on. "How do I know you're not a spy?" "You don't. However, it was you who ran into me, and you are the stranger here. Plus, you are the only one of us who is allowed to leave." "I wish that were so," muttered Picard, "but we're under observation by two warships." The woman smiled. "We are always under observation. As they tell us when we complain, if you're innocent, why should it matter that we're watching you?" "I'm called Boothby," said Picard, appreciating her sarcastic wit. Her eyes narrowed, perhaps in response to the odd nickname, Picard thought.

 

 

"Lethama," she said, apparently deciding not to comment as she sauntered down the path in the direction of the bazaar. "If you were to get away from these warships, where would you go?" The captain knew he should be careful. But this was a fact-finding mission, and he couldn't overlook any possible source of information, especially a dissident Cardassian. Still, Picard had made a career of judging character, and he decided that Lethama was on his side.

 

 

But he was guarded as he replied, "We may never be in Cardassian space again, so we would want to see the biggest, most important sight there is." "Hmmm. There is a dust cloud called the Badlands which is very unusual." "Yes, we need to go there." Picard gazed at her, hoping that his trust wasn't misplaced.

 

 

"But those ships won't let you go there. That is, unless they were called away to other duty." "Yes," said Picard, gazing benignly at the fields.

 

 

"That would be ideal, if they were called away." As some of her neighbors strolled past, Letharna held out a plump piece of fruit to Picard, and this time he took it. "This planet doesn't have just farms," she whispered. "There is also a subspace relay station on the southern continent. From there, it might be possible to fake a general alert that would bring them back to their base. It might only distract them for a short time, but that could be enough to get a jump." Deep in thought, Picard stared at the fruit in his hand, and she finally smiled at him. "You can eat it.

 

 

It's safe." He nodded, thinking that he had already decided to trust Letharna. With a grateful smile, he bit into the fruit. "Are you sure you can't leave here?" "Yes. We lack the enzymes required to digest food grown anywhere but the soil of this planet. It's a rather ingenious punishment, isn't it? We require little security, and we're tucked safely out of the way.

 

 

Yet we're available to be displayed when visitors want to see a nonmilitary colony. And if we don't work hard, we starve." Picard wanted to say that Cardassians were masters of torture and imprisonment, in all their myriad forms, but his hostess already knew that.

 

 

"Your help will not be forgotten," he assured her.

 

 

"I have only begun to help you," said Letharna.

 

 

Ro Laren stared at him, aghast. "You want to take one of these people aboard our ship, show them what we're doing, and use them to take out a subspace relay station?" "Not take it out," said Picard. "We just want to send a fake message, a general alert. Those ships are close enough to get their relays from this station, and it might throw them off long enough for us to get away." Ro shook her head vigorously but kept her voice low.

 

 

"I believe youmthat these people could be dissidents-but that doesn't mean we can trust them. Some of these farmers are sure to be government plants, and the others could be crazy. What if she's just looking for a way to escape, or to hijack our vessel?" "She can't leave the planet," said Picard. "Those two warships are sitting at the edge of the solar system, watching us. If you know a better way to get rid of them, I'm listening." Ro scowled, and he knew that she didn't have a better solution. Picard pressed his point: "In three days, we're expected to go to Cardassia Prime, a trip which could land us in a Cardassian prison. Maybe they're hoping we'll just head back to Bajor, and that will be the end of it. But we can't do that. We can't shoot our way out, and we can't talk our way out. As you say--we need to use stealth and guile." Ro nodded politely to a clutch of Cardassians as they walked by; then she strolled farther away from the bazaar. "What kind of garrison are we looking at?" she asked.

 

 

"According to Letharna, maybe ten. I believe she's thought this out fairly well." "I wish we had a backup plan," muttered Ro.

 

 

"When do we go?" "To allay suspicion, I would like to leave you and the others here. You seem to have quite a few crates of vegetables to inventory, and Letharna thinks that with our transporters, we can be there and back in less than an hour. We won't even have to change our orbit." Picard motioned toward the sky, which was turning a salmon color with traces of vibrant orange. "It's already dark on the southern continent." Before Ro could reply, the head man of the village strode up to them, a concerned look on his face. "You look unhappy. Is everything all right?" asked the gangly Cardassian.

