Lt. Commander Sonya Gomez had been wandering the halls of Deep Space 9 since the Sentinel docked at the station a few hours ago.

I can’t believe I’m lost. I never get lost.

It was a point of pride with her as much as anything. She had always had a dead-on sense of direction. Within three months at the Academy, the fourth-year cadets were asking her for shortcuts around campus. On the Enterprise, the Oberth, Altair IV, and the Sentinel, she knew her way around almost instantly, and never needed to consult the computer for directions.

Yet this Cardassian-built space station was vexing her.

As she turned a corner from one identical dark corridor into another identical dark corridor, she took refuge in a familiar face heading toward her.

“Chief!”

Miles Edward O’Brien looked up from the padd he was studying to see Gomez. “Sonya! Er, sorry, Commander.”

Gomez grinned. “Sonya’s just fine, Chief. How’ve you been?”

“About like you’d expect,” the taller man said with a wry smile.

“Are Keiko and Molly doing all right?”

“Just fine, all things considered. Keiko’s not thrilled with being this close to the front, but with the way things are going, no place is all that safe.”

Remembering the images of the Breen attack on San Francisco that she saw in the Sentinel’s observation lounge, Gomez was forced to agree. “I know what you mean.”

“Oh, and Molly has a brother—Kirayoshi.”

That put the smile back on Gomez’s face. She had always thought the chief and Keiko Ishikawa made a good couple, and she was glad to see that her instincts had proven correct. If only those instincts had been as accurate with Kieran, she thought, then put it out of her head. She and Kieran Duffy had broken up when she transferred off the Enterprise to the Oberth almost eight years ago. They had promised to keep in touch, but didn’t. At times she missed him horribly, at times she forgot all about him. She idly wondered if O’Brien had heard from him—after all, the chief had remained on the Enterprise for another year and a half after she left before he took over as chief of operations at DS9.

Instead, she kept the topic comfortable. “I hope his birth went more smoothly than Molly’s.”

“You could say that. Worf didn’t have to deliver this one, at least.”

Gomez laughed. Worf’s impromptu midwifing of Keiko had happened less than a week before Gomez left for the Oberth, and had gotten her a lot of storytelling mileage on that one-year assignment. She had forgotten that the Klingon, too, was now assigned to DS9. It’s like it’s old home week….

O’Brien continued. “But, ah, it was actually Colonel Kira who carried the baby to term. It’s a very long story,” he said quickly, obviously not wanting to get into it.

Taking the hint, she said, “I wish I had time to hear it, but I need to get to the meeting in the wardroom.”

“I won’t keep you, then,” O’Brien said.

“Actually, I need you to tell me how to get there. I’ve gotten completely turned around.”

Chuckling, O’Brien said, “Cardassian architecture.” He quickly gave a series of clear directions that included a turbolift ride two levels up.

“I really did get lost, didn’t I?”

“A bit, yeah,” O’Brien said with a smile. “Don’t worry—I won’t tell. Your reputation’s safe with me.”

“Thanks. And give my love to the family—oh, and in case I don’t see him, say hi to Worf for me.”

“Will do. Take care, Sonya!”

Following O’Brien’s directions brought Gomez to the wardroom in under three minutes, and only five minutes after the meeting’s official start time—which meant, of course, that not everyone was there and it hadn’t begun yet. Gomez’s CO, Captain Anna Maria Amalfitano, was already present, along with the Sentinel’s first officer Lt. Commander Kuljit Patel. Gomez took some satisfaction out of the fact that she couldn’t see their tactical officer, so she wasn’t the last one to arrive.

Of course, given the crowd in the wardroom, she might have missed Grimnar, their Bolian tactical officer, but a two-meter-tall blue-skinned humanoid tended to stand out, even in a room full of Klingons, Romulans, and Starfleet officers. The senior staffs of the Musashi and the Fredrickson made up the remainder of the Starfleet personnel, and she assumed that the Klingons and Romulans were involved in whatever their mission was.

Grimnar finally came in about two seconds before the arrival of Admiral Ross, Captain Sisko, General—no, Chancellor Martok, and a Romulan general she didn’t recognize. As soon as they did, many took seats, with most of the rest standing along the walls, as there were far more people than available seats. Gomez found herself wedged between a surly-looking-even-by-their-standards Klingon and a bored-looking Starfleet officer with full lieutenant’s pips.

