STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds I

by Dean Wesley Smith (Editor)

  Nog watched Mrs. O’Brien nod her head. She would take the regular shuttle back to the station at the end of the conference. Whatever there had been between them was laid to rest for now. Still, he felt a need to explain to her.

  “In that case, I’m going to stay around here for a while. I have a few days before I have to go back to the academy. If I go back to the station, my uncle will expect me to work in his bar, and that’s no job for a cadet.” He straightened his uniform, a gesture that reminded Keiko of Captain Sisko.

  “Besides,” Nog added, “the five-year-olds still need a lot of instruction in the Rules of Acquisition.”

  That should take care of it. After all, teachers were suckers for anything that had to do with school.

  Where I Fell Before My Enemy

  Vince Bonasso

  Kirk: We’re a most promising species, Mr. Spock, as predators go. Did you know that?

  Spock: I’ve frequently had my doubts.

  Kirk: I don’t. Not anymore. And maybe in a thousand years or so we’ll be able to prove it.

  —U.S.S. Enterprise Log, Stardate 3045.6

  “I need a visual, Dax!” Sisko shouted.

  Jadzia Dax’s hands flew over the Defiant’s navigator console, her fingers a blur of motion. “Can’t get a resolution, Captain. There’s too much chion-particle interference.”

  “What’s the source of the radiation?” Sisko asked.

  “Sensors show a large concentration of tylatium around the Amhurst,” Worf said, standing at tactical behind Ensign Koletta.

  Sisko studied the distorted display on the viewscreen. The gray picture blinked and scrolled with no discernible pattern. He thought he saw the Amhurst for a second but couldn’t be sure.

  [243] “What has tylatium to do with a disabled starship?” he asked, his deep voice resonating across the bridge. “I need some answers, people, and I need them now!”

  “Moving closer might burn through the interference,” Dax offered.

  Sisko rested his hand on Dax’s chair and noted the computed positions displayed on her console. They were ten thousand kilometers from the Amhurst.

  “Chief, what are the hazards associated with tylatium?”

  Chief O’Brien sat aft of Worf and Ensign Koletta at the ops position, his data screens a flurry of activity.

  “There aren’t any biohazards associated with tylatium,” O’Brien said, “but a concentrated chion-particle flux could fry the thermal protection units in the plasma transfer conduits.”

  Worf grunted, his dark Klingon features scowling at the dilemma. “That ... would be a serious biohazard,” he said.

  “Explain,” Sisko said.

  O’Brien swiveled his chair to face the captain. “If the thermal protection units fail, sir, there would be nothing to provide antimatter containment security logic. That would result in a—”

  “Warp core breach,” Sisko finished. “Is that what happened to the Amhurst? She’s the oldest starship in the fleet, due an overhaul months ago. Maybe her shields weren’t sufficient to withstand the stress?”

  “Stress of what?” Dax asked.

  “That’s what we’re going to find out. Move us in to five thousand kilometers.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Sisko grimaced his frustration. He had left half of the [244] Defiant’s crew back at Deep Space Nine. The mission was just a quick jaunt to check out the new navigation grid, a good excuse to get away from the desk and Odo’s security reports. His eyes darted around the bridge. He could use Major Kira at ops right now; Chief O’Brien should be down supervising the skeleton crew in engineering. They had received the distress call only minutes ago. The Amhurst had a complement of seven hundred, and sensors now showed it disabled and drifting.

  “Alert sickbay for emergency transport,” Sisko said to Worf.

  “Doctor Bashir, stand by for possible casualties from the Amhurst,” Ensign Koletta relayed. Sisko gave her a quick glance of approval. Koletta was an Althuist recently assigned to DS9. Her long, silvery hair and fiery red eyes contrasted sharply with the blue collar of her Starfleet uniform. Sisko liked her. Her attention to detail and aggressive work ethic often made up for her lack of experience.

  “Casualties?” Julian Bashir answered over the comm-link. “This is a navigation test run?”

  “Five thousand kilometers,” Dax called out.

  “Recalibrating sensors,” O’Brien said. “I have something on visual.”

  The distorted viewscreen rippled several times, then resolved into a blurred, green-and-white presentation. The Amhurst was cocked to one side, her hull pointed slightly nose-down.

