Behind Enemy Lines

by John Vornholt

  That meant they would have to extract a large amount of the exotic ore before they could make their move—probably by making the tanker appear to be threatened. If they weren’t careful, they could all die in an accident before they had a chance to make a break for it. Reluctantly, Sam tuned back in to ongoing conversation, figuring he had better concentrate on their mission for the time being.

  Jozarnay Woil still looked confused as he scratched the bun of tight black hair atop his head. “Professor, can you go through the high points one more time? Listening to you and Taurik is over my head.”

  Grof thrust his finger into the air. “To begin with, the Corzanium is extremely volatile until we quantum-step it beyond the event horizon and recombine it in the chamber. The sequence goes like this: Using the tractor beam, we lower the mining probe into the black hole just above the event horizon. Then we bombard the hole with tachyons, which changes the terms of probability and quantum-steps the particles, expelling them in the process. You might compare this to drilling in a typical mining operation. Now we have escaping matter which we can guide into the probe with the tractor beam. Then we beam the probe on board and put it in stasis.

  “After that, Mr. Woil, you work your magic and transfer the ore from the stasis field into the recom chamber. Then it’s just like any other metal, except that it has a unique resistance to gravity.”

  The Antosian shook his head. “No wonder it’s so rare.”

  “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t,” muttered the Trill.

  “Remember, we only have three probes,” said Sam, trying to sound interested. “We can’t afford to lose any.”

  “That will be plenty,” countered Grof.

  “When do we start?” asked Woil.

  “There’s no time like the present!” The Trill clapped his hands together.

  “I would take issue with that,” replied Taurik. “While some of us have been sleeping, others like myself have been on duty for twenty-five hours straight. Although you make the extraction process sound relatively simple, it is anything but. A mistake by any one of us could destroy this ship and all aboard.”

  “But we could get a start,” countered Grof. “Take some readings, prepare the equipment.”

  “A mistake in any of those tasks would be equally disastrous,” answered Taurik.

  “He’s right,” said Sam, putting a friendly hand on Grof’s beefy shoulder. “Let’s get some rest. Do you think our shadow would mind?”

  “Forget them,” said Grof irritably. “They’re merely an escort—I am in charge of this mission.”

  “But they have the weapons,” Sam reminded him.

  “Oh-six-hundred hours,” grumbled the Trill, checking his chronometer. “No later than that.”

  “Okay, no later,” Sam assured him. “Woil, can you tell the others?”

  “Sure, Captain.” The Antosian climbed down the ladder, and the last thing to disappear was the bun of black hair atop his head.

  “I want this to go smoothly,” warned Grof,

  “And if it doesn’t,” said Sam, “you can harangue me about it in the next life.”

  The Trill shot him a look of disgust. “Remember, I’m an unjoined Trill—I only get one life.” Then his glower changed into a tepid smile before he clomped down the ladder, pulling the hatch lid shut behind him.

  “Is he mellowing, or is he crazy?” asked Sam rhetorically.

  “I think a bit of both,” answered Woil. “The question is, what are we?”

  “We’re biding our time,” said Sam, biting off the wrapper of a rations bar.

  “All instruments and systems back on-line,” said the young man at the ops panel with obvious relief. On the viewscreen of the Orb of Peace, the murky but alluring dust cloud called the Badlands faded from view. The rectangular transport finally escaped into open star-studded space.

  Ro Laren looked up from her conn and turned to see a dozen young pseudo-Bajorans gathered on the cramped bridge, beaming at her. The final leg through the Badlands had been extremely tense, with plasma storms rippling all around them, and most of the crew had peeked into the bridge to offer support or look for camaraderie.

  Ro gave them a smile and said, “Well done.”

  “Well done to you,” declared Captain Picard, who then leaned back in his seat at the tactical station and took a deep breath. “There aren’t many people who could have made it through there.”

  “Nobody else was foolish enough to try,” answered Ro. She stood and stretched, thinking that she was more stiff now than she had been when she was tied to a chair on the pirates’ ship.

