The Soldiers Of Fear

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  The turbolift door hissed open. Picard turned. He hadn’t ordered anyone onto the bridge.

  “Deanna,” Worf said, his voice filled with a kind of awe.

  She was paler than usual, her eyes taking up most of her face. Picard would have thought that she was recovering from a long illness if he hadn’t known that she had been fine just the day before.

  She smiled at Worf, the expression filling her face with radiance. That smile put not just Worf but Picard at ease. He hadn’t really realized how much he counted on her in situations like this one.

  “Worf,” she said. She went down the two steps toward her seat, and touched Riker’s hand as she did so. He looked relieved that she had returned. No, “relieved” was too small a word. He looked as if a well-loved member of his family had just returned from a long voyage.

  “Welcome, Counselor.” Picard said. “I trust Dr. Crusher gave you a full bill of health.”

  Troi’s smile had a touch of the imp to it. “She let me out of sickbay,” Troi said, “does that count?”

  “Enough for now,” Picard said.

  Riker glanced at the screen and then at her. “Deanna, do you think it wise—?”

  “Will,” she said, and he stopped.

  “The Madison and Idaho have arrived,” Worf said. “They have taken positions behind us on either side.”

  More tension left Picard’s shoulders. Part of him, the worried part that the Furies’ beam had dislodged, had wondered if the other two starships would arrive on time.

  Their arrival took the attention off Counselor Troi.

  “I thought the Klingons would be with them,” Riker said.

  “They are,” Worf said, his voice controlled but his annoyance somehow clear anyway. “They have just decloaked. One ship is above us. The other below. It is the Vulcan ship that is delayed.”

  “Two Klingon ships,” Picard said. “Good.”

  “The Klingons clearly believe this too important to trust to one vessel,” Worf said, subtly reminding them all about the honor still at stake.

  “So much the better.” Picard uncrossed his leg and put his hands on the arm of his chair. He was about to stand when Troi’s fingers brushed his sleeve.

  “When you speak to them,” she said softly, “remember that they are frightened.”

  At first he thought she was talking about the other ships that had just arrived. Then he realized she meant the Furies.

  “This is very important to them,” she said, by way of explanation.

  “It is to all of us,” Picard said.

  She shook her head. “No, they believe our remote ancestors were the ones who kicked them out of this area of space.”

  Picard stared at her for a moment, letting what she said sink in. If he needed it, he would use it. But now that the Idaho had arrived, he had another weapon, too. He had the poppets from the Fury ship Rath.

  He patted Troi’s hand as a way of thanks and stood. He adjusted his shirt, and stepped before the screens. “Hail the Fury vessels, Mr. Worf, and when you do make certain all our ships hear this message as well.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Picard hesitated a moment. He needed to add one more element into this equation. “And Mr. Worf, send this all subspace Priority One to Starfleet. I want the entire sector listening in.”

  “Done, sir,” Worf said. “The main Fury ship is answering your hail.”

  “On screen.” As Picard said the words, Riker stood and stopped a half-step behind him. Troi did the same on the other side. He was flanked by two officers. That, combined with the reinforcements, would make this a united front.

  The Furies would know that the Federation was no small primitive planet, to be awed and enslaved by beings who thought themselves more powerful.

  The screen blinked on, and the creature he had spoken to before reappeared. Its hide was a duller red, and the edges of its features seemed hazy.

  “That’s the best I can do,” Worf said. “The haze appears to be something aboard their ship.”

  “Bugs,” Troi whispered, and as if to confirm her words, a swarm of tiny black gnatlike insects flew out of the curve of the creature’s horns.

  “I suppose you would like to talk,” the creature said, its voice heavy with irony. “I heard this is how you fight your enemies. You talk them into submission.”

  “We negotiate,” Picard said.

