Star Trek - DS9 011 - Devil In The Sky

by Неизвестный

  "Grab my wristreyes, like that~and I'll grab yours," he said. "We'll make a seat for her so there isn't any pressure on her leg." That was the best he could do f()r Kira right now, he thought.

  With the Bajoran's help, he managed to balance Kira more easily. Following the woman holding his bag, he and the man had no trouble making it the last thirty meters to where the tunnel broke through a thick slab of concrete: At the lip of the tunnel, he paused a second to gaze across the landing bay. Overhead, a force field shim- mered, and beyond it Julian could see the black of interstellar space, sprinkled with glittering jewels of stars. This had to be the landing bay. Straight ahead, in the center of the open area, stood what looked like a Bruja-class Cardassian ship. He thought it was the same one that had attacked the Puyallup, but couldn't be certain. Its cargo hatch stood open, though, and Bajorans were pouring through it as quickly as they could, as Aponte, Muckerheide, and Wilkens stood watch, phasers drawn and ready.

  Then he spotted Ttan. The Horta sat on the ground next to the hatch as if on guard. The outline of a body had been burned into the concrete next to her. Was it a warning to the Cardassians? If so, it certainly seemed to work--Julian found it chilling.

  The sound of phaser fire suddenly erupted behind him. Julian jerked his head around, trying to see down the tunnel. The Cardassians must have stormed the tunnel mouth, he thought. If only he'd managed to cave it in, he thought desperately.

  "Hurry," he said to the Bajoran next to him.

  "They're right behind us." The man nodded. "I hear them." Julian eased forward onto the docking bay, careful- ly balancing Kira, and headed for the shuttle as quickly as he could. He'd only taken a dozen steps when he suddenly noticed blood dripping from the cast on Kira's left foot. Not a good sign, he thought.

  All the jostling must have cut something inside her leg. He'd have to treat it as soon as he could--but his top priority had to be getting her under cover. Stop- ping the bleeding wouldn't do a bit of good if the Cardassians got them.

  As they neared the ship, to his relief Ensign Aponte came bounding down the gangway. "Let me help--" she began.

  Then a phaser blast hit her in the chest, knocking her back against the ship's hull with a thud. Julian drew up short, shocked. He couldn't believe what had just happened. Aponte had a hole the size of a dinner plate in her chest, he saw, and the flesh had been neatly cauterized so there wasn't any bleeding.

  "Nataliam" he began. But he knew nothing he could say or do could possibly help. Not even the finest medical unit at Starfleet could bring her back from so severe a wound.

  Swallowing, he forced his attention back to Kira.

  Unarmed, carrying a wounded friend, he couldn't turn and fight, much as he wanted to. At least your death wasn't in vain, he thought to Ensign Aponte.

  You helped save all the others.

  Another phaser blast zipped past. It jarred some- thing inside him. They had to get under cover as quickly as possible.

  "Hurry," he urged the man helping him carry Kira.

  "I am hurrying!" the man snapped back.

  More crimson beams of energy lanced the air.

  Someone screamed what sounded like an incoherent warning to his right, and Julian paused for a heart- beat. Half a dozen Bajorans ran down from the cargo hatch and began laying down a covering fire for him.

  He lugged Kira into the cargo hold and eased her to the deck. Blood slowly began to pool around her left foot, and he wondered if he'd missed something.

  When he took a quick scan of her leg, though, he realized it wasn't life-threatening, just a cut below her knee, which he hadn't noticed in the tunnel's dimness.

  He was free to take care of others first--just the way Kira would have wanted it, he thought a little wryly.

  The Bajoran who'd helped him carry Kira aboard touched his arm. "You know we didn't have anything to worry about back there," the man said.

  "What makes you say that?" Julian demanded.

