Twist of Faith

by S. D. Perry

  Settling into the chair, Vaughn said, “Were you able to get a clearer message from Colonel Kira?”

  Nog shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Vaughn sighed. “Very well. Prepare the tachyon burst.”

  “Sir, Colonel Kira—”

  “Colonel Kira,” Vaughn interrupted, “specifically said to try the tachyon burst as soon as it was feasible, regardless of whether or not she and Taran’atar had returned. Are you questioning her orders, Lieutenant?”

  “No, sir,” Nog said reluctantly.

  “Good.” Vaughn was grateful that Prynn hadn’t yet returned from the surface. No doubt she’d have some choice words on the subject of condemning people to their deaths. To the officer who’d replaced her at conn, he said, “Take up position forty thousand kilometers from the mouth of the gateway.”

  “Aye, sir,” the conn officer said.

  Nog manipulated the controls of his console. “Tachyon burst ready on your orders.”

  “Consider the order given, Lieutenant.”

  A burst of light shot from the Defiant’s deflector array and struck the mouth of the gateway.

  As soon as it did so, the gateway seemed to light up with a rainbow’s worth of bright colors. Vaughn had to avert his eyes from the viewscreen.

  Then the gateway went dark.

  “Radiation levels at the gateway’s perimeter have reduced to zero percent,” Nog said, “and we’re no longer reading the Delta Quadrant. Power output of the gateway is zero.” He checked another reading. “Power output on the Costa Rocosa gateway is also nil, sir.” Turning toward the command chair, Nog smiled. “We did it. The gateways have been shut down.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Delta Quadrant

  Kira looked down at her tricorder readings. Not good, she thought. The radiation levels were increasing dangerously. If she stayed here too much longer, no amount of arithrazine was going to help her.

  She had drained the emergency kit’s water supply. The cooling unit in the shelter was at maximum. Kira knew she would have to leave the confines of the shelter to get more water from the lake, but just the act of walking would drain her—she had barely been able to get the shelter constructed, as the heat only intensified with the passing of time. Soon it would be midday. Kira wondered how well the cooling unit would hold up.

  She hadn’t heard anything from Taran’atar. The Jem’Hadar was far too much a creature of duty—the moment he was able, he would contact her to announce his victory. The fact that he hadn’t done that yet meant either the fight was still going on—or he had lost.

  Damn you all, she thought at the Hirogen and the owners of the tanker and everyone else in this quadrant. Didn’t the Borg come from this area of space? Damn them, too. Hell, the Iconians also probably came from around here.

  Checking her tricorder again, she saw that the radiation would be at fatal levels in two hours. The intensity had been rising exponentially, and her arithrazine would be all but useless before those two hours were up. A blister started to form on her hand, and she injected another dose of arithrazine, figuring she had nothing to lose.

  Kira then did something that the Vedek Assembly had judged her unworthy to do with other Bajorans: she prayed.

  Or, rather, she tried to.

  On many occasions in her thirty-three years of life, Kira Nerys had been sure she was going to die. From the resistance to the Dominion War, her life had been fraught with danger, and she had long ago made peace with the fact that she was not likely to die of old age in her bed.

  When circumstances permitted, Kira had always prayed on those occasions. She had faith in the Prophets, and in prayer she took comfort in the idea that her life had some meaning to them, that she had made some contribution to their grand design. And she always believed that if the path they had guided her on had finally come to its end, her death wouldn’t be a vain one. Those prayers were always heartfelt and came easily to her.

  But this time, the words wouldn’t come. She had been a devout follower of the Prophets her whole life. Is this how I’m to have that faith rewarded? Dying on an arid wasteland, alone in a Starfleet shelter tens of thousands of light-years from home, theta radiation chewing up my cells and spitting them out?

  True, her actions might well lead to saving Europa Nova, something she swore she would do no matter what.

  But I don’t want to die like this. Not here, not this way—and not Attainted.

