by Diane Carey
"I said we've got some kind of a ship approaching. I can't read it very well for some reason, but I'm picking it up on the energy-flux meters."
"Are they hailing us?"
"I guess you could take this as a hail. But when I gave them a flash-response, they didn't come back."
"All right, I'm coming up."
Her hand smeared with lubricant from underneath the floor panels, Kasidy Yates used one wrist to shove back a flop of her hair as she climbed out of the lower thruster access vault. She came up two short companionways through the arteries of her heavily loaded freighter and onto her bridge.
Her jumpsuit was smeared with lubricant, so she used it to wipe her hands. First Mate Wayne Sheppard was huddled over the main sensors as she approached him and looked over his red hair at the monitors.
"I don't get it," he said. "I know there's a ship out there. Look at this movement. And there's another one. That's a warp shift. Wouldn't you say that's what it is?"
"Definitely not natural phenomenon," she murmured, blinking into the screen. "Boy, this screen is bright. After this run, I'm going to put in for maintenance and have about half the systems on this ship overhauled."
"I hope that includes the showers," Wayne said distractedly. "There it is again. Now, that can't be anything but a vessel!"
Kasidy gripped him hard by the shoulders. "Energy flux…that's a cloak! Wayne, it's a cloak! Luis! Cindy! B.J.! On deck! Trouble! Wayne, evasive maneuvers!"
"Evasive! You've gotta be kidding!"
Kasidy dodged to the helm and took it herself. "What's our current speed?"
Wayne slid into the nav seat beside her. "Two point five."
"I'm going to warp four."
"Kasidy—"
"We've gotta try, Wayne."
"Right, okay."
"Screen on. Power up defense."
"I don't even know if it's hooked up."
"Luis! Where is he?"
"I'm down here."
"Have we got weapons?"
"A couple."
"Fire 'em up!"
"Well…yeah, awright. Just a minute."
Wayne leaned into the nav board and tried to hold the big old ship together as they went to warp four faster than was safe. "I told you this Cardassian run was risky, Kas."
"Gotta make a living," she muttered back at him as she kept her eyes on the main screen. "But I don't think this is Cardassians…look at that exhaust mixture. Can you identify that?"
"Trying…"
"Put our shields up too." Suddenly Kasidy drew a quick breath and held it. "What am I thinking! Cloaks! DS9!"
Wayne looked at her. "What? What?"
"Klingons, that's what!"
"That's crazy! What do they want from us way out here? What do they want from us at all?"
"Doesn't matter." She leaned into the helm controls. "Get the shields up. Let's make for the Cardassian border. Maybe they won't cross it."
"Sure," Wayne grunted. "And Tellarites don't stink."
"Decloak now."
"Decloaking, Commander."
"Come around in front of them. Cut them off and force them to reduce speed."
Kaybok knew his way around pursuing and stopping other vessels. It was his best thing. He had come up through the ranks as a border-patrol guard and there was still the hunter in him. A freighter could not even in its dreams hope to outrun a Bird-of-Prey.
They were trying, though. He was tempted to reduce speed, just to elongate the chase. But how would that look in his command log? Better it show that he took the freighter quickly. After all, it was only a freighter.
Quite a big vessel, that hulk, he saw as they came up on it and veered around in front.
"Shall I fire on them?" his second-in-command asked.
"No," Kaybok said. "They'll stand down."
"They're turning again."
"Turn with them."
This was hardly a contest. The ships were so vastly different from each other that they had completely different advantages and there was no match between them in any way. Lacking in speed, firepower, and maneuverability, the freighter was already staggering before them. However, if the Bird-of-Prey ever needed to carry fifty thousand tons of atmosphere-controlled cargo, it would likely falter too.
Kaybok smiled. "Keep forcing them to turn until they go in circles."
His second nodded, then passed the order of specific maneuvers to their helm officer.
"They're reducing speed," his science officer reported from over his left shoulder. "Falling out of hyperlight."
