The Way of the Warrior

by Diane Carey

  "There's something to be said for incentive."

  Kira Nerys rolled her eyes at O'Brien's words, but she knew what he meant. The Federation hadn't seen fit to spice up the defenses of DS9 until a threat whispered through from the other side of the wormhole. Suddenly they who were until now only a way station became a frontier fort, and that was how they were going to behave.

  Beside her at the engineering station in Ops, Miles O'Brien shook his head and uttered, "I sure hope everything works."

  She looked at him. "You're saying you're not sure?"

  The new systems were stable enough in and of themselves, but until now any concerns had gone unvoiced about whether or not they would integrate safely into the Cardassian design of the station. There hadn't been time for a complete gutting of the hull and replacement of all parts with Starfleet-coded parts, so O'Brien had been spit-and-pinning things together. Only two of the station's original six fusion reactors had ever worked since Starfleet took over, and since those two provided enough power to run the life-support and general functions of the station, nobody had ever mentioned maybe someday getting into a war and needing more power for strong new weapons.

  And there hadn't been time for tests, either.

  "The way I see it," he told her finally, "there are two possibilities. Either everything'll be fine…"

  "Or?"

  "Or…we'll end up blowing the station to pieces."

  She scalded him with a stare. "Let's hope we don't have to find out."

  CHAPTER 17

  "WHAT'S OUR STATUS?"

  Ben Sisko slid into the command chair as Jadzia Dax relinquished it to him. Worf and Bashir were at their stations, neither having much to say to each other, or anyone else, it seemed.

  "We're approaching the rendezvous point," Dax told him.

  "Sir," Worf said, "I'm detecting signs of weapons fire ahead. There appear to be three Birds-of-Prey attacking a Cardassian vessel. The Cardassian ship is badly damaged."

  Dax barely waited for Worf to finish. "Captain, I'm picking up a distress signal from Dukat. Audio only."

  "Put him through."

  As Dax struggled to pull the crackling signal in, Sisko inched forward in his seat.

  The signal was distorted, scratchy.

  "This is Gul Dukat of the cruiser Prakesh. We're under heavy fire. Our shields are failing. I don't know how much longer we can hold out. Send reinforcements immediately. I repeat, this is—"

  "We're in visual range," Dax reported.

  Sisko nodded. "On screen. Maximum magnification."

  The screen smoothly changed, so smoothly as to suggest a technical loveliness to what it saw.

  There before them was a bulky Cardassian ship, dipping uselessly to avoid fire from an incoming Klingon Bird-of-Prey. The bird had its wings down in attack position, its algae-green hull reflecting the light from a small lifeless binary system to their port side.

  It came in high and swooped down upon the Cardassian ship, strafing it with a continuous stream of disruptor fire that cut across the Cardassians' deflectors with a scalpel effect, some needles of energy managing to pierce the failing shields and cut into the victim's hull.

  "What are your orders, Captain?" Worf's voice shook Sisko out of a nearly hypnotic stare.

  Bashir was staring too. They were giving themselves a moment of pause to absorb what they were seeing, the full impact of those disruptors thrumming back to all their home planets.

  "Two decades of peace," the doctor said, "and it all comes down to this."

  "Benjamin," Dax said quietly, "Dukat's ship's not going to last much longer."

  Sisko glowered at the screen. Until now, he'd entertained tiny hopes that something would happen to put this off, that perhaps he could reach Dukat before the Klingons did, and together the Cardassian Council and the Federation could find some way to stay this terrible turn.

  Now there was no hope of that. Shots had been fired.

  "Arm photon torpedoes," he said. "Drop the cloak and raise the shields. We're going in."

  PART

  FOUR

  CHAPTER 18

  "RED ALERT."

  As the day lights popped off and were replaced by the eye-saving cranberry lights of alert status, Ben Sisko gripped the arms of his command chair.

  Bashir immediately left the bridge, headed for the medical bay, where he would probably be very much needed in a few minutes, and others also hurried after him, on their way to more hands-on positions on the ship's lower decks.

