Proud Helios

by Melissa Scott

  "Commander, do you think this is true?"

  Sisko looked at him. "I don't know," he said, after a moment. "At least, not yet. What I want you to do, Doctor, is to make me a complete record of the conversation—everything he said, everything you said, to the best of your memory. Do it now, while it's still fresh."

  "Yes, sir," Bashir said, and Sisko could see the dull blush creep into his face again. "Um, sir, when you say everything…"

  "I mean everything," Sisko said. He waited a beat, and then, seeing the look on the young doctor's face, added, "Everything that's of relevance to this story of his."

  Bashir let out a heartfelt sigh. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

  "Now, Bashir."

  "Very good, sir," Bashir answered. Only then did a sudden look of dismay flicker across his face, and Sisko wondered what plans he'd inadvertently interrupted. But the look vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Sisko acknowledged with grudging approval that at least the doctor seemed to have his priorities in order. Bashir pushed himself up from the guest's chair, long body unfolding to its full length, and let himself out of the office.

  The door closed behind him, but Sisko didn't move, stared instead at the blank screen embedded in his desktop. There were tactical programs in the computer, programs that purported to be able to analyze intelligence data, but they needed facts to work with, not the rumor and innuendo that was all he actually had. If Garak's story was true, then they had little to worry about from the Cardassians—a mixed blessing, he added silently, since it meant that they should be worrying about Helios instead. And Helios was, to all reports, a formidable enemy.

  All of which raised an interesting question, one that was diplomatically very tricky indeed. As far as Helios was concerned, Cardassian and Federation interests ran in tandem. Did the Federation want to offer formal, or informal, assistance in Gul Dukat's hunt? Fortunately, the decision wasn't his to make: it would be very hard to choose between working with the Cardassians and insuring the safety of the station. But this was a question that needed to be put before Starfleet as soon as possible. He ran his hand over a toggle menu, transforming the blank work screen to a subspace radio control board, and then began doggedly to enter the various codes that opened a secure line to Starfleet headquarters.

  As he had more than half expected, neither of the admirals whom he attempted to contact were immediately available, and he resigned himself to several hours' wait in his office before one of them responded to the short version of Bashir's story that he had left with their aides. To his surprise, however, he had barely ordered a cup of coffee from one of the recently repaired replicators and was about to taste the suspiciously oily-looking liquid when the communications console signaled again. He set the cup aside with some relief, and touched the toggle that accepted the coded call and routed it into his larger desk-mounted screen. The screen went blue and silver, numbers and symbols flashing across its face as the code routines went into action, and then the screen split into two discrete images. The first was familiar, a thin, well-weathered man, his long face carved into deep lines, but the second, a fleshy, grey-blonde woman in civilian clothes, was at first glance unknown. Then the background behind her really registered, a night cityscape, all gold bars of light that were the windows of skyscrapers and the red of air-traffic steering lights and the occasional multicolored retro-neon display board that flashed its messages into the darkness, and he realized who she had to be. Vice-Admiral Estellan Angerich, retired from active service to head Six Branch of Starfleet Intelligence, was a shadowy but formidable presence in the Ansterra Sector. For her to sit in on this conference meant that someone, somewhere, was taking this threat very seriously indeed. Sisko felt a cold tingle of fear at the pit of his stomach, and was not reassured by her casual, social smile.

  It was the other admiral, Joachim Ledesma, Sisko's ultimate commander, who spoke first, however. "Ben. I'm glad to have heard from you."

  Sisko answered the implied reproach. "I've had nothing to report until now, sir. And I'm not sure myself how to interpret this—evidence."

  He thought he saw the shadow of a grin cross Angerich's full lips, but she said nothing. Ledesma said, "And, frankly, neither are we. But Admiral Angerich will go into that in more detail later."

  The blonde woman bowed her head.

  "But if it is accurate," Ledesma went on, "Starfleet does have a policy."

  Wonderful, Sisko thought. He waited.

  "Frankly," Ledesma said, "we've been concerned about this pirate for some time now. Although it's been careful to avoid attacking Federation shipping, or crossing into Federation space—"

  "Until now," Sisko said, unable to stop himself.

