The Dominion War_ Behind Enemy Lines Part 8

Picard shot her a glance, then immediately turned to his console. His fingers pressed several membrane panels before the gul slapped him in the head and knocked him out of his chair. The captain tumbled to the floor, but he gazed up with a satisfied look on his face.

"What have you done?" bellowed the gul.

"We have eight seconds to live."

Chapter Six.

RO HAD NEVER SEEN a Carda.s.sian's eyes widen, because of the thick bones which encircled their eye sockets. But Gul Ditok's eyes grew very wide when Picard told him that he had seconds to live. Every person on the bridge of the Orb of Peace looked terrified, and Ro's eyes went instinctively to the plat.i.tudes framing the viewscreen. "Place yourself in the hands of the Prophets," suggested one phrase, which was a proper sentiment under the circ.u.mstances.

Gul Ditok barked into his communicator, "Beam us up! Immediately!"

As their sparkling shapes vanished from the bridge, Picard leaped into his chair and punched his instrument panel. Ro flinched, certain that the next instant would be their last.

When they weren't blasted to bits, she opened her eyes and looked around. "I counted more than ten seconds."

"I changed my mind and set it for thirty," admitted Picard. "I put the shields up, so they can't transport us off. You'd better start talking to them."

Ro motioned to Tactical. "Open a channel to the Jem'Hadar ship. Put me on screen, whether they acknowledge or not."

She strode in front of the viewscreen and pouted angrily. "This is Captain Ro Laren of the Orb of Peace. Is this how the Dominion treats its neutral trading partners? We come here in peace, and you steal our shipment of zajerberry wine, you threaten my crew, and you plant a weapon on our ship so that you can illegally seize us!"

She closed her eyes again, expecting quantum torpedoes to slam into them. When that didn't happen, Ro went on. "We know there's a war, but our work goes on. We are a religious people, and we just want a chance to trade goods and ideas. In this modest vessel, we couldn't do you any harm."

Ro tried not to think what a huge lie she had just delivered, but she was doing the best she could in this one-way conversation. Ro glanced down at Picard and saw that he had only paused the self-destruct sequence. There were fifteen seconds left, and his fingers were poised to resume the fatal countdown.

The viewscreen was filled with two imposing warships-the mustard-colored Galor-cla.s.s warship and the Jem'Hadar battle cruiser, its hull pulsing with a vibrant blue light. Ro looked at tactical. "End transmission."

"Yes, sir."

"Are they arming weapons?"

"No," said the officer on tactical. "They're sending coded messages back and forth to each other."

Ro looked at Picard, and he gave her an encouraging smile. "You're doing fine."

She nodded and swallowed. It felt good to yell at them, even if every word was a lie.

The tactical officer gasped with surprise. "They are ... they are sending us doc.u.ments! One set allows us pa.s.sage in this sector, and the other is an order to appear on Carda.s.sia Prime in seventy-two hours to discuss a fine for our offenses."

"They gave us a ticket," commented Picard with a touch of amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice.

Ro looked puzzledly at the human. "A ticket?"

"It's an old Terran phrase," said Picard. "It means that we received a summons to appear later, so trial and punishment is put off. Acknowledge it and thank them."

"Yes, sir."

Ro didn't breathe calmly until the two great warships glided into graceful turns and disappeared into s.p.a.ce. For several seconds, the bridge crew stared at the glittering starscape, scarcely believing that the threat was gone.

"Keep them on sensors," ordered Ro, "for as long as you can."

"Yes, sir," answered the ops officer.

"Resume course for the farming colony until we're sure they're gone," said Ro, her mouth feeling parched.

"Aye, sir," replied Picard as he carried out the order. "We'll have to make a run for the Badlands sooner or later."

"I know," answered Ro grimly. "Let's calculate exactly how much time we'll need to make it. When we get a window, we'll go."

"Let's hope for a large window," added the captain.

While buffeted by swirling winds and heavy methane snow, Data set up a portable scanner on the rugged outcropping and tried to take readings. Although the electromagnetic interference and radiation levels were high, they weren't disruptive enough to hide his shuttlecraft, which was still sitting out there, an alien artifact on an icy plain. At least it hadn't been totally destroyed.