  Now the bridge was a tight entity, lightly manned and almost quiet with anticipation.

  On the screen before him, molten matter poured from the Cardassian ship as the Klingon Birds-of-Prey tipped up on their wings and veered in for another hit.

  He tilted his head toward Worf, but didn't turn. "Commander, transmit a Priority One signal to the Klingon ship. Tell them to break off their attack and stand down immediately."

  Without saying anything, Worf worked his monitor, then turned to Sisko again. "Message sent. Sir, I find it highly unlikely that the Klingons will heed your—"

  Sisko wanted to shout a brisk shut-up to him. The message had to be in his alert log, to prove that he gave the Klingons fair warning. Worf must have known that.

  Suddenly Defiant was hammered with enemy fire. The deck tilted downward, then quickly recovered, leaving them all with a queasy sensation in their stomachs and knees like butter.

  "We're been fired upon by the lead Bird-of-Prey. Shields are holding."

  "I see what you mean, Mr. Worf," Sisko said with a twinge of sarcasm. "Let's show them what they're up against." He swung to Blake at weapons control. "Attack pattern Omega. Target their engines."

  "Aye, Captain."

  "And Dax, try to get between them and the Cardassian ship. If we can take those hits on our shields, they may have time to get to a life craft."

  "I doubt their life crafts will be operational," Worf reported. "I'm reading exceptionally heavy damage on their ship's underside. Evidently the Klingons have no intention of letting them escape." He looked at Sisko. "It's not the ship the Klingons are after."

  Turning up on the edge of her own clamshell form, Defiant easily took a tight circle and swept inside the firing parameters of the Klingon vessels, turning loose a volley of heavy phaser fire at the lead bird.

  "Got it!" Bashir called out. "You hit their engines!"

  Blake nodded. Her face was glossy with sweat.

  "They're breaking off," Dax said. "Just the lead ship, though."

  Disruptor fire struck them again with the force of a blockhouse kick in the guts. Combative ferocity spilled through them all, and they hunched to their stations.

  "Incoming message from the Cardassian ship," Worf reported, his frustration showing in his posture.

  "Put it through."

  Sisko got up and went to a monitor, where Dukat's face was waiting for him.

  "I must compliment you, Captain. You're nearly Cardassian in your punctuality".

  In the background, Dax was ordering, "Fire phasers."

  Incendiary darts launched from Defiant with such force that Sisko had to clutch the edge of the console to keep from stumbling. This ship sure was a power pack.

  "Dukat," he said, "power up your engines and prepare to follow us back to DS9."

  "An excellent suggestion," the Cardassian said, "assuming I had any engines left."

  Whoops.

  "What's your status?" Sisko asked.

  In the background, Dax was choreographing, "Evasive maneuver Gamma Six."

  He didn't bother to turn to ask why she was engaging in evasive maneuvers instead of offensive ones. He'd be back in his chair to take over in a minute.

  "Our engines are gone," Dukat was saying, "our shields are down, and we have no weapons to speak of."

  Frustrated, Sisko felt sweat break out on his forehead and neck. All right, they'd do it the hard way.

  "Prepare to evacuate. We'll begin beaming you over as soon as po
ssible."

  Dukat seemed desperate, but perplexed. "You'll have to drop your shields to use your transporters."

  "Let me worry about that. Sisko out."

  He was jolted back when the ship was hit by a broadax blow. Sparks at tactical—fire on the bridge!

  When Sisko regained his balance, Ensign Blake was on the deck, unconscious. Sparks burned her face, but she wasn't awake to notice. She was down for the duration.

  He almost started over to tactical himself, but Worf beat him to it, taking the weapons position as if it were a well-worn set of gloves slipping onto his hands.

  "Mr. Worf?" Sisko began as he struggled back across the inclined deck to his command center.

  "Weapons ready, Captain," Worf said evenly.

  As crossfire lashed the Defiant, Sisko accepted Worfs position with a nod.

  "Sir," Worf said immediately, "restricting our fire to their engines has not proven effective."

  Clear enough. Shoot to kill.

