The Battle Of Betazed Part 5

The computer screen on her desk showed a standard personnel record, complete with a recent visual. Vaughn had been born on Berengaria VII in 2275. Exactly a century old, she thought. It was an age by which most Starfleet humans were already retired. Academy cla.s.s of'97. There was no information about his subsequent postings, and no specific current a.s.signment other than the innocuously worded "consultant," which almost made Deanna laugh aloud.

Frowning, she said, "Computer, search for Elias Vaughn in the historical database."

The number of items listed was surprisingly paltry for a man who'd served in Starfleet for nearly eight decades, but he'd had a tumultuous career, to say the least: the civil war on Beta IV, the genocidal holocaust on Arvada III, the Tomed incident, and one or two others. The database didn't even list the Betreka Nebula, and Deanna knew that Vaughn and her father had served there together.

She suppressed a sigh of frustration. The facts were so spa.r.s.e a spy would have a better background cover than the limited information available on the commander.

She really didn't want facts, however. She wanted more about his character. What made the man tick? Traveling from a.s.signment to a.s.signment with no permanent place to call home had to be the loneliest of lives. Did he need no one but himself? She couldn't help wondering about his emotional life, his self-control, his impulses and appet.i.tes. Who were his friends? His family? His record listed no wife, but a daughter who was a recent Academy graduate serving as an ensign on the U.S.S. Sentinel.

But everything else she sought was conspicuously missing.

So much for the official record, she thought. Well, there's always the old-fashioned way. She still had a good opportunity to learn something meaningful about the man whose command she'd accepted, and that opportunity awaited her in holodeck two.

"Beverly?" Deanna reached the holodeck entrance just as the doctor staggered out. Normally groomed immaculately, Beverly Crusher sagged against the corridor wall, sweat dripping off her forehead, her hair a ratty tangle. Like Deanna, she wore her surface ops blacks. She patted her face with a towel and fought to draw air into her lungs.

The doctor held up a hand to forestall Deanna's questions of concern. "I'm all right."

"When did Commander Vaughn recruit you for the mission?" Deanna asked.

"Right after he recruited Data," Beverly panted. She took a moment to regain her breath. "I haven't had a workout like that since running through the Celtris III scenarios with Jean-Luc and Worf."

Deanna scrutinized her friend with concern. The Federation wounded were pouring into the sector, and every doctor at Starbase 133 had been working round the clock. Not only did Beverly's face reveal exhaustion from her session with Vaughn, the lines around her eyes had deepened, and the circles beneath them had darkened since yesterday.

Deanna understood more than most that treating the injured brought its own tolls. Beverly would know firsthand the horrors, the sacrifices, the losses of friends and families and homes. And no matter how strong the physician's psyche, continuously dealing with bad news and dying patients wore down even the most resilient souls. Small wonder Beverly had accepted the a.s.signment to Darona.

"He's waiting for you," the doctor said, straightening her shoulders.

"What do you think of him?"

Beverly shrugged. "He's not the first hundred-year-old I've met who could go up against holographic opponents, or even real ones. Most people don't give it much thought, but there are actually a lot more active centenarian humans in Starfleet than is generally known. One of the benefits of an ever-lengthening life span." She smiled wryly. "Just the same, I'm glad Vaughn's on our side."

"You almost sound optimistic," Deanna said. "I wish I could be."

Beverly put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Deanna, Jean-Luc told me a little about the issues you're struggling with. I can really only try to imagine what you're going through right now. But let me ask you something. Do you have faith in your friends on the Enterprise to do everything we can to help win back Betazed?"

"Of course I do."

"Then you need to have that same faith in your people back home. Trust them to get through this without forgetting who they are."

"Easier said than done," Deanna said. "Tevren-"

"I know," Beverly said. "But I also know you. And if even half the Betazoids are anything like you or your mother, I think Betazed will endure whatever Tevren brings to it."

Deanna mustered a grateful smile and squeezed her friend's hand. "Thanks, Beverly." And with an encouraging nod, the doctor set off for her quarters, leaving Deanna staring at the holodeck doors.

