Proud Helios

by Melissa Scott

  "I have command, sir." Her voice was suddenly formal.

  "Carry on, then, Lieutenant," Sisko answered, his own voice equally formal—there was nothing he could say, nothing that would be equal to the moment; it was better to take refuge in the familiar Starfleet formulae—and turned toward Carabas.

  "Commander."

  The new voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned back to see Bashir standing in the lock, medical kit in his hands.

  "Commander, I wondered if you had a ruling on my earlier request."

  Sisko hesitated for a moment, weighing the odds. To take Bashir was to deprive the station of its chief medical officer, but it was also to add another Starfleet officer to his team, when he was already desperately short of people. And Bashir had Starfleet computer training, something else he could use, if they had to install Tama's virus. And if either Kira or O'Brien was injured…There were other doctors on DS9. He nodded, slowly. "All right, Doctor, come aboard."

  "Thank you, sir." Bashir stepped past Dax, visibly struggling to control his smile, and Sisko gestured for him to precede him into the ship.

  Carabas was small even by merchant small-ships standards, the main fore-and-aft corridor barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. The control room was cramped, the twin control stations tucked forward under a main screen that followed the curve of the ship's nose. Möhrlein was already settled in front of the port-side console, his hands busy with the old-fashioned controls. Tama was seated at a secondary station directly behind Möhrlein—ship's computer and sensors, Sisko thought, from the arrangement of the screens and the patterns drifting across their dull surfaces—and there was a bank of four passenger couches in the center of the room, arranged around a tabletop control-and-display console. Odo and Bashir were already seated there, Bashir with his medical kit open between his feet, head down over its contents. A tiny transporter station filled the remaining space, crammed into the corner opposite Tama's position, its console and control boxes spilling over into the passenger space. The security men were nowhere in sight. Sisko frowned, looked at Odo, and the constable said, "I sent my deputies to check out the rest of the ship, to make sure there aren't any unpleasant surprises."

  Sisko nodded, and took his place at the starboard console.

  Möhrlein said, without looking up from his controls, "It'd be better if you left them on the station, Commander. We're going to be pushing my life-support systems as it is."

  "With only seven people aboard?" Sisko asked.

  Möhrlein shrugged. "We don't usually carry passengers."

  It made sense, and Sisko nodded. "When your people report in, Odo, send them ashore."

  "Sir," Odo said, and an instant later, a voice sounded softly from his communicator. "All right," he said. "Take Arvan and go back to the station." He waited for an acknowledgment, and looked at Sisko. "My deputies report that everything's in order."

  "Good," Sisko said. "Möhrlein, how long before we can launch?"

  "As soon as your people are off my ship," the smuggler said, and as if in response, a light flared red and then green on his screen.

  "Hatch is sealed," Tama announced. "And the lock's resealed, too. All systems show the launch area is clear."

  Möhrlein looked at Sisko. "We're ready when you are, Commander."

  Sisko looked at the chronometer display already flashing on his screen: in exactly one hour, Carabas had to be at the rendezvous point. "Launch," he said, and Möhrlein echoed him instantly.

  "Launching now."

  Carabas lifted smoothly from the docking port, internal gravity taking over without the lurch Sisko had come to expect from small ships' systems. It swung low over the station's docking ring, and pivoted onto the heading that would take them out to the rendezvous point in the required time. Sisko watched the silver-grey skin of the station slide past in the viewscreen, and a screen unfolded from the console in front of him.

  "Incoming communications," Tama said, from his station, and the screen lit and windowed, displaying Dax's face.

  "DS9 to Carabas."

  Sisko reached for the communications tablet, found the response button after only a moment's search. "Sisko here. Go ahead, Dax."

  "Helios has spotted your launch," Dax said. "She's moving toward the rendezvous point at minimum impulse. She should be there when you arrive."

  "And the Cardassians?"

  "They'll be in phaser range in three hours," Dax answered.

  "Thanks, Dax," Sisko said. "Keep us informed of any changes. Sisko out."

