by David Mack
“Main power’s down,” Crin said. “Tractor beam’s off.”
Karn delivered more bad news: “Shields and weapons are off-line.”
Trom accessed his helmet’s comm circuit and opened a channel to his chief engineer. “Solt! What’s going on down there?”
“The warp reactor and jaunt coil are both off-line.”
“I know that, damn you! Why are they off-line?”
“If I had to guess, sir, I’d blame either a computer virus or a command lockout.”
“No one said our prey would make this easy.” Trom had only seconds to choose what to do next. He made his decision as he saw the image of a wormhole forming on the main viewscreen—followed by the swift arrival of the ShiKahr’s sister ship, the Enterprise.
That same deep voice wafted from the speakers again, unbidden this time: “Attention, crew of the ShiKahr. This is the Enterprise. Stand down and prepare to be boarded.”
Trom sprang from his chair. “Tajny, this is Thot Trom. Beam all our people off this ship, right now. Do not engage the Jem’Hadar, and be ready to raise the cloak as soon as I’m aboard.”
“Acknowledged,” came the reply from the Tajny.
The commander switched to his internal helmet channel. “All personnel, this is Thot Trom. Stand by for beam-out. Thar Khol, do you copy?”
“Affirmative, sir. Go ahead.”
“Can you secure the Federation agents for transport?”
“Negative. Boarders have already arrived. We’re cut off from the brig.”
“Then leave them behind. Stand by for emergency transport.” Trom reverted to the ship-to-ship comm channel. “Tajny, this is Trom. Energize.”
Trom cursed his luck as the transporter beam took hold of him. Now this’ll have to get bloody. The tingling sensation of dematerialization put his moment of grim reflection on hold.
After a momentary wash of green light and white noise, he was back aboard the Tajny. He hurried off the oversized transporter platform; it was one of several that the Spetzkar had developed for the rapid deployment and recovery of large numbers of commandos. By the time he’d reactivated his helmet comm, he was out the door and halfway down the corridor to the turbolift. “Command, this is Trom. Is everyone back aboard?”
The watch officer replied, “Yes, sir.”
“Cloak and go evasive, sublight only, pattern pioro.”
“Cloak engaged. Going evasive.”
“I’m on my way up. Keep us clear of the Jem’Hadar until I get there. Trom out.”
By some standards, Trom knew his mission might be deemed a failure at this point. He had lost the element of surprise, been forced to surrender the ship he’d captured, and given up custody of six enemy agents who might be able to expose his objectives to his targets.
But he was still drawing breath, still had a ship, and still commanded more than a hundred of the best-trained special operations soldiers in this universe or any other.
It hadn’t been a good day, that much was true.
But it wasn’t over yet.
* * *
The corridors of the ShiKahr were eerily deserted and quiet. Invisible in her Memory Omega–designed full-body stealth suit, Commander K’Ehleyr did her best not to break the silence as she skulked from one section of the ship to the next. She supported her phaser with both hands as she advanced. The weapon’s coating of optical camouflage particles kept it cloaked as long it remained in contact with the chameleon fibers of her stealth suit. Her aim was steady; her thumb hovered above the firing stud, ready to act at the first sign of hostile action.
Despite her advantage, she exercised caution as she neared intersections and corners. If the ship was under hostile control, there was no telling where traps might have been set. She let her suit’s built-in sensors sweep the passageway ahead of her, to expose unseen potential threats. The scan turned up nothing out of the ordinary.
A few sections ahead, at the next intersection, she saw the shimmering silhouette of another stealth-suited boarder. Her mask’s holographic HUD identified it as Lieutenant Dorina Arellano, one of the Enterprise’s senior security officers.
Arellano signaled all clear. K’Ehleyr returned the signal and directed Arellano to meet her at the entrance to the brig. Then she looked back and beckoned the rest of her camouflaged strike team to move up and follow her. Arellano’s cloaked team followed close behind her.
