Behind Enemy Lines

by John Vornholt

  “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 Trill 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 Riker 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 neon-orange 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 p
rocess 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 viewscreen—it’s a huge meteoroid!”

  Sam heard gasps as the giant rock disappeared into the hole, which had come close enough to fill the entire viewscreen with blackness. All of this was on the periphery of Sam’s senses, as he struggled 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 fight this kind of gravity.

  “Pull out!” bellowed Grof. “Before we hit the event horizon.”

  “I’m going into warp 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 relief. “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!” growled Sam. “Enrique, open a channel to them.”

  “Belay that order,” said the Trill. “Sam, I beg you, don’t do anything 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 stood up and whispered to Grof. “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 Garwal. 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 go
t 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 confidence—Leni 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.”