Star Trek - DS9 011 - Devil In The Sky

by Неизвестный

  Indeed, the Prophets themselves were far more alien than the Hortas, although this was not an argument likely to appease a Vedek.

  "And our people have been the sadder for it," Sloi said. "Or have you forgotten the Cardassians?" "The Hortas are not conquerors, edek. They're children!" "Children who have brought your precious station to the brink of ruin. The more you speak of your own danger, the more I fear for my planet." "It's not the same thing!" Sisko protested. "We're an enclosed environment sustained artificially..." Sloi tried to cut him off with a wave of her hand, but Sisko would not be silenced. "They can't destroy a planet. In fact, they came here to help Bajor." "Not at my request," she reminded him, "or the provisional government's." Sisko tried another tack. "Forget the Hortas' rights, then. What about the other lives at stake here?

  Bajoran lives?" "Our people are accustomed to sacrifice," she an- swered coolly, apparently unfazed by the increasing heat of Sisko's tone. Another band of interference rippled across the screen, deforming the Vedek's face like a fun-house mirror. "There is another possibility, of course," she continued. The signal's distortion turned the straight line of her lips into a twisted grimace.

  "Which is?" Sisko asked.

  "Destroy the Hortas. Purely in self~defense." Sisko no longer saw any point to controlling his anger. "That, Madame Director, is exactly what our Cardassian computer suggested as well." Even through the snow and static, Sisko saw the Vedek's eyes flash with fury at his comparison. "Our conversation is at an end, Commander. The decision of the council is final. Any attempt to deposit the Hortas anywhere on Bajor will be considered an illegal invasion on the part of Starfleet. Bajor out." The screen blanked abruptly. So much for diploma- cy, Sisko thought. He stared at the screen as if he could beam his thoughts directly to the Vedek's office on Bajor.

  "I'll find a way, Sloi," he said aloud, "to save the station and the Hortas. And to hell with you and your entire council." Sisko stood up suddenly. He stepped away from his desk and marched toward Ops. There were other councils and committees that might be able to over- rule or circumvent Vedek Sloi and her xenophobic brand of ecological protection, but he had neither the time nor the patience to wrestle anymore with the intricacies of Bajoran politics, not with a litter of feral Hortas breathing down his neck.

  The double doors slid open automatically, selfishly depriving him of the pleasure of slamming them behind him. Sisko strode onto the upper tier of Ops.

  No one looked up to note his arrival; everyone ap- peared engrossed in tracking the Hortas or compen- sating for one of a hundred malfunctioning systems.

  The environmental controls were clearly in trouble, as well as the air circulators.

  Despite the absence of Dax, Kira, and O'Brien, Ops was more crowded than usual. A bad sign, he realized.

  As they lost more and more territory to the Hortas, a larger percentage of his staff had crammed into Ops to assist however they could. Despite their injuries, Dawson and Shirar from the Puyallup had pitched in to help. Captain Dawson supervised the operations table while his Vulcan navigator scanned the sur- rounding area for transmissions from the Amazon.

  Looking around Ops, Sisko was startled to see one young ensign wearing nothing but a blanket; at the moment, he knelt beside the science station, making rapid adjustments to the long-range sensor displays while his free hand struggled to hold the makeshift toga together. Sisko rolled his eyes wearily. There had to be a story behind the nearly naked ensign, but he didn't have the time to look into it. Neither did anybody else, apparently; it was a measure of how bad things were that nobody on the floor was giving the young man a hard time.

  Sisko decided to get the news straight from the front. "Chief O'Brien," he said, activating his comm.

  "Sisko here. Report." The Irishman's voice came through more clearly than the broadcast from Bajor. "We're losing ground, Commander, and in a big way. We've fed the ugly rock-rats damn near everything but the docking py- lons and they're still coming." "How far from the core?" Sisko asked.

  "Commander, they're in the core already. They got past us on the bridge ten minutes ago." Silently, Sisko cursed Sloi and Pova and their useless council to the darkest corner of the Bajoran netherworld. "Chief, I want you back in Ops now.

