Unity
Page 3
“Approaching the worm-hole, Commander,” Prynn said, as if to remind him of what he’d lost. Her voice was cool, inflectionless.
Vaughn looked up at his conn officer, who had returned to duty only minutes earlier, saw her rigid back and high shoulders, and welcomed the numbness creeping through him again. In the days since Ruriko’s death, it had been getting harder and harder to maintain it.
“Take us in,” he said, speaking as carefully as his daughter had. Ezri Dax had returned to the bridge after seeing to their passengers and he could feel her gaze on him, watching their interchange. He deliberately avoided looking back at her, not wanting to see the sympathy in her eyes; it might disrupt the numbness, and as insidious, as frightening as that lack of feeling was, it was surely better than the alternative.
He pressed the recorder patch again, still watching Prynn’s stiff posture, feeling as close to nothing as he could manage. “We are returning to Deep Space 9 after 94 days in the Gamma Quadrant,” he said, his voice low. “The successes and reversals of this mission are on record.”
Successes and reversals. It sounded so organized, so neat and clean. He watched his daughter’s deft movements as she piloted the Defiant into position, wondering if she would ever speak to him again. She was so bright, such a whole, lovely person . . . and with so many problems that he had caused, directly or indirectly, he didn’t know how to begin mending the most recent—and surely most devastating—of his mistakes. He’d had to kill Ruriko, there’d been no other choice. But to have done it in front of Prynn . . .
He felt a rush of suppressed feeling wash through him, of sorrow and guilt, the wave of emotion coinciding perfectly with the dramatic opening of the worm-hole, blue-white light blossoming across the viewscreen even as his gut spasmed in regret. He shut the feeling down before it could get any farther, clearing his throat, touching his combadge and speaking without much thought as to what he was going to say, only sure that he had to retrieve that numbness as quickly as possible. Work, he had to work.
“Engineering.”
There was a brief pause, then Nog’s response, a choppy yes-sir. He sounded pleasantly out of breath, as though he’d been laughing . . . and in the background, Vaughn could hear Jake Sisko’s confirmation, a tapering chuckle. It seemed that their last-minute passengers had finished making their statements.
“Update on warp core diagnostic, Lieutenant,” Vaughn said briskly.
“The initial specs are filed, sir. I already . . . ah, everything is in proper condition, though we’ll want to run a more extensive diagnostic once we get back—”
“Fine,” Vaughn said, remembering that Nog had told him just that only a few hours earlier. Vaughn thought about saying something else to the lieutenant, perhaps apologizing for the memory lapse, perhaps telling Nog he was on duty, that Jake shouldn’t be in engineering . . . but only touched his combadge again, severing communication. Nog was happy to have his friend back. And after all that they’d been through these past months, Vaughn’s crew, his “Corps of Discovery”—and wasn’t that an ironic title, now? Hadn’t he been optimistic?—deserved whatever small pleasures they could find.
The Defiant swam through the dashing, stretching lights of the worm-hole, Shar dutifully calling out a list of routine sensory figures that Vaughn barely heard, except to note that the strange rotation of space in the Gamma Quadrant apparently hadn’t changed anything inside the worm-hole. He looked wearily around the bridge, saw the same weariness wherever he looked, in spite of the obvious impatience to be home. Bashir was at the environmental control station and Dax leaned against the bulkhead next to him, her arms folded, not officially on duty. The couple was talking about Kira’s likely reaction to the return of the kai, to Jake . . . and though they were both visibly pleased to have found the missing adventurers, they also looked worn, ready to be done with their own adventuring for a while. At sciences, Ensign ch’Thane wore the blankly impassive face he’d worn more and more often in past weeks, the excited and curious expression that once defined him now mostly a thing of the past. Lieutenant Bowers, at tactical, seemed a million klicks away, his gaze distant. And Prynn was . . . she was dealing with a lot of things, Vaughn expected, catching a glimpse of her expressionless profile as she checked a reading.
Watching her estranged father murder her invalid mother is probably at the top of the list . . .
