Demons of Air and Darkness

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “You may not ask, Lieutenant,” Vaughn said without looking at the engineer. That was all he planned to say on the subject. He had ordered ch’Thane behind as a favor to Vretha. He wasn’t happy about it, and Nog’s concern was understandable. But then he thought about his just-departed daughter. I’m not going to keep a parent from trying to reconcile with her child. Especially given what’s at stake. I just wish it were that easy for me to order Prynn to talk to me off duty.

  “Spillane to Mello.” The voice was coming through the bridge speakers.

  “Mello here.”

  “Captain, we’ve, ah, got a bit of a problem down here.”

  Lieutenant Ann Spillane was Mello’s chief of security, so “down here” was Costa Rocosa. That’s not encouraging, Vaughn thought.

  “There’s a Europani down here,” Spillane continued, “holding five people hostage along with six crates of arithrazine.”

  Bashir looked up at that. “There goes Martino’s arithrazine,” he said quietly.

  “He just showed up with a ship and the drugs, grabbed five people who were about to go through the gateway to Torona IV, and blocked the way. He says he’ll release the drugs and the people if we let him and his family through to Torona IV.”

  Nog muttered, “So why not just let them through?”

  Mello apparently heard him, because she said, “ Because the five-hundred-thousand-person limit the Jarada put on us is pretty strict, and all those slots are taken. I take it no one’s willing to give up their slot, Lieutenant?”

  “That’s the kicker,” Spillane said. “He won’t let anyone give up their slot—says he doesn’t want anyone else to suffer because of him. He just wants to add him, his wife, his mother, his five kids, and his sister to the group—and he’ll kill the hostages and destroy the drugs if we don’t let him.”

  “Interesting method of not letting people suffer,” Bashir said. “Especially if he’s blocking the gateway.”

  Vaughn stood up. “With your permission, Captain Mello, I believe I can handle this.”

  “Granted.”

  As he moved to the door, he said, “Doctor, you’re with me. I’ll need you to deal with the arithrazine when we’re finished. Lieutenant Nog, you have the conn.”

  It only took forty minutes for Vaughn to fly the Sagan, the Defiant’ s other shuttlecraft, to Costa Rocosa. Bashir spent the time contacting Dr. DeLaCruz to inform him that he had a promising lead on that missing arithrazine, and then checking the radiation levels to make sure that none of it penetrated the shuttle’s enhanced shields.

  Vaughn scanned the area in search of a decent landing spot. When he had beamed down the last time (Was that only yesterday? he thought; seems like decades . . . ), there seemed to be a paucity of places to land on the uneven ground near the gateway. And if this hostage-taker has a ship, he’s probably used one of those places already.

  That last assumption turned out to be false. The Europani hostage-taker had landed his ship—a small atmospheric pod about five meters long—right on the rocky outcropping and was using it to block the gateway.

  I see how this got out of hand. He was sure Spillane was a completely satisfactory security chief, but one person with a hand phaser, no matter how talented, was hardly in a position to stop an unannounced pod from landing wherever it wants.

  A quick sensor scan revealed that the pod had four landing struts meant for resting on solid, even ground, and that only two of them had any kind of solid support. One plan immediately presented itself: destroy that support—either by phasering the struts or the rock under them—and get the hostages out in the confusion. That was a last-resort plan, as it carried the greatest risk, and one Vaughn dearly hoped he wouldn’t have to implement.

  He picked up approximately five thousand human life signs in the vicinity. Most were congregated just to the east of the gateway outcropping. There were another nineteen near the gateway, one of whom wore a combadge whose signal corresponded to Lieutenant Spillane.

  He landed the Sagan in a clearing about twenty meters from the gateway in a flat area atop a rock. Then he rose and went to the weapons locker. As he removed a hand phaser, Bashir said, “Do you think it’s wise to go into a hostage negotiation armed, Commander?”

  Vaughn ignored the question as he opened the hatch. The early-evening wind blew fiercely into the cabin. Bashir approached the hatch alongside Vaughn. He peered out and saw the almost sheer drop. The flat part of the rock on which they’d landed was no bigger than the Sagan itself.