 

 

"Yes," answered Ro, mustering a smile. "My shipmate here doesn't like the price we got for the silk, but I overruled him." "It's simply vegetables I don't like," said Picard with a friendly smile. "I'll return to the ship and make room for them in the hold." "A gift for you then," said the Cardassian, "for accepting an uneven trade." He handed Picard a small scroll, which the captain politely took. It wasn't until his hand closed around the object that Picard realized it was solid, not paper--the scroll was wrapped around another cylindrical object. The intense look on the Cardassian's face told Picard that he had better accept the gift with no questions asked, and no examination until later.

 

 

"Thank you," said the captain solemnly. He tapped his comm badge. "One to beam up." A few moments later, Picard materialized in the stylish but small transporter room of the Orb of Peace.

 

 

La Forge was at the controls, looking quite dashing with his dangling earring, nose ridges, and pilot's goggles, which hid his ocular implants.

 

 

"Captain," said Geordi. "Anyone else?" "One more person," said Picard, jumping off the transporter platform. "But first, help me unwrap this gift." He carefully removed the scroll to find a coppercolored cylinder with magentic strips along its length and a blue label at the top.

 

 

"Hmm," said the engineer with appreciation, "an isolinear rod, Cardassian design. What does it control?" "I think we'll find out soon." Picard leaned over the transporter console and entered prearranged coordinates into the computer. "Beam up one, from that location." "Yes, sir." La Forge completed the procedure, and another figure began to materialize in a column of sparkling light. Even wearing goggles, it was evident that the engineer's eyes widened considerably when he got a good look at the newest arrival.

 

 

Letharna stepped down from the transporter platform and glanced around at her ornate surroundings.

 

 

"I can't believe I'm in space again... on a Bajoran vessel." "Unfortunately, there's no time to show you around," said Picard. "Are you ready?" She pointed to the object in his hand. "Good, you have the isolinear rod. That will help." Picard was having second thoughts, realizing that he had jeopardized their entire mission on a hunch. If he was wrong about Letharna--if she was well meaning but unstable--they could very well doom themselves to capture and torture. For his own satisfaction, he had to ask, "Why are you doing this?" Letharna glared at him. "I'm no traitor if that's what you're getting at. The Dominion is exactly what we have always feared. While our military leaders strut and preen, they let an outside force take over our civilization. Wasn't it a terran who said, 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely'? The absolute power of the military made us weak and corrupt, unable to resist the lure of the Dominion. This is why I help you, whoever you are." Picard glanced at La Forge, and the two old comrades exchanged a shrug. It wasn't the first time they had gambled.

 

 

"Stay here, Geordi," said the captain. "We're going to need an experienced hand on the transporter."

 

 

Chapter Seven

 

 

ON BOARD THE TAG GARWAL, Sam Lavelie took personal control of the conn, deciding to pilot the antimatter tanker himself on their first test flight. Taurik sat nearby on ops, monitoring ship's systems. The towering Deltan, Tamla Horik, was on tactical, manning the tractor beam in lieu of weapons. Grof, the two material handlers, and the transporter chief were also available, but Sam knew that he and Taurik were basically the bridge crew. In fact, the others weren't even on the bridge but below, fussing over the transporter, mining probe, and recombination storage chamber.

 

 

He was glad this wasn't a Jem'Hadar ship, because he didn't think he'd have time to get used to an eyepiece for visual input instead of the more traditional viewscreen. Cardassian technology was roughly equivalent to Federation technology, and they had all studied Miles O'Brien's compendium of Cardassian technology.

 

 

It helped that today's mission wasn't very difficult.

 

 

They were to disengage from the docking sphere and take a short spin five thousand kilometers into space, where they would grab a dummy cargo bin with the tractor beam and bring it back. Sam presumed all of this would take place under the watchful eye of the military vessels docked around them.