Letting out a deep breath, she stepped forward. The doors parted at her approach. Inside, she saw to her surprise that the holodeck walls were bare but for the diode grid. No holographic environment. She'd expected a Darona simulation-a city street, maybe the prison interior, with a squad of holographic Jem'Hadar waiting to ambush her.

Instead, she saw only Vaughn standing in the middle of the room, the red stripe of his s...o...b.. standing out against the otherwise black uniform. In contrast to Beverly, he hadn't broken a sweat. And his breathing appeared to be perfectly even.

"Try to kill me," he instructed.

"I beg your pardon?"

He beckoned her closer. "Make your best move."

She didn't advance but dropped into a widespread stance, left foot forward, left fist up and ready for a jab. Keeping her weight on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet, she bounced lightly, slowly circling, sizing up her opponent for weakness.

She couldn't find any.

She feinted, moving in and out, testing his reaction but keeping her distance. He didn't so much as blink.

"Come on, Deanna," he taunted softly. "Come get me. Take me down."

She ignored his jibe and watched his blue eyes for a hint of movement. Just because Vaughn had asked her to attack didn't mean he wouldn't do the same. And while her offensive strikes weren't particularly powerful, she'd practiced her defensive maneuvers more. She preferred him to attack her, so she could turn his superior strength against him.

Not that she thought she had a chance against a combat veteran like Vaughn, but she didn't want to embarra.s.s herself completely either. He had more strength, more stamina, and decades more experience. She already knew how this exercise would end. The question was simply how long she lasted.

"I'm only an old man," he taunted again. "Nothing in comparison to the Jem'Hadar on Betazed." She circled lightly as Vaughn spoke. "Did you know that before battle the Jem'Hadar perform a ritual ceremony? 'I am dead,' they chant. 'As of this moment we are all dead. We go into battle to reclaim our lives. This we do gladly because we are Jem'Hadar. Victory is life.'"

He stared at her with a penetrating gaze and repeated the chilling incantation. "'Victory is life.' Come get me, Deanna."

"Is that an order, sir?" She kept her guard up, her eyes alert.

"Very good." He nodded approval. "You can't be taunted into attacking. But then I never doubted your common sense." He shifted his stance slightly. Mentally, she sensed his mind quickening to a higher state of vigilance. If she hadn't been focused, she would have missed the tiny sign. Still she was barely prepared for the force and swiftness of his attack.

Vaughn lunged with the speed and grace of a Bajoran hara cat. In comparison, she deliberately slowed her reaction and feigned clumsiness, dropping to her b.u.t.tocks and back on the mat, planting the soles of her feet into his stomach, catapulting him over her head, using the momentum of his attack against him.

In antic.i.p.ation of a head-first dive, Vaughn lifted his arms over his head. His palms. .h.i.t the mat, and he rotated smoothly forward. She rolled backward with his momentum and somersaulted until she straddled his chest. Summoning a kiai, a shout from deep within, she simultaneously aimed a knife-hand blow to his neck. He blocked her strike with an ease that suggested he'd envisioned her attack before she'd even thought of it.

"A stiff-wristed palm to the base of the nose should have been your choice of a killing blow," he said. "You have the strength to crunch the nose bones into the brain. Try again."

She started to stand, a.s.suming he meant for them to begin on their feet. Instead, he pulled her back down with firm gentleness. At his touch, she sensed a mental weariness that told her he'd taught this exercise more times than he would have liked. "Hit me. Use the base of your palm."

"I won't-"

"Do as I say," he demanded.

Beneath his exterior sternness, she sensed his sympathy for her dislike of fighting. "I can't just-"

"You can. Hit me." He tapped his nose. "Here."

She knew she possessed enough power to drive the tiny bones into his brain. And she knew he would stop her before she succeeded. Still she hesitated.

Intellectually comprehending that her strike wouldn't succeed was one thing. Using all her force and skill to attempt to kill a Starfleet officer during a training exercise was another matter entirely.