  Then her tricorder beeped.

  Worried that it would show her that the levels of radiation had increased yet again, she was surprised to discover that it was instead registering a familiar energy signature half a kilometer distant.

  A gateway.

  A gateway here, on the surface of the planet where she’d taken refuge. A gateway that didn’t exist a moment ago, suddenly appearing in her hour of need.

  Why? What does it mean?

  Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Whether it was dumb luck from the Iconians or deliverance from the Prophets, Kira had a way off this death trap of a planet.

  It took only a minute to compress the shelter into its backpack form, but Kira almost succumbed to heat exhaustion just by performing the act of picking it up and shrugging into it. She walked slowly to the lake and proceeded to refill the kit’s water containers. The lake was, of course, warm, but Starfleet built its kits well. Within seconds, any water she bottled would be refrigerated to five degrees.

  She then set off in the direction the tricorder had indicated.

  Five minutes later, Kira was ready to collapse. But she soldiered on. The gateway would take her away from here.

  After another five minutes, she did collapse. She only took one moment to compose herself, then gathered every muscle in her sun-battered body and hauled herself to her feet.

  Her vision blurry from the sweat that poured into her face, she finally gave up and dropped the shelter from her back, hanging on only to the water.

  Ten minutes later, she collapsed again.

  The Prophets have given you a sign! her mind yelled. They haven’t abandoned you! But you have to get to the gateway. So move it!

  Again, she gathered every muscle. Again, she got to her feet.

  She didn’t know how long it was before she drained the water supply. Or, for that matter, when the blisters started breaking out all over her skin. She didn’t have the wherewithal to check her tricorder to see how bad the radiation was. Every fiber of her being was focused on the overwhelming task of putting one foot in front of the other.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she saw it.

  It floated in the air over the endless expanse of sand.

  Dimly, in the small part of her mind that was able to focus on something other than moving forward, Kira remembered that the ground-based gateways tended to do one of two things: jump randomly from vista to vista every couple of seconds, or, like the one at Costa Rocosa, stay fixed on one location. This one, however, was different: it jumped back and forth between only two destinations.

  The first was ops on Deep Space 9.

  The other was the comforting light that Kira Nerys knew in her heart belonged to the Prophets.

  Each time the vista switched to the light, Kira felt her heart beat faster. This is it. The Prophets are calling to me. My road is at an end.

  But when it switched back to DS9, she wavered. You can go back home.

  To what? Pain and hardship? The disdainful stares of most Bajorans? The headaches of running the station? Making life-or-death decisions about everything from attacking Jem’Hadar to Section 31 nonsense to rescue operations? To a life of losing everyone I care about?

  When she was within a meter of the gateway, it lit up with a rainbow’s worth of colors. Kira had to avert her eyes from it.

  Then it went away. Kira saw nothing in front of her but the endless sand.

  Her outrage giving her strength that the heat of the planet had drained out of her, she took out her tricorder and scanned the area in front
of her. The gateway’s power reading, according to the tricorder, was nil. The hand that held that tricorder was now covered in cracked skin and red-and-green blisters.

  On many occasions in her thirty-three years of life, Kira Nerys had been sure she was going to die.

  This time, it seemed, she was right.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Farius Prime

  “Approaching the hole.”

  Smirking at Ychell’s choice of words, Ro said, “It’s called a gateway, Sergeant.”

  Ychell shrugged. “Whatever. So far, no sign of pursuit, but that could change at any moment.”

  Ro nodded, then looked back at her two passengers. Quark was fidgeting nervously, no doubt still worried about Malic. Ro supposed she shouldn’t have said anything about the possibility of copies—from all accounts, Malic was the type to keep information to himself as much as possible.

  Treir sat passively, looking surprisingly unconcerned.

  Ychell obviously noticed Ro staring, because she asked, “What’re you going to do with that one?”

