“We aren’t going to die,” muttered Grof through clenched teeth. “The Dominion should have continued to keep us segregated by sex even here.”
“I guess they don’t think of everything,” said Sam with a sly smile. “And if we manage to live through this, it will be a miracle.”
“I wish you would stop saying that. Although it’s dangerous, there’s no reason why we can’t successfully complete this mission.”
Yes, there is, thought Sam, but he wasn’t going to tell Grof why. Besides, it was time to change the subject. “Tell me about our destination, the Eye of Talek.”
Grof shrugged. “It’s the smallest black hole in Cardassian space. Probably the oldest, too.”
“It’s not an imploded star?”
“No,” answered Grof, “the Eye of Talek dates from the formation of the universe. At least that’s the legend according to the Cardassians, and the cosmology tends to bear it out. Had we tried to go with an imploded star, the gravity would have been too great for our operation. You know, a typical black hole keeps the same mass it had when it was a star. As for the small ones, like the Eye of Talek, and the huge ones, like that monster at the center of our galaxy—we can only guess where they came from.”
“Some people think it was a supreme being who created the universe,” said Sam. “What we call God. Some people wouldn’t like the idea of you creating an artificial wormhole either. Don’t you sometimes feel like you’re playing God?”
“Yes,” answered Grof proudly, “but it’s necessary to play God. Once we discovered that space and time were curved, it was essential that we try to exploit the intersections where they curve back upon themselves. Where God failed was that he made wormholes unstable. The Bajorans consider the Prophets to be gods, simply because they stabilized a wormhole. Imagine what kind of god I’ll be after I stabilize hundreds of wormholes, connecting every corner of the galaxy?”
Sam shook his head in amazement. “You have a big enough ego for the job.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Grof smugly.
The lieutenant yawned and pointed to the sleeping alcove off the rear of the bridge. “You’re welcome to bunk back there if you don’t want to go below.”
Grof glowered at the injustice of it all, but he finally acceded. “Thank you.”
The bear of a Trill rose to his feet and shuffled off; then he looked back. “You know, Lavelle, this mission depends entirely upon you. You’re our leader. If you crack—or you pull something stupid—we’ll all go down with you.”
“Not that you would put any pressure on me,” muttered Sam.
“I just want you to know how much is riding on this. Our equality—”
“Equality?” Sam burst out laughing. “We’re slaves, Grof. Maybe someday a few of us could aspire to attain the status of a Jem’Hadar or a Vorta. Well, thanks but no thanks. There’s only one race who matters—the Founders. The rest of us are just the help. If you try to be a god, they’ll squash you like a bug. The Founders are the gods around here.”
Grof opened his mouth and started to respond, but Sam let him off the hook by jumping up and brushing past him. Stomping as loudly as the burly Trill, he headed down the ladder.
In the corridor outside the captain’s quarters, Ro Laren compressed her lips in annoyance as she listened to the sounds of their prisoner kicking the bulkhead. Even though he had restraints on his arms and legs, he was still thrashing around like a fish in the bottom of a boat. She couldn’t understand why Captain Picard had put the Cardassian in their best cabin; whatever impression he wished to make, it was obviously lost on the brute.
The captain stood beside her, his jaw clenched. He motioned to four armed officers behind him and said, “Phasers set to heavy stun.”
“We can’t keep him stunned all the time,” said Ro.
“I know. And I am open to other suggestions.”
“We could throw him out an airlock.”
The captain scowled. “That’s not an option. If we could only interrogate him, he might be useful.”
“Chances are good he doesn’t know anything about the artificial wormhole,” said Ro, “stationed in the middle of nowhere like he was. The Cardassians are good at keeping secrets, even from each other. We could jeopardize the mission if we take him with us into the Badlands, and we’ll be there soon.”
“Nonetheless, Captain,” said Picard with determination. “It is always worthwhile to try talking.” He tapped his comm badge. “This is Boothby to the captain’s quarters. Please quiet down and listen to me. You are our guest, and we would like to send you home.”
