Section 31 - Disavowed

by David Mack

  He and two squads of his fellow commandos stood on the transporter platform, flanked by bulkheads that had been torn open for last-second modifications. Loose cables spilled like guts from the gaps in the walls, and the exposed machinery in the spaces beyond them radiated heat and hummed with wild energies.

  At the control console, Solt completed his final system check. “Coordinates locked!”

  “Charge rifles,” Rem said. He and his men powered up their weapons to the maximum kill setting. “Activate chameleon circuits.” He engaged his armor’s shrouding system, a technology the Breen Special Research Division had developed after studying the natural abilities of Jem’Hadar it had secretly abducted during the Dominion’s war against the Alpha Quadrant powers. In less than a second, Rem and his men vanished from sight—but to each other they appeared as frost-blue silhouettes, a useful safety feature designed to minimize friendly fire casualties during shrouded operations.

  Solt keyed commands into the transporter console. “Starting dimensional shift . . . now.”

  Traveling through space-time via the dimensional shifter wasn’t like being moved by a transporter. There was no sense of being seized by the annular confinement beam, no gradual dissolution of one’s surroundings, just a blinding white flash—

  —and they were inside the jaunt ship’s computer core. The towering space was a huge, hollow cylinder, inside which stood another cylindrical structure, the ship’s main computer. Pale blue light blazed inside its sophisticated matrix of linked databanks and faster-than-light processing cores.

  Half a dozen of the ship’s technicians halted their work and reacted in shock to the flashes of light that had erupted all around them. One of them, a male Bolian, asked, “Did anyone else just see that?”

  A female Bajoran replied, “Maybe we should alert the bridge.”

  Rem aimed at her and fired. His red disruptor pulse incinerated her head. A fraction of a second later, the rest of his team unleashed perfectly targeted head shots that dropped the rest of the technicians.

  Before the whine of their rifles had faded, the Spetzkar heard the shrieking of the ship’s intruder alarms. Rem paid them no mind. All the warnings in the universe would make no difference now. “Kine, Yuay, disable the ship’s internal sensors and comms. Treyd, shut down their intruder countermeasures. Rowk, take their command systems off-line.”

  He stood back and watched them work. They moved with the precision of surgeons and the detachment of butchers. In a matter of seconds, they had gutted the ShiKahr’s main computer core and left the entire ship defenseless. Kine faced Rem. “Adjustments complete, sir.”

  The computer specialist activated his helmet’s subspace transceiver. “Rem to Tajny.”

  “Go ahead,” Trom said.

  “The ShiKahr’s computer is ours. Continue the attack.”

  * * *

  Bursts of light filled the bridge of the ShiKahr. Captain sh’Pherron sprang from her command chair, ready to meet this new threat—but the light was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, and nothing on the bridge seemed to have changed. It took a fraction of a second for her to remember that the Enterprise teams that had liberated her ship the day before had reported encounters with shrouded enemy personnel. She turned to warn her first officer—

  The first disruptor shot burned into her back. She fell face-first to the deck.

  Lying on her belly with her head twisted to the left, sh’Pherron bore mute witness to the slaughter of her bridge crew. A furious barrage from the forward end of the compartment cut down everyone in its path. Turak collapsed, robbed of his face by a lethal headshot. Riaow was thrown against the aft consoles, her fur burning, a smoldering wound blasted deep into her chest. Though sh’Pherron couldn’t turn her head, she heard the death cries of the Lagorian helmsman, Ensign Gunnd, and the human operations officer, Lieutenant Caswell.

  The piercing shriek of energy weapons gave way to a deathly silence. A sparse and ragged pall of gray smoke lingered over the carnage. Humanoid shapes formed in the hazy aftermath, their outlines rippling like heat distortion for a moment before they became first translucent and then opaque. It was a squad of Breen soldiers in scaly black-and-silver armor, with gold bands atop their snout-shaped helmets, extending from front to back.

  They moved among the dead, prodding the corpses with their booted feet. One of them nudged Riaow. The felled Caitian let slip a low, pathetic groan. The Breen trooper aimed his weapon and fired a coup de grâce. Then he fired again, ensuring the kill.

