by Shards
While Refsland saw to Kochman, who had been burned but not as badly as he might have been, Garner sat down at an empty console to reroute the ship's tactical functions, and Ben Zoma swung himself into the captain's chair. The viewscreen showed him a rear view of the Klingon cruiser, its weapons ports flaring as they released volley after volley.
None of which, thanks to Gerda Idun's skill at the helm, managed to score a decisive hit. But she couldn't keep it up indefinitely. No one could.
Sooner or later, Ben Zoma noted, she would zig instead of zag, and the Klingons would have them where they wanted them.
"Tactical is back online," Garner reported. "But weapons are down."
Not that it mattered. The Lakul's weapons weren't powerful enough to do any real damage.
The Klingons released another barrage. This one grazed the transport's hull. Again, Ben Zoma felt a shudder make its way through the deck plates.
He tried to think of a way to shake the Klingons. Try to make it back to the asteroid belt, maybe? Find some shelter on the planet's surface?
Then it came to him.
"Gerda Idun," he said, "get us in close to them!"
"What?" she snapped, without looking back at him.
"Under their starboard weapons port! Do it!"
On the face of it, it sounded like a crazy idea. But it might be their only shot at survival.
Heeding his command, Gerda Idun flew them in under the cruiser's weapons port. As Ben Zoma had hoped, the tactic took the Klingons by surprise. Too late, the weapons port blazed with a barrage of disruptor beams, all of which passed over the transport without leaving a scratch.
"Now, stay here as long as you can," he told Gerda Idun.
It wouldn't be easy, as it would require her anticipating the Klingons' moves. But it would be easier than trying to shake the cruiser off their tail.
"Acknowledged," said Gerda Idun.
Now it was the Klingons' turn to execute evasive maneuvers. Let's see how good they are, Ben Zoma thought.
It wasn't a scheme that would keep them safe forever. Eventually, the Klingons would find a way to separate themselves from the transport.
But if the rebels were lucky, it would buy them some time.
The captain of the Lakul watched as Morgen's Daa'Vit companions surrounded Ulelo, the only other member of the rebel party still standing. Ulelo looked at her helplessly.
Morgen smiled. "Thank you," he said, "for your cooperation."
The captain glared at him. "You had me fooled," she had to admit.
The Daa'Vit shrugged his angular shoulders. "It wasn't difficult. You wanted allies so badly that you were willing to accept them without a second thought. Had you bothered to learn anything about my people, you would have known that we do not betray our allies. Especially not for a species as pitiful as your own."
Actually, the captain only looked human. However, she didn't bother to correct him.
"Now," said Morgen, "we end this little rebellion of yours before it gets started." He raised his disruptor until the captain was looking down its barrel. "Starting with you."
She didn't believe he would kill her-just stun her, so his Klingon friends could interrogate her. And from what she had heard, they were good at interrogation, skilled at obtaining even the most closely guarded answers.
The kind that could cut out the legs from under a rebellion before it even got started.
The captain had to do something-and quickly. Fortunately, she still had a single card up her sleeve, a single option that might work. But would it be enough?
Melekh leaned forward in the captain's chair of the Tlhab, a place in which he felt increasingly comfortable with each passing moment.
"Fire!" he told his weapons officer.
Once again, a series of pale red beams stabbed at the fleeing form of the transport. And once again, the transport managed to elude them.
But it hadn't fired back in some time. More than likely, its weapons array was down, and its shields couldn't be far behind. Still, it would be wise to obtain confirmation.
"Report," he told his tactical officer.
"The enemy's engines are intact," came the response. "However, her weapons have been disabled, and her shield capacity is down to eleven percent."
Melekh smiled to himself. The transport had led them on an interesting chase considering the vast disparity in their tactical capabilities. An interesting chase, indeed.
But it was over.
Savoring the moment, as might a hunter who had come in sight of his prey, he watched the transport weave through space. Then he gave the order.
"Destroy her," he snarled.
Dutifully, his tactical officer established a fresh disruptor lock. He was about to stab the "fire" stud with his forefinger when the bridge was flooded with a gravelly and all too familiar voice, that of their commanding officer.