Other teams had already secured the ShiKahr’s bridge, engineering section, auxiliary control center, and armory. The brig and sickbay were among the last areas to be searched. As K’Ehleyr met Arellano at the entrance to the brig, an update flashed on her HUD, superimposed over the bottom of her field of vision: SICKBAY SECURED.
Then this is our last hope. She entered a command override code into the control panel beside the door, which slid open. With quick gestures, she ordered Arellano to enter and flank right. The lithe human woman slipped through the open doorway, her phaser steady at eye level. K’Ehleyr followed, one stride behind Arellano’s left shoulder.
In cells on either side of them, locked behind force fields, were the officers and crew of the ShiKahr. As far as K’Ehleyr could see, a few of them sported bloodied faces or scorches from disruptors set on heavy stun, but none of them appeared to have been seriously harmed. At the end of the entry passage, Arellano led her team right, and K’Ehleyr took her squad left.
More cells were packed with junior officers from all the departments of the ship—but there was no sign of their captors. The passage curved aft and terminated at a dead end. In the next-to-last cell were the ship’s senior officers. Still expecting a trap, K’Ehleyr ran a final sensor sweep of the area but found no evidence of sabotage or booby traps.
She deactivated her stealth suit and peeled off the close-fitting full-head mask. The rest of her team followed her lead, and they all shimmered back into view, like mirages turning solid. At once, the imprisoned officers of the ShiKahr leaped to their feet, faces bright at the prospect of rescue—all except their captain, who sat alone in the corner of the cell, eyes downcast.
K’Ehleyr entered her command override code into the control panel on the bulkhead outside the cell and deactivated all the brig force fields. She looked at her squad’s chief petty officer, a shaved-headed human man with a close-trimmed goatee. “Foster, see if any of them need to be beamed to sickbay.” With a tap behind her ear, she activated her transceiver. “K’Ehleyr to Enterprise.”
Picard answered without delay. “Go ahead, Number One.”
“The ShiKahr’s officers are alive and secure in the brig. Waiting on a final head count, but it looks like they’re all here.”
From the back of the cell, Captain sh’Pherron muttered, “Not all of them.”
A pall fell between K’Ehleyr and sh’Pherron. Then the Vulcan first officer, Turak, stepped forward and said in a low voice, “We lost Ensign Zareth. Our senior flight controller.”
K’Ehleyr acknowledged the news with a slow nod. “Correction, Enterprise. We have one confirmed fatality among the ShiKahr’s senior staff, Ensign Zareth.”
“Acknowledged. Be advised Commander Barclay will be beaming over with an engineering team to assist in repairs and check for any deep-level sabotage.”
“I’ll give their tool pushers a heads-up, sir. I’d suggest we also sweep all compartments and run a level-five diagnostic on—” Six strangers drifted out of the last cell on the block. Overcoming her surprise, she snapped her fingers once, and Foster appeared at her shoulder, his phaser rifle leveled at the motley half-naked and clearly brutalized group of four human men, a Vulcan woman, and a human woman.
Seeing the weapon pointed at them, the strangers came to a stop but remained quiet.
K’Ehleyr looked back at Turak. “Who are they?”
The Vulcan eyed the disheveled sextet with clear suspicion. “If my chief engineer and senior science officer are correct, these are visitors from the other universe.”
“Hostile?”
&
nbsp; “Unknown. But, like us, they were prisoners of the Breen.”
It was a point in the newcomers’ favor, but not enough to persuade K’Ehleyr to lower her defenses. Not yet, anyway. “The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend, Turak. Enterprise, are you still receiving me?”
“Affirmative,” Picard said. “Go ahead.”
“I have six persons of unknown affiliation in custody. I need to have them beamed to the Enterprise, and I want a full security detail standing by to meet them and escort them to guest quarters for a full debriefing.”
“Understood. Stand by for transport.”
The half Klingon couldn’t resist a smirk at the strangers’ state of hapless undress. “One more thing, sir. Let the quartermaster know our guests are in need of some new clothes.”
* * *
They were as nondescript a group as Picard had seen in some time, and yet looking their leader in the eye was profoundly unnerving. The six “compulsory guests”—he resisted thinking of them as prisoners when, so far as he knew, they had committed no offenses meriting the curtailment of their liberty—had been quiet, deferential, and cooperative. They sat on one side of the long oval dining table, opposite him, K’Ehleyr, and Troi.
