Behind Enemy Lines Read online

  “They’re lined up,” Riker reported urgently.

  “Lower shields,” ordered Picard. “Fire!”

  Ensign Craycroft plied her console. “Torpedoes away!”

  A brace of torpedoes shot from the tail of the Enterprise, and they looked like shooting stars as they streaked across the blackness of space. The torpedoes swerved into the lead Cardassian ship like hungry piranhas, and it exploded in a blaze of gas, flames, and imploding antimatter which engulfed the second ship behind it. The second ship veered off, sparkling like a Christmas tree before it went dark and began to drift. The Enterprise kept going, steady on course.

  Riker looked back at Picard and gave him a boyish grin. “Works every time.”

  “It works on Cardassians in any case,” said the captain cautiously. He didn’t like being reduced to tricks, but when they were outnumbered by superior forces, they needed all the help they could get. The Cardassians were arrogant and eager to make a kill on big game such as the Enterprise. That made them careless, something the Jem’Hadar were not.

  “Damage report,” ordered Riker.

  “There are energy fluctuations on the starboard nacelle, bridge, and decks fifteen through twenty-six,” reported Data. “Plasma couplings and EPS conduits on deck seventeen require immediate repair. Recovery systems are compensating, and repair crews have been dispatched. Shields are holding steady at forty percent, and I am rerouting power from the main reactor. Five casualties reported, none serious.”

  Beverly Crusher rose wearily to her feet and brushed back a strand of blonde hair that had escaped from her hair band. Her lab coat was stained, and her face looked gaunt—a doctor at war. “I’m on my way to sickbay,” she said.

  The doctor looked down at her patient and gave him a professional smile. “Ensign Charles is stabilized, but I want him to sit still for a while. I’ll send somebody for him as soon as I can. Just keep him comfortable.”

  Picard gave her a wan smile. “Still shorthanded down there?”

  “No, I just come up here in case both you and Will get knocked out, and I can finally take over. I want to be on hand when it happens.”

  “Good thinking,” said Riker, who appreciated gallows humor more than Picard. “But we could have the computer notify you.”

  “I’m sure I’ll know.” The doctor put her head down and walked across the spacious bridge, past two empty science stations, unused since the war started. Her shoulders stiffened as she entered the turbolift, but she didn’t look back.

  Picard swallowed dryly. He was having a hard time adjusting to a war in which they were being overwhelmed on all fronts, in which every department was shorthanded and shell-shocked. Many of his most experienced crew members were now chief engineers, doctors, and captains on their own vessels. Only by calling in personal favors had he managed to hang on to his core staff of officers. Defeats and surrenders had taken their toll, but Starfleet could build more ships faster than they could build good crew to fly them.

  “What’s the fleet situation?” he asked Data.

  Theoretically, they were in the middle of a major offensive against Dominion forces, but Starfleet had stopped massing their ships in close formation. The Dominion fleets simply outgunned them, and they couldn’t stand toe-to-toe against them. Instead the new tactic was to spread the battle in three dimensions, so that the enemy had to break off and pursue. With good luck and a good crew, a captain might face only two or three Cardassian warships instead of one Jem’Hadar battle cruiser, and he might live to fight another hit-and-run skirmish another day.

  Data shook his head. “Captain, I cannot make an accurate assessment without breaking subspace silence, although long-range scans should indicate possible hostilities.” The android’s fingers swiftly worked his console.

  “Search for distress signals,” said Picard, rubbing his eyes. “Let’s go to our secondary mission—rescue.”

  “Setting predetermined course for secondary mission,” reported Riker. “Warp three?”

  “Full impulse, until we make repairs,” replied the captain. “I want to coddle this ship—she’s all we’ve got.”

  Riker nodded and tapped his comm badge. “Riker to Engineering. How are we doing, Geordi?”

  “Fine,” came a curt reply. “I know I owe you a repair crew—they’re on their way. Is the war over yet?”

  “Not quite,” said Riker with a half smile.