  “Worf, any response to our hails?” Sisko asked.

  “Nothing on visual, but I’m picking up their audio.”

  The bridge speakers crackled. “... CAPTAIN LI KASHIGGO OF THE U.S.S. AMHURST (garble) ... [245] SUSTAINED EXTENSIVE DAMAGE ... UNKNOWN ASSAILANT (garble) ... SMALL VESSEL HEADED 023 MARK 49 ... CORE BREACH IMMINENT. ...”

  “Chief, what’s the status of their warp core?” Sisko asked.

  “Their antimatter containment field is losing integrity.” O’Brien reached over to an adjacent panel and punched in a command. “They have forty-five seconds.”

  “Transporter status?”

  “Sir, there’s no way to transport through this particle flux,” O’Brien said. “Pattern buffers will be inop.”

  “Worf, are they powering up their escape pods?”

  “Negative, sir. No sign of any escape preparation.”

  Sisko stood up. “Hail them, Worf! All channels.”

  Worf reached over to Ensign Koletta’s comm panel and opened the frequencies.

  “This is Captain Benjamin Sisko of the U.S.S. Defiant. Captain Kashiggo, how do you read?”

  The speaker whined at the rough transmission. “BEN? (garble) KEEP DISTANCE ... WARP CORE ...”

  Sisko clenched his fist. “Li, get your people out of there!”

  “... thirty seconds,” O’Brien called. “Chion-particle density approaching danger levels.”

  “Dax, move us back!” Sisko ordered, his face flush with anger. “Li, abandon ship! Our transporters are down, but we can pick up your escape pods.”

  “TOO MUCH (garble) ... PARTICLE INTERFERENCE. EVACUATION CIRCUITS DISABLED. KEEP SAFE DISTANCE.”

  “... fifteen seconds.”

  [246] “Back us out, Dax, maximum impulse to twenty thousand kilometers.”

  “She’s a goner,” Chief O’Brien said, his voice bitter. “... five seconds.”

  Ensign Koletta gasped when the viewscreen ignited into a dazzling fluorescent white, then quickly dimmed when the explosion’s thin shock wave expanded from the tumbling wreckage that had once been the Amhurst.

  A bewildered silence fell over the bridge.

  “I can’t believe this,” Dax finally said moments later, her voice barely audible. “An unprovoked attack in Federation space?”

  The turbolift doors hissed opened and Dr. Bashir entered the bridge. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped when he saw the large chunks of drifting debris on the viewscreen.

  “The Amhurst?” he asked. “Did any escape pods clear the ship?”

  Sisko looked to Worf.

  Worf straightened up in a reverent pose of attention. “None, sir. They all died ... honorably.”

  Sisko slowly returned to the captain’s seat and slapped hard his armrest. In her three years in command of the Amhurst, Li Kashiggo had proven herself a notable captain and shrewd tactician. It was hard to comprehend how her ship had been destroyed by a single unknown assailant. Sisko steepled his fingers and stared at the viewscreen while the Red Alert warning bars continued to flash along the interior panels of the bridge.

  Seven hundred dead.

  Sisko drew a deep breath to collect himself, then said, [247] “Worf, send a copy of our log to Starfleet. Tell them—”

  “Sir, we’re in a communication blackout,” O’Brien interrupted. “Too much subspace interfe
rence from the radiation.”

  Sisko pondered that for a beat then asked, “What about long-range sensors?”

  Worf relayed up several diagrams on his tactical display. “They’re clear, sir, if we vector away from the radiation source.”

  “Mr. Worf, scan for any warp signatures. Dax, come about zero-two-three mark four-nine, warp 5. Cloak on.”

  “Zero-two-three mark four-nine, cloak on,” Dax repeated. Her voice had an angry edge. Curzon, her previous Dax host, knew Li Kashiggo well, as well as several of her command personnel.

  The Defiant made a gentle lurch and accelerated. Sisko felt the hairs on his arm shiver at the subtle phase shift when the cloaking device engaged.

  “Was the Amhurst carrying any special cargo or passengers?” Sisko asked, groping for clues.