  One of the commandos wore a helmet whose gold band was bordered by crimson stripes. He snapped orders at the others, in the machine-noise gibberish that spewed from their vocoders.

  Sh’Pherron didn’t need to speak the Breen’s language to know what they were doing. She saw the updates on the master systems display. The Breen had armed the ship’s intruder countermeasures—and turned them against the ShiKahr’s crew.

  She wanted to curse at the troopers, to spit her last bit of bile at them. All she could do was splutter helplessly and cough indigo blood onto the deck.

  The Breen commander took note of her dying spasms and turned away from his men. He walked over and loomed above her, his intentions hidden behind his helmet.

  On some level, sh’Pherron hoped there might still be some measure of mercy, however small, lurking behind that grotesque mask.

  He pointed his rifle at her face and fired.

  * * *

  With a searing white flash, the dimensional shifter moved Crin and his platoon through a wrinkle in space-time to their designated strike area.

  Dozens of faces looked up and around, all of them bewildered by the mysterious light show that had heralded the Breen commandos’ unseen arrival. Crin smiled. It was liberating not having to worry about taking prisoners. That meant anyone in the ShiKahr’s engineering section who wasn’t limned by the pale glow of Spetzkar chameleon armor in shroud mode was fair game. And this was the most target-rich environment Crin had seen in years.

  He activated the private channel that linked him to his strike team. “Weapons free.”

  A storm of fire tore through the ShiKahr’s engineering crew. High-power blasts ripped into multiple targets at once. It took only a few seconds for the wails of the panicked and the dying to drown out the screams of the Spetzkar’s disruptors.

  The platoon divided into squads as it moved aft, clearing each compartment and section along the way. Crin was disappointed by how few of the jaunt ship’s personnel tried to run. So many of them cowered, as if they might be spared. But when did the universe ever show mercy to cowards? He gunned down the ship’s multispecies menagerie of fools while cursing them for robbing his victory of its sport.

  By the time he reached the ladderway to the lower decks, the other platoon leaders were there, each on a different level, some looking up, others down. Crin switched over to the command channel. “Engineering deck officers, report.”

  One by one, they all replied, “Clear.”

  Quick and ruthless—just as Thot Trom had wanted.

  “Have your grunts police up the bodies and beam them into space. Solt, do you copy?”

  “Go ahead,” the chief engineer replied.

  Crin checked his chrono as he double-timed back the way he had come. “Power up the jaunt drive. We have less than ninety seconds before the Tajny starts its attack run.”

  * * *

  Reports flooded in on all the encrypted channels used by the Spetzkar. The key areas of the ShiKahr were secure, and the jaunt ship’s own intruder countermeasures had eliminated those members of its crew stationed in its less consequential sections.

  We’ve been lucky so far, Trom reminded himself. But luck doesn’t last.

  “Yoab, have you unlocked the helm controls?”

  “Almost.” The pilot checked his console. “Wait—sir, the jaunt drive is locked out.”

  “Don’t worry,” Trom said. “If this works, we won’t need it.”

  The doo
rs to the aft starboard turbolift opened. Rem and Crin stepped onto the bridge. The first officer headed toward Trom, and Rem passed Karn at the tactical console on his way to the ship’s operations panel. Crin took his place at Trom’s side. “The ship is secure, sir.”

  “Well done. The Tajny starts her run in twenty seconds. Stand by to receive the Enterprise’s request for assistance. Tell them what they want to hear.”

  “Yes, sir.” Crin moved away to the communications console.

  “Karn, stand by to raise shields. Yoab, plot a course for the wormhole at warp four, then hold for my order. Everyone else, get rid of these bodies before they start to stink.”

  As the corpses littering the deck were hauled away and stowed in the commander’s ready room, Trom kept his attention on the viewscreen. His plan was moments away from its next crucial step. He was about to learn whether he had underestimated the tactical capabilities of the jaunt ships. If he had, then he and his men were going to suffer badly for his mistake.

  But if he had guessed right, they would soon be welcomed home as heroes.

