Behind Enemy Lines

by John Vornholt

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 space 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-class starships, which unleashed a phaser barrage as they swooped past. Space 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 space 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 passengers.”

  “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-tasseled 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 Cardassian 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 Cardassians, 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 Cardassian 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 Cardassians with whom he had dealt. For one thing, they didn’t even possess spacecraft 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 Cardassian 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?”

  “Fine. We’ve moved most of the Bajoran silk, but I’m not sure how much our captain is going to get for it. The crops are very impressive down here.”

  “If you’re inquiring about our friends,” said La Forge, “they’re still hanging around. It must be a slow day for them.”

  Picard tried to hide his disappointment. It was hard to imagine that a Galor-class warship and a Jem’Hadar battle cruiser had nothing better to do than observe one tiny merchant ship, but that seemed to be the case. “Keep me posted if the situation changes. Out.”

  He turned away from his self-absorbed conversation and bumped into a Cardassian woman who was strolling down the path. She sprang back, cradling her basket of fruit to her chest, and stared at him as if he were a bandit.

  “Pardon me,” said Picard with concern. “I’m so sorry. Did I injure you?”

  He instantly regretted his feeble words, because this was a fit woman in excellent health who was much more offended than injured. He couldn’t be too certain of her age, because their leathery skin didn’t show much wear, but she was a handsome Cardassian.

  “Who are you?” she asked accusingly.

  He pointed lamely to the sky. “We’re merchants—we came to trade. Our ship is in orbit.”

  “Bajorans?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Yes,” answered Picard. “Have you met our people before?”

  “Yes, in prison.” The woman scowled, as if she had said too much. She brushed past him and hurried down the path.

  But Picard now was intrigued, and he charged after the woman. “Madam, can I give you something for your inconvenience?”

  “Give me something?” the woman asked, peering strangely at him as if she had never gotten a break in her life. Just as well, Picard thought sadly. There wasn’t enough latinum in the Alpha quadrant to compensate this woman for the unhappiness evident in her vivid green eyes.

  “Have they sent you?”

  “Who?”

&nb
sp; “Don’t be coy. Are you telling me that you don’t know what this place is?”

  “I don’t know much about this place,” admitted Picard. “It was just a name on a chart to us until a while ago.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Well, somebody in your party must have a sense of humor. This colony, this communal farm, is an indoctrination center. Despite the lack of guards and fences, it’s a glorified workcamp.”

  Picard nodded gravely, thinking that explained the absence of off-world transportation and modern technology. “What crimes have you committed.”

  “Things like this,” answered the woman snidely. “Talking to the wrong people, saying the wrong things. I can’t help myself.”

  “You’re dissidents,” said Picard, realizing that they had indeed picked the wrong colony to call upon. Instead of throwing off suspicions, coming here might have aroused them more.

  “Ah, but we’re toothless, powerless dissidents,” whispered the woman. “We’ve been spared, but we can’t leave here. We’ve been genetically altered—if we try to eat anything but the food we grow on this planet, we’ll die.”

  She offered him a shiny yellow fruit. “Want some?”

  Picard shook his head, feeling terribly sorry for the woman and her fellow political prisoners. He wanted to tell her that Dr. Crusher could reverse the genetic engineering, but Beverly wasn’t with him. He reminded himself of his conversation with Ro; they couldn’t save the prisoners, only the Federation, if they were lucky. No doubt this was one of the colonies that the Cardassians had insisted they had the right to build in the Demilitarized Zone, and the Federation had let them. What appeared to be idyllic farmland was just another prison camp for the most forgotten of Cardassia’s victims, her own people.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked.

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you’re not a spy?”

  “No,” lied Picard, wondering which side she thought he was on. “How do I know you’re not a spy?”

  “You don’t. However, it was you who ran into me, and you are the stranger here. Plus, you are the only one of us who is allowed to leave.”

  “I wish that were so,” muttered Picard, “but we’re under observation by two warships.”

  The woman smiled. “We are always under observation. As they tell us when we complain, if you’re innocent, why should it matter that we’re watching you?”

  “I’m called Boothby,” said Picard, appreciating her sarcastic wit. Her eyes narrowed, perhaps in response to the odd nickname, Picard thought.

  “Letharna,” she said, apparently deciding not to comment as she sauntered down the path in the direction of the bazaar. “If you were to get away from these warships, where would you go?”

  The captain knew he should be careful. But this was a fact-finding mission, and he couldn’t overlook any possible source of information, especially a dissident Cardassian. Still, Picard had made a career of judging character, and he decided that Letharna was on his side.

  But he was guarded as he replied, “We may never be in Cardassian space again, so we would want to see the biggest, most important sight there is.”

  “Hmmm. There is a dust cloud called the Badlands which is very unusual.”

  “Yes, we need to go there.” Picard gazed at her, hoping that his trust wasn’t misplaced.

  “But those ships won’t let you go there. That is, unless they were called away to other duty.”

  “Yes,” said Picard, gazing benignly at the fields. “That would be ideal, if they were called away.”

  As some of her neighbors strolled past, Letharna held out a plump piece of fruit to Picard, and this time he took it. “This planet doesn’t have just farms,” she whispered. “There is also a subspace relay station on the southern continent. From there, it might be possible to fake a general alert that would bring them back to their base. It might only distract them for a short time, but that could be enough to get a jump.”

