through the faceplate. Next time they asked him what
upgrades he wanted for DS9, he was going to ask for a
spacedock.
For now, though, he'd just have to make do. Grit-
ting his teeth, he raised his heavy cutting phaser,
adjusting the controls to a tighter beam, and began
burning through the final series of power couplings
holding the Galactic Queen's nacelles in place over
the passenger compartment. Durasteel turned red,
then white under the burst of energy, bubbling like
one of Captain Sisko's gumbos. He could feel the heat
even through the insulation in his gloves and space
suit.
One power relay parted silently, then the second,
then the third. Globules of rapidly cooling durasteel
spiraled off into the darkness. O'Brien felt a drop of
sweat run down the side of his face, then crawl along
the line of his jaw. His faceplate began to fog up ever
so slightly at the edges.
He shifted the phaser and fired again. Finally the
fourth relay melted; the Galactic Queen's starboard
nacelle now floated freely in space. Only inertia held
it in position.
O'Brien took a deep breath. The easy part was
done. Clipping the phaser to his side, he took a second
to glance down at his space suit's readouts. Twenty
degrees just isn't coM enough, he thought. He'd set the
controls as cold as they would go, but radiant heat
from the phaser and the fused metal had raised the
internal temperature of his space suit to nearly sixty
degrees centigrade.
If only we had another couple of days, he thought.
He hated working out in raw vacuum, but didn't see
much choice. Fast and dirty, that was the only way to
get the job done in time.
The durasteel had cooled back down. O'Brien
turned his back to the ship, planted his feet against
the hull, hooked his fingers under the power coupling
he'd just severed, and heaved with all his strength.
The ship had no weight in space; it was all a matter of
getting its mass moving. Slowly, a fraction of a
millimeter at a time, the nacelle parted from the main
passenger compartment.
O'Brien let go after fifteen seconds. No sens e strain-
ing any more against all that mass, he thought. Age
was catching up to him; he didn't want Bashir doing
an emergency procedure on his back to fix a slipped
disc. He'd never hear the end of it.
He released the magnetic grips on his space boots
and floated away from Galactic Queen's hull, looking
over his work with a critical eye. The port nacelle,
already cut free, drifted a hundred meters away. He
nodded to himself. Yes, it was coming along right on
schedule.
"Chief," a tinny-sounding but recognizably female
voice said through a burst of static. "We've got the
dead hull."
He nudged the transmit bar with his chin. "Great,"
he said. He'd sent Ensign Polatta and her crew off in a
runabout to fetch the Progress from the Bajoran
moon. "How's she look?"
"Good, for scrap. Not so good for a starship."
"Bring her alongside the Galactic Queen. You'll
have to round up the nacelles I just cut loose with
tractor beams. We'll lick her into shape yet."
Starfleet's diplomatic team arrived just after mid-
night that night, and Sisko found himself standing
outside the docking port, feeling bleary-eyed and
tired.
Something hissed, and he felt a light touch on his
arm. He jumped, a bit startled.
Dr. Bashir held up a hypo spray. "Vitamins," he
said. "You're looking a little pale."
Leave it to Bashir to notice. "You, too, Doctor," he
said.
"Yes, in my case it's lack of sleep." He stifled a
yawn. "I've been up since four o'clock this morning."
"I've been meaning to thank you for covering the
Cardassians' arrival for me."
"No problem," Bashir said. "Glad to help out.
Actually, it was an interesting experience. I almost
wish I could sit in on the negotiations just to see how
everyone interacts."
"I'm expecting fireworks," Sisko admitted. Federa-
tion, Maquis, Valtusian, and Cardassian diplomats
struck him as about the least compatible bunch
imaginable. Even the Klingons and the Romulans
could be more reasonable than Cardassians.
The door rolled aside, and a strikingly beautiful
Vulcan woman walked out, looking around curiously.
Her short black hair and pointed, almost elfin ears
loaned her delicately boned face an almost ethereal
quality. Sisko found his gaze moving from her face to
the stunning aqua dress she wore off one shoulder.
Matching blue sandals, studded with gemstones, com-
pleted the outfit.
"You must be Captain Sisko," she said, her voice
flat and emotionless.
"That's right," he said. "And you are...?"
"Ambassador T'Pao." She turned and indicated the
heavyset man with short reddish blond hair following
her. "This is Ambassador DuQuesne, and behind him
is Ambassador Strockman." Strockman, thin to the
point of emaciation, with pinched cheeks and thin-
ning black hair cropped close to his skull, gave a curt
nod.
Sisko smiled politely, then did the introductions.
