"You think you can escape from the pressures, but they always come after you." La Forge strolled jauntily through the door, still looking rather roguish with his earring, nose ridges, and pilot's goggles. "Hello, Captain Picard, Captain Ro," he said cheerfully, stopping at the food replicator. "What's your pleasure?" "Hello, Geordi," said Picard with an uncharacteristic yawn. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot." "Knowing that replicator, I think you might have to settle for Bajoran tea," said Ro. "I'11 have the juice cocktail." La Forge repeated their orders a few times into the recalcitrant repticator until it was finally able to produce their beverages. He delivered their drinks to the table, then went back to get his glass of milk.

 

 

"So, is it clear sailing from here?" asked the engineer, pulling up a chair.

 

 

"Theoretically," answered Picard. "If we can delay them by destroying the shipment of Corzanium--and we can get back to our lines and tell everyone what we've seen--maybe we can mount an attack against this thing. A few distractions here and there along the line, and a sizable attack force could slip through to the Badlands. At least we found the wormhole before it's operational." "I wouldn't mind playing with a verteron collider that huge," said La Forge wistfully. "It's really too bad that we've got to destroy it, or at least make sure it never works. A completely stable artificial wormhole that we have total control over--it sounds like a dream come true." "Or a nightmare, depending on which side you're on," muttered Picard. He took a sip of tea.

 

 

The Bajoran's comm badge beeped, and she answered, "Ro here." "This is Ensign Owlswing outside the cargo bay," responded a female voice. "Henderson sent us down to check on those vegetables and fruits in the hold, but something's wrong with the cargo-bay hatch. We can't get it open--it's locked and won't respond to the controls." Ro started to rise wearily from her seat. "We can override the lock, take it off the computer, and open it manually." "I know, sir," said Owlswing, "I just wanted your permission to try it." Ro sunk back into her seat and saw Picard smiling at her. "Yes, go ahead. Ro out." "See, it really is your ship," said Picard, "and your crew." "For a young crew, they've been relatively calm and levelheaded," conceded Ro. "Let's hope they stay that way, because we're not done yet." Picard sat forward and folded his hands in front of him. "That's true, and we've got to decide how we're going to destroy this mining vessel with our limited firepower." "If they're working in the vicinity of a black hole," offered Geordi, "it should be fairly simple to cause them to have an accident and get sucked inside.

 

 

Maybe it's something we can do from a distance, with a minimum of risk." From somewhere in the ship, they heard a muffled shout. Picard turned around at looked at the open door and the empty corridor beyond. "What was that?" Geordi shook his head. "I think it was just the welds groaning. No offense, Ro, but this ship is kind of a bucket of bolts." "No offense taken," answered Ro. "We're all aboard the Orb of?eace because we didn't have a lot of choice." Suddenly, they heard frantic footsteps on the spiral ladder, followed by a loud shout. A young female officer paused in the doorway, a stricken look on her face, as a beam of red light shot from behind her and drilled into her back. As she stood transfixed in the doorway, her eyes wide with horror, a glowing red splotch appeared on her chest, and she collapsed in a heap on the deck, her eyes staring straight upward.

 

 

Picard jumped instantly to his feet and rushed for the door as another young officer ran past. He, too, was consumed in the beam of a sloppy shot, which scattered sparks off the bulkhead. Before Picard could reach the wounded man, the doors slid shut on their own, blocking out the scene of carnage in the hallway.

 

 

The captain started to pound on the wall panel to open the portal when caution got the better of him.

 

 

They didn't have a weapon among them, and to rush into the line of fire was foolish, no matter what the horror.

 

 

Ro slapped her comm badge. "Captain to bridge!

 

 

What's going on?" A harried voice came on, "Intruder alert! Intruder on the bridge... aaggh!" His voice dissolved into a strangled scream.

 

 

Ro looked at Geordi, who ripped his goggles off and stared at her with alarmed, pale eyes. He tapped his comm badge. "La Forge to Engineering--respond!

 

 

Engineering, come in!" No one answered his frantic call.

 

 

"It doesn't mean they're dead because they didn't answer," said Ro. "Communications may be down." "Then again," said Picard grimly, "if they hit the bridge and Engineering on this ship, they've hit it all." The Orb of Peace was indeed a tiny ship, which a small, determined party of armed intruders could capture from stem to stern in a matter of seconds. But who? Where had they come from? Ro didn't want to think that someone on their own crew could have mutinied against them, but she read that very thought in Picard's face.

 

 

Only a few seconds had passed since the attack started, but it was now deathly quiet on the transport.

 

 

The mess hall was about the most useless place to be during an emergency, as it contained no weapons, no equipment, and no computer terminals, except for the food replicator. There was also no escape, except for the door that Picard stood ready to open. Or perhaps he intended to keep it shut, in case the intruders tried to break in.

 

 

"I've got to go out there," said the captain.

 

 

"We'll all go," offered La Forge.

 

 

"No. You two stay in hiding. If worse comes to worse, you may have to take back the ship." "Sir, it's my ship," said Ro, brushing past the captain. "It's my place to see what's going on." He looked as if he wanted to argue with her, then thought better of it. "I'11 give you a few seconds' lead, then I'm going to see if they found the weapons storage in the dormitory. Geordi, we have to keep you in reserve. You've got the mess hall--see what you can do with it." "Yes, sir." "Let's hope it's not what we think it is," muttered the Bajoran as she slapped the panel and opened the door.

 

 

Ro stepped out into the corridor to see three dead bodies. The woman was slumped in front of the door, the man was crumpled against a bulkhead a few meters away, and another officer was sprawled across the top of the spiral staircase. Whoever the intruders were, they shot to kill.

 

 

She walked cautiously toward the stairs, knowing that she had to go to the bridge to find out who was behind this massacre. On the deck was a lump of silvery metal, which Ro recognized as one of their Bajoran phasers, melted by a blast from the intruders' weapon.

 

 

After stopping to remove her shoes, she started up the stairs in her stocking feet, hopeful not to unduly surprise whoever was on the bridge--whoever was now in command of her ship. Ro didn't enjoy walking into death, but she and death were old friends by this time. He had brushed awfully close to her lately, especially when he took Derek. Ro didn't fear death, but she was awfully angry about the way he toyed with her, and the way he exulted in this insane war.

 

 

After climbing the staircase, she found another dead body, this one blasted almost in two by beamed weapons. The destruction was so horrible that Ro wanted to look away, but she had to search the body for weapons, on the off chance that the assailants had missed collecting them.

 

 

After searching unsuccessfully for a handheld phaser, Ro strode down the corridor toward the open door to the bridge. She could hear muffled voices. On the bulkhead walls, storage cabinets had been pulled open and rifled through, and a pile of bandages lay strewn across the hallway. Another body--this one Henderson's--blocked the doorway. His petrified face gazed up at her, no longer looking so arrogant.

 

 

Ro steeled herself for an odious job. In essence, she was poised to surrender her ship--her first command-to whomever was in charge of the bridge.

 

 

Considering the ruthlessness of the attack, she would probably join her shipmates in death, but she had to meet the new masters of the Orb of Peace first. She had lost the ship in the blink of an eye, while she had been relaxing, negligent in her duties. That was the most galling part.

 

 

Captain Picard jumped up from a crouch and dashed across the expanse of the dormitory room, where several score of hammocks hung from the ceiling like old moss. It was dark, and he dared not turn on any lights for fear of being spotted. As he neared the last row of hammocks, he stumbled over the dead body of a young ensign. By her loose clothing, he concluded that she had been ruthlessly cut down while she slept.

 

 

The war and a life fraught with danger had inured him somewhat to death, but it was still difficult to accept when the victim was a young person with so many years ahead of her. To see her cut down unexpectedly, for no reason, was a sinful waste. Even so, thought Picard, he had been willing to kill this same young woman instead of letting her be taken prisoner by the Dominion. He had killed and was prepared to do it again.

 

 

He tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Why had someone wanted this ordinary little ship so badly they had to kill for it? Their assailants seemed to know their way around the ship fairly well; they knew exactly where to strike. So Picard wasn't optimistic about finding their cache of hand phasers intact as he reached the rear bulkhead in the dormitory.

 

 

Sure enough, the cabinet had been stripped of its weapons. He heard a groan, and he whirled around to see a lump in the corner, twitching, groping for him.

 

 

"Help me!" rasped the figure.

 

 

Picard ran to the wounded man and tried not to gape at his wretched condition. "I'm right here," he told the dying man. "Please stop trying to talk. Save your strength." The man gripped Picard's shoulder, and the captain could feel him shivering, growing weaker. Both of them were obscured by shadows. "No warning," croaked the officer.

 

 

"Who was it?" asked Picard as he tried to straighten the man's limbs and make him comfortable.

 

 

"Romulans!" wheezed the officer with a violent shudder. Suddenly his shivering and twitching stopped, and he went limp in the captain's arms.

 

 

"Rest in peace," whispered the captain, setting the man gently onto the deck. His jaw set determinedly, Picard rose to his feet and looked around the dormitory for any object he could use as a weapon. He spotted a toolbox and quickly opened it. Among the tools was a heavy spanner, which he hefted in his hand with grim satisfaction.

 

 

What his plan was, Picard didn't yet know. He was in reaction mode, thinking of other ships, other times when intruders had taken over and forced him into guerrilla warfare on his own decks. Every time, his foe had been so ruthless as to leave him no choice.

 

 

Picard pounded the spanner into the palm of his hand, jumped up, and dashed back through the dormitory. It was deserted except for the ghosts.

 

 

Ro paused outside the door of the bridge. Still in her stocking feet, she had approached the hijackers unseen and unheard, and she could see them hovering over the consoles, oblivious of the butchered bodies that littered the deck. The streaked image on the viewscreen led her to believe that they were still in warp drive, probably still on course for the Eye of Talek.