  Prepare to be beamed here directly." There was a momentary silence on the other end of the line. "Chief?." Sisko inquired.

  O'Brien's voice took on a slightly embarrassed tone.

  "Er, if it's all the same to you, Commander, I'd just as soon take the turbolift." "I can't risk you getting stuck in a shaft for the next three hours. There might not be a station left when you got out," Sisko said, hoping that he was exaggerat- ing but not willing to bet on it.

  "Right you are, sir," O'Brien conceded.

  Sisko issued the command to the naked ensign, noting that the youth's blanket had drooped past his knees; nobody bothered to cover him up again. Al- most instantly, Chief O'Brien's pattern formed over the transporter pad in a radiant aura of materializing energy. As soon as the glow faded, O'Brien stepped briskly off the pad. Sanger stepped aside to let the chief take his place at the engineering station.

  Despite the unfolding crisis, Sisko felt reassured to see one of his senior officers back in Ops. "Where is Odo right now?" he asked aloud.

  O'Brien looked up from his station. "Indisposed, if you know what I mean." In his pail, in other words. Sisko nodded, and O'Brien returned to his work. It's too bad, Sisko thought, that Odo can't split himself like an amoeba; I couM use several more of him at the moment. "What about the Hortas?" he inquired. "How far are they from Ops?" O'Brien brought up a schematic on the main view- er. It was a vertical cross section of the core itself, with Ops located near the top, just below the communica- tions cluster. Sisko spotted a flurry of red triangles spreading out a few levels below the Promenade, then starting to sink lower on the diagram. "That's pecu- liar," O'Brien commented. "They seem to be ignoring the upper core entirely this time. They're all moving into the lower core, but there's nothing down there except cargo bays, storage tanks, and"--O'Brien's eyes widened in alarm as he realized what he was saying--"the fusion reactors!" Sisko was way ahead of him. Suddenly, everything came together. "Of course," he declared, "that's what they've been looking for all this time. The reactors.

  Think about it, Chief. The reaction chambers gener- ate power which is then transferred to beds of liquid sodium and silicon. Silicon, that's the key; the Hortas' entire biology is based on it." "My God," O'Brien said, as the full implications of Sisko's revelation sunk in. "Tanks of hot liquid sili- con. It must seem like mother's milk to them!" "That's right," Sisko agreed. "They've been con- fused and distracted up to now, but they must be able to sense it somehow. That's why they keep circling back toward the core, and that's where they're going now." O'Brien's face grew pale. "But if they do to the reactors what they've done to the rest of the station, if they rupture the reaction chambers..." He didn't need to elaborate. Deep Space Nine could survive some torn-up living quarters and even an occasional hull breach, but if the reactors went the entire station would end up as a lifeless, uninhabitable tombstone drifting on the outskirts of the wormhole.

  Sisko stared at the display on the viewer. The Hortas were still several levels away from the reactor, exploring the maintenance equipment and storage areas that made up most of the lower core, but the clock was clearly ticking toward a disaster that could kill everyone on the station. He couldn't wait for Kira anymore.

  "Chief," he said in a firm, controlled voice. "I want you to set up as many shields as possible between the Hortas and the reactors. Divert power from every- thing short of life support if you have to." "But shields can't stop them," O'Brien said. "I wish they could!" "The shields are just to buy time." Sisko tapped his comm. "Lieutenant Moru, get a full team of security officers, armed with the most powerful phasers you have, to the lower core. I want you to set up a firing line between the Hortas and the reactors." Sisko paused, thought of Jake and Jennifer and Ttan, then gave the or
der he'd been dreading: "Set phasers on maximum settings. Shoot to kill." Forgive me, Ttan, he thought. Forgive us all.

  BEEEEEEEP. A buzzing electronic siren suddenly activated at the science station, interrupting Sisko's guilty brooding. Now what, he wondered irritably. He turned his fierce, questioning gaze on Lieutenant Eddon.