  “Their cargo manifest showed nothing unusual,” Dr. Bashir said, now helping out Chief O’Brien at ops. “They were on routine patrol en route to the Cardassian DMZ.”

  Ensign Koletta nodded to Worf. “I have something, sir.” She still sounded shaken, but was making an effort to stay focused.

  Worf leaned over and studied her display. “Faint neutrino trail bearing zero-three-four mark fifty-five.”

  “There’s also a residual chion-particle resonance near the warp signature,” O’Brien added.

  [248] Sisko leaned forward. “Helm, hard to starboard, zero-three-four mark five-five. Warp 8!”

  “Aye, Captain,” Dax said, bringing the Defiant about.

  “Commander,” Ensign Koletta said to Worf.

  “I see it, Ensign.” Worf adjusted his long-range sensors. “Captain, small craft, zero-five-zero mark six-three. Appears to be cruising at warp 2. Relaying data to navigation.”

  “Warp 2?” Sisko queried. “Not exactly a hurried escape. Dax, plot an intercept course. Get us close enough for a visual ID. Worf, find out where it’s heading. Use passive sensor scans—I don’t want them alerted.”

  “Aye, sir. Passive scans.”

  “But are they good enough to detect us cloaked?” Dax asked.

  “We’ll find out soon enough, old man,” Sisko said. “Hold us steady.”

  “The ship is small,” O’Brien said, sounding baffled. “It could easily fit into a starship cargo bay.”

  “Time to intercept?” Sisko asked.

  Dax checked her nav console. “Twelve minutes.”

  The minutes passed quickly while Sisko’s mind scrambled to piece together the available information. A ship that small had to have limited energy reserves, which might explain its slow egress. It could be vulnérable after its attack.

  “In visual range,” Worf called out.

  “On screen.”

  The viewscreen dissolved to show a small ship racing toward its unknown destination. The craft was dark with winged buttresses on each flank.

  “Chief, can you ID that ship?” Sisko asked.

  [249] “I’ve tried to collate the data with the Starfleet database,” O’Brien said, “but I can’t get a conclusive match.”

  “Dax, bring us portside,” Sisko said. “Five thousand kilometers.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Dax maneuvered the Defiant on a parallel course, the viewscreen now showing a side view of the ship. It had sleek lines, aerodynamic enough to enter an atmosphere. Sisko rubbed his chin. He was thinking there was something familiar about the design when his eye caught the star configuration around the alien craft. He moved to Dax’s navigator panel and input several commands to her position index.

  Dax frowned, nonplussed. “Captain?”

  “Worf, is that ship headed for Restricted Sector One-Four-Bravo?” Sisko asked.

  Worf studied his tactical display. “Affirmative, Captain.”

  Dax and Chief O’Brien turned to Sisko, their faces troubled with irritation.

  “What does that mean?” Koletta murmured to herself.

  “The Metrons,” O’Brien said flatly.

  “Interesting,” Bashir said, intrigued. “I wrote a detailed study on the Metrons during a course at the academy. It was a fascinating—”

  “The ship just launched a cylindrical object,” Ensign Koletta called out.

  “It’s headed toward us,” Worf said.

  “Dax, hard to port,” Sisko ordered. “Decloak. Shields maximum.”

  The Defiant veered left, then suddenly lurched at the violent explosion. Everyone tumbled.

  [250] “A proximity charge,” Worf yelled, trying to keep his balance.

  “So much for our stealth approach,” Dax quipped, then tossed back her pony tail and climbed off the floor.

  “Shields down to seventy percent, but they’re holding,” O’Brien yelled out. “Chion-particle density is at caution levels.”

  “Has the ship altered course?” Sisko asked, now back on his feet.

  “Negative,” Worf answered.

  “The proximity charge was a defensive countermeasure,” Sisko said. “They don’t want to fight. Worf, can you get a lock on her engines?”

  “I believe so, sir.”

  “Captain, I have to remind the bridge that entering Restricted Sector One-Four-Bravo requires a General Order confirmation,” Ensign Koletta said.

  “Thank you, Ensign, I’m aware of the directive,” Sisko answered with an icy calm.

  “The vessel is approaching Restricted Sector One-Four-Bravo,” Worf said.

