Star Trek - DS9 - Heart Of The Warrior - Book 17

by John Gregory Betancourt

  through the faceplate. Next time they asked him what

  upgrades he wanted for DS9, he was going to ask for a

  spacedock.

  For now, though, he'd just have to make do. Grit-

  ting his teeth, he raised his heavy cutting phaser,

  adjusting the controls to a tighter beam, and began

  burning through the final series of power couplings

  holding the Galactic Queen's nacelles in place over

  the passenger compartment. Durasteel turned red,

  then white under the burst of energy, bubbling like

  one of Captain Sisko's gumbos. He could feel the heat

  even through the insulation in his gloves and space

  suit.

  One power relay parted silently, then the second,

  then the third. Globules of rapidly cooling durasteel

  spiraled off into the darkness. O'Brien felt a drop of

  sweat run down the side of his face, then crawl along

  the line of his jaw. His faceplate began to fog up ever

  so slightly at the edges.

  He shifted the phaser and fired again. Finally the

  fourth relay melted; the Galactic Queen's starboard

  nacelle now floated freely in space. Only inertia held

  it in position.

  O'Brien took a deep breath. The easy part was

  done. Clipping the phaser to his side, he took a second

  to glance down at his space suit's readouts. Twenty

  degrees just isn't coM enough, he thought. He'd set the

  controls as cold as they would go, but radiant heat

  from the phaser and the fused metal had raised the

  internal temperature of his space suit to nearly sixty

  degrees centigrade.

  If only we had another couple of days, he thought.

  He hated working out in raw vacuum, but didn't see

  much choice. Fast and dirty, that was the only way to

  get the job done in time.

  The durasteel had cooled back down. O'Brien

  turned his back to the ship, planted his feet against

  the hull, hooked his fingers under the power coupling

  he'd just severed, and heaved with all his strength.

  The ship had no weight in space; it was all a matter of

  getting its mass moving. Slowly, a fraction of a

  millimeter at a time, the nacelle parted from the main

  passenger compartment.

  O'Brien let go after fifteen seconds. No sens e strain-

  ing any more against all that mass, he thought. Age

  was catching up to him; he didn't want Bashir doing

  an emergency procedure on his back to fix a slipped

  disc. He'd never hear the end of it.

  He released the magnetic grips on his space boots

  and floated away from Galactic Queen's hull, looking

  over his work with a critical eye. The port nacelle,

  already cut free, drifted a hundred meters away. He

  nodded to himself. Yes, it was coming along right on

  schedule.

  "Chief," a tinny-sounding but recognizably female

  voice said through a burst of static. "We've got the

  dead hull."

  He nudged the transmit bar with his chin. "Great,"

  he said. He'd sent Ensign Polatta and her crew off in a

  runabout to fetch the Progress from the Bajoran

  moon. "How's she look?"

  "Good, for scrap. Not so good for a starship."

  "Bring her alongside the Galactic Queen. You'll

  have to round up the nacelles I just cut loose with

  tractor beams. We'll lick her into shape yet."

  Starfleet's diplomatic team arrived just after mid-

  night that night, and Sisko found himself standing

  outside the docking port, feeling bleary-eyed and

  tired.

  Something hissed, and he felt a light touch on his

  arm. He jumped, a bit startled.

  Dr. Bashir held up a hypo spray. "Vitamins," he

  said. "You're looking a little pale."

  Leave it to Bashir to notice. "You, too, Doctor," he

  said.

  "Yes, in my case it's lack of sleep." He stifled a

  yawn. "I've been up since four o'clock this morning."

  "I've been meaning to thank you for covering the

  Cardassians' arrival for me."

  "No problem," Bashir said. "Glad to help out.

  Actually, it was an interesting experience. I almost

  wish I could sit in on the negotiations just to see how

  everyone interacts."

  "I'm expecting fireworks," Sisko admitted. Federa-

  tion, Maquis, Valtusian, and Cardassian diplomats

  struck him as about the least compatible bunch

  imaginable. Even the Klingons and the Romulans

  could be more reasonable than Cardassians.

  The door rolled aside, and a strikingly beautiful

  Vulcan woman walked out, looking around curiously.

  Her short black hair and pointed, almost elfin ears

  loaned her delicately boned face an almost ethereal

  quality. Sisko found his gaze moving from her face to

  the stunning aqua dress she wore off one shoulder.

  Matching blue sandals, studded with gemstones, com-

  pleted the outfit.

  "You must be Captain Sisko," she said, her voice

  flat and emotionless.

  "That's right," he said. "And you are...?"

  "Ambassador T'Pao." She turned and indicated the

  heavyset man with short reddish blond hair following

  her. "This is Ambassador DuQuesne, and behind him

  is Ambassador Strockman." Strockman, thin to the

  point of emaciation, with pinched cheeks and thin-

  ning black hair cropped close to his skull, gave a curt

  nod.

  Sisko smiled politely, then did the introductions.