  The communications screen went blank, and folded itself back into the console. Sisko watched it go without really seeing it, his attention focused on Möhrlein at Carabas's main controls. The ship did handle oddly, Möhrlein's hands and fingers in nearly constant motion across the double-banked consoles, and the impulse engines hummed like a musical instrument, their singing note varying in pitch and intensity as the output shifted fractionally with each change of setting. The pilot's display was overlaid with a series of gravity marks, and a set of fluctuating grids that seemed to indicate relative time-and-distance; the latter, like the other controls, seemed to vary constantly within fairly wide limits, but, after a while, Sisko began to understand how the systems interacted. I could do it if I had to, he thought, but it wouldn't be easy. It's just as well Möhrlein agreed to come along.

  "How do you manage in warp drive?" he asked. "You must have some kind of autopilot."

  Möhrlein shook his head. "We switch to a different control set in warp. It's much more stable—it was just under impulse that we needed this precise a control."

  That made sense, at least for a smuggler, Sisko acknowledged. They would need to be able to slip into a system, into orbit, even down onto a planet, without being detected by local sensors, or at least without being spotted until they wanted to be.

  "Vilis," Tama said, from his station at the rear of the compartment. "Helios is coming into view."

  "Put it on the screen," Sisko said.

  There was a pause, no more than a fraction of a second, and Tama obeyed. The pirate ship hung at the center of the screen, tiny in the distance, its hull white against the stars. "We'll be in transporter range in ten minutes," Tama said. "At the rendezvous in fifteen."

  Sisko nodded, watching as the tiny shape grew steadily larger, took on angles and harsh shadows. The hull showed more carbon scoring than he had noticed in its attack on the station, and in places the plates of the outer hull had been peeled back like the skin of an orange. He saw again the damaged weapons turret, attached only by a single metal strut; saw beyond that a long line of dull grey where the hull surface had been burned away. That streak—almost certainly from a phaser bolt that had penetrated Helios's shields—ended in a blasted crater that might once have held a sensor pod. Now its edges were curled outward like the petals of a flower, blown into that shape by an internal explosion, and Sisko could see winking lights deep in the hole, where a temporary shield was in place to hold the broken hull plates. Helios had suffered appalling damage—it was astonishing that she was still spaceworthy, much less still underway and apparently ready to fight, and Sisko was conscious of a sneaking admiration for anyone who could get that ship this far into Federation space. He killed the thought—this was the ship that had destroyed the Gift of Flight—and looked at Möhrlein.

  "Are you ready to transport your cargo?"

  "As ready as we'll ever be," Möhrlein answered. "There's no transporter in the hold, we'll have to move it up here to send it across. Don't worry, we've got antigravs and sleds, but I'll need help moving it."

  Sisko nodded. "That we can provide."

  "We're at the rendezvous coordinates," Tama announced.

  "Right," Sisko said, as much to himself as to the others, and then, more loudly, "Open a channel to the pirate."

  "Hailing now," Tama answered. The impulse engines powered down, and there was a little silence, so profound that Sisko could hear the others' breathing mixed with th
e faint hiss of the ventilators.

  "Helios is answering," Tama said at last, and the communications screen unfolded itself from Sisko's console. Kolovzon's image looked out of it, the broad face set still into a faint smile.

  "So, Carabas. And Commander Sisko. You're very timely."

  "We're prepared to transport your cargo," Sisko said, flatly. "Once you return my people."

  "I think not, Commander," Kolovzon said. "Transport the cargo first."

  Sisko shook his head. "No. I've no proof that they're still alive."

  Kolovzon's smile widened briefly. "True enough. Transport half the cargo, I'll send you your Major Kira. Then you send me the rest of my cargo, and I'll return your engineer. I think that's a fair bargain."

  Hardly, Sisko thought, but I think it's the best I'm likely to get. And with the Cardassians on the way, I don't have time to push you. He said, "It'll take us some time to get the cargo to our transporter—"

  "About ten minutes," Möhrlein said, softly.

  "—about ten minutes before you'll receive your first load," Sisko finished.