Ruriko was Borg. She would have killed Prynn if you hadn’t acted.
That hurtful part of him was bitterly amused at the attempt to rationalize. And I’m sure Prynn will take that into consideration every time the scene replays itself in her mind, haunting her nightmares. Watching her mother die at his hands.
He felt nothing but tired, now, thinking these things. Numb and struggling to stay numb, exhausted and desperately in need of something he didn’t know . . . and going home, to a place that had never been his home. His heart had nowhere to be still, to rest.
Ahead of them, the brilliant spray of light swirled into an immense aperture, opening into the darkness of the other side. Vaughn straightened up from his slump, readying himself. There was a lot to do before he could be alone. Without the subspace array to call ahead, their sudden homecoming would be a surprise. It’d be fairly late on the station, 2300 at least, but a group debriefing as well as a private one with Kira would have to be arranged . . . and with L.J., if he was still around. The Defiant hadn’t been in contact with the station since their discovery of the lost Borg ship on that “undesignated” class-M planet, Vaughn not wanting to send such potentially explosive information through subspace, even directed . . . and although there didn’t appear to be any immediate threat from the Borg, Starfleet would need to be briefed promptly, particularly about the possibility of an information exchange between the Dominion and the Federation; the strange little Vorta who had rescued Opaka and young Mr. Sisko hadn’t dismissed the idea outright, at least.
L.J. Akaar’s open-ended mission to the station had been to act as Starfleet representative to help negotiate the details of Bajor’s entry into the Federation. Assuming nothing had changed since Vaughn’s last update from Colonel Kira, L.J. should still be there, and Vaughn suspected that Akaar would want to deal with the Borg-Dominion development personally.
Beyond that, there were reports to be filed, info downloaded, standard diagnostics for the ship and medical checks on the crew with station equipment. And with Bajor on the verge of signing into the Federation, there were weeks, months of work ahead, of helping to organize the changeover. Akaar had already made it clear that he expected Vaughn to take a leading role with the transition of Bajoran Militia personnel into Starfleet, no small task . . .
Vaughn felt a new heaviness around his heart as ahead of them, the Alpha terminus to the worm-hole began to swirl into existence. Even with their history, trying to explain what had happened with Ruriko to L.J., particularly after the Admiral had warned him about serving with his own daughter in the field . . . it was going to be a struggle to maintain any kind of professionalism. It would be embarrassing, and he was immediately ashamed that he cared, as if I should be worried about saving face in light of what’s happened—
“Entering the Alpha Quadrant . . . Commander.”
Vaughn snapped to attention at Shar’s tone of voice, the reason for the Andorian’s surprise visible only a split-second later, appearing on the viewscreen like an impossible dream. A bad one.
“Full stop,” Vaughn said, in reflex. Prynn instantly brought the Defiant to a halt, the worm-hole’s brilliant light closing down behind them a second later.
“There are four Cardassian warships, Galor-class, holding position ten thousand meters from the worm-hole’s event horizon,” Shar said. “Seven more between us and the station. Sensors are showing at least nine others scattered throughout the system. Three of those are holding positions proximate to Bajor.”
Shar blinked at his screen, looking up in confusion. “They’ve just armed, Commander. All of them.”
* * *
“ . . . and that’s when the first officer called down, and told us we couldn’t transport out,” Jake said. “And the Drang were on their way. They were these big mouth-breathing lizards, all teeth and muscle.”
Nog shook his head in amazement. Jake had been as busy by himself as the Defiant had been, all those months he’d been gone . . . and traveling with a troop of treasure hunters, no less! If he hadn’t been so glad to see Jake, he might have been overwhelmed by the jealousy. “So you hid. And that’s when you found the, ah, ‘janeega’ box? The rare one?”