  Ledesma paused, and nodded, acknowledging the point. "Until now. Which is a very mixed blessing, Ben. On the one hand, a good ship and its crew have been lost, which I can't, and don't, consider to be anything less than the disaster it is. But on the other…"

  He paused again, and Angerich said, "It does give Starfleet a leverage we haven't had before." Her voice was deeply musical, with a faint, lilting accent that Sisko could not place. She smiled then, quick and wry. "Which is not to discount the destruction of Gift of Flight, but it's nice to have the chance possibly to do something about it."

  Ledesma nodded. "Precisely. And that's where your information comes in, Ben."

  "You have my preliminary report," Sisko said. "And Dr. Bashir is making out a full and detailed report, which I will pass to you as soon as it's completed."

  "Dr. Julian Bashir," Angerich said. "He was the Cardassian agent's contact?"

  "Yes," Sisko answered, and was suddenly certain, though her gaze did not shift by even a millimeter, that she had Bashir's file—and probably his own as well—open on a screen somewhere in front of her.

  "Why did Garak choose Bashir?" Ledesma asked suddenly. "Surely he could have found someone more experienced—more politically aware, at least. That would tend to make me think this is a hoax, something to distract us from the military movements."

  Sisko hesitated, wondering precisely how to answer, and saw another ghostly smile flicker across Angerich's face. "Garak has a peculiar sense of humor," he said at last, and Angerich nodded slightly.

  "Contacting Bashir is consistent with Garak's usual habits," she said.

  Ledesma nodded again, though he looked less than convinced. "In any case, we—Starfleet, that is—have no choice but to proceed for now as though the information is genuine. We want this pirate, this Helios, very badly, Ben. It's caused the deaths of too many good people, too many allies and too many ships, not to mention the value of the cargoes lost. We want it stopped, and this is our first best chance to do so. And if that means cooperating with the Cardassians, so be it."

  "With—" Sisko broke off, aware of the logic of the admiral's words, but equally aware of their impracticality. "Sir, if this information is correct, Gul Dukat is in command of the pursuit squadron."

  He was vaguely aware of Angerich looking at him with something like approval, but his attention was focused on Ledesma, who colored faintly. "I'm aware of that, Ben. And I'm aware of Gul Dukat's history and reputation. But he's not the man who destroyed Gift of Flight, either."

  Sisko made a face. "I understand that, sir. And I can certainly see the advantages to cooperating with the Cardassians to take Helios. I'm just not sure the Cardassians will follow through."

  "They've suffered more from Helios than we have," Ledesma said. "And they aren't stupid. They're as aware of their military deficiencies as we are, and we think—Intelligence's best guess—is that they would jump at the chance to get Starfleet to do their dirty work for them."

  Sisko glanced in spite of himself at Angerich, who nodded once.

  "And that's where the catch lies," Ledesma said. "I told you earlier, Ben, Starfleet wants Helios and her mysterious captain very badly. My orders are to do whatever I and mine can to capture Helios, prevent any more destruction—and at the same time, if at all possible,
to return Helios and her people to the Federation for trial."

  Sisko took a deep breath, fighting back anger as the implications of Ledesma's words tumbled through his mind. Starfleet wanted, in essence, exactly what the Cardassians wanted: help capturing the pirate, and then the opportunity to punish captain and crew without interference from the other side. The trouble was, there were more Cardassians in this area of space to enforce their desires. "With all due respect, sir," he began, with careful irony, "I don't see how that can be achieved without a substantial fleet to insist on it."

  "I'm aware of that," Ledesma said. "Don't think I don't appreciate your position, Ben. But my orders are, if at all possible, to see that Helios and her people are tried in the Federation." Sisko drew breath to protest, and Ledesma held up his hand. "You'll be receiving my orders in the morning anyway, Ben, in the official communications packet, but I'll give you the gist of it now. If the opportunity arises, you're to use your discretion to bring Helios into our space for trial. Always with the understanding that DS9 and its safety is your first priority."