 

 

He tapped the comm panel on the arm of his chair.

 

 

"Lavelie to crew. We've run through our checklist, and the bridge systems are ready for launch. Does anyone need a delay?" "No, get moving," grumbled the voice of Enrak Grof. "We're ready." "Affirmative," said Sam, pressing another button.

 

 

"This is tanker Tag Garwal to station control, seeking permission to launch on test flight zero-zero-one." On his screen came the familiar face of Joulesh, the Vorta, looking delighted with his charges. "Tag Garwal, you are clear to launch. We've rerouted incoming traffic for you. Good luck." Sam didn't know whether to thank Joulesh for his precautions or not. All of them had flown more difficult flights than this as second-year cadets, and he anticipated no problems. He supposed that Grof was right about one thing: they were constantly forced to prove themselves to their captors.

 

 

"Retracting airlock and disengaging," said Sam. He wiped Joulesh's grinning face off the viewscreen and put up the view from the nose of the tanker. Sam felt as if he should be nervous, but it was such a relief to be back at the conn of a ship, doing what he had been trained to do. Without hesitation, he fired thrusters and slowly piloted the bulky tanker away from the spacedock.

 

 

Once they were cruising at full impulse power through space, Sam couldn't help but to look at Taurik and smile. The Vulcan, of course, gave him only a blank stare, and he was forced to look at the Deltan to convey his pleasure. The bald female beamed back at him, sharing his joy at this momentary taste of freedom.

 

 

Sam set his course and put the ship on automatic pilot to insure it was working properly. Once they got to the black hole, they would be depending a great deal on the automatic settings, and there would be no room for error, human or machine. He carefully monitored their progress, and they covered the five thousand kilometers in what seemed like seconds.

 

 

Looking like a trash bin floating in space, a large rectangular object loomed ahead of them, and Sam slowed to one-third impulse.

 

 

"Ready tractor beam," he ordered.

 

 

"This is too easy," grumbled the Deltan. "Graviton levels steady, tractor beam ready." Sam brought the ship to a full stop and used his thrusters to reverse her heading. "All right, latch on." The Deltan plied her controls as Sam watched the invisible bonds twist their cargo around and draw it closer to the tail of their ship. "Tractor beam holding," reported the Deltan. "Levels steady." "I would love to take it to warp," said Sam, "but I think that would surprise our trainers too much. I'm setting course back to the dock." Reluctantly, Sam piloted the craft and its dummy cargo back to the sphere they had left about ten minutes earlier. The successful but rapid conclusion of their test flight left him feeling oddly disappointed, and he didn't want the mission to end.

 

 

In some respects, this was the cruelest punishment of all, he decided, waving a tantalizing glimpse of freedom and normality under their noses before forcing them back into their cage. He began to understand how Enrak Grof had evolved into a collaborator. It would be hard to give up feeling useful and responsible-to go back to being a prisoner awaiting death.

 

 

"We're docked," he announced to no one in particular. "Mission complete." He heard footsteps clomping up the ladder, and he turned to see the rotund, beaming face of Enrak Grof.

 

 

"Excellent!" bellowed the Trill. "Very efficient piloting, Lieutenant, and excellent work with the tractor beam, Commander." The Deltan scowled. "My baby sister could have retrieved that cargo bin." "Baby steps are what we must take," said Grof, "until we are allowed to take the big step." The Trill flashed Sam a look, and then he climbed back down the ladder. There was something in his choice of words and his expression which made Sam wonder how hard he would resist an escape attempt.

 

 

When the moment came, it would be hard to predict how any of them would react. It would either be escape or death, so they would have to choose the moment carefully. If Grof resisted, they would be forced to deal with him themselves.

 

 

There were more footsteps, and Joulesh poked his web-eared head over the top of the hatch. "I wish to convey the Founder's extreme pleasure with your progress," said the Vorta. "Two more test flights, and we believe you will be free to make history." Whose history? wondered Sam. Who will end up writing it?

