by Emily
went to the nicely reinforced infirmary and organized a few rescue personnel to come back for her. It made more sense, really; he didn't have the appropriate training, and she had seemed angry that he'd risked his life to come to the bar; she certainly wouldn't want him to remain in an unsafe area....
Before he could decide, the station was hit again, and more fiercely than any previous attack. Quark grabbed a table and held on as the room teetered wildly all around him. The lights went out completely as more bottles crashed behind the bar, emergency lights powering on a second later, the floor settling back to level in one sweeping, nauseating lurch. All was uncommonly quiet, even the distant blare of the red alert finally silenced.
Quark stood up, wincing at the depressingly sharp scent of spilled liquors, still clutching the table tightly with one hand as he looked around for Ro. Her body had tumbled several meters from its original position, coming to rest against a bolted chair. She'd stopped groaning.
The internal argument was brief but to the point, both positions clear. He had to get out immediately. And if he left her there, and the station took another hit like that, she was going to get hurt a lot worse.
Plus, what are the chances she could ever lave the man who left her behind? And heroically saving the life of the head of security... contrary to popular belief, Ferengi were not cowards; the benefits just needed to outweigh the risks in some value, if not latinum. Latinum, of course, was preferable, but for Ro, he'd be content with her undying gratitude.
Quark hurried to her side and knelt down, numbly
aware that he'd hugely underestimated the seriousness of the situation.
"Lieutenant? Can you hear me?"
Ro's eyes cracked open, then closed again. Her voice was weak but clear. "Quark? Hit my head, on the stairs..."
"Yeah, I figured. Come on, we've got to get out of here." He slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and lifted, pulling her into a sitting position, relieved that she was conscious enough to help.
With Quark supporting her, they managed to stumble through the bar toward the door, barely staying upright as the station trembled yet again. Quark steeled his nerves with pride at his own good deed and the pleasantly firm pressure of her body leaning against his. If they survived, he had no doubt mat this would be the beginning of a lucrative relationship.
They had run through their few ideas in thirty seconds, discarding each as quickly as they were said out loud; they just didn't have the resources or the time to implement any of them. It wasn't a matter of routing power or clever rewiring. The final hit from the strike ship had effectively destroyed the main plasma transfer conduits, from which the warp core operated. That, in turn, had instantly taken the drive off-line, creating a surge that had pushed the impulse fusion reactors into overloading ... which had basically killed absolutely everything. There was simply nothing they could do to make the Defiant have power that it didn't have.
Except for the viewscreen, of course, Nog thought bitterly. No gravity, no light except for a few charged emergency spots—but a working viewscreen with a near perfect picture, because holographic systems on Starfleet vessels operated from an independent power
grid. Fate had apparently decided that it wasn't enough to just kill everybody; that would be too easy. No, fate had also deemed it necessary to keep the Defiant around as an audience for the grand finale, and had given them a primary vantage point from which to see it happen. The explosion would blow mem apart, of course, but they'd get to see their friends and families die first
Alone on the bridge, Ezri and Nog watched silently us the tiny strike ship battered the station. After gently securing Commander last's body, Tenmei had gone below to tell the rest of the crew what was happening... assuming mere was anyone left to tell.
The Defiant continued to coast forward. DS9's shields seemed to be holding, but Nog figured it was only a matter of moments before they went—and once they were gone, the station would go even faster than that
Ezri's strategy had almost worked—taking a beating in order to halve the attack forces wasn't necessarily inspired, but it was a sound enough plan. If the shields had lasted just another minute, it would have worked....
Without a word, Ezri reached out and took his hand, squeezing it with her own. Nog was grateful, and glad she didn't say anything. In the face of what was happening, of the sheer enormity of the imminent apocalypse, words would be useless. The station was now obviously faltering, tilting, the translational controls probably down, the Lower Core's lights all gone.
After everything we've been through, for it to end like this...
He couldn't complete the thought, and as the screen suddenly flared, a wash of light enveloping the station, Nog almost convinced himself that he was seeing the end—until he realized that the brilliant blue light wasn't nearly brilliant enough to be an explosion.
The wormhole had opened, and something was coming out
Kira felt her responsibility like a deadweight as the Jem'Hadar ship continued its attack, as the station beneath them went critical—shields down to eight percent, structural damage throughout the Lower Core, environmental systems on the brink of collapse. She should have rejected the ridiculous upgrade schedule, or demanded additional engineers, or fought harder for a second guard ship.
Should have, and didn't.
"Evacuate the station," she said, knowing the failure to be hers. "Civilian priority for runabouts and escape pods, everyone else to Docking Ring airlocks three, four, and six—make rare Ae freighters are full and prepped for warp, and program the ops transporter for the impulse shuttle at Upper Pylon Three. Seal off everything else."
If I had handled things better, I could have prevented this. The idea, that a trio of strike fighters could successfully disable the Defiant, could actually destroy the Aldebaran and DS9 ... she wouldn't have believed it possible, and now, all that was left was to flee—
—and it's probably too late for us but we have to try, we have to keep trying—
There was another solid blow to the station. A sec-
ond later, Lieutenant Bowers said the inevitable, horrible words Kira had dreaded hearing, the sound of them worse than she could have imagined.
