Star Trek - Gateways - 4 - Demons Of Air And Darkness

by Demons Of Air

  After what seemed like an eternity, she saw it.

  It floated in the air over the endless expanse of sand.

  Dimly, in the small part of her mind that was able to focus on something other than moving forward, Kira remembered that the ground-based gateways tended to do one of two things: jump randomly from

  vista to vista every couple of seconds, or, like the one at Costa Rocosa, stay fixed on one location. This one, however, was different: it jumped back and forth be-tween only two destinations.

  The first was ops on Deep Space 9.

  The other was the comforting light that Kira Nerys knew in her heart belonged to the Prophets.

  Each time the vista switched to the light, Kira felt her heart beat faster. This is it. The Prophets are call-ing to me. My road is at an end.

  But when it switched back to DS9, she wavered. You can go back home.

  To what? Pain and hardship? The disdainful stares of most Bajorans? The headaches of running the station? Making life-or-death decisions about everything from attacking Jem'Hadar to Section 31 nonsense to rescue operations? To a life of losing everyone I care about?

  When she was within a meter of the gateway, it lit up with a rainbow's worth of colors. Kira had to avert her eyes from it.

  Then it went away. Kira saw nothing in front of her but the endless sand.

  Her outrage giving her strength that the heat of the planet had drained out of her, she took out her tri-corder and scanned the area in front of her. The gate-way's power reading, according to the tricorder, was nil. The hand that held that tricorder was now covered in cracked skin and red-and-green blisters.

  On many occasions in her thirty-three years of life, Kira Nerys had been sure she was going to die.

  This time, it seemed, she was right.

  17

  FARIUS PRIME

  "APPROACHING THE HOLE."

  Smirking at Ychell's choice of words, Ro said, "It's called a gateway, Sergeant."

  Ychell shrugged. "Whatever. So far, no sign of pur-suit, but that could change at any moment."

  Ro nodded, then looked back at her two passengers. Quark was fidgeting nervously, no doubt still worried about Malic. Ro supposed she shouldn't have said any-thing about the possibility of copies-from all accounts, Malic was the type to keep information to himself as much as possible.

  Treir sat passively, looking surprisingly unconcerned.

  Ychell obviously noticed Ro staring, because she asked, "What're you going to do with that one?"

  Shrugging, Ro said, "Not sure. It's funny, she didn't even flinch when I put the gun to her neck. I mean, she couldn't have known I was bluffing."

  "She's been a slave all her life, Lieutenant. She may not know how to be anything else."

  Ro sighed. "Maybe. For now, let's just go through that gateway and-"

  Suddenly, the gateway lit up with a rainbow's worth of colors. Ro winced.

  Then it went dark.

  "I'm not reading any power signature from the gateway," Ro said, looking down at her instruments.

  Ychell looked at hers. "I'm not picking up the Claras system anymore, either."

  "Dammit."

  "It gets better," Ychell said. "The Orions have found us. Two of their fighter ships are on an intercept course."

  18

  THE DELTA QUADRANT

  the alpha smiled for the first time in a long time. At last, he thought, worthy prey.

  As the alpha worked his way through the corridors of the Malon tanker in search of the Jem'Hadar, he chastised himself for his own carelessness. He had grown overconfident.

  For far too long, he had been on his own. He had had no real choice-everyone with whom he'd crewed had been too weak, too slow. They hadn't been worthy of his hunting skills and made the hunts so much poorer.

  So he had chosen to fly alone. And he had been much more successful.

  There was no sign of the Jem'Hadar on this deck.

  He climbed down the access shaft to the next one, holstering his rifle on his left shoulder.

  After a time, the thrill of the hunt had started to wane. It became too easy. He'd hunted for so long that no prey presented a true challenge. He had grown soft and careless. So careless that he had allowed the cargo of those Malon fools to destroy his ship.

  Everything he had was in that ship: his trophies, his food, his triumphs, his war paint, most of his weapons-his entire life. All he had left was his rifle, his armor, and himself.

  Perhaps this is all I truly need. Perhaps this will allow me to restore my own glory, by reducing the hunt back to its essence.

  He saw a shadow move behind one of the bulkheads. Prey.

  The alpha moved slowly toward the shadow. As he approached, the shadow took on the form of one of the Malon fools.

  / thought I had destroyed all of them, the alpha thought angrily.

  "Please, gods, don't kill me, please don't kill me!" the Malon cried as he stepped into the open. He had blisters on his skin.

  This prey is weak to be susceptible to so minor a thing as theta radiation, the alpha thought with dis-gust. It isn't even worthy of being hunted. This one was as bad as the tanker captain-she had pleaded to the alpha about a mate and offspring, as if the family structure of prey was of any relevance. He had partic-ularly enjoyed slicing her open.

  However, the alpha did not have time to kill this one with his blade as he did the others. With the press

  of a button on its rifle, he blasted the Malon into atoms. The Malon screamed for as long as he could before he discorporated.

