The wall next to them blew open.
The impact knocked them back, and debris from the crumbling wall came raining down on them. It was all Mac could do to avoid a concussion. As the smoke cleared, he saw the snarling face of Krone glaring in at him. His disruptor, which he had doubtless used to blow apart the wall, was pointed straight at Mac.
“This time,” Krone said, obviously unable to resist extending his moment of triumph, “you die.”
It turned out to be a calamitous indulgence, as far as Krone was concerned.
As he said “this,” Mac’s fingers were wrapping around a piece of debris. When he said “time,” Mac was cocking his arm. By the time he got to the word “die,” Mac was whipping his arm around and flinging the chunk of debris as hard as he could.
It smashed squarely into Krone’s face. Blood sprayed from his nose, shattered by the impact, and Krone stumbled back. His shot went wide, exploding harmlessly overhead.
The world seemed to slow down for Mac as he clambered free of the debris. He didn’t bother with his blaster. Instead, he yanked out a knife that was secreted inside the top of his boot. The blood was pumping hot through his veins, driving him to throw himself recklessly into combat where just shooting down his opponent wouldn’t suffice. There were two soldiers, a Cardassian and a Klingon, and they had their weapons out. They fired at him. He threw himself forward, ducking under the blasts. He hit the ground, and his knife lashed out. It sliced through the tendons just above the Klingon’s heels, hamstringing him. The Klingon let out a scream of fury as he collapsed. The world slowed further as the Cardassian turned to bring his disruptor to bear. Mac thrust upward with the blade, gutting him just under the ribcage. Blood exploded from the Cardassian’s midsection, splashing onto Mac’s face. Mac smiled and yanked out the blade.
“Behind you!” shouted Hiren, and Mac turned and threw the knife all in one motion. Tome Ari had been about to open fire with his disruptor. Instead, the knife that Mac had thrown buried itself in Tome Ari’s chest, up to the hilt. Tome Ari staggered back, waving his arms wildly.
He landed atop the Thalaron bomb.
Soleta had lost her grip on it, being tossed to one side when the wall exploded. Tome Ari wrapped his arms around it even as Soleta cried out a warning. Selar tried to scramble over her to get to it.
A dreamlike smile played across Tome Ari’s face, and his fingers caressed the controls as one would the body of a lover.
The lights on the bomb flared to life, and it began to emit a high-pitched whine.
“Aw, grozit,” said Mac.
Soleta! The Romulan fleet has joined us in attacking the Alliance ship. It doesn’t know where to look first. Isn’t that marvel—
McHenry! The Thalaron bomb has been activated!
Oh. Well…that’s not good.
Get us out of here! Drop your shields, and beam us out now!
Why don’t I just beam out the bomb?
Because with the radiation signatures in random flux, you won’t have time to get a lock on it! Beam us out now! Now, dammit, now!
The last thing M’k’n’zy of Calhoun saw before he dematerialized was the furious face of Krone. Then the Klingon’s eyes widened in shock as he realized what was about to happen, and suddenly, the world in front of Mac went white as the sound of the transporter filled his ears.
The next thing he knew, he was tumbling off the transporter deck of the Excalibur. Soleta and Selar were on either side of him, and Hiren…
Hiren was sobbing pitifully.
“My people,” he was howling. “My people, what have I done, what have I—”
Soleta had no patience for it. None at all. She was upon him in an instant, like a wild animal, and she slammed his head against the floor and snarled in his face, “Your people are dead right now! A goodly number of them, anyway. Dead thanks to a weapon that you engineered and I built! There’s blood enough for everybody’s hands, but you don’t see me crying about it! There’s still time to save a portion of the populace before the Thalaron radiation makes the planet uninhabitable! Organize the fleet! Do what a Praetor should do! Don’t just whine over—”
Hiren boxed her ears.
Soleta let out a startled howl of fury and pain as she rolled off him, clutching the sides of her head. Hiren got to his feet and looked down at her with smoldering rage.
“You,” he said, “have not earned the privilege of addressing me so. And just so you know: You never will.” He glanced over at Mac. “You might, someday. Now, let’s finish blowing those bastards out of the sky and then get busy with saving as many of my people as we can.”
Mac strode toward him and stopped inches away. “I give the orders here,” he said in a low, angry voice. “And my next order will be to beam you back down to the planet unless you apologize to Soleta and help her to her feet.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Mac waited a moment and then said, “Don’t worry, Praetor. We’ll tell your fleet that you died in noble combat with the enemy, your teeth sunk deeply into a Cardassian throat.” He grabbed Hiren and started to push him toward the transporter.
“A thousand pardons, Soleta!” shouted Hiren.
Mac released his grip on Hiren and watched with clear satisfaction as Hiren helped Soleta to stand. She glared at Hiren and said to Mac, “Can I kill him now?”
“Later,” said Mac, “when he’s no longer of any use to us.”
“I believe,” said Hiren, “that I may have taught you too well, Mac of Calhoun. At least too well for my own good.”