So why did the stare of their leader, Cole, fill Picard with a sense of dread?
He tried to avoid direct eye contact with him as the interview continued. “You say you became aware of a Breen plot to enter this universe and hijack one of our ships. When did your organization first learn of this scheme?”
Cole was relaxed and his body language conveyed openness. “I don’t know for certain. I know we monitor Breen military research as a matter of routine. But the briefings I received indicated the Breen began working on their dimension-breaching wormhole technology about ten months ago, shortly after they discovered the wreck of one of your ships on an uninhabited planet inside Federation space. Until they actually broke through the dimensional barrier, we weren’t sure this was their objective. But once they started testing their rift generator, we put the facts together. At that point, we organized a mission to intercept them and stop them.”
“I see.” Picard glanced down. Troi sat to his right, with her right arm on the table and her left hand on her lap where Picard could see it. She had crossed her index and middle fingers—a signal that she sensed malicious deception from Cole. Taking the empath’s warning into account, Picard pressed on. “It appears, however, that your efforts were unsuccessful.”
A humble shrug. “What can I say? We were outgunned.”
Cole made a point of looking directly into Picard’s eyes. It was a blatant power play, one that made Picard uncomfortable. Picard shifted his gaze to look past Cole, over his shoulder.
Outside the transparent aluminum view ports of the spacious guest suite—one of only a few such luxurious accommodations aboard the jaunt ship—the stars seemed almost static; if one paid close attention, however, their movement became noticeable.
The Enterprise was traveling at full impulse back to Bajor. Using a wormhole jump within the system to intercept the rogue jaunt ship ShiKahr had been a matter of necessity. Now that the intruders had escaped in their cloaked vessel and the ShiKahr was back under the control of its intended officers and crew, safer protocols were once more in effect.
Unable to ignore his interview subject for more than a few seconds without seeming rude or disengaged, Picard forced himself to resume the debriefing. “Our government has been under the impression that your Starfleet had actively discouraged further operations in this universe.”
“That’s my understanding, as well.”
An artful evasion. “Then how do you account for your team’s presence, Mister Cole?”
“Technically, we aren’t acting on behalf of your Starfleet.”
Picard hunched forward, his interest growing. “Then you’re attached to a civilian body?”
“In a manner of speaking.” The man’s cold, disarming smile sent a chill through Picard. “I’m afraid it’s all rather complicated.”
K’Ehleyr leaned in, mimicking Picard’s pose as she glared at Cole. “Simplify it.”
“Our organization takes independent action to protect the people, culture, and institutions of the United Federation of Planets. We are self-directed and self-policing.”
In his imagination, Picard substituted Cardassia for the United Federation of Planets, and he realized he had heard this mission statement before; it once had defined the now-defunct Obsidian Order. “In other words, you’re the ones who watch the watchers. The secret police.”
“It’s nothing so dramatic, I assure you.”
The fingers of Troi’s left hand clenched into a fist. Malicious deception had degenerated into thinly veiled malevolence; she was warning Picard to tread with care. He decided it might be a good time to ease off the throttle. He put on his most ingratiating smile. “Well, whatever your charter might be, it seems we should be thankful for your efforts, even if they weren’t as effective as you might have hoped. Thanks to you and your team, we now understand what the Breen are after, which gives us a far greater chance of ensuring they don’t acquire it.”
“Unfortunately, the Spetzkar escaped with their ship, which means the threat still exists, Captain. My team and I can’t return to our universe until we verify that it’s been neutralized.”
“I appreciate your situation, Mister Cole. However, I’m sure you can understand why my superiors would rather not have your team operating without oversight in our jurisdiction. We are prepared to take any and all steps required to locate the Breen and eliminate the risk they pose, and we welcome your advice—but that must be the limit of your team’s involvement.”