Sisko began without preamble, speaking in an intense, deep voice. “The mission we have for you all is twofold. The Sentinel, the Musashi, and the Fredrickson will be dispatched to the Dominion outpost in Sector 25013.”

Amalfitano blinked. “That’s a bit deep into enemy territory, isn’t it?”

Martok chuckled. “Not as deep as others shall go.”

“A fleet of twelve warbirds, aided by some Klingon vessels,” the Romulan general said, sounding almost pained at having to even acknowledge the Klingon contribution, “will be moving under cloak to the Orias system. That system is under constant antiproton scan by the outpost you will be attacking.”

Nodding, Amalfitano said, “So you need us to take down the outpost, or at least distract them long enough for the cloaked ships to sneak in and wipe out the shipyards on Orias III?”

“Exactly,” Sisko said. “With the Breen energy-dampening weapon neutralized, and the Cardassian resistance sabotaging their ships, we need to strike at a decisive target and start to get our momentum back. We think this attack on Orias will aid in that.”

“The timing will be critical,” the Romulan added. “We won’t be able to communicate with each other, obviously, so you must arrive at the outpost at the designated time so we can begin our run.”

One of the other Starfleet captains asked, “What kind of defenses can we expect?”

Ross spoke up then. “Intelligence reports indicate that there are only two Jem’Hadar strike ships guarding it.”

The third Starfleet captain made an irritated noise. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Admiral, Captain, but aren’t three ships a bit—well, inadequate? We’ll be lucky to get that far into Dominion territory as it is.”

There were some rumblings from the Klingons at that, but Ross simply said, “Unfortunately, you’re all we can spare. We’re putting together a massive offensive against the Dominion. This is one of many strikes we’re attempting simultaneously to keep their forces spread thin. We have to press the attack now.”

“However,” Sisko said, “you will have a relatively easy time getting there. Thanks to the Cardassian resistance, we’ve been able to obtain a course that will get you to the outpost without encountering any patrols. It’s a less direct route, so you’ll have to go at warp seven most of the way to get there at the pre-arranged time.”

Patel said, “This is assuming that the patrols stick to their assigned routes. We can’t very well count on that.”

“We’re past the point where we can play things safe, Commander,” Sisko said just as the Klingon next to Gomez made a disparaging comment under his breath about Patel’s lineage.

Before her first officer could say anything else, Amalfitano spoke. “We’ll be fine, Captain, don’t worry. We’ll clear a path for the rest of you,” she added, looking around the room.

Then her gaze fell upon Gomez. This is my moment, I guess, she thought. The chief engineer hadn’t really needed to be at this briefing, but she had come up with an idea that the captain wanted brought up in front of Sisko and the other higher-ups. “Captain, Admiral, if I may?”

“Yes, Commander Gomez, what is it?” Sisko asked.

Both Martok and the Romulan bristled, but Sisko and Ross each gave her expectant looks, as if they were genuinely interested in what she might have to say. Gomez took that as an encouraging sign. “We might be able to do better than just having a specific course. We can alter our ships to make us look like Cardassian freighters.”

“We’ve tried that in the past,” Sisko said. “But at this point, the Jem’Hadar and the Cardassians know to look for it.”

“With respect, sir, those had been changes to the shield harmonics. What I’m suggesting is altering the warp fields of the ships. We’ve tested it on the Sentinel, and it should fool even Dominion sensors at warp speeds.”

One of the Romulans sneered. “And when you come out of warp and are revealed to be a Federation ship?”

“We keep the warp field in place. As long as they don’t do an intensive scan, they shouldn’t be able to tell the difference between it and a hull configuration. In fact, we can also change the shield harmonics to match. They’re less likely to look for that bit of misdirection if the ship’s warp field reads as an allied ship.”

Ross seemed intrigued by the idea. “Can you maintain warp seven with this reconfiguration?”

Gomez blinked. She hadn’t thought of that—but then, she hadn’t known they’d be forced to maintain warp seven until two minutes ago. “I’m afraid not. We could only do warp four—any higher and the modified warp field will tear the hull apart.”

