by Peter David
“Just my new pilot. I’m showing him the route.”
“Well, there’s no sense coming back here again. We’ll be gone before we need any more supplies.”
“Lucky you,” muttered the Andorian, sounding as if he meant it. “I’ll cross you off my list. So you’re sure?”
“We’re sure,” growled a big Cardassian, hefting his phaser rifle. “Now if you don’t get out of here in ten seconds, I’m going to use your glider for target practice.”
“I’m going!” To another round of laughter, the Andorian hurried toward his raft. As he passed Riker, he gave him a wink, which was an odd thing for him to do. He probably caught a grain of sand in his eye, thought the prisoner.
“Help me!” groaned Riker, but the Andorian was already pushing his raft into the surf to make his escape.
The lieutenant watched forlornly as the merchant rowed back to his craft and climbed aboard. He hauled his raft in after him, letting out the air as he did. Without further ado, the sea-glider floated majestically into the air; like a giant kite, it caught a wind drift and soared away.
Riker watched the glider sail into the sky, a feeling of despair gripping his chest.
“That’s definitely your man down there in the cage,” Bokor told Captain Chakotay as the glider cruised away from the Cardassian garrison. “But he’s sick.”
“How sick?”
“Not that bad—he’s still talking.”
Chakotay took a deep breath, grateful that they had at least found Riker. “There was no sign of a Benzite in their camp?”
“None. And there’s no more time to look for her. They sounded like their fleet could show up any minute.”
Chakotay punched some numbers into his computer padd. “Are we out of their range of fire yet?”
“Yes—just barely.”
The captain tapped his combadge. “Chakotay to Spartacus.”
“Torres here,” answered a familiar voice.
“I’m sending you some coordinates—it’s Riker, and I want you to beam him up immediately. Tell Kincaid that he’s got the plague, and she’s got to drop everything to save him. Stand by.” Chakotay took off his combadge and plugged it into the padd. He watched intently as a stream of lights showed the data transfer.
“We’ve got the coordinates,” said Torres. “Initiating transport.” After seconds that stretched forever, she reported, “We’ve got him!”
The captain let out a long sigh of relief. “Okay, that’s two items crossed off our list. Bokor, are you ready to take command of that shuttlecraft?”
“Right now?” asked the Andorian, aghast. “We’re flying over an ocean. Who’s going to fly my glider?”
“We’re going to abandon it.”
Bokor gulped, and his antennae twitched. “Abandon it? Right here…in the middle of the ocean!”
“If you’re leaving Helena, you won’t need it anymore.”
“All right,” muttered the Andorian. “You’re a very decisive man, Captain.”
“I have to be.” He pulled his combadge off the computer padd and affixed it to his chest. “B’Elanna, do you still read me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lock onto the two of us and beam us up. And alert Danken on the shuttlecraft to stand by for a shift in personnel.”
“Yes, sir.”
The dour Andorian looked extremely displeased to be losing his fine sea-glider. Chakotay reached forward from his co-pilot seat and patted him on the shoulder. “Think of it as a trade-in for an even better shuttlecraft.”
“Right.”
A moment later, they disappeared from the cockpit of the sea-glider, while it continued its graceful flight, sailing unmanned into the blue horizon, like a great white albatross.
When they materialized on the transporter pad in the cargo hold of the Spartacus, now converted into a sickbay, Chakotay rushed immediately to the bed where Lieutenant Riker lay. Dr. Kincaid and her assistants were working on him with their medical equipment, plying him with hyposprays.
Riker lifted his head and stared at Chakotay in utter amazement. “Have I died and gone to heaven? Or am I dreaming this?”
“Neither one,” answered Chakotay with a smile. He looked at the doctor. “Is he going to be all right?”
“We got him not a moment too soon,” answered Kincaid. “The biofilter took care of the multiprions, but he has some tissue damage and secondary infections. He’s going to be laid up for a while.”
“Not too long, I hope. We need him badly.” The captain gazed down at Riker. “Where is Ensign Shelzane?”
