There were times he hated subtext, and this was one of them.
“Commander,” La Forge said, grabbing his attention, “I may have done some damage to a propulsion unit with all that flying before. I’ll need some time to figure it out before you try and outrun any more Cardassians.”
“Understood. Since the other ships are landing, I’ll put us down nearby. Daniels and I can pay them a visit while you stay here.”
“I’ll keep the boarding parties at bay,” the engineer quipped.
“I doubt it’ll come to that. Okay, I’ll set us down about a kilometer from them.” With that, he concentrated on bringing the Anaximenes in for a smooth landing. As he maneuvered the shuttle, the port thrusters felt sluggish. La Forge would certainly have some work to do.
Once the shuttle was safely down, La Forge immediately headed for the rear, grabbing his ever-present tool kit from an alcove. Riker studied the sensors and was satisfied the Maquis were staying put. He had some command decisions to make. Admiral Hayes’s orders were clear that not only should the technology, whatever it was, be confiscated, but also the Maquis were to be taken into custody. Considering they were now dealing with two ships, both far larger than the shuttle, the orders would need amending on the fly. Hayes and Picard would understand, given the numbers involved.
“Incoming message from the Maquis,” Daniels announced. Riker raised an eyebrow in surprise. He also began revising his tactics now that they were present. Subterfuge or even the element of surprise was taken away, so now he needed to establish who were the players involved.
“On speakers,” Riker ordered.
“Starfleet, this is Maass. What are your intentions?”
Riker processed the unrecognized name, drawing a blank. This was a new player at his table. So be it, he could work with that.
“This is Commander William Riker from the Starship Enterprise. What can we do for you, Maass?”
“To be honest, I wish you’d leave us alone, but since we’re damaged, I’m asking for help. Our other ship’s warp engine is failing. Without it, we don’t stand a chance of escaping the Cardies.”
Well, that news complicated things. Much as he might be tempted, he could not leave people without any aid, but that could become a bargaining chip. “I agree. Can it be abandoned and you use just one ship?”
“Ah, we have too many crew members for that, plus our supplies. As you might imagine, Commander, basic foodstuffs can be as valuable as latinum. Times are desperate.”
“And if we help you?”
“Isn’t that what Starfleet does? Come riding to the rescue, no reward asked?”
“Maass, we weren’t in the neighborhood sightseeing. As you can imagine, we were here for you and your special cargo.”
“You want that in exchange for helping us? A little Ferengi of you, isn’t it?”
“Times are desperate.” He felt movement beside him and stole a glance at La Forge, who seemed genuinely surprised at Riker’s blunt tack.
A long pause before there was a response. Riker and Daniels exchanged amused glances since they imagined the Maquis were not used to bargaining in this manner. Finally, the comm snapped back on and Maass replied.
“We agree to your terms, Commander. I don’t like it, but we need both ships to get out of here.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Riker began, keeping his tone neutral. “You’re going to pay in advance. We’ll meet half a kilometer from our positions in thirty minutes. You hand over the cargo and then our chief engineer will tend to your engine.”
“Agreed.” The word was filled with loathing, fear, and desperation. The signal was cut and Riker rose from the pilot’s chair. He stretched his back, noting how it kinked under the shoulder blades. Maybe it was time to get back into an exercise regimen, he mused.
“Geordi, how long to fix the Anaximenes?”
“I’ll need maybe an hour. It’s just the one thruster so it’s not as bad as I thought. Then I can pay them a house call.”
“Great. Daniels and I will go visit them, make certain they’re not too proud and haven’t mentioned the need for medical help. I want them fixed and us gone as quickly as possible. The Cardassians will start searching this system any minute now.”
“They picked a good location, sir,” Daniels said.
“The moon has a variety of trace metals in sufficient quantities that without in-depth probing we might get missed. With all the engines off, no one is leaking anything and our power consumption curves are all down.” He went to the equipment lockers and began pulling out a variety of gear, starting with, naturally, hand phasers. Riker was pleased to see two medikits, tricorders, and rations added to the pile on the worktable.
Right on schedule, as if to prove a point, Riker and Daniels stood exactly one-half kilometer from the shuttle. They moved slowly in the lighter gravity and with the awkwardness of their EVA suits. Both were laden with supplies and equipment. Riker only hoped it was sufficient, since they had no idea what it was they were collecting from the Maquis. After all, he was bluffing them a bit and they bought into it.
Four people, in raggedy-looking suits, ill fitting at least one of them, appeared in the distance. Each was carrying the corner of a tarp that sagged in the center. This very low-tech way to transport whatever it was made Riker actually feel sympathetic for the reversals the Maquis had been facing, leaving them to scramble in this manner.
Riker tried to fathom what might be in the cases being transported, but he was coming up with frivolous things like bloodwine and bad poetry.
Several meters separated them when the Maquis quartet stopped and lowered their burden. Riker opened the suit’s comm system and addressed them. “Identify yourselves, please.”
“Tregaar,” the leader said. From the name and guttural sound, Riker assumed him a Tellarite. “I know Maass cut a deal with you, but I want to go on record as saying I object. You don’t deserve what was given to us.”