"Fall out also," Kaybok said. "Come around to their bow and stand fast."
On the screen before them it appeared the gnarled freighter was coming around to face them, but of course it was the opposite. In a moment, all movement sagged to a stop. He looked down the big ship's nostrils for a few satisfied seconds.
"Hail them," he said.
"Hailing. Response coming in."
"Put it through, audio."
"This is the captain of the Xhosa. You're blocking our passage. Do you have an explanation?"
A woman.
Kaybok waited to see if she would get nervous and ask more questions, but she didn't. She was waiting for his response. She probably was the captain, then.
"We are the border guard," he said.
"This isn't your border. This is the Cardassian-Bajoran border, and since you mention it, we're not even there yet."
"You are crossing into hostile space."
"We have a Starfleet merchant permit to cross into Cardassian space. You have absolutely no jurisdiction here. I'm putting a call through to Starfleet right now. You'd better back off and let us pass."
Kaybok glanced at his second. "Scramble that signal."
"Attempting."
"Xhosa," he began again, "drop your shields. We intend to search your vessel."
"Search? For what? My cargo is completely legal! You have no permission to occupy any vessel!"
She sounded indignant. A typical merchant captain.
"Federation legality means nothing to me," he told her. "Orders from our fleet commander and my guns give me permission. Drop your shields or there will be weapons fired."
The woman became silent. For nearly one minute there was no answer from her. Kaybok was willing to wait. He could smash her engines now, or ten minutes from now. Either way there would be cooperation.
"All right. Don't fire. You can search."
The woman's voice was tentative, but the words were right. She was sensible.
"Lower your shields," Kaybok said. "Our landing party will come aboard in four minutes. End communication."
He stood up and swung to his second-in-command. "You lead the boarding party. Take the explosive with you and install it in their engine room. Make sure none of them see you do this. Set the timer just before you leave their ship."
"I understand what to do."
"Take twelve crewmen."
"Twelve? Three-quarters of our crew?"
"You must effect a convincing search. It will take many men to rustle their crew into place, saturate their decks, distract them enough to install the bomb. Don't look at me like that, Onnak."
The second didn't care for taking such a large portion of their crew to a foreign vessel, but a few well-placed glowers from Kaybok put him down. This had to be staged well, or the wrong thing would happen. If the captain and crew of this freighter figured out what Kaybok was up to, then Kaybok would have to destroy them here and now instead of by remote, and there would be evidence.
As he watched Onnak disappear into the lift, heading to the transport pad, he thought about destroying the freighter now. Then there would be no doubt of any changelings going from here to there on that ship.
But Martok had other ideas. Martok might be afraid to stand up to the Federation. Kaybok couldn't tell. Kaybok didn't care.
"Kasidy…"
"I see it. Just keep your eyes on their transport-beam indicators, Wayne. I want to know
the instant they start to transport."
"You sure you can do this?"
"No, but Klingons are cocky. They don't put safeties on their equipment. I think we can do it. Luis? Can you hear me down there?"
A voice threaded out of the wide companionway to the engine room. "Yeah, I can."
"Keep the engines warm…don't let the warp core drop its temperature or they'll pick up the change when we fire it up again."
"Gotcha."
"And stay away from the core or you'll get burned. I'm keeping my finger on the emergency warp button. Be ready to compensate."
"We're ready down here, Kas."
The plaintive call of her engineer from down inside the companionway was all the reassurance she would get right now.
"And, Wayne, as soon as we break away from their damping field, I want a message put through to Deep Space Nine. The Klingons'll be on us in ten seconds. That's all the time you'll have. Be sure to include our location. If we're going to have any help, they've got to know where to find us."
"I'm ready if you're ready—Kas, I'm reading a transporter wave! They're coming!"
Kasidy tensed over the emergency warp button and held her breath—
Just as she began to hear the irritating buzz of a transporter beam, and just as she saw the faint beginnings of the glow of reintegrating matter, she pressed the button and shouted to her crew.
