The Trail: A Star Trek Novel (New Frontier Reloaded Book 1)

by ROVER MARIE TOWLE

  Maybe some people aren’t threats after all.

  In the distance, as if to mock him, a bomb explodes.

  —

  Nulat takes the first dose of benzocyatizine out of Julian’s hand and jabs it into her neck with the practiced ease of a third-year medical student after a weekend-long bender.

  Julian blinks, his eyes wide.

  “The corps gave us basic first aid training,” Nulat explains.

  “Ah. I guess you won’t be needing me then.”

  “No.” Nulat takes the tray full of prepared hypos off of Julian’s lap. “You can take a nap, if you want.”

  Julian crosses his arms over his chest, snuggling into his horribly gaudy seat aboard the Nagal cruiser. “Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

  —

  Once the rocking subsides, Kasidy swings open the bedroom door, clutching her swollen belly. “What the hell was that?”

  “Felt like an earthquake,” Alexander says, coming up behind her.

  “Seismic disruptor blast,” Garak explains, scooting over so Kasidy can take a seat on the couch.

  Morn wrinkles his brow in confusion.

  “It’s a type of bomb that targets a planet’s tectonic plates, simulating an earthquake. A Cardassian invention, used exclusively for ground invasions, allowing the troops outdoors to remain relatively safe while the blast widely affects citizens indoors. If I’m not mistaken, an early prototype was used in the initial invasion of Bajor. Off the record, of course.”

  Kasidy sits down next to Garak. “But why use it now?”

  “Look who’s inside. Government officials.” Garak gestures to himself. “Collaborators.” To Jack and the others. “Cowards hiding.” To Morn. “The only people on the streets right now are members of the revolution.”

  “If you’re not with us,” Kasidy says, “you’re against us.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I wish there was some way of knowing what’s going on up there. I don’t expect the State media will be covering this.”

  “Oh, no. Of course, not. As far as the State is concerned, today’s festivities in the capital are merely a parade exalting the Cardassian government. Any reporter who says otherwise will be fired.”

  “That’s lenient for Cardassia.”

  “No, they will literally be set on fire.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “With the State controlling all of the media, I doubt this—” He nods his head toward the vidscreen hanging on the wall in front of them. “—will be broadcasting much more than gardening programs. . . Unless. . .” Garak sets his sewing on the end table, getting up to inspect the vidscreen. “Aha.” He adjusts a dial on the side. “This might work.”

  “What are you looking for?” Kasidy asks.

  “An independent channel. The Bajoran resistance would use ultra-high frequency radio waves to broadcast anti-Cardassian propaganda. I’m hoping a certain military-trained engineer picked up the trick from them.” Garak turns on the vidscreen, filling the room with a static hum that sends Jack, Sarina, Patrick, and Lauren crouching to the floor with their ears covered. “Sorry, sorry.” He dials down the volume, running the frequency turner through the UHF spectrum. “I think I’ve almost. . .” A grainy feed of a woman walking down the streets appears on the vidscreen. “There.”

  Garak returns to his seat next to Kasidy while everyone else gathers around the sofa.

  “—following the march through the capital city,” the woman on screen says. “I haven’t been able to get an interview with any of the march’s leaders; they wish to remain anonymous. However, I have been told that the march will be going through outlying neighborhoods of Gatha, W’rin, and Tudoy on its way to the Imperial Plaza. Any citizens still in their homes are encouraged to join the march as it passes. I could not get a definite answer on what would happen to those who do not join. I will remain with the march for as long as—”

  Garak lowers the volume of the vidscreen. “They’re coming right toward us.” He looks to Sarina. “We’ll need guards on the entrance and someone on the escape route.”

  Sarina nods. “We’re on it.”

  Garak smiles weakly at Kasidy. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” She returns the smile with more enthusiasm than Garak was able to muster. “The baby’s fine. Alexander says I just need to dilate six more centimeters and I can start pushing. Disregarding the circumstances, this looks like it’s going to be a normal biiiiiiiirrrrth.” Overwhelmed with the sudden pain of a contraction, Kasidy grabs the nearest hand (which just so happens to belong to Jack) and squeezes hard.