 

 

Jean-Luc Picard materialized inside a narrow, lowceilinged tunnel that linked the subspace relay station to the barracks of the permanent garrison. He was glad that Letharna had warned him to duck, or his head would have materialized inside a concrete ceiling. More black-garbed guerrilla fighters were standing by in the transporter room of the Orb of Peace, in case they were needed, but the initial assault team consisted of himself, Letharna, and two young humans who looked Bajoran.

 

 

He and his crew members were armed with phasers set to heavy stun, although they hoped to slip in, broadcast the alert, and escape without being detected. Letharna was armed only with the isolinear rod. In a crouch, she motioned them to follow her as she scuttled down the dank tunnel toward a shadowy doorway.

 

 

Feeling unexpectedly nervous, Picard nodded to his subordinates to follow her, while he brought up the rear. The tunnel was intended for use during bad weather, to move from one building to another, but it had apparently fallen into disuse. According to Letharna, it wouldn't have sensors capable of detecting a small force beaming down, but the tunnel was giving Picard an uncomfortable feeling of claustrophobia.

 

 

He didn't have enough knowledge of the station to take over the point from Letharna, so he had to trust her. Trusting Cardassians, even dissidents, did not come easily.

 

 

He thought of another Cardassian he had trusted, Joret Dal, a Federation operative who had infiltrated the Cardassian military. Dal disappeared in a shuttlecraft with Ensign Sito Jaxa, attempting the same thing his team was trying to do--sneak into Cardassian space. Was Dal found out, or was he a double agent?

 

 

They would never know. What a tragedy it had been to lose Ensign Sito, recalled Picard. Putting people in danger was his least favorite aspect of command, especially when he lost the gamble, as he had with Sito Jaxa.

 

 

A moment later, the captain arrived at the solid metal door where Letharna and his two officers were gathered. Confronted by a card entry system, Letharna drew a handful of Cardassian security cards from her belt, and she intently fed them into the slot, looking for one that would work.

 

 

"They don't change the codes that often," she whispered. "After all, their nearest neighbors are on another continent, with no way to get here." While she worked on the door, Picard checked his chronometer. He was worried that if the operation took too long, their ship would move so far in its orbit that it would be out of transporter range. Then the ship would have to backtrack, possibly raising suspicions.

 

 

He was about to tell Letharna to hurry up, when the lights on the door turned white and the lock clicked.

 

 

Letharna pushed the door open, and it squeaked on rusty hinges. Stealthily they climbed a flight of metal stairs.

 

 

On the move again, Picard felt more confident.

 

 

When they got to the open door at the top of the stairs, Letharna dropped into a crouch, and Picard moved into position behind her, his Bajoran hand phaser leveled for action. They crept into a large bunker filled with electronic equipment, computer stations, and the chirping sounds of a constant stream of subspace radio traffic. The only window was a narrow slit in the wall which afforded a partial view of a giant parabolic antenna on the outer grounds.

 

 

Although it was night, the floodlights outside were as bright as day.

 

 

No one seemed to be present in the bunker, and Picard felt a mixture of relief and dread. Just as before, it was going too smoothly. He motioned to one of his officers to remain by the door, and she did so, crouching down on the upper landing. The other officer followed Picard and Letharna as they crept through rows of shelves, boxes, and electronic equipment.

 

 

Suddenly they heard voices mixed in with the subspace chatter, and all three of them dropped to their bellies and remained prone as two Cardassian guards entered from an outside door. Laughing, the guards seemed to share a joke as they checked the readouts on a console by the door.

 

 

Picard saw Letharna draw a long, curved knife from her bosom and clutch it in a trembling hand. He quickly tapped her leg. After getting her attention, he shook his head vigorously, then he held up his phaser, hoping she would get the idea. Letharna had a look of bloodlust in her dark eyes which he had seen before in Cardassians. Looking somewhat disappointed, she nodded at him.

 

 

A moment later, Picard felt a tap on his leg, and he looked back at his young officer to see him urgently pointing. The captain turned to see one of the Cardassians strolling nonchalantly across the room, checking various readouts as he went. He was coming closer.