  He'd almost been hit several times, after all. "The way those phaser blasts were flying--" The man snorted. "I guess you didn't notice, but they were only shooting at people with guns. We were a secondary target. Now, how about going forward and seeing about getting us off this rock, will you? I'm a medic. I'll look after the wounded in here." Julian glanced around, but the cargo hold seemed to be under control. There were several people with minor injuries, and a couple who seemed to be nursing broken arms, but that was it. The Bajoran could see to them. The Bajorans who'd stayed outside were boarding one by one, covering each other. Then, as he watched, Ttan surged up the gangway. She must've been guarding the rear, he thought.

  "Everyone's aboard," Ensign Wilkens called to him.

  "Close the hatch!" Julian called back, but someone had already hit the controls. As the hatch's huge doors swung shut, several phaser bolts made it through.

  Luckily they didn't hit anything important, just the rhodinium plating on the walls. Then the hold sealed with an audible hiss.

  Julian took a deep, calming breath. You're in charge here, he told himself. Act like it.

  He handed his medical bag to the Bajoran medic.

  "Everything you need is inside," he said.

  "Thanks," the man said. He hurried off to see to the wounded.

  "Wilkens," he said. "You're in charge down here.

  Get everyone settled in for takeoff. Muckerheide!" "Here, sir," a weak voice called. Julian turned until he located the source. Muckerheide was propped in the corner. He looked like he'd taken a glancing phaser blast to his side. The fact that he was conscious at all was sign enough that he'd live.

  "Take it easy," Julian called. "I'11 be on the bridge." He wove through the Bajorans sitting on the floor and made his way down a long, narrow corridor with tomblike cabins to either side. The Cardassians didn't build with human aesthetics in mind, he told himself, feeling a touch claustrophobic.

  He pushed through a small hatch and into the ship's bridge. It was situated in the nose of ship, a semicircle-shaped room about twice the size of a runabout's main cabin. The captain's station was in the middle, six crew stations spaced equidistantly around it. Captain Dyoran and five other Bajorans he didn't know by name now manned all those stations.

  The captain's seat was empty. Feeling a little bit out of place, Julian sank into it. The softness surprised him--one of the few comforts he'd yet found in the Cardassian military.

  Now, he thought, to get on top of things. He studied the forward viewscreen, which showed the docking bay. Several dozen Cardassian soldiers seemed to be setting up an energy cannon. Doubtless they planned to use it on the ship. What would Sisko have done?

  Gathered information, then made the best decision he could based on available data.

  "Report!" he snapped in his best impression of Sisko.

  Captain Dyoran looked back at him a little oddly.

  "Engines up to full power. We can take off any time we want." "Do so," Julian said.

  "Doctor, there's a force field--" "Then blast its controls. This ship has weapons, doesn't it?" Dyoran grinned. "My thought exactly." He turned to the woman next to him. "Proceed, Cella." She touched several buttons, and phaser fire lashed out from the ship.

  The phaser shots struck the control booth. It va- porized. Abruptly the docking bay's lights went out.

  For a heartbeat Julian listened to absolute silence; then, even through the hull of the ship, he heard the vast sucking sound outside. Vacuum, he realized-- the cargo bay had been exposed to the raw vacuum of space. To his horror, everything not bolted to the groundmCardassians, papers, equipment, everything mblew out through the opening overhead where the forcefield had been.

  It only took a few seconds to clear out the docking bay. But the sucking sound didn't stop. It dwindled to a whistle, a little like an old Earth train on an old tape.

  Why didn't the noise stop?

  Ttan's tunnel. He felt a sudden flutter in his chest as he realized the effect must be spreading throughout the whole undergr
ound complex. Ttan had cut through the docking bay's floor into half a dozen levels, straight into the heart of the base. Every bit of air would be sucked out into space.

  He'd condemned dozens, if not hundreds, of Cardassians to death. Never mind that they'd been trying to kill him and committing war crimes to boot~the magnitude of what he'd done staggered him. His orders had made it so. He'd never carried such a weight on his shoulders before, and the immen- sity of it staggered him.