“Dead,” said Riker hoarsely, tears welling in his rheumy eyes. “We broke into IGI…and then—”
“Tell me later. Right now, you have to get well.” Chakotay patted his comrade on the shoulder.
“I got a miracle,” rasped the lieutenant. “I never thought I would get a miracle.”
“Let’s hope for a few more.” Chakotay returned to the transporter platform, where the Andorian stood in shocked silence, gazing around at all the equipment and bustle of activity. “You’ll take command of the shuttlecraft and fly straight toward Federation space at maximum warp. When they hail you, stop and tell them exactly what’s happening here—that a Cardassian fleet is massing to destroy Helena. Tell them the Cardassians are breaking the treaty in a big way.”
Bokor gaped at him. “The Maquis are going to call Starfleet for help?”
Chakotay nodded grimly and motioned at the medical teams in action around them. “For some jobs, you can’t beat Starfleet—facing down a Cardassian fleet is one of them. That is, if they even bother to show up.”
“What about Shep? And the doctors you wanted me to take back?”
“There’s no time for that now. Don’t let me down, Bokor. The lives of everyone on Helena depend upon you.” A metal pan clattered to the deck behind them, as if underscoring the urgency. A weary doctor picked up the pan, then teetered woozily on his feet until a colleague helped him to a chair.
The tall Andorian nodded gravely. “I won’t fail you, Captain Chakotay. You have impressed me greatly—I’m glad you drove a hard bargain.” He stepped upon the transporter platform and squared his shoulders.
Chakotay turned to the transporter operator. “Beam him to the shuttlecraft, then beam Danken back here. Energize when ready.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the Bolian on duty.
The Andorian gave him a regal wave as he vanished in a column of sparkling, swirling lights. The captain immediately left the cargo hold and hurried the length of the scout ship to the bridge, where B’Elanna Torres was on duty at the conn. The peaceful blue curve of Helena filled the viewscreen, giving the false impression that all was well on the watery world beneath them.
“Any emergencies?” he asked, slipping into the seat beside her and turning on the sensors.
“The struggle goes on,” she answered. “Two members of the medical team on Padulla came down with the plague, and they’re being treated along with everyone else. I see the shuttlecraft has just taken off. What’s their destination?”
“Federation space. I hate to do this, but it’s time to send for the cavalry.”
“Why?” asked Torres, with an edge to her voice.
“Because I’ve learned that a Cardassian fleet is headed this way.” He started scanning the land masses on the planet beneath them, looking for kelbonite deposits, or anything that could mask the presence of a small starship. “We’ve got to find someplace down there to hide this vessel.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to run for it?”
“Yes, but we’re not going to leave without Tuvok and our doctors. We’ll hide this ship and leave the Singha in orbit. When the Cardassians show up, the Singha can run for it, so they’ll think all the Maquis have left.”
“That’s risky,” muttered B’Elanna. She snorted a laugh and gave him an ironic smile. “Maybe this will be our first step toward retirement.”
“What do you mean?”
&nb
sp; “Prefect Klain offered to let us stay here, remember? Even Tuvok said it was a good idea for us to start planning how to get out of the Maquis. He’s right, you know. We can’t keep up this crazy life forever. If the Helenites protected our identities, this would be a good place to hide from both the Cardassians and Starfleet.”
Chakotay shook his head. “There’s too much left to do. Besides, they’ll keep hunting us to our graves. Do you think we could go from being Maquis to being law-abiding citizens just like that?” He snapped his fingers.
Torres shrugged. “Maybe. Given the right circumstances.”
“It’s only a pipe dream,” said Chakotay. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”
“How’s Riker?”
“Worse for wear, but he’s going to live. But he says Ensign Shelzane is dead. We need to contact Dr. Gammet and see when Tuvok’s hearing is.”
“Gammet checked in, and he said that the hearing is tomorrow.” Torres lowered her head, and her voice sounded far away. “Klain’s funeral is in less than an hour. I wouldn’t mind going to that.”