  "I understand, sir," Sisko said. And he did understand, all too well. Ledesma had given him as much leeway as he could have hoped for, stressing discretion and the station's safety, but Starfleet wanted Helios very badly indeed. And he, Sisko, was expected to make every effort to get it for them. "You may have unlikely allies," Angerich said, unexpectedly. "Given the chance, I expect Helios's people would rather be tried in the Federation."

  That was probably true—the Cardassian piracy laws were as draconian as the rest of their system—but Sisko couldn't see that it was likely to help much.

  Ledesma said, "In any case, Ben, I wanted to pass this on to you at once, so that you'd have as much time as possible to make your preparations."

  "I appreciate that, sir," Sisko said, and meant it. If there was any chance at all that DS9 would have to face Helios, they would all need all the time they could muster. He stared into space for an instant, no longer seeing the faces in the communications screens. DS9's weapons systems were erratic; the shields had long been O'Brien's top priority, as there had seemed to be less reason to rush getting the phasers back up to their full capacity.

  "As long as the situation is clear," Ledesma said. His eyes flickered for the first time, shifting toward a secondary screen that carried Angerich's image. "I do want to see your doctor's report as soon as you have it for me, but I think that's all for now, Ben. Unless Admiral Angerich has something more?"

  "Just a few follow-up questions," the heavyset woman said. "Nothing terribly important."

  Ledesma nodded. "Then I'll leave you to her, Ben. Keep me informed."

  "I'll do that," Sisko answered, and Ledesma smiled. "Ledesma out."

  The image in the screen vanished, and a fraction of a second later Angerich's image expanded to fill the full screen. Her image remained the same size, centered against the brilliant cityscape, its details so clear that for an instant Sisko imagined he could make out a route sign on the nose of an elevated tram as it moved across the glittering buildings.

  "Commander Sisko," Angerich said, thoughtfully, and Sisko marshaled his straying thoughts.

  "Admiral."

  "A lot of my questions will have to wait until I get Dr. Bashir's report of this meeting," she began, "but for now, I'd like to get your impressions of all of this."

  "Impressions?" Sisko frowned. An invitation like that could be either the making or the ruin of a commander, and the outcome depended less on the commander's answer than on the questioner's interpretation of the answer.

  "Off the record, if you'd prefer," Angerich said, with a quick, wry smile that suggested she'd followed his thoughts.

  Sisko shook his head. "No, Admiral, thank you, I'll stick my neck out in public if I have to. But I'd like to be sure what you're asking me to do."

  "You're the commander on the spot," Angerich answered. "I'd like to get your thoughts—and your feelings, your hunches, I don't hold that intuition is an exclusively female talent—about what's going on. The things you wouldn't put in a report."

  Sisko regarded her image warily. She looked, if anything, tired and overworked, the heavy face and body at odds with her reputation as one of Starfleet's more acute intelligence controllers—but if she was half as good as everyone said, Sisko reminded himself, she would be very good at that particular act. After all, how better to catch a Starfleet commander?

  "You mentioned that your science officer spotted something, maybe just a sensor shadow, in your asteroid belt," Angerich prodded, still gently. "You admit the odds are against, but you still warned Bajor to take precautions with its shipping."

  She let the obvious question hang unspoken, and Sisko sighed again. "You saw the report, Admiral. And the percentages the computer gave. I simply felt we couldn't afford to take any chances with so new a Federation ally. The Bajorans are better placed to decide what risks they feel like running than I am."

  "And it keeps them off your back?" Angerich said. It was only just a question.

  Sisko hesitated, then nodded. "It should be their decision, not mine—I don't have or seek that authority."

  Angerich grinned, more broadly this time. "So, Commander, do you think it's Helios out there?"

  Sisko blinked, startled by the direct question. "I think it could be, yes. And I think it's more than a ten-percent chance—more than that, though, I don't think we can afford not to assume it's Helios." He paused again, gauging his chances, and said, "Do you think it's Helios, Admiral?" Angerich's smile vanished, and she stared at him for a moment—almost, Sisko thought, as though she's really seeing me for the first time. "Well," she said, after a moment, "it's a fair question. Off the record, Sisko—this is my opinion, not Starfleet Intelligence's, I don't have enough hard fact to justify it, yet—off the record, yes, I think Garak's story is true. It feels right, it fits with other whispers and hints I've been getting. And if it's true, I think DS9, and you, should be very worried indeed."

