Nechayev reached forward to cut the contact, then paused to give him a last icy look. "One more thing. If you get a confirmed report from your away team that the Victoria Adams's survivors have been killed, either by comet impact or by your Klingon activists, I want you out of that death trap immediately. And that's an order."
Sisko scowled up at the viewscreen for a long moment after the admiral's image snapped out of existence, but it wasn't the dusty skies of Armageddon that were aggravating him. He now had breathing space in which to find a solution to his unexpected hostage crisis, but it was breathing space with an enormous price tag attached. What he needed was a way to protect the scorched planet below him from further cometary damage, and he needed it soon enough to get his crash survivors freed before the Defiant started an interplanetary war.
"Commander Worf," Sisko said abruptly. "If we angle and disperse our shields to sweep up as many comets as possible, how many trips across the debris tail will we have to make to protect the planet from impact for the next few days?"
The Klingon officer tapped a query into Dax's piloting console and scowled at the results. "Approximately two hundred and seventeen," he said unhappily. "The maneuver will take almost two days to complete."
"Too slow," O'Brien warned. "And too risky. There's bound to be a couple of comets that sneak past us while we're sweeping up the rest."
"And if a Klingon ship arrives to resume the blockade, there's too much chance they'll catch us only partially shielded. That's not good enough." Sisko strode up and down the length of the bridge, ignoring the wary look he got from his replacement science officer. No doubt the young man was wondering if his commanding officer's legendary temper was about to erupt. "We need another strategy, gentlemen, and we need it fast. We have to convince those Klingons down there that we're making good on our promise --"
"-- without actually making good on it?" Odo lifted a caustic eyebrow.
Sisko favored his security officer with an impatient look. "Constable, if you have a better way to get rid of all those comets out there --"
"Why don't we just shoot them?"
It could have been a mocking question, but the steady intensity of Odo's gaze told Sisko he was serious. He paused with his mouth half-open to snap a dismissive reply, then slanted a glance at his chief tactical officer. "Is that feasible?"
This time, Worf didn't have to consult the computer to answer. "There is a limit to how wide a spread we can achieve without losing the ability to vaporize, but cometary ice has such low density that it does not present a significant constraint. However, when any kind of debris is clustered this closely in space, phaser beams tend to be diffracted by the leading edge and leave the interior of the debris cloud untouched."
"So we can't do broad-beam destruction," Sisko concluded. "What about point and shoot?"
"Selecting just the largest and most threatening fragments?" Worf nodded as if to answer his own question. "If we keep the phaser beam narrowly focused, it will not diffract. We can target almost any fragment in the tail for destruction."
Sisko grunted. "Then all we need to know is which fragments have the highest probability of impacting with the planet's surface." He paused, glancing over at the young ensign manning the science station. "Ensign Farabaugh?" he prodded, when he got no response.
"Sir?" The young man glanced back at him worriedly, alert but obviously unsure of exactly what was needed.
Sisko tried not to let too much impatience show in his voice. It wasn't Farabaugh's fault that Dax would have already realized what he wanted and programmed her scan accordingly. "Have the computer mark and track all fragments with an eighty-five percent probability of impact over the next five days. Concentrate on the most dangerous fragments -- the large ones within a ten thousand kilometer range."
"Aye, sir." Looking relieved to be assigned a specific task, Farabaugh bent over his console, punching in the scanning parameters. "Um--I'll probably need to run a probabilistic vector model to account for fragment interactions. First results might take about seven minutes."
"Very well." Sisko swung back to eye the remainder of his bridge crew, smiling for the first time in what seemed like a long while. He always felt better when he had some immediate goal to pursue. "I think we could all stand to brush up on our manual track-and-fire skills, don't you, Commander? Who wants to go first?"
"Not me," Odo assured him. "I don't find blowing up inanimate objects as pleasurable an activity as you humanoids appear to."
"That's all right, Constable. I need you to keep an eye on the entire system, watching for ion trails." Sisko glanced over his shoulder. "Ready with tracking coordinates, Mr. Farabaugh?"
"Almost, sir. I still need to plot --" The young science officer broke off, staring down at something on his screen. "Captain Sisko, we've just been hailed by a Cardassian battle cruiser! I'm putting it on-screen now."
The dust-stained oceans of Armageddon vanished, replaced by a deeply furrowed Cardassian face. "Captain Sisko of the U.S.S. Defiant, this is Gul Hidret of the Cardassian war-cruiser Olxinder." It was unusual to see such an elderly soldier still serving as a Gul, but the shrewd glitter in Hidret's eyes told Sisko he wasn't dealing with some political appointee or recalled reserve officer. "If you wish to avoid a conflict, please acknowledge this hail at once."
Sisko flexed his fingers on the arms of his command chair, hard enough to feel the duranium core beneath the padding. "Whatever you do, Mr. Farabaugh," he said through his teeth, "do not acknowledge that hail." He swung to scowl at Odo. "Constable, why the hell didn't you detect the Cardassians' arrival in the system?"
"For the very good reason that they haven't arrived yet," the Changeling shot back, unintimidated. "There are no uncloaked vessels present within the entire scanning range of my sensors."
