Behind Enemy Lines

by John Vornholt

  Both Ro and Picard stared at the Orion. “Then it does exist?” asked the captain.

  Rolf nodded. “Oh, yes. It’s a gigantic thing, bigger than several moons I’ve seen. If it were up to Shek here, you would never see it, because he wanted to sell you to the Dominion. But I convinced him not to.”

  Ro and Picard looked accusingly at the scrawny Ferengi, who gave them an apologetic shrug. “Hey, a fellow has to make a profit.”

  “I convinced him that we should let you carry out your mission,” said the muscular Orion with a note of pride in his voice. “With a little help from us.”

  Ro gaped at him. “You’re going to join us with your ships?”

  The Orion burst out laughing. “Hardly! Do we look like fools? We can’t be seen having anything to do with this.”

  Shek pointed a bony finger at them. “And we hope you have the good sense not to get captured again! Next time, have the decency to get killed, will you?”

  Picard ignored the last part of Shek’s request. “We have no intentions of being captured by the Dominion,” he said.

  “Good.” The Orion held out the computer padd. “We’ve done some calculations, and we don’t see how you could ever destroy the verteron collider, even if you had the Enterprise with you. But maybe you don’t have to destroy it to keep it from working.”

  Ro and Picard glanced puzzledly at one another, then back at their captors. “What do you have in mind?” asked Ro.

  Even though they were all alone on the Ferengi vessel, Shek glanced around nervously and lowered his voice. “I received a nice bit of intelligence the other day. The Dominion has had a hard time finishing the mouth of the wormhole, because they need a rather exotic material to withstand the pressure. They blew up a tanker trying to off-load a sub-quark compound, and now they’re getting desperate.”

  Shek tapped his fingertips together. “My spies tell me that they’ve sent a mining vessel to a black hole called the Eye of Talek. They’re trying to extract some Corzanium to use for the building material. Does this sound plausible to you?”

  “Very,” answered Picard.

  “So,” concluded Rolf, “you don’t have to destroy the whole thing to stop them. You just have to keep them from mining the Corzanium—destroy the mining vessel.”

  “Do you know the location of the Eye of Talek?” asked Ro. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know where it is.”

  “Right here,” answered Rolf, pointing to his computer padd.

  “Then why are we still tied up?” demanded Ro. “We need to get moving!”

  The Orion and the Ferengi glanced at one another, and the Orion shrugged and pulled a curved knife out of the gold sash around his waist. Ro winced as the sharp blade ran down the skin of her forearms and sawed the rope tying her wrists. When her arms finally dropped to her sides, Ro never thought she could feel such relief. She watched intently as he cut the rope around her ankles, then she stood and stretched, trying to ignore the screams of her cramped muscles.

  Picard sat stoically as the Orion cut away his bonds; then he stood and rubbed the chafed skin on his wrists. “You know, we could have reached the same conclusion without so much trouble.”

  “Ah,” said the Ferengi, grabbing the handle of his whip, “where is the fun in that? Frankly, if you had told us that a little Bajoran transport with two torpedoes was going to take out a verteron collider that is ten kilometers long and protected by a Dominion fleet, we wouldn’t have believed you. Would we have, Rolf?”

  “I’m still not sure I believe them,” grumbled the Orion. “But the truth potion never lies, which means they are simply deluded—so let’s give them a chance to die for their cause! Besides, we want to keep the war going, don’t we, Shek?”

  “Yes, we do,” answered the Ferengi, “but if I find out that you’ve been captured—when I could have sold you to them—I’ll be very angry.”

  “You won’t have to worry about that,” vowed Picard. “Can we go back to our ship now?”

  Rolf nodded and shoved the padd into the captain’s hands. “Use this information well—we hate to give it away for free.”

  “Is it going to be hard to reach the Eye of Talek?” asked Ro.

  “In your ship, it’s a journey of two days,” answered Rolf. “But you have made it past the front, where most of the Dominion ships are deployed, so you shouldn’t encounter many of them.”