  “Negotiate.” The creature hooked a maggot on its nail and then slid it off with its teeth. Picard suppressed a shudder. Even without their beam, these creatures plugged directly into his subconscious. Although at the moment, he was registering more disgust than fear. This must be the level of fear that the original Enterprise crew felt, before the Furies had their fear beam.

  “What is there to negotiate?”

  At last. A small breakthrough. “You came through that wormhole because you wanted something,” Picard said. “Instead of fighting for that something, perhaps we can supply it. Our beliefs ask us to find a peaceful solution first.”

  “You destroyed our ship,” the creature said.

  Riker clenched a fist. Picard straightened his shoulders. As if they deserved blame for this situation. The Fury knew that they had provoked the attack.

  “You murdered the crew of our research station,” Picard said slowly, making sure he had the force he wanted behind his voice.

  “Not all of them,” the creature said with a leer. Another creature moved across the screen behind it. The creature had three heads, each different. One looked like a Klingon Scarbaraus statue.

  “The KdIchpon,” Worf said softly, as if in awe.

  Picard refused to be goaded. Or terrified. “We destroyed one of your ships, and you attacked our station. We are even. That seems a good place to begin negotiations from.”

  Troi brushed his sleeve again. Picard glanced at her. She was staring at the screen, her eyes black coals, her skin even paler. He had forgotten about her human side. She had to see the demons that he saw as well as feel the emotions around her.

  “What have we to negotiate?” the devil creature asked.

  They were at least talking. Picard had to give them that. Talk was always the beginning of diplomacy.

  “They’re stalling,” Troi whispered so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.

  His mouth went dry. “You came through the wormhole in search of something. Perhaps we can help you with that search, without bloodshed.”

  “Oh, you will help us with that search,” the creature said.

  “Captain,” Troi whispered. “He is playing with you.”

  The creature apparently heard her. It grinned, the look revealing nasty, slime-covered teeth. “She is correct, Picard. We toy with you. We came through the Entrance to Heaven in search of former glory. It is not something you can give us. It is something that can only be won.”

  Picard latched on to the word “won.” “And if we lay down our arms, face you peaceably?”

  “Captain!” Worf said, clearly appalled.

  “Then we gain even more glory,” the creature said, “for you consider us too mighty to fight. Will you surrender, Captain Picard?”

  Picard lifted his chin. “Never,” he said. “You will never achieve glory, former or future. We defeated you once in battle, and we shall do so again.”

  He took a deep breath. “I have something to offer you in negotiation. We have an escape pod full of the poppets from the Rath. I will turn them over to you to assure you of our goodwill.”

  “What!” the leader of the Furies shouted, jumping toward the camera. “We will take them from you. You will die!”

  Picard stepped back. He had not expected such a reaction. He knew this conversation was at an end. He now had the upper hand, and it would stay that way for the moment.

  He whirled and motioned Worf to end the communication. Picard was no longer frightened. He was angry. The Furies believed that only the enslavement of the races on this side of the galaxy would enable them to obtain glory?
They would quickly learn how impossible glory was going to be.

  “Mr. Data, how many minutes until that wormhole opens?”

  “Ten, sir. But—” Data paused, leaned over the console. “The energy emissions are increasing.” He slid his chair back, looking as stunned as an android could look. “My calculations were inaccurate, sir.”

  “They’re coming through now?” Riker asked.

  Data shook his head. “No, sir. But I estimated a single ship would come through the wormhole. According to these new readings, they are sending ships in waves. Hundreds of ships. It is only the first that will arrive in ten minutes.”

  “They’re storming us as if we were a beachhead,” Picard muttered.

  “What?” Riker asked.

  Picard shook his head. “It is an old saying, Will. One that once worked in Earth’s favor.”

  But this time it wouldn’t work in Earth’s favor. The Enterprise, the Madison, and the Idaho, along with the Klingon ships, could probably destroy the four ships guarding the wormhole. But after that, hundreds—

  —maybe thousands—

  —of ships would come through.

  The five battle-scarred ships, along with more reinforcements, would be no match.

