by Diane Carey
“They’ll be expecting us to try fighting whatever comes within a certain radius of us,” O’Brien commented.
“That’s my point,” Sisko told him. “They’ll be caught off guard if we act as mechanically as they will. The Jem’Hadar, the Breen—they haven’t got much in common, but one thing’s for sure—and that’s their collective lack of imagination. They’ve no doubt been told to expect surprises. It’ll confound them completely if we don’t give them what they expect. So let’s be as tenacious as pitbulls and see how far we get. One ship at a time—that’s the trick.”
“No glory,” Bashir commented with a noble smile.
“No heroes,” Odo agreed.
Sisko nodded. “Shields up. Red alert. Battle stations.”
Ezri’s voice quivered just a little on the PA. “Battle stations. All hands to battle stations. General quarters, all hands. Full red alert.”
They’d been wondering when he was going to order that. He had deliberately held off until the last sensible second, so they wouldn’t be poised for so long that the rush wore off. He needed that rush right now, not an hour ago.
The turbolift hissed open and spilled six more crewmen onto the bridge, backup and support teams for engineering, sensory, and tactical stations. These were the men who would’ve taken O’Brien’s, Ezri’s and Worf’s posts on a watch rotation. Now it was all hands on deck. Everybody had plenty to do. Every monitor now had a crewman manning it, spreading the duty out and letting each of them concentrate on specific readouts and breakdowns.
On the screen, the enemy formation continued to break up in an organized fashion, typical of programmed soldiers all taking orders from a few key braincores. That could work in the Allies’ favor—they weren’t really fighting dozens of smart, quick-thinking captains; instead, they were fighting only a handful of masterminds, perhaps Vorta, or even a Founder or two. That was the problem with central control—no variety. Sisko saw it immediately in the way all the enemy lines of ships moved in the same order, on both sides and the top and bottom of the egg-shaped assault formation.
The Allied fleet, though, was made up of a thousand time-tried captains, each clever in his way, each with different tactics and different experience. Every Jem’Hadar or Breen ship would find itself facing a completely unique set of talents. They wouldn’t be able to distill what happened, then carry that experience to the next ship and the next: what worked once wouldn’t necessarily work twice.
“Put some distance laterally between us and the starships,” he ordered.
“Aye, sir,” Nog nervously responded.
The Defiant hummed purposefully about them, and pressed off to port. Before them now were at least two dozen Breen fighters on full-impulse approach. The distance was closing fast.
“Pick one, Mr. Worf,” Sisko offered, “and fire when ready. Ensign, plot an intercept course, then be prepared to bear off on a pursuit vector.”
“I’m ready,” the helmsman claimed with false boldness.
Sisko didn’t say anything. Once they were actually shooting, actually chasing, something else would replace the fear he heard in Nog’s voice.
Despite his preparation, mentally and physically, Sisko flinched a little when he felt the energy of phaser fire blast through the coils and into open space from the Defiant. Their first shot in this ship—would she stand up to the pressure?
In the herd of rushing Jem’Hadar and Breen fighters, one Jem’Hadar ship heaved and crumpled into a ball of yellow fire.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Excellent shot, Mr. Worf, pick another one—”
“Incoming!” someone shouted, and the ship rocked up on her starboard edge.
Emergency klaxons erupted. Hull breach!
“Plug it up, Chief,” Sisko said, charging O’Brien with making sure himself that their first hit wasn’t their last.
“Aye, sir!” O’Brien dodged for the forward lockdown, shoving an ensign out of the way.
“Pursuit, Ensign. Don’t let him get away with it.”
“Pursuing, sir!”
The ship surged mightily, still possessing all her power despite the hull hit. There wasn’t a sense of sluggishness now, that was for sure!
Nog spun them off in pursuit of a Breen fighter, and off the two ships went into space in a furious dance, as if held together by a string.
“I’ll say one thing for the Breen,” Nog said through gritted fangs, “they know how to pilot a ship.”