By the time Alliance vessels arrived at Romulus, they found a dead planet laden with the remains of charred corpses. Floating in space nearby was debris that constituted the only remains of the ship Blackmorn. The planet was uninhabitable and would be for the next 950 years. Since so many of the bodies had been reduced to pure ash, it was impossible to determine the total number of casualties.
The fact that the fleet was missing prompted much attention from the Alliance. It was determined that the Romulans had turned against the Alliance, and word was spread to all points of the Alliance: Romulan vessels were to be destroyed on sight.
The word even managed to reach the Romulan vessels themselves. Standing in Mac’s quarters in the Excalibur, gazing out the observation port, Hiren and Mac looked on the fleet of ships that contained the last remnants of the Romulan race. Only 49,998 had survived and were now residing on the Romulan ships.
“I’ve been giving it a good deal of thought, Calhoun,” said Hiren, who had taken to addressing Mac by his place of origin, the closest thing to a family name that Xenexians had. “I believe that we are stronger together than separate.”
“As do I,” said Mac. “Except I have no interest in constantly struggling for power with you.”
Hiren gazed at the survivors of his race. “I’ve begun to think,” he said, “that power may be overrated. I think I have lost my taste for it of late. I am perfectly willing to defer to your judgment in all matters having to do with the safety and survival of our fleet.”
“Our fleet?”
“Yours…Commodore Calhoun.”
Mac raised an eyebrow. “Commodore Calhoun?”
“That would be the title appropriate to one commanding a fleet.”
“Perhaps,” said Mac slowly, “but for some reason, I find that I prefer the title of captain. I think it suits me better.”
“Whatever you say.” Hiren bowed. “Captain Calhoun.”
A Terrible Beauty
Jim Johnson
HISTORIAN’S NOTE: The present-day portions of this tale are set in early 2376, two weeks after the events of Saturn’s Children from Star Trek Mirror Universe: Obsidian Alliances.
Jim Johnson offers profuse thanks to Marco Palmieri for the opportunity to contribute to this anthology and to the ongoing Mirror Universe saga, and to fellow authors Dave Mack and Sarah Shaw for setting the Mirror U. literary bar so very high. Jim would also like to thank Rosalind Chao, Colm Meaney, Jef
frey Combs, and Kenneth Marshall for their outstanding performances on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, all of which were significant inspirations during the crafting of this story.
Jim has also contributed to the Star Trek literary universe through three short stories published in various Star Trek: Strange New Worlds anthologies (“Solemn Duty” in SNW VII; “Home Soil” in SNW 09; and his personal favorite, “Signal to Noise,” in SNW10).
Jim’s other published works include a novella titled “Lifting the Gingham Veil” in the Tales of the Seven Dogs Society anthology published by Abstract Nova and a big chunk of wordage contributed to the forthcoming EVE Storytelling Game by White Wolf Publishing. He has a number of original fiction works completed or in progress as well, including several novels and dozens of short stories.
Jim is a proud member of SFWA (www.sfwa.org) and IAMTW (www.iamtw.org), and is a founding member of the Paneranormal Society, a small group of writers living in and around the D.C. Metro area. When he’s not writing, Jim works with local community theater groups (usually as an actor or a playwright) and bleeds burgundy and gold following his beloved Washington Redskins. He lives in Virginia with his wife, Andi, several cats, and a chestnut mare that thrives on cookies, carrots, and starlight mints.
For the latest news and even more randomness, visit Jim’s official webstite at www.popcornfalls.com. It might even be updated by the time you get there.
“The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become.”
—Charles DuBois
2358
Keiko Ishikawa ducked under a slave’s lazy swing and drove her elbow into his stomach. Before she had a chance to follow up her attack, she was grabbed from behind and pushed to the ground.
Heavy boots swarmed all around her. Disruptor fire crashed into the mining shaft’s ceiling. Dirt and pebbles showered her and the others around her. Fine dust got into her nose, and she stifled a sneeze.
A gruff voice yelled out, “That’s enough!”
The noise all around her, reverberating off the narrow corridor, abated as the handful of slaves were corraled. A Cardassian guard she knew by sight but not by name reached down to grab her arm. He pulled her to her feet. Keiko got her legs underneath her and used the Cardassian’s arm to help steady herself.
The Cardassian pushed her against the wall. “Explain yourself.”
Keiko wiped the dirt and blood from her face and pointed at the slave she had been fighting. A fat Klingon held him facedown against the hard stone floor. “That one threatened me if I didn’t do what he wanted.”
The Cardassian glanced at the slave in question. “What did he ask you to do?”
“Submit to him, sexually. I told him I preferred Cardassians.” She offered him a lascivious wink.
He laughed, then, without warning, backhanded her across the face. Surprised, she pressed her hands against her stinging cheek.
He glared at her, then moved toward the slave on the ground. He gestured to the Klingon to pull him to his feet.
Once upright, the slave spat into the Cardassian’s face. “You don’t care how we slaves live. As long as we meet our ore quotas.”
The Cardassian drove the butt of his disruptor into the slave’s stomach, doubling him over. “Of course we care. We’re here to look out for your best interests.”
The guards around him traded rough laughter. The Cardassian pulled the slave’s head up and glanced at the designation on his chest. “Eight-seven-Gamma. You’ve been a problem ever since you got here.”