 

 

She saw two of the victors and heard the voice of a third, all men and dressed in civilian clothing--not the Bajoran uniforms of her crew. At least it hadn't been a mutiny. To know so much about the ship, these intruders had to be connected to the pirates. Maybe they had boarded during the search of the ship, while she had been drugged. Chuckling and congratulating each other, they sounded elated over the success of their murderous assault.

 

 

At that moment, when she had intended to surrender to them, Ro knew she couldn't do it. Her fury at losing her ship and her instincts for survival forced her to back slowly away from the door. Suddenly she heard angry voices, and one of the intruders turned around and strode toward her. Although his uniform was unfamiliar, she identified his straight black hair and imperious bearing.

 

 

A Romulan!

 

 

He stared at her, scowled, and reached for a Klingon disruptor in his belt. Ro darted down the hall and vaulted over a body and into the spiral staircase. She plunged several steps as a disruptor beam vaporized the hand railing, scattering droplets of molten metal down on her.

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

 

Ro CHARGED DOWN THE STAIRS, listening to the shouts and footsteps of her pursuer. She had no intent but to run like hell, which she did as soon as she hit the lower deck. Glancing behind her, Ro didn't see the first body sprawled across the corridor, and she stumbled over it. She crashed to the deck just as heavy footsteps bounded onto the deck behind her.

 

 

"Need help?" shouted a distant voice from above.

 

 

"No, no!" answered the grinning Romulan as he leveled his disruptor at Ro. "I've got matters in control." Expecting to be vaporized, Ro flinched, and she nearly missed seeing Captain Picard spring from behind the staircase and hit the Romulan across the back of his skull. His features contorted for a second before he collapsed onto the deck, sending the disruptor skittering across the floor toward Ro. She instantly pounced upon the weapon and aimed it at the top of the staircase, waiting for more of them to descend.

 

 

Picard searched the fallen Romulan but found nothing worth keeping. He motioned to Ro, and she picked herself up and scurried over. Picard pointed to the body and back down the corridor; then he gripped the prisoner's closest armpit. Keeping her weapon aimed at the Romulan, Ro gripped the other armpit, and together they dragged their prisoner back down the corridor toward the mess hall.

 

 

Seeing the bodies of their comrades was no easier this time, but she struggled on, helping Picard drag the unconscious Romulan to the door of the dining hall. When the door didn't open, Picard pushed the panel beside it. When that failed, he rapped on the door.

 

 

"Geordi! It's us!" The door slid open, and they dragged the Romulan inside, as Ro stole a glance down the corridor. The other two were still above deck, thinking their friend was in control.

 

 

La Forge gaped at them. "You caught a Romulan?" "Yes," answered Picard breathlessly. "I see you have the door rigged?" "For now," answered La Forge, gingerly sticking a fork back into the open wall compartment and making an adjustment. "These aren't heavy-duty doors-- they could bust through fairly easily. How many are there?" "Three," answered Ro. "Him and two others, all Romulans." "And there were Romulans in that bunch of pirates who boarded us," recalled Geordi. "I guess they had a look around and liked what they saw." Picard's jaw tightened. "We've got a weapon, and we've lowered the odds. But I really don't want to try a direct assault on the bridge." Their prisoner groaned and began to move his limbs. Ro looked at the disruptor and scowled. "This is the cheap model, the one with no stun setting." "Don't hesitate to kill him if necessary," ordered Picard. "Mr. La Forge, have we got anything to tie him up?" The engineer reached into the open panel and yanked out several long strands of electrical wiring, which he tossed to Picard. "Use this, because I've disabled the door's circuitry." When the Romulan groaned some more and tried to open his eyes, Ro's finger encircled the trigger of the disruptor and aimed the weapon at his chest. La Forge jumped down and helped Picard tie the captive's wrists together. They were working on his feet when he came to and gaped at them with startling clarity.

 

 

"What?" he gasped. "What is--" "Quiet," ordered Picard. "Kill him if he breathes another word." "With pleasure," answered Ro.

 

 

The Romulan's darting eyes took in Picard's stern visage, then the disruptor in Ro's hands, and finally the intense look on Ro's face. She didn't need to do anything to put the fear into him, because her determination to kill him was etched into her gaunt features. He stopped his movements and stared at them, wide-eyed.

 

 

"Why did you kill so many of us?" demanded Picard.

 

 

"We wanted your ship," said the Romulan evenly.

 

 

"Would you have given it to us?" "Why did you want this ship?" he pressed the captive.

 

 

"It was the only one which presented itself to us." The Romulan winced as he shifted position. "You don't know what it was like, serving under Roll and Shek! We were virtual prisoners--allowed none of the luxuries they got. And all the things we were forced to do--well, we learned how to take over a ship from them." "Did they have anything to do with this?" asked Picard.

 

 

"No, Rolf would torture and kill us, if he knew. We had been talking about deserting, if we could get a ship. After we returned from searching your vessel, we put our plan into action. We're Romulans. We were born to rule, not serve." "We're recapturing this ship," vowed Picard.

 

 

"There's no need for bloodshed," offered the Romulan, struggling against his bonds. "Turn me loose.

 

 

Let me talk to them." Ro glanced at Picard and La Forge, and it was obvious from their grim expressions that the Romulan was not getting his freedom any time soon.

 

 

"On your feet," ordered Picard.

 

 

"You're going to let me go?" asked the Romulan in amazement.

 

 

"Yes, and you're going to march straight to the bridge. Only I'll be right behind you, with the disruptor in your back." When the Romulan struggled to stand up, La Forge tried to help him. With a sullen expression, he bumped Geordi with his shoulder and knocked him away. "I can do it!" snarled the Romulan. He strode resolutely toward the door, staring straight ahead.

 

 

Something is wrong, thought Ro. None of this seemed right to herin not the hijacking, not the senseless killings, not the piratical Romulans.

 

 

"Wait a minute," she said, moving toward to the prisoner with the disruptor leveled at his stomach.

 

 

"What are you doing here--in Cardassian space-- with a war going on?" It was the same question she had been asked a day earlier, and like her, the Romulan did not have a satisfactory answer. He looked evasive as he replied, "We were young and foolish, out for adventure." "They're Romulan spies," concluded Ro. "Perhaps they're even here for the same reason we're here." Picard and La Forge glanced at each other, while the puzzled Romulan turned abruptly to Ro. "I thought you were Bajoran merchants." "No," answered Ro with a clenched jaw. "You murdered a dozen Starfleet officers who were disguised to look like Bajorans. Now I'll ask again: Why are you here?" The Romulan licked his lips, as if tasting the truth for the first time in his life. "We may be neutral in this war, but it's only natural to gather intelligence." La Forge frowned. "And what better way to see what's happening than to enlist on a Ferengi ship that prowls back and forth across the lines. So what have you found out?" The Romulan smirked. "I know you're losing the war, but I don't suppose that's news." "Hakron!" shouted a voice that was distant, but not distant enough.

 

 

When the Romulan looked as if he wanted to respond, Ro jabbed him sharply in the ribs with the disruptor and glared at him. "What else?" "Let's make a deal," he whispered. "Let me talk to my comrades. The chances are, we both want the same thing." "You wanted our ship," said Ro testily. "Why?

 

 

What do you know about the Dominion's artificial wormhole?" "Hakron!" shouted the voice, sounding closer.

 

 

"You haven't got a chance," said Hakron smugly.

 

 

Picard promptly grabbed their captive and shoved him toward the door. "Be quiet and don't say a word." He nodded to La Forge, who went to the doctored door panel and awaited his orders. Then he held out his hand to Ro, who gave him the disruptor.

 

 

Picard grabbed the Romulan by his collar and pressed the barrel of the weapon against his neck.

 

 

"We're going out. Tell them to hold their fire. Don't try to get away, or you're dead. Understand?" The Romulan nodded languorously.

 

 

The captain looked at Ro. "Can you be the eyes in the back of my head?" "Yes, sir." Picard nodded to La Forge, and the engineer applied his fork to the circuitry. With a jolt, the door slid open, and the captain pushed his captive out ahead of him. Ro immediately peered around the edge of the door, looking in the direction where Picard's back was turned. To her relief, she didn't see anything but a corridor littered with bodies.

 

 

Her relief was short-lived, because Hakron suddenly whirled around with his foot and caught Picard in the knee. The captain started to fall, but he kept his grip on the Romulan's collar and dragged his prisoner to the deck with him.

 

 

"T'ar'Fe'" cursed the Romulan.

 

 

At the end of the corridor, his confederate leaped out of the dormitory, saw them, and aimed his weapon. Picard hoisted the Romulan to his knees and ducked behind his torso just as a red disruptor beam streaked down the length of the hallway.

 

 

"No!" screamed Hakron as the beam struck him in the chest, setting it aglow. Using the slumping Romulan as cover, Picard fired his own disruptor. The deadly beam pulsed down the corridor and sliced his foe's left arm off at the shoulder. His screams echoed throughout the ship as he staggered for cover inside the dormitory.

 

 

Ro suddenly realized that she was neglecting her duty by watching the melee, so she turned to look at the spiral staircase. When she saw the body on the top step move slightly, she shouted, "Watch out!" Picard whirled around to shoot blindly at the top of the stairs. The disruptor beam blew the corpse off the steps and forced their adversary to retreat; they heard his scurrying footsteps. Now they were in the difficult position of having to defend both ends of the corridor, although it wasn't certain that the Romulan on their level could still mount an attack. Picard motioned to Ro and La Forge to follow him as he led the way toward the dormitory.

 

 

"Captain," whispered La Forge, "if I could get up one level to the transporter room, I could fix the guy on the bridge--without risking more disruptor fire." Picard stopped to consider the problem. "But the only way up is that staircase." "He might be changing course, taking us into Romulan space," added Ro. "We've got to get the bridge under control." The captain nodded. "Let me see if we have another weapon." He moved cautiously down the hallway and inspected the deck in front of the dormitory door, which was closed. Ro could see the severed arm, but apparently their foe hadn't dropped his weapon.

 

 

Looking sickened by the violence, the captain returned to his comrades. "All right, I'll cover the stairs and the door to the bridge. Mr. La Forge, you go to the transporter room." "What are you going to do, beam him into space?" asked Ro.