But the ferocious thrashing went on, and it was now centered on the door itself. He could wreak some serious damage if left alone like this, thought Ro.
Picard glanced at the crew assembled to help them, and he picked the two stoutest officers. “You two, hand your weapons to the others, and let’s subdue him by hand. Stand on either side of me. The rest of you, be prepared to use your phasers.”
Ro hefted her Bajoran phaser rifle as Picard stepped closer to the door. After the two unarmed officers took up their places on either side of him, the captain reached a long arm across the bulkhead to touch the wall panel and open the cabin door.
As soon as the door slid open, the Cardassian head-butted Picard sending him reeling into the bulkhead. Then came a howl of indignation as the Cardassian hopped out, his legs bound together and his hands tied behind him. Lowering his shoulders, he bulled into the two unarmed guards and knocked them back on their heels. He hadn’t looked so big lying on the deck, but now he looked huge, with his thick neck muscles bulging like the hood of a cobra.
“Surrender!” ordered Picard staggering to his feet.
“Die!” shrieked the Cardassian. He lowered his head and charged toward the captain.
Ro lifted her rifle, ready to protect the captain, but he stepped gracefully away from the charge as he brought his knee upward in a swift kick. He caught the Cardassian in the nose, and he howled as his head bounced. Then Picard grabbed him by the seat of his pants and tossed him headfirst to the deck. That should have subdued him, but the bloodied Cardassian rolled onto his knees and tried to stand once more.
“Cease resistance!” warned Picard.
“No!” Eyes bulging from their bony sockets, the Cardassian flopped onto his back and tried to kick Picard. Amidst his enraged grunts and groans, the captain’s comm badge sounded.
“That’s enough,” he told Ro. “Stun him.”
She shot her weapon, and the red beam finally put the wild prisoner back into blessed unconsciousness. Only then did Picard answer his comm badge. “Boothby here.”
“Sir, you’d better get to the bridge,” said a nervous voice. “We’ve picked up enemy ships on our tail, closing fast!”
Chapter Eight
RO FOLLOWED CAPTAIN PICARD onto the bridge of the Orb of Peace. The relief personnel had an edgy look about their eyes, and they didn’t seem Bajoran anymore, despite the nose ridges and earrings. Maybe it was the human scent of their sweat.
The man on the conn jumped to his feet when he saw Picard.
“Status?” barked Picard as Ro headed toward the conn.
“Three Jem’Hadar attack ships are on an intercept course with us,” reported the officer, stepping aside to let the Bajoran take his seat. “They’re going twice our speed, and they’ll be in weapons range in approximately thirty-six minutes.”
“And how much time to the Badlands?”
“Approximately forty minutes,” answered Ro.
Picard scowled, and she could feel his frustration. They were so close to reaching a hiding place, only minutes away, but the hounds were running them aground. Ro knew this feeling of dread—to run for her life with time counting against her.
“Evasive maneuvers?” she asked.
“Not yet,” replied the captain, tapping his finger to his chin. “Steady as she goes.”
Ro knew that Picard was reviewing his option
s, but they weren’t many. They were no match for one Jem’Hadar ship, let alone three, and they couldn’t explain making a mad dash to the Badlands. This time, they probably wouldn’t even get a chance to talk to the enemy before the attack began.
“They must have us on scanners,” said Ro. “I’m sure they’re watching every move we make. Evasive maneuvers might work against bigger ships, but not against these. The Jem’Hadar attack ships are the most maneuverable vessels we’ve ever seen.”
“The Orb of Peace has two operational escape pods. Let’s put our Cardassian friend into one of those pods and launch him toward a planet. If they’re watching us, they’ll have to stop to investigate, especially after they scan and find a Cardassian on board,” said Picard.
Ro tugged thoughtfully on her earring. “We’ll have to come out of warp, which will cost us some time, but it will be worth it.”
“Captain,” said the officer on ops, “may I remind you that we need both of those escape pods to evacuate the ship’s crew. If we’re missing one, eight crew members cannot evacuate.”