  "Captain?" Dyoran said. "Captain?" It took Julian a moment to realize Dyoran meant him. "Uh, yes?" he said.

  "All stations standing by." "Then--lift off," he said. "Get us out of here." He sank back, feeling sick and exhausted, and watched in a numb sort of amazement as the crew around him powered up the engines and lifted the ship on impulse power. They cleared the docking bay and reached open space, and the gas giant--with its swirling reds, oranges, and yellows~seemed to swing around. It took up most of the forward view- screen.

  It was done, he realized. They had succeeded.

  They'd not only rescued Ttan, but dozens of Bajoran prisoners.

  Then his communicator hailed him.

  "Julian?" Dax's voice said. "What in the seven hells is going on down there?" Julian gasped. In the excitement he'd completely forgotten about her. He tapped his badge.

  "Bashir here," he said. Hastily he filled her in.

  There came a long silence when he finished. Finally Dax said, "We'll have to make the best of it. Go to this headings" and she read off a series of numbers.

  "Got that?" Julian asked Dyoran.

  "Yes, Captain," Dyoran said. "New heading on this mark." "Julian," Dax went on over the communicator. "I want you to listen to me very carefully. I'm picking up six large Cardassian vessels bearing down on your moon. Head for Federation space at impulse power for five more minutes. Be prepared to go to warp on my command." "Roger," Julian said. He found himself gripping the arms of the captain's seat so hard his knuckles hurt.

  He forced himself to let go.

  "We're being hailed," one of the Bajorans told him.

  "It's the lead ship--the Ramothg Revenge. Should I answer'?" "No," Julian said. Then he bit his lip. If he didn't answer, they'd know something was wrong. "Yes," he said. "Voice only--no picture." "Coming through now." "Dagger," said a chill Cardassian voice, "what is your status?" "Davonia has suffered a major reactor leak," Julian said in what he hoped was an equally cool voice. "We are contaminated. Stand off, Ramoth ~ Revenge." "Put me on visual." "Negative," Julian said, praying desperately that the captain of the Ramoth's Revenge would believe him. "Our equipment is damaged." He caught his breath and waited for their response.

  When none came for several heartbeats, he whis- pered to Dyoran, "Can we take them in a battle?" "It would be difficult," Dyoran said. "There are six of them, sir." "They're scanning us," another Bajoran called.

  "Go to full impulse power." Julian tried to keep the tremor from his voice. "Keep us on course. Let's see what they're going to do." And let's hope Dax has a plan, he mentally added. If only Kira were awakem she'd know what to do.

  "They're hailing us again," the Bajoran at the communications station said. "Ignore it," Julian said.

  "Sir," called a fourth Bajoran, "there's a small ship lifting off from the second moon. It's heading straight for the six ships. It's firing on them!" "What!" Julian demanded. That had to be Dax. But she had to know her runabout would be no match for six Cardassian ships! "Put it on the viewscreen!" he said.

  The view changed to show what was happening aft.

  As he watched, the runabout fired a volley of phaser blasts, then its three remaining photon torpedoes.

  Abruptly the runabout swung around and sped to- ward Cardassian space. It went to warp before Julian's startled eyes.

  Two of the torpedoes hit home before the Cardassians could raise shields. A series of brilliant explosions rocked one of the ships, and it spun away from the rest of the formation.

  The five remaining vessels changed course to follow the runabout. They, too, went to warp speed in pursuit.

  Julian swallowed. The runabout could barely do warp three without shaking itself to pieces. He knew the battle would be suddenly and savagely ended. Dax had sacrificed herself to save them.

  Then the door to the bridge rolled open and Dax entered.

  "Jadzia!" Julian exclaimed. "How--what--" "I beamed myself aboard before the runabout went to warp on automatic pilot," she said. "I believe you're in my seat, Doctor." "And glad to get out of it," he said, leaping to his feet. He'd thought he would never see her again.