Deanna tensed. "I can't."

"Show me the move in slow motion," he ordered.

She did as he asked, stiffening her hand and c.o.c.king her wrist at the required angle.

"That's fine. At least you know the drill."

She rolled off and sat on the deck, breathing heavily more from stress than from exercise. "Taking a life has never been easy for me."

Vaughn sat up next to her. "When the time comes, you'll react with the necessary amount of force," he a.s.sured her.

"How can you know that?" She hated the taking of life, and she wondered if she could perform adequately and efficiently to protect herself and her crewmates in dangerous situations. "I might hesitate at a critical moment."

"You won't."

"How can you say that with such a.s.surance?" She not only heard the meaning in his words, but felt his complete faith in her.

In the s.p.a.ce of a few short minutes, Vaughn had proved that even though he was a hardened soldier, he was also someone who didn't use more force than required to do a job. Neither did he exhibit any joy in combat. Clearly he understood her dislike of killing. But the question, she knew, wasn't whether or not she could trust Vaughn. It was whether she could go through with her decision to join him on the mission.

She reached out empathically, sensed in him complex emotions, feelings that he reined in tightly, and she a.s.sessed his deep weariness, at odds with his tough and energetic exterior. Unable to pinpoint whether he was tired of special operations, the war, some other aspect of his life, or a combination of the three, she came to believe he had a good heart. Sparring with him suggested he wasn't the type to hurt anyone he didn't feel compelled to. He valued life. He wasn't a career soldier because he relished the thrill of battle; in fact, as far as she could tell, he truly hated it. He was doing a job he didn't want to do, simply because he believed in the objective.

"I know you won't fail when the time comes," he said finally, "because you have good genes."

Deanna frowned. "You mean from my father."

"Don't sell your mother short, either. Lwaxana is as formidable an individual as I've ever met. She and Ian-" He stopped and looked at her, then, smiling wistfully. "You probably don't remember the first time we met. You were just a baby."

"No," Deanna admitted. "But I do remember the last time we met."

Vaughn's smile faded, and he looked away. "I'm sorry, Deanna," he said quietly. "Your father was a good friend to me. He saved my life once, and I'd have given anything to do the same for him. I know that doesn't change the fact that I went home from that last mission, and he didn't."

Deanna didn't know what surprised her more, the fact that her father had saved Vaughn's life, or the revelation that Vaughn had been there when he died.

Seeming to guess her thoughts, Vaughn shook his head. "The details aren't important. What matters is that when things were at their worst, Ian Troi always did what needed doing. Your mother is the same way. And, I suspect, you are too. But believe me when I tell you that if there was anyone else I could turn to so I could spare you all this, I would."

Deanna felt ashamed then, knowing she would never wish the dilemma she was faced with on anyone else, but knowing also that to turn her back on it was never really an option. Where this path she was now on would take her, she didn't know. But her course, at least, was finally clear.

Deanna got to her feet, offering Vaughn her hand. "Show me more."

Vaughn looked up at her. A look of sorrow came briefly to his eyes, then quickly hardened into determination. After a moment, he took her hand and pulled himself up.

Tilting her head back, Deanna closed her eyes as the spray of hot water warmed her skin, soothed her aches, and relaxed her mind. After four grueling hours sparring with Vaughn-followed by two more hours of combat with holographic Jem'Hadar after Vaughn had excused himself for another meeting with the captain-Deanna had gone back to her quarters, stripped off her uniform, stepped into the shower stall, and simply let the heat and steam envelop her. The water, as hot as she could stand it, ma.s.saged her flesh in ways the sonic setting couldn't compare.

Deanna collected water into one cupped hand and then released it, letting it dribble through her fingers. Plans were proceeding apace now. After weeks of inactivity, the Enterprise had come alive as repair teams scurried throughout the ship, battle drills got under way, and new crewmembers rotated aboard from the starbase. One way or another, it seemed, the a.s.sault on Sentok Nor was going forward, though what would follow was still anyone's guess-just as it was still uncertain how her team was going to make it to the surface of Darona undetected.