  Captain Picard settled back into his chair. By all rights, they had destroyed one enemy ship and had crippled another, and they should be finished for the day. But somebody out there needed help—a great many somebodies.

  On the Orb of Peace, the bridge was not as spacious and as efficiently laid out as the circular bridge of the Enterprise. The dimly lit chamber reminded Ro of a small Bajoran chapel, facing the viewscreen instead of the shrine. To complete the impression, there were all those religious homilies decorating the frame around the viewscreen. However, the elegant Bajoran instrument panels lent a soothing reddish and turquoise glow to the surroundings.

  Ro looked back at Shon Navo, a teenager who ought to be in school instead of fighting a war. The two of them were wearing the rust-brown uniforms of Bajor, and they were wearing their most ostentatious ear apparel. As the only Bajorans on this Bajoran ship, they had to play every part. For two hours, their journey had been totally uneventful, and they were chewing up the parsecs as fast as the transport would go. Ro felt she could take a few moments to coach the boy in his duties.

  “Mr. Shon,” she began, “stay close to me.”

  “Yes, Captain,” he said eagerly, as he shuffled up to her right shoulder blade. She judged him to be slightly shorter than herself.

  “If anybody hails us for any reason, you are to position yourself in a similar position, very close to me. We’ll go on visual and let them know we’re Bajoran.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I will address remarks to you as if you were my first officer, and we will speak in Bajoran. They’ll be able to translate it, so keep the remarks pertinent.”

  He cleared his throat nervously.

  “Yes?”

  “I … I don’t speak Bajoran. I used to know it as a kid, I think, but I’ve forgotten it.”

  “War orphan?”

  He nodded. “And my new parents took me with them to the Fellowship Colony. Boy, that was nice … for a while. Then the Federation betrayed us and handed us over to the Cardassians.”

  “Let’s keep personal opinions to a minimum,” said Ro. “We’re going to Bajor. Despite being officially neutral, Bajorans hold the Federation in high regard. After all, the Emissary is a human.”

  The boy’s face hardened. “Thus far, the Cardassians have killed all four of my parents and have tried to kill me several times. Anyone who appeases them is a coward.”

  “I’m not telling you you can’t hate,” said Ro. “Just keep it to yourself.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You might be forced to answer a hail when I’m not here. Don’t delay—it looks suspicious. Simply identify yourself as the first officer and send for me. This isn’t a big ship—I’ll get here quickly. Time permitting, I’ll teach you a few Bajoran words. You can start with—”

  “Captain,” said the operations officer, his back stiffening, “there’s a fleet of ships passing within four parsecs of us. Two of them have dropped out of warp and are breaking off. They’re headed our way.”

  “Where are the other ones going?” asked Ro urgently. “Plot their course.”

  “The two Jem’Hadar ships have gone back into warp and will catch up with us in a few minutes!” said the nervous pilot.

  “We’ll talk our way out of it,” declared Ro. “We’re lucky they’re Jem’Hadar, not Cardassians. Get Admiral Sharfer to the bridge. And I want to know where the rest of that fleet is going.”

  “Oh, no,” groaned the tactical officer. “They’re … they’re headed toward Galion! What are we going to do?”

  Ro could tell she
was a Maquis-trained officer, not Starfleet, and she tried to have patience with her. “First of all, get control of yourself.”

  “Yes, sir,” responded the woman, straightening her shoulders. “Should I arm torpedoes?”

  “No, don’t make any aggressive moves without my command. By the way, we all have people back on Galion.”

  The woman smiled gratefully at her, then gulped. “Should we warn them?”

  “If we send a message right now,” said Ro, “we probably won’t get to finish it.”

  Ro turned to gaze at Shon Navo. The fresh-faced Bajoran looked so innocent, even though his life had been steeped in tragedy and hatred. “Shon, I want you to be the first thing they see. Just identify our vessel, say we’re Bajoran, and that you have sent for the captain. With any luck, they’ll be in a hurry.”

  She paced behind her unfamiliar crew. “Lower the lights another ten percent. Put the ships on screen.”