"Shields up! Emergency warp, now!"
"Reverse transport! Reverse! Reverse!"
Kaybok shouted and struck out at the face of his helm officer, knocking the man aside to reach the communication pad that would tie him through to his transporter platform.
On the main viewscreen, the freighter became smaller and smaller as it bolted into emergency warp speed and was suddenly light-days off.
"Get them back! Pull them back!"
He shouted into the comm unit. Though he was staring at the empty space that a moment ago housed the freighter, he was screaming at his transporter officer. His fingers clawed into the cushioning rubber of the helm console's edge. He gritted his teeth. His breath came and went, came and went. His brain screamed.
Silence enfolded them, all but the subtle whirr of systems on his bridge and the faint dimming of lights as the ship went into high effort to choke back its transporter beam.
He stared at the screen. Empty now.
Sucking a lungful, he gasped, "Transport! Did you get them back?"
The open comm line crackled. He heard a shuffle come through the system. Muffled voices.
"Transport! Answer me!"
"Commander…"
"Yes! Answer!"
"Sir…we got them back…"
"In what condition?"
"Sir…they were in open space…"
Kaybok's face twisted in agony. He demanded again, "What is their condition?"
"They are…they are frozen, sir. Suffocated."
Twelve members of his crew. Twelve trained space warriors, wasted by a woman's trick.
He felt as if his skull were being crushed, his chest collapsing.
Twelve.
He reached down with his giant hand and caught the beard of his helm officer and dragged him that way back to the ship's steering mechanism.
"Catch them," Kaybok chafed. His teeth went together and his lips peeled back. "Catch that ship. Catch it now. Catch it."
"I don't like this."
"I know you don't."
"Nothing in this galaxy can make me trust them. I've never trusted them," Kira said.
"I understand that," Sisko answered calmly.
"Alliance is just a convenient word to get them whatever they wanted. They're just Cardassians in sheep's clothing when they talk peace."
"You're probably right."
"If they want to be allies with us and stand with us against the Dominion, then why aren't they being upfront about the numbers of their personnel here?"
"Can't you count Klingons, Major?"
"Yes, sir, of course I can count them, but they refuse to give any identification when they come on and off the station and they also refuse to wear comm badges, so there's no good way to tell if the same ones are coming back and forth or if they're different ones. They all look the same to me."
"Something wrong, Major? You look uncomfortable."
"Oh…I'm sorry, sir, it's just that Dax took me into one of those Trill supersensual bathhouse holosuite programs and I think I got a little too much steam. I'm a little raw."
Ben Sisko raised a brow at Major Kira as they both slouched in their chairs across his desk from one another. "For pity's sake, don't tell me where."
Kira was hunch-shouldered and gripping the ends of the chair's arms with her fingertips as if hanging on at high speed. Her short auburn hair caught the reading lamplight that pinked her complexion. Sisko knew how she felt—out of control. Not with the Trill program, but with everything else going on aboard Deep Space Nine. There were Klingons everywhere, not behaving as if they belonged or wanted to be here, but not providing any reason for Sisko to pitch them off.
"And that incident with Garak this morning bothers me," Kira said. "Why would Klingons gang up on him in his shop and use him for a punching bag?"
Sisko gazed at her. "If you were a Klingon, wouldn't you hit Garak?"
"Apparently he and Odo had a confrontation with these criminals on the Promenade, and I guess they didn't want to take on Odo, so they settled for Garak."
"He'll be all right, Major."
"Yes, I know. In his twisted way I think he enjoyed the attention. Assault is a reason to ask them to stay on board their ships or at least to limit the numbers in the boarding parties."
"It would be…but he's not pressing charges."
Kira pondered, "Why would Garak avoid pressing charges against Klingons? He doesn't have any particular attachment to them." She'd made the statement, and now found herself flicking the idea back at Sisko. "Does he?"