  "Agreed," Kolovzon said. "Inform me when you're ready to transport. In the meantime—" He showed teeth suddenly, in a smile that lacked all humor or goodwill. "In the meantime, I'll bring your people to the transporter room. My officers have orders to kill them first, if anything—untoward—comes aboard. Helios out."

  The communications screen folded itself neatly back into the console, and Sisko swung around to face his crew. "All right. Odo, Bashir, Tama, start getting the cargo up here so that we can begin transporting it across."

  "Yes, sir," Bashir said, and levered himself up out of his couch.

  Odo copied him more slowly, and said, "Commander, I doubt we can trust Kolovzon. I'd like to transport across—disguised as part of the cargo, of course. I may be able to help free our people."

  "Not on, mate," Möhrlein said, before Sisko could answer. "They scan everything as it comes aboard. You'd be picked up as organic—or at least not what you're supposed to be—the minute you showed up on the platform."

  "It's not worth the risk," Sisko said. "Get the cargo up here. We'll get Major Kira back, and then see what we can do."

  * * *

  O'Brien heard the first sound of footsteps outside the cell-block door, and looked up sharply. In the next cell, Kira swore to herself, a Bajoran obscenity that the engineer didn't recognize, and then he heard her feet move closer to the front of her cell.

  "It must be time," she said, and her voice was absolutely steady.

  "Must be," O'Brien agreed, and moved to join her. He had to admire her even as he envied her calm—and even as he knew that she would be just as tense as he beneath the outward display. You'd have to be subnormal not to be afraid; the brave ones are the ones who don't let it affect their actions.

  He took a deep breath as the outer door slid open, bracing himself for instant action, for anything, and held himself ready as Diaadul walked into the corridor that ran beside the cells.

  "You're lucky today," the Trehanna said, bluntly. "Your commander values you."

  O'Brien snorted in spite of himself, and heard Kira mutter something under her breath. Whatever else was going on, it wasn't like Sisko to give in without a fight. Oh, the commander might try something devious, but he wouldn't just give in. Diaadul smiled thinly, as if she'd read the thought.

  "Commander Sisko has agreed to exchange the first half of our cargo for you, Major, and the second for the engineer." She lifted a hand—she still wore the bangles she had worn on the station, and they fell with a musical clashing down from her wrist—to beckon the guards who waited in the doorway. "I'm under orders to bring you to the transporter room for the exchange. However, I'm under no orders to transport you conscious, so any trouble, and I'll have you stunned and carried down. Do you understand?"

  She is, O'Brien thought, extremely efficient—something I'd respect, in other circumstances. "I understand," he said, and heard Kira echo him.

  Diaadul's efficiency did not slip as she brought them under guard to the main transporter room. The compartment was crowded, three crew members in work clothes and carrying grav-haulers standing by the platform, while a group of four stood by with drawn phasers. Jarriel, looking more tired than ever, stood at the controls. Diaadul motioned O'Brien and Kira into the most distant corner, their guards still following, and nodded to Jarriel.

  "Everything set, Cytryn?"

  "I'm ready, anyway," Jarriel answered.

  "That should be enough," Diaadul said, and stepped to the intercom. "Bridge, this is Number One. We're ready to transport."

  "Shields are down," a voice answered. "Ready to receive, Carabas."

  "Receiving," Jarriel said.

  His voice was almost drowned in the familiar whine of the transporter. The beam filled the chamber, and then the first of the cargo crates coalesced in its field. A fraction of a second later, three more appeared: that would be the limit of Carabas's transporter system, O'Brien thought, and wondered if there was any way he, or Sisko, could take advantage of that.

  "That's the start," Jarriel said, as the beam faded again. "Come on, kurini, clear the pad for the next load."

  His technicians leaped to obey, grav-handlers ready, and tugged the crates off the pad. Two of them, straining even with the help of the handling devices, edged the crates toward the waiting sled; the third turned back toward the platform.

  "Ready to receive," Jarriel said again, and the transporter whined.

  Four more crates appeared, and his technicians leaped to shift them. O'Brien eyed the crates as they piled up on the sled, and wondered if they could possibly contain enough material to do more than provide a temporary repair. At his side, Kira said, "He can't do this—Sisko, I mean. He can't give in to them."