The captain gazed at Ro, and the Bajoran knew from his determined expression that they were still on the same frequency. This mission would either result in success or death, perhaps both, so there was no point in planning for survival in Cardassian space. When Picard armed the self-destruct sequence, they had both known it would be all or nothing.
Will Riker had been right—this was a suicide mission.
Picard leaned over her. “Attend to it, Ro. Ready escape pod one, and put the prisoner into it. Tie him down securely.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she assured the captain.
A short while later, a snarling Cardassian strapped to a vertical seat tried to spit in Ro’s face, but she jerked away just in time. He ended up drooling on his angular chin and staring hatefully at her. She didn’t want to sink to his level, but she lifted a spool of metal-coated tape and waved it in his face. “I could shut you up.”
“You … you are cowards!” sputtered the prisoner. “Terrorists!” He gasped when a muscular officer tugged sharply on the belt stretching across his chest.
Because the cramped sphere was designed to fly automatically toward an inhabited planet and make an atmospheric reentry, anyone aboard would have to be strapped in his seat. The Cardassian was simply strapped in more securely than usual, with his hands and legs bound together with metal tape and strips.
“We’re letting you go,” said Ro, “so I don’t know why you’re so angry with us.”
“Bajorans!” he hissed. “We should have killed you all!”
“You tried,” said Ro evenly. “In fact, if our roles were reversed, I’m sure you would just toss my body out an airlock. But we’ve treated you like a gul. We put you up in the captain’s quarters, and now we’re sacrificing this whole escape pod just to let you go free. You ought to be grateful.”
The Cardassian growled and tried to twist out of his bonds, but they held tightly. Ro had made sure to get the same two officers who had tried to subdue him earlier; they had scores of their own to settle. She wanted to ask him about the artificial wormhole, and she would have, if they were going to slit his throat instead of let him go. But asking him about the wormhole would reveal their mission, and it probably wouldn’t garner them any information.
In fact, maybe this was a good time to impart some false intelligence. “We’re neutral, you know,” explained Ro. “We’re not interested in your stupid war with the Federation. We have some terrorists still hiding out in the Badlands, and we’re only trying to rescue them. So if you leave us alone, we’ll finish our mission and go home. You’ll never know we were here.”
“I’ll know, because you’ve ruined my career!” wailed the Cardassian. “Why don’t you just kill me? After failing to protect the station and being kidnapped, I’ll be lucky not to be sent to a work camp!”
“These are dangerous times,” replied Ro. She looked at her comrades, and they nodded, signaling they were through. “Sorry for the inconvenience. Have a nice flight.”
Ro and the two officers ducked through the hatch, which she secured herself. Then she cleared the airlock and listened to the air escape with a hiss. Like most escape pods, this one was jettisoned into space by an array of tiny thrusters, and its flight was totally automated. All that was needed was to enter the coordinates of the destination planet, hit the launch button, and hope for the best.
She tapped her comm badge. “Ro to bridge. Our passenger is secure in escape pod one.”
“Good,” answered Picard crisply. “We’re working on his itinerary. We’ve got several possibilities, but we need to find a planet which will allow us to jump out of warp and back quickly. We can enter the coordinates from here, so you can return to the bridge.”
“Yes, sir.”
A minute later, Ro stood on the bridge, explaining to the captain how she had told the prisoner they were on a simple rescue mission to the Badlands.
“Do you think he believed it?” asked Picard.
“That’s hard to say,” answered Ro. “He was mostly upset that we wrecked his career.”
“Coming within range of H-574,” announced the conn. “Optimal launch window in forty seconds.”
Picard turned to tactical and asked, “How far are we from our pursuers?”
“At present speed and course, we will make contact in approximately twenty minutes.”
“Come out of warp, half-impulse,” ordered Picard, “and prepare to launch escape pod one.”
“Yes, sir,” answered three voices at once.