  To Bashir’s credit, he kept pace with Vaughn as they clambered down the steep incline without once making a tiresome comment about the first step being a doozy—a remark which Vaughn had fully expected the doctor to make. Bashir found handholds with all the assuredness and athleticism of a well-trained climber. Idly, Vaughn wondered how much of that was truly training and how much was Bashir’s genetic enhancements—then decided that it didn’t really matter.

  Once they reached bottom, it was a short walk to the scene. The crowd was being kept at bay and in relative order by the Costa Rocosan police force. Based on the reports, they were the only locals still present. Mayor Nieto had been the first one through the gateway, along with other members of the police force, and they had taken over the organization of the refugees on the Jaradan side of the gateway. The thousand inhabitants of the city were next. After that, there had been a steady flow of Europani from the nearby principalities, organized by the local police and Lieutenant Spillane.

  Spillane herself stood with two Europani police officers about ten meters from the pod. As the Sagan’ s sensor readings had indicated, the pod was right in front of the gateway.

  Standing in front of the pod was a short man with long black hair. He looked determined. Behind him were eight other people, ranging in age from midthirties to about eight years old—presumably the family he wished to take with him—who all looked more worried than anything. Next to him were five adults— three men, two women—who looked scared to death.

  “What is that he’s holding?” Bashir asked, squinting at the hostage-taker.

  “I think it’s a Starfleet phaser,” Spillane said. She was a slim human woman. Her long blond hair, currently tied back in a ponytail, had been matted down by the local humidity. “But I don’t remember ever seeing one that—well, bulky before.”

  “That’s because its type was taken out of service before either of you were born,” Vaughn said. “That’s a standard-issue Starfleet hand phaser from around the turn of the century.” He turned to Spillane. “ Report, Lieutenant.”

  “Nothing’s changed since I contacted the Gryphon, Commander.”

  Nodding, Vaughn said, “Very well. Doctor, I want you to take a precise sensor reading of the vicinity and tell me the concentration of theta radiation in the area in front of the gateway. Triple-check your findings before you report them to me, understood?”

  “Of course,” Bashir said, sounding confused.

  Keeping his phaser holstered, Vaughn stepped toward the outcropping. “Good evening, sir!” he called out.

  “Uh, hello,” the man said after a moment.

  “My name is Elias Vaughn. I’m with Starfleet. We seem to have a bit of a problem, and I was hoping you could help us out with it.”

  “There’s—there’s no problem. Are you—you in charge?”

  “Yes, sir, I am. May I ask your name?”

  “M-my name is—is Tony Fusco.”

  Vaughn inclined his head. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fusco. Where are you from?” As he spoke, Vaughn took a closer glance at the weapon. That’s definitely an old Starfleet phaser. Looks just like the one I was issued when I graduated from the Academy, almost eighty years ago.

  “My—my family and I are from Spilimbergo. We—we just want to go through the portal!”

  Letting out a breath, Vaughn said, “That may be difficult, Mr. Fusco. You see, the people on the other side of the gateway are a bit—fussy. Dangerously so, in fact. The Intrepid
has been evacuating Spilimbergo, I’m sure—”

  “I—I—I—I can’t go up there.” Fusco shook his phaser with each emphasized word. “You don’t—you don’t know what it’s like up there.”

  “Up where?”

  “Space! It’s all so—so—so open! There’s—there’s nothing around you, you just get billions of kilometers of nothing before you even come—come close to getting near anything and I can’t go up there.”

  Hell and damnation, Vaughn thought, a space case.

  “We’re going to try to work this out, Mr. Fusco. Just wait here and please don’t hurt anyone.”

  “I—I don’t want to hurt anyone, b-but I can’t go up there, d-do you understand?”

  Holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, Vaughn said, “I understand completely, sir. If you’ll just give me a moment to consult with my people, we’ll see what we can do to accommodate you.”