  "We have designed a test to check for changeling

  infiltration," he said. "It only takes a minute and is

  completely painless."

  He half expected a series of protests, but T'Pao

  merely nodded once. "Proceed." "Doctor?" Sisko said.

  Bashir stepped forward. "If you would place your

  hand on the scanner," he said.

  T'Pao did so, and it promptly announced that she

  was Vulcan. Then DuQuesne stepped forward and

  placed his hand on top.

  "A good idea," T'Pao commented. "One cannot be

  too careful in negotiations such as these."

  "Our thoughts exactly," Sisko said. He couldn't

  help but grin. At least the Federation ambassadors

  understood the necessity of security.

  Both DuQuesne and Strockman passed the DNA

  test.

  "Now," T'Pao said, "if you could show us to

  our quarters. It has been a long trip, and I believe

  my colleagues require rest. They have become

  somewhat... irritable."

  "Of course." Sisko turned and led the way toward

  the turbolift. "Your suites are on the habitat ring..."

  he began.

  "Sir," Ensign McCormick said. "I think I'm pick-

  ing up a ship on the extreme limits of sensor range."

  A new ship? Dax crossed to the ensign's console

  and studied the readouts over his shoulder. The only

  ship she was still expecting belonged to the Maquis

  delegates to the peace conference, and if she knew her

  Maquis, they'd be playing it very cautiously. After all,

  DS9 was a Federation outpost, and technically they

  would fall under Federation law the moment they set

&n
bsp; foot aboard. Despite all of the assurances Starfleet

  and the Valtusians had given them, they must still be a

  little paranoid. She didn't blame them.

  On the other hand, it could be a Dominion ship

  looking them over from the distance ....

  Dax reached down, channeled extra power to the

  sensor relays, and scanned the ship again.

  "Bingo," she said, as the results came up on the

  ensign's monitor screen. It was an old Federation

  transport ship, probably decommissioned and sold off

  to colonists years ago. The station's computer identi-

  fied it as the Uganda.

  "Sir? Bingo?" The ensign gazed at her blankly.

  They were getting younger every year, Dax thought.

  "An old Earth expression," she explained. "It

  means 'you're right.'"

  "Are they... Jem'Hadar?"

  "Wrong direction." She moved aside so McCor-

  mick could see the readouts. "Take a look at that. It's

  a Federation ship. Or used to be."

  "Maquis..." the ensign breathed.

  Dax smiled. "A pretty good guess, especially since

  we're expecting them." She returned to the science

  station. "I'11 take it from here." "Yes, sir."

  Dax hailed the ship. "This is Lieutenant Com-

  mander Jadzia Dax of Deep Space Nine. Maquis ship,

  please identify yourself."

  There was no response. Probably still looking us

  over, she thought, and who could blame them? It

  must have taken a lot on the Valtusians' part to even

  get them this far.

  "Maquis ship," she said again, "please identify

  yourself."

  "This is the Uganda," a male voice responded

  hesitantly a moment later. It was an audio-only signal.

  How paranoid were these people? "We are here for

  the peace conference."

  "You're early," she said. "Our docking schedule is

  full for the next three hours. If you'd care to wait, I'll

  fit you in--"

  "We've just picked up a Federation warship ap-

  proaching at high warp!" The pitch of his voice rose

  half an octave. "You've betrayed us--"

  "Not true," Dax said. Damn, what a time for a

  Federation ship to show up! "Hold your position,

  Uganda. You have nothing to worry about."

  She punched the new ship up on her console--the

  Excalibur, with high-priority clearance. She groaned

  inwardly. This was really going to screw up her

  docking schedule. Perhaps they'd beam people over

  instead of docking...

  She split the screen to monitor both ships at once.

  The Maquis vessel had already come about and begun

  accelerating away from DS9. She saw that its warp

  coil was powering up.

  "Uganda," she said, "the Federation ship is only

  here to drop off delegates for the conference. It will

  depart as soon as it's done. You have nothing to worry

  about."

  "I have your word on that, Commander?"

  "That's right."

  "We will withdraw for now," his voice said. "We'll

  return in three hours. Uganda out."

  "DS9 out," Dax said. She nodded. No doubt about

  it, they were nervous. At least they were coming back,

  though. Hopefully the Excalibur would be gone by

  then.

  CHAPTER

  6

  SISKO WATCHED THE colorful flicker of lights in the

  Ops's two-person transporter chamber as a figure

  began to materialize. The Excalibur had come to a

  stationary position between DS9 and the wormhole,

  and now Lieutenant Colfax was in the process of

  beaming aboard.

  The hum of the transporter faded away as Colfax

  materialized. He carried what appeared to be a cloth

  satchel in one hand. It seemed quite heavy, Sisko

  noted. Stepping down from the transporter, Colfax

  smiled coolly and offered his hand to Sisko.

  Sisko shook it. "Won't you come into my office," he

  said.