The slave shook his head and pointed at Keiko. “She’s the problem, not me!”
The Cardassian shook his head and leveled his disruptor at the slave. “She’s much more attractive than you.” He pulled the trigger and shot the man in the chest.
As the slave crumpled to the ground, the Cardassian said, “If you people have all this time to go after each other, we’ll increase your workloads. Consider all of your quotas doubled for the rest of the week. Any of you who fail to meet them will end up like this one.” He gestured at the writhing slave with the barrel of his disruptor.
Groans and sighs met his statement, but the remainder of the slaves went back to work, heads bowed and backs bent in reluctant obedience. They all carefully avoided looking at the wounded slave. Keiko retrieved her mining gear and started to head back to her place in line, but the Cardassian grabbed her arm and pulled her down the corridor, out of sight of the others.
He pushed her against the wall and kissed her. She responded by dropping her tools and wrapping her arms around his neck. She leaned into his kiss.
Finally, he broke off the embrace. “I don’t like shooting slaves. It’s bad for morale.”
Keiko nuzzled the ridges of his neck. “The one you shot has been sowing dissent. He did it on the transport when we arrived a month ago, too. I imagine what you did will send him a warning to stop.”
The Cardassian stepped back and dusted off his armor. “Why would you turn in one of your own?”
Keiko shrugged and brushed what dirt she could off her miner’s overalls. “Our life is hard enough without someone giving us false hope. I don’t want to be here, but I’ll make the best of it if I can. If we were to listen to what he said, we’d all end up in worse shape. Maybe even dead.”
The Cardassian nodded. “You keep pointing out the dissenters like that, and you might make your life here a little more bearable.”
Keiko offered a tentative smile. “Really?”
The Cardassian shrugged. “Possibly. Who knows? Maybe I’m the one giving you false hope now.” He gestured toward the mining tunnel. “Go on, get back to work. Expect me tonight.”
She nodded in deference. She picked up her mining tools and left him without looking back. She schooled her features to keep a smile from spreading across her face. She’d been on the Korvat mining colony for less than a month, and she had already made inroads with one of the guards, the first step in her larger plan. Some had questioned whether her skills were complete, and now she was well on her way to proving just how complete they were.
2376
Keiko stared out the viewport of Terok Nor’s wardroom and tried to tune out the argument volleying back and forth between Miles O’Brien and Michael Eddington. The two of them had been going at it for fifteen minutes, and the constant barrage pounded on the remnants of her overextended nerves.
She crossed her arms and gazed past the station’s docking ring, focusing on the green-blue planet of Bajor the station orbited. Keiko wondered if anyone on the planet would detect what was about to happen, but suspected they would not. The last thing anyone in the Alliance would be looking for would be…
“Keiko!”
She started, not enough to move but sufficient to derail her train of thought. She turned to face Miles, the man she loved and, perhaps more important, the leader of the Terran rebellion. He stared at her with poorly disguised frustration, an expression she’d grown accustomed to seeing on his face in recent days.
She said, “I’m sorry, Miles.”
Miles braced his arms against the wardroom table. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
Keiko uncrossed her arms and moved next to her chair. She actually hadn’t heard what he had said, but she guessed at the gist of it.
“Of course. You’re concerned about the Alliance movements in this sector, and you believe that our hidden forces in the Badlands won’t be sufficient to counter their advances.”
Miles, who looked as if he were going to launch into one of his tirades, blinked as if in surprise. “Right, that’s right. If these dispatches are accurate”—he indicated a pile of datapads in front of him—“our people are going to be outgunned at least four to one.”
Eddington leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Those reports were compiled by very reliable sources.”
Miles slammed a hand against the table. A couple of the padds jumped. “That’s not the point. The point
is, I don’t know how we’re going to bolster our defenses. Thanks to Zek and Bashir.” He all but spat out their names.
Keiko raised a hand. “Thanks to Zek and Bashir, we’re limited in our options. That should make things easier, not more difficult.”
Miles stared at her, then nodded and sat down with a sigh. “I guess so. It’s just that it’s been so damn hard to think straight lately.”
Keiko nodded and took her own seat. “I know, Miles. We’ve all been running ragged these last two weeks. It’s fortunate the Alliance didn’t follow up their attack on Empok Nor with an assault on this station. We’d be in even worse shape than we are now.”
Eddington folded his hands into his lap and nodded. “Probably true.” He glanced at Miles. “Should we start again, from the top?”
A sudden explosion shook the room. The klaxons sounded, and the lighting changed to display alert status. A rough voice filtered over the comm system, calling all senior officers to ops. Keiko joined Miles and Eddington in rushing up to the station’s command center.
There, Luther Sloan worked at the tactical station. Leeta was at an engineering panel, and there were a handful of others hard at work.
Sloan glanced at the three of them as they piled off the lift. “There’s been an explosion in engineering. We’ve lost long-range sensors.”
“What about the backups?” asked Eddington.
Miles said, “I had them taken offline this morning for overhaul.” He glanced at Keiko—it had been her idea.
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