Sacraments of Fire

by David R. George III

  The dark area grew as Tecyr neared it. Stinson verified detection of the outpost’s transponder signal, as well as transmission of the runabout’s own identification beacon. All appeared normal.

  Stinson usually made the weekly run to the outpost in the center seat on Defiant’s bridge. The visit typically required only a few minutes in orbit of Endalla, lasting only as long as it required to rotate out the three-person security team stationed there, and for him to receive a status report. The Bajoran moon essentially marked just another stop on Defiant’s patrol route. Since the assassination of President Bacco, though, Starfleet Command had ordered the starbase to remain defended at all times by at least one starship. With Robinson and Aventine having both recently departed DS9, that left only Defiant.

  On the main console, an indicator began to blink at the same time that an audio signal chirped. Stinson reached forward and activated Tecyr’s comm system. A voice immediately filled the cabin.

  “Endalla One to Tecyr,” said Ensign Ernak gov Ansarg, a member of the Deep Space 9 crew, and one of the security officers assigned that week to the outpost.

  Stinson tapped another touchpad on the console, opening a return channel. “Ansarg, this is Stinson. Transmitting our security code now.” The second officer worked his controls to send a complex, encrypted password over an ever-changing but pre­arranged frequency. He waited for Ansarg to verify the cipher.

  At last, she said, “Your identity is confirmed.” Stinson knew that the code also indicated Tecyr’s normal operational state. Had there been a problem—if, for example, the runabout had been commandeered by some hostile force and its crew taken captive—he would have sent a different password designed to indicate that. “You are authorized to land.”

  “Acknowledged,” Stinson said. He checked the distance to the outpost. “We’ll be setting down in less than ten minutes. Tecyr out.” He closed the channel.

  Through the forward viewport, the field of black had spread to port and starboard as far as Stinson could see. As he watched, the runabout flew across its near edge, leaving the vista nothing but an ebony sprawl in all directions. To the second officer, it resembled a deep, tranquil lake, its surface completely smooth, unmoved by any air currents above or any aquatic life below.

  Stinson studied the spread of black. He could see an occasional star reflected in the glassy material. In the distance, Bajor’s sun, B’hava’el, shined brightly down, and as Tecyr sailed toward it, its mirror image grew brighter still. The port automatically polarized as the illumination in the cabin increased.

  The vitreous shell on that part of Endalla had been neither a consequence of the disaster that had torn away the moon’s atmosphere, nor a part of its natural landscape. It had been created nearly six years earlier, when a group of religious extremists had occupied the site. Members of the Ohalavaru, they followed the teachings of certain ancient texts—writings that many Bajorans believed heretical, and that claimed that the Prophets were not gods, but simply powerful, munificent aliens.

  The extremists had occupied Endalla before Stinson’s tenure at DS9, but he had since read about the event. The religious zealots apparently interpreted one passage of their apocrypha as indicating that Bajor’s largest moon concealed potential evidence of the earthly nature of the Prophets, and they sought to find and expose it. To those ends, they carried a massive amount of explosives to Endalla, intending to essentially strip-mine the planetoid on a large scale, until they uncovered some physical substantiation of their convictions. Both the Bajoran authorities and Starfleet interceded, successfully preventing the extremists’ efforts, but not before a mammoth detonation had taken lives and turned a span of the moon’s topography into black glass.

  Since that episode, Starfleet had provided a security contingent on Endalla. Deep Space 9 personnel initially posted themselves on the surface in a runabout, but the station’s engineering crew eventually erected a prefab structure provided by the Corps of Engineers, then installed the necessary equipment to continuously monitor the moon. Three-person security teams spent a week at a time there, keeping watch. To hear them speak about the assignment, few of them found much benefit in protecting the barren moon, though most of the Bajoran members of the crew—many of them believers in the Prophets—fully supported the decision to do so.

  A sliver of gray lunar surface finally appeared beyond the lake of glass. A circular edifice stood there, its circumference punctuated by stanchions that supported the outer bulkhead and, reaching up past the radially corrugated roof, ended in spherical conductor nodes for projecting a defensive force field. Officially dubbed Security Outpost Endalla I—a name even more grandiloquent than its designation as an outpost—the simple building contained only a monitor-and-control room and a small living section. Another runabout, for use by the security team, sat beside the outpost.

  Stinson looked around at Hallström, Silverman, and Torvan—two humans and a Bajoran, respectively. “We’ll be setting down in just a moment,” he told them. They each quickly rose from their seats and headed aft, to the storage lockers where they had stowed their travel duffels.

  Stinson looked again through the forward port and worked the helm to bring Tecyr down on the starboard side of the outpost. He powered up the antigravs and cut the main engines, alighting directly in front of the other runabout, Elestan, its bow adorned with the registry NCC-77544—one number down from that of Tecyr. Stinson recalled that the two vessels had been delivered to Deep Space 9 at the same time, entering service together.

  “We’re ready, Commander,” said Ensign Hallström, the senior member of the security team, and therefore its leader.

  “Acknowledged,” Stinson said. After securing the runabout, he reopened the comm channel to the outpost. “Tecyr to Endalla One,” he said.