  Shrugging, Ro said, “Not sure. It’s funny, she didn’t even flinch when I put the gun to her neck. I mean, she couldn’t have known I was bluffing.”

  “She’s been a slave all her life, Lieutenant. She may not know how to be anything else.”

  Ro sighed. “Maybe. For now, let’s just go through that gateway and—”

  Suddenly, the gateway lit up with a rainbow’s worth of colors. Ro winced.

  Then it went dark.

  “I’m not reading any power signature from the gateway,” Ro said, looking down at her instruments.

  Ychell looked at hers. “I’m not picking up the Clarus system anymore, either.”

  “Dammit.”

  “It gets better,” Ychell said. “The Orions have found us. Two of their fighter ships are on an intercept course.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Delta Quadrant

  The alpha smiled for the first time in a long time. At last, he thought, worthy prey.

  As the alpha worked his way through the corridors of the Malon tanker in search of the Jem’Hadar, he chastised himself for his own carelessness. He had grown overconfident.

  For far too long, he had been on his own. He had had no real choice—everyone with whom he’d crewed had been too weak, too slow. They hadn’t been worthy of his hunting skills and made the hunts so much poorer.

  So he had chosen to fly alone. And he had been much more successful.

  There was no sign of the Jem’Hadar on this deck. He climbed down the access shaft to the next one, holstering his rifle on his left shoulder.

  After a time, the thrill of the hunt had started to wane. It became too easy. He’d hunted for so long that no prey presented a true challenge. He had grown soft and careless. So careless that he had allowed the cargo of those Malon fools to destroy his ship.

  Everything he had was in that ship: his trophies, his food, his triumphs, his war paint, most of his weapons—his entire life. All he had left was his rifle, his armor, and himself.

  Perhaps this is all I truly need. Perhaps this will allow me to restore my own glory, by reducing the hunt back to its essence.

  He saw a shadow move behind one of the bulkheads.

  Prey.

  The alpha moved slowly toward the shadow.

  As he approached, the shadow took on the form of one of the Malon fools.

  I thought I had destroyed all of them, the alpha thought angrily.

  “Please, gods, don’t kill me, please don’t kill me!” the Malon cried as he stepped into the open. He had blisters on his skin.

  This prey is weak to be susceptible to so minor a thing as theta radiation, the alpha thought with disgust. It isn’t even worthy of being hunted. This one was as bad as the tanker captain—she had pleaded to the alpha about a mate and offspring, as if the family structure of prey was of any relevance. He had particularly enjoyed slicing her open.

  However, the alpha did not have time to kill this one with his blade as he did the others. With the press of a button on his rifle, he blasted the Malon into atoms. The Malon screamed for as long as he could before he discorporated.

  The alpha forgot about the Malon and turned his mind back to thoughts of the Jem’Hadar.

  How long has it been since we hunted one of these magnificent creatures? Engineered by their primitive gods to be the perfect soldiers. They are among the worthiest prey the Hirogen have ever sought.

  They were from a part of the galaxy where few Hirogen had traversed. Their presence here was a surprise, since the portal that had opened in this star system did not open to the region where the Jem’Hadar came from. Either their empire had expanded, or these portals were more widespread than the alpha had thought.

  When the alpha came to the room with the shield generator, he noticed that a component was missing. The prey has been in this room.

  The prey had also been in the next room over. The transporter logs showed that someone had transported one person and one piece of equipment to the prey’s vessel. The Malon computer did not recognize the life signs, but the alpha knew that it was not the Jem’Hadar. No doubt the other, less significant prey had taken the shield modulator.

  The alpha cared little for the petty concerns of prey. He no more cared about what it was doing with the shield modulator than what the Malon prey did with their meaningless cargo. All that mattered was the hunt.

  The prey has been here. But the trail is cold now.

  The alpha moved on to the engineering deck. Here, he found plenty of the corpses he had left behind on his last trip through this ship.