Cole responded with a demure smile and a polite nod—both tagged as fake by Troi’s signals under the table. “Of course, Captain. If we could have completed our mission without anyone knowing of our presence, that would have been ideal, but that’s no longer possible. We’ll do whatever we can to help your people prevent the Breen from finishing their mission.”
“Thank you.” Picard stood, which gave everyone else permission to do the same. “Commanders K’Ehleyr and Troi will arrange individual quarters for the duration of—”
The door behind Picard opened. He turned to confront the source of the unannounced interruption. Striding into the suite was Weyoun, the Dominion senior diplomatic counselor. “Captain Picard! The Founder requires an immediate report on the incident at the wormhole. Why did one of your vessels try to violate the terms of our agreement? What was the other ship it had in tow? And why did it flee and cloak when challenged?”
Picard stepped forward and intercepted the Vorta with outstretched, open hands. “Mister Weyoun, I assure you, we are investigating the incident—which, as your own fleet commander will attest, we resolved.”
“Eris confirmed that your ship intercepted the ShiKahr. But that does not explain why you permitted the second ship to escape, or why the ShiKahr tried to enter the wormhole and gain access to Dominion territory!”
“The ShiKahr had been hijacked by a company of Spetzkar,” K’Ehleyr cut in. “Elite Breen commandos, more than a hundred of them. The second ship was theirs. After the ShiKahr failed to provide proper recognition codes when we hailed her, we remotely disabled the ShiKahr’s command systems. We then boarded the ShiKahr, and the Breen abandoned ship by beaming back to their own vessel.”
Weyoun pointed at Picard. “Which you then permitted to escape!”
“An error, I admit,” Picard said. “At the time, it appeared to have been captured by a vessel that was under potentially hostile control. Our focus was on securing our sister ship. When the Breen vessel broke away and cloaked, we were unable to lock a new tractor beam onto it in time to prevent its escape. For that, Mister Weyoun, I take full responsibility, and I apologize.”
“Your apology is welcome, Captain, but it fails to address the continuing . . .” Weyoun’s voice trailed off as his gaze landed on something behind Picar
d. Then the Vorta’s eyes went wide with fury. He stepped past Picard and pointed at one of Cole’s men. “You!” The cluster of bodies between Weyoun and his subject parted, until the human with the ash-and-charcoal hair and beard stood alone, facing his accuser with a bewildered expression. The room went quiet, and Weyoun’s next words spilled forth in a cry of hatred: “You killed a Founder!”
* * *
Frozen in place by Weyoun’s manic charge of murder, Bashir lost precious seconds struggling to understand what was happening. His mouth dropped open, but no words came out.
Weyoun filled the stunned silence with a tirade. “Fifteen years and eight months ago, this man killed the Founder known as Odo. He shot him down like an animal.”
Picard stepped between Bashir and the Vorta. “How can you know that?”
“Did you think we came through the wormhole without investigating what lay on the other side? We sent several agents ahead of our fleet. One of them learned the fate of Odo, with whom we’d lost contact decades earlier.” He circled around Picard to keep his eyes on Bashir. “He tracked down a backup of Terok Nor’s security records in an archive on Bajor. Those records show the slaying of Odo in perfect detail.”
Old memories rushed back to Bashir, recollections of a time and a place he had long preferred to forget. Near the end of his second year of service on the original Deep Space 9, a navigational accident inside the Bajoran wormhole had thrown him and Major Kira Nerys into this alternate universe, which had been visited a century earlier by four officers from Captain Kirk’s famed Enterprise. Once here, Bashir and Kira had been taken prisoner by her counterpart, the villainous Intendant Kira. Hastily struck bargains and alliances, coupled with a bit of luck, had made possible their escape aboard the runabout Rio Grande—but in the process of freeing himself from enslavement in the ore refinery, Bashir had been forced to defend himself from Overseer Odo. Not realizing the disruptor he had stolen from a Bajoran guard had been set to kill, he had fired a lethal shot at the Changeling—one that blew Odo, literally, to pieces.
Now Bashir was confronted by a representative of an interstellar power that would never forgive such a killing, and he realized he had yet to account for the life he had taken.