  * * *

  “Continue tracking that ship,” Picard snapped. “It’s come out of hiding for a reason. I want to know why—and I want it found.” He turned at the swish of a turbolift door opening. Director Saavik strode onto his bridge, followed by Bashir and Douglas, the two interlopers from the other universe whom Saavik hadn’t condemned to extradimensional exile.

  He turned away to conceal his annoyance. His ship was potentially mere seconds away from a combat situation. The last thing he needed now was a distraction.

  Saavik stood beside him in the middle of the bridge. “What do we know, Captain?”

  “The Breen are back.” He stared at the starscape on the viewscreen. “And they’re close.”

  K’Ehleyr moved to stand on the other side of Picard from Saavik. “We picked up a sudden local increase in tetryon particles. Then we noticed it was moving at full impulse.”

  The Vulcan mirrored Picard’s concern. “Is it continuing its evasive maneuvers?”

  “No. It’s getting closer.” Picard’s already grim mood darkened. “It’s looking for the right angle from which to launch an attack.” He decided on a course of action. “I’m not waiting for them to make the first move. Commander Troi, raise shields and arm all weapons.”

  “Aye, sir.” Troi primed the Enterprise’s tactical systems with a single tap on her console.

  “Number One, apprise the ShiKahr and the Dominion command ship of the situation, and recommend they raise shields as well.”

  K’Ehleyr delegated the order with a nod to a Tellarite officer. She turned back toward Picard and lowered her voice. “Should we prep another boarding party?”

  “That would be prudent. Make it so.”

  She stepped away to relay his orders discreetly to Troi, leaving him in the unsettling company of Saavik. “Director, it might be safer if you and your guests returned to—”

  The keening whoop of the Red Alert siren cut him off.

  Troi pointed at the viewscreen. “They’re uncloaking!”

  Picard saw the menacing bulk of the Breen cruiser bearing down on the Enterprise. Its nose was lowered a few degrees, a classic attack profile. “Target that—”

  Emerald beams from the Breen ship slashed through the darkness and filled the viewscreen. Bone-jarring impacts rocked the Enterprise. A momentary overload of the inertial dampeners and a hiccup in the power supply to the artificial gravity generators combined to send Picard, Saavik, and her two guests tumbling to starboard.

  “They’re firing all they’ve got,” Troi shouted over the painfully loud clamor of disruptor blasts hammering the Enterprise’s shields.

  K’Ehleyr snapped, “Fire back!”

  Troi triggered a retaliatory strike. Orange streaks of phaser energy lashed out and pummeled the oncoming Breen ship, and a volley of four quantum torpedoes slammed into it head-on. The first two collapsed its shields. The second two ripped through the cruiser’s hull and eviscerated long swaths of its infrastructure before erupting from the ship’s underside.

  It was a brutal and decisive blow, one that Picard was sure would put an end to the Breen’s mad assault. “Target their engines as they break away. Shoot to disable.”

  He waited to see the Breen ship veer off so that Troi could take out their impulse coil and warp nacelles. Once the ship was immobilized, he would—

  What are they doing?

  Troi’s eyes widened. “They’re not breaking off, Captain.”

  K’Ehleyr was the first to see the obvious. “They’re on a collision course!” She sprang to Troi’s side at the tactical console. “Lock all phasers! Fire!”

  Vermilion beams scissored through the Breen cruiser. It charged ahead, into the cruel barrage, accelerating all the way. Then it dived and rolled, burning like a Catherine wheel.

  Picard threw himself into his command chair as he shouted, “Evasive maneuvers!”

  It was too late. The fiery wreck of the Breen ship rammed into the Enterprise’s shields.

  The viewscreen filled with gray static for half a second, and then it went dark, along with all the other bridge consoles and the overhead lights.

  A deafening crash left Picard clutching his chair’s armrests white-knuckle tight and gritting his teeth against a sonic assault that threatened to shake them loose from his jaw.