  But of the Jem’Hadar there was still no sign.

  Soon, the alpha had checked every cranny of the Malon tanker. How has the creature managed to evade me? Not only is there no sign of him, there is no sign he has been anywhere, save the bridge and the transporter.

  It has been too long since we hunted these creatures. There is obviously missing intelligence about them that I need for the hunt.

  If he still had his ship, he could check records of previous hunts. But that was lost to him. All he had was his instincts.

  That should be all I need.

  He returned to the bridge. Some of the equipment on this ship still worked. The alpha would make use of it to find his prey and destroy it.

  Taran’atar had followed the Hirogen throughout the ship, watching as the alien hunter tried in vain to track the Jem’Hadar. He had watched as the Hirogen checked every portion of the tanker, pausing only to kill one native who had somehow escaped the predator’s prior rampage.

  Remaining shrouded had proven to be the right course of action. The Hirogen had an extraordinary tracking ability—without any apparent aid from mechanical devices—but could not detect Taran’atar as long as he remained shrouded.

  What had started as a simple stalking strategy soon became a handy delaying tactic. After all, the important thing was to keep the Hirogen occupied while Kira installed the shield enhancer onto the Euphrates and used it to block the gateway. The only flaw in the plan was that Taran’atar could not contact Kira to keep her apprised of his progress—the Hirogen could easily have had some way of detecting transmissions.

  Still, this was the way that best served Kira. Ultimately, that was what mattered.

  His assignment to the Alpha Quadrant had been a difficult thing for Taran’atar to accept, particularly being assigned to the command of Colonel Kira. After all, she had fought hard against the Dominion, and was even instrumental in its defeat. Kira was also like no Vorta Taran’atar had ever served under. Most Vorta were weak fools—self-serving at best, incompetent at worst. Taran’atar had obeyed them only because the Vorta served as the voice of the Founders. But Kira was no one’s functionary. She did not just command, she led. She did not react, she acted. She did not direct battles, she fought them.

  Taran’atar had fought alongside thousands of Jem’Hadar, and grown to respect many of them, for the
y had been true soldiers of the Dominion. Kira Nerys was the first alien he had ever met that he could truly call a soldier.

  The Hirogen had gone through the entire ship. Taran’atar could not be completely sure of what the alien’s facial expressions signified, but he was fairly sure that the creature was growing frustrated. He headed back up from the engineering section toward the bridge.

  This may require a change in strategy. It was possible that the Hirogen was planning to use the ship’s equipment to supplement his own tracking skills. Taran’atar’s understanding about this ship’s level of technology was still incomplete, but considering that it had transporters that could penetrate Starfleet shields, sophisticated tactical equipment was not unlikely.

  Of course, he thought, they also have such primitive warp engines that they still produce antimatter waste. This was why the Dominion’s way was so much better: everyone in the Dominion benefited from the technological advances of all its component parts. Such inefficient disparities as the owners of this tanker had did not exist.

  Sure enough, the Hirogen arrived at the bridge and began to manipulate the controls of one of the consoles. He had holstered his rifle across his left shoulder.

  The rifle is the key, Taran’atar thought. With it, the Hirogen has the clear advantage. The Jem’Hadar’s sole weapon was his kar’takin, which the Hirogen had thought so little of that he hadn’t bothered to remove it from Taran’atar’s person as he had his phaser.

  The initial strike was the most important: to land as devastating a blow as possible while he had the element of surprise. Striking at the armor would be pointless—as strong as his blade was, Taran’atar seriously doubted it could penetrate. The rifle itself was probably similarly difficult to damage. That left only two viable alternatives: the Hirogen’s face, and the strap holding the rifle.

  Possibly they are the same alternative, he thought as he studied the battlefield. The Hirogen currently stood at the center of the bridge, operating what appeared to be a general-purpose operations console. The console was a circular island in the middle of the control room—which, like those of Jem’Hadar ships, had no chairs.