Something stirred suddenly in her mind. As always, she sensed Will's presence at the door of her quarters before he signaled. "Come in, Will," she called.

Through the sound of the cascading water, she followed the trail of Will's emotions as he entered her quarters: his surprise at seeing the combat uniform tossed carelessly on the floor of her living area; his boyish thrill of realizing she was in the shower; his gentlemanly hesitation as he realized he'd come at an awkward time. "You want me to come back later?" he called.

Deanna said nothing, her eyes still closed against the water, soaking in Will's rea.s.suring presence in her mind as she soaked up the heat.

Imzadi ...

"Deanna? Did you say something?"

"Just a second, Will," she said finally, her eyes opening. She couldn't see past the steam.

"I can come back-"

"No, it's all right," she said, turning off the shower. "Hand me my robe, would you?"

Hesitation again. He was wondering if she was sending him a signal. And part of her, she realized, was wondering the same thing. Her history with Will was long and pa.s.sionate on numerous levels, and always seemed just on the verge of reigniting, especially during times of personal crisis.

You really should know better, Deanna, she admonished herself. Try to remember you're a counselor.

She heard him fumbling for the robe near the entrance to the bathroom. "That's quite a head of steam you have going in there," he commented.

"Helped me to relax," she said, reaching through the steam. "You should try it sometime." She could see him now, a silhouette in the mist, which of course meant that he, in turn, could see her.

He handed her the robe. "It seems to be having the opposite effect on me," he admitted. "But I think you knew that."

She froze. Of course, she thought. Will wasn't empathic, but he also wasn't likely to forget that she was, and he knew perfectly well that she could read him like a book, emotionally.

Nudity wasn't an issue to most Betazoids. But realizing that Will had seen through her, Deanna suddenly felt naked. Exposed. She quickly wrapped her robe around herself. "I'm sorry, Will. That was ... that was unfair of me. And stupid."

The fog was lifting. She could see his face now. He was smiling at her. Not mischievously, but affectionately. "Why? Because you feel that if we gave in to our impulses, it would be for the wrong reasons, and at the worst possible time?"

"Isn't that how you feel?"

"That's a rhetorical question, Deanna. You know how I feel."

"Then why do we do this to ourselves?"

"Honestly? Because I think when you get past our suppressed mutual l.u.s.t, we actually care about each other too much to risk making this choice just because we're suddenly afraid it may be our last chance. But either way, it's not something either of us should feel sorry about."

Deanna smiled crookedly and looked up at him. "Are you after my job?"

"G.o.d, no. Who would want it?"

Will let out a satisfying "Oof!" as Deanna punched him in the stomach, after which she reached for a towel and wrapped it around her head as she walked past him into the living area. "So what does bring you to my quarters at this late hour, Commander?"

Will made a show of holding his abdomen as he staggered after her. "Some news that I thought might brighten your evening," he gasped dramatically, then sobered, grinning in that way he had that came more from his eyes than any other part of his face. "I just found out how Vaughn expects to get to Darona."

Chapter Six.

G UL L EMEC ASCENDED the turboshaft of Sentok Nor, the Carda.s.sian-engineered s.p.a.ce station that glittered in the sky above Betazed. Unlike the majority of Nor -cla.s.s stations, Sentok had not been designed as a facility for refining s.p.a.ce-borne materials. The Dominion's war with the Federation had led to new uses for the ma.s.sive a.s.semblage of steel and composites. Instead of miners, Sentok Nor's habitat ring housed Carda.s.sian soldiers and engineers, while its central core was outfitted as the system's primary Jem'Hadar breeding facility. The station's cargo holds stored war materiel and captive Betazoids brought up from the planet, as well as the lab complex for the experimental work that played such a big part in the Dominion's decision to target Betazed for annexation in the first place. And its graceful pylons-only three of which had been completed so far-served as docking ports for Dominion and Carda.s.sian warships.