"We have designed a test to check for changeling
infiltration," he said. "It only takes a minute and is
completely painless."
He half expected a series of protests, but T'Pao
merely nodded once. "Proceed." "Doctor?" Sisko said.
Bashir stepped forward. "If you would place your
hand on the scanner," he said.
T'Pao did so, and it promptly announced that she
was Vulcan. Then DuQuesne stepped forward and
placed his hand on top.
"A good idea," T'Pao commented. "One cannot be
too careful in negotiations such as these."
"Our thoughts exactly," Sisko said. He couldn't
help but grin. At least the Federation ambassadors
understood the necessity of security.
Both DuQuesne and Strockman passed the DNA
test.
"Now," T'Pao said, "if you could show us to
our quarters. It has been a long trip, and I believe
my colleagues require rest. They have become
somewhat... irritable."
"Of course." Sisko turned and led the way toward
the turbolift. "Your suites are on the habitat ring..."
he began.
"Sir," Ensign McCormick said. "I think I'm pick-
ing up a ship on the extreme limits of sensor range."
A new ship? Dax crossed to the ensign's console
and studied the readouts over his shoulder. The only
ship she was still expecting belonged to the Maquis
delegates to the peace conference, and if she knew her
Maquis, they'd be playing it very cautiously. After all,
DS9 was a Federation outpost, and technically they
would fall under Federation law the moment they set
&n
bsp; foot aboard. Despite all of the assurances Starfleet
and the Valtusians had given them, they must still be a
little paranoid. She didn't blame them.
On the other hand, it could be a Dominion ship
looking them over from the distance ....
Dax reached down, channeled extra power to the
sensor relays, and scanned the ship again.
"Bingo," she said, as the results came up on the
ensign's monitor screen. It was an old Federation
transport ship, probably decommissioned and sold off
to colonists years ago. The station's computer identi-
fied it as the Uganda.
"Sir? Bingo?" The ensign gazed at her blankly.
They were getting younger every year, Dax thought.
"An old Earth expression," she explained. "It
means 'you're right.'"
"Are they... Jem'Hadar?"
"Wrong direction." She moved aside so McCor-
mick could see the readouts. "Take a look at that. It's
a Federation ship. Or used to be."
"Maquis..." the ensign breathed.
Dax smiled. "A pretty good guess, especially since
we're expecting them." She returned to the science
station. "I'11 take it from here." "Yes, sir."
Dax hailed the ship. "This is Lieutenant Com-
mander Jadzia Dax of Deep Space Nine. Maquis ship,
please identify yourself."
There was no response. Probably still looking us
over, she thought, and who could blame them? It
must have taken a lot on the Valtusians' part to even
get them this far.
"Maquis ship," she said again, "please identify
yourself."
"This is the Uganda," a male voice responded
hesitantly a moment later. It was an audio-only signal.
How paranoid were these people? "We are here for
the peace conference."
"You're early," she said. "Our docking schedule is
full for the next three hours. If you'd care to wait, I'll
fit you in--"
"We've just picked up a Federation warship ap-
proaching at high warp!" The pitch of his voice rose
half an octave. "You've betrayed us--"
"Not true," Dax said. Damn, what a time for a
Federation ship to show up! "Hold your position,
Uganda. You have nothing to worry about."
She punched the new ship up on her console--the
Excalibur, with high-priority clearance. She groaned
inwardly. This was really going to screw up her
docking schedule. Perhaps they'd beam people over
instead of docking...
She split the screen to monitor both ships at once.
The Maquis vessel had already come about and begun
accelerating away from DS9. She saw that its warp
coil was powering up.
"Uganda," she said, "the Federation ship is only
here to drop off delegates for the conference. It will
depart as soon as it's done. You have nothing to worry
about."
"I have your word on that, Commander?"
"That's right."
"We will withdraw for now," his voice said. "We'll
return in three hours. Uganda out."
"DS9 out," Dax said. She nodded. No doubt about
it, they were nervous. At least they were coming back,
though. Hopefully the Excalibur would be gone by
then.
CHAPTER
6
SISKO WATCHED THE colorful flicker of lights in the
Ops's two-person transporter chamber as a figure
began to materialize. The Excalibur had come to a
stationary position between DS9 and the wormhole,
and now Lieutenant Colfax was in the process of
beaming aboard.
The hum of the transporter faded away as Colfax
materialized. He carried what appeared to be a cloth
satchel in one hand. It seemed quite heavy, Sisko
noted. Stepping down from the transporter, Colfax
smiled coolly and offered his hand to Sisko.
Sisko shook it. "Won't you come into my office," he
said.
"Certainly," Colfax said, shifting the satchel to his
other hand and following.