Her large eyes, supremely feminine in spite of the hardness they perpetually carried, widened.
Sisko shrugged. "Garak? Who knows? We haven't had two straight answers from him in the whole time he's been on Deep Space Nine. What's the status of the task force? Do we have a vessel count yet?"
"The Klingon ships keep cloaking and decloaking, so it's impossible to get an exact count. But so far, we've been able to identify at least twenty different warships in the vicinity of the station."
When Sisko was about to make an unpleasant response, the comm chirped and cut him off. It always seemed to know exactly when to blip. Just before a kiss or just before he was about to say something he'd regret.
"Captain," Dax's voice came through, "we're receiving a priority one distress call from the freighter Xhosa."
Kira came out of her slump. "Kasidy's ship?"
"She left the station an hour ago," Sisko said. "Dax, put her through."
He turned to his monitor just as a close-up of Kasidy Yates crackled up on the screen, centered on the bridge of her freighter. Her brow was creased with worry.
"This is the freighter Xhosa to Deep Space Nine. We're under attack by—"
The image sliced off cleanly, leaving only static. Cut off at the source.
Shoving to his feet, Sisko dodged for the Ops door. "Come on," he called to Kira, but she was already there.
Ops was a clutch of tight shoulders and intense eyes, in the center of which was Dax, picking at the main table, trying to draw that signal back in.
"Her signal's been jammed," she said immediately.
"Get me a fix on her location," Sisko said. "Then tell the crew of the Defiant to man their stations." He swung toward the turbolift, motioning Kira after him. "We'll meet you on the bridge."
"Forward scanners are detecting the Xhosa at bearing zero-one-seven mark three-four-six."
Dax's report was sham reassurance to Ben Sisko as he reposed in his command chair. The frustration of being so far away when Kasidy needed help was offset surprisingly by the mobility of havin
g a ship. For years as commander of DS9 he had nothing to match the Defiant. He had the powerful little runabouts, but they weren't long-range battleships like this one. This ship, heavy and double-plated, armed at every quarter, was a tough muscle of a vessel for a tough region of open space.
When he had wrangled permission to bring Defiant to DS9, he had accepted the "temporary" clause in the ship's assignment, but he had never intended to give her back to Starfleet Command.
Fortunately, they accepted this outpost as the ship's permanent dockage.
The battleship changed the whole tenor of the sector, and of Sisko's status. Instead of being the commander of a distant outpost, he became the custodian of the entire sector, for now he was mobile. Crimes committed in deep space and even acts of war could now expect immediate response from Sisko himself, and he had the might to back up the laws imposed out here.
He liked that.
Even now he was speeding toward Kasidy's ship instead of being trapped on DS9 waiting for Starfleet to dispatch somebody from way over there to get way over here.
"I'm here," he murmured as he stared at the black silk of outer space on the main screen, and the endless stars. They were up to full warp, and bits of space debris shot past them, making bright white and yellow brushstrokes on space.
At the weapons console, Kira stiffened. "I'm picking up another ship nearby. They've got Xhosa in a tractor beam."
Sisko sat up a little straighter. "On screen."
The screen changed without a flicker, as if hungry to show them what it saw.
A demonic Bird-of-Prey hung over Kasidy Yates's bulky freighter, not alongside but with its forward weapons arrays pointed right at the ship in unconcealed threat.
"A Klingon ship!" Kira burst out. Was she really that surprised?
"I can't get through to Xhosa," Dax said. "They must still be jamming her communications."
Sisko set his jaw. "Hail the Klingon vessel."
Working quickly, Dax frowned over her controls. She was having trouble. There was some kind of resistance from the other ship. Sisko didn't prod. She'd get it in a minute.
Surely the Klingons has picked up their approach and had read what kind of vehicle was coming at them. Defiant was her own kind of message.
The screen blipped again, and on it was a particularly unattractive Klingon—but Kira was right about that. Who could tell?