  Sisko nodded again, slowly. "Thank you, Admiral. I'll bear that in mind."

  "Do that—and be sure you take it at its proper value." Angerich looked down at something on her desk, and looked up again, sighing. "I've another urgent call, Commander. Contact me if you have any further information."

  "Very good, Admiral," Sisko said, and the screen went blank again. He stared at it for a long moment—for Angerich, of all people, to agree with his suspicions was at once encouraging and coldly frightening—and then touched keys to switch computer modes. "Computer. I want a full status report on our weapons systems, defensive and offensive capabilities, including any modifications or notes Mr. O'Brien has made on the subject."

  "Confirmed," the computer answered, and a moment later Sisko's working screen filled with symbols. He sighed at the sheer volume of information—there were several dozen different files, most of which held subfiles and cross-referenced directories, and it would take hours just to begin to review the system—but settled himself to work. If it was Helios out there, DS9 would need every advantage he could find.

  * * *

  Miles O'Brien blinked in the harsh light of the reactor chamber, and felt another bead of sweat run down his face, tickling gently. He reached instinctively to wipe it off, and knocked his gloved hand against the faceplate of the antiradiation suit. He sighed—there were some reflexes you could never get rid of, no matter how many hours you spent in space suits or radiation gear—and blinked again, more rapidly, clearing the sweat from his eyes. It was always hot in the suits, however one adjusted the individual controls: maybe it was the radiation, or maybe just the thought of the radiation, that filled the chamber, produced by the sabotaged fusion reactor that ran riot behind the sealed doors and layers of poured lead. A few lights still blinked forlornly on the display panels—this had been the primary control room for this pair of reactors—but most of the screens were blank and dead. O'Brien glanced over his shoulder at the other technicians, Swannig and Carter, indistinguishable
in their heavy protective suits except by the splash of red paint on Swannig's left elbow, and hoped that they would have time to finish their survey. And you won't have time to finish if you stand here day-dreaming, he told himself sternly, and turned his attention to the console in front of him.

  The access panel was placed badly, so that he had to go down on his knees, awkward in the heavy suit, and grope along the side of the console for the release button. He found it at last, tugged the panel forward when it refused to budge on its own, and winced at the mess of circuits and fused wire-and-strapping that it revealed. The Cardassians had sabotaged four of the six reactors before they turned over the station; two were hopelessly contaminated, but these two were at least potentially salvageable. Though "potential" is a very big word, O'Brien thought, and grunted as the first board came free at last, trailing a tangle of half-melted wires. A very big word indeed.

  A chime sounded in his ear, in the speaker set into his helmet, and in the same moment a computer voice said sweetly, "Warning. You have reached safety limit one. You must leave the radiation area now. Warning. You have reached safety limit one."

  O'Brien groaned, but there was no point in arguing with the medical computers. He left the board where it was—it certainly wasn't functional, and there was no way he could bring it with him, badly contaminated as it was—and crawled backward until he could push himself to his feet.

  "Oh, hell," another voice said—Carter, the clear soprano unmistakable. "Chief, permission to extend my stay to safety limit two. I've almost finished tracing this conduit, and it's all functional so far."

  O'Brien shook his head. "Sorry, Carter. This isn't an emergency. You can finish it tomorrow."

  Carter's sigh was heavy in his ear. "Yes, Chief. But I'm so close!"

  "Tomorrow," O'Brien said, and gestured for the two technicians to precede him through the heavy doors. He understood her eagerness, all right—if they could find enough still-functioning power conduits, they could maybe tap some of the reactor's power; it was still running, sort of, a power source all the more frustrating because they hadn't been able to bring it into service. More than that, these reactors had been designed to power the weapons systems: If I can just get some power flowing from this one, he thought, just to juice up the main systems, I should be able to get the phasers working right, and maybe stiffen up the screens into the bargain.