He couldn't detect any other machines, vessels, probes, or life signs near the shuttlecraft, but that didn't mean the area was safe. The range of his portable instruments didn't allow him to tell if the Jem'Hadar ship was still in orbit around Kreel VI.

Data was neither impatient nor imprudent, and he could have sat there for weeks, waiting until it was absolutely safe to venture forth. But every moment he delayed reduced the likelihood of finding the Orb of Peace with the shuttlecraft's sensors. His own safety was not an issue, except that if he was captured or destroyed, his mission couldn't possibly succeed.

Overriding these concerns was the necessity of finding out if the shuttlecraft itself was still intact. In the pelting blizzard, he repacked his cases and began his descent from the tor. Not only was the storm worse than ever, but the daylight was beginning to fade. By the time Data covered the three kilometers to his shuttlecraft, the visibility was terrible, and he was forced to plug directly into his tricorder to scan the area.

Thirty meters from the shuttlecraft, he discovered a dark crater br.i.m.m.i.n.g with radiation, and he set down his cases and crouched between them. He a.s.sumed the crater was the remains of the blast he had felt earlier, which meant that the Jem'Hadar had missed his shuttlecraft. Or perhaps it had been a warning shot, intended to flush him out of hiding. Data grabbed a phaser, a tricorder, and a bandolier loaded with photon grenades, which he slung over his shoulder.

Despite all indications that the Jem'Hadar had left the planet without finding him or his ship, Data hesitated and continued to take readings, both with his tricorder and his internal sensors. His friend, Geordi, had an expression: "If it looks too good to be true, it probably is." In this case, it looked too good to be true.

As he searched for esoteric pulses and energy readings, Data detected the low-resonance hum of a light source which shouldn't be there in the foggy darkness. It wasn't a strong light source, more like a photo cell or a photoreceptor.

A motion detector. On a planet with no life, it was a simple but effective warning device.

He concentrated his search on the few meters in front of the shuttlecraft and pinpointed the location of the motion detector-directly in front of the hatch. Was the alarm intended to alert the Jem'Hadar that he had returned? Or was it even more basic-a bomb intended to turn both him and the shuttlecraft into sc.r.a.p? If he took another step closer, he would probably find out.

The trick was to get closer without getting closer. The android did a careful calculation and determined that he was seventeen meters away from the device, and it was at ground level. He stepped backward several paces, ran forward, and leaped twenty meters into the air.

In a high arc, Data soared through the methane atmosphere and landed with a thud on the roof of the shuttlecraft. He paused, waiting to see if he had activated the alarm, but the device continued to emit a low-resonance hum. Because it was on the ground, its range apparently didn't extend to the roof, and the shuttlecraft itself hid his movements.

Because a bomb was a more immediate concern than an alarm, he had to deactivate it. But getting too close would have just the opposite effect. Despite all of his precautions, Data realized that direct and swift action was required.

He looked around the roof of the shuttlecraft and spotted a deflector dish, which had to weigh at least two hundred kilograms. He grabbed the dish with both hands and yanked it from its mounts, snapping the metal as if it were plywood. Calculating the exact location of the motion detector on the ground below him, Data leaned over the edge of the roof and dropped the dish on top of it.

With a satisfying crunch, the humming stopped.

Data noted that both he and the shuttlecraft were still intact, but he crouched down and drew his phaser, making sure it was set on heavy stun.

They came quickly. Four figures in gray s.p.a.ce suits materialized on the ground below him, and Data didn't wait for them to react. He fired two bursts from his phaser, felling two of them; then he leaped off the shuttlecraft as they returned fire.

Data dropped into a crouch and fired twice more. The s.p.a.ce-suited figures twisted from the impact of his phaser beams and slumped to the ground. Figuring the casualties would be retrieved quickly, the android grabbed a plasma grenade, armed it, ripped off the adhesive, and stuck it to the chest of the closest Jem'Hadar in less than a second. With movements so swift that no one could have followed them, Data planted a live grenade on each enemy body and leaped back. It was a particularly brutal way to dispatch with a foe, Data knew. But he also knew that brutality was unavoidable in war.