  The alpha forgot about the Malon and turned his mind back to thoughts of the Jem'Hadar.

  How long has it been since we hunted one of these magnificent creatures? Engineered by their primitive gods to be the perfect soldiers. They are among the worthiest prey the Hirogen have ever sought.

  They were from a part of the galaxy where few Hi-rogen had traversed. Their presence here was a sur-prise, since the portal that had opened in this star system did not open to the region where the Jem'Hadar came from. Either their empire had ex-panded, or these portals were more widespread than the alpha had thought.

  When the alpha came to the room with the shield generator, he noticed that a component was missing. The prey has been in this room.

  The prey had also been in the next room over. The transporter logs showed that someone had transported one person and one piece of equipment to the prey's vessel. The Malon computer did not recognize the life signs, but the alpha knew that it was not the Jem'Hadar. No doubt the other, less significant prey had taken the shield modulator.

  The alpha cared little for the petty concerns of prey. He no more cared about what it was doing with the shield modulator than what the Malon prey did with their meaningless cargo. All that mattered was the hunt.

  The prey has been here. But the trail is cold now.

  The alpha moved on to the engineering deck. Here,

  he found plenty of the corpses he had left behind on his last trip through this ship.

  But of the Jem'Hadar there was still no sign.

  Soon, the alpha had checked every cranny of the Malon tanker. How has the creature managed to evade me? Not only is there no sign of him, there is no sign he has been anywhere, save the bridge and the transporter.

  It has been too long since we hunted these crea-tures. There is obviously missing intelligence about them that I need for the hunt.

  If he still had his ship, he could check records of previous hunts. But that was lost to him. All he had was his instincts.

  That should be all I need.

  He returned to the bridge. Some of the equipment on this ship still worked. The alpha would make use of it to find his prey and destroy it.

  Taran'atar had followed the Hirogen throughout the ship, watching as the alien hunter tried in vain to track the Jem'Hadar. He had watched as the Hirogen checked every portion of the tanker, pausing only to kill one native who had somehow escaped the preda-tor's prior rampage.
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  Remaining shrouded had proven to be the right course of action. The Hirogen had an extraordinary tracking ability-without any apparent aid from me-chanical devices-but could not detect Taran'atar as long as he remained shrouded.

  What had started as a simple stalking strategy soon became a handy delaying tactic. After all, the impor-tant thing was to keep the Hirogen occupied while Kira installed the shield enhancer onto the Euphrates

  and used it to block the gateway. The only flaw in the plan was that Taran'atar could not contact Kira to keep her apprised of his progress-the Hirogen could easily have had some way of detecting transmissions.

  Still, this was the way that best served Kira. Ulti-mately, that was what mattered.

  His assignment to the Alpha Quadrant had been a difficult thing for Taran'atar to accept, particularly being assigned to the command of Colonel Kira. After all, she had fought hard against the Dominion, and was even instrumental in its defeat. Kira was also like no Vorta Taran'atar had ever served under. Most Vorta were weak fools-self-serving at best, incompetent at worst. Taran'atar had obeyed them only because the Vorta served as the voice of the Founders. But Kira was no one's functionary. She did not just command, she led. She did not react, she acted. She did not di-rect battles, she fought them.

  Taran'atar had fought alongside thousands of Jem'Hadar, and grown to respect many of them, for they had been true soldiers of the Dominion. Kira Nerys was the first alien he had ever met that he could truly call a soldier.

  The Hirogen had gone through the entire ship. Taran'atar could not be completely sure of what the alien's facial expressions signified, but he was fairly sure that the creature was growing frustrated. He headed back up from the engineering section toward the bridge.

  This may require a change in strategy. It was possi-ble that the Hirogen was planning to use the ship's equipment to supplement his own tracking skills. Taran'atar's understanding about this ship's level of technology was still incomplete, but considering that

  it had transporters that could penetrate Starfleet shields, sophisticated tactical equipment was not un-likely.

  Of course, he thought, they also have such primitive warp engines that they still produce antimatter waste. This was why the Dominion's way was so much bet-ter: everyone in the Dominion benefited from the technological advances of all its component parts. Such inefficient disparities as the owners of this tanker had did not exist.

  Sure enough, the Hirogen arrived at the bridge and began to manipulate the controls of one of the consoles. He had bolstered his rifle across his left shoulder.

  The rifle is the key, Taran'atar thought. With it, the Hirogen has the clear advantage. The Jem'Hadar's sole weapon was his kar'takin, which the Hirogen had thought so little of that he hadn't bothered to remove it from Taran'atar's person as he had his phaser.

  The initial strike was the most important: to land as devastating a blow as possible while he had the element of surprise. Striking at the armor would be pointless- as strong as his blade was, Taran'atar seriously doubted it could penetrate. The rifle itself was probably similarly difficult to damage. That left only two viable alterna-tives: the Hirogen's face, and the strap holding the rifle.