  “Ansarg here.”

  Stinson glanced behind him to see that Silverman and Torvan had taken their places in the two-person transporter at the rear of the cabin, their duffels slung over their shoulders. “We’re prepared to begin beaming over.”

  “Aye, sir,” Ansarg said. “Energizing now.”

  A familiar hum filled the cockpit, and the two security officers vanished amid a spray of brilliant white specks and streaks. Once transport had completed, Stinson and Hallström mounted the platform. “Stinson to Ansarg. Ready.”

  When the second officer’s vision cleared, he and Hallström had materialized on a small stage at the periphery of Endalla I’s semicircular control room. Monitoring and operations consoles lined the curved outer bulkhead and filled the center of the compartment. In the middle of the straight wall that cut the outpost in two, a single-paneled door led to the living area, which included a small lounge, sleeping quarters, and a refresher.

  Stinson addressed Ansarg, who stood at a freestanding console in front of the transporter stage. “Permission to come aboard.”

  “Granted, sir,” the Tellarite said.

  Silverman and Torvan had already crossed the control room to confer with the crewmen they would be relieving, Ventor Bixx and Barry Herriot. Stinson saw two sets of duffels sitting beside the transporter stage, and as he and Hallström descended the steps to the deck, the ensign added his to a pair sitting together, presumably those belonging to the new security team; the other three, packed and ready to go, no doubt belonged to the departing team. Stinson knew that Ansarg ran a tight ship—not especially punctilious with her subordinates, but exceedingly efficient. The ensign had drawn high marks from Lieutenant Commander Blackmer in the year she’d served with the DS9 crew.

  Stinson and Hallström stepped over to the transporter console. Ansarg handed them each a padd. “Status log for the week, as well as the handover report,” the ensign said as the second officer skimmed a précis on his display. “We had no incursions into Endalla’s perimeter. Sensor sweeps of the surface similarly read clear for the period. We also detected no scans of either the moon or
this facility.” She paused, then noted, “Basically, it’s the same report we always give, but with one exception.”

  Stinson looked up from his padd, surprised. Rarely did anything interrupt the monotony of observing the empty moon. The security team would intermittently report meteorite strikes on the surface, none of which had ever proven to be anything other than naturally occurring phenomena.

  “What happened?” Hallström asked.

  “Three days ago, we received an incoming transmission from a spacecraft in orbit around Bajor,” Ansarg said. “It was not intended for the outpost, but for a scientist at one of the research labs on Endalla.”

  “Research labs?” Hallström echoed, clearly confused. Like Ansarg, he had served in the DS9 crew for only a short time.

  “Before the incident that wiped out the atmosphere and the plant life here,” Stinson explained, “the Bajorans kept several science laboratories on Endalla—mostly to study the moon itself.” Of Ansarg, he asked, “Was the message meant for one of those facilities?”

  “Aye, sir,” she said. “A man calling himself Galdus Mon was attempting to reach a woman named Lenkit Casten. He claimed that she worked at one of the Endalla labs. We checked with the Bajoran Ministry of Science. They confirmed that an ecologist by that name had worked on the moon for several years, but that she was one of those who died when the subspace wave destroyed the labs.”

  “Galdus Mon,” Stinson said. “That’s an Yridian name, isn’t it?”

  “Aye,” Ansarg said.

  “So many of them are information merchants,” Stinson said. “It seems unlikely that he wouldn’t have known the fate of Endalla all these years later.”

  “I questioned him about it,” Ansarg said. “He claimed to be a dealer not in information, but in fine arts, mostly plying his trade along the border between the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. He’s registered with the Federation Trade Council, and so his movements and dealings are well documented. He said that he met Lenkit a decade ago, on his last visit to Bajor. She purchased a piece of Lorillian sculpture from him, and then they saw each other socially a few times.”

  “And it all checked out?” Stinson asked.

  “It did,” Ansarg said. “Mon was very cooperative. He was also visibly disappointed to learn what had happened to Lenkit. It’s all in the status log.” She pointed to the padd in the second officer’s hand.

  “All right,” Stinson said. He trusted Ansarg’s judgment, but when it came to matters of security, it always troubled him when something unexpected happened, no matter how seemingly benign. “Anything else to report?”

  “Negative, sir,” Ansarg said. “The moon—”

  An alert sounded. Across the compartment, Bixx and Herriot raced over to consoles, with Silverman and Torvan right behind them. Stinson and the others started in that direction as well. “Proximity alert,” Bixx announced as he examined a display. “A vessel has penetrated the moon’s security perimeter.”

  “Are we under attack?” Stinson wanted to know.

  “I’m reading no weapons fire,” Herriot said. The crewman worked his controls. “Actually, I’m not reading much of anything inside its hull; there seems to be some sort of interference.” Herriot looked over at the second officer. “It appears to be a small vessel, but our ship-recognition routines aren’t providing a match. Scans show no other traffic in the vicinity.”

  “Hail them,” Stinson ordered.