“Then it won’t be practical for this mission. Still, it’s a good idea. Send the specifications on that to the station—and,” he added with glances at Martok and the Romulan general, “we’ll share it with everyone here, see if we can make it work across the board.” He turned back to Gomez. “Good work, Commander.”

Gomez nodded, but was still disappointed. She was sure that the trick would work—but not at warp seven. She had been hoping for a practical test, and this mission would have been ideal for it.

The good news was that the route provided by the Cardassian resistance had done the trick, and the three Starfleet vessels arrived at the outpost unmolested. The other good news was that Intelligence was right, and there were only two Jem’Hadar strike ships guarding the outpost.

The rest of the news was rather bad.

For one thing, the outpost itself turned out to be armed with energy weapons of a type Gomez didn’t recognize. They plowed through the Fredrickson’s shields with little effort, leaving the Excelsior-class ship a sitting duck for the Jem’Hadar. It was destroyed within two minutes of their arrival in the sector.

“Steinberg, give me a reading on that damn weapon!” Gomez bellowed at her assistant chief.

In a voice as calm as hers was frantic, the black-haired lieutenant said, “I’m almost finished with my analysis, Commander.”

“Finish faster.” She gazed at the viewscreen that showed what the bridge had on their main viewer. The Musashi had gotten some shots into the outpost before one of the Jem’Hadar ships cut them off. Now each ship had the Jem’Hadar on their tail, with the outpost itself taking potshots as well.

The Sentinel’s shields were now down to twenty percent.

Patel’s voice sounded over the comm systems. “Divert power to shields.”

In addition to getting their new assignment, the Sentinel had gotten crew replacements at DS9. One of them, a kid who didn’t look old enough to be let out of his house alone, said, “I can’t get the power to divert to the shields!” Gomez could hear the panic in the young man’s voice.

“Take it from wherever you need it, Ensign, just keep the shields up.”

“No, it’s not that—the control circuits are fused.”

Gomez rolled her eyes. “If you can’t reprogram, reroute.”

The ensign nodded quickly. “Right, of course. Sorry, Commander.”

“Just keep your head cool.” Was I ever that young and stupid? Gomez thought.

“Commander,” Steinberg said, “if we bring the shield frequency down to the lower regions, we should be able to defend against the outpost’s weapon.”

“Lower?”

“Yes, sir.”

It was a counterintuitive move—which, no doubt, was the Dominion’s thinking.

The baby ensign said, “Shields back up to eighty percent.”

“Nice work,” Gomez said. “Steinberg, bring the frequency down.”

“Aye,” the lieutenant said.

She tapped her combadge. “Bridge, we’re lowering shield frequency—that should allow us to defend against the outpost. Recommend transmitting data to the Musashi immediately.”

“Acknowledged,” Patel said. “Good job, Gomez.”

The Jem’Hadar ship then fired on them again, pounding at the shields.

“At this frequency,” Steinberg said, “we’ve got to keep them at sixty percent, or the Jem’Hadar will rip us to pieces.”

Gomez went through the mental picture of the Sentinel in her head. The Akira-class ship had a compact, retro design, reminiscent of the old pre-Federation Earth starships. There wasn’t a lot of wasted space. Still…

“Bridge, we need to evac decks eight, nine, and ten right away.” Those were crew quarters, holodecks, and recreational facilities—none of them necessary right now, and only minimal staff was there at present.

Amalfitano and Patel, bless their hearts, didn’t even question the request. “Attention all hands,” Amalfitano said. “This is the captain. Evacuate decks eight, nine, and ten immediately.”

“Steinberg, the second everyone’s out of those decks, cut off all power, and divert as much of it as you can to the shields.” Silently, Gomez cursed whichever idiot designer thought it was a good idea to make holodeck systems incompatible with other ship systems. We really could use that power right now. But at least the other power that was used for those decks would be put to good use.

Chatter from the bridge came over the intercom.

“Continuous fire on the Jem’Hadar.”

“Their aft shields are failing.”

“Concentrate fire there, Grimnar.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Tenmei, bring us to 253 mark 9, try to drive a wedge between them.”

“Direct hit—our shields are down to sixty-five percent.”

Steinberg looked at Gomez. “Sir, we can’t keep this up—if we stick with the lower frequency, we’re more vulnerable to the Jem’Hadar.”