  "Certainly," Colfax said, shifting the satchel to his

  other hand and following.

  "We weren't expecting you so soon," Sisko said

  over his shoulder. "Admiral Dulev said thirty-two

  hours."

  "We made excellent time," Colfax said. "I had the

  Excalibur's captain shave every second off the run

  that she could. You know how important speed is

  here. I'm sorry to have held up your away team this

  long, but I believe you'll find it necessary."

  "The admiral didn't say much about it."

  He nodded. "We're taking every precaution possi-

  ble, in case the changelings are monitoring our sub-

  space communications. Now, I'd appreciate it if

  you'd call in your away team. I want to brief them as

  quickly as possible."

  "Certainly." He paused in the doorway to his office.

  "Dax?"

  "I'll get them here," she called.

  "Thanks." Sisko entered his office, then closed the

  door behind them. To Colfax he said, "Can I offer you

  a drink?"

  "No, thank you," Colfax said. He set his satchel on

  a chair, then ran his finger along the seam and peeled

  it open. "I'm afraid this is only a brief stopover for

  me. I'm here to drop off equipment for your away

  team, that's all. I trust they're ready to leave?"

  "Their ship is waiting," Sisko said. That was close

  enough to true; it would be a matter of hours now

  before the last tests were complete. He perched on the

  edge of his desk and folded his arms. "Good," Colfax said.

  The door chirped. "Come," Sisko said.

  Kira, Odo, and Worf filed in. "You wanted to see

  us, sir?" Worf asked, his voice low and gravely.

  Sisko indicated his guest. "This is Lieutenant Col-

  fax from Admiral Dulev's office. Apparently he has

  additional equipment for you."

  "That's right," Dulev said. He pulled a thick metal-

  lic belt from the satchel and turned around to face

  them. "This is an experimental device which the

  Romulans have loaned us s pecifically for this mission.

  It's called a personal cloaker."

  A personal cloaker? Sisko found himself leaning

  forward to study the belt. Surely it couldn't be a

  cloaking device; it was far too small. He frowned a

  bit, studying a series of silver boxes connected with

  mesh links. It had a small control panel on the front,

  he noted, which appeared to consist of a simple power

  readout and an on/off switch.

  Odo asked, "What exactly does it do?"

  "I'm getting to that." Colfax snapped the belt

  around his waist and looked up. "As the name sug-

  gests, it's a variant on the cloaking devices which

  conceal Romulan ships in space. It creates a distor-

  tion wave which surrounds your body, rendering you

  effectively invisible to the naked eye. Watch."

  Colfax activated one of the buttons on the belt's

  control panel. The air around him rippled for a

  second, and then he faded from view.

  Sisko stood bolt upright, shocked. The security

  implications were devastating. With one of these,

  someone could walk into the
most closely guarded

  Federation installation undetected.

  A second later Colfax reappeared. "Simple, yes?"

  he said.

  "How many of these things are there?" Odo de-

  manded.

  "I've brought two for use in your mission," Colfax

  said. "The third one must remain with me. Our

  people are working with Romulan scientists to perfect

  the devices. They may well offer our first counter to

  the advantages offered by the changelings' morphing

  abilities."

  "How do they work?" Sisko asked.

  "Simplicity itself," Colfax said. He removed the

  belt and laid it flat on the desk so everyone could see

  the control panel on the front. "There is an on/off

  button and a time readout."

  "A time readout?" Worf asked, frowning.

  Colfax hesitated. "There are problems with the

  personal cloakers," he admitted. "They use a fantastic

  amount of energy. Our most powerful battery can

  only run one for eight minutes."

  Odo seemed to relax a little, Sisko saw, and he knew

  why With only eight minutes of power, it would be

  difficult for anyone to use them effectively for sabo-

  tage.

  "I know it's not a lot of time," Colfax said, "but it's

  one extra advantage you didn't have before. It could

  well mean the difference between getting caught and

  eluding capture."

  "There is almost something cowardly about hiding

  behind invisible shields," Worf said, a little stiffly.

  "Commander Worf," Colfax said, rising and facing

  him, "the entire Alpha Quadrant risks subjugation

  under the changelings. We will not allow this to

  happen--whatever the cost. Honor is one of our least

  valuable commodities right now. Is that understood?"

  Worf bristled a little, but nodded. Sisko could tell it

  troubled him nonetheless.

  "Good," Colfax said. He drew two more belts from

  his satchel and handed one to Kira and one to Worf.

  "Wear them under your clothes at all times on this

  mission," he said. "I know they're bulky, but they're

  the best we can do. And one more thing If you're in

  danger of being caught, or if you exhaust the belts'

  power supplies, destroy them. They cannot be

  allowed to fall into the enemy's hands." He put the

  belt he'd used for his demonstration away. "Any

  questions?"

  A little to his surprise, Sisko found he didn't have

  any, and neither did anyone else. The personal cloak-

  ers seemed straight-forward enough.