 

 

"Is that a problem?" "Not under these circumstances," she replied without hesitation. She knew that Picard cringed at the thought of fighting to the death, but the enemy hadn't left them much choice. With Ro keeping an eye on their rear, they began moving toward the spiral staircase.

 

 

Startling them, a voice crackled over the ship's intercom. "To those who are resisting--you must stop! We have control of the ship. You must surrender!

 

 

We won't harm you." Picard never stopped moving, and he was already halfway up the stairs, with La Forge behind him and Ro bringing up the rear. She assumed that if he was speaking to them on the ship's comm, he had to be on the bridge, probably with the door shut. When they reached the top of the stairs, she found her assumption to be true, and Picard covered them while La Forge and Ro dashed down the corridor to the safety of the transporter room.

 

 

Ro watched the door while La Forge rushed to the transporter controls. A moment later, Picard joined them, as a voice continued to plead over the intercom: "Lay your weapons down, and we will talk. We are reasonable people, and we have all your weapons. I have control of the bridge. You must deal with me!" "Not necessarily," said La Forge as he skillfully plied the transporter console. "I've locked on to the only life sign on the bridge. That's an outer bulkhead behind the transporter. Ro, will you pace it off for me?" "Sure." She leaped upon the raised platform and quickly paced off the rough distance to the wall behind it. "Five meters," she reported.

 

 

"All right," said La Forge with a sigh. "Do we give him a chance to surrender?" "No!" snapped Ro. "They didn't give our crew a chance." Keeping watch at the door with his disruptor, Picard shook his head concurring with Ro's assessment. "Energize." La Forge slid an old-fashioned lever forward, and a almost melodic noise sounded in the air. But nothing appeared on the transporter platform.

 

 

"It's done," said La Forge heavily. "What about the one in the dormitory?" "No," answered Picard, "he's probably in shock.

 

 

We should be able to deal with him. All of our weapons must be on the bridge--let's go get them." Cautiously, they made their way down the corridor, following Picard and his disruptor. The small bridge of the Orb of Peace, which usually looked so serene, now looked like a chamber of horrors. There were dead bodies everywhere, and an impressive pile of weapons in front of the viewscreen. Ro and La Forge each grabbed a Bajoran hand phaser, and Ro checked the readings on the conn.

 

 

"We're still on course to the black hole," she reported. "Still at warp three." "I want to question the last Romulan," said Picard, "if he's still alive." Once again, they wound their way down the spiral staircase, past the familiar dead bodies. When they reached the dormitory, Picard motioned them away from the door as he pressed the wall panel. When the door slid open, they flung themselves out of the way, expecting fire to erupt from the room--but none came. Cautiously Picard reached around the edge of the door and felt for the panel that would turn on the lights. When he found it, the shadowy chambers were suddenly illuminated by cheerful lighting.

 

 

Once again, they pinned themselves against the bulkhead in the corridor, expecting enemy fire to pulse through the doorway. Picard picked up a piece of nearby battle debris. He tossed the debris into the room, and it hit the deck with a loud clunk.

 

 

"Unnh!" groaned a voice with surprise, as if they had awakened him from a nap. Suddenly wild disruptor fire streaked out the door and raked the opposite bulkhead.

 

 

"Hold your fire!" shouted Picard, backing away from the door. "Your confederates are dead, and we've recaptured the ship! If you throw your weapon toward the door, we'll come in and give you medical attention." The scattered beams stopped, and they waited in tense silence, punctuated only by their own rapid breathing. Finally, there came a skittering sound as a disruptor bounced across the deck and out the doorway. Ro instantly scooped it up.

 

 

"Mr. La Forge, see if you can find a med kit," ordered the captain. "Let's go." Still keeping his weapon leveled in front of him, Picard led the way into the hammock-filled dormitory. Ro tried to ignore the sight of more young officers, pointlessly slain in the cowardly attack; she concentrated on searching the room for the wounded Romulan.

 

 

"Here!" called Picard.

 

 

She caught up with the captain as he knelt down beside a shivering humanoid who was clutching the burned stump of his arm. Sweat and grime smeared his once-proud face, and he blinked at them with terror and shock.

 

 

"La Forge!" called Ro.

 

 

"Coming!" The engineer reached them a moment later. He popped open a white case and took out a hypospray.

 

 

After they injected the hypo into the Romulan's neck, he calmed down considerably and stopped shivering. Ro figured that they had only a few seconds before he lost consciousness... probably forever.

 

 

She bent over him, her face inches away from his.

 

 

"The Dominion is building an artificial wormhole.

 

 

What do you know about it?" "Must see if it works--" he answered dazedly.

 

 

"Why?" He was losing consciousness, and she had to shake him to get his attention. "Why?" "If it works," he rasped, "we become their allies... we join the Dominion." Then he was out, unconscious but still breathing roughly. She looked gravely at Picard and La Forge.

 

 

None of them needed to say what it would mean if the Romulan Star Empire turned against them, too. They would be caught in a vise.

 

 

"It's not going to work," vowed Picard. "It's never going to work." He slumped back on his haunches, weary and shell-shocked. The raw struggle for survival had been won, leaving Ro with a sense of failure and a dread of the killing to come.

 

 

His fingers twitchy and nervous, Sam Lavelle sat at the conn of the Tag Garwal, waiting for his crewmates to finish their last-minute preparations. In the hold was a mining probe that would soon be dangled over a black hole. He didn't know why he was so nervous, because theoretically he had the easiest job of the lot of them--to simply maintain their position. Of course, he was captain as well as helmsman, and he knew it would be up to him to take over in an emergency. At the same time, he had to look out for providential opportunities to escape.

 

 

He glanced at the viewscreen, knowing it was the Eye of Talek that made him nervous. Although small as black holes went, it looked like a stealth moon--an alien world within the endless void. In some strange way, it made space seem vulnerable. Although Grof had said that matter escaped from it, the flow of dust, debris, and gas seemed to be all one way.

 

 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Grof, settling into the seat at the ops console.

 

 

"It's still scary to me," answered Sam. "Maybe that's because I don't trust it." "When the Cardassians discovered it," said Grof, "they only had telescopes, no space travel, and they didn't know what it was. But they had a myth about a large monster with one eye which consumed everything it saw. That was Talek." "That makes me feel so much better," murmured Sam. "I take it your main job is to shoot the tachyons?" "That, and to monitor everything that goes on. I'd like to observe you, for instance, and learn your job." "I'm sure you would," Sam replied snidely.

 

 

"In a positive sense," said the Trill defensively. "We have a small crew, so the more efficiently we can relieve each other, the better off we'll be." "Just do your job," ordered Sam, "and let everybody else worry about theirs." In truth, he would rather have had Taurik on the bridge with him, but the consensus was that Taurik was needed at the airlock with the mining probe, which was too heavy for anyone else to lift. Then Taurik would assist the material handlers in the transporter room and the recombination chambers.

 

 

Footsteps on the ladder made Sam jump, and he whirled around to see Tamla Horik, the tractor-beam specialist, emerge from the hatch. The Deltan looked contented and relaxed these days, just glad to be free.

 

 

This was Sam's first command, he thought to himself, and he couldn't even enjoy it.

 

 

The Deltan took her seat at the tactical station and reported, "The others are all set. Commence when ready." "Thank you," said Grof testily. He punched the communications panel, and his voice echoed throughout the ship. "Crew of the Tag Garwal, we are ready to begin our historic mission. Release the mining probe." Sam shook his head at the pomposity of the Trill.

 

 

He talked as if he were running the operation when, in reality, the only one in charge was the Jem'Hadar attack ship. It continued to scrutinize from afar, with the power to destroy them at any second.

 

 

Knowing he had to forget about them and concentrate on the job, Sam put the mining probe on the viewscreen. The small unmanned craft looked ungainly with its array of robotic arms, sensors, and reflector dishes. And it looked helpless as it cruised inexorably toward the deep emptiness of the Eye of Talek.

 

 

Sam tried not to think how much was riding on all this Cardassian equipment, but he knew that Grof, Taurik, and the others had checked every piece a dozen times. He had to rely on their judgment about the equipment, as they relied on his about the ship.

 

 

"Tractor beam," ordered Grof.

 

 

"Tractor beam on," replied the Deltan at the tactical station.

 

 

The escaping probe was engulfed in an invisible beam that registered only on their instrument panels.

 

 

Nevertheless, the probe now had a leash which, theoretically, would keep it from plunging into the black hole.

 

 

"Distance to event horizon: three hundred kilometers," reported Horik. "Tractor beam holding steady." "Don't let it cross that horizon," warned Grof.

 

 

"Or what will happen?" asked Sam.

 

 

"If the tractor beam held, we could retrieve it," answered the Trill, "but that's a big 'ifi' And I don't know what kind of shape it would be in. More than likely, we'd be down to two probes." "Two hundred kilometers," said the Deltan. "I'm slowing speed to one-quarter impulse." "It's looking good," said Grof, his eyes intent upon his readouts.

 

 

Sam looked at his own readouts to make sure they hadn't drifted in their orbit, which was matched to the slight rotation of the black hole. It seemed odd to be orbiting nothing, but this nothing had a lot of gravity for its size.

 

 

"One hundred kilometers," reported Horik.

 

 

"Thrusters stopped. We're now coasting into position one-half kilometer in front of the event horizon." "We're sure about those calculations, are't we?" asked Grof, sounding nervous for the first time.

 

 

"Yes," answered the Deltan, "unless this black hole doesn't obey the known laws of physics, which is always possible with a singularity." Sam didn't like the way Grof gnawed on his lower lip as the probe completed its final approach to the black hole. He tried not to think about the incredible gravitational pull on the small probe, counteracted only by their souped-up tractor beam. Sam increased the magnification on the viewscreen to get a better look at the probe... perhaps the last look at it.