  “Thank you,” said Picard. He reached for his comm badge and found a torn patch of fabric where it should have been.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Shek, producing two Bajoran comm badges from a pocket on his vest. With an apologetic smile, he handed them over.

  “Thank you.” Picard tapped his badge and said, “Away team to the Orb of Peace.”

  “Captain!” answered La Forge’s breathless voice. “Are you all right? We thought you were dead … or worse.”

  “We’re fine, Geordi. Our hosts are letting us go.”

  “They hit us with a tractor beam,” said La Forge, “and we had no choice but to let them board and search us.”

  “Yes, they’re very thorough when it comes to digging for information,” agreed Picard. “But they’ve given us some news that could prove to be invaluable. Two to transport back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We never had this conversation,” insisted Shek as the tingle of the transporter beam gripped Ro’s spine. “You don’t know us!”

  “Nevertheless,” said the Bajoran, “we won’t forget your help.”

  After they were gone, the two pirate captains looked at one another and shook their heads in amazement.

  “Do you think they stand a chance?” asked Shek.

  “None!” scoffed the Orion. “A tiny transport against the entire Dominion? They’ll have to get very lucky.”

  “Something tells me that Captain Picard knows a thing or two about luck.” Shek tugged on an oversized earlobe. “Maybe they will disrupt the Dominion long enough for us to pull off a caper or two. Let’s go to the chart room and plan it.”

  The Orion slapped his scrawny partner on the shoulder. “Now you’re thinking. Lead the way!”

  Before the two scurvy captains could exit the holodeck, the Ferengi’s comm badge chirped. With a scowl, he tapped it and answered, “This is Captain Shek. What is it?”

  “Captain,” said a quavering voice, “that ship which just left—three men beamed over from transporter room two when the others beamed back. Desert they did, sir!”

  “The scoundrels!” growled the Ferengi, reaching for the handle of his whip. “Listen, hail the Bajorans and tell them they’ve got stowaways!”

  “We tried that, sir, and there’s too much interference. The plasma storms are really bad out there—they’ll be lucky if they make it through. Should we go after them, sir?”

  “No,” growled Shek, “not if the storms are bad. Plus, we’ve got to meet the Plektaks here. Who did we lose?”

  “The three Romulans.”

  “Good riddance,” muttered Shek. “Out.”

  Rolf chuckled. “I told you not to take them on. Now they’ve decided to grab their own ship and go freelance. Pretty good timing.”

  “Captain Picard’s luck just turned the other way,” muttered the Ferengi, shuffling out the door.

  Will Riker stood at the door of Shana Winslow’s quarters, wondering how far he should go in the pursuit of special treatment for the Enterprise. Logic told him that no matter what he did, it wouldn’t make any difference. Maybe in the field, under fire, Winslow would be willing to make quick and dirty repairs; but in her current post, she was determined to follow procedures. He didn’t think she would make any exceptions for an amiable dinner date.

  Then why was he here, paused to follow Shana into her private chambers? He had to answer that he was interested in the woman, not what she could do for him. She had lost her family and her ship, and his heart went out to her. Will knew how many people doubted his sanity over his refusal to leave the Enterprise to take com
mand of another ship. But the Enterprise and her crew were like no other ship. They were family, and the Enterprise was home.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” said Winslow as her door slid open.

  He smiled wistfully. “I’m afraid I was thinking about my ship and her crew. I can be awfully single-minded.”

  “Me, too.” She motioned toward her small but tastefully appointed cabin, standard issue, as if she hadn’t really moved in yet. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  She led the way. “I have to warn you that even the replicators are offering reduced selections these days. We have to ration both raw materials and power consumption.”

  “Do you still have cold water?”

  “I think so,” she answered with a smile, moving toward the food slot. “One cold water. Please, have a seat.”

  “On the ship, our biggest problem is a lack of experienced personnel,” said Riker, dropping into a cushy sofa. “It doesn’t do any good to throw bodies at a problem unless they have the experience to deal with it.”

