by John Peel
CHAPTER 23
ON THE BRIDGE of the heavy cruiser Charak, Gul Gavron watched the. main viewscreen intently. They were finally closing on the Darane system, and should soon be close enough to pick out their target. "All vessels to alert," he ordered. "Begin powering weapons. Raise shields and prepare for contact."
His staff scurried to obey his orders. On his tactical display, he could see the wedge-shaped display that showed all of the other ships under his command. His ultimate hour of glory was about to arrive. He was known for his tremendous victory at Mintos Alpha, but that had been almost twenty years ago. A soldier's reputation was only as good as his latest victory, and he hadn't fought in a campaign in over a decade. His enemies had conspired to keep him out of the lines of action, afraid that he'd become too popular.
And now they needed him. Al of Cardassia needed him. This alien Hive had targeted their world for destruction, and only he and his fleet stood between them.
Perfect.
This would be his ultimate hour of glory, and his first step toward becoming Gul-Tar. Keve was getting senile; everyone knew that. With a major victory such as this, Gavron would be able to challenge Keve's standing and assume the mantle. What would make such a triumph even better would be to see the expression on the face of Dukat. It was common knowledge that Dukat believed himself the favorite of Keve, and destined to become the next Gul-Tar. Well, that was about to change.
"Confirm readiness," he barked.
"All systems operating at peak efficiency," his aide, Tarvok, reported. "Weapons are ready, and shields are holding at maximum." He consulted the screen at his elbow. "All ships report the same status."
"Excellent." Gavron's attention went back to the screen. "How long until visual?"
"Any moment now," Tarvok said. "We're closing on Darane Four. Sensors report two large objects almost dead ahead."
There! There was a flash of light toward the upper edge of the screen, and Gavron's eyes focused on it. Seconds later, he could see a vague shape, and a second beyond it. Then the Hive began to take a definite form on the screen.
"Send a warning," he ordered his communications officer. "Tell the aliens that they have ten time units to surrender, or we shall attack." He knew that this offer would naturally be rejected, but it was a formality he had to follow. A surge of excitement infused his blood. There was no greater joy than that of facing an impending battle.
He stared about his bridge, proud of every officer seated at his post. This was the cream of the elite, the best of all the warriors in the three fleets. He had handpicked every one. Each of them would willingly die for either Cardassia or Gavron. Each would fight like a demon to avoid such a death. And there were thousands more like them on the other ships of his armada. One hundred and twenty warships in all, each of them a lethal hunter.
These aliens would never stand a chance.
The Hives were now quite distinct. According to his instruments, they were in motion, and already several planetary distances apart. The Cardassian fleet was heading toward the closest, the one that had set its sights on absorbing Cardassia. That aim would soon be dashed.
"Keep watching for their ships," Gavron growled at Tarvok. "They're bound to launch soon if they mean to intercept us."
"Acknowledged."
Gavron hunched forward, trying to suppress his excitement. It would not do to be too eager for the carnage that was about to occur. He simply hoped that this would not be too easy a victory …
"The aliens have rejected the offer of surrender," the communications officer reported.
"Good," Gavron replied. "That means they wish to fight. And we shall show them what it means to fight Cardassians!"
There was a shout of agreement from everyone on the bridge to that sentiment. Gavron smiled proudly. Soldiers, every one of them, and as eager for the battle as he was himself.
"The Hive is launching ships," Tarvok reported. "Six hatches have opened. Targets are emerging."
"Excellent." Gavron's eyes burned. "Prepare to engage. The battle is joined!"
"Do you really think this will work, Benjamin?" asked Dax, as she helped him prep the runabout for launching. "The entities in the wormhole don't always communicate, you know."
Sisko took the Orb case from Yarka and gently placed it in restraints behind the pilot's seat. "They don't usually refuse when an Orb is involved, remember? Besides, I have a strong suspicion that the entities want this to happen."
"A religious experience?" asked Dax with a slight smile.
"A hunch," Sisko answered, with a wider one. "This just feels to me to be the right thing to do. If the entities are so concerned with the Bajorans, for whatever their obscure reasons, then they will not allow the Hive to destroy this world."
"For what it's worth," Dax said, laying a friendly hand on his arm, "I think you're' doing the right thing."
Yarka nodded. "It is the will of the Prophets," he agreed. "For this Tork to convert, he needs a sign, and the Prophets will grant him that sign." He smiled. "Emissary, you will be the instrument of our salvation yet again."
"I hope," Sisko added. "Right, that's about it. All I need now is Tork. Where is he?"
"Saying goodbye to Sahna," Dax replied. "If this doesn't work, the two of them may never meet again."
"Well, I hate to break up a lovers' parting," Sisko told her, "but we'd better be on our way. We don't have very much time. Would you mind asking him to get in here?"
Dax nodded. "Good luck, Benjamin."
He grinned widely. "Thanks, old man. I'll see you soon." He sat down at the controls, and began powering up the systems. He heard Dax leave, and realized that Yarka was still there. "Was there something else?"
Yarka shook his head. "I merely wished to thank you in advance for your efforts. May the Prophets go with you and keep you safe—and may they inspire you both." Then he bowed and left the ship.