“We’re not exactly overburdened with options,” Gomez said.

“Shields are down.”

Gomez turned. “What the hell happened?”

Steinberg checked a console. “Lucky shot—they got through to one of our emitters.”

“The Jem’Hadar don’t rely on luck,” Gomez said. “And neither do we—reroute, get the shields back up to full. Are those three decks evacuated yet?”

“Not yet.”

“We can’t wait, divert the power.”

“Aye, sir.”

Even on as small a ship as the Sentinel, there was considerable waste in the life support system. Even with it taken off-line, there would be enough air just sitting in the corridors to last a couple of hours, and at red alert, they’d probably all have wristlamps in any case. And if they don’t, that’s just too damn bad, she thought, a bit unkindly. They should’ve evac’d by now.

The young ensign—whose name, she finally remembered, was Natale—said, “Shields back up to full. Sir, this juryrig won’t last, request permission to rewire junction 92A5.”

Gomez frowned, then smiled. “Good idea.” That junction was a backup for holodeck systems, and could easily accommodate a shield rerouting, at least for a couple of hours. It would take a few minutes, but the present setup would hold in the meanwhile.

“Thank you, sir.” Ensign Natale moved off, grinning with an enthusiasm that Gomez remembered seeing in the mirror back when she was the dumb young ensign and Geordi La Forge was the chief engineer doling out praise only when earned.

She often missed those days on the Enterprise. She had so many good friends there—Lian T’su, Reg Barclay, Gar Costa, Wes Crusher, Ella Clancy, Denny Russell. Even La Forge was more a friend than he ever really was a CO.

And, of course, Kieran. Lovable, goofy, wonderful Kieran.

One of the other engineers cried out from near the warp core, startling her out of her all-too-brief reverie. “Commander, containment system’s fluctuating—we’ve got to take the warp drive off-line.”

Dammit, dammit, dammit. “Do it.” She tapped her combadge. “Bridge, we’ve lost warp drive.”

“Not much of an issue right now,” Patel said. “At least you got shields reenergized.”

Gomez pursed her lips. “Yeah, but our hat’s running out of rabbits.”

As if on cue, one of the Jem’Hadar strike ships exploded.

“Maybe yours is.” Gomez could visualize Patel’s toothy grin.

“Sir, the Musashi has lost shields. The other Jem’Hadar ship is moving in.”

“Tenmei, cut them off, draw their fire.”

“Aye, sir.”

The maneuver apparently worked, as the Sentinel started taking dozens more hits, from both the outpost and the Jem’Hadar. “We can’t keep this up,” Steinberg said, the first sign of tenseness creeping into an exterior that was normally a Vulcanlike calm; the noncoms had nicknamed him “T’Steinberg.”

“Easy, Steinberg, we’ll be fine.” Gomez tried to sound reassuring, but she was too busy trying to figure out what the Musashi was doing. It looked like…

No!

The Musashi was on a suicide run—headed straight for the outpost.

The Jem’Hadar realized it too, obviously, as it and the outpost both changed their firing pattern to concentrate on the Musashi.

Amalfitano’s voice cried out, “Tenmei, get between them and the Musashi. We have to give them time!”

Two seconds that seemed like hours passed, and the Musashi rammed into the Dominion outpost, annihilating it.

Sonya Gomez learned the most valuable lesson of her life shortly after she reported to the Enterprise, and the Borg carved a section out of the ship’s hull, costing the ship eighteen crew members. When she found she couldn’t get her mind around the loss of eighteen people, La Forge had said the words that she spoke now, over a decade later, to her staff:

“We’ll have time to grieve later. Steinberg, get the shields back to their regular frequency. Ensign, how’s our juryrig?”

“Almost done,” Natale called out from under a console.

“Be done, I want this ship with full defenses.”

“Grimnar,” Amalfitano was saying even as Gomez spoke, “give the Jem’Hadar everything we’ve got.”

Two seconds that actually seemed like two seconds later, the Jem’Hadar ship exploded in a satisfying conflagration, a plume of fire that was quickly consumed by the vacuum of space.

Which left the Sentinel alone amid a cloud of debris that used to be four starships and an outpost, behind enemy lines, without warp power.

“Engineering,” Patel said, “how soon can you get the warp drive up and running?”