  "Go to maximum warp," Dax ordered. She sank into the captain's seat. "That won't fool them long.

  They'll be after us with everything they have." The view switched to the front of the ship. Stars blurred into lines as they accelerated.

  "Warp five-point-three," one of the Bajorans called.

  "That's about all we're going to get out of her." "Will that be enough?" Julian asked. He wondered what speeds the Cardassian freighters were capable of.

  "We'll see," Dax said. "I estimate their ships' maximum speeds at somewhere between warp six and warp seven." She turned to Julian.

  He grinned at her. Things were definitely back to normal, he realized.

  "Now," she said, "I think I need a slightly more detailed report. Let's start with what happened to Major Kira."

  CHAPTER 18

  "FORGET THE OTHER HORTAS," Sisko ordered. "Lock on to the one in the reactor right away!" At his engineering station, one level below the commander's perch in Ops, Chief O'Brien struggled with his equipment. Unfortunately, trying to lock on to a silicon-based life-form in the middle of a molten bath of liquid silicon was as tricky as it sounded, especially with many key sensors out and one of DS9's two working reactors in trouble.

  Instructing Lieutenant Eddon to monitor the dam- age in the reactor, he tried to get some sort of decent readings on his transporter controls. "Contamina- tion?" he asked her without looking up from his station.

  "Minimal spillage so far, but rising. Something is curbing the flow of conductive fluid from the ruptured tank, and maybe even damping the radiation levels somewhat." The Andorian sounded confused. Once the silicon bed's container was ruptured, the resulting release of superheated liquid should have resulted in massive destruction in the reactor facility.

  O'Brien knew what was saving them. "The Horta," he said tersely. Ironically, the little bugger was drink- ing up the radioactive fluid faster than it could spill into the rest of the station. The Horta's omnivorous tendencies would do them no good at all, however, once the creature found its way into the reaction chamber itself. There was no use crying over spilled radioactive waste, as they used to joke at the Acade- my, but antimatter was something else entirely. Some- how, he doubted that even a Horta could stomach an antimatter-induced fusion reaction. More likely, the resulting explosion would obliterate them all before the creature could take more than a bite.

  It was too late to shut down the reactor, as well.

  Even though DS9 still had one more reactor in operation, the radioactive materials--and the anti- matter--would not go away with the flick of a switch.

  Besides, O'Brien reasoned, it was better to keep the Horta happy and occupied at Reactor 1, rather than risk driving it over to Reactor 2. One rupture was enough.

  "Prodigal within transporter range," N'Heydor announced.

  "Visual," Sisko said.

  O'Brien continued to concentrate on the transport- er controls. Someone at the operations table could handle the commander's request.

  He took a quick glance at the main viewer. Sure enough, the diagram had been replaced by a view of open space dominated by The Prodigal. Its rough surface looked like the product of centuries of volcan- ic upheavals, as well as several rounds of demolition derby with stray meteors and asteroids. No wonder, O'Brien thought, neither the Bajorans nor the Cardassians had ever tried colonizing it. The vaga- bond moon struck him as an ugly and inhospitab
le place--although maybe not to Hortas, he reminded himself.

  Lord, though, it was practically next door. He'd have no trouble beaming the renegade Horta over there, if only he could get a lock on the damn beastie.

  He swiftly adjusted the transporter scans, trying to probe the ruptured energy bed, but fluctuating radia- tion levels caused his readings to shift constantly, beyond any reasonable margin for error. "Comput- er," he demanded, ready at this point to accept help from any quarter, "lock on to alien life-form in Reactor Bed One." "Unable to comply," the computer replied. "Silicon life-form indistinguishable from silicon environ- ment." O'Brien couldn't believe it. He clenched his jaws together angrily. The bloody computer had been trying to beam the poor Hortas off the station since forever, it felt like--and now, the moment things got a little sticky, the stupid program was "unable to comply." The hell it was!