“So do you, Ensign,” Sisko told him. “Stay with him.”
“I’m trying, but he’s slippery!”
“Mr. Worf?”
“Unable to lock target,” Worf reported, frustration showing in his tone.
Suddenly, as the Breen ship ducked abruptly below the screen’s line of view, the Defiant jolted twice, hard, and the bridge filled with bitter smoke. One of the ensigns at the engineering deck went down in a cloud.
“We have two Jem’Hadar ships coming in behind us,” Odo reported over the whine of the vents, “bearing one-three-six mark four!”
“Evasive action, pattern Delta,” Sisko order, breaking his own advice to ignoring whatever came around behind them. One, yes. Two, no.
“Hang on!” Nog leaned into his helm.
“Worf, get one of those bastards!” Sisko called.
“Targeting” Worf answered, and instantly opened fire, laying down a scatter pattern that smeared one of the Jem’Hadar and skinned the other.
They watched as one of the enemy ships spun hideously, then blew itself to bits, spraying debris and energy wash over them and over the wobbling Jem’Hadar ship that had veered off in hopes of staying alive long enough to repair its damage.
“Well done, Ensign,” Sisko offered.
“I lost the Breen ship we were after,” Nog howled.
“I wouldn’t be too worried about it. There are plenty of others to choose from. Pick another one and advance. Damage control, to the bridge. Engineering, what’s the status down there? Report to Chief O’Brien. Worf, let’s have tactical display on both beams. Nog, full about. The battle’s back there!”
* * *
“I don’t care how many of their installations you target. You have to strike at their headquarters, or they won’t be crippled enough for it to have any real effect.”
Kira huddled over their one monitor and made her comments as if speaking directly to the little map of Cardassia City that showed on the flickering screen.
Damar appreciated her boldness as he scanned the map from her side. Now that they had decided what to do, they were severely stalled over just how to do it.
“That would be suicide,” he eventually concluded. “Besides, without the security protocols, we’ll never penetrate the outer defense perimeter.
“Damar,” Kira protested, “you must have some knowledge about their security protocols—something you haven’t thought of.”
“It’s not complicated enough to have forgotten much. I assure you, my personal codes are no longer valid.”
She sighed. “There has to be another way in. A back door, some weakness in their security system that you noticed….”
Think, she added without actually saying it.
Damar sifted through his years coming and going freely at Dominion Headquarters, a trusted aide de camp. He had never had to think about sneaking in or out or breaking in. In fact, he had never had to break in or out of anything. He’d pursued criminals in his time, recaptured others who’d done the breaking, but he had always arrived after the Cardassians already held a particular facility.
Now he had to learn to think differently—as Kira’s firelike eyes were now charging him. Over there, Garak was watching him with his wide-eyed glare also, expecting him to fail the task.
Think … what were the headquarters’ priorities? How would they change if there were a battle in space to pulling away the warders who normally stood watch around the perimeter? How would the troops inside be reassigned to make the most of their depleted numbe
rs, if there were trouble on the planet and insufficient forces remained inside headquarters? What would he do if he were in charge? What entrances would he assume the citizenry might target, and which would he assume they knew nothing about? And which of those lesser temptations might go unprotected? Something a civilian would never think of?
“As I recall,” he began tentatively, “there is a rear cargo door that wasn’t heavily guarded….”
Kira instantly turned to Garak, who was saying, “We’ll need some kind of explosive device. I’ll get right on it.”
Before he could stand, Mila reached past him to his plate of half-eaten rations. “Elim, I remember when you used to love my cooking.”
“I still do,” Garak placated.
“You have a strange way of showing it. You’ve hardly touched your meal. No wonder you don’t look well.”
“Of course I don’t look well! I’ve been living in a cellar!”
Mila picked up Damar’s empty plate. “So has Legate Damar.”
“What about him?” Garak snapped.