"Colonel, we've tost shields."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak as he continued.
"We can't expect more than a few minutes before a full breach in—sir! The wormhole, it's opening again!"
Kira's heart skipped a beat, sudden thoughts of the Prophets filling her with a manic hope. "On screen!"
The view was angled badly and blurred, a testimony to the station's dying power, but it was clear enough. They saw a small ship bursting out of the wormhole, riding the funnel of swirling light into the Alpha Quadrant. It streaked past the helpless Defiant toward the station, as small as one of the attack fighters—
Damn it, no!
It was another Jem'Hadar strike ship, and though it appeared to be damaged, much of its starboard hull black and crushed, it was obviously prepared to fight How many more Dominion ships were waiting on the other side, they'd never know; with a second ship firing on them, there wouldn't be enough time for any kind of evacuation.
If even a quarter survive, we'll be lucky. Most—if not all—of the departing ships and escape pods would be caught in the explosion.
The station rocked, and Kira called out for Shar to .send the new information to Starfleet on the long range, the thought mat it was her final report a dagger to her heart. She prayed for time, furious with herself for not starting an evacuation earlier. It didn't occur her that
there hadn't been an "earlier"; she felt too guilty and desperate to allow herself such consolation.
"Anything on sensors?' Kira asked. Perhaps the fourth ship to exit the wormhole was too damaged to fire.
"Negative, external banks are all down," Shar said. '1 can attempt to transfer power from one of the auxiliary generators."
"No," she said, and raised her voice, aware that the ne
west strike ship would be within range in seconds. The battle was lost; it was time to let go, and hope there might still be a chance for some to survive.
"We have to evacuate sow. Everyone stand down and get to die transporter—"
Lieutenant Bowers interrupted, pointing at the screen, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Colonel, the second ship!"
Kira turned, sick with sorrow; she could at least race the final moment-—and watched, stunned, as the newest arrival fired upon their attacker.
"It's fighting them," Nog breathed.
He let go of her hand, pulling himself closer to the viewscreen, looking as shocked as Ezri felt. She barely dared to hope that the damaged ship could stop the attack; it was obviously in bad shape, only one of its weapons firing, but maybe it had a backup weapon, an override code for the attacker's ship, tractor beam capabilities. ..
... or some kind of warhead.
Ezri suddenly felt like her mind was being flushed with heat, the realization and the possibilities coming so fast that she could barely think. It was impossible,
the strike ships were too close to the station and it had never been done—
—but if they move away... and if the command codes will work...
"Nog," she said, the hope taking a definite shape even as she spoke. "I have an idea."
The damaged striker only appeared to have one of its polaron phasers functioning, but it was as fast and agile as the attacker, managing to score several hits to the aggressor's port weapons array. The attacker stopped firing on the station, turning to dart after the damaged ship as it dropped into an evasive maneuver.
No one spoke, staring in mute disbelief as the two strike fighters engaged. They tagged each other around and beneath the station, firing and dodging. Kira refused to think about how close they were to an irreparable breach, or why the damaged Jem'Hadar ship would attack one of its own. What mattered was what was being played out in front of mem.
Their protector was good, the pilot well-trained and bold, but they couldn't overcome their handicap; after a few hits from the attacking ship, its daring moves became stilted. It limped around the Lower Core, still firing—but another hit from the enemy stilled even that, knocking out its last phaser array.
The damaged fighter didn't retreat Kira stared at the screen, unable to believe what she was seeing as it placed itself hi harm's way, actually moving to block the attacker from firing on the station.
The attack ship didn't hesitate, blasting pitilessly at i he interloper. Their protector suddenly barreled straight into the fire, apparently planning for a suicide
collision—and streaked up and over the aggressor at the last second in an unexpected burst of energy, speeding away, heading back toward the wormhole.
Without another shot to the dying station, the point ship wheeled around and took off after it, firing intermittently. It seemed determined to finish the interloper off before doing anything else—although while the actions were clear, the motivations were anything but Kira couldn't begin to guess at either pilot's reasoning, attack or defense.
Don't care, Prophets be praised, we 're still alive—
The two ships raced toward the wormhole, the mostly undamaged attacker quickly gaining, scoring one hit, then another. They circled around, spinning back and racing forward again, gradually moving closer to the wormhole as the damaged ship worked to save itself, as the attacker tried to take it out Their protector wasn't going to make it, it had taken too much damage—and as soon as it was gone, the point ship would be back.
Silently, Kira began to pray.
There was no way to gain access from the bridge. Nog got through to Ensign Tenmei on his combadge, filling her in as he and Ezri dropped into the turbo shaft that would take mem down to deck two—one step closer to warhead control. It was a room Nog had been in only once, when Chief O'Brien had given him his first full tour of the original Defiant. The memory was sharp in his mind as he and Ezri hurriedly swam through the dark, the air already growing cold in the lifeless ship.
"Neat, huh?" O'Brien said, looking around at the
tightly packed, tiny room with something like love. "Part of the autodestruct system... The whole thing can be launched from here in a worst-case combat scenario, though I doubt it ever will be. Come on, let's head back I want to show you the pulse phaser system...."