  Another batch of four crates appeared as she spoke, and the sweating technicians leaped to pull them away, clearing the pad for the next shipment. O'Brien said, into the burst of activity, "You might try trusting him, Major." He didn't dare say more, even with the noise to cover him, but Kira gave him a sudden sharp glance.

  "All right," Diaadul said. "You, Kira. Onto the platform."

  "What about O'Brien?" Kira asked. She didn't move, and Diaadul made a face of disgust.

  "He'll be sent across as soon as we receive the last of the cargo. So the soonest you move, the soonest you'll both be back on your station." Her face hardened. "Move, Kira."

  Reluctantly, the Bajoran did as she was told. She took her place on the pad, eyes darting once from side to side as though she was looking for a way out, but the guards still had phaser rifles fixed on her and on O'Brien. She subsided, slowly, her face a mask.

  "Coordinates locked in," Jarriel said. "Energizing." His hand moved on the archaic slide controls, and the transporter whined again. Kira seemed to dissolve into a glittering shadow, and then into nothing, and O'Brien let out the breath he had been holding. He was alone on Helios.

  "The rest of the cargo's on its way," a voice said from the intercom, and Jarriel bent to adjust his settings. O'Brien shook himself as the cargo exchange resumed. If the pirates kept their word—a big if he admitted, wryly, but not completely impossible—he would be on Carabas and back on DS9 within a few hours. If they didn't—well, without Kira to worry about, he had more options. Kolovzon could no longer use her against him, and it was easier for a single individual to seize a chance, to parlay a moment's inattention into an opening for an escape…

  "Carabas says that's the last of it," the voice on the intercom said.

  O'Brien took a deep breath, and a single step forward, bracing himself for the worst.

  "Sorry," Diaadul said. She looked at Jarriel. "Captain's orders, Cytryn. The engineer's to stay on board until we get the repairs done—and the more he helps, the faster it'll be over."

  "That's crazy, Diaa," Jarriel said. "We've got enough trouble with Starfleet, we don't need more."

  The Trehanna shrugged, her bracelets clashing as she
reholstered her phaser. "Take it up with the captain if you've got a problem, Cytryn. It's his direct order—his idea, not mine."

  Jarriel swore under his breath, but returned his attention to the transporter console. O'Brien watched him go through the familiar motions, powering down the system, concentrating on that until he had his own anger under control. He should've known better than to expect anything but a doublecross from Helios and her crew—and if he had known it, so would have Sisko. He would wait, and see what happened. And if nothing presented itself, he promised silently, he would make his own opportunity.

  * * *

  "No response from the sender," Möhrlein said.

  "I'm not picking up any trace of Chief O'Brien," Bashir began, from his place at the transporter controls, and then Tama leaned back in his chair, swearing.

  "Deflectors are up again," he announced. "I can't get through."

  "Damn!" Kira pounded her fists on the side of the transporter console, narrowly missing Bashir's fingers. "I told you you should've sent me back—with a phaser, with a grenade, I could've gotten him out!"

  "The hell you could," Sisko said. Despite his words, his tone was fairly calm, and Kira gave him an incredulous look. "Major, I don't have time for this. There is a Cardassian fleet less than two hours from the station, and we have to free O'Brien before it gets within battle range."

  Kira blinked. "Cardassian fleet? What the hell are they doing in Bajoran space?"

  "In hot pursuit, apparently," Odo said.

  "That's ridiculous," Kira snapped.

  "I quite agree," Sisko said. "Unfortunately, I'm not in a position to do anything about it until O'Brien is safe aboard. So, Major, if you'd be so kind—?" He gestured to the console at the back of the compartment, where the long-haired smuggler was already bending over a new set of controls.

  Kira frowned. "I'm—sorry, sir. But I don't see what I can do?"

  "The pirates used a Trojan horse to lower our shields so that they could beam you and Chief O'Brien off the station," Bashir said. He pulled an optical chip from the transporter's data storage block. "Dax thinks that Tama there can return the favor."