  “Tell me about it.” Winslow brought him a glass of water, carrying it in her natural hand. “How would you like to have to compete with ships of the line for good people? The admirals just want to throw everybody into the front, forgetting all about the support services. We’ve shut down two wings of the station—nobody to do maintenance.”

  “I noticed.” Riker sipped his water and looked quizzically at her. “You’re not drinking anything?”

  “I’m going back now. I have a hard time carrying more than one glass at a time.”

  Riker fought the temptation to jump up and fetch her a drink. Instead he watched her laboriously get herself a cup of tea and return to the sofa. He was flattered when she sat down close beside him.

  “Ah,” said Winslow with a sigh. “Now, where were we?”

  “We were complaining about how we don’t have enough good people.”

  “These are extraordinary times,” said the engineer. “Starfleet has fought plenty of conflicts before, but we’ve never been stretched so thin, over such a long period of time—with no end in sight.”

  Riker sighed. “There is an end in sight, but it’s not one we want to think about.”

  “That bad, huh?” She shook her head. “I know the shortages and pressure we’re under, but I don’t really get a feel for it. I wish I were out there—with you people.”

  “We’re holding our own,” he lied. “Even without you.”

  Winslow smiled sweetly at him, her dark eyes glimmering. “I suppose we have to make the most of every moment we’re alive. That’s something I really haven’t learned to do since the Budapest went down. Sometimes it’s just so easy to get caught up in your work.”

  “I know,” said Riker, his arm curling around her shoulder. “Maybe this is a good time to start.”

  She snuggled back into the crook of his arm and closed her eyes. “Can I just sit here for a moment? Human contact, and all that. There’s one thing you don’t get much in Starfleet—a hug. They ought to have a couple of people in charge of hugs, just to dispense them randomly.”

  Riker settled back, too, his arm around this very agreeable women, not in any rush himself. In his younger years, he would have been all over Shana, but now the simple contact felt good. He hadn’t had much time for hugs either.

  When she finally opened her eyes, they sparkled like two black opals, faraway and dreamy. Her face had beauty, ruggedness, and character—the face of a woman who worked too hard for too little in return. Looking surprised, she touched his other arm, as if trying to make sure he was real. That was when he knew he had to kiss her.

  Riker bent low, and she angled her chin upward, closing her eyes again. As his mouth was about to taste her honey and tea-scented lips and her hand gripped his bicep, an urgent beep sounded on a nearby comm panel.

  “I’m sorry, Will,” said Winslow apologetically as she rose to her feet. “I told them not to call me unless it’s an emergency.”

  “I understand,” said Riker.

  She tapped the panel and said, “Winslow here.”

  “This is Lieutenant Harflon, work detail three on the Seleya,” came a crisp voice. “The energy fluctuations in the IPS are still affecting the grid. Lorimar said you had an undocumented fix for this, and the work orders say to call you.”

  “Yes, yes,” she answered. “Is the test flight still scheduled for oh-eight-hundred?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “I’ll be right there. Out.” Winslow winced at Riker as she headed toward the door. “Sorry, Will. But you know, this might not take long. You’re welcome to make yourself at home … relax.”

  “How come the Seleya is getting special treatment?” asked Riker, following her out into the corridor. “Because it’s the admiral’s ship?”

  “Could be, except that it’s been in my shop for a week already, and the admiral is like you—impatient.” She headed determinedly toward the turbolift.

  “Well, then … what about enjoying life?”

  Winslow waved as she entered the turbolift. “In case you hadn’t heard, there’s a war on! Dinner tomorrow, same time?”

  “Sure.”

  The turbolift door shut, leaving Riker to shake his head in amazement. He turned and headed back the other way, curious to see if any of his crew were still at the Bolian Bistro.

  On a large moon where the atmosphere was so thin that day looked like night, Data sat in the powdery dust, watching his portable instruments. They were attached by wires to a small sensor array which he had mounted on the roof of his shuttlecraft. Doing so had helped him target the Badlands.

