Star Trek - TNG - Dominion War 1 - Behind Enemy Lines

by Behind Enemy Lines (lit)

  Sam tried not to think how much was riding on all this Cardassian equipment, but he knew that Grof, Taurik, and the others had checked every piece a dozen times. He had to rely on their judgment about the equipment, as they relied on his about the ship.

  "Tractor beam," ordered Grof.

  "Tractor beam on," replied the Deltan at the tactical station.

  The escaping probe was engulfed in an invisible beam that registered only on their instrument panels.

  Nevertheless, the probe now had a leash which, theoretically, would keep it from plunging into the black hole.

  "Distance to event horizon: three hundred kilometers," reported Horik. "Tractor beam holding steady." "Don't let it cross that horizon," warned Grof.

  "Or what will happen?" asked Sam.

  "If the tractor beam held, we could retrieve it," answered the Trill, "but that's a big 'ifi' And I don't know what kind of shape it would be in. More than likely, we'd be down to two probes." "Two hundred kilometers," said the Deltan. "I'm slowing speed to one-quarter impulse." "It's looking good," said Grof, his eyes intent upon his readouts.

  Sam looked at his own readouts to make sure they hadn't drifted in their orbit, which was matched to the slight rotation of the black hole. It seemed odd to be orbiting nothing, but this nothing had a lot of gravity for its size.

  "One hundred kilometers," reported Horik.

  "Thrusters stopped. We're now coasting into position one-half kilometer in front of the event horizon." "We're sure about those calculations, are't we?" asked Grof, sounding nervous for the first time.

  "Yes," answered the Deltan, "unless this black hole doesn't obey the known laws of physics, which is always possible with a singularity." Sam didn't like the way Grof gnawed on his lower lip as the probe completed its final approach to the black hole. He tried not to think about the incredible gravitational pull on the small probe, counteracted only by their souped-up tractor beam. Sam increased the magnification on the viewscreen to get a better look at the probe... perhaps the last look at it.

  "Approaching one kilometer," said the calm, contented Deltan. She plied her console. "All right, it's stopped." The three of them stared at the viewscreen, halfexpecting the awkward probe to vanish forever into the gaping blackness. But the probe was stopped, hanging on the lip of the abyss.

  Grof let out a loud sigh, and then he rubbed his hands together, ready for his part in the drama. First he made a shipwide announcement. "Attention, crew: the probe is in place. I'm bombarding the black hole with tachyons--stand by tractor beam, remote control, and transporter room." Sam hoped that soon they would get proficient enough at this operation to do it without Grof's melodramatics; but for the moment, he was glad that someone was calling every shot. On the viewscreen, they watched an impossibly long strand of tachyons stretch from their ship, past the probe, into the blackness of the singularity. Sam knew this was a crucial step, the one that would actually quantumstep the particles and force them outward. The tractor beam would capture and guide them into the probe.

  "Extend tractor beam," ordered Grofi "Extending," said the Deltan.

  "Start extraction." Leni Shonsui's voice came over the comm.

  "Extraction in progress." Again there was a tense silence as they watched the timers and their readouts. Sam noticed that some force was slightly altering their orbit, and he compensated without comment. There would be time later to point this out to the others and make a correction for the next shot. Right now, they were all absorbed in their own tasks.

  "Load full!" announced Shonsui's voice. "Let's reel it in." Now everyone breathed a sigh of relief, although they weren't out of the woods yet. Sam knew that they had to perfectly coordinate cutting the tractor beam at the same moment that they transported the probe back to the ship.

  Grof held up his finger. "Transport on my mark.

  Three, two, one... mark!" The Deltan punched her board. They waited for confirmation.

  "Masserelli here," came a voice from below.

  "We've got her, and the stasis field is holding!" "At last." Grof slumped back in his seat and turned apologetically toward Sam. "I've got to go down and see it." "Go ahead. I wouldn't mind seeing the next step myself." Sam didn't mention it, but the ship was in extreme danger at this point, with a highly volatile material in stasis.

  "You two go on," said Horik at her tactical station.

  "I can watch things here." With Grof eagerly leading the way, they tromped down the ladder to the lower level and dashed along the corridor to the transporter room. The glow of the stasis field in the center of the transporter pad captured their attention and forced them to halt in the doorway. Woil, Shonsui, and Masserelli were wearing protective gear that covered them from head to foot, and Sam and Grof sunk back from the danger.

  Jozarnay Well grabbed a flexible tube that hung from a mass of pipes in the ceiling and checked its fittings. As if he did this every day of the week, he calmly walked up to the glowing stasis field, stuck the tube in, and clamped it to the elevated mining probe.

  Woil stepped back, motioning to Enrique Masserelli, who manipulated the stasis field and the probe with a handheld remote. Shonsui stood at the transporter console, keeping a close watch on an array of readouts. Soon the tube was bulging as the contents of the probe were being evacuated to the recom chambers in the hold.