In the dark, swirling fog, the fallen Jem'Hadar soldiers sparkled brightly as their molecules were swept off the planet. Data calculated the horrible chaos that would erupt on the Jem'Hadar ship when the four plasma grenades exploded in their transporter room-in point-five seconds. With any luck, the rupture would be bad enough to cause a breach in the hull, occupying his pursuers until he could get away.

Data fetched his equipment and opened the hatch of the shuttlecraft, dragging his reflector shield and supplies after him. His movements a blur, the android powered up the small craft, fired thrusters, and zoomed away from the surface of the planet. The fact that he was still alive a few moments later a.s.sured him that his diversion had been a success.

Reaching full-impulse speed in seconds, Data piloted the craft in an elliptical arc which put him on the other side of the planet, away from their sensors. He ran a brief scan before he vanished over the dark horizon and noted with satisfaction that the Jem'Hadar battle cruiser was in low orbit and descending quickly. He doubted whether the ma.s.sive ship was capable of atmospheric reentry, which meant they were in serious trouble.

There was no time to appreciate his unexpected victory over the much larger ship, because Data had a Bajoran transport to find. He zoomed out of orbit and entered warp drive, missing the spectacular explosion that sundered the ivory clouds of Kreel VI.

Will Riker gripped the arms of the command chair and held on as the Enterprise was jolted by a Jem'Hadar torpedo. An ominous rumbling sound surged along the length of the vessel.

"Shields down to thirty percent!" shouted Ensign Craycroft on tactical.

Riker checked his readouts. "If we can hold on just a little bit longer ... Where the devil is the fleet?"

It was a rhetorical question, because he didn't expect an answer. Apparently, the Dominion had launched a ma.s.sive offensive all along the Carda.s.sian border, and the ships chasing the Enterprise were just two of many. The fact that there were only two was also troubling, because it meant that one of them had broken off to pursue either Data or the Orb of Peace.

He couldn't worry about them now. The Enterprise shuddered again from the impact of another torpedo against her weakening shields. Riker glanced at Craycroft, and the ashen expression on her face told him everything he needed to know.

"All residual power to shields," ordered Riker through clenched teeth. It was tempting to come about and make a stand against the enemy, but Riker knew it would be the last stand. He wasn't prepared to lose the Enterprise until he could run no farther. The fleet had to be out there ... somewhere.

"Sir!" gasped Ensign Craycroft. "The Carla Romney and the Sharansky have responded to our hails! They'll intercept in two minutes."

Riker allowed himself a grateful sigh. "All right, hail the Jem'Hadar and tell them we want to surrender. Conn, come out of warp to full impulse."

"Verifying that order to surrender," said Craycroft.

"Yes, because we know they like to take prisoners. Don't lower shields, but ready phasers. Conn, be ready to go to warp on a moment's notice." Riker settled back in his chair and straightened his rumpled uniform. He had lost about ten kilos since the war began, and the tunic hung on him. Too bad there was no time for anyone to appreciate his thinner physique.

Craycroft listened intently to her earpiece, then reported, "They say to lower shields."

"On screen," ordered Riker, sitting upright in the command chair.

When a glowering Jem'Hadar appeared on his viewscreen, with a stream of white surging into the veins on his neck, Riker gave him his most charming smile.

"I am Commander William Riker of the Starship Enterprise. We are prepared to surrender. However, our shield strength dropped to a point where an emergency backup system took over, and our computer currently has command of the ship. We apologize. We hope to rectify this problem in-" He glanced at his panel. "One minute."

"They're arming phasers!" warned Craycroft.

"Fire phasers!" barked Riker.

They got off the first salvo, which rocked the Jem'Hadar battle cruisers at point-blank range and delayed their barrage for a few seconds.

"Maximum warp!" shouted Riker, leaping to his feet.

The young Bolian on the conn responded instantly, and the Enterprise shot off into s.p.a.ce as the Jem'Hadar cruisers pounded the region they had vacated.

Riker had no illusions that he had crippled the battle cruisers in any way, and he was running for his life even as the Carla Romney and the Sharansky zoomed past them on the viewscreen, two blurs of light in the infinite blackness.

"Reverse course and go to one-third impulse," he ordered. "Let's hang back and see what's happening. Ready photon torpedoes."

There came a chorus of "Yes, sir"s as his young crew executed his commands. A moment later, the birdlike form of the Enterprise glided into a graceful holding pattern, framed by the serene starscape.