  The viewscreen revealed two silvery shapes in the distance, dwarfed by the vastness of space. The Jem’Hadar attack ships looked unprepossessing—they were smaller than the Orb of Peace—but Ro knew they were tremendously swift, maneuverable, and destructive. She had never seen the Jem’Hadar, but she had heard reports of their single-minded ruthlessness and devotion to their masters, the Founders.

  “They’re at warp six and gaining on us,” said the pilot.

  “Steady as she goes,” ordered Ro. “Don’t come out of warp unless they force us to. Don’t change speed.”

  On the viewscreen, the Dominion ships were larger now—two puglike fighters with twin nacelles, all spit and chrome. Ro imagined that her ship was being scanned and their warp signature was being verified. Even though she was expecting it, the sudden beep of the communications panel made her pulse quicken.

  “They’re hailing us,” said the tactical officer with a quavering voice. “And they’re demanding that we come out of warp.”

  “Answer the hail first.” Ro motioned to Shon Navo to step in front of the viewscreen as she retreated to the shadows at the rear of the bridge.

  Spine erect, trying to look like his idea of a first officer, the young Bajoran stepped into the pool of light in front of the viewscreen. He cleared his throat and nodded.

  At once, the frightening aspect of a Jem’Hadar warrior appeared on the screen. His face was gnarled with prickly ridges like a cactus, and his skin was gray and lifeless. His eyes appeared to be red and vivid, yet they were darkly hooded like a lizard’s eyes. A strange mechanical appendage seemed to grow out of his collarbone and hover in front of his left eye, and a tube pumped a white liquid into an orifice in the side of his neck. Behind the Jem’Hadar stood another less imposing figure. Like her, he was hovering in the shadows.

  “We are the Orb of Peace, a Bajoran transport,” said the young Bajoran in a confident yet respectful tone of voice.

  “Come out of warp,” ordered the Jem’Hadar in a gruff voice. “This is Dominion space.”

  “I’m only the first officer,” answered Shon, his voice cracking. “The captain has been summoned.”

  “This is Dominion space,” repeated the craggy face on the viewscreen.

  “And we are friends of the Dominion,” replied Ro, marching to the front of the bridge. Shon Navo fell into line behind her, nearly leaning on her back for support. She could feel him shivering.

  “Captain Tilo at your service,” she added.

  “Come out of warp,” ordered the Jem’Hadar.

  Ro nodded to the conn and said loudly, “Full impulse. Maintain course for Bajor.”

  On the Dominion attack ship, the shadowy figure at the rear of the cockpit leaned over the shoulder of the pilot. This one was a different species than the Jem’Hadar, although he certainly wasn’t Cardassian. He had huge ears, pale violet eyes, and an obsequious expression, like a professional politician. A Vorta, she thought, the midlevel managers of the Dominion.

  “What is your business in this sector?” he asked pleasantly enough.

  “We are a Bajoran trade delegation,” she answered. “In the past, we have traded with many worlds in this sector, and we hope that we can continue to do so.”

  “We’re in a state of war,” answered the little man with the big ears, “as we aid our allies in their battle against the unscrupulous practices of the Federation. You might be wise to continue on your way home without further interruption.”

  “That is our intention,” answered Ro. “Thanks to the benevolence of the Dominion.”

  The Vorta nodded in appreciation of the compliment, then he added, “We had noticed a large number of passengers on your vessel—most of them human.”

  “Carrying passengers is a sideline,” answered Ro evenly, “especially on our return voyage. We are headed straight home.”

  “Make certain of that.” The Vorta nodded to the Jem’Hadar pilot, and the screen went blank as the link ended. A moment later, they watched the two Dominion vessels zoom off into warp.

  Ro scowled. “What’s their course?”

  “The same course we traveled,” replied tactical. “They’re headed toward Galion and the Maquis settlements.”

  “Do we resume warp speed for Bajor?” asked the helmsman, his voice quavering.