  That was the recommendation of his new weapons officer. Sisko decided he'd better take it, and realized he'd been doing Worf a disservice by keeping him from firing on their mutual enemy.

  "Very well," he said. "Target at your discretion."

  Worf responded without a hint of regret. In fact, he seemed relieved. "Aye-aye, Captain."

  The phasers were brought up to full power, strong enough to cut a planet apart.

  "Pick one of the ships, Dax, and go after it," Sisko said. "Don't try to take them all on at once. There—that one!"

  "Aye-aye," Dax said, and leaned into her controls.

  The Defiant scrolled out of her attack pattern and went one-on-one with the nearest Klingon ship. Both ships unloaded their full power at each other, creasing space with blistering energy, cutting apart asteroids that got in the way and showering each other with the remains.

  POOM POOM POOM—the shots echoed as the shields struggled to absorb or bank off all that energy. It was like a bad headache.

  Bulldoggishly the Defiant plowed after the one Klingon bird, relentlessly refusing to be distracted by the other ships, until finally they came up underneath the bird and opened fire at what was apparently a weak spot in their shields that didn't show up on Defiant's sensors.

  Before them, the Klingon ship erupted into a blowtorch, and was vaporized.

  "Scratch one Klingon," Sisko said with unveiled admiration. "Was that a lucky shot?"

  Worf turned. "Yes, sir. I was aiming at their power coils, but I punched through to their warp core."

  "I'll take it. Good shooting, Mr. Worf."

  "Thank you, sir."

  Dax attracted him with a tilt of her head. She was too busy to actually turn. "Dukat's ship is under fire. I don't know how much longer they can hold out."

  "Another Klingon ship has decloaked," Worf reported. "It is a Vor'Cha-class attack cruiser."

  Not good. The rush of having taken out one of the Birds-of-Prey was abruptly swallowed by the appearance of this new opponent. Even a power pack like the Defiant couldn't manage that many vessels, with one being an attack cruiser. Better to cut and run before they lost everything.

  He leaned an elbow hard on his chair's arm. "Sisko to transporter bay. Get ready to start beaming aboard the survivors."

  "Aye, Captain," the standing officer replied.

  "Sisko to Bashir. Prepare to receive casualties, Doctor. And have security standing by. I want our guests to undergo blood screenings."

  "Understood".

  Still hammering the enemy ships and doing some real damage, Dax uttered something, but Sisko didn't hear what she said. When he glanced at her, she was still firing full-out volleys at the new wave of Klingon vessels, keeping them from pulling into any good attack formation.

  Worf took an instant to look at Sisko and ask, "Blood screenings?"

  "Just in case Martok was right."

  "Benjamin," Dax interrupted, "it's going to take us at least two minutes to evacuate Dukat's ship. Even with the Defiant's armor, I don't think we can last that long with our shields down."

  He was about to respond when Worf spoke up.

  "Sir, I have a suggestion."

  Sisko looked up at him. He'd been concentrating so much on Worf's personal problems that he had let himself forget that Worf was, in spite of his private torments and questions, an experienced starship bridge officer with years of experience under his belt.

  As the lights of phaser attack and heavy hits reflected on their faces, the two men looked at each other.

  "Go, Mr. Worf."

  "Sir," the Klingon quickly informed him, "it may be possible to modulate this ship's tractor beams to act as additional shields, and push off a portion of the disruptor fire long enough to beam those people aboard."

  "Do you know how to do it?"

  "I believe I could do it."

  "Permission to do so. Pick up any system you need. Dax, free up the tractor system to the tactical station."

  She looked dubious, but didn't say anything. Outside, space was a firebox and in moments they might fall into it if they couldn't put off the Vor'Cha cruiser.

  It was on their tail, drilling without pause, pumping disruptor fire onto their aft shields. The Defiant was standing up to it, but not without shields.

  Dax kept up firing, but it was beginning to cost. The ship was whining around them, straining to keep launching deadly energy back at the attackers while also gaining speed after having been hammered so badly. Defiant's power reserves were being channeled into keeping the attackers off the Cardassian transport, always shooting at whatever Klingons were closer to the Cardassian vessel while ignoring the ones closer to Defiant, and taking the throttling they could otherwise have fought off. These were agonizing minutes.