  "A proximity alarm," the Andorian explained. She deactivated the siren with a few deft movements of her pale blue fingers. "The Prodigal is coming as close to DS9 as it is going to get." She hastily consulted her screens, then added, "The station is in no danger, as long as our inertial fields compensate for the toOOh'S gravitational pull." "Chief?." Sisko asked.

  "No problem so far," O'Brien assured him. "Frank- ly, that moon is the least of our troubles." Thank heaven for small favors, Sisko thought. What with Ttan's abduction, the rescue mission, and the baby Hortas' subsequent rampage, he'd completely forgotten The Prodigal's scheduled flyby. Too bad, he thought ruefully. Under better circumstances, he would have liked to have watched the moon's ap- proach with Jake. The sight was supposed to be quite impressive, with the moon approaching near enough that many features of its terrain could be seen with the naked eye. So close that.

  "Chief," he asked abruptly, the urgent timbre of his voice catching the attention of everyone in Ops, hushing the hubbub of dozens of Starfleet officers at work. "Is the moon within transporter range of the station?" "Almost," O'Brien announced after only a mo- ment's calculation. "We should have a thirty-six- minute window of opportunity opening up in approx- imately ten minutes." The hope in O'Brien's eyes matched Sisko's. "Are you thinking what I'm think- ing, Commander?" "Lock on to those Hortas, Chief. Get ready to transport them on my command." For the first time in hours, Sisko felt the danger might be coming under control. He opened a line to the security team posted in the lower core. "Lieuten- ant Morn, hold your fire until it is absolutely neces- sary. We may have a way out of this massacre." An encouraging smile formed on his face. Take that, Vedek Sloi, he thought. And your little dog, too.

  Then, without warning, the lights went out, throw- ing Ops into total darkness. Sisko heard gasps of alarm and shouting, from the systems core two levels below. No screams, though, he noted with a touch of pride; his staff was trained better than that.

  The emergency lights came on, as well as the main viewer and some of the monitors. The dim red illumination cast eerie scarlet shadows over the scene, but Sisko barely noticed. He needed to know what had happened immediately. "Chief O'Brien," he said loudly. "Report." "Power levels are dropping in Reactor One," O'Brien told him. Pellets of sweat broke out on the Irishman's brow. "I think we have a Horta in the silicon bed." "What?" Sisko was momentarily taken aback. The schematic on the viewer showed the Hortas still a few levels away from the reactors, nor had Lieutenant Moru reported engaging the enemy yet. He watched eighteen red triangles descending toward the bottom of DS9. They couldn't have reached the reactors already, unless.

  "The missing Horta," he realized at once. Some- how it had gotten ahead of the others.

  And their time had run out.

  At last! The little Horta rejoiced, basking in a bath of warmth and satisfaction. Pure food, better than anything she had eaten since she escaped her shell, surrounded her on all sides. She had found what she was looking for. More, she was literally swimming in it.

  All thoughts of the carbon-beings, of disappearing holoscenes, and of her long trek down the turboshaft were driven from her mind by the sheer bliss of immediate, unadulterated gratification. She sucked energized silicon through her cilia. She absorbed it directly through her hide. Rather than sating her appetite, the potent brew spurred her hunger on to even greater heights. She could not consume her tasty new world fast enough.

  In the midst of her banquet, however, she remem- bered her brothers and sisters. She sensed that they were not far away and, in her joy, she was eager to share her bounty.

  Comet Come/Come/the Horta sang out, beckoning her siblings, extolling the treasure she'd uncovered.

  Hurry, she exhorted, and she thought she heard the other Hortas respond.

  Soon they would join her, she thought happily.

  There was enough here for everyone. They could eat to their souls' content, or until the end of the world.

  CHAPTER 17

  TTAN HAD LEFT the end of her escape tunnel for last. As soon as she finished carving out a passage that her Federation rescuers could use, she bored her way through the rhodinium-reinforced slab of concrete that formed the floor of the docking bay.