“Giani’aga,” Jake said, nodding as he leaned back in his chair. They were more or less alone in this part of engineering. Permenter was writing a report on the upper level, Leishman and Senkowski were checking inventory in the storage racks next door; the machines surrounding the small table where Jake and Nog sat were quietly running yet another diagnostic that wasn’t really necessary. They’d be back at the station before it was complete, and he’d have to run another one using DS9’s computers, anyway . . . but he didn’t want Commander Vaughn or anyone else to think he was just sitting around swapping stories with Jake. Which, since there was no real work to be had, he was.
And it’s great, terrific, wonderful, Nog thought happily. Seeing Jake again . . . he seemed older, somehow, but he also had the same bright smile that was so contagious, the same gleam in his eye that Nog had grown up knowing so well. It was like his face was a balm on Nog’s tired nerves, a reminder that there were good things in the universe, good, solid things.
“We sold the box, on Ee,” Jake said. “That’s where I met the Tosk, and Wex, too . . . she took us to Opaka. She’s kind of strange, but she’s been nothing but helpful . . .”
He trailed off, then seemed to shrug ever so slightly. “Tosk was Hunted, and now he’s gone. I said good-bye to the Even Odds when I realized . . . when I realized I wasn’t cut out to be a fortune hunter.”
He smiled a little, a humorless smile. “It’s like everything I did while I was gone was all a lead up to finding Opaka and taking her to the Eav’oq planet. And now I’m taking her back to Bajor. Just like the prophecy said.”
Though Jake’s voice was casual, Nog caught the slight strain in tone, a tension he wasn’t familiar with coming from Jake. Anger? More like frustration.
Because he thought he’d be bringing his father home, Nog thought. And instead, more Bajoran religious stuff.
Jake had never been bitter about it—that because of his father, his life had basically been dominated by Bajor and the Prophets—or at least not that Nog had ever been able to tell, but things were different now that Captain Sisko was gone. Jake didn’t even believe in the Bajoran religion . . . or, well, not as a follower, anyway; it was kind of impossible not to believe in it, considering all the evidence about the worm-hole and the beings that lived there, what they were capable of. It must have been hard for Jake, deciding to follow some prophecy that strongly implied he’d see his father again, only to have it mean something else entirely. It was too bad there wasn’t anyone to file suit against.
Nog bared his teeth at Jake in a wide grin, determined not to let his friend dwell on anything bad. “Well, we’ll be back at the station in a few minutes, and then you can go see Captain Yates. She missed you a lot. I saw her before we left, and she was worried, but I told her you were okay. I knew it, too.”
Jake smiled back at him. “How?”
Nog shrugged, noting that the engines were powering down, must be switching to thrusters. “Just did,” he said, hesitating a second before saying what he really wanted to say. “I wish . . . I wish you’d told me, though. Where you were going.”
“Me, too,” Jake said. “It was stupid, running off without saying anything. And I am sorry. Though if it’s any consolation, you’re the only one I seriously considered telling.”
Nog was glad to hear it, and was about to say as much when his combadge chirped.
“Nog, get to the bridge,” Vaughn said, his tone commanding, but also taut with barely hidden concern. Something was wrong . . . and they weren’t switching to thrusters, either, Nog realized; the engines had shut down. “Have your people standing by for orders . . . and get someone to secure the passengers in quarters. We’ve got a situation.”
“Acknowledged,” Nog said, his eyes wide. He looked at Jake, saw the same expression as his friend nodded, standing up.
“I’ll do it. I know the drill,” Jake said, and Nog nodded in turn, relieved. Wex and Opaka had retired to guest quarters after giving their statements, but someone would have to make sure they stayed put. Jake was always dependable in a crisis.
They both headed for the door, Nog calling directions to Permenter, feeling a too-familiar tightening of his stomach. Hadn’t they been through enough? The Defiant had to be out of the worm-hole by now, only a few minutes from the station; what situation could possibly have come up here, now, that could cause Commander Vaughn to use his battle-ready voice?
Jake knew better than to keep him, only glancing a farewell as they split at the lift, Jake veering fore and to starboard as Nog stepped aboard and asked for Deck One.