 

 

"Approaching one kilometer," said the calm, contented Deltan. She plied her console. "All right, it's stopped." The three of them stared at the viewscreen, halfexpecting the awkward probe to vanish forever into the gaping blackness. But the probe was stopped, hanging on the lip of the abyss.

 

 

Grof let out a loud sigh, and then he rubbed his hands together, ready for his part in the drama. First he made a shipwide announcement. "Attention, crew: the probe is in place. I'm bombarding the black hole with tachyons--stand by tractor beam, remote control, and transporter room." Sam hoped that soon they would get proficient enough at this operation to do it without Grof's melodramatics; but for the moment, he was glad that someone was calling every shot. On the viewscreen, they watched an impossibly long strand of tachyons stretch from their ship, past the probe, into the blackness of the singularity. Sam knew this was a crucial step, the one that would actually quantumstep the particles and force them outward. The tractor beam would capture and guide them into the probe.

 

 

"Extend tractor beam," ordered Grofi "Extending," said the Deltan.

 

 

"Start extraction." Leni Shonsui's voice came over the comm.

 

 

"Extraction in progress." Again there was a tense silence as they watched the timers and their readouts. Sam noticed that some force was slightly altering their orbit, and he compensated without comment. There would be time later to point this out to the others and make a correction for the next shot. Right now, they were all absorbed in their own tasks.

 

 

"Load full!" announced Shonsui's voice. "Let's reel it in." Now everyone breathed a sigh of relief, although they weren't out of the woods yet. Sam knew that they had to perfectly coordinate cutting the tractor beam at the same moment that they transported the probe back to the ship.

 

 

Grof held up his finger. "Transport on my mark.

 

 

Three, two, one... mark!" The Deltan punched her board. They waited for confirmation.

 

 

"Masserelli here," came a voice from below.

 

 

"We've got her, and the stasis field is holding!" "At last." Grof slumped back in his seat and turned apologetically toward Sam. "I've got to go down and see it." "Go ahead. I wouldn't mind seeing the next step myself." Sam didn't mention it, but the ship was in extreme danger at this point, with a highly volatile material in stasis.

 

 

"You two go on," said Horik at her tactical station.

 

 

"I can watch things here." With Grof eagerly leading the way, they tromped down the ladder to the lower level and dashed along the corridor to the transporter room. The glow of the stasis field in the center of the transporter pad captured their attention and forced them to halt in the doorway. Woil, Shonsui, and Masserelli were wearing protective gear that covered them from head to foot, and Sam and Grof sunk back from the danger.

 

 

Jozarnay Well grabbed a flexible tube that hung from a mass of pipes in the ceiling and checked its fittings. As if he did this every day of the week, he calmly walked up to the glowing stasis field, stuck the tube in, and clamped it to the elevated mining probe.

 

 

Woil stepped back, motioning to Enrique Masserelli, who manipulated the stasis field and the probe with a handheld remote. Shonsui stood at the transporter console, keeping a close watch on an array of readouts. Soon the tube was bulging as the contents of the probe were being evacuated to the recom chambers in the hold.

 

 

Grof nudged Sam with an elbow. "Come on." The human followed the Trill to the stern of the ship. From there, large double doors opened into the two-story-high cargo hold. As an antimatter tanker, the Tag Garwal's hold was by far her most impressive feature. Antimatter was the most volatile cargo in the galaxy, and it had to be stored in special forcefield containers and transported in special conduits, which snaked all over the ceiling and walls of the hold.

 

 

The upright containers looked like massive African drums. Having been used strictly for storage, now their forcefields were being used to recombine particles that had, until a few moments ago, existed in another space-time continuum. Despite Sam's misgivings, it was exciting to think that they could fill these drums with material dredged from a black hole.

 

 

They heard footsteps, and they turned to see Enrique walking toward them with his headgear and a tricorder in his hands, and a big grin on his face.

 

 

"How does it look?" "Like Corzanium!" declared Grof. "Which one is it in?" Enrique muscled past them in his bulky suit and approached the first upright container. He opened a tricorder and took readings. "Right here. It's all going as planned." Suddenly there came a loud crashing sound from directly behind them--in the transporter room. Big man though he was, Grof whirled around like a dancer and bolted down the corridor. Sam and Enrique jogged after him.

 

 

When they reached the transporter room, they were all horrified to see the mining probe lying on the transporter pad, many of its external components broken and smashed. No one needed to ask what had fallen over.

 

 

"What happened?" roared Grof, shaking his fists.

 

 

Shonsui looked at Woil, and the Antosian shrugged.

 

 

"When I cut the stasis field, then it... I don't know." "Cutting the stasis field had nothing to do with it," said Chief Shonsui on the transporter controls. "I take full blame. I didn't have it adjusted for the correct weight of the empty probe, which is something I wouldn't have to do with a Federation transporter. I mean, you don't expect to empty a probe and have it weigh more." "You idiot! Up to this point, it was going perfectly/" Grof stomped around like a little boy denied his dessert at suppertime.

 

 

Sam knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't help himself. "I wouldn't say it was perfect. I had to compensate to hold our position, and that wasn't in any of the models." Now the Trill glared at him. "And you didn't say anything? Imbeciles! I'm surrounded by imbeciles!" Grof stormed out of the transporter room, and they could hear him shouting all the way down the corridor.

 

 

Sam looked at his crew and shook his head. "I'm personally proud of you that you managed to pull that off so well. In one day, we've collected more Corzanium than anybody else in two quadrants, and that's using Cardassian equipment, with a gun pointed at our heads! Screw that old goat." "Yeah, so we had a few minor glitches," said Enrique. "That's to be expected." Still, there was no way to look at the damaged probe without thinking they had made a grave error--one that might cost them their lives.

 

 

Taurik appeared in the doorway, looking nonplussed by the mess on the transporter pad. "I will prepare another probe." As the Vulcan hurried off, Sam sank against the bulkhead. He was disheartened by the realization that they would have to go through that tense procedure again and again until they had collected a hoard of Corzanium. He looked around and could tell by the stark faces that his crew knew the truth: they were still slaves, even with a ship at their disposal. This tanker was nothing but a floating jail, with a lunatic as the jailer.

 

 

"Get another probe out there," said Sam. "But don't worry, we're getting out."

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

 

Ro LAREN, GEORDI LA FORGE, AND JEAN-LUC PICARD stood in the transporter room of the Orb of Peace, with La Forge at the transporter controls. The room's nonthreatening, welcoming atmosphere was severely tested by the sight of four bodies piled like firewood on the transporter pad. Picard tried not to think of the other three piles of corpses which had lain there in the last hour. Very badly, he wanted to wash his hands, but he wasn't done yet.

 

 

This pile of bodies was a mixture of two of his crew and two dead Romulans. Whether they would appreciate the burial rites, he didn't know. The captain's face drew tight as he performed his least favorite duty.

 

 

"We commit these bodies of our comrades--and our enemies--to the void of space, to which they dedicated their lives. I only wish they could have experienced more of the joyful, awe-inspiring aspect of space exploration, rather than the senseless destruction of war. But no matter how advanced the races of the galaxy, we still suffer from greed and bloodlust." The captain sighed, bereft of words to explain what had happened to these young people--and so many other young people who were dying at that very moment in the far-flung theater of war. He knew why they fought, and what they fought to preserve, but excuses for killing were beyond Picard at that moment.

 

 

"May their beliefs in the afterlife be fulfilled," concluded the captain.

 

 

He nodded to La Forge, who turned the pile of corpses into a glittering funeral pyre for a few brief seconds until they disappeared entirely.

 

 

Picard strode to the door. "I wish there were time to reflect and mourn, but there's not. Since there's only three of us, we have to conserve our resources.

 

 

One of us must be sleeping while the other two are on duty--one in the engine room and one on the bridge." As they followed the captain down the corridor, Ro asked, "What about the one-armed Romulan?" Picard stopped to consider the question. Against all odds, their prisoner hadn't died... yet. When it came to first aid, none of them were Beverly Crusher, but they had apparently done a satisfactory job of patching him up. It helped that he was a fit, young Romulan. But if he kept recovering, he would soon become a problem.

 

 

"Lock him in the captain's quarters," said Picard.

 

 

"Whoever is stationed in Engineering will pay periodic visits and keep him sedated." "I volunteer--" began Ro.

 

 

"No," answered Picard with a smile. "You steered us through the Badlands, and you must be exhausted.

 

 

I'll take the bridge, La Forge Engineering, and Ro-- you get the bunk. And that's an order." "Aye, Captain," she answered with weary resignation. "Do you think we can do this by ourselves?" "We have to," said Picard with determination.

 

 

"There's no one else." Collecting three more loads of Corzanium without incident had mollified Enrak Grof somewhat. The 'Frill sat in the mess hall, playing with his newest toy, a fist-sized chunk of Corzanium, while Sam drank a cup of coffee. Although Grof hadn't liked it, he had agreed to give them a rest break for two hours. Everyone needed it.

 

 

Grof hefted his golden rock, then removed his hand, letting it float in the air. "This is amazing stuff," he told Sam. "If we had enough of it, we could build shuttlecraft that required only a slight push to get them off a planet. We could shoot probes into the largest sun and have them come out again on their own power. In fact, gravity-resistant probes would make mining Corzanium itself a snap." He squinted at the floating rock. "I wonder if it will ever be possible to replicate this stuff?." Sam yawned. "Grof, do you ever stop thinking about getting ahead?" "No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Progress is my business. The rest of the universe may be content with the status quo, but I never am. Most of our greatest achievements are only beginnings, halfway measures until the real thing comes along. I'm going to be famous someday, Sam. You'll be able to brag to your grandchildren that you knew me." "Only if we escape from here," said the human, staring pointedly at the Trill.

 

 

For once, Grof met his gaze. "What do you want from me? Some pointless act of patriotism that won't stop the juggernaut of the Dominion for one second?

 

 

You think I don't hear your little whispered conversations and plots? I do. Of course, Sam, I've heard you talking about escape for several days now, and I think it's just talk. Just by doing your job, you're getting closer to freedom--by earning it instead of being stupid. If there's such a big difference between us, I'd like to know what it is." "You think it's just talk," murmured Sam, worried that the Trill could be right.