“He finished everything on his plate, and it shows. Which explains why he’s fine handsome figure of a man.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“I do,” Kira said with a catty smile. “Mila, I believe you’re falling in love.”
Mila actually blushed, her gray faced turning a distinct purple. “I’m old enough to be his mother.”
“Nonsense,” Damar spoke up.
Mila smiled at him, charmed by his favor. “He’s such a politician!”
Damar started to say something more, but the warning light from the upstairs alley entrance clicked on. It was Mila’s house—for anyone else to answer the door would be to give themselves away.
“Who could that be?” Garak explored.
Mila held up a hand. “I’ll find out.”
She trundled up the stairs and disappeared around the bend of the landing.
“One of our informants, maybe?” Kira wondered. “They’re all waiting for orders. We’ve put them on alert.”
“And I contacted all my former shipmates,” Damar said. “The ones I trust, in any—”
“You did what?” Kira rounded on him. “Did you tell them where we are? What we’re planning?”
“I told you, they were men I trust,” he insisted, angry that she would challenge him and yet not particularly surprised that she had. “We cannot possibly act alone, with only a few clusters of civilians moving with us, Colonel. We must have military backing if we are ultimately to succeed.”
Kira’s ink-dot eyes flared. “I think you overestimate your friends, Damar.”
“That is my decision. I am Cardassian,” he told her with sudden pride. “We understand conquest, and whatever you think about us, we understand struggle too. We never engaged in wholesale slaughter like the Dominion did today.”
Kira raised a warning hand. “This is a bad subject.”
“Yes, let’s change it,” Garak quickly agreed. “I’d rather worry about the actions we have to take tonight. I hope our regional operatives all have the nerve to go through with our plan, even if it means sacrificing another city.”
Damar drew a breath and slowly let it out. “I know it’s a grim plan, but we cannot allow ourselves to fall back because of a threat from Weyoun.”
“It’s hardly an idle threat,” Garak pointed out. “Weyoun is not one to play games, despite the sickening sauce of his manner. After all, he did wipe out a whole city of innocent civilians just to teach us a lesson. I have no doubt he’ll do it again.”
Damar ignored him and went to the foot of the stairs. “What’s taking her so long?”
Garak peered up the stairs. “I’m not sure….”
At the top of the stairs another door opened. Light flooded the stairwell—outdoor light!
Kira drew her sidearm. Some instinct had triggered her reaction. Damar pulled Garak back a step.
“Mila!”
Garak’s shriek was bloodcurdling. For an instant Damar almost scolded him for bellowing needlessly. Then, he saw the need.
Mila’s lifeless body came rolling down the stairs like some kind of hideous sponge falling off a ledge.
“Mila!” Garak shouted again, and plunged for the body of his old nanny.
Kira bolted, “Garak, look out!”
As Garak reached Mila’s body, a small metal device came looping down the steps.
“Concussion grenade!” Damar shouted, and dove for cover.
Kira grasped for Garak. That was the last thing Damar saw, as a flash of detonation engulfed the small quarters, punching them all backward in a blur of energy.
Flat on his back in a place that had no cover to duck for, Damar tried to roll over, but his paralyzed limbs mocked him. Even his eyes lay open, unable to blink. Kira was moving a few steps from him, her clawed hand crawling for her weapon, which lay somewhere over there … when a booted foot kicked away the weapon.
Motion flurried through the room. Kira seemed to float up into the middle of the air, then collapse into a chair.
Now Garak was floating by.
A bulging white face appeared in Damar’s vision, blocking everything else. Jem’Hadar!
Damar tried to raise his arms, and there was some groggy movement, but his body was still stunned and not under control. He was dragged to his feet, moved across the room to Kira and Garak, and deposited with them, as they too began to shake away the daze of the stun.
Captured!
CHAPTER
6
“I congratulate you, Thot Pran. The Breen’s worthiness in battle proves itself once again.”