Maybe something shorted out, he thought hopefully, stepping off the lift a few seconds later and moving briskly down the corridor that led to the bridge. The door opened. Maybe—
Maybe there was a fleet of Cardassian ships parked in front of them. Nog stared at the main screen, barely aware that he was still moving until Sam Bowers’s voice caught him.
“ . . . unable to contact the station. The Cardassians are jamming our transmissions . . . . We’re being hailed.” Sam looked up at Vaughn. “It’s the Trager, sir. Gul Akellen Macet in command.”
“Onscreen,” Vaughn said, as Nog took his place at the engineering station, reflexively calling up a sensor read.
Macet’s face swam into view, and Nog shifted nervously, working to concentrate on the statistics that played out across his screen.
“Commander Vaughn,” Macet said, his slick, smooth voice and faintly predatory smile awakening unpleasant memories. He still looked too much like his thankfully deceased cousin, Gul Skrain Dukat. “Welcome home.”
Nog glanced around, saw the doctor and Ezri frowning at the screen, saw Commander Vaughn’s jaw tighten ever so slightly.
“Gul Macet,” Vaughn began. “Your presence here is unexpected. And, according to the data from my ship’s sensors, quite provocative. May I ask exactly what brings you here?”
“It’s quite simple, Commander,” Macet said. “We’ve been anticipating the Defiant ’s return for several days now, and have made preparations for its safe arrival.”
“How thoughtful,” Vaughn said. “But the last time I was here, the Cardassian military—or rather, what’s left of it—had no authority in this system.”
The commander’s indirect reminder of how the Cardassian fleet had fared during the war was a definite slap. Nog’s discomfort level shot up as Vaughn rose from his chair.
“Yet here you are, commanding what can only be described as an occupation force, and preventing us from communicating with our base,” Vaughn continued, his voice rising slightly. “I therefore demand—”
“You are in no position to demand anything, Commander,” Macet interrupted calmly. “I have the Defiant surrounded and targeted. You will surrender your ship to me, or I will destroy it.”
Vaughn’s tone cooled. “I don’t respond well to threats on the best of days. So it’s only fair for me to warn you that this isn’t the best of days.”
“Then let us not waste each other’s time posturing, Commander. You will stand down immediately and prepare to be boarded, or I will order my ships to open fire.”
As shocked as he was, Nog felt some small, deep sense of satisfaction that Macet had turned out as treacherous as Dukat. The resemblance had always seemed
like too much of a coincidence.
Never mind that. We’re going to war again . . . but how? The Cardassians had to have been planning this move for months, to have overrun the Bajoran system so quickly. But with what resources? The ships in front of them probably made up half of what was left of the Cardassian war machine. None of this makes any sense.
“Under the terms of interstellar treaty, I formally request that you allow me to speak to Colonel Kira,” Vaughn said. To Nog’s ear, he was starting to sound strained.
“That will not be possible,” Macet said. “And you are trying my patience, Commander.”
Vaughn’s shoulders suddenly sagged. He settled back heavily into the command chair, looking truly old for the first time since Nog had met him, as if he could no longer carry the weight of his hundred-plus years. It was somehow as shocking as Macet’s crazy demands.
“Will you guarantee the safety of my crew?” Vaughn asked quietly.
“If your crew cooperates fully, they have nothing to fear.”
“Give me time to prepare them.”
Nog swallowed hard. It was an act, it had to be.
“One minute,” Macet said. He then nodded to someone off screen, and the transmission was severed. The gul vanished and the battle-scarred Cardassian fleet reappeared, hanging in the dark, Macet’s Trager on point.
Vaughn straightened and spun around in his chair, all signs of defeat and weariness gone, his voice clear and level. “Are they running a total comm block?”
Nog relaxed. Of course it was an act, and an effective one. It’s his age, he decided. Too many people still make the mistake of thinking “old” means “weak.” Himself included, it seemed.
Responding to Vaughn, Bowers nodded. “Visual, audio, text,” he said. “They’ve got a wall up for anything not on their frequency.”