  No match at all.

  “Captain,” Riker said softly. “We need to close that wormhole.”

  Picard nodded. He knew that. But until this moment he hadn’t been willing to face the fact that he was going to have to send one of his people to their death. But now he had to.

  The question was, which one?

  Chapter Nineteen

  WORF STUDIED THE SECURITY CONSOLE before him. The two Klingon ships, DoHQay and HohIj, were revolving on the schematic before him. The DoHQay was captained by Krann, son of Huy’, of the House of Thorne. Krann was a good commander, not very daring, but protective of Klingon honor. The HohIj was captained by KoPoch, son of Karch, of the House of Kipsk. KoPoch was a strong commander with a gift for risk. They were both good additions to this force.

  But the two houses were at war with each other. It was a brilliant ploy on the part of Gowron. Send the leaders of the warring houses here. Have them outdo each other in battle, and probably die. Both houses would retain their honor, and the feud would end. Three problems solved and, if it succeeded and the Furies were turned back, Gowron would again be a hero.

  The man sometimes was a visionary.

  Worf frowned.

  But if it failed, the two ships would turn on each other instead of the Furies, and Klingon honor would be even further destroyed.

  He looked up as Captain Picard ended his communication with the Fury. Worf ended the transmission and wiped the schematics of the ships off his board.

  They could not let this go to war.

  The Federation was not able to fight as vicious a fight as was needed. Gowron was more concerned with his own problems than with saving the sector from the Furies. He probably believed that his secondary force would do the real fighting.

  Commander Riker, with too much fear in his voice, reminded the captain that someone had to destroy the wormhole. Worf did not fear the task. He welcomed it.

  The captain looked directly at Worf. Worf straightened, determined to look like a warrior.

  “Sir,” Data said. “A Fury ship has come through the wormhole.”

  The captain whirled, Worf apparently forgotten. “On screen.”

  The ship flying through the wormhole was larger than the ships already guarding it.

  “I thought you said fleets would be coming through,” Riker said to Data.

  “They are,” Data said. “They are apparently entering one ship at a time in sixty-five second intervals.”

  “How many ships are you reading, Data?”

  “I count a minimum of one hundred ships, sir,” Data said, “and that only covers the ships which my sensors can pick up. At a distance through the wormhole, the readings become hazy.”

  “Were your readings on the device on the other side hazy?” Riker asked.

  “No, sir,” Data said. “Those are accurate. I used—”

  “We have no time, Mr. Data,” Picard said.

  Worf agreed. Very soon another ship would come through the wormhole. They would lose their advantage if the captain did not act.

  “Sound the red alert, Mr. Worf.”

  “Aye, sir,” Worf said. He tapped in the command, and within seconds the lights all over the ship glowed red. “Captain. We have only a few moments. Send me through the wormhole.”

  Data stood. “No, sir. I am the logical choice.”

  “Your analysis said a skilled pilot was needed,” Worf said, letting some of his anger lash at Data. “My instincts are superior to your programming. A skilled pilot knows when to use speculation—”

  “Mr. Worf,” the captain cautioned.

  Worf stopped.

  “Mr. Worf has a point,” Data said, “but I do not feel the emotional effects of the Furies’ beam. I would remain rational throughout.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Data,” Picard said, “but I need you here. If we lose our screens, I need someone here who can still think clearly and take control.”

  “You need all of us here,” Riker said. “But you’ll have to choose someone, and quickly.”

  Worf looked at him. Riker was one of the best pilots in Starfleet. His record was better than Worf’s. Everyone knew that. But he didn’t have honor to defend. He had less at stake. And a warrior with a blood vengeance was always more powerful than one without.

  “Captain, I have honor to avenge,” Worf said. “The Klingons were defeated by the first Fury ship. Let me return honor to my people!”

  “Another ship is about to come through, sir,” Ensign Eckley said.