  “That’s normal?” Garak asks warily.

  Kasidy nods, her face reddening and her eyes filling with tears.

  “Is he okay?” Alexander points to Jack.

  Jack nods, his face reddening and his eyes filling with tears. “I’m fine. I don’t feel anything. I’m genetically superior. Pain is beneath me. I could do this all day.”

  With the vice grip Kasidy has on his hand, it looks like he will be.

  —

  Apparently, one of the privileges of being wife to a former holosuite handyman is the ability to bypass Deep Space Nine’s security field and beam directly into the holosuite. A fact that is mildly distressing considering what Quark could’ve been smuggling in (weapons? drugs? those tailored jackets he always wears?), but largely helpful at the moment. Almost as soon as Lenara gives Leeta the coordinates, Nulat and Dr. Bashir safely assemble atom-by-atom into the middle of Vic’s.

  Lenara embraces Nulat as Julian greets Vic. (Eyeing the symbiont pool: “I like what you’ve done with the place.”)

  “It’s really happening,” Nulat says.

  Lenara basks in the glow of the knowledge that—no matter how today ends—she’s at least been able to give her sister this one thing. That’s not nearly good enough for them as a people, but for Lenara as a person, it’s no small consolation.

  Girani comes in dressed in surgical red. “The room is ready.” (Somewhere, deep in the recesses of Vic’s program, they located a hospital, where Girani has ingratiated herself as a wrinkly-nosed visiting physician set to amaze the med students with a landmark experimental procedure.)

  “Good luck,” Lenara murmurs, giving Nulat a squeeze. “I love you.”

  “Love you too.” Nulat pulls away and joins Dr. Girani.

  “Do you need any assistance?” Bashir asks. “I’ve performed joinings before.”

  “Thank you, Julian,” Girani says. “I’ll let you know if I need another pair of hands.”

  Julian and Lenara watch them exit the bar. “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Julian says. “Dr. Girani is a very skilled physician.”

  “Thank you.” Lenara turns. “I have to get back to my station.” Lenara sits in front her console, clicking through the security channels with little else to do.

  Julian leans against the console, tapping his fingers on its side.

  Lenara stares pointedly at his hands.

  “Sorry.” He stops. “So. . .”

  “So.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess this is the part where you tell me off for stealing your girlfriend,” Lenara says.

  “And this would be the part where you say she was your husband first.”

  “Obviously.” Lenara smiles down at the switchboard.

  “I’m glad we got that out of the way.”

  “So, you and the Cardassian?”

  “Yes, me and the—”

  The console makes a whistling noise.

  “Hold on,” Lenara says. “We’re being hailed.” She clicks a few buttons. “Phantom. Do you read me?”

  A static-y voices comes through the speakers. “Garak. Barely.”

  “Putting you on screen.” The monitor switches to a flickering image of Garak’s face. He must be standing right in front of the camera.

  Lenara doesn’t miss how his face lights up when he sees Julian. Or how Julian breathes easier se
eing Garak in one piece.

  “Garak,” Julian says. “How are you? How are the others? What’s happened?”

  “We’re fine. We’re all fine. Nothing’s happened yet, besides a minor terrorist attack that could’ve very well been a failure in the planet’s tectonic stabilization system. I wouldn’t worry.”

  “You wouldn’t worry? Your chufa has gone completely blue; don’t tell me you wouldn’t worry.”

  Garak scrubs the knuckle of his index finger along the spoon-like indent on his forehead. “I need you to pass a message on to Jake. Kasidy is here and she apologizes for leaving without telling him.”

  “Kasidy’s there? On Cardassia? How?”

  “Morn piloted the Xhosa out of spacedock this morning.”

  “Morn? Is everyone on Cardassia but me? What the hell is he doing there?”

  “He’s been unusually tight-lipped about his reasoning, but, from what I gather, two Lurians arrived on the station last night who he did not want to run into. Bounty hunters, I think.”

  From behind Garak comes a woman’s deep groans followed by a man whimpering.

  “What’s that? Is everything okay?”

  Garak looks behind. “Everything’s fine. Kasidy is merely. . . in labor.”

  “What?”

