Strange New Worlds VIII

by Dean Wesley Smith

  Through the ragged openings a hot breeze stirred the dust, carrying with it the sounds of the Klingon raiding parties engaging the unsuspecting Cardassian guards.

  It almost made Kira feel sorry for them. Almost.

  Keeping her back to the wall, she circumvented the room, sidestepping her way to a rear door. The door panel was jammed at an angle in its track, half-open. She stepped through it. Concrete chunks crunched under her boots.

  On the other side was a short hallway leading to a flight of stairs going down. She jogged to the top of the stairs, gave it a quick glance before consulting her tricorder. As she turned around, her brow knotted. She tapped her combadge. “Kira to Defiant.”

  “Go ahead, Major.”

  “Dax, according to my tricorder I should be in the control room but I’m . . . I’m just in a hallway.”

  “Give me a minute.” Dax’s voice returned a few seconds later. “The south wall—it’s a holographic projection.”

  Kira reached out and her hand slipped through the wall, disappearing. “Clever.”

  She stepped through the wall and emerged inside a large room. Floor-to-ceiling computer controls lined the three facing walls.

  Two minutes later she stepped back out into the hall. “The defensive shields around the prison complex are down. O’Brien can begin beaming up prisoners. Start with all human and Bajoran biosigns.”

  “Under way. We’re registering sixty-seven non-Klingon and non-Cardassian life signs.”

  Kira was already making her way down the double-wide stairwell. “Bring them all up. We’ll sort them out later.”

  “Easy for you to say, Major,” O’Brien complained. “Where do you suggest I put all these people?”

  “I’m sure you’ll find room, Chief. Kira out.”

  The walls around her shook from another explosion outside. She flinched. Damn the Klingons and their penchant for overkill! Rock dust drifted down from cracks forming in the ceiling overhead.

  At the bottom step she turned left into another hallway. The lights overhead were old-fashioned bulbs encased in wire cages. Pale circles of light dotted the floor, leading down the hallway to where it abruptly ended at a forcefield. To her surprise it was still operational.

  Tearing open the control panel on the wall, she stepped back and fired her phaser into it. She spun away as the circuit board sparked and exploded. The forcefield winked out.

  Beyond the downed forcefield was the beginning of a cave tunnel. The walls were rough-hewn and striated, the color of dried blood. A series of sconces lined the concave walls. The floor was smooth but pitched sharply downhill. Kira took hold of the braided rope looped between metal poles driven into the ground, a handrail of sorts.

  At the first junction Kira had a choice of going left or right. Leading with her tricorder, she proceeded toward the left. Up ahead was a group of seven humans and four Bajorans.

  Another overhead explosion rumbled through the cavern. If the Klingons kept attacking they’d bring the whole labyrinth of underground tunnels crashing down around her.

  She needed to find who she’d come for and get out. Fast.

  She stepped around the corner.

  The group—circled around a single human—parted. The man turned, looked up. Longish, unkempt brown hair hung in his eyes. A beard shadowed his cheeks, darkened the gaunt flesh between his sideburns and his fuller goatee.

  Her heart froze in her chest. He looked more like a walking skeleton than a man.

  “Tom?”

  He stepped forward. His broad shoulders were hunched, but there was that familiar swagger in his gait. “Nerys?”

  She held out a hand and tapped her combadge. “Come with me. Defiant. Lock on to my signal. Two to beam up.”

  * * *

  She and Thomas Riker materialized on the bridge of the Defiant. He blinked, visibly disoriented. The sudden turn of events must have been, at the least, unsettling. His gray prison jumpsuit was coated with uridium dust and hung loosely on his undernourished frame. His skin was pasty-white—sun-starved—and his cheeks were sunken, dark hollows.

  “I never thought I’d see this ship again,” he said, getting his bearings. His eyes locked on to Kira. They sparkled, lighting up his whole face. “Or you, Major.”

  Glancing quickly around the bridge, he asked, “The others?”

  Kira settled into the command chair. It felt good to sit down again. “Chief?”