A moment later, Tork stumbled inside the vessel. "I am sorry if I delayed you, Captain," he said.
"I understand." Sisko glanced around. "And I'm sorry to have had to rush you. But the Hives are on the move, and we have very little time left to us now. Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to take the runabout back to the wormhole at maximum thrust. It may get a little rough on you, so be prepared."
"Of course, Captain." Tork flopped onto his leaning board. "I am ready."
"Good." Sisko turned back to the controls. 'Then here we go."
The runabout lifted from the roof of the Council building, and rose slowly into the air. As soon as they were a safe distance up, Sisko kicked in the thrusters, and the vessel shot upward into the billowing storm clouds. Lightning crackled about the craft as if in omen for what was to come. The shields protected them from strikes, of course, and moments later they were above the clouds and on their way.
Sahna watched the runabout vanish into the clouds with a heavy shell. She had tried to prepare herself for the thought that she might never again see her beloved Tork, but she knew that no amount of preparation was sufficient. Her hearts burned inside her. It was easier to wait for death than to contemplate never seeing Tork again.
"They'll be fine," Dax said, encouragingly. She seemed to sense what Sahna felt.
"I know," lied Sahna. "But it is … difficult for me." She took a deep breath and tried to force her attention away from thoughts of Tork. "Is there anything that we can do to keep busy?" she asked. "It will make the passage of time somewhat simpler if we can."
"Of course there is," Dax answered. "In fact, I've got something I wanted to show you. Come with me back to the Council chambers."
Intrigued, Sahna followed her new friend. When they were there, Dax called up one of the computer programs she had been working on. "This is the data that we downloaded from Tork's comp," she explained. "The logic is very different from the Federation computer codes, but since it is logic, our computers have been able to crack some of it."
"And?" asked Sahna, feeling excitement mount within her. "Does i
t have any significance?"
"Yes," Dax replied. "Given your assertion that it contained astronomical data, I had the computer run a match with local star charts." On the screen, Sahna saw a display that was obviously that of the Bajoran area of space. "It matches almost perfectly. The astronomers of the First Hive must have been geniuses, because they scanned this data from your home system. There's only a bare indication of planets, because they're very difficult to detect over such immense distances. But if I read the data correctly, this information is partly a map to be followed, aiming it at the Darane system."
Frowning, Sahna objected, "But that is not information. The Hive arrived there anyway. Of what use is it to know they aimed us to arrive where we did in fact arrive?"
"Well, at least it shows that their original planning was sound," Dax replied. "I think you were correct in revering these members of the First Hive. Their achievements were astonishing. But it's not the aim that intrigues me. It's this." She gestured at the screen. "The target world in this data isn't given, of course. There was no way that the First Hive astronomers could have picked out an individual world from the distance of the Magellanic Clouds. But there is a blueprint for a target world. The plan was to match it when the Hive drew close enough to Darane to start scanning for likely worlds."
"But we know what was sought out," Sahna protested. "Darane Four."
"No," Dax informed her. "That is the world that was selected, true. But it isn't the world that this data calls for."
"What do you mean?" Sahna was completely puzzled now.
"The First Hive data in this record indicates that the target world was not to be Darane Four at all. The criteria listed here call for an uninhabited world—a world without any life on it whatsoever."
Sahna stared at the screen and then at Dax in utter confusion. "I do not understand. What does this mean?"
"There's more," Dax told her. "Beyond that data, there are a long string of command codes that make very little sense to me at all. Perhaps together we can discover what they mean."
Newly appointed Science Master Tovin stared around the command center in awe. He had worked here for years as Makarn's assistant. He knew its every function, and what must be done at all times. But this was his first time in here as Hivemaster, since Makarn was now on the second Hive. Even now, it was moving farther away from the first Hive.
The room was amazingly quiet, considering the work that was being done here. At their panels, the Hive's pilots were moving the immense vessel slowly through the Darane system, as they began to orient on the Bajoran system in preparation for their journey. The computers hummed quietly to themselves, processing the intricate calculations that such delicate maneuvers required. There were almost a hundred workers here, all busily absorbed in their tasks.
And each and every one of them was under his command. Tovin felt a surge of deep satisfaction as he surveyed his subjects. It was a great responsibility he had been handed, and he was determined that nothing at all should go wrong.
"Master," called one of the technicians. "There is a problem."
Mentally cursing his misfortune, Tovin moved to the female's side. "What is it?" he asked, crossly. His first moments as Science Master, and already a problem! It did not auger well for the future.
"The data from the astronomy section is … confused," she replied, gesturing to her computer screens. "It is as if they are transmitting gibberish. We cannot set a course with such figures."
Tovin sighed. What was going on up there? "I will settle it," he informed the technician. "Ignore the data for the moment, and continue with the other calculations." He strode back down the length of the room to his raised observer's seat. Resting against it, he keyed on the communications unit. "Astronomy," he ordered the computer. A moment later, Bree's elderly face filled the small screen.
"Bree," he snapped, "there seems to be a problem with your data."
"There is no problem," she contradicted him. "You are receiving what we are transmitting."