Gomez and Steinberg walked over to inspect the warp core. “Give us a minute.”

Amalfitano said, “Make it a quick minute, Commander—the Jem’Hadar called for backup, and I really don’t want to be here when they get here.”

Grimnar’s voice cut in. “Long-range sensors are picking up a Breen ship.”

“Then we’re dead.” That, to Gomez, sounded like Ensign Simas, a notorious doomsayer whom Gomez had rotated out of the engine room due to the effect he had on morale. She wondered how the hell he contrived to get bridge duty.

She also wondered if there was some way she could change the readings that were now displayed in front of her and Steinberg.

Patel said, “Grimnar, how soon before the Breen get here?”

“At present speed, one hour, ten minutes.”

“I was afraid of that,” Gomez said. “Captain, we won’t be able to get the warp drive up and running in less than two hours.”

“What if we do a cold restart?”

Gomez couldn’t help but smile. “That estimate was with a cold restart, Captain.”

“They’ll know we’re an enemy vessel a lot sooner than that,” Grimnar said. “The debris will mask us for a little while, but the closer they get, the more likely they are to see us for what we are, in which case they may increase speed.”

“No they won’t,” Gomez said without even realizing at first why she said it. Then she spent half a second thinking it through. “Steinberg, get to work on the warp core. Natale, you’re with me—we need to bring the warp field on-line and reconfigure it.”

Natale frowned. “What’s the point of bringing the warp field on-line if we can’t go to warp? Isn’t that a huge waste of energy—especially if we don’t have the matter/antimatter system on-line?”

The ensign’s question was reasonable. Without the power provided by the constant annihilation of matter and antimatter in the core, the ship was running on emergency power. But then, Gomez thought, if this doesn’t constitute an emergency, I don’t know what does.

Before she could explain things to Natale, Amalfitano asked, “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking, Commander?”

“Yes, Captain—we’re going to reconfigure the warp field so those Breen think we’re a Cardassian freighter.”

Patel chuckled. “I guess your idea gets a practical run-through after all, Sonya.”

“So it would seem, sir, yes.”

“Get someone up here to install the holofilter on the comm systems,” Amalfitano said. “We’re gonna need to talk our way through this, too, and I think I’ll be more convincing as a gul than a captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gomez sent two of her people up to the bridge, then sat down with Natale and called up her specs for the warp field reconfiguration. Natale whistled. “Impressive work, Commander, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I do mind, Ensign,” she said, all seriousness—then broke into a grin. “Say that again after it works.”

“Yes, sir,” Natale said, returning the grin.

Good, Gomez thought, he’s set the grief aside. He’s not thinking about all the people who’ve died today—he’s focused on what he has to do to keep himself from being added to the list. That’s the only way we’re gonna get through this.

Amazingly enough, the Breen bought it.

Gomez had been far too busy—first getting the warp field realigned, then helping Steinberg and the others get the containment unit up and running so that they could use the warp drive—to know what was happening on the bridge. All she knew was that the Breen ship went away after what she imagined was a tense fifteen minutes.

One hour and forty-seven minutes after they started, Gomez tapped her combadge and said, “Bridge, warp drive is on-line.”

“Two hours, huh?” Patel said.

“We were motivated to speed it up,” Gomez said with a relieved smile at Steinberg, who returned it.

“Good work down there,” Amalfitano said. “But keep that realigned warp field. We’re not on a timetable now, and I’m just as happy to stay at warp four if people will think we’re Cardassian.”

“No problem, Captain.”

She gave Steinberg a glance, and he nodded. “On it.”

Taking a look around at her staff, she took pride in what they had accomplished. In what she had accomplished. The idea of realigning the warp field had come to her in a night of tinkering—one of those inspirations that suddenly slams you behind the eyes. She stayed up all night working out the logistics, then brought it to Patel, who in turn brought it to Amalfitano, who told her to bring it to the meeting on DS9.

An inspiration that quite probably saved all their lives.

It wasn’t until they crossed safely back into Federation space—after being passed by several Jem’Hadar ships that didn’t challenge them—that Gomez allowed herself to feel for the hundreds of people lost on the Musashi and the Fredrickson. The grief was only slightly alleviated by the news that the strike on Orias III was successful. It was a major victory for the Alpha Quadrant.