Not much of a memory, and although he'd studied the schematics more man once since that long-ago day, Nog still only had the most basic understanding of how the deployable warhead operated. He decided that he would gladly pay his future inheritance as the only son of the Grand Nagus if the chief was on his way to the control room instead of him.
The warhead module—-that foremost section of the Defiant's hull that also housed the navigational deflector—was equipped with its own impulse engines for propulsion as well as an independent power supply, plus a magazine of six photon torpedo warheads. As the chief had told him, it was meant to be used only in the most dire circumstances, which was probably why it hadn't occurred to Nog at all—their current circumstances were probably as dire as any ever got, but he'd just never expected to be in them.
He dredged up what he remembered, making mental notes based on what needed to happen. This close to the station, they would only arm one of the torpedoes, he'd have to punch in a safe-distance shutoff and a single signature target into the guidance system. It was dangerous, but it could work....
... assuming I don't mess it up, like I messed up the repair schedule— Nog swallowed the thought, concentrating on remembering the codes they would need, anxious and sweating in spite of the cold.
They reached deck two, Ezri leading the way as they kicked off bottom and swam fore, the combined sound of their breathing seeming incredibly loud in the featureless dark.
"Don't worry, we're almost there," Ezri said, and the firm, calm tone of her voice made Nog feel infinitely better. Not the sweet, laughing voice of Ezri Dax, but the determined, reassuring pitch of a leader. He was too relieved to feel any surprise; a commanding officer was present and all he had to do was listen and carry out her
orders.
They hurried on, Nog breathing more evenly, feeling his own spark of determination. He was still scared, and they were still probably going to die, anyway—but at feast they wouldn't be sitting around waiting for it.
The damaged Jem'Hadar ship managed to draw the chase out longer than Kira would have thought possible, the pilot maneuvering well, the tiny ship like some wild animal running for its life. It had lured the aggressor away from its attack, at least—but as they looped ever closer to the wormhole, another hit spun the devastated ship around, pieces of its tattered armor bursting outward into space. It sprinted forward, back toward the station—but the enemy ship was on top of it, mercilessly blasting away, and Kira could see mat it was over.
The final blow came a split second later, and the ship that had tried to protect DS9 shattered, a small but sparkling fan of wreckage and gases exploding from where it had been.
Kira's gut knotted as the people around her gasped
and cursed and softly cried out in muted despair, as the attack ship started back to finish off the station.
What did I expect, same kind of miracle, some beam of celestial light to shoot out of the Temple and save us all?
Maybe she had, maybe—
—what is mat?
From offscreen, a tiny blur of motion, a glowing streak chasing after the moving strike ship. The ship apparently saw it coming at the same time she did. It picked up speed, diving down and away—and that tiny smear of light followed it, catching up—
—torpedo—
—and Kira understood what was happening just as it hit the diving Jem'Hadar ship, as the light of a small sun blossomed and expanded from the tiny craft, the light becoming everything.
"Got it, we got it!" Nog shouted, and Ezri pounded the control panel with a triumphant fist, the fire of victory surging through her heart, filling her up.
Yes!
"Hang on!" Kira shouted, and suddenly ops twisted and shook around mem, people crashing into consoles and one another as the unshielded station suffered the force of the warhead explosion. Kira grabbed a railing, forgetting to breathe, seeing only the bright destruction on the screen in front of them.
Please let it be over—
—and in a few seconds, the short and violent ride ceased, the station coming to rest For a moment, nobody moved or spoke. Kira imagined she could feel
DS9's wounds, could feel the loss of power and die compromise of integrity all around her as the people in ops slowly crawled to their feet, returning to their stations.
With a silent prayer of thanks, to the Prophets and last's tactical brilliance, Kira set her mind to what came next The Aldebaran had been destroyed, the De-fiantvod the station had been brutalized; the treaty between the Dominion and the Federation was broken. An act of war.
life have to regroup. Jast needs to confer with Starfleet, we have to oversee the repairs, we'll need Bajor to send in more techs, and we'll have to talk about establishing a defensive line here....
"Bowers, launch the Rio Grande and the Sungari. I want the Defiant crew beamed off before they freeze to death. And arrange for the ship to be brought back for repairs. Shar, status report" Kira suddenly welcomed the incredible amount of work ahead as the reprieve that it was; with so much to do, she wouldn't have to analyze anything for a while, or consider how much of the fault was hers. She already knew the answer, anyway.
Shar read off damage reports as the ops crew struggled to manage their posts, sending people out to assess damage and carry messages to those who had been cot off. The initial communications were daunting; the hull had been breached in several places in bom the Lower and Mid Cores, most of the damage done by the aggressive point striker. Two of the fusion reactors had been impaired to the point of shut-down, reducing the station's power by a third... and at least thirty-four people were dead. Dozens more were unaccounted for.
Even as Shar tapped and spoke, trying to organize the flow of information, he found he couldn't stop thinking about the sensor readings mat had flashed across his screen in the final seconds of the battle. They probably meant nothing, but still...