  “Every last one of ’em,” O’Brien said from the engineering station. “Standing room only in the mess hall, cargo bays, and engineering, but they’re all up here.”

  “Nicely done, Chief. Thanks.” Kira took a moment to scan the chair’s arm controls, then glanced at the main viewscreen. “Dax, status?”

  Lazon II rotated lazily at the left corner of the screen. A red-brown planet of dust and rock, it barely qualified as M-Class. Two Klingon Vor’cha-class cruisers hung in orbit around it, and several birds-of-prey were making suborbital strafing runs closer to the surface.

  A single Cardassian Keldon-class ship lay listing to one side, a large hole burned through its forward hull.

  “No indication they know we’re here,” the tall Trill reported, quite pleased with herself.

  They had to decloak to beam Kira in and then again to beam her and the others out. It was Dax’s idea to cycle the transports with the frequent and intense solar flare-ups of the system’s sun—which made the surface of Lazon II all but uninhabitable—to mask their presence.

  “I’m reading minimal life signs on board the Tra’Nor,” Dax went on. “And the Klingons outnumber them two-to-one down on the surface, but . . . ” She turned in her seat to face Kira. “Long-range sensors are picking up three Galor-class ships closing fast.”

  “Sounds like our invitation to leave,” Riker said.

  “I agree. Jadzia, lay in a course for DS9.”

  The Tra’Nor, the two Klingon ships, and Lazon II slid off the main viewscreen. Ahead of the Defiant lay an unobstructed blanket of space. They jumped to warp. The field of stars streaked into colorful elongated lines.

  Satisfied that they were safely on their way, Kira stood up. “Tom, care to join me in the mess hall for a raktajino?”

  His grin was wide and heartwarming. “That’s the second-best offer I had today.”

  * * *

  Chief O’Brien hadn’t exaggerated; it was standing room only. Kira and Riker shouldered their way through the crowd to the replicators, then over to a table, where two ensigns gave their seats up to them.

  A Starfleet security officer was posted at the door. An unnecessary protocol, Kira thought. His bored expression served to confirm her assessment.

  Around them the liberated prisoners stood in small groups talking or sat at tables digging into heaping-full plates of steaming hot food. All were dressed in the same drab, colorless prison coveralls and all were as pale and as malnourished-looking as Riker. Their conversations were loud and boisterous. A euphoric energy coursed through the room.

  Kira surveyed their faces and smiled at a few who caught her attention. She couldn’t help but wonder what they had done to earn a place on Lazon II. Despite the insistence of the Cardassian government that all Bajorans captured during the occupation had been returned, Kira was sure many of these prisoners were just that.

  The provisional government would be pleased. Many didn’t believe her claims that occupation prisoners were still being held. Others had feared the repercussions that sanctioning the rescue might bring.

  To take advantage of the escalating conflict between the Cardassians and the Klingons would throw us right into the middle of their conflict, Kai Winn had protested vehemently.

  Kira couldn’t wait to get back and throw this into her smug face. The thought brought a wry grin.

  “What?” Riker asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I was just wondering how many of these people are holdovers from the occupation.”

  Tom gave the room a quick glance. “A fair num
ber. The rest are guilty of the most trivial of offenses: border trespassing, petty theft, some smuggling. Others were imprisoned on totally fabricated charges.”

  He took a sip of his raktajino, smiled at Kira. “Of course I was the star prisoner. The only Maquis prisoner not immediately put to death.” His eyes glazed over for a moment. “A slow, torturous, painful one was more to the Cardassians’ liking, as it turned out.”

  Kira reached out, put her hands around his. “Tom, I’m so sorry.”

  He focused his gaze on her, forced a smile. “Don’t be. I owe you my life. You and Sisko. And . . . ” He cupped her hands in his. “You came back for me. Just like you promised.”

  Nerys swallowed hard, trying to speak around the lump in her throat. Her pulse pounded in her ears and her stomach started to do somersaults. The sounds around her faded into muted background noise. She moved to pull back, feeling the warmth of his touch spread through her.

  Riker released her hands and sat back in his chair, breaking the awkward moment. “So tell me about this Klingon-Cardassian war. We heard some things inside, but getting reliable information was difficult.”