  Ro gazed from the expectant faces of her young crew members to the wizened face of Admiral Sharfer. None of them ventured an opinion; none of them offered to make the decision for her. This is what she had said she wanted—total control over this vessel and the lives of a hundred people—and she had it.

  Her eyes rested on the young blond woman at the tactical station: her face was tight with fear, but she kept her tears at bay. Ro knew the fear wasn’t for herself but for those left behind, unaware that an enemy fleet was streaking toward them. Her moist eyes seemed to say that only an animal flees without any concern for loved ones left behind. They couldn’t beat the Dominion ships to Galion, but they could try to rescue survivors.

  “Alert Galion Central,” she ordered. “Tell them about the Dominion fleet. Reverse course, maximum warp.”

  “Aye, Captain,” said the conn officer with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

  The boxy little transport executed a 180-degree turn and elongated into a streak of golden light before vanishing entirely.

  Chapter Two

  THE ONCE LUSH PLANET OF GALION floated in space like a charred tree stump, with only patches of moss left alive. The great forests and groves of olive trees were blackened swamps, and the lakes were dark with silt and mud. The cities and towns were nothing but blasted craters, still burning like hellish volcanoes. Half a million dead, at the very least. There was open weeping on the bridge of the Orb of Peace, and Ro said nothing to discourage it. The sight was so horrible that she almost ordered it to be taken off the viewscreen, but it demanded to be witnessed.

  She walked over to the navigation console and asked softly, “Any life signs?”

  The young man shook his head. “No, none, sir … although the extreme radiation could be affecting our sensors.”

  “They were so much faster than us,” said Admiral Sharfer in shock. “They got here in minutes, and it took us two hours.”

  Ro strode behind her crew and admonished them, “Keep scanning for life signs—target the cities.” In her eyes and her heart, she knew it was hopeless. Galion was nothing but a funeral pyre, and Derek was dead, along with scores of friends and comrades.

  The bridge continued to fill with passengers and their families, and the anquished cries became too great for her to bear. Ro turned to face them, holding up her hands to quiet their gasps and sobs. “You are witnesses. Without provocation, the Dominion has destroyed our homeworld, our last refuge. I submit that we are no longer innocent bystanders in this war—we’re part of it.”

  She strode to the conn and gazed over the young man’s shoulder at the readouts. “It will take four days to reach Bajor, and they could destroy us anywhere along the way. On Bajor, Shon and I could fit in, but the rest of you would hav
e to be in hiding, right under the nose of the Cardassians on Deep Space Nine. I don’t think you can hide from this war—I think you have to stand up and be counted.”

  She tapped her finger on the panel. “I say we cut straight across the DMZ to the Federation lines and offer them our help. We can be there in a few hours.”

  “Yeah, kill the lying bastards!” cried the envoy who had spent days begging the Dominion to leave the remnants of the Maquis alone.

  “Our safety—” began another man.

  “Safety is illusory,” answered Admiral Sharfer. “The enemy has shown us that. We must return to the Federation.”

  “That will mean prison for a lot of us,” muttered the other admiral. A resolute yet pained shadow played across her face.

  “I’m higher on their list than any of you,” replied Ro, “but we have to stand by the Federation, no matter the personal risk. We certainly can’t depend upon the mercy of the Dominion. Are there any life signs down there?”

  “No, sir,” came the answer.

  “Set course for Federation space, best guess,” she ordered. “And turn up the lights in here.”

  On the viewscreen of the Enterprise was a heartrending sight—a Federation starship floating in space, dark and lifeless, with several jagged rifts in her hull. The Gallant was a Nebula-class vessel, more compact than the Enterprise, with her twin nacelles located directly beneath the saucer section and a large stabilizer atop the craft. Not a light shone on the derelict vessel, and debris stretched behind it like a trail of blood.

  “Life signs?” asked Captain Picard, already dreading the answer.

  Data shook his head. “None, sir. There are fourteen separate breaches in the hull, and it is unlikely that any section of the ship maintained sufficient integrity to support life. The distress signal is on automatic and is fading in strength.”

  “It looks like they used her for target practice,” muttered Riker through clenched teeth.