“It’s not that I want it so much as I don’t want you to have it,” Riker admitted.
“That’s worse,” Tregaar growled.
“Who gave you this?”
“People who seem to care more about us than the Federation. People who have a vested interest in ridding the quadrant of the Cardassian threat once and for all.”
“You do know I’ve heard all this rhetoric before. I’m going to assume it’s the Klingons. And to be honest, I’m very surprised neither one of you have the cloaking devices they so kindly provided already.”
That made the Maquis pause. He then changed tactics. “Riker, don’t you want them gone? Don’t you care about peace in our lives?”
“Absolutely,” Riker said and meant it. He never wanted to devote as much time to security issues as he had since the Enterprise-E launched. It took the ship and its crew away from its primary mission, and it also presented complications in his life he wished were behind him.
“Then help us fix the ship and let us take this with us,” Tregaar said, as close to pleading as a Tellarite was capable of.
“Personally, I might be interested in your cause, but right now, my orders have me taking possession of your cargo. Tell you what, we’ll leave this here for now and go back to your ship and start inspecting the damage.”
That gave the Maquis pause, and they seemed to communicate privately for a few moments. Silently, they all backed away from their burden and gestured toward their ship, which Riker could spy in the distance, a gleaming silver dot set against the pitch-black sky.
Riker let Daniels go first, and he privately communicated with La Forge. Briefly, he filled the engineer in on the scenario and asked that the shuttle’s transporter beam the cargo to him. La Forge agreed and confirmed he’d meet Riker at the Maquis ship within the hour. The thruster repair was just about done, ahead of schedule, which made Riker grin. Engineers seemed to love to beat their estimates.
The walk to the ship was completed in silence and, thanks to the gravity, was less b
urdensome than it could have been given the use of EVA suits. Still, once the airlock cycled, Riker was glad to take off the helmet and breathe fresh, albeit scented, air. It was a fetid odor, one of ill-maintained scrubbers and over-cooked food. The narrow corridors were jammed with pieces of equipment, scraps of bandages, and a stray boot. As he passed other Maquis, he could feel the open hatred directed at the Starfleet chevron on his suit.
“Well, Commander, here we are,” Tregaar said as they paused in what seemed to be a common room that doubled as lounge and mess hall. He began taking off his own space suit as he talked, the others following his lead. “In a system that stands as a testament to the arrogance of the Federation Council. Rather than fight to preserve the colony here, they just gave up and walked away.”
“The argument’s old, Tregaar,” Riker said tensely.
“What the Federation and Cardassians negotiated is years past. When will the Maquis begin dealing with today?”
“Sure, let’s talk about today. The Cardies continue to harass worlds under their ‘benevolent’ control in the DMZ while the Federation turns a blind eye.”
“Don’t you think the Dominion is a slightly larger problem?”
“To you, maybe,” Tregaar spat. “To us, that’s light-years away. We have to worry about our families and friends, trying to make worlds produce food that we can keep. Do you know how many hectares of wheat they took from Dorvan V itself?”
Riker just stared at him with an unmoving expression.
“Of course you don’t. Your intelligence seems aimed strictly at the Gamma Quadrant these days.”
“Not true,” Riker interrupted. “We certainly know that you have been receiving supplies from the Klingons.”
“Someone has to help us in the struggle to be freed of the Cardassians! If not you, then we’ll take help from them!”
“How much help will you accept before the Klingons begin providing tactics as well as matériel? And then, should you prevail, would you in the DMZ be willing to become a part of the Klingon Empire? They’re no better with conquered worlds than the Cardassians.”
Tregaar paused at that, and the others looked alarmed at the notion.
Riker decided to press his point. “The Maquis had a good year, but it had more to do with external forces, not your own doing. That is, unless you’re willing to claim credit for the destruction of the Obsidian Order or provoking the Klingon-Cardassian war.”
His accusation was met with silence and glares.
“Do you really think the Klingons care about your grievances against us? You’re pawns to them, to help them destabilize what’s left of the Central Command and poke us every now and then. Trust me, your usefulness will come to an end—then see how many more cloaking devices they provide you.”
“The Federation had no right to abandon us!” Tregaar shouted.
“This wasn’t just about you!” Riker replied with some heat. “This was about the greater good and settling a conflict that would have claimed lives not just in the DMZ but elsewhere. It was taming a war before it turned into something ugly. Your arguments are years out of date, Tregaar. What’s your cause today?”
“Survival,” he shouted back. “We want them to leave us alone. We want you to leave us alone. If I had my way, the DMZ would become a sovereign region and you’d all be gone from our borders.”
“An intriguing idea,” Daniels said, speaking up for the first time. “However, the DMZ is strategically close enough to the Bajoran sector to be of interest to the Dominion. A nascent state such as your DMZ would be easy pickings for the Jem’Hadar.”
“We’d fight them like we fought you!” another voice rang out.