  “It’s a long story,” she said, sipping her own raktajino. “It started with the civilian uprising on Cardassia. The Klingons believe the Dominion is behind it.”

  “And the Federation?”

  “Reserving judgment. They’re staying out of it, for now.”

  Riker’s face clouded. “Just like the demilitarized zone. Better to not take a stand, to not get involved.”

  “It’s not that simple, Tom.”

  A sudden scuffle drew her attention to the door. She tried to see past the mass of bodies. It was like trying to see through a constantly shifting plasma storm. When the crowd parted, she saw two former prisoners holding the limp body of the security officer between them, dragging him over to Kira and Riker. They dropped the unconscious ensign onto the table.

  Kira launched to her feet, her chair scraping across the floor behind her. She reached for her phaser but was stopped by a hand that grabbed her wrist. A Bajoran man held her, took the phaser, and pressed it up under her chin.

  “What the hell’s going on?” She stared at Riker, who was also on his feet. “Tom, what’s the meaning of this?”

  “I’m sorry, Nerys. I really am. You fulfilled a promise today and now I have to fulfill mine. As of right now I’m taking over the Defiant.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, at the access door to the bridge, Kira grabbed Riker by the arm, stopping him.

  Kerrigan, a human trader of exotic antiquities who had been imprisoned by the Cardassians five years prior, raised the phaser he had taken from the security officer. Riker signaled him to stand down.

  “Tom, why are you doing this?”

  “I told you, I’m fulfilling my mission.”

  “What mission?” She couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. “We know what the Cardassian buildup in the Orias system was. The Obsidian Order was preparing a preemptive strike against the Founders’ homeworld. It had nothing to do with the Maquis.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then what?”

  “My promise to the Maquis. My promise to the citizens abandoned by the Federation. People are dying inside the demilitarized zone. This is bigger than me, Kira. You taught me that. It’s about destroying the enemy. No holds barred.” He looked past her to the six rescued prisoners standing behind them. “Ready?”

  There were four Bajorans and two humans, including Kerrigan. All were armed. With solemn faces they nodded.

  Riker activated the door and stepped onto the bridge.

  Kerrigan pushed Kira in after him. The others rushed to the left and right, covering the startled bridge crew with their weapons.

  Chief O’Brien was halfway out of his seat, drawing his phaser.

  “Sit down, O’Brien,” Riker barked. His phaser was already leveled at him.

  Miles stopped in surprise, then lowered himself back into his chair.

  “That’s it. Nobody do anything heroic and no one’ll get hurt.”

  Besides O’Brien, and Dax at the helm, Lieutenant Parks was at tactical, Ensigns Kala and Robertson were working at the secondary tactical station, and Ensign Forbes was filling in at the science station.

  “Clear the bridge.” Riker pointed to Parks, Kala, Robinson, and Forbes. The former prisoners fanned out, took their weapons, and shuffled them to the door. “O’Brien and Dax stay.”

  “Why?” Dax asked.

  Riker took his time to sit down in the command chair. He wiggled around in it, giving a satisfied nod. “Feels good.” To Dax, he said, “I’ll need you to navigate us out of Cardassian space and O’Brien to operate the cloak.”

  “Like bloody hell I will.”

  “Not a smart move, O’Brien.” Riker nodded to Kerrigan.

  Kerrigan yanked Kira over to the command chair and pressed his phaser into her neck.

  She winced.

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll be forced to kill Major Kira.”

  Dax remained calm, but her eyes swept the room with an intensity that belied her relaxed behavior. “You wouldn’t.”

  Riker leaned forward, his stare hard and cold. “Oh, wouldn’t I? I’ve spent the last year and a half down there in that hellhole, at the hands of the Cardassians. You have no idea what I’m capable of, Lieutenant.”

  The others were taken from the bridge, leaving Kerrigan, another human, and a Bajoran woman behind. The human’s name was Drake. A petty pickpocket, he’d been arrested on Cardassia Prime. The Bajoran was a former resistance fighter captured just before the Cardassian withdrawal from Bajor.