"The communicator signal's red-shift indicates the Cardassians are hailing us from at least eighteen light-years out," Farabaugh volunteered. "It's so distant, I can't even tell for sure if they're heading our way or not."
Sisko's scowl swung back to the image of Gul Hidret, now waiting in confident silence for a reply. "Then how in God's name did they detect our presence?"
"They didn't," O'Brien said. "They're beaming a directed wide-cast over the entire Armageddon system. They just suspect we're here." The engineer looked up from his console, baffled. "What I want to know is how they learned our travel plans. That information sure didn't come from Starfleet."
"No doubt Cardassian High Command has its sources." Sisko tapped a reflective finger across his chin, debating pros and cons. Although it was tempting to remain silent and shatter Gul Hidret's smug sureness about the Defiant's presence here, this wasn't a decision he could entrust to gut feelings. "Gentlemen, give me your opinions," he said abruptly. "Do we respond or not?"
Odo turned to give him a quizzical look. "Our orders from Admiral Nechayev were to refrain from starting a war. I assume that means she'd prefer that no one know we're here. Am I missing something?"
"The fact that the Cardassians already know we're here," O'Brien retorted. "If we don't warn them away, they might tangle with the Klingon blockade and start the war that way."
"True," agreed Worf. "But I do not advise we reply. The Cardassian battle cruiser is at least eighteen hours away, but there may be other Cardassian ships in the area who can backtrack our communications signal."
Sisko let out a frustrated breath. "And I want to know what Gul Hidret is up to. Deadlock."
Ensign Farabaugh cleared his throat, looking tentatively back and forth between them. "Would it help if we could respond to the Cardassians with a ricochet signal?"
Sisko swung to face his youngest bridge officer. "A signal that can't be traced back to the Defiant? Can you do that?"
He got a shy grin in response. "With all the comets around here, Captain? No problem. The signal quality will degrade a lot when it bounces, but it should still get through."
"Do it." Sisko turned back to face the waiting image of Gul
Hidret, summoning up all his self-control for the next few minutes. "Notify me when we're on-line."
"Hang on, sir, I'm working out a three-way bounce... scanning for target... All right, we're connected. Go ahead, Captain."
"Gul Hidret of the Olxinder, this is Captain Benjamin Sisko of the Defiant. Can you read me?"
"Barely." Judging from the squeal of feedback and the way Hidret squinted at his viewscreen, the Cardassian wasn't lying. "Are you engaged in battle with the Klingons?"
Sisko lifted one eyebrow, knowing the gesture probably couldn't be detected by his counterpart. Had there been a slightly hopeful tone in that question? "We're just experiencing some cometary interference, Gul Hidret. What do you want?"
"To save Cardassia," Hidret snapped back, brusquely enough to make Sisko's gut tighten with apprehension. When a Gul dispensed with sly innuendo and circumspect hints, you knew you were in trouble. "We know the system you are in is under Klingon control. If you aren't fighting them, I'll have to assume you're in league with them and proceed accordingly."
Sisko grimaced. "Gul Hidret, there are no Klingons in this system right now." Sisko ignored Worf's frown and Odo's disapproving look. He knew a Federation diplomat would probably have fainted to hear him dish out that information so generously, but there was a method to his madness. "And our own presence here is only temporary. As soon as we locate some Federation crash survivors --"
"--you'll abandon the system." Gul Hidret snorted in deep suspicion, the lines in his face deepening. "Forgive me if I doubt you. The Federation cannot be ignorant of the reason the Klingons have set up a blockade around such a worthless old scar of a planet."
"You mean the political exiles they stranded here?"
That innocent question turned the engraved lines in the old Cardassian's face from crevasses to ravines. "So they say! If you ask me, it's just an convenient excuse to claim they control the system."
Sisko exchanged baffled looks with his bridge crew. None of them, not even Odo, looked as if the Gul's comment made any more sense to them than it did to Sisko. But the shrewd glint of dark eyes on the screen assured him that, no matter how preposterous his story sounded, this old officer wasn't senile yet.
"Gul Hidret, you just finished telling us how worthless this planet is. Why would the Klingons need an excuse to claim it?"
That got him the bared teeth of a more normally unctuous Cardassian smile. "I expect because it's the source of all Cardassia's geset." Even through the bounced and fuzzy signal, he must have seen Sisko's incomprehension. "It is the only known cure for ptarvo fever, a disease that decimates our young," he elaborated. "And it's only available in quantity from that dead and blasted planet you now orbit."
That comment, so apparently reasonable on the surface, sparked a snort of pure derision from Odo. Sisko shot him a quick glance, and the Changeling emphasized his skepticism by smacking a palm down to cut the audio channel on his communications board before he spoke. "Gul Hidret is either a remarkably incompetent liar, or doesn't have much respect for our intelligence," he told the captain bluntly.
"What makes you say that, Constable?"
"Ptarvo fever is a colloquial term for the first stirrings of paltegen hormones in young Cardassian males. What Humans might call 'spring fever.'" Odo inclined his head at the gul, now mouthing unheard words at the viewscreen. "He's hiding something."