“You were really starting to care for him, weren’t you?” asked Chakotay, knowing that if B’Elanna didn’t feel like answering, she wouldn’t.
Her shoulders sagged, and the tough facade faded just a little. “It’s hard not to like a man who worships you and wants to give you the world. Like most of the men I like, he turned out to be rotten. Why am I always attracted to the rotters?”
“Because you’re a rebel at heart. Despite that, someday you’ll find a man who deserves you.” Chakotay continued working his console, but he scowled when all his scans turned up empty. “Gammet can probably tell us a good place to hide. Let’s take this ship down to the surface right now.”
“What about the Cardassians down there?”
“The ones who are left are sitting around, waiting to be picked up. They’re no threat anymore.”
The captain opened a channel and contacted the Singha, telling Captain Rowan all that had happened, and all that was about to happen. She was not adverse to the idea of running for it when the Cardassians showed up in force. He also contacted their mobile clinics and filled them in.
That accomplished, Chakotay took over the conn and eased them onto a reentry course.
Captain Chakotay landed the Spartacus in the same field they had landed in on their first visit to Dalgren. Although that had only been a few days before, it seemed like several lifetimes ago. Dr. Gammet and a driver met them in a hovercraft, and Chakotay, Torres, and Echo Imjim made up the official contingent from the Spartacus, leaving Seska in charge of the grounded ship.
As they rode to the cemetery, Chakotay turned to Echo and said, “You’ve been a big help to us, and I’m very thankful. But I think you can return now to your son…and your life.”
The Helenite gave him a warm smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? You could be a very good glider pilot…with a few more ocean crossings under your belt. And I’ve been thinking about having two gliders in my flock.”
“Thank you, but not now,” he answered. “I’ll try to come back sometime, after things have calmed down in the DMZ.”
“There will always be a home for you here,” she assured him.
“I concur,” said Dr. Gammet. “After all the effort you’ve put in, and all the risks you’ve taken for us, it would be a shame if you had to leave. Stay with us—we’ll protect your crew from the Cardassians and the Federation. I know that’s what Prefect Klain wanted, too.”
“Well, we are going to stay for a while,” said Chakotay. “We may have turned the corner, but we’re still a long way from conquering this disease. I wanted to ask you if you know of any isolated place on Helena where we could hide our ship for a while. When I say ‘hide,’ I mean hide from sensors as well as from view.”
The diminutive doctor stroked his long, white beard. “Yes…yes! I know just the place—Flint Island in the Silver Sea. It’s colder there than it is here on Dalgren, but they have kelbonite reefs and silica deposits that would mask your ship completely. So many shuttlecraft and gliders have been lost on Flint Island that it has a reputation for being haunted. But that’s good—people seldom go there.”
“Sounds perfect,” said Chakotay.
Torres took a computer padd from her pack and turned it on. “I’ve got an atlas here—can you show me where it is?”
“Yes, my dear, I can.”
While they consulted and the hovercraft cruised along, Chakotay watched the rolling countryside on one side of the craft and the charming city of Astar on the other. Helena was a remarkable planet—worldly yet unspoiled. Could they actually find refuge here from the turmoil in the DMZ? He had no doubt that the Helenites would accept them with open arms, especially B’Elanna, whom they would probably crown queen. Perhaps it wasn’t fair of him to force her to leave when she would never be as warmly accepted anywhere else as she was here. Maybe Tuvok was right, and they should have an exit strategy.
Throughout this entire mission, Chakotay had the urgent feeling that time was running out for them. He didn’t know what to do about it, except to plunge ahead with the task at hand. Maybe he needed to slow down and withdraw from the conflict.
By the time they reached a picturesque cemetery on a grassy knoll, Chakotay had nearly talked himself into staying, if their mission proved successful. He saw the hundreds of people waiting to attend Klain’s funeral, and he realized that the Helenites were a warm, forgiving people.
When they exited the hovercraft, the crowd parted to let them approach the grave site. B’Elanna took the lead, accustomed to all the attention. Chakotay felt someone tug on his sleeve, and he turned to see Shep, the little Ferengi.