  “Captain Ro, I think you deserve some relief, and some rest.” Picard motioned to one of the young bystanders to take her place at the conn, and Ro didn’t resist. She stepped aside and let the blond woman have her seat.

  “Our course is laid in,” Ro told her. “Just take her to maximum warp, when ready.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Bajoran turned to Picard and asked, “Any sign of enemy ships?”

  “There are a few possible ships on long-range scans, but none of them are headed to intercept us. I think we’re finally clear of the border patrol.”

  Ro let out a sharp breath. At last, they were behind enemy lines.

  Picard squinted at his board and reported, “I’m picking up something that might be the artificial wormhole. It’s where our friends said it was.”

  “Can you put it on screen?”

  “Yes, but it won’t be very clear. These aren’t the most accurate scanners and screens.”

  A large, gleaming cylinder appeared on the viewscreen, floating in the blackness of space. It might have been mistaken for some kind of space probe or satellite, except for the bright blips that surrounded it like fireflies swarming around a log in the woods. Ro knew these insignificant blips were in reality mighty warships, tankers, and troop transports.

  “Boy, up close, it must be the eighth wonder of the universe,” said the officer on ops.

  “I’m glad we don’t have to take it out,” answered Ro.

  But she wondered if this terrible threat could be resolved as easily as all that—by just destroying a mining vessel outside a black hole. Thus far, the pirates’ information had proven correct, so perhaps this incredible structure did have a weak spot. Still, it was hard to imagine that the Dominion’s most important project in the Alpha Quadrant would turn out to be nothing but a white elephant, useless for lack of the right building material. But now they had seen it—the artificial wormhole really existed.

  “Can we take a holoscan of it for Will Riker?” she asked.

  Picard smiled. “I don’t believe that will be necessary. He’ll be more than happy to apologize when we get back.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be going back,” said Ro. “I’m not that fond of prison.”

  Picard’s jaw tightened. “I’ll do everything I can to get your situation squared away, I promise. In fact, I can even see about getting you your commission back.”

  “One step at a time. First, let’s make sure there’s a Starfleet to go back to.” Ro started toward the rear of the bridge and paused in the doorway. “If you want to talk about it, Captain, I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “All right. I think things are under control here.” Picard rose from the tactical station and motioned to a junior officer to relieve him. The young crew members were all too eager to resume their stations now that they were away from the unpredictable dangers of the Badlands.

  “We should have someone check on those fruits and vegetables in the hold,” suggested Picard. “Let’s dispense them to the crew before they start going bad.”

  “Good idea,” replied Ro. “Henderson, you have the bridge. Send a detail to the cargo bay—we’ll be in the mess hall.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ro followed Picard out, and the Bajoran felt a weary sense of satisfaction as they strolled down the corridor. She finally felt as if she had earned the trust of her unfamiliar crew. She
’d had Captain Picard’s trust all along, but the others didn’t know her and what she could do. Now they did.

  Picard stopped at the turbolift and smiled at her. “Do you mind if we ask Mr. La Forge to join us? He could probably use a break, too.”

  “That’s fine,” answered Ro. In reality, she was too weary to make much small talk, and she knew the gregarious engineer would fill in the gaps in the conversation. Also she wasn’t ready to commit to going back to Starfleet, even if they would have her. Ro knew she ought to sleep, but she was too wired for that. Just a chair, a glass of juice, and nothing to do for a few minutes—that sounded manageable.

  Picard tapped his comm badge. “Boothby to La Forge: can you meet us in the mess hall?”

  “Sure,” answered the engineer. “Let me assign my relief, and I’ll be right there. Out.”

  Picard and Ro wended their way down a spiral staircase to the lower level, then strolled along a deserted corridor.

  “I was serious about what I said,” began Picard, “about getting you back into Starfleet.”

  “I know you were,” answered the Bajoran, “and I appreciate it. But if my people really are neutral in the war, perhaps I should be, too. That would be a change of pace for me—I’m always partisan.”