  When the cacophony subsided, Picard felt as if he had been pummeled by a prizefighter. He looked around, half in shock, as dim emergency lights faded up. His first priority was to make sure his officers were alive. They all were at least in the vicinity of their posts, and neither Saavik nor her guests appeared to have been injured. He twisted and looked over his shoulder toward K’Ehleyr. “Number One. Damage and casualty reports.”

  “Internal comms are down. Switching to backup channels.”

  He turned a hopeful look at Troi. “The Breen cruiser?”

  “Destroyed.” She struggled with her flickering console. “But we’re not much better.”

  The overhead lights slowly climbed back to full brightness. Several of the major duty stations’ consoles ceased stuttering and reset their interfaces. The main viewscreen hashed with interference for a second, and then its image resolved to show a vista of fiery destruction. The Enterprise was enveloped in a cloud of smoldering debris from the Breen cruiser.

  K’Ehleyr sat in her chair, beside Picard’s. She turned her command screen so they both could see it. “Multiple injuries, no fatalities. Medical teams are responding.”

  “And the ship?”

  “Heavy damage to the shields. Overloads all through the tactical grid. Subspace comms are down. Hull breaches on Decks Eleven through Sixteen. And the jaunt drive is off-line.”

  It was a far from ideal outcome, but his ship and his crew were still here, albeit a touch worse for wear. At least we’ve fared better than our attackers. “Commander Troi, hail the ShiKahr on short-range comms. Tell Captain sh’Pherron we need her to return yesterday’s favor. Any engineering and medical personnel they can spare, as well as spare parts and—”

  “Captain,” Troi interrupted. “The ShiKahr is breaking orbit.”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “They’ve changed course—toward the wormhole.”

  She changed the viewscreen’s vantage to obtain a clearer angle of the ShiKahr—which promptly streaked away in a spectral blur of light as the ship jumped to warp speed.

  K’Ehleyr spoke in a horrified whisper. “The cruiser must have been a decoy. I don’t know how they did it, but the Breen are back on the ShiKahr. And they’re getting away.”

  Picard stood. “Like hell they are. Helm, set a pursuit course, best possible speed.”

  Lieutenant Tolaris delivered bad news with dry detachment. “The ship is limited to full impulse until Mister Barclay gets main power back online.”

  Picard lifted his voice. “Bridge to engineering.”

  Barclay sounded out of brea
th. “Go ahead, sir.”

  “How long to restore main power?”

  “At least ten minutes.”

  Picard looked at Troi. “How long until the ShiKahr reaches the wormhole?”

  The security chief grimaced. “Four minutes. Unless they jaunt to it.”

  Saavik put herself in Picard’s eye line. “They can’t. The ShiKahr’s jaunt drive is still locked down. But without warp power, we can’t reach them in time. Which means we need to ask for help from the only ship that can.”

  He knew what Saavik was suggesting. It was a conversation he did not want to have.

  “Merde.”

  * * *

  It was not Taran’atar’s habit to offer unsolicited opinions on the affairs of his superiors, so he swallowed his contempt for the softness and ineptitude of the Commonwealth jaunt ship’s crew. Their captain’s face filled the forward holoframe as he petitioned the Founder. “Madam Founder, I would not ask this of you if there were any other way.”

  The Founder’s face was inscrutable. “We have no wish to involve ourselves in your affairs. The hijacking of your vessel is not our concern.”

  “I disagree,” Picard replied. “The ShiKahr is heading toward the wormhole, which will take it to the Gamma Quadrant. If the Breen escape with that ship and learn how to build a jaunt drive, they’ll be able to use it against your people and ours. The entire galaxy will be in peril.”

  “Why would that risk be any graver than allowing your Commonwealth to retain its monopoly on wormhole propulsion?”

  Her question seemed to exasperate Picard. “I can guarantee you, the Breen Confederacy will not wield this power with the same restraint we’ve shown. We’ve had this power for eight years now. If we had wanted to abuse it, we could have. But we didn’t. So I’m asking you to accept our pledge of good faith—and return the favor. While there’s still time.”

  After a moment of consideration, the Founder turned toward Eris. “Can this vessel reach the wormhole ahead of the ShiKahr?”

  “Barely,” the female Vorta said. “And only if we go now, at maximum warp.”