  When she emerged, she found herself surrounded by Cardassians with phaser rifles. She hesitated. Her back still stung where the guard had shot her. Clearly their weapons could do her serious damage on their highest setting... as they had to be set now.

  "Don't fire," a familiar voice ordered.

  Gul Mavek pushed through his men to face her. He crossed his arms and stared, his expression unreada- ble to the Horta.

  "I am very angry, Ttan," he said in a low, menacing voice. "Very angry. So angry I have ordered all of your children killed in five minutes. If you help us capture the rebel slaves, I will stop that order. Your children do not have to die." The blinding rage returned to Ttan. She began to creep forward very slowly.

  "Ttan," Mavek said in a warning voice. "Have you forgotten your children? All nineteen of them are going to die if you don't obey me." "Liar," Ttan said. The Universal Translator made a hopeless garbled sound. Two meters. One meter.

  "Ttanw" For the first time, she saw a look of worry on Gul Mavek's face. He took a step back, then another.

  "Liar," Ttan said again. She gathered her cilia under her body.

  Gul Mavek screamed as Ttan leaped. The guards fired. Pain washed through Ttan's body, but she didn't stop, didn't hesitate. She had come too far now. She shot streams of acid from every gland in her body, shooting them not just at Gul Mavek, but in every direction.

  The force of her leap bowled Mavek over, and she sat on top of him, letting acid pour from her body.

  The phasers around them had stopped firing, she noticed, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was Gul Mavek's frail carbon and calcium body now lying beneath, quickly burning away to nothing.

  That is for my children, she thought, and for the pain you have caused us all.

  When she looked up, all the other Cardassians had dropped their weapons and fled. Many of them were shrieking in agony--touched by the streams of acid Ttan had shot from her body as she launched herself at Gul Mavek.

  The first few of her humanoid allies emerged from the tunnel, looking around in surprise. The ones with Federation uniforms took charge at once.

  Content to watch for the moment, Ttan settled back as they stormed the Dagger, the late Gul Mavek's ship.

  Thank goodness for small favors, Julian Bashir thought. He might have lost his phaser, but he'd managed to keep his medical bag. And in the suddenly lessened gravity, he could move like an acrobat in the peak of condition.

  The hypospray that had put Major Kira to sleep snapped back into its holder. He pulled out two splints, emergency tape, and a tube of the silicon plaster he'd brought in case Ttan had been injured.

  He'd never thought he'd have to use it on a Bajoran.

  Taking a quick medical scan of Kira's broken leg--a rather clean break on top of a dislocated knee, he discovered--he realized there wasn't a pretty way to do it. Taking a deep breath, he snapped her leg back into place. If Kira had been awake, he knew, she would have screamed in mortal agony. As it was, deep under a haze of painkillers, she moaned like a sick animal. This was one of the worst parts of being a doctor, Julian thought. He hated seeing people suffer.

  Holding her leg fully extended, he taped the splints in place, then used the silicon plaster to make a cast. It was battlefield medicine at its most primitive, but it would do for now. He could move her without fear of killing her.

  Rising a trifle unsteadily, he tucked the bag under one arm, picked Kira up with the other, and followed a
fter the others. Thank goodness for the moon's low gravity here, he thought. Even burdened with Kira's body, he wasn't carrying more than two-thirds of his normal weight.

  He thought he saw a little more light ahead and pressed on, feeling excited. Ttan, he soon discovered, had bored small holes into other levels of the Cardassian base, letting light spill through and illumi-.nate the passage. Then he caught sight of the escaping Bajoransmor at least two of them. A man and a woman, looking to be in little better shape than he was, had paused to rest in a pool of light. They struggled to their feet as he approached.

  "Let me take your bag," the woman said.

  Julian handed it to her gratefully. In the process, though, he must have jostled Kira the wrong way because she suddenly stirred and moaned through the painkillers, "Here," said the man, steadying Julian's arm for a second. "What can I do to help?" Julian shifted Kira until he could hold her in one hand without fear of dropping her. Then he extended his other hand to the Bajoran.