  "Captain," Worf said a long two minutes later, "I believe it can be done now."

  "Are we in transporter range of Dukat's ship?"

  "Thirty seconds," Dax said. She watched her board without raising her eyes. "Twenty-five…twenty…"

  "Ready, Mr. Worf."

  "Standing by, sir."

  "Ten…"

  "Dax, prepare to drop the shields. Transporter room, this is Sisko. Stand by to transport on my mark."

  "Five…"

  "Mr. Worf, engage the tractor beam. Let's push 'em off."

  CHAPTER 19

  "IT'S WORKING, BENJAMIN!"

  Jadzia Dax raised her eyes to look at the aft viewscreen, showing a bizarre vision of the attack ship being choked back by a funnel of diffused tractor beam. They were still firing, but the disruptor fire was measurably reduced, and the impacts on the ship turned from deafening cracks to kettledrum booms.

  "You were right, Mr. Worf," she said. "The modulated tractor beam's deflecting some of the Klingon disruptor fire."

  "Disruptors effectiveness at fifty percent," Worf reported, as if he hadn't had anything to do with it.

  "Well done, Mr. Worf," Sisko offered. "Lower shields. Sisko to transporter bay—begin emergency transport."

  "Transport under way".

  The ship rocked violently as if caught in a vise, almost as if its own tractor beam were acting as an anchor. But that was just a feeling.

  "The ablative armor is holding," Dax reported.

  Another hit chorused Worf's report. "Klingon ships are closing. Armor on the port side is losing integrity."

  Sisko leaned to his comm. "Transporter bay, what's our status?"

  "Captain, this is Dukat. Almost half the council members are still on my ship. We need at least another minute."

  There was a momentary otherworldliness about having Dukat answer his question—about having Dukat participating in a cooperative manner at all, never mind having that voice pump up from the lower decks, at somebody else's station. They must really be busy down there for the transporter chief to let that happen.

  "Another minute," Sisko murmured, in his mind enduring a flurry of all the mathematics of how much firepower and how much armament one more minute meant in molecules. Stres
s points and impact factors, joint pressure reflux and sheet thickness—how much could the ship really absorb?

  "Looks like we're going to find out just how much of a pounding this ship can take," he found himself saying aloud. It didn't sound any better than when he had kept it to himself.

  "The Klingons have closed in to point-blank range," Worf said loudly, over the throttling of disruptor fire from outside.

  On the screen, Klingon ships bore down and mauled the Defiant with coordinated strafes, igniting the sky into a bravura of molten matter peeling sheet by sheet from the Defiant's hull.

  In firm response the Defiant pumped back volley upon volley, smashing into the pursuing ships' forward screens and occasionally blasting through to the hard metal. By the time they reached DS9, a couple of those ships might be beyond practical repair under these condition.

  If he had anything to do with it, they would.

  Strike upon strike rattled through the Defiant's outer aft shields until one made it through and caused the ship to wobble on its course. He held tight to the command seat as bridge officers around him were thrown from their posts into pools of sparks cast from erupting panels.

  "Ablative armor has failed," Dax called over the whine of straining systems. "We've got plasma leaks on decks two, three, and five, and we've lost our aft torpedo launchers."

  Without responding to her, Sisko leaned at the comm and spoke clearly over the howling ship. "Doctor?"

  "We've got them."

  Sisko sat up straight and with a glaze of victory snapped, "Raise shields! Activate the cloak."

  Had they heard him? His ears were whining.

  "I'm not getting any response from the cloaking device," Dax called. After a moment she apparently thought he hadn't heard her, because she said again, "It's not working."

  "That should make the trip home a little more interesting," Sisko said, by way of calming those around him. "Set a course for DS9, maximum warp."

  As the Defiant banked hard into warp speed, the departure-angle viewer showed a crackling picture of the Cardassian ship, now hopefully abandoned, as it exploded into an incendiary ball.