Tovin scowled. "You are transmitting nonsense?" he asked, astounded.
"Yes. It seemed to be appropriate." Bree's snout twitched in amusement. "I hope it is causing you headaches."
This made no sense at all. "It is not funny," Torvin snapped. "You are delaying the progress of the Hive."
"Good," Bree replied. "That is our intention."
It took a few seconds for the meaning of this to sink into Torvin's consciousness. Then he stared at the screen, appalled. "You are doing this deliberately?" he gasped. "You are betraying the Great Design?"
Bree's face set in a hard glare. "The Great Design has betrayed us," she said. "We know that the world that was absorbed had living beings on it. And we know that there are more intelligent beings on the world that you Hivemasters have targeted next. We will not allow this."
"You will not allow?" Torvin repeated, stunned and furious. "You have no right to—"
"We have every right!" exclaimed Bree. "You have made us all murderers! The blood of an innocent race is on our hands. And it will not happen again. The entire astronomy section is with me in this, and we are spreading word of what has happened. We of the Hive will not tolerate what you wish us to become." She cut the communications, and the screen went blank.
Torvin shook as he stared aghast at the screen. His first day on the job, and this had to happen! Moaning, he clutched his head between his hands. What was he to do? Nothing could have prepared him for such a catastrophe. Without their data, the Hive would not be able to continue. And he would have to answer for it.
His fingers hovered over the screen's controls for several moments while he struggled within. He did not want to have to report failure to Grand Master Dron—but he dared not delay telling him, either. Finally, he stabbed down, and screwed up all of his courage. "Get me Grand Master Dron," he ordered the computer.
A moment later, the screen lit up, and Dron scowled out at him. "Torvin, this had better be very important," he said. "I have many concerns at this time."
"It is, Grand Master," he gushed. "I am sorry to disturb you, but there is a serious problem with the astronomy department. They are transmitting nothing but gibberish to us, and deliberately so."
"What do you mean?" demanded Dron.
"They have decided that they do not approve of the Great Design, and are attempting to sabotage it. Without their data, we cannot move the Hive. They are disrupting everything!"
"It is not as bad as that," Dron said sternly. "Security will handle their attempt at revolt. We may have to do without their aid for a while, that is all."
"But the data we need to move the Hive?" pleaded Torvin. "How can we proceed without it?"
"You do not have to," Dron said, sighing. "If you check your computer records, you will find that Makarn entered most of the necessary figures before he joined the new Hive. Simply call it up, and follow that. It may be slightly off, but it will suffice for the journey to Bajor. Meanwhile, I will put a stop to this foolish revolt. Return to your work, and get us back on progress."
"Of course, Grand Master!" Torvin snapped off the screen and scuttled back to the technician. "Ignore all input from the astronomy sector," he ordered in a confident voice. He did not wish his underlings to know how frazzled he had been. "The required data for moving the Hive has been stored in the computer files. Call it up, and use that instead." There, that should settle that! Torvin was worried that he had left Dron with a bad impression, but there was no helping that. All he could do now was to overcome the bad start by insuring that everything else ran smoothly.
The objective would be reached. Bajor would be absorbed.
CHAPTER 24
THE CARDASSIAN FLEET closed the gap between them and the second Hive. Gavron watched the progress, alternating between his tactical display and the view on the main screen. He could feel his heart beating strongly, and the blood pumping through his veins. Battle would soon be joined.
"Closing," reported Tarvok. "Estimating three units
to first impact. Hammer section preparing to strike."
"Order them to fire when targets present themselves," Gavron instructed. "The alien ships are in their double formation as before?"
"Affirmative," Tarvok answered. "Commanders report they are ready to engage. Two units."
It all came down to this in the end. The survival of the fittest. And the Cardassians had always been the fittest in any battle. They would win, as they always did. "Now," breathed Gavron, hunched forward eagerly, waiting to see the first strike.
The leader of Hammer formation whipped toward the first two ships of the Hive fleet. Gavron knew what was coming, but he still tensed, waiting to see it. Fire streaked from the tips of the warship, streaking toward one of the alien ships. There it impacted on the target's shields, causing a brief surge in light.
"Their screens are holding," Tarvok announced.
The attacker started to come around to fire again, and moved to avoid being trapped between the two ships and decimated, as the Bajoran vessels had been in the earlier battle. But the two Hive ships were surprisingly agile. They spun, accelerated, and started to close in on the Cardassian ship.
A second Cardassian vessel cut across their bow, opening fire. This, too, splashed harmlessly off their shields.
And then the battle was joined, and there was too much confusion to be able to concentrate on the larger picture. Gavron allowed the reports to wash over him as he focused on one small section after another. It was important to see how their tactics worked. In the earlier battle that the Karitan had witnessed, the Hive ships had worked in pairs, using monofilament netting as their weapon. The Cardassian captains all had orders not to be trapped by the alien ships in that fashion.
Despite the order, some craft were too slow in response to evade being trapped. Gavron saw one of his ships dodge one attack, only to run into a second as they accelerated away. The Cardassian ship fragmented into a cloud of components.