On the viewscreen, it was anything but serene, as the Jem'Hadar cruisers were caught flat-footed by two Akira-cla.s.s starships, which unleashed a phaser barrage as they swooped past. s.p.a.ce rippled around the Jem'Hadar warships as they absorbed a devastating bombardment of pure directed energy.

"Target four torpedoes on closest foe," ordered Riker.

"Targeted," reported Ensign Craycroft.

"Fire!"

While her allies came about for another attack, the Enterprise launched a stream of shooting stars at the closest of the stunned Jem'Hadar ships. The cruiser's sleek hull glowed with brilliant phosphors as she powered up to go into warp, but the torpedoes slammed into her before she could get away. Explosions rippled along the hull of the battle cruiser as her sister ship successfully escaped into warp.

Riker watched with grim satisfaction as the Carla Romney and the Sharansky swooped back into view, hurling a dozen more quantum torpedoes at the crippled ship. The barrage obliterated the cruiser's shields, then the cruiser itself; it exploded like a sun going nova, hurling flame and debris into the cosmos. There had been no opportunity to take prisoners, not that the Jem'Hadar were ever known to surrender.

Without taking time to gloat over their kill, the Sharansky and the Carla Romney shot off into s.p.a.ce in pursuit of the second cruiser. Riker sighed and slumped back into this chair. "Any other ships in the area?"

"No, sir, all clear," answered Craycroft, the tension draining from her voice.

The captain rubbed his eyes. "Inform Commander Troi that she's on bridge duty, and set course for Starbase 209. Before we go back into action, we need to unload those Maquis pa.s.sengers."

"Yes, sir."

Riker rose stiffly from the command chair, feeling as though he had been caught in a barroom brawl. He wanted to go chasing after Data's shuttlecraft, the Bajoran transport, and the escaping Jem'Hadar cruiser, but there was only so much they could do in a day. Despite all the business left unfinished, it was time to rest and lick their wounds.

Against the odds, they had survived this day, earning the chance to do it all again tomorrow. He could only hope his friends had also survived one more day.

Captain Picard stood on a dusty patch of ground, surveying a speckled field of waist-high, black-ta.s.seled grain. He couldn't believe how odd it felt to be standing on terra firma, gazing at a leafy horizon and a cloudless blue sky. A warm breeze stroked his face, bringing greasy smells of Carda.s.sian food bubbling in communal pits.

It had been a long time since he'd had any liberty-so long he couldn't remember the last time. Although the visitors were surrounded by sullen Carda.s.sians, inspecting their wares, the war seemed far removed from this peaceful farming community. What had begun as a forced stop to bolster their cover story had turned into an unexpectedly pleasant respite.

Picard turned to see Ro talking to the leader of the village, a gangly Carda.s.sian dressed in simple brown clothes. At first they had appeared standoffish and suspicious, but now they were relaxed and cordial. These farmers were not typical of the Carda.s.sians with whom he had dealt. For one thing, they didn't even possess s.p.a.cecraft or transporters, which necessitated the trip down to the planet. The tetralubisol was of only minor interest to them, but they wanted to buy the whole load of Bajoran silk. They postured very little, as if the typical Carda.s.sian arrogance had been beaten out of them.

Ro was supposed to be haggling over a price for the silk, although the farmers didn't seem to have much to offer except for food and hospitality. Picard had the feeling that these lonely people welcomed contact with anyone from outside their limited sphere, even Bajorans, and they were in no hurry to conclude the deal.

He knew he should be mingling with the customers, but he wanted to look around. They had to find out whether Ro's story about the artificial wormhole was true, and every minute they delayed could be vital. Picard stepped away from the outdoor bazaar, which consisted of gray tarpaulins strung between windowless geodesic domes. The domes were an all-purpose design that would have suited humans as well, except for the lack of modern facilities. It almost seemed as if this place were purposely kept primitive.

The captain strolled nonchalantly along a path that ran beside the field of grain. When he was sure he was out of earshot of the noonday shoppers in the bazaar, he tapped his communicator badge.

"Boothby to Orb of Peace," said Picard.

"Bridge here," answered the cheerful voice of Geordi La Forge. "How goes it down there?"