  Possibly they are the same alternative, he thought as he studied the battlefield. The Hirogen currently stood at the center of the bridge, operating what ap-peared to be a general-purpose operations console. The console was a circular island in the middle of the control room-which, like those of Jem'Hadar ships, had no chairs.

  Taran'atar took up position on the side of the con-

  sole opposite where the Hirogen stood. Then he stepped backward as far as he could and unsheathed his kar'takin, directing his thoughts at the Founders.

  / am Taran'atar, and I am dead. I go into battle to reclaim my life. This I do gladly, for I am Jem'Hadar. Victory is life.

  He ran toward the console, leapt on top of it while lifting his kar'takin over his left shoulder, unshroud-ing as his concentration shifted to combat mode, and brought the weapon down.

  The Hirogen fell back, one hand reaching up to cover his lacerated face, the other groping for the rifle that fell clattering to the deck, its shoulder strap severed cleanly.

  Little blood flowed from the wound, and Taran'atar didn't allow his foe a chance to respond. He leapt onto the Hirogen, dragging him down and away from the fallen rifle. The pair fell to the deck, much as they had the last time Taran'atar attacked, only this time the Jem'Hadar was on top.

  Again he attacked the Hirogen's face with the blade, but this time he thrust straight downward, aim-ing for the alien's right eye.

  Unfortunately, the Hirogen clapped his gauntleted hands over the kar'takin, halting its downward mo-tion. Taran'atar struggled to push the blade down-ward, but the Hirogen's strength was tremendous.

  The hunter swung both arms to one side, pushing Taran'atar off balance and forcing him to release his hold on the kar'takin. The blade spun away as Taran'atar tumbled off his opponent and fell into a roll. He came up to his feet as the Hirogen did like-wise.

  The rifle was on the far end of the bridge out of

  reach of both combatants. The kar'takin, however, was close enough that the Jem'Hadar was willing to take the extra second he needed to reach it and arm himself, especially given how he expected the Hi-rogen to respond.

  Sure enough, the Hirogen got to his feet and pressed a control on his right wrist. A long, straight blade extended from the underside of his gauntlet. The part closest to the Hirogen's palm was shaped differently-a grip, Taran'atar realized as the Hi-rogen's large hand clasped around it. Clever design. The blade is still attached to his armor, so there's no risk of him dropping it, but it has a grip that provides him with better leverage. The blade had to be either flexible or collapsible, but Taran'atar could not count on that meaning that it was weak. The Hirogen were an ancient species, that much he knew, and Taran'atar had to assume that any civilization capable of refining monotanium into hull metal could also manage com-parable metallurgy in the creation of hand weapons.

  Holding his kar'takin in front of him, ready to strike or parry at a moment's notice, the Jem'Hadar focused on his primary advantage: Hirogen were more interested in the hunt than the victory-but Jem'Hadar knew better. In a hand-to-hand fight, the Hirogen's size and armor gave him an edge over Taran'atar. Armed combat leveled the playing field to some extent-how much would depend on the Hi-rogen's skill. Taran'atar had already known that the Hirogen carried an edged weapon-it was what he used to kill the owners of the tanker-and Taran'tar also knew that if he came at the Hirogen with a blade, the Hirogen was likely to respond in kind.

  The two circled each other on the spacious bridge, each ready to strike at a moment's notice, neither will-ing to make the first move.

  "Curious prey," the Hirogen said. "You yourself set the terms for combat with blades, yet you do not at-tack. Instead you wait-try to gauge my own attack even as I wait to gauge yours."

  Taran'atar said nothing. Speaking during battle was pointless unless one was giving orders to one's troops. Taran'atar had no troops, so he remained silent.

  "Do you not speak, prey?"

  Again, Taran'atar said nothing. Let the hunter rant all he wants.

  They continued to circle each other. Taran'atar watched for any sign in the Hirogen's eyes that he would strike, but all the Jem'Hadar could read was curiosity.

  Then the Hirogen did something unexpected: he smiled.

  "Very well, prey. If you will not strike first, I will."

  In the back of his mind, Taran'atar had wondered if perhaps this hunter was simply incompetent. After all, he had lost his ship to an inferior foe. And now he an-nounced his attack so that Taran'atar had plenty of time to parry the downward strike at his head.

  Another thirty seconds of sparring, however, dis-abused him at least of the notion that the Hirogen had no weapons skills. He was as good as Taran'atar with his weapon, and the Jem'Hadar found himself unable to move onto the offensive. He wa
s able to counter each of the Hirogen's attacks, but his foe was too fast to allow Taran'atar ever to strike back.

  The weapons clanged against each other, the sound

  of metal colliding with metal ringing through the oth-erwise silent bridge. The combatants soon fell into a rhythm. The Hirogen's thrusts were fast, strong, and powerful, but predictable. He never varied the pat-tern-a simple right-left-forward progression that he stuck to without deviating. Unfortunately, being able to predict the strike only meant Taran'atar could raise a defense against it. The Hirogen presented no open-ing to take the offensive.