  “Fire phasers!” Sisko ordered.

  A phaser barrage ignited from the Defiant and streaked toward the alien ship.

  “Direct hit on the starboard warp nacelle,” Worf reported. “They’re slowing to impulse.”

  “All engines stop,” Sisko ordered.

  Dax wheeled to face him, her blue eyes battle-wild. “Benjamin, they just slaughtered a crew of seven hundred, and you’re going to let them go?”

  “Their weapons remain on-line,” Worf said, his body still [251] tense with pursuit momentum. “A lack of resolve toward their act of aggression will only encourage further attacks.”

  “All engines stop,” Sisko repeated.

  “But the alien ship is still within optimum phaser range,” Dax argued.

  Worf stepped forward. “Their shield strength is low. The victory can still be ours.”

  Sisko stood in the center of the bridge, hands on hips, intently watching the small ship now in Restricted Sector One-Four-Bravo. It was a familiar predicament: a hazardous series of problematic events that inevitably required a command decision. Yet he trusted his judgment. It had been honed through seemingly endless years of training, setbacks, triumphs, continuous dealings with alien cultures, poor guesses, and missed opportunities. He knew this was the pivotal moment of the crisis, the crossroads of the pursuit, and despite the magnitude of the dilemma, Captain Benjamin Sisko had no reservation about his decision.

  “We will not violate Metron space,” Sisko said with final authority. When he returned to the captain’s chair the crew slowly resumed their duties.

  Sisko settled back and contemplated his next move. There had been a predictable pattern to the chase, almost calculated. He looked over to Dax. She was piqued, but disciplined enough to keep her anger in check, trusting him even when she disagreed with his orders. He noticed her delicate jawline pulsing in front of the Trill spots along her neck. He tapped his temple with a forefinger, watching the fixed cadence of the Red Alert warning bar that stood atop her semicircular navigation console. The bar blinked [252] slowly, almost in rhythm with Dax’s angry jaw. The entire scenario had an uncanny familiarity, maybe even too close for coincidence. An attack on the Federation. The chase. The Metrons.

  Sisko sat up. Only one participant missing?

  “Chief, check Starfleet records for the attack on Federation outpost on Cestus III, stardate 3045.6. Were there any traces of chion-particle activity associated with the disruptor damage?”

  Chief O’Brien scanned the image files. The Starfleet records scrolled down his screen in a blur of colors, graphs, and event sequenc
es.

  “Affirmative,” O’Brien finally said. “Damage analysis on Cestus III showed chion-particle radiation found in trace amounts.”

  “What was the source of the radiation?” Sisko asked.

  O’Brien continued searching through more data then stopped suddenly, dumbfounded. “Tylatium,” he said. “The intelligence analysis concluded it was from the attacking ship’s disrupter banks.”

  “Who were the attackers?” Ensign Koletta asked, unable to suppress her curiosity.

  “Why ... the Gorn, of course,” Dr. Bashir said.

  Dax spun around, also looking confused. “Benjamin, even the Gorn aren’t capable of this level of technology.”

  “Let’s find out,” Sisko said. “Ensign Koletta, hail the ship.”

  “Aye, sir.” After a lengthy pause she said, “Transmission incoming.”

  The Defiant’s viewscreen snapped to a visual of a cramped, one-man bridge enclosed by a smooth architecture [253] of equipment. There was no mistaking the reptilian features of its captain.

  Sisko stood to address the alien. “This is Captain Benjamin Sisko of the U.S.S. Defiant. Your assault in Federation space is an open violation of the long-standing agreement between the Gorn Alliance and—”

  “Greetings, Captain,” the Gorn interrupted in a thick, guttural voice. “I must request a conference.”

  Sisko hesitated at the unexpected salutation.

  “... a meeting in a more private and less confrontational setting.”

  Before Sisko could respond, he was engulfed in the high-pitched drone of a transporter beam, while the startled shouts of his crew faded into the gathering darkness.

  Benjamin Sisko expected to materialize on the bridge of an advanced-technology starship, but instead found himself gazing at the barren landscape of an arid planet. This struck him as odd since neither the Defiant nor the Gorn ship had been close to a planetary system.