 

 

"Let me put it this way: I'm a man who looks for options, and thus far, you haven't presented me with any." Grof snatched his floating rock from the air and stalked out of the mess hall.

 

 

Sam watched the collaborator go, thinking that, for once, he was right. The time for talking and waiting was over.

 

 

Commander Shana Winslow led the way through the aquarium, which was part of the Natural History Exhibit on Starbase 209. Will Rikor followed behind her, marveling at what had been done in such a small space to give the feeling of an aquatic world. There were magnified tanks of starfish, seahorses, and neonorange coral fish, letting a few aquatic animals stand in for many. He paused in a round anteroom, where a school of hundreds of glinting sardines swam around the amazed visitors, moving like electrons in their circular tank.

 

 

"Beautiful, aren't they?" asked Winslow. "At one time, they were a staple food source for our ancestors." "Seems like it would take a lot of them to make a meal," observed Riker.

 

 

A cacophony of excited voices diverted his attention, and he and his date stepped out of the way as a gaggle of schoolchildren walked through, talking and pointing excitedly at the whirl of sardines. Since he was taller than them, his view was unobstructed; still Riker found himself watching the school of children instead of the school of fish. Some of them looked distracted, sad.

 

 

When the group had moved on, he turned to see a melancholy look on Winslow's face. "What's the matter?" he asked.

 

 

She sighed and shifted her weight onto her natural leg. "Most of those kids are war orphans whose parents are not coming back. This base isn't really at the front lines, yet we're filling up with war refugees, orphans, and the like. You brought us almost a hundred of them. I don't know how much longer we can go on before we start busting at the seams." "Aren't there any transports out?" asked Riker.

 

 

"Not very many of them. The commercial space routes are all shut down, and Starfleet's ships are all too busy. There was a time when we could ask a ship like the Enterprise to ferry some of these folks for us. I don't suppose you'd like to take a side jaunt to Earth or Bajor before you go back into action?" "No," admitted Riker, studying the woman's honest face and large brown eyes. "In truth, we probably couldn't make it to Bajor." "Then the Bajorans may be stuck on this starbase... for the duration." Winslow left the school of sardines and wandered toward a wall tank of swaying seaweed and skittery octopus. Riker silently followed her between the soothing tanks of fish.

 

 

When he reached her, she mustered a smile and said, "You haven't asked me about your ship all evening. I don't know whether to thank you or be offended." "I know you and everyone else on 209 are doing all you can." He reached out and brushed a strand of dark hair off her pronounced cheekbone, as he gazed into her wide, sultry eyes. "It's funny. When we first got here, I was in a big hurry to leave. But now I'm not in such a big hurry. I'd be a fool not to enjoy these last few days... with you." "You don't expect to come back either?" asked Winslow hoarsely.

 

 

"To tell you the truth, Shana, I don't know what to expect. I'm scared. But I'll keep doing my duty and trying to protect my crew until... until there's no point. All I'm trying to say is that you've made these few days better than I had any reason to expect--" Before he could finish, Captain Winslow pulled him toward her with surprising strength. Her mouth met his in a kiss that was fierce and demanding, only becoming tender after they tasted each other. She gripped his broad shoulders as if hanging on for her life, and he pulled her slight frame into his chest.

 

 

They heard giggling, and they turned to see two of the schoolgirls watching them intently. "Shoo!" said Riker with a good-natured grin. The girls ran off, joining the larger pack of children as they wound their way out of the aquarium.

 

 

Winslow stepped away from him and pushed a few strands of hair back into place. "I should think twice about public displays of affection, or the other captains will think you have the inside track." "Well, don't I?" asked Riker with a grin.

 

 

"I mean, for getting your ship serviced faster." "Ah." His hands encircled her waist. "That's not on my mind anymore." Winslow gently pushed him away. "We need to be more discreet. Shall we return to my quarters?" "It's your call," said Will, giving her a graceful way to escape his clutches. Under the best of circumstances, he knew he could be something of a wolf, and these weren't the best of times. He only knew that Shana Winslow filled some empty spot within him, and he hoped he did the same for her. These weren't good times to be alone.

 

 

"I'm inviting you," she answered, taking his hand and squeezing it. "But, Will, I want you to know that I... my body is--" "You're an oasis of beauty," insisted Riker. "I've got a few scars, too--we can compare them. The Klingons gave me a dandy one when I served aboard the Pagh, and it's in a place few people get to see.

 

 

Then this Borg scratched me across the back with a drill bit--" Winslow snuggled into the crook of his arm. "I look forward to exploring all of them." They walked slowly through the suddenly quiet aquarium, and Riker asked, "Are you going to get any emergency calls?" "Not tonight. The admiral's ship is gone." She gave him a worried smile and gripped his forearm tighter.

 

 

"Unless all hell breaks loose--" "It won't tonight," Riker assured her. "Maybe tomorrow, but tonight the galaxy is going to stand still for us." After several shifts and a dozen loads of Corzanium, a professional level of confidence was creeping into the work of the tanker crew. No longer was every extraction from the black hole into the recom chambers a white-knuckled dance with death. More and more, the process was like a slow-motion relay race, where the baton kept getting handed off until it crossed the finish line. The flaky Cardassian equipment began to seem stable, even adequate.

 

 

They began to think of the Eye of Talek as a deep mining shaft instead of a black hole, and they called it simply "the Hole." It was still dangerous, to be sure, but the Hole was no longer the ominous mystery it had been when they had first seen it. For good or evil, they began to see the black hole as a resource to be plundered.

 

 

Grof was still bossy, but he was in a fairly good mood over their progress. The best result of their latest fight was that Grof was now keeping away from the bridge entirely, which suited Sam just fine. Most of the others were good company on the bridge, whenever they filled in at relief or simply stopped by to hang out. But even his best friend, Taurik, wasn't around very much. In the pecking order, it was beginning to seem as if the real action was belowdecks in the cargo hold, and Sam was just an afterthought, like the shuttlecraft pilot on the company picnic.

 

 

Nobody thought much about the Jem'Hadar ship off starboard, except for Sam. He watched it every spare moment and thought about it constantly. After all this time, he still didn't have a plan to capture the attack craft or disable it. He didn't know whether the Jem'Hadar were getting cocky and overconfident at all, but they deserved to be. So far, everything had gone their way. Patience, Sam told himself, a good idea will come. An opportunity will present itself--be ready to act.

 

 

Perhaps his troubled thoughts were distracting him that first shift of the day, when he should have been at his most alert. But why was Enrique so unobservant at the tactical station? Why was nobody even at the ops station? Were the Jem'Hadar groggy from their white stuff?. It probably wouldn't have made any difference, but somebody should have seen that meteoroid come streaking out of nowhere, headed straight toward the Eye of Talek.

 

 

The meteoroid caught them at the most critical juncture of the extraction, when they had just extended the tractor beam into the black hole to attract the escaping Corzanium. The probe hung on the edge of the event horizon, centimeters from plunging into another realm of space and time. It couldn't have appeared at a worse time.

 

 

"Oh, my God!" muttered Enrique when he saw the thing on his readouts.

 

 

Both he and Sam stared up at the viewscreen in time to see a monstrous rock as big as a house come hurtling past them. As if that near miss wasn't bad enough, the meteoroid crossed the tractor beam, breaking the seal with the probe. The delicate piece of machinery, which they had babied since dropping the first one, was sucked into the blackness in a microsecond. It disappeared from Sam's readouts like a phantom blip.

 

 

"What's going on?" demanded Grof over the ship's comm.

 

 

There was no time for Sam to reply, because the meteoroid's path was altered by the tractor beam. It passed through the beam again, caught hold, and jolted the ship. Having much greater mass than the probe, the meteoroid abruptly dragged the tanker toward the Eye of Talek.

 

 

"Cut the tractor beam," ordered Sam, but it was too late. Angry footsteps sounded on the ladder behind him.

 

 

"We're falling into the hole!" yelled Enrique.

 

 

Sam threw every forward thruster into full reverse, and they were tossed out of their seats by the opposing forces. He heard Grof roar with rage as he was dumped off the ladder, but Sam was totally preoccupied with his job now. With every reflex, instinct, and sliver of experience he had, Sam worked the controls in a desperate attempt to save the Tag Garwal and themselves.

 

 

But the response was sluggish--it was as if the ship were under water, a submarine. Sam realized it was the gravity from the Eye of Talek and possibly some unknown effect of the event horizon. They were too low--on a reentry course with something they couldn't possibly reenter.

 

 

Finally Grof stomped up the ladder and stormed out of the hatch, his face purple with rage. "What are you doing, you idiot? You're wrecking my ship!" "Shut up," growled Enrique. "He's trying to save it.

 

 

Look at the viewscreenmit's a huge meteoroid!" Sam heard gasps as the giant rock disappeared into the hole, which had come close enou~ to fill the entire viewscreen with blackness. M1 of this was on the periphery of Sam's senses, as he strug~ed with the helm. Perhaps a first-class shuttlecraft with a slew of thrusters would have survived this descent, but not the awkward antimatter tanker, which was not a terrestrial craft. It didn't have enough power to fill this kind of cavity.

 

 

"Pull out!" bellowed Grof. "Before we hit the event horizon." "I'm going into wa~ drive," declared Sam.

 

 

"No!" said Grof. "They... they'll kill us." "Not if we're already dead." He was about to apply an emergency procedure that would probably tear them apart, when something else jolted the Tag Garwal. Sam looked at his controls and was amazed to see that their plunge into the hole had been slowed by eighty percent.

 

 

"The Jem'Hadar ship," said Enrique. "They've got us in their tractor beam." Sam changed the viewscreen immediately, putting up the pulsing blue vessel, which was closer than it had ever been before. It was even in transporter range! although they had just saved his life, his first instinct was to disable them. But he wasn't prepared--it was too sudden.