"We weren't expecting you so soon," Sisko said
over his shoulder. "Admiral Dulev said thirty-two
hours."
"We made excellent time," Colfax said. "I had the
Excalibur's captain shave every second off the run
that she could. You know how important speed is
here. I'm sorry to have held up your away team this
long, but I believe you'll find it necessary."
"The admiral didn't say much about it."
He nodded. "We're taking every precaution possi-
ble, in case the changelings are monitoring our sub-
space communications. Now, I'd appreciate it if
you'd call in your away team. I want to brief them as
quickly as possible."
"Certainly." He paused in the doorway to his office.
"Dax?"
"I'll get them here," she called.
"Thanks." Sisko entered his office, then closed the
door behind them. To Colfax he said, "Can I offer you
a drink?"
"No, thank you," Colfax said. He set his satchel on
a chair, then ran his finger along the seam and peeled
it open. "I'm afraid this is only a brief stopover for
me. I'm here to drop off equipment for your away
team, that's all. I trust they're ready to leave?"
"Their ship is waiting," Sisko said. That was close
enough to true; it would be a matter of hours now
before the last tests were complete. He perched on the
edge of his desk and folded his arms. "Good," Colfax said.
The door chirped. "Come," Sisko said.
Kira, Odo, and Worf filed in. "You wanted to see
us, sir?" Worf asked, his voice low and gravely.
Sisko indicated his guest. "This is Lieutenant Col-
fax from Admiral Dulev's office. Apparently he has
additional equipment for you."
"That's right," Dulev said. He pulled a thick metal-
lic belt from the satchel and turned around to face
them. "This is an experimental device which the
Romulans have loaned us s pecifically for this mission.
It's called a personal cloaker."
A personal cloaker? Sisko found himself leaning
forward to study the belt. Surely it couldn't be a
cloaking device; it was far too small. He frowned a
bit, studying a series of silver boxes connected with
mesh links. It had a small control panel on the front,
he noted, which appeared to consist of a simple power
readout and an on/off switch.
Odo asked, "What exactly does it do?"
"I'm getting to that." Colfax snapped the belt
around his waist and looked up. "As the name sug-
gests, it's a variant on the cloaking devices which
conceal Romulan ships in space. It creates a distor-
tion wave which surrounds your body, rendering you
effectively invisible to the naked eye. Watch."
Colfax activated one of the buttons on the belt's
control panel. The air around him rippled for a
second, and then he faded from view.
Sisko stood bolt upright, shocked. The security
implications were devastating. With one of these,
someone could walk into the
most closely guarded
Federation installation undetected.
A second later Colfax reappeared. "Simple, yes?"
he said.
"How many of these things are there?" Odo de-
manded.
"I've brought two for use in your mission," Colfax
said. "The third one must remain with me. Our
people are working with Romulan scientists to perfect
the devices. They may well offer our first counter to
the advantages offered by the changelings' morphing
abilities."
"How do they work?" Sisko asked.
"Simplicity itself," Colfax said. He removed the
belt and laid it flat on the desk so everyone could see
the control panel on the front. "There is an on/off
button and a time readout."
"A time readout?" Worf asked, frowning.
Colfax hesitated. "There are problems with the
personal cloakers," he admitted. "They use a fantastic
amount of energy. Our most powerful battery can
only run one for eight minutes."
Odo seemed to relax a little, Sisko saw, and he knew
why With only eight minutes of power, it would be
difficult for anyone to use them effectively for sabo-
tage.
"I know it's not a lot of time," Colfax said, "but it's
one extra advantage you didn't have before. It could
well mean the difference between getting caught and
eluding capture."
"There is almost something cowardly about hiding
behind invisible shields," Worf said, a little stiffly.
"Commander Worf," Colfax said, rising and facing
him, "the entire Alpha Quadrant risks subjugation
under the changelings. We will not allow this to
happen--whatever the cost. Honor is one of our least
valuable commodities right now. Is that understood?"
Worf bristled a little, but nodded. Sisko could tell it
troubled him nonetheless.
"Good," Colfax said. He drew two more belts from
his satchel and handed one to Kira and one to Worf.
"Wear them under your clothes at all times on this
mission," he said. "I know they're bulky, but they're
the best we can do. And one more thing If you're in
danger of being caught, or if you exhaust the belts'
power supplies, destroy them. They cannot be
allowed to fall into the enemy's hands." He put the
belt he'd used for his demonstration away. "Any
questions?"
A little to his surprise, Sisko found he didn't have
any, and neither did anyone else. The personal cloak-
ers seemed straight-forward enough.
Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17 Page 6