  Ansarg quickly moved to operate a panel. Stinson noted that the three members of the new security team he had just delivered to the outpost hung back, allowing their counterparts to do their jobs without interference. To himself, he commended them for that; the official handover from the first squad to the second hadn’t been completed, meaning that Ansarg and her people remained on duty. It fell to Stinson, as the highest-ranking officer among them, to take charge.

  “Hailing frequencies, sir,” Ansarg said.

  “Security Outpost Endalla One to unidentified vessel,” Stinson said. “You are in violation of restricted Bajoran space without authorization. Identify yourself and withdraw at once.” He waited for a response, but none came. He repeated his message, but still got no reply.

  “I can’t tell if they’re receiving us,” Ansarg said.

  “Location and course,” Stinson said.

  “It’s almost directly on the opposite side of Endalla from the outpost,” Bixx reported. Stinson knew that the satellites in orbit about the moon allowed scans all around it, as well as communications. “Its course is ragged,” Bixx continued. “Its crew could be in trouble.”

  Stinson didn’t hesitate. “Ansarg, continue monitoring the vessel and attempting to make contact. Inform Captain Ro of the situation.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Hallström, you’re with me,” he said, then marched toward the transporter stage.

  “TIME TO INTERCEPT?”

  “We’re coming up on the vessel fast, Commander,” Hallström said. “We’ll reach it in less than five minutes.” The ensign sat beside Stinson at Tecyr’s main console, crewing the sensor panel.

  The second officer looked up from the helm controls and out through the forward port. He tried to discern the trespassing ship among the backdrop of stars. He glanced over at the sensor display and spied the irregular path the vessel traced above Endalla, but at a lower altitude than the runabout. When he peered back through the viewport, he cast his gaze downward and spotted movement in the distance, not against the bejeweled darkness of space, but over the leaden tones of the lunar surface.

  Stinson quickly configured a subpanel so that he could access the imaging controls, then worked to project onto the viewscreen to his left a visual of the ship they pursued. Because of its ash-colored hull, he could barely differentiate it from the ground below it. He magnified the picture until the vessel filled the display. An angular bow roosted at the front of an elongated main body that resembled an elaborate trusswork, and a wide, disc-shaped structure formed the stern. Two cylinders depending from the complex frame could have been warp nacelles. He saw no markings on it.

  “It doesn’t look familiar,” Stinson told Hallström.

  “No, not to me either, sir,” the ensign said. “But it’s not large.” He worked his controls and a scale appeared on the display. “It’s actually slightly smaller than a runabout.”

  “Have your scans cleared yet?” Stinson asked.

  “Negative, Commander,” Hallström said. “Something continues to interfere with our sensors. I think it’s some type of radiation.”

  “Can you tell if its purpose is to block our scans?”

  “It’s certainly possible,” Hallström said, “but it could also be—” He stopped and tapped at a number of controls in rapid succession. “Commander, that ship is emitting delta rays.”

  “Is it the warp drive?”

  Hallström’s fingers marched up and down his console. “I’m tuning the sensors to compensate specifically for delta radiation.” Stinson watched the ensign work, until at last Hallström said, “A baffle plate on one of the warp nacelles has ruptured . . . there’s considerable internal damage in one section.”

  A baffle plate? Stinson thought. The vessel must have been an old one. “Life signs?”

  “I’m trying to isolate them now,” Hallström said. “I’m reading one life-form aboard . . . Bajoran . . . their vital signs are still strong, but . . .” His voice trailed off before he finished the sentence.

  “But when one baffle plate goes, others are sure to follow,” Stinson finished for him.

  “I don’t remember much from the few engineering courses I took at Starfleet,” Hallström said, “but I remember that.”

  Up ahead, Stinson saw, the vessel had grown in size as Tecyr had narrowed the distance to it. “This close, maybe I can punch through the radiation interference,” he said. He narrowed the transmission beam, then set it to p
ropagate at multiple offset frequencies. “This is the Starfleet vessel Tecyr, to unidentified ship above Endalla. Please respond.” Stinson waited several seconds, then repeated his message.

  Static suddenly erupted from the comm system, followed by a run of words only intermittently understandable. “. . . is the Vellidon . . . Stoat . . . vigation syst . . . diation leak . . . peat: I require assist . . .” Despite the paucity of audible and complete words, Stinson had no trouble recognizing the intent of the message.

  “This is the Tecyr,” Stinson said. “We’re on our way.” He left the channel open, but heard nothing more.

  “Can we beam him off the ship?” Hallström asked.

  “Listen to the interference in the message,” Stinson said, wondering the same thing. He called up transporter control. “It’s one thing to get a transmission through,” he said, even as he worked to lock on to the Bajoran. “If words are lost, a message might still be understood, but if a transporter beam loses coherence . . .” He stopped speaking as he concentrated on focusing the targeting scanner. Again and again, his attempts failed. “It’s no good,” he told Hallström. “I can’t get a clear lock for transport.”

  “Sir, I’m reading a surge in delta radiation,” Hallström said. “I think another plate may be on the verge of rupturing.”

  Stinson immediately reached for the helm controls and increased Tecyr’s speed beyond safe limits. The runabout jumped forward and rapidly closed the gap with the ship in distress. “Prepare the tractor beam,” he ordered.