  In his short stay on the nameless moon, Data had monitored considerable traffic in Dominion ships moving to and from the front. He kept diligent notes on the enemy ship movement, thinking that someday the information might be important. But he hadn’t found the Orb of Peace, nor had he detected the return of the Enterprise. Even concentrating long-range sensors on the Badlands, he had yet to locate any ship that could possibly be the Bajoran transport or its emergency beacon.

  As far as he could tell with the shifting borders, this moon was located well into Cardassian space, and he dared not go any deeper. Going farther would only endanger his mission without substantially increasing his odds of success, which were not good to begin with. Data calculated that the odds of the Enterprise or another Starfleet vessel finding him were less than one in four. He preferred not to calculate the odds of recovering Picard, Geordi, Ro, and the Orb of Peace.

  In this instance, the android couldn’t be sure that patience would have the desired effect, but he counseled himself to be patient anyway. Nevertheless, Data had recurring thoughts about Japanese soldiers in World War II stranded at their jungle posts years after their war was over. He thought about not ever seeing his friends again, and he academically considered the grief and worry he would be experiencing if his emotion chip were turned on.

  No, Data decided, war required a level head, good judgment, and that ethereal commodity known as good fortune. Unfortunately, it appeared as if he would have to wait for the good fortune part.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE EYE OF TALEK LOOMED before them like a hole punctured in the fabric of space, notable for an absence of stars and a golden halo of gas and dust streaming into it. The black hole was the size of a saucer section on a big starship, but almost brilliantly black, like the sun as seen in a photographic negative.

  Sam turned away from the viewscreen and looked at Grof, who was beaming with pleasure. “Isn’t it magnificent?” asked the Trill with a grand sweep of his arms.

  “‘Scary’ is the word I would use,” replied Sam. “I thought you said this was a small black hole.”

  “It is. If it were a large one, we couldn’t have come this close.”

  “What’s on the other side?” asked Jozarnay Woil, the Antosian material handler.

  Grof laughed. “There is no other sid
e—it’s a celestial body with gravity so strong that not even light particles can escape. An old professor of mine used to call this singularity a ‘gravity graveyard.’ The smaller the black hole, the older it is. Over time, some material will escape through natural quantum stepping, so in ten billion years, maybe this black hole will shrink to nothing. For now, it’s the only place where Corzanium can be found.”

  “However,” said Taurik, seated at the conn, “the main reason our task is so difficult is that gravity warps space. At a distance directly proportional to the mass of the collapsed object, an event horizon occurs. In essence, the material making up the black hole exists in a different space-time continuum, which is why the gas and debris seem to disappear when they enter. This is also why we must quantum-step the Corzanium out, particle by particle.”

  “Have you and Horik made the adjustments to the tractor beam?” asked Grof.

  The Vulcan nodded. “The metaphasic shield enhancer is on-line and has been integrated with tractor-beam operations.”

  “Excellent!”

  Sam’s mind wandered while Grof and Taurik engaged in a rapid-fire discussion of various scientific aspects of their mission. He was more concerned about the Jem’Hadar attack ship that had trailed them halfway across Cardassian space, just to make sure they attended to business and didn’t try to escape. Sam was determined to disappoint them and escape anyway.

  Since they didn’t have any weapons and couldn’t run fast enough from the small warship, the only plausible plan was to escape in the attack craft itself. Either that, or they had to use their transporters to damage the Jem’Hadar ship—in effect, tossing a monkey wrench into their engine.

  While Grof, Taurik, and Woil continued their discussion, Sam used the ops console to locate the Jem’Hadar ship. The small but deadly craft had assumed an outer orbit around the Eye of Talek at a distance that was a hundred kilometers beyond their transporter range. The trick would be to lure it closer with some kind of catastrophe or emergency. But what?

  The Jem’Hadar were undoubtedly prepared for an escape attempt, and they were certainly under orders to make sure the prisoners perished rather than escaped. As prisoners and crew, they were expendable, but their cargo was not. The tanker would soon be very important to the Dominion and the war.