“Captain,” he whispered. “I knew you’d be here.”
Chakotay stepped aside, allowing the others to walk ahead. “Have you found out anything else?”
“Only that Klain recently got a large infusion of latinum into his company and was poised to compete with IGI. It really would seem that he did all of this for profit, which makes me have some sympathy for him.” Shep looked around at the large crowd and whistled. “Imagine how many people would be here if he had been a good man.”
The captain’s combadge chirped. “Spartacus to Chakotay!”
“Go ahead, Seska.”
“Captain! A huge starship has just entered orbit, and the Singha is under attack!”
Chapter Sixteen
IN ORBIT OVER THE SHIMMERING blue planet, a mammoth starship bore down on a tiny Bajoran assault vessel, peppering it with a withering barrage of phaser beams. The Singha tried valiantly to return fire while swerving back and forth, but the highly advanced starship had taken her by surprise. The Maquis ship quivered from one blast after another, and her aft sections were aflame, spitting vibrant blue and gold plumes.
“All power to rear shields!” shouted Patricia Rowan on the bridge. Her scarred, gaunt face was haunted with fear. “Continue evasive maneuvers!”
The ship shuddered violently, and the conn officer had to grip his console to stay in his seat. “We’ve lost all power to the helm. Shields down to six percent!”
“Hail them!”
“They’re not answering!” shouted tactical. “We’re dropping into the atmosphere—”
Another blast jolted them, and sparks and acrid smoke spewed into the cabin, causing Rowan to gag. The captain dropped to her knees to avoid the worst of the smoke, but she felt herself floating as the ship lost artificial gravity. The deadly barrage never stopped for an instant, and the tiny ship absorbed blast after blast. The scorched, bloodied face of her helmsman floated past her stinging eyes.
“Long live the Maquis!” yelled Captain Rowan with her last breath.
Upon entering the atmosphere, the assault vessel turned into a flaming torch, and a moment later it exploded into a riot of silvery confetti and burning embers. What was left of the Singha fluttered through the upper atmosphere of Helena like a gentle snowstorm.
&nb
sp; On the ground, Chakotay shoved his way through the crowd and grabbed B’Elanna Torres by the arm. “We’ve got to get back to the ship—the Singha is under attack!”
“What?”
He tapped his combadge. “Seska! Beam us back—now!”
“There’s no rush,” came a subdued response. “The Singha is gone.”
Chakotay’s jaw dropped, and B’Elanna scowled and ground her boot into the dirt. All around them, Helenites gaped, not understanding what had happened.
“How many Cardassian ships are there?” asked Chakotay, certain that the enemy fleet had arrived.
“Only one ship,” answered Seska. “But she isn’t Cardassian. At least she isn’t like any Cardassian ship we’ve ever seen before.”
“What is she?”
“Unknown. Her warp signature doesn’t match anything in our computer.”
“That doesn’t mean much,” grumbled Chakotay, knowing how out-of-date their ship’s data was. “What’s she doing now?”
“She just beamed one person up from the planet.” A tense pause ensued as they waited for more information. “The ship is leaving orbit…they’re powering up to go into warp. Whoever they are, they’re gone.”
Chakotay scowled, wishing now that he had kept the Spartacus in orbit. “If we had been up there, could we have made a difference?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe a Federation starship could have handled them, but not us.”
“Well, that’s it,” said a voice behind Chakotay. He turned to see Shep, the Ferengi, shaking his bulbous head. “It sounds like Klain’s murderer has just made his escape.”
Anger and frustration surged through Chakotay’s veins, and he looked around for the gaudily uniformed officials who had arrested Tuvok. When he spotted the portly one, Chakotay strode toward him and glared at the Helenite. “Klain’s murderer—the one most responsible for the plague—has just gotten away in an unknown starship. And they destroyed our sister ship. I want Tuvok released from your prison this instant.”
The Helenite looked flustered, but he held his ground. “We can’t do that—the hearing isn’t until tomorrow.”