  Grof nudged Sam with an elbow. "Come on." The human followed the Trill to the stern of the ship. From there, large double doors opened into the two-story-high cargo hold. As an antimatter tanker, the Tag Garwal's hold was by far her most impressive feature. Antimatter was the most volatile cargo in the galaxy, and it had to be stored in special forcefield containers and transported in special conduits, which snaked all over the ceiling and walls of the hold.

  The upright containers looked like massive African drums. Having been used strictly for storage, now their forcefields were being used to recombine particles that had, until a few moments ago, existed in another space-time continuum. Despite Sam's misgivings, it was exciting to think that they could fill these drums with material dredged from a black hole.

  They heard footsteps, and they turned to see Enrique walking toward them with his headgear and a tricorder in his hands, and a big grin on his face.

  "How does it look?" "Like Corzanium!" declared Grof. "Which one is it in?" Enrique muscled past them in his bulky suit and approached the first upright container. He opened a tricorder and took readings. "Right here. It's all going as planned." Suddenly there came a loud crashing sound from directly behind them--in the transporter room. Big man though he was, Grof whirled around like a dancer and bolted down the corridor. Sam and Enrique jogged after him.

  When they reached the transporter room, they were all horrified to see the mining probe lying on the transporter pad, many of its external components broken and smashed. No one needed to ask what had fallen over.

  "What happened?" roared Grof, shaking his fists.

  Shonsui looked at Woil, and the Antosian shrugged.

  "When I cut the stasis field, then it... I don't know." "Cutting the stasis field had nothing to do with it," said Chief Shonsui on the transporter controls. "I take full blame. I didn't have it adjusted for the correct weight of the empty probe, which is something I wouldn't have to do with a Federation transporter. I mean, you don't expect to empty a probe and have it weigh more." "You idiot! Up to this point, it was going perfectly/" Grof stomped around like a little boy denied his dessert at suppertime.

  Sam knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't help himself. "I wouldn't say it was perfect. I had to compensate to hold our position, and that wasn't in any of the models." Now the Trill glared at him. "And you didn't say anything? Imbeciles! I'm surrounded by imbeciles!" Grof stormed out of the transporter room, and they could hear him shouting all the way down the corridor.

  Sam looked at his crew and shook his head. "I'm personally proud of you that you managed to pull that off so well. In one day, we've collected more Corzanium than
anybody else in two quadrants, and that's using Cardassian equipment, with a gun pointed at our heads! Screw that old goat." "Yeah, so we had a few minor glitches," said Enrique. "That's to be expected." Still, there was no way to look at the damaged probe without thinking they had made a grave error--one that might cost them their lives.

  Taurik appeared in the doorway, looking nonplussed by the mess on the transporter pad. "I will prepare another probe." As the Vulcan hurried off, Sam sank against the bulkhead. He was disheartened by the realization that they would have to go through that tense procedure again and again until they had collected a hoard of Corzanium. He looked around and could tell by the stark faces that his crew knew the truth: they were still slaves, even with a ship at their disposal. This tanker was nothing but a floating jail, with a lunatic as the jailer.

  "Get another probe out there," said Sam. "But don't worry, we're getting out."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ro LAREN, GEORDI LA FORGE, AND JEAN-LUC PICARD stood in the transporter room of the Orb of Peace, with La Forge at the transporter controls. The room's nonthreatening, welcoming atmosphere was severely tested by the sight of four bodies piled like firewood on the transporter pad. Picard tried not to think of the other three piles of corpses which had lain there in the last hour. Very badly, he wanted to wash his hands, but he wasn't done yet.

  This pile of bodies was a mixture of two of his crew and two dead Romulans. Whether they would appreciate the burial rites, he didn't know. The captain's face drew tight as he performed his least favorite duty.

  "We commit these bodies of our comrades--and our enemies--to the void of space, to which they dedicated their lives. I only wish they could have experienced more of the joyful, awe-inspiring aspect of space exploration, rather than the senseless destruction of war. But no matter how advanced the races of the galaxy, we still suffer from greed and bloodlust." The captain sighed, bereft of words to explain what had happened to these young people--and so many other young people who were dying at that very moment in the far-flung theater of war. He knew why they fought, and what they fought to preserve, but excuses for killing were beyond Picard at that moment.

  "May their beliefs in the afterlife be fulfilled," concluded the captain.

  He nodded to La Forge, who turned the pile of corpses into a glittering funeral pyre for a few brief seconds until they disappeared entirely.

  Picard strode to the door. "I wish there were time to reflect and mourn, but there's not. Since there's only three of us, we have to conserve our resources.

  One of us must be sleeping while the other two are on duty--one in the engine room and one on the bridge." As they followed the captain down the corridor, Ro asked, "What about the one-armed Romulan?" Picard stopped to consider the question. Against all odds, their prisoner hadn't died... yet. When it came to first aid, none of them were Beverly Crusher, but they had apparently done a satisfactory job of patching him up. It helped that he was a fit, young Romulan. But if he kept recovering