  “I know,” said Picard with a smile. “Well, you have our gratitude. Without you, we wouldn’t have known about the Dominion’s plans until it was too late. Apparently we’re here in time to stop them.”

  Ro led the way into the mess hall. “Let’s hope so.”

  A moment later, they sat down in a small, austere dining room, decorated in tasteful beige colors and subdued lighting. All the rest of the young crew were either working or taking their sleep shift.

  “What would you like to do when this is over?” asked Picard. “Providing it ends the way we hope it will.”

  “Maybe I’ll help refugees. There are bound to be millions of them.” She held up her hand, cutting him off, she hoped not too abruptly. “I know, there are positions like that in Starfleet, but I have a hard time thinking that far ahead. Whenever I make plans to have a normal life, things go haywire.”

  “I know that feeling,” replied the captain wistfully. “You think you can escape from the pressures, but they always come after you.”

  La Forge strolled jauntily through the door, still looking rather roguish with his earring, nose ridges, and pilot’s goggles. “Hello, Captain Picard, Captain Ro,” he said cheerfully, stopping at the food replicator. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “Hello, Geordi,” said Picard with an uncharacteristic yawn. “Tea, Earl Grey, hot.”

  “Knowing that replicator, I think you might have to settle for Bajoran tea,” said Ro. “I’ll have the juice cocktail.”

  La Forge repeated their orders a few times into the recalcitrant replicator until it was finally able to produce their beverages. He delivered their drinks to the table, then went back to get his glass of milk.

  “So, is it clear sailing from here?” asked the engineer, pulling up a chair.

  “Theoretically,” answered Picard. “If we can delay them by destroying the shipment of Corzanium—and we can get back to our lines and tell everyone what we’ve seen—maybe we can mount an attack against this thing. A few distractions here and there along the line, and a sizable attack force could slip through to the Badlands. At least we found the wormhole before it’s operational.”

  “I wouldn’t mind playing with a verteron collider that huge,” said La Forge wistfully. “It’s really too bad that we’ve got to destroy it, or at least make sure it never works. A completely stable artificial wormhole that we have total control over—it sounds like a dream come true.”

  “Or a nightmare, depending on which side you’re on,” muttered Picard. He took a sip of tea.

  The Bajoran’s comm badge beeped, and she answered, “Ro here.”

  “This is Ensign Owlswing outside the cargo bay,” responded a female voice. “Henderson sent us down to check on those vegetables and fruits in the hold, but something’s wrong with the cargo-bay hatch. We can’t get it open—it’s locked and won’t respond to the controls.”

  Ro started to rise wearily from her seat. “We can override the lock, take it off the computer, and open it manually.”

  “I know, sir,” said Owlswing, “I just wanted your permission to try it.”

  Ro sunk back into her seat and saw Picard smiling at her. “Yes, go ahead. Ro out.”

  “See, it really is your ship,” said Picard, “and your crew.”

  “For a young crew, they’ve been relatively calm and levelheaded,” conceded Ro. “Let’s hope they stay that way, because we’re not done yet.”

  Picard sat forward and folded his hands in front of him. “That’s true, and we’ve got to decide how we’re going to destroy this mining vessel with our limited firepower.”

  “If they’re working in the vicinity of a black hole,” offered Geordi, “it should be fairly simple to cause them to have an accident and get sucked inside. Maybe it’s something we can do from a distance, with a minimum of risk.”

  From somewhere in the ship, they heard a muffled shout. Picard turned around at looked at the open door and the empty corridor beyond. “What was that?”

  Geordi shook his head. “I think it was just the welds groaning. No offense, Ro, but this ship is kind of a bucket of bolts.”

  “No offense taken,” answered Ro. “We’re all aboard the Orb of Peace because we didn’t have a lot of choice.”