  Deep in thought, Picard stared at the fruit in his hand, and she finally smiled at him. “You can eat it. It’s safe.”

  He nodded, thinking that he had already decided to trust Letharna. With a grateful smile, he bit into the fruit. “Are you sure you can’t leave here?”

  “Yes. We lack the enzymes required to digest food grown anywhere but the soil of this planet. It’s a rather ingenious punishment, isn’t it? We require little security, and we’re tucked safely out of the way. Yet we’re available to be displayed when visitors want to see a nonmilitary colony. And if we don’t work hard, we starve.”

  Picard wanted to say that Cardassians were masters of torture and imprisonment, in all their myriad forms, but his hostess already knew that.

  “Your help will not be forgotten,” he assured her.

  “I have only begun to help you,” said Letharna.

  Ro Laren stared at him, aghast. “You want to take one of these people aboard our ship, show them what we’re doing, and use them to take out a subspace relay station?”

  “Not take it out,” said Picard. “We just want to send a fake message, a general alert. Those ships are close enough to get their relays from this station, and it might throw them off long enough for us to get away.”

  Ro shook her head vigorously but kept her voice low. “I believe you—that these people could be dissidents—but that doesn’t mean we can trust them. Some of these farmers are sure to be government plants, and the others could be crazy. What if she’s just looking for a way to escape, or to hijack our vessel?”

  “She can’t leave the planet,” said Picard. “Those two warships are sitting at the edge of the solar system, watching us. If you know a better way to get rid of them, I’m listening.”

  Ro scowled, and he knew that she didn’t have a better solution. Picard pressed his point: “In three days, we’re expected to go to Cardassia Prime, a trip which could land us in a Cardassian prison. Maybe they’re hoping we’ll just head back to Bajor, and that will be the end of it. But we can’t do that. We can’t shoot our way out, and we can’t talk our way out. As you say—we need to use stealth and guile.”

  Ro nodded politely to a clutch of Cardassians as they walked by; then she strolled farther away from the bazaar. “What kind of garrison are we looking at?” she asked.

  “According to Letharna, maybe ten. I believe she’s thought this out fairly well.”

  “I wish we had a backup plan,” muttered Ro. “When do we go?”

  “To allay suspicion, I would like to leave you and the others here. You seem to have quite a few crates of vegetables to inventory, and Letharna thinks that with our transporters, we can be there and back in less than an hour. We won’t even have to change our orbit.”

  Picard motioned toward the sky, which was turning a salmon color with traces of vibrant orange. “It’s already dark on the southern continent.”

  Before Ro could reply, the head man of the village strode up to them, a concerned look on his face. “You look unhappy. Is everything all right?” asked the gangly Cardassian.

  “Yes,” answered Ro, mustering a smile. “My shipmate here doesn’t like the price we got for the silk, but I overruled him.”

  “It’s simply vegetables I don’t like,” said Picard with a friendly smile. “I’ll return to the ship and make room for them in the hold.”

  “A gift for you then,” said the Cardassian, “for accepting an uneven trade.”

  He handed Picard a small scroll, which the captain politely took. It wasn’t until his hand closed around the object that Picard realized it was solid, not paper—the scroll was wrapped around another cylindrical object. The intense look on the Cardassian’s face told Picard that he had better accept the gift with no questions asked, and no examination until later.

  “Thank you,” said the captain solemnly. He tapped his comm badge. “One to beam up.”

  A few moments later, Picard materialized in the stylish but small transporter room of the Orb of Peace. La Forge was at the control
s, looking quite dashing with his dangling earring, nose ridges, and pilot’s goggles, which hid his ocular implants.

  “Captain,” said Geordi. “Anyone else?”

  “One more person,” said Picard, jumping off the transporter platform. “But first, help me unwrap this gift.”

  He carefully removed the scroll to find a copper-colored cylinder with magentic strips along its length and a blue label at the top.

  “Hmm,” said the engineer with appreciation, “an isolinear rod, Cardassian design. What does it control?”

  “I think we’ll find out soon.” Picard leaned over the transporter console and entered prearranged coordinates into the computer. “Beam up one, from that location.”

  “Yes, sir.” La Forge completed the procedure, and another figure began to materialize in a column of sparkling light. Even wearing goggles, it was evident that the engineer’s eyes widened considerably when he got a good look at the newest arrival.

  Letharna stepped down from the transporter platform and glanced around at her ornate surroundings. “I can’t believe I’m in space again … on a Bajoran vessel.”

  “Unfortunately, there’s no time to show you around,” said Picard. “Are you ready?”

  She pointed to the object in his hand. “Good, you have the isolinear rod. That will help.”

  Picard was having second thoughts, realiz ing that he had jeopardized their entire mission on a hunch. If he was wrong about Letharna—if she was well meaning but unstable—they could very well doom themselves to capture and torture. For his own satisfaction, he had to ask, “Why are you doing this?”

  Letharna glared at him. “I’m no traitor if that’s what you’re getting at. The Dominion is exactly what we have always feared. While our military leaders strut and preen, they let an outside force take over our civilization. Wasn’t it a terran who said, ‘Absolute power corrupts absolutely’? The absolute power of the military made us weak and corrupt, unable to resist the lure of the Dominion. This is why I help you, whoever you are.”

  Picard glanced at La Forge, and the two old comrades exchanged a shrug. It wasn’t the first time they had gambled.