  He climbed back down the outcropping. Bashir, Spillane, and the police gave him an expectant look.

  “Agoraphobic. Violently so. The idea of being in space terrifies him so much that he’ll do anything to avoid it.”

  Bashir nodded. “He must have seen this gateway as a golden opportunity.”

  “Until he realized that nobody from Spilimbergo got on the list of five hundred thousand going through. What did your tricorder readings tell you, Doctor?”

  “Hm? Oh, the radiation levels are at seven hundred rads at the moment, though that amount is climbing, obviously.”

  Vaughn let out a small sigh. “Oh, good, I was worried that this was going to be difficult.”

  He turned around, saw that no one was standing closer than half a meter from Fusco, raised his phaser, and fired.

  In the instant it took the beam to reach him, Fusco’s expression changed from agitation to shock. Then he fell to the ground.

  Spillane and Bashir had similar looks of shock on their faces. The latter spoke. “Commander, with all due respect, you took a terrible risk! What if his finger had spasmed on the phaser and fired?”

  “I’m sure it did.” With that, Vaughn walked back toward the pod.

  Bashir frowned as he followed. “What?” Behind him, Spillane and the two officers did likewise.

  “I told you, that phaser is Starfleet issue from eighty years ago. Those models were especially susceptible to ambient radiation—anything over five hundred rads and they misfire.”

  They arrived at the pod. The officers immediately escorted the Europani—both the hostages and Fusco’s family—off the outcropping.

  Vaughn took the phaser out of Fusco’s hand, which still had a surprisingly firm grip on the weapon considering the wielder was unconscious. He pointed it at Bashir and fired. As expected, nothing happened, though the doctor did flinch. “You see? That design flaw’s not in later versions, of course . . .”

  Shaking his head, Bashir asked, “Why didn’t you say that’s what you were planning in the first place?”

  Vaughn smiled. “Because, Doctor, when they make you a commander, they take the bone out of your head that makes you explain orders.”

  “Point taken.” Bashir said.

  Vaughn looked at the pod. “Lieutenant Spillane, do you think you can fly this thing?”

  With a wry smile, the young woman said, “It’s been a few years, sir, but I think I can hop it out of the way at least.”

  “Good, get to it.” He tapped his combadge. “Vaughn to Lenaris.”

  After a moment, the Bajoran’s voice came over the speaker. “Lenaris.”

  “Colonel, when are you scheduled to return to Bajor?”

  “We’re receiving refugees from the Trager right now. We’ll be at capacity in about ninety minutes.”

  “So what’s your ETA to deliver the refugees to Bajor itself?”

  “Call it 2530 hours.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. Dr. Bashir will be bringing you nine additional passengers, one of whom will be fully sedated for the journey.”

  “Understood. I’ll notify Gul Macet of the change.”

  Turning to Bashir, Vaughn said, “Doctor, I want you to find something that will keep Mr. Fusco sedated until at least 2530. I don’t want him to wake up until he’s back on a planet.”

  Understanding, Bashir smiled and nodded. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  “Good. Let’s get out of the pod’s backwash so the lieutenant can take her up.”

  It took a moment for Vaughn to convince the Costa Rocosan police to remand the Fuscos into Starfleet custody, but ultimately they didn’t want to deal with any more than they already had on their hands. By the time Bashir and Vaughn had gotten the entire Fusco family and the crates of arithrazine onto the Sagan, the evac had resumed under Spillane’s watchful eye, the Fusco family pod tucked safely out of the way.

  The Fuscos themselves were abject in their apologies for their patriarch’s behavior. Vaughn listened patiently to their complex explanations of his rather simple psychosis. Soon enough, they were transported to Lenaris’s ship, and Vaughn took the shuttle back home.

  “The arithrazine we recovered can replace the stock Ensign Tenmei brought down from the Defiant,” Bashir said.

  Vaughn just nodded as he guided the shuttle into the bay.

  As soon as Vaughn walked onto the Defiant bridge, Nog vacated the command chair and said, “We just received a message from the Gryphon, Commander. The last of the five hundred thousand allowed by the Jarada have been evacuated through the gateway.”