Daniels whirled about to face the speaker. “You needed rescuing just now. We protected you from the Cardassians and are here to repair your ship. What the Maquis have lost sight of is that the Federation is about the preservation of all life. Do you really think the Jem’Hadar would be anywhere near as benevolent? So the Cardassians took your wheat. Your planet remains able to produce more grain and leave some for you. The Dominion would take it all and ration it, turning Dorvan V into a slave planet. Is that what you want to fight to achieve?”
Riker was impressed at how quickly Daniels seemed to silence the people around them. Clearly, the Dominion invading their homes hadn’t occurred to them, and his colleague was correct, they were strategically placed and ripe for a takeover.
“Fighting for your sovereignty is all well and good,” Daniels continued. “But you need achievable, realistic goals. When was the last time you measured your desires against the galactic realties?”
“A good question,” said a voice from behind them.
Riker recognized the voice and assumed this man was Maass, their leader. He was tall and lean, with thinning black hair with a widow’s peak. At a glance, Riker could sense this was a man who has seen more than his share of battle and privation. If anyone could understand the horrors that awaited the Maquis, it would be him.
“You must be Riker,” he said, striding across the space and extending a hand. They shook and appraised one another. Maass was nearly as tall as Riker, and they easily met at eye level. Clearly, Maass liked what he saw and gestured for them to remove their suits in peace.
“We are indebted to you, Commander. While we’d prefer to leave the system intact, and with all our belongings, I will take intact. How long do we have?”
“Until what?”
“Until the Cardassians come looking for us and maybe find us all? I’m counting on you remaining until we are operational, maybe even help us plot a course that maximizes our chances of escape.”
This was a man used to leading, Riker concluded, one looking out for his people. He wasn’t Starfleet, but he was a commanding presence, one the others seemed to follow with a measure of loyalty.
“What we did to their sensors is probably clearing up just now or they’ve repaired the fried units. I didn’t stop to measure just how much energy we unleashed. But yes, they will come looking for us and it won’t be more than a few hours.”
“But will you still help or just run to protect yourselves?” Tregaar asked.
“Has Starfleet broken its word to you?”
“Often!”
“Starfleet, not the Federation,” Riker said, no longer wishing to debate a Tellarite for sport.
“Enough,” Maass said. “Then let us get started. Let me show you our damage; that might speed your engineer when he arrives.”
With a gesture, he directed the Starfleet officers toward the front of the ship. Tregaar and the others remained behind, but their sullen expressions spoke volumes about how they felt about having Riker and Daniels among them.
The small command center was little more than four chairs at stations with deck-to-ceiling displays, controls, and access panels. It was even more cramped than the shuttle and would be close work if La Forge needed to start taking things apart. Riker estimated the ship to be maybe two decades old and the control panels to be upgrades that were half that. It was a kludge of pieces no doubt scavenged along the way as the Maquis fought for their survival.
He admired their passion if not their cause.
“This is my pilot, Kalita,” Maass said with some pride. He indicated an older, spare woman, with a sad expression on her face. Her brown hair was swept back by a headband and she wore dull green cover-alls. Her oval face was worn and she clearly had not slept in some time.
Yet he still recognized her.
What surprised Riker, though, was that she recognized him. Her eyes gave a start, and he watched her take a deep breath before covering up the reaction.
“Kalita,” Riker repeated. “I never did learn your name.”
“How do you know her, sir?” Daniels asked.
“She stole aboard the Enterprise-D and helped steal medical supplies,” Riker explained without elaborating that she worked in concert with Ro Laren, who initially stole as a plant under Picard’s orders. Then she betrayed them al
l by leaving with the Maquis and joining their ranks. The last he heard of her was more than a year before, a raid on DS9 of all places. But it was to prevent an extremist Maquis member from assassinating a gul, so maybe there was some hope for her after all.
But Kalita’s reaction seemed stronger than the guilt stealing from the Enterprise would have engendered. There was something else.
“Commander,” she said stiffly by way of greeting.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the chair beside her. She nodded in agreement. He slid in, noting he either needed to lose a few kilos or the chairs were styled for a smaller race. His fingers deftly called up the warp engine diagnostics, looking for controls and details that commercial vessels, such as this one, did not possess. He would have to adjust his thinking accordingly, hoping it would not frustrate Geordi too much.
“You’ve got a host of problems,” Riker said. “When was the last time you serviced the engine?”
“You think we have the luxury?” Kalita said in a strong voice.
“It’s not a luxury but a matter of survival.”
“Okay, soon as we finish here, we’ll just jet over to Starbase 310 and ask for an overhaul,” she sarcastically replied.
While she may have had a point, so did he, and he didn’t want a fight. He was tired of every comment being twisted back at him. Ignoring her, he continued to study the diagnostics as a part of his mind continued to review her reaction. What could have provoked it?
He could have.
More accurately, his twin. Tom.
CHAPTER
4
Kalita knew Tom Riker.
“Commander, is something wrong?” Kalita prompted.
There were many answers to that fairly innocent question.
“Well, I think Commander La Forge will have his hands full. The first thing will be to plug the neutrino leak so you can no longer be so easily tracked,” he said.
A Weary Life Page 3