  “It’s fine. Alexander is here. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine! I’m coming over there now. I don’t know how I’m getting there, but—”

  “Julian. Cardassia has cut off all access to the outside. I’m lucky to get this transmission through. There’s no way you’d be allowed planetside.”

  Julian grits his teeth. “Be safe. All of you, be safe.”

  “We will.” Garak presses his palm flat against the camera.

  Julian responds in kind, holding his hand up until the subspace transmission degrades completely.

  —

  Garak pulls his hand away, taking a moment to compose himself before heading towards the stairwell. Leaning on the banister, Garak strips off his ankle holsters, pulls two phaser pistols from under his tunic, and shakes lose a miniature phaser from under his hair.

  “Gather round,” he says, looking to his guards: Patrick and Lauren at the top of the stairs and Sarina and Morn at the garage door. “Everyone take a phaser. Keep them on stun until I tell you otherwise. Don’t shoot until they’ve seen you. I trust you’ll be able to get off a shot before they do. Once they’re down, drag them inside and we’ll use them as hostages. What, Patrick?”

  Patrick lowers his hand. “We can’t use phasers.”

  Garak sighs, pinching the bridge of nose. “Please don’t tell me you’ve all developed some sudden moral objection to violence.”

  “Hardly,” Lauren says. “We’ll fight whoever’s coming, but we can’t use phasers.”

  “We activated a tetryon dampening field around the city this morning,” Patrick explains.

  “Energy weapons are useless within a two hundred kilometer radius of here,” Sarina adds.

  “Why?” Garak asks. “Why go through the trouble?”

  Lauren shrugs. “We thought we’d give the resistance a fighting chance.”

  Jack, still tethered to Kasidy, shouts from across the room, “With energy weapons deactivated, the rebels’ probability of beating the police in ground combat increases thirty-four-point-six-five percent!”

  “Good for the rebels, bad for us,” Garak says. “How are we supposed to defend ourselves?”

  Without warning, Patrick throws a kitchen knife across the basement, specifically at Morn’s face. The pointy end ends up stuck into the wall, pinning down one of the three hairs on Morn’s head.

  “Very well,” Garak says. “And for those of us whose parents didn’t buy enhanced hand-eye coordination?”

  Sarina tosses him and Morn each a baseball bat.

  Garak grips it by the skinnier end, practicing a swing. “Somehow, I don’t think this is what Captain Sisko intended.”

  —

  With Kasidy found (if not in the best of places), the Lurians in custody, and Jake safe, Ezri starts to make her rounds through each of the decoy stations. Somewhere near station twelve, her comm chirps.

  “Dax.” Nothing. “Dax here.”

  The receiver comes online, broadcasting a number of faint voices and furious activity. Quark’s voice cuts through, “Do you have a warrant?”

  Ezri holds the comm to her ear, listening closer. A quieter voice says, “Do we need a warrant to look at one of your holosuites?”

  Ezri covers her mouth, silencing a gasp. That’s Tebora Dek, head of the Commission.

  “No,” Quark says. “Of course, not. But, in my line of business, it never hurts to ask. Give me a few minutes and I’ll bring you upstairs.”

  Ezri taps her comm, opening a channel to Lenara. “Mayday. I need everyone in position now.”

  She runs to the bar’s back entrance, climbing the stairs two at a time—quite a feat with this host’s short legs. Turning the corner, she finds a few Trill already lined up in front of the door to Vic’s. Ezri stands in front, directing the new arrivals to their spots. She’s only mildly surprised when T’Pring joins them, silently taking a place at Ezri’s side.

  Below, as directed by a Klingon ambassador who shall remain nameless, the fireworks begin.

  The sound of a glass stein being thrown to the ground. Quark yipping as he’s lifted two feet off the floor by his lapels. The roar: “We had the holosuite next.”

  The bargain: “Hey, hey. This wasn’t my idea. Take it up with the Trill.”

  A smattering of Klingon invectives and then the prescribed chaos.

  Patrons fleeing the bar as Klingons come to blows against Hera’jato. After a few minutes of mortal combat in the name of Curzon and Jadzia Dax, the full Bajoran security force comes stomping into Quark’s, carrying away the Klingons and a few Hera’jota. But not all, as their shoes shuffle up the stairs.