  Settling into the chair, Vaughn said, “Were you able to get a clearer message from Colonel Kira?”

  Nog shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Vaughn sighed. “Very well. Prepare the tachyon burst.”

  “Sir, Colonel Kira—”

  “Colonel Kira,” Vaughn interrupted, “specifically said to try the tachyon burst as soon as it was feasible, regardless of whether or not she and Taran’atar had returned. Are you questioning her orders, Lieutenant?”

  “No, sir,” Nog said reluctantly.

  “Good.” Vaughn was grateful that Prynn hadn’t yet returned from the surface. No doubt she’d have some choice words on the subject of condemning people to their deaths. To the officer who’d replaced her at conn, he said, “Take up position forty thousand kilometers from the mouth of the gateway.”

  “Aye, sir,” the conn officer said.

  Nog manipulated the controls of his console. “Tachyon burst ready on your orders.”

  “Consider the order given, Lieutenant.”

  A burst of light shot from the Defiant’ s deflector array and struck the mouth of the gateway.

  As soon as it did so, the gateway seemed to light up with a rainbow’s worth of bright colors. Vaughn had to avert his eyes from the viewscreen.

  Then the gateway went dark.

  “Radiation levels at the gateway’s perimeter have reduced to zero percent,” Nog said, “and we’re no longer reading the Delta Quadrant. Power output of the gateway is zero.” He checked another reading. “Power output on the Costa Rocosa gateway is also nil, sir.” Turning toward the command chair, Nog smiled. “We did it. The gateways have been shut down.”

  16

  THE DELTA QUADRANT

  KIRA LOOKED DOWN at her tricorder readings. Not good, she thought. The radiation levels were increasing dangerously. If she stayed here too much longer, no amount of arithrazine was going to help her.

  She had drained the emergency kit’s water supply. The cooling unit in the shelter was at maximum. Kira knew she would have to leave the confines of the shelter to get more water from the lake, but just the act of walking would drain her—she had barely been able to get the shelter constructed, as the heat only intensified with the passing of time. Soon it would be midday. Kira wondered how well the cooling unit would hold up.

  She hadn’t heard anything from Taran’atar. The Jem’Hadar was far too much a creature of duty—the moment he was able, he would contact her to announce his victory. The fact that he hadn’t d
one that yet meant either the fight was still going on—or he had lost.

  Damn you all, she thought at the Hirogen and the owners of the tanker and everyone else in this quadrant. Didn’t the Borg come from this area of space? Damn them, too. Hell, the Iconians also probably came from around here.

  Checking her tricorder again, she saw that the radiation would be at fatal levels in two hours. The intensity had been rising exponentially, and her arithrazine would be all but useless before those two hours were up. A blister started to form on her hand, and she injected another dose of arithrazine, figuring she had nothing to lose.

  Kira then did something that the Vedek Assembly had judged her unworthy to do with other Bajorans: she prayed.

  Or, rather, she tried to.

  On many occasions in her thirty-three years of life, Kira Nerys had been sure she was going to die. From the resistance to the Dominion War, her life had been fraught with danger, and she had long ago made peace with the fact that she was not likely to die of old age in her bed.

  When circumstances permitted, Kira had always prayed on those occasions. She had faith in the Prophets, and in prayer she took comfort in the idea that her life had some meaning to them, that she had made some contribution to their grand design. And she always believed that if the path they had guided her on had finally come to its end, her death wouldn’t be a vain one. Those prayers were always heartfelt and came easily to her.

  But this time, the words wouldn’t come. She had been a devout follower of the Prophets her whole life. Is this how I’m to have that faith rewarded? Dying on an arid wasteland, alone in a Starfleet shelter tens of thousands of light-years from home, theta radiation chewing up my cells and spitting them out?

  True, her actions might well lead to saving Europa Nova, something she swore she would do no matter what.

  But I don’t want to die like this. Not here, not this way—and not Attainted.