Sisko grunted, and motioned him to open the audio channel again. He didn't waste any time responding to the gul's indignant accusations. "If ptarvo fever is such an emergency, why aren't you bringing a scientific and medical ship to study the geset and learn how to synthesize it? Why send in a military vessel?"
Hidret heaved a patently exaggerated sigh. "Precisely what we were planning to do, Captain, before the Klingons arrived and set up their illegal blockade. Since then, the Empire has been biding its time, hoping the Klingons would leave -- but finding out that the Federation is now on the side of our old enemies was too much. The High Command decreed that it was time to intervene, before the vital secret of geset was lost to us forever."
"We're not on the side of the Klingons," Sisko said impatiently. "In fact, we couldn't be further from it."
"Then why have they allowed you to stay in a system that they have chased all of our scouts and warships away from?"
Sisko groaned. That was exactly the kind of flawed reasoning that could lead to military confrontation. But how could he correct Hidret's assumptions without opening up awkward questions about his own foolhardy presence in this system? Somehow, he didn't think Nechayev would approve of telling the Cardassian High Command about the strategically important Starfleet veteran who had crashed with the other survivors.
Fortunately, Worf took that decision out of his hands. "Why do you think the Klingons on the planet are not truly exiles?"
"Because when we first detected their presence, we offered to evacuate them," Gul Hidret retorted. "And they flatly refused. If they had been sent to that comet-blasted planet against their will, why would they not want to leave?"
Worf's low rumble echoed across the squealing feedback from the bounced signal. "It is a matter of honor. That is why you cannot possibly understand it."
"Ah, the excuse Klingons always use to disguise their covert activities!" Hidret snapped back. "I feel confident that whatever those so-called exiles are doing on that planet, it is far from honorable -- and it is probably aimed at destroying the Cardassian Empire!"
"And I feel confident that you are lying through your teeth," muttered Worf, before Sisko waved him into silence.
Fortunately, the squeals of feedback must have distorted the tactical officer's words enough to mask them. Gul Hidret screwed his face into a squint again. "What did you say?"
Sisko took a deep breath. A reckless plan, kindled from equal parts desperation and cynicism, had assembled itself in his brain while Worf and the gul had been talking. He saw no reason to delay putting it into action. "I said you can easily discover whether those exiles are working against your government. Why don't you ask them to let you harvest geset in return for protecting them against the comets that are hitting the planet? Your battle cruiser's big enough to sweep the debris away just by recalibrating and diffusing your shields. That way, even if the exiles refused your terms, you would at least protect your source of geset from destruction."
"What?" He couldn't tell if it was anger, loathing, or just sheer surprise that bleached out Hidret's face to the color of old wax, but the reaction was even more vehement than he'd expected. "You expect me to depower my shields and risk the safety of my ship just to save the lives of some Klingons?"
"No," Sisko said silkily. "I expect you to risk your ship to save the lives of your children."
The old Cardassian's face tightened, showing stubborn bones beneath his sagging wrinkles, but he gave no other sign of having had his bluff called. "A valiant try, Captain. Unlike Klingons, you Humans do occasionally manage to create battle strategies almost devious enough to be interesting. But your attempt to render me helpless is a little on the transparent side. If I agreed to play janitor to your cometary debris, no doubt I'd soon find myself under attack from you and your Klingon allies."
Sisko didn't bother to deny that, since he was sure his Klingon "allies" would have been only too happy to fulfill Hidret's prophecy. "Then I strongly suggest you keep away from this system, Gul Hidret."
"And tell your children with ptarvo fever to try a cold shower instead of geset," Odo added, in an even more sardonic voice than usual.
"So much for Federation mercy and fairness!" All pretense of affability vaporized under a boiling rage that turned Hidret's wrinkled face copper brown. "We will see who ends up in control of this system in the end, after the Klingons return and find you in it!"
Sisko smiled, buoyed up by the grim satisfaction of having forced a Cardassian to admit to something resembling the truth. "Ah, but don't forget," he said pleasantly. "The Klingons are now our allies."
Wi
th one last howl that could have been retransmitted static or pure Cardassian rage, the connection between them went black. Sisko took a deep breath, then glanced across at Odo. "Well, Constable? Does Gul Hidret really think we're allied with the Klingons?"
Odo's face might not have been very expressive, but he made up for that by the depth of disgust he could express in a single snort. "What Gul Hidret thinks is that we're going to get massacred by the Klingon blockade. Right now, he's just positioning himself to come in after the battle's over."
"Then let us hope he miscalculates and arrives early," Worf said fiercely. "Because if there is a choice between us and the Cardassians when the Klingon blockade reforms, I know which of us will be the first target."
CHAPTER 4
IN HIS LONG years of Starfleet service, Benjamin Sisko had seen sulfur ice moons torn apart and neutron stars lashed into turmoil by passing cosmic strings. As a young ensign, he'd once watched a red giant star go nova; as a much older and wiser commander, he'd not only discovered the Bajoran wormhole, but had been the first Human to travel through it. In all his years and parsecs of passage through the galaxy, however, he'd never seen the effects of a comet impact on a Class-M planet.
Star Trek - Day Of Honor 02 Page 7