The Founder looked with appreciation at the successful measures being taken in space, as broadcast to them by their forces now challenging the Allied invasion fleet.
“Founder,” Weyoun said from the other side of the monitor system, “more good news. Our troops have captured the traitor Damar.”
“Excellent!”
“That’s not all. Colonel Kira and Garak have been apprehended with him.”
“Even better.”
“Shall I have them brought here?”
She considered that, lingering briefly over the possibility of witnessing their execution herself and how much satisfaction that would provide. Also, though, it provided a chance for escape.
“What for?” she told him. “Have them executed immediately.”
Weyoun turned away. “With pleasure.”
When she was sure he could no longer see her face, the Founder indulged in a rarity. She smiled.
* * *
Dead. They were finished. The whole resistance was finished. The regional operatives would hold back their action until Damar gave the signal, and he was suddenly in no position to do so.
Two Cardassian guards loomed over Kira. Two Jem’Hadar kept watch on Garak and Damar.
That made some sense, Damar realized. They weren’t allowing Cardassians to watch other Cardassians. Sentiment might overtake someone. He had to give the Jem’Hadar more credit than he ever had before. They were beginning, in their programmed and limited way, to understand the nature of emotional beings. They had no intuition, but they had learned to anticipate the behavior of their enemies. He would have to remember this.
If he had a future from which to gaze back.
He noted Garak glancing at him, wondering if he had a plan to get them out of this. But Damar had no answer for him. He had genuinely thought their presence hadn’t been detected. Apparently he would never get the chance to become an even better rebel leader than he had managed so far.
The Jem’Hadar First was over there talking into his comm device and getting orders from his commander. Now he broke off, and came to face the three captives.
“On your feet,” he snapped.
“Why?” Kira defied. She didn’t get up.
The First nodded to his men, who reached down, clasped Kira by the collar and dragged her to her feet. Damar almost lashed out, but he had no chance
against the armed guards. A moment, and he and Garak were also both against the wall at Kira’s side.
“We prefer our prisoners to be standing when they die,” the First announced, as if the Jem’Hadar had any traditions at all.
Damar glanced at the other two prisoners. They both looked at him, and each knew they had no way out of this.
Garak cleared his throat. “Does anyone have any final words?” he asked ridiculously.
Damar glared at the Jem’Hadar. “We may die, but Cardassia will—”
“Enough!” the First barked. “Final words are not permitted.”
Garak sighed. “How disappointing.”
The First stepped back. “Ready weapons!”
Kira raised her chin, staring death in the face.
Admiring her, Damar did the same. Even Garak was willing to stand death down without a whimper, and Damar had to give him respect for that.
Damar felt his eyes tighten. He refused to close them. He waited for the blast, calculating absurdly in his mind how quickly the body would seize up from an energy overload, what his muscles would do, how long his brain would sizzle, how much it might hurt to die this way. Perhaps the worst thing was seeing it coming, having to stand here and wait for it without being able to fight. He should lunge—at least die in a scuffle—
The blast brightened the cellar room in mockery of the pathetic lightsticks Mila had so dutifully provided. Damar held his breath. It took longer than he had expected.
Was this some kind of freezing ray? Why wasn’t he falling down? Or dissolving?
Before him, the two Jem’Hadar soldiers seized and fell. The First swung around and aimed his weapon at the two Cardassian guards he had himself brought in, fired and killed one of them. The other Cardassian, though, fired his own weapon, and the Jem’Hadar First buckled, rolled away, and lay dying seconds later on the cold stone floor.
“That’s for Lakarian City,” the remaining Cardassian growled. Kicking aside one of the Jem’Hadar at his feet, the Cardassian stepped over the body and came to Damar.
“Legate Damar, I am Ekoor. I pledge my life to free Cardassia from the Dominion!”
Giddy with pleasure at this turn, Damar clapped the newcomer on his shoulder and cried, “Welcome, Ekoor! Tell me—how many are with you?”