"Stand down!" it demanded.
Melekh made a face. He didn't understand.
The commander didn't offer an explanation. All he said was, "Let the cargo vessel go!"
There was a bitter taste in Melekh's mouth, like that of meat that had gone bad. But he couldn't disobey his commanding officer. After all, the penalty for disobedience was death.
Unless, of course, he wished to challenge his superior's fitness to command. But he wasn't ready to fight that battle at this time, especially over such a trivial matter.
"Aye," he said reluctantly. Eyeing his tactical officer, he echoed the commander's words: "Stand down."
On the screen, the cargo transport began to diminish with distance. It wasn't nearly as fast as the Tlhab. They could give it a head start of several minutes and still manage to catch up with it.
But that would only happen if the captain changed his mind. And judging by the tone of his order, Melekh didn't consider that likely.
He pounded his fist against his armrest. Then he sat back in his seat and wondered what had prompted the captain's change of heart.
Ben Zoma was still wondering why the Klingons had discontinued their pursuit when Garner announced that the captain was trying to raise them.
"Put her through," said Ben Zoma.
"Come get us," said the captain, her voice taut with urgency. "We've got a window of maybe five minutes before the Klingons come back."
"Picard's gone," Ben Zoma told her. "He-"
"I know. He's down here with me."
Ben Zoma didn't get it. But then, he didn't have to. The captain would fill him in once she was back onboard.
"Are we beaming up the Daa'Vit as well?" he asked.
"No. Just our people and Picard. And bring a med unit down to the cargo bay-Ulelo will need it for sure. Wu and Joseph as well, maybe."
She hadn't mentioned Pernell. Ben Zoma had a bad feeling that he knew why.
"We're on our way," he told the captain, gesturing to Gerda Idun to bring the ship about.
Melekh stood on the barren brown slope amid the remains of what had once been Klingon and Daa'Vit warriors and shook his head. He had heard his captain give him an order to withdraw. He could not have imagined it.
And yet, quite clearly, Druja could have used his help.
"Survey the area," he told his men. "See if the enemy is still present." But he didn't think they would find anyone.
Kneeling beside his captain, he surveyed the damage that had been done. Druja's head was twisted halfway around, but there were no other signs of violence. Clearly, it wasn't a directed energy weapon that had killed him.
It was something else.
Melekh swore beneath his breath. Something stank worse than the corpses on the slope. Snapping open his communication device, he barked into it the name of his tactical officer.
"Aye, Commander," came Ruunek's response.
"Access your files. Find Captain Druja's command to us to withdraw. Then analyze it for-" He didn't know what to say. "Anything unusual."
"Why?" asked the tactical officer. "Is there something-"
&
nbsp; "Do it!" growled Mehlek.
"Aye," said Ruunek, and cut the link.
Rising to his feet, the commander brushed himself off and looked around again. He would allow the bodies to remain where they had fallen. With their spirits gone, they were no more than refuse.
"Commander Melekh!" called one of his men.
He turned and saw a warrior gesturing from farther down the slope. He was standing over one of the Daa'Vit.
"What is it?" bellowed Melekh.
"This one is alive!" the warrior called back.
Melekh made his way down the incline, raising a cloud of dust. When he reached the surviving Daa'Vit, he hunkered down beside him.
"What happened?" demanded the commander.
The Daa'Vit had broken his leg, probably ribs as well, and Melekh wouldn't have been surprised if there were a skull fracture, too. But, being a warrior, the Daa'Vit found the strength to speak.
"It was a creature," he groaned. "Like nothing I have ever seen before." And he went on to describe it.
A creature, Melekh thought. But their survey had shown no animal life. And if it had been there wreaking havoc so recently, what had become of it?
Just then, his comm device beeped.
"Melekh," he replied.
"Commander," said Ruunek, "I have analyzed Captain Druja's communication, as you asked-and it was not he who gave the order."
Melekh felt the blood rush to his face. "Then who was it?"
"I don't know. It sounded like Druja. But it doesn't match the record of his voice in his security file."
Melekh felt a chill crawl up the rungs of his redundant spine. Not Druja? Who, then?