 

 

He again jammed on the jets and finally began to pull away from the gaping singularity, which had swallowed a gigantic meteoroid and a probe without so much as a burp. The Jem'Hadar ship backed away quickly, but Sam was already counting in his head how many seconds they had stayed within his transporter range. They didn't release his ship and return to their former position until the tanker was well out of danger. For almost a minute, they had been vulnerable.

 

 

Sam didn't relax until the Tag Garwal was safely parked in her former orbit. He felt an odd mixture of anger, fear, and elation. They had almost gotten killed, but they had learned a valuable lesson: the Jem'Hadar were willing to risk their ship and their lives to save the tanker from disaster.

 

 

He flicked on the comm. "Captain here. We're okay now, but we lost that probe. Start looking for damage." He tapped it off.

 

 

Grof breathed a raspy sigh of reliefi "You see, Sam.

 

 

Now what do you think about the Jem'Hadar?" "I think the damned idiots should have shot down that meteoroid before it got to us!" ~owled Sam.

 

 

"Enrique, open a channel to them." "Belay that order," said the Trill. "Sam, I beg you, don't do an~hing foolish." "I'm the captain of this star-crossed ship," muttered Sam. "Enrique, do it." After a brief pause, the dark-haired human punched his panel. "Opening hailing frequencies.

 

 

Audio and visual." Sam stud up and whispered to Grofi "Have some faith in me, will you." "You're on," said Enrique.

 

 

Sam straightened his jumpsuit and stared resolutely at the viewscreen. "I wish to thank our escort for their quick action in saving the Tag Ga~al. Our entire crew is in your debt, because we would have been lost, along with our valuable cargo.

 

 

"However, that meteoroid should not have been allowed to get so close to us. I know you consider that your primary mission is to watch us, but you've also got to watch the sky. That meteoroid must have had a trajectory that could be tracked. You have to be our shield and look out for us. If you do that, it will make our job easier." Sam put his hands on his hips and waited.

 

 

"They're responding!" said Enrique nervously.

 

 

"On screen." A spiny, cracked, gray face appeared on the screen.

 

 

The Jem'Hadar lowered his heavy lids and nodded.

 

 

"Message acknowledged. We will add the service you requested to our duties." "Thank you." Sam allowed them a polite smile, although he didn't get one in return.

 

 

"Out," said the Jem'Hadar before the screen went blank.

 

 

Sam turned to look at Grof, who appeared relieved, terrified, and amazed at the same time. "You got them to change their mission." "To help us stay alive," Sam added. "I guess they think that's a good idea. Don't you?" "Yes, yes," answered Grof. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Sam. I didn't know what had happened." "Yeah, but you're awfully quick to blame your coworkers for everything that goes wrong, when sometimes it's just a matter of Murphy's Law." "Murphy's Law?" asked Grof. "I'm unfamiliar with that concept." "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong." Grof nodded sagely. "Yes, I can see the wisdom in thinking along those lines. And I must take responsibility for only bringing three probes, which I thought would be sufficient." "Let's take a look at the one we dropped," Sam suggested. "Maybe there are some parts we can replicate." They heard footsteps on the ladder, and Taurik emerged from the hatch. "We have secured the cargo and the equipment, but we did suffer minor damage. I suggest we suspend operations for the rest of this shift to make repairs and review our procedures." "Absolutely," said Grof. "We can't be too careful.

 

 

From now on, we follow the maxim called Murphy's Law. We learned a valuable lesson today." "Yes, we did," agreed Sam, although he wasn't talking about the same lesson. He had learned the chink in the Jem'Hadar's armor, but it would require a great deal of courage to exploit it.

 

 

There was really only one person he would need to take into his confidencemLeni Shonsui, the transporter operator. For the time being, the fewer people who knew, the better; plus Shonsui disliked Grof and wouldn't be inclined to talk to him. The Trill had to be kept in the dark and neutralized, when the time came.

 

 

He looked up to see the professor giving him a warm smile, which he found rather unsettling while he was scheming to murder the man. "You did a superb job during the crisis, Sam, and I was wrong-- it was a good idea to contact our escort. From now on, I'm going to temper my criticism." "Good idea, Grof." Sam patted the Trill on the back and steered him toward the ladder. "We might as well get along, because we're all going to hang together."

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

SAM COLLAPSED INTO HIS BUNK in the alcove off the bridge of the Tag Garwal. He was vaguely aware of the lowered voices of Taurik and Woil as they held down the bridge and monitored shipwide systems. It was downtime on the tanker while they licked their wounds after the near-fatal accident. Apart from the shaken nerves, the major effect was obvious: they were down to one probe with only about a fourth of their projected cargo in the hold.

 

 

Unfortunately, this meant that Sam would have to put his plans into effect before they accidentally destroyed the third and last probe. He had no doubt that they would head back to base with half a load rather than none, and he knew he might never get another opportunity to escape like this one, with a ship.

 

 

Sam struggled to push all these conflicting concerns and details out of his mind. He had always been a worrier, even when he was a little kid. In the last couple of years, he had learned not to let it show so much, but it hadn't gone away entirely. Since developing more faith in himself, Sam now made quicker decisions and backed them up more forcefully. He guessed he was learning to command, although most of the time he felt helpless and frustrated.

 

 

Of all the commands in the galaxy, this had to be the worst: in charge of both the ship and the mutineers, perched on the edge of a black hole with phasers breathing down his neck. That realization didn't console Sam as he struggled to clear his mind and fall asleep.

 

 

Finally the lieutenant succumbed to exhaustion and slipped into an agreeable dream. In this dream, he was a lowly ensign back on the Enterprise with Ogawa, Sito, Taurik, and those veteran officers like Riker and Worf, who seemed so wise and calm. Now he knew they must have been sweating out every crisis along with the rest of the crew, but it was their job not to show it.

 

 

Even Riker was nice to him in this dream, which was like an endless party in the Ten-Forward lounge.

 

 

Promotions, recommendations, congratulations, and salutations all around! It was like graduation from high school. In fact, some of his old high-school chums were there, too, which struck Sam as odd for a few seconds, until he remembered that this was the Enterprise. Anything was possible on the Enterprise/ He danced with Jenny, his high-school flame, on the dance floor of the Ten-Forward lounge in his dress uniform. Hot dog/Does it get any better than this?

 

 

After they danced, they walked off to a dark corner where they could study the serene starscape together and hold hands, while listening to the soft jazz of Riker's quartet. He could feel her hands in his, caressing his chest, stroking his face-- Real hands shook him forcefully. "Captain, wake up!" insisted the Antosian, Jozarnay Woil.

 

 

Sam bolted upright, disappointed to find his dream replaced by stark reality. "What now?" "Another ship has just arrived." Sam rolled off the bed and pulled his shoes on. He dashed out to the bridge and gazed at the viewscreen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sure enough, another ship had approached the Jem'Hadar craft at a respectful distance, and the two seemed to be parlaying. He didn't recognize the ship or its origins; it was an inelegant craft, possibly even uglier than the Tag GarwaL "Is that another tanker?" he asked Taurik on the conn.

 

 

"Negative," answered the Vulcan. "The warp signature identifies it as Bajoran. I would say it is a transport, perhaps a scientific vessel." "Bajoran?" muttered Woil, shaking his head. "This war just gets weirder and weirder." Sam's sleepy vision and foggy mind cleared as he studied the strange craft, wondering if he dared to hail them. That would depend, he supposed, on how the Jem'Hadar treated the new arrivals. Unless they were part of the club, he sincerely doubted that their guard would let them hang around the prison work party.

 

 

Still there might be some way to use their presence to his advantage, and this could be an opportunity waiting to be snatched.

 

 

"Should we tell the others?" asked Taurik.

 

 

"No," answered Sam. "Look, they're leaving. Track them, Taurik." "Yes, sir." The bridge crew watched silently as the boxy ship made an awkward turn and retreated. "Maintain longrange view," ordered Sam.

 

 

Observing the Bajoran vessel proved worthwhile.

 

 

She hadn't gone very far before she stopped and turned around to watch them. Sam wondered if the strangers could provoke the Jem'Hadar enough to chase them and desert the tanker, even for a few seconds.

 

 

"They have moved outside weapons range," reported Taurik. "Although I can hardly believe they would be any match for the Jem'Hadar craft." "Maybe it's the Eye of Talek they're interested in," said Woil. "You know, tourists." "Or a scientific team," suggested Taurik.

 

 

Whatever the ship was doing here, Sam didn't want to lose an opportunity. If the Bajorans could be coerced into playing a role in their escape, he had to find a way to do it.

 

 

"How close are we to first shift?" asked Sam.

 

 

"Twenty-nine," answered Taurik.

 

 

"I think we should get everyone up and get an early start on the day's work," declared Sam, rubbing his hands together as if he were Grof. "Let's put that probe out there and grab some more Corzanium." Taurik gave him a raised eyebrow, but he still rose from his seat and headed for the ladder, ready to carry out the orders.

 

 

Woil looked at him point-blank and smiled.

 

 

"You've got something planned, don't you?" "Just don't get too attached to your job," cautioned Sam.

 

 

Ro Laren stood on the bridge of the Orb of Peace, flanked by Captain Picard and Commander La Forge, who was seated at the conn. According to their shorthanded work regimen, one of them should have been in Engineering and the other one asleep in his bunk, but all three had come to the bridge to survey their target: The Cardassian mining vessel floated in space, looking like a glint in the Eye of Talek. To Ro, it seemed incredible that they could deal a crippling blow to the Dominion's plans merely by destroying this insignificant craft. Thus far, all of the Ferengi's intelligence had been correct, even though they had paid a high price for it. The mining ship had to be destroyed.

 

 

As with most of the objectives on this foolhardy mission, this one wasn't going to come easily, because sitting between them and their target was a Jem'Hadar attack ship. They had seen enough of these craft in the last few days to know exactly her capabilities and strengths. Making a frontal attack on the mining ship would be suicide, especially with two torpedoes.