 

 

For the moment, they were hidden by stacks of equipment, but there was no way of telling when the Cardassian would walk down their aisle. There was also no way of knowing how long these workers would remain on duty in this bunker, and time was running out.

 

 

With both of his comrades staring at him, awaiting a decision, Picard made one. He held up his phaser, motioned to his officer, and pointed to the guard making the rounds. Then he pointed to himself and motioned to the guard farther away on the main console. A sense of urgency gripped the captain when he saw his target insert an isolinear rod into the receptacle on the instrument panel.

 

 

He jumped to his feet, seeing his comrades do the same. Picard took quick but sure aim and unleashed a red beam, which streaked across the room and struck his target in the back. The Cardassian gasped and slumped over his console, unconscious.

 

 

Picard heard shuffling and crashing sounds, and he turned to see that his officer had missed his target.

 

 

The second Cardassian scrambled down the aisle, making a dash for the exit, and there was another flash of movement to Picard's right.

 

 

With a total disregard for her safety, Letharna leaped over a computer console and pounced upon the escaping guard. Picard watched in horror as she neatly slit his throat with her curved blade. His body slumped uselessly onto the floor, yet she continued to shake him, looking annoyed that the life had so quickly seeped out of him.

 

 

"That's enough!" hissed Picard, grabbing her arm.

 

 

"He was going for the alarm," she said defensively.

 

 

"That could be," muttered Picard. As disappointed as he was in her rash actions, he still needed Letharna, so he swallowed the rest of his words.

 

 

"I'm sorry, sir," said the officer who had missed his target. The young man looked quite mortified.

 

 

"Dispose of his body," said Picard. He took the young man's phaser and set it to vaporize. The officer nodded and went about his grim task.

 

 

Letharna was already at the main console. She grabbed the unconsious guard and tossed his body to the floor; then she sat down at his place. Picard looked nervously over her shoulder and studied the unfamiliar readouts.

 

 

"Can you do it?" he asked.

 

 

"Oh, yes, that was never in doubt." Letharna gave him a sardonic grin, and for the first time Picard saw a look of madness in her sunken eyes.

 

 

"I have control of the whole station from here, the whole security grid--the whole planet!" With confident fingers, Letharna worked the instruments. "Do you know how long we've waited to get in here?" Picard tried to curb his anger and impatience. "The message to the warships," he reminded her.

 

 

She removed the rod from the console and replaced it with the one given to them by the village leader.

 

 

"This should give us access to the interrupt codes.

 

 

Yes, there it is. You want them to receive a general alert that will cause them to return to base?" "Yes," breathed Picard, worried that Letharna was beginning to look upon this as an opportunity to right as many wrongs as possible.

 

 

As she entered commands, an urgent beeping caused all of them to jump, and Picard looked accusingly at the blinking communications panel. Letharna kept working, a delighted grin on her face, and Picard finally slapped the panel to silence it. A moment later, a stream of spoken Cardassian erupted from the panel, and he tapped it again to squelch that.

 

 

"Hurry," he breathed.

 

 

"Your part is done," she said. "Now I have to collect as many new codes as I can, while we have this chance. I'm going to fill up this rod." The man on the floor groaned, and Picard adjusted his phaser to a heavier stun and drilled him at pointblank range. A second later, they heard footsteps running outside the bunker, and Picard knew it was time to go.

 

 

He looked around, took stock of the situation, and tapped his comm badge. "Orb of Peace--five second delay, then six to beam up." "Yes, sir," Picard motioned to his officer stationed by the tunnel, and she hustled over. He heard more footsteps and voices outside, plus the comm panel began to beep again. "It's time to go," he told Letharna.

 

 

"One more minute," she growled, her fingers working furiously.

 

 

Picard grabbed her precious isolinear rod and yanked it from its slot. The screen went blank.

 

 

Enraged, Letharna screamed and jumped up with her knife over her head, but Picard shot her in the stomach. Stunned, she slumped to the floor, and Picard caught her falling body just as their molecules turned into a swarm of swirling fireflies. When the Cardassians burst in a moment later, they found no one.