  Four against three, Kira thought. Not bad odds, except the four are armed and Dax, Miles, and I are not.

  Her hands were clenched into tight fists. With effort she forced herself to relax, to open and flex her fingers. She resisted the urge to lash out, to give in to her anger. What she needed was time. Time to figure out what Riker was up to. Time to formulate a plan to take back the Defiant.

  “So, what happens now, Tom?”

  “Now? Now we lay in a course for the Badlands.”

  Dax looked up at Kira.

  She nodded, and Dax swung around and entered the coordinates.

  “Warp five, Dax,” Riker said.

  The Defiant surged forward. To those familiar with the ship, the hum of her restrained engines could be felt through the deck plating. Even with the increase to warp five, Kira could feel the tough little ship straining to go faster, to fly full-out.

  “How long until we clear Cardassian space?”

  Dax glanced at her board. “Thirty minutes.”

  “Good.” Riker leaned back. His body seemed to melt into the chair’s contours. Only his sunken, scraggily bearded face and dark-rimmed eyes betrayed the exhaustion, the strain he must be feeling.

  Watching him since he’d taken command of the ship, Kira marveled at the reappearance of his confidence, at his immediate comfort at being in command, at the sense of purpose and drive he suddenly had. Like a man transformed, he was no longer the undernourished, frail, near-broken prisoner she had been shocked to find in the dark caverns of Lazon II.

  “What’s waiting for us in the Badlands, Tom?”

  An alarm from Dax’s board prevented him from answering. He slid forward. “What is it?”

  Dax’s long fingers danced over the sensor controls for a moment. Then she turned. “Two Galor-class warships. Approaching fast, at high warp.”

  Riker visibly relaxed. “Cloaked, they can’t know we’re here. We are still cloaked, aren’t we?”

  O’Brien sat with his back to the engineering console, his arms folded across his chest. “Funny you should ask that.”

  Kira noticed his struggle not to smile. She saw his right hand, under his arm, his fingers crawling across the console’s touchscreen. She doubted anyone else noticed it.

  “Remember that EPS fluctuation I told
you about earlier, Major?”

  He’d made no mention to her about any fluctuation. She nodded, going along.

  O’Brien unfolded his arms and slapped his hands to his knees. “Well, it looks like it finally cooked the number five, seven, and eight power taps.”

  Riker leapt to his feet. “What are you saying, O’Brien?”

  “I’m saying, Tom, the cloak’s fried.”

  “Damn you!”

  Riker started for O’Brien but was nearly thrown off his feet when the ship violently pitched to the right. He managed to stay on his feet only by grabbing the back of Dax’s chair and holding on tight.

  Kira seized the computer console alongside the command chair. It was the only thing that kept her from being thrown ass over tuwalli pie tin.

  The three former prisoners were thrown to the floor. They slid, arms and legs waving, across the bridge while Dax and O’Brien, secure in their seats, spun around and began entering commands into their consoles.

  With a second hit to the ship, the life-support monitor exploded, showering the front of the bridge in white sparks. Alarms sounded. The sparkling haze of the fire-suppression forcefield appeared around the damaged panel, smothering the flames.

  “Red alert! Raise shields!” Kira and Riker shouted simultaneously.

  On the viewscreen, the first of two Cardassian ships flew past, firing another volley of torpedoes in its wake.

  The forward shields shimmered blue on the screen. “Shields holding,” O’Brien called out.

  Lunging for the command chair, Riker called out. “Evasive maneuvers, Dax, pattern delta—”

  Dax sat back. Leisurely she spun around in her seat to face Riker, her arms folded across her chest. Seeing Jadzia’s defiance for what it was, he glared at Kira. “Those Cardassians will be just as glad to get their hands on you as they will me.”

  “I have no intention of becoming a guest of the Cardassian prison system.” Kira grabbed the arms of the command chair and spun Riker around. “But try and go up against two Galor-class warships with . . . ” She nodded her head at Kerrigan and Drake. “ . . . a coin trader and a petty thief. See how far you get.”