  “Mr. Worf,” the captain said, “I want you to take the shuttlecraft Polo with a full contingent of armaments. Have Mr. La Forge download the shield modifications into the shuttle’s computers.”

  “Aye, sir.” Worf pivoted, and headed for the turbolift.

  “You are not dismissed, Mr. Worf.”

  Worf halted. He had felt at odds with the captain ever since this mission began. His sense of what was needed obviously differed from Picard’s. “I am sorry, sir.”

  “You shall use the shuttle Polo as a shield for Commander Riker.” Picard’s voice softened as he turned to face Riker. “You are the best pilot on the ship, Will.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Riker said.

  “I am the better shot,” Worf said, unable to remain silent.

  The captain nodded. “I know. Which is why you will defend Will’s shuttlecraft,” Picard said.

  “Sir,” Riker said, “Lieutenant Sam Redbay from engineering—he’s a damn good pilot. He’ll be able to fly third cover.”

  “Good,” Picard said, nodding. “Have him provide defense from the shuttle Lewis.”

  “Captain,” Worf said, knowing he had only one more chance at convincing Picard, “Klingons are used to dying for honor. Humans are not.”

  Picard was standing almost at attention. Deanna looked lost beside him. Her face was blank, her eyes distant as if she couldn’t bear to watch what was happening in front of her.

  Suddenly Worf’s words came back to him. A Klingon commander would not think twice about sending one of his men to die in battle. The captain obviously felt burdened by it.

  “I know, Mr. Worf,” Picard said. “I shall depend on that finely honed sense of honor to get Commander Riker through the wormhole, alive, and his shuttle intact.”

  Worf raised his head as the realization hit him. Captain Picard did not believe any of the shuttlecraft would return. He was sending out his troops to die with honor. It did not matter who fired the final shot, only that the final shot was made.

  “I shall do everything within my power to make certain Commander Riker enters the wormhole,” Worf said.

  “I’ll destroy that device,” Riker said. “You can count on it, sir.”

  “I am counting on it,” Picard said, sof
tly. “Dismissed.”

  Riker joined Worf.

  Both of them looked squarely at their captain, and he returned their stare. It lasted only a moment, but it was long enough for Worf to understand that Picard was very proud of both of them.

  It was an honor Worf would take to his death. As a warrior he could be no more blessed.

  Deanna took a step toward both of them and then stopped. A tear was streaking down her cheek. Beside him, Riker smiled to her.

  All Worf could bring himself to do was nod. This was his proudest moment. Deanna was strong. She would survive.

  Together they turned and headed for the turbolift.

  The door slid open and they entered, turned, and faced the bridge as a unit. All eyes were on them.

  Deanna stood beside Picard, her arms hanging at her side. Worf had never seen her look so upset.

  “Good luck,” Picard said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Worf said.

  Riker glanced up at him and smiled. “It is,” he said, giving voice to the traditional Klingon battle cry—and meaning it, “a good day to die.”

  Chapter Twenty

  DOZENS OF PERSONNEL flooded the shuttlebay. Technicians crowded around all three shuttles. Other people were taking notes.

  Redbay noted as he glanced around that one woman was putting emergency medical kits on each shuttle. One-man medical kits, the kind that a person could use with one hand on the console. Not very effective. The kits were often used on missions in which the pilot’s health was not an issue.

  Staying alive was.

  Redbay’s mouth was dry. Picard had ordered him to report to Commander Riker in shuttlebay, nothing more. Redbay assumed he would get more orders when he arrived.

  The conversation, though, usually so high in a situation like this, was muted. People seemed to be speaking only when necessary.

  Another sign of a serious mission.

  Of course, how could the mission be anything else? The Furies were out there, waiting, literally growing stronger by the minute. Any mission at this point would be serious.

  Will Riker and Lieutenant Worf were standing near the computer tactical display terminal on the interior wall. An ensign beside them sighted Redbay and tapped Riker on the shoulder, pointing his way.