  Suddenly, they heard frantic footsteps on the spiral ladder, followed by a loud shout. A young female officer paused in the doorway, a stricken look on her face, as a beam of red light shot from behind her and drilled into her back. As she stood transfixed in the doorway, her eyes wide with horror, a glowing red splotch appeared on her chest, and she collapsed in a heap on the deck, her eyes staring straight upward.

  Picard jumped instantly to his feet and rushed for the door as another young officer ran past. He, too, was consumed in the beam of a sloppy shot, which scattered sparks off the bulkhead. Before Picard could reach the wounded man, the doors slid shut on their own, blocking out the scene of carnage in the hallway. The captain started to pound on the wall panel to open the portal when caution got the better of him. They didn’t have a weapon among them, and to rush into the line of fire was foolish, no matter what the horror.

  Ro slapped her comm badge. “Captain to bridge! What’s going on?”

  A harried voice came on, “Intruder alert! Intruder on the bridge … aaggh!” His voice dissolved into a strangled scream.

  Ro looked at Geordi, who ripped his goggles off and stared at her with alarmed, pale eyes. He tapped his comm badge. “La Forge to Engineering—respond! Engineering, come in!” No one answered his frantic call.

  “It doesn’t mean they’re dead because they didn’t answer,” said Ro. “Communications may be down.”

  “Then again,” said Picard grimly, “if they hit the bridge and Engineering on this ship, they’ve hit it all.”

  The Orb of Peace was indeed a tiny ship, which a small, determined party of armed intruders could capture from stem to stern in a matter of seconds. But who? Where had they come from? Ro didn’t want to think that someone on their own crew could have mutinied against them, but she read that very thought in Picard’s face.

  Only a few seconds had passed since the attack started, but it was now deathly quiet on the transport. The mess hall was about the most useless place to be during an emergency, as it contained no weapons, no equipment, and no computer terminals, except for the food replicator. There was also no escape, except for the door that Picard stood ready to open. Or perhaps he intended to keep it shut, in case the intruders tried to break in.

  “I’ve got to go out there,” said the captain.

  “We’ll all go,” offered La Forge.

  “No. You two stay in hiding. If worse comes to worse, you may have to take back the ship.”

  “Sir, it�
��s my ship,” said Ro, brushing past the captain. “It’s my place to see what’s going on.”

  He looked as if he wanted to argue with her, then thought better of it. “I’ll give you a few seconds’ lead, then I’m going to see if they found the weapons storage in the dormitory. Geordi, we have to keep you in reserve. You’ve got the mess hall—see what you can do with it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not what we think it is,” muttered the Bajoran as she slapped the panel and opened the door.

  Ro stepped out into the corridor to see three dead bodies. The woman was slumped in front of the door, the man was crumpled against a bulkhead a few meters away, and another officer was sprawled across the top of the spiral staircase. Whoever the intruders were, they shot to kill.

  She walked cautiously toward the stairs, knowing that she had to go to the bridge to find out who was behind this massacre. On the deck was a lump of silvery metal, which Ro recognized as one of their Bajoran phasers, melted by a blast from the intruders’ weapon.

  After stopping to remove her shoes, she started up the stairs in her stocking feet, hopeful not to unduly surprise whoever was on the bridge—whoever was now in command of her ship. Ro didn’t enjoy walking into death, but she and death were old friends by this time. He had brushed awfully close to her lately, especially when he took Derek. Ro didn’t fear death, but she was awfully angry about the way he toyed with her, and the way he exulted in this insane war.

  After climbing the staircase, she found another dead body, this one blasted almost in two by beamed weapons. The destruction was so horrible that Ro wanted to look away, but she had to search the body for weapons, on the off chance that the assailants had missed collecting them.

  After searching unsuccessfully for a handheld phaser, Ro strode down the corridor toward the open door to the bridge. She could hear muffled voices. On the bulkhead walls, storage cabinets had been pulled open and rifled through, and a pile of bandages lay strewn across the hallway. Another body—this one Henderson’s—blocked the doorway. His petrified face gazed up at her, no longer looking so arrogant.