 

 

They had already tried stealth and guile, by telling the Jem'Hadar that they were a Bajoran scientific mission sent to study the Eye of Talek. The Jem'Hadar had told them to go away. Now they were just outside weapons range, knowing that the Jem'Hadar had undoubtedly meant for them to go farther away than this. Would the watchdogs feel threatened by the small transport, or would they leave them alone?

 

 

Picard frowned at the enemy ships on the viewscreen. "We have to act quickly. Mr. La Forge, can we shoot a torpedo from this range and know that it will eventually make it to the black hole?" "We could," answered the engineer, "but it would have to be sublight speed, and they would have time to take evasive maneuvers. Then the black hole's gravity would throw off the torpedo's guidance system." "And we'd be dead thirty seconds later," added Ro.

 

 

"Is there something we could do which would be undetectable?" the captain asked hopefully. "Can we make use of the black hole and its side effects?" With his ocular implants, La Forge scanned quickly between the screen and his readouts. "Maybe there is something we could do. What if we caused a rock slide?" "A rock slide?" asked Picard.

 

 

"Yes. We passed an asteroid belt about three hundred thousand kilometers back. In a bunch of years, those asteroids will find their way into the black hole, anyway, but we could speed up the process." Ro leaned over him. "How?" "Collect as many as we can in a tractor beam," answered La Forge, "then take off at low warp speed.

 

 

We cut the tractor beam and come out of warp, leaving the rocks to go on their way. Sort of like a giant slingshot. At near-warp speed, they won't know what hit them." "I used to throw rocks at Cardassians as a kid," said Ro. "Sometimes they can be very effective." "It's the shotgun approach," admitted La Forge with a shrug. "We might miss, but we won't have to use any of our torpedoes. There's nothing that will divert those rocks from that black hole--no shields, no phasers. You can blast them into smaller bits, but they'll just keep coming." Picard tugged thoughtfully on his earring, then he nodded. "Make it so." Leni Shonsui was probably the oldest member of the Tag Garwal crew, and the Terran had a tough, nononsense attitude about life. She had taken the accident with the first probe personally and had withdrawn from the rest of the crew. She was of Asian extraction, thought Sam, and she might have been very beautiful in her youth. Now she was attractive but much embittered by captivity.

 

 

Nevertheless, what she had managed to do with the Cardassian technology was quite impressive, despite her one lapse.

 

 

Sam didn't want to leave seeing her alone to chance, so he purposely called a shipwide meeting in the mess hall for everyone to discuss the probe situation, only he summoned Shonsui to the bridge one minute beforehand.

 

 

After the small woman had climbed out of the hatch, he quickly locked it shut behind her. "Leni," he said, "I won't waste time. You know what we have to do--we have to escape. Now we know that the Jem'Hadar will come into transporter range and lower their shields to save us, and you have to disable them so that we can get away. Any ideas." The woman took a sharp breath. "What about Grof?." "We'll get somebody to neutralize him." "Okay." She lowered her voice and stood on tiptoes to reach his ear. Her trembling hands gripped his forearm. "Let me beam some of that Corzanium into their warp coil. I grabbed a chunk for myself.

 

 

Anywhere I put it is bound to cause a problem, even if I miss a bit. We must have schematics of an attack ship on board." "Yes, I've already located them," answered Sam, pointing to his console. "You take over here on the bridge while I go to the meeting. We'll use the notification icon on your readouts. When I give you the signal, that means we're within transporter range.

 

 

You have about a minute to do your part. Don't worry about how I get them within range." "But we won't go into the hole?" asked Shonsui with concern.

 

 

"No. Leave that to me. I'm counting on you, Leni, and not a word to anybody. Basically, you and I can make this happen." "Okay, Captain," she answered with a grin. "And we get to kill a lot of the enemy in the bargain." "Yeah," answered Sam with somewhat less enthusiasm. Sometimes when he looked at his fellow prisoners, he forgot that they were damaged goods, driven beyond endurance by their captors. He tried to remember all the details he had to attend to.

 

 

"We'll fix them," promised Leni, sitting at the conn. "I'll be ready when I get your signal." "Thank you," breathed Sam as he backed toward the hatch. Now he was certain that he would really have to go through with it. The one person who might have talked him out of it had embraced his foolish plan wholeheartedly.

 

 

Sam stepped down the ladder with a feeling of dread. In a short while, he was either going to escape this hell, or he was going to commit suicide and take his fellow prisoners with him.

 

 

Will Riker was jolted out of a deep, contented sleep by a piercing, frightened scream. He rolled out of bed, momentarily uncertain where he was.

 

 

Turning, he saw Shana Winslow thrashing her fists in the air, sobbing pitifully. With her eyes screwed shut, she still seemed to be asleep, but she was also in some kind of torment. Riker felt he had to wake her up.

 

 

"Shana! Shana," he said, gently shaking her. "Wake up." With a gasp she opened her dark eyes and stared at him. For a moment, she didn't seem to know where she was either. Finally she focused on Riker's face; then she gave him a desperate hug, gripping him as if he were the only real thing in her life.

 

 

"Oh, Will! Am I crazy? I see my death every night--the one that didn't happen. I was supposed to die on the Budapest--I know itmbut they pulled me back from death." Her fingernails dug into the flesh of Riker's back, and she stared past him. "I see them all--the ones who did die! My husband, the captain, the first officer--" "Hey, it's all right to see them," said Riker soothingly. "It's just survivor's guilt. Your dreams may take you back to the past, but you're really here in the present--with me. We're alive. I don't know for how much longer, but we're alive now... and we're together." "That's right," she breathed. "We're alive, and they're dead. Don't know how long--" In the darkness of a modest cabin on Starbase 209, surrounded by war, refugees, damaged ships, and cold space, the acting captain held the grieving woman in his arms. Riker knew all about survivor's guilt; he was feeling it himself, certain that the captain, La Forge, Data, Ro, and all the rest were dead. He gripped Winslow's fragile body until her shaking stopped.

 

 

"Let's do it!" said Sam over the ship's comm.

 

 

"Prepare to launch the probe." "That's the spirit," bellowed Grof, standing behind him. He looked uncertainly at Taurik, who was now on tactical. They had gotten used to having the Vulcan belowdeck, filling in where needed, but Sam wanted him here--for this run.

 

 

"Whatever happened to that other ship?" asked Grof, sounding as if he were making nervous small talk.

 

 

"They left," replied Taurik, "approximately one hour ago." "Probe ready," announced Woil from below.

 

 

"You're on ops, Grof," ordered Sam, slipping casually into his seat at the conn.

 

 

"No, wait a minute," blustered the Trill. "With Taurik up here, I'm needed belowrowe're shorthanded." "Nonsense," answered Sam. "Lately the problems have been up here, not in the hold. I'll let you shoot the tachyons. Please, I want the crack team on the bridge, just for a while." He thought that appealing to Grof's ego would win him over. The large Trill sunk into the seat at ops and mustered a put-upon smile. Sam nodded gratefully.

 

 

"Captain to crew," he announced. "Launch probe when ready. Stand by on tractor beam." Despite the disaster of the last probe and the bizarre circumstances, they knew the routine after a dozen successful runs. They were professionals, doing the jobs for which they had trained and lived.

 

 

The probes may have taken a beating, but the tanker and her crew were still in prime condition, a fact which Sam was counting on. This ignoble craft had to make due as their escape pod back to the Federation.

 

 

Without incident, they captured the probe with the tractor beam and lowered it to the brink of the black hole. With a halo of dust flowing into its unquenchable emptiness, the Eye of Talek looked aptly named--a window into the soul of a monster. Its primitive force made the war, the Dominion, and a handful of prisoners seem like plankton to a whale.

 

 

Worst of all, the hole still looked hungry.

 

 

"Beginning tachyon bombardment," said Grof softly, as if taken by the solemnity of the occasion.

 

 

They were very close to the moment when they had been ambushed by fate the last time.

 

 

"Extending tractor beam," reported Taurik.

 

 

"Extracting Corzanium," came Tamla Horik's voice from below.

 

 

With his heart beginning to race, Sam turned slightly in his seat so that Grof couldn't see his movements. The Trill appeared to be fixated on his own console, as did Taurik, although he would need the Vulcan's attention very soon. After yesterday, Sam knew enough not to cause a problem while the tractor beam was still extended into the hole. But afterward, when they began to withdraw the probe back to a place where it could be safely transported-- that was the time to strike. Now it was time to plant the seeds.

 

 

"Grof," cut in Sam, "I'm still having to compensate for slight shifts in our trajectory. That anomaly has never been corrected." He leaned back and pointed to his display.

 

 

"Just compensate," growled Grofi "I believe you.

 

 

There must be spikes in the gravity or something.

 

 

Someday you can come back and figure it out. For now, just keep us on course." "If you say so," replied Sam pleasantly, doing as he was told.

 

 

Taurik cocked his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps this effect is caused by minute differences in the probes themselves. They may look identical, but they are not." "Could be," allowed Sam, silently thanking his friend for buttressing his claim. "Like the professor says, nothing to get upset about." After a few seconds more, Tomla Horik announced, "You were shaking things up in the cockpit, but it's full now. Reel her in." "Retracting tractor beam," said Taurik. "Stand by to--" Without warning, the Tag Garwal was slammed by a series of sudden jolts, like machine-gun bullets raking their hull. Luckily, Sam's eyes were on his controls, because he immediately fired thrusters to get them away from the black hole.

 

 

Sparks and acrid smoke spewed from a wall panel to his left, and Grof was shouting, "What's going on?

 

 

We've lost the probet" "Damage on level two," reported Taurik evenly.

 

 

"Hull breach, losing atmosphere--" Sam tuned out the noise, the voices, and the panic as he struggled with the helm, visions of yesterday's disaster swimming in his head. He had a slight jump, more distance, and no tractor beam to contend with, and his reflexes were poised for action. Sam stopped their descent at a safe distance from the event horizon, but he tried not to make it appear too safe.

 

 

Maybe this was the chance he had been waiting for.