And why had he not bothered to check the authenticity of the captain's voice? Why? His hands clenched into fists. By the blood of Kahless, why?
Without another word, Melekh left the Daa'Vit behind and walked back up the slope. To be alone. To think.
After all, the High Command would be expecting a report on the matter. It would want to know how Morgen and his comrades had lost their lives, how the Tlhab had lost its captain, and how its first officer had lost his prey. Of course, Melekh was the one who would have to provide the answers.
And take responsibility for what had happened.
The captain of the Lakul entered her briefing room, where the shapechanger who had taken Picard's identity was waiting for her.
"Tea?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Don't like it. Thanks anyway."
"I appreciate your helping us," she said. "If you hadn't, we would have been on our way to the Klingon homeworld by now."
"I'm glad it worked out."
"So...who are you? Not Picard, evidently, unless he has talents none of us knew about."
"My name is Sestro," he said. "I am an Iyaaran. My home system is beyond the area of space you have explored, but not by much."
"And you gave us a hand because...?"
"My people have been monitoring your space rather closely of late, following the growth of what you call the Alliance. We have concluded that it presents a danger to our civilization and that it would be in our best interest to destabilize it. Hence my involvement here."
"What about the real Picard?"
He shrugged. "Somewhere else, in the real Stargazer. It is a big galaxy, after all."
The captain nodded. "That's true."
The Iyaaran frowned. "I still don't understand how you and your comrade overcame the Daa'Vit. It seemed to me they had you dead to rights."
She smiled. "Apparently, I've got more tricks up my sleeve than you give me credit for."
He looked at her archly. "In other words, you would rather not say. I can accept that-for now. But if your people and mine are to work together, it would be best to have as few secrets between us as possible."
"That sounds like an offer of help," said the captain.
"It is. And from what I have observed, you need all the help you can get."
She couldn't argue with that. "Sorry about your ship."
The Iyaaran shrugged. "A necessary casualty. Don't be concerned. My people have access to others."
That offer of help was sounding better and better. "You should rest. You took quite a beating down there."
"I did," he conceded. "Thank you."
"Thank you," said the captain.
She watched the Iyaaran leave the room, remembering the way he had deceived her. In fact, she had been deceived twice in one day, if she counted the way the Daa'Vit had pulled the wool over her eyes.
And she admired deception.
After all, she wasn't the real Guinan any more than Sestro was the real Picard.
Alone in the conference room, she relaxed her powers of concentration and allowed herself to regain some of her natural features. A long reptilian tail emerged from beneath the hem of her robe. Ah, she thought, that feels good.
She would have given up her humanoid guise entirely except for the fact that her crew didn't stand on ceremony. Any one of them might walk in unannounced.
If they did, she didn't want them seeing her for what she was: a shapechanger, just like the Iyaaran, except from a different part of the quadrant.
A denizen of Daled IV, she possessed the ability to transform herself from her original form into a host of other guises, some of them capable of crushing a handful of Daa'Vit-or merely to transform her vocal cords so as to mimic a Klingon voice. And her people, too, wished to "destabilize" the Alliance, though she wished she had thought of the word before Sestro's people did.
It had a certain elegance.
The real Guinan, whom she had temporarily replaced on the Lakul, was recuperating from a serious injury back on Bering's World. When she returned to her ship and her crew, Werreth-for that was the Daledian's real name-would slip away. The exchange would leave a slew of questions, no doubt, and perhaps in time Werreth would answer them.
After her people decided to establish contact with the rebels.
Considering the antipathy between the real Guinan and the real Picard, it was ironic that the beings impersonating them might end up working together. But then, Werreth mused, revolutions-even incipient ones-made strange bedfellows.
The Sacred Chalice
Rudy Josephs
HISTORIAN'S NOTE: "The Sacred Chalice" takes place in 2371 (ACE) as the human rebellion against the Klingon-Cardassian Alliance is on the rise ("Through the Looking Glass," Star Trek: Deep Space Nine), just after Jean-Luc Picard decides to join the rebellion (Star Trek Mirror Universe: Glass Empires-The Worst of Both Worlds).