  “That was a foolish plan,” T’Pring whispers. “Now you have no deputies to enforce the law up here.”

  “That was the plan,” Ezri says. She takes two baseball bats from the duffel bag making the rounds, handing one to T’Pring. “Aim for the kneecaps.”

  —

  “—turning onto Second Street in the Gatha neighborhood—”

  Garak mutes the vidscreen. “That’s us. Everyone in position. Remember: quiet. We don’t know how soundproof that false driveway cover is.”

  Positioned at the bottom of the stairs (the spot where the Jem’Hadar flung her body), Garak keeps an eye on the vidscreen, seeing before hearing the mob approach his house. There must be thousands of them—hundreds of thousands—and who knows how many more waiting at the imperial plaza. Maybe this rebellion has a chance after all. Hopefully, it doesn’t kill all of them first.

  The soundproofing quality of the the false driveway cover is proven poor as the sound of countless feet walking and mouths chanting filter down into the basement. Garak can make out one common refrain, an improvised song, an anthem of sorts: “Tiyal nokt hoon, tiyal nokt hoon, tiyal nokt hoon.”

  Garak snarls in disgust. If this revolution ends up being successful, it will go down in history as the time the citizens of Cardassia told the government to quite literally go fuck itself. This is as bad as, if not worse than, Deep Throat.

  The singing seems at least to be distracting the protesters from searching houses. Not a single person has stopped to look through their windows, knock on their door, or inspect the driveway. Garak thinks briefly that they may weather this storm unscathed.

  Until mammalian biology rears its ugly head, gifting Kasidy with another pleasant contraction. (Garak hasn’t been keeping track, but it seems like they’re happening more and more often. He hopes this is normal.) Kasidy moans softly, long ago spent the energy for proper whines and groans, before catching herself and acting out all her pain, not verbally, but in clobbering Jack, smacking him over the head, pulling his goatee. For his part, Jack deals with the pain by fervently denying
its existence, which appears to be working out fairly well for him. The contraction passes and Kasidy mouths to Jack, “Sorry.” He shoves an ice chip in her mouth.

  They repeat this process five more times as the crowd passes by (so many people, such narrow streets), keeping silent until the vidscreen reports that the protesters are clear of Gatha and heading into the imperial plaza.

  “I’m really sorry,” Kasidy says hoarsely.

  With his free hand, Jack jabs a finger in her face. “I am so glad my girlfriend’s uterus was removed in a misguided attempt to prevent sexual abuse.”

  —

  Ezri’s pleased to find she’s better at busting kneecaps than popping flies—a fact which she’s sure disappoints Benjamin. She doubts this is what he had in mind when teaching her how to swing.

  Ezri takes aim: swing, crack, oof. One down and on to the next one.

  Unarmed and outmanned, the Hera’jato take heavy losses until they realize how quickly a baseball bat falls out of a broken wrist, how easy old bones snap, how good a wooden bat is at causing concussions.

  One by one by one, Ezri’s comrades fall. In the end, it’s just her and five Hera’jato. She stands between them and the door, breathing hard, bat at the ready, one message writ large on her face: if you want in, you’ll have to get through me.

  Tebora Dek comes up the stairs, steps over the bodies lying wounded or unconscious on the floor, and stares at Ezri like she’s the vilest insect. “You should have never been joined.” Tebora looks to her goons. “Take this one captive. I’ll need her conscious.”

  —

  Garak keeps his eyes locked on the vidscreen as Alexander crouches down between Kasidy’s legs.

  “Kasidy.” Alexander’s head pops up from underneath her skirt. “You’re ready to start pushing.”

  Jack breathes a sigh of relief.

  Kasidy bursts into loud, messy sobs.

  “What is she doing?” Jack yelps. “What is she doing?”

  Alexander rubs her knee. “What’s wrong?”

  “Benjamin’s still not here,” she cries. “I thought he would come. I thought if I had enough faith he would show up in time and he’d be here when our baby is born. But he’s not. He’s not coming. And I have to do this alone.”