 

 

Almost as an afterthought, he glanced at the status of the Jem'Hadar ship, and what he saw made him gasp. He put it on the viewscreen to make sure he was seeing it correctly. The attack ship was listing badly, with gases escaping from half a dozen breaches in her hull. Whatever had hit them, she had taken the brunt of it. Her sensors must have been malfunctioning; normally a Jem'Hadar ship could deflect just about anything. Her thrusters burned brightly, trying to escape the inevitable gravity, but she was on a slow descent straight toward the Eye of Talek.

 

 

"Shields up!" he ordered Taurik, thinking they might be hit by more of the invisible missiles, whatever they were.

 

 

Sam watched the crippled Jem'Hadar ship drift closer, until she was nearly in transporter range. His finger moved to the corner of his panel, where a special icon awaited his touch: it was the signal to alert Shonsui in the transporter room.

 

 

"Hold it right there!" barked Enrak Grof. Sam looked up to see the Trill glaring at him with hatred and suspicion in his piggish eyes--and a small hand phaser trembling in his hand.

 

 

"Where did you get that?" Sam demanded.

 

 

"Never mind! I don't know how you did it, but I know you're behind this. You're insane! Back away from the conn." "Professor," said Taurik evenly. "We are likely to die unless you allow Sam to pilot the ship. Now please excuse me, there are wounded below, and I am going to attend to them." While Grof was momentarily distracted by the departure of the Vulcan, Sam pressed his panel and sent the signal to the transporter room. Now it was a moot point. They might all die, but the Jem'Hadar would die first.

 

 

The burly Trill looked so angry that his spots were pulsing on his forehead. "Sam, I swear I'll shoot you!" "Then shoot me already! I was going to knock you out before we made a move, but then this happened.

 

 

You want options, Grot'?. Here are two: shoot me and die, or escape with us to freedom!" Stricken by indecision, the Trill looked up at the viewscreen and the damaged attack ship. Now its thrusters weren't even firing, and the vibrant blue glow along its hull was gone, replaced by a dull, lifeless gray--like the skin of a Jem'Hadar.

 

 

Grof wailed, "They'll think we did this! They'll hunt us down from one end of the galaxy to the other.

 

 

You could save them, Sam--lock the tractor beam on to the Jem'Hadar. Do it, or I shoot!" Sam flinched, certain that in the next instant he would feel the phaser beam rip into his skin. But he ignored Grof and maintained steady impulse power away from the attack ship and the black hole which was about to claim it.

 

 

"I warned you," muttered Grof, aiming his phaser.

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

 

IGNORING THE PHASER pointed at his skull, Sam Lavelie gazed at the viewscreen and saw the Jem'Hadar attack craft go into a slow spiral in its inexorable descent into the Eye of Talek. He wondered if those stoic warriors showed any panic when confronted with imminent death. Sam himself was surprisingly calm, considering that death was all around him. The destruction of the Jem'Hadar ship had seemed like an act of God, and Sam was willing to believe that nothing would stop their dash to freedom.

 

 

"Grof," he said slowly, not turning around, "am I to assume you're not going to kill me?" Glumly, the Trill lowered his phaser. "I should, but I'm not going to." "Welcome back to the Federation," said Sam, mustering a wan smile. "And wave good-bye to your friends." The two crewmates, prisoners, and former enemies watched in stunned silence as the Dominion warship sank into the blackness of the Eye of Talek and disappeared. It was a terrible ending for any starship, thought Sam, as if space had consumed one of its own children.

 

 

"Now to set course," said the pilot, shaking off the willies and turning back to his controls. "Any ideas?" "We could--" Before he got a chance to finish his sentence, they were struck again by an unseen object. This time, the impact knocked Grofto his feet and threw Sam out of his chair, while sparks and smoke engulfed the tiny bridge. Sam glanced at the viewscreen long enough to see the crate-like Bajoran transport heading toward them, coming in for the kill!

 

 

Coughing from the acrid smoke, Sam staggered to his feet, vaulted over the unconscious Trill, and collapsed on top of the tactical station. With his last shred of consciousness, he opened the hailing frequencies.

 

 

"Their shields are gone," reported La Forge at the conn of the Orb of Peace. "The next one will finish them." "Target the last torpedo," ordered Picard grimly.

 

 

"Fire when ready." When he didn't hear his order repeated back to him after a suitable time, Picard turned to glare at Ro on tactical. "I said fire when ready." The Bajoran squinted puzzledly as she held an earphone closer to her head. "I know, sir, but... I'm getting a message from one of them. He says they're Federation prisoners." "Prisoners?" echoed Picard in amazement. "Ask him to identify himself." Ro gaped at the captain. "It sounds familiar-- Lieutenant Sam Lavelie?" "Lavelie!" The captain strode to Geordi's station and gazed over the engineer's shoulder. "Are we in any danger? Can they fire weapons?" "No, sir, they're unarmed." La Forge looked at him and frowned. "They're drifting into that black hole.

 

 

Unless we do something to help them, they're finished, anyway." "Very well, get down to the transporter room, and lock on to whoever's on that bridge. Beam one over, and if he's really one of ours, get them all." "Yes, sir." La Forge bolted to his feet and dashed off the bridge.

 

 

Ro hefted a phaser and checked the settings. "I'd better help him out." "Go ahead, I'll take over the conn. Ro, we've already got one prisoner, and I don't want to take any more, unless it's necessary." "Understood, sir." Her jaw set determinedly, the lanky Bajoran strode off the bridge, leaving the captain alone.

 

 

He slumped into the seat at the conn, watching the Cardassian mining vessel drift toward the same monstrous end as the Jem'Hadar ship. Now that he had seen the awesome black hole up close--and witnessed its dangers--he had no problem believing that the Dominion was using slave labor for this sort of work.

 

 

Would a person who had free will plant himself at the edge of a black hole? Could a sane person look into that opaque abyss every day?

 

 

Picard wasn't surprised when he heard from Ro a few moments later. "Captain," she said breathlessly, "it's true. They're Starfleet, all but one Trill civilian.

 

 

There are seven in all, and a few are wounded. But they're alive." "Make them comfortable," ordered the captain.

 

 

"Send La Forge to Engineering, because we're getting out of here. I'm concerned that the Jem'Hadar may have sent out a distress call. I'm pulling back to maximum torpedo range." Had he more than one torpedo, the captain would have blasted the Cardassian tanker right then and there. But with only one, he had to be content to sneak away to a safe distance and watch the crippled vessel drift closer to its doom. If he ever had to destroy a starship without leaving a trace, now he knew where to bring it. Finally, the ship disappeared like a candle flame being blown out.

 

 

At least they had rescued a handful of prisoners, prisoners who might have a great deal of firsthand intelligence. Most importantly, they had stopped work on the artificial wormhole. Feeling a measure of relief, Picard set course for the Badlands at maximum warp.

 

 

Captain Picard and Ro Laren sat in the mess hall of the Orb of Peace with the three healthiest of the rescued prisoners. Two of them had served aboard the Enterprise, Sam Lavelie and the Vulcan, Taurik-- Picard remembered them as friends of Sito Jaxa. The other man was a Trill scientist named Enrak Grof, who had been captured during the fall of Deep Space Nine.

 

 

After the preliminaries, they got down to important matters. "Have we really managed to deal a serious setback to the enemy's artificial wormhole?" asked Picard.

 

 

Sam, who was still dazed over their rescue, nodded slowly. "I think we have. They can't finish it without the Corzanium you sent back into the hole. Thanks to you, I think we've stopped them." Taurik and Grof looked less convinced. A show of enthusiastic confidence was not expected from the Vulcan, but the Trill's gloomy expression was troubling.

 

 

"What's the matter, Professor Grof?." asked Picard.

 

 

"You don't share Sam's opinion?" The Trill sighed heavily. "I wish I could, but I know something they don't know." He looked glumly at Sam, whose smile slowly melted from his face.

 

 

"Sam, I... I made it sound as if we were the only team sent to extract Corzanium, but that isn't true. At least one other team of Cardassians was sent secretly to another black hole. I fully expected us to be the ones who succeeded when they failed." "Why am I not surprsied?" muttered Sam, rising to his feet. "Just one more lie you had to tell us, huh, Grof?." "Come on." The Trill scowled. "You didn't expect the Dominion to put all their eggs in one basket. We were an important experiment, but they were prepared for our failure... or attempted escape." Ro Laren slumped back in her chair. "So what you're saying is--we've still got to take out that verteron collider." Grof nodded wearily. "Yes, it's a shame, too, because it's a triumph of engineering and construction.

 

 

It would have worked." "It will work, if we don't destroy it," concluded Taurik. "The Dominion has the resources and the resolve to complete the work. Before the accident which necessitated our mission, I believe they were nearly ready to begin tests." "And they'll probably use prisoners for that," said Sam gloomily.

 

 

Tight-lipped, Picard turned to Ro and said, "Put the subspace beacon away. We're not going home for a while." Boredom was an abstract term to an android, but Data knew very well what it meant: the absence of something to do. He had a duty, of course-- monitoring the scanner array he had set up on the barren moonrebut it required less than one percent of his attention. Staring at the starlit sky had never impressed him as being an entertaining activity, as it was for many humanoids, but he found himself doing just that for hour after hour.

 

 

Finally, in the interest of experimentation, Data turned on his emotion chip. At once, a shock wave of worry, fear, guilt, and war sickness slammed into him, making him feel more despondent than he had ever felt in his entire existence. The horror, tragedy, and destruction of the war was too much to contemplate, even for his positronic brain, and Data could only stare at the dust at his feet. He fretted over his lost comrades, all of whom were afraid, lonely, grieving, and bored.

 

 

Realizing it had been a mistake to activate his emotion chip, Data reluctantly turned it off. After returning to normal, he still felt weakened and sobered by the assault of heartrending emotions. Now Data had an interesting question to contemplate as he sat on his barren outpost: How did humans and other sensitive races deal with war, knowing its horrors?

 

 

How could they possibly maintain their sanity?

 

 

The End