Stepping out of the way, Ro watched the viewscreen as the Orb of Peace slowed down just long enough to jettison the escape pod. The tiny sphere shot into space like an ancient musket ball and swerved toward a nearby planet covered with shimmering blue water and emerald islands, sparkling in the sun. The Cardassians had all these beautiful planets, thought Ro, and they begrudged the Maquis even one little rock.
“Escape pod on course,” reported the officer on ops.
“Set course for the Badlands, maximum warp,” ordered Picard. “Engage.”
Once again, they were streaking through space at an incredible speed that was faster than light but wasn’t faster than the three Jem’Hadar attack craft. There was silence on the bridge and little to discuss until they saw how their pursuers responded to the escape pod. Ro wondered whether they would take the bait, and if so, how many of them would be delayed.
When the tactical officer spoke, her voice betrayed the uncertain nature of the news: “Captain, one of the Jem’Hadar ships has broken off in pursuit of the escape pod. The other two remain on an intercept course with us. Contact in approximately twelve minutes.”
Picard glanced at Ro. “That’s about the best we could expect. Any more ideas on how to even the odds?”
“Well,” answered the Bajoran, “there’s an old trick we used to use on Starfleet. When you have a small craft traveling at warp speed, it’s almost impossible to distinguish it on long-range scans from a photon torpedo at warp speed, especially if you set it for indefinite distance and no detonation.”
Picard scratched his chin, and a smile of appreciation crept across his face. “You mean, use torpedoes as decoys?”
“Yes. We could launch two torpedoes, one of them on the course we’re traveling now, and the second one on another likely course to the Badlands. We’ll pick a third course and hope they go after the two decoys.”
“We’ll have to match speed exactly,” said Picard, sounding excited—or concerned, it was hard to tell. He hovered over the tactical station. “Do you understand what Captain Ro is proposing?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the officer, plying her console. “I’m configuring torpedoes now: one for our exact heading and one for ten degrees to port. They’re set for no target, indefinite distance, no detonation, and warp speed matching ours.”
“Right, stand by.” Picard stepped across the cramped bridge to the conn. “Set course ten deg
rees to starboard. We’ll enter the Badlands at a different place than we planned, but that can’t be helped. We’ll slow our warp speed by point-zero-five to launch torpedoes, then change course and resume maximum warp.”
“Yes, sir,” said the pilot. He glanced at Ro and gave her a grateful smile. Although she hadn’t saved his life yet, the young man was hopeful that she would.
“I should point out that we will be reduced to four torpedoes,” said the tactical officer.
“Acknowledged.” If it pained the captain to use his torpedoes for subterfuge instead of a real attack, he didn’t show it.
“Course changes laid in,” reported the conn.
With a glance at Ro, Picard brought his hand down. “Reduce speed.”
“Speed reduced,” echoed the conn.
“Fire!”
“Torpedoes away,” announced tactical.
“Changing course,” said the conn. “Resuming speed.”
Now it was time to wait again, to see if the Jem’Hadar fell for the parlor trick. A tense silence fell over the bridge, and it wasn’t assuaged by the fact that they could see the Badlands on the viewscreen, shimmering in the distance. Although the forbidding cloud appeared relatively close, it was a long way in an underpowered Bajoran transport chased by swift fighters.
“This is a trick I hadn’t heard of before,” said Picard conversationally. “And we’ve been studying Maquis tactics very closely the last few months.”
“You need a small ship,” answered Ro. “I’m worried that this one may be too large.”
“It’s worth a try,” said Picard. “If they change course at all to chase the decoys, we’ll pick up valuable minutes.”
With everyone staring intently at their readouts or the viewscreen, the gasp of the tactical officer made them jump. Ro whirled around to see her triumphant grin. “Both Jem’Hadar vessels are following the decoy on our old course.”
She stared intently at her instruments, and everyone else stared intently at her. After a minute that seemed like a day, the implants over her nose wrinkled into a frown. “Now one attack ship has changed course and is in pursuit of us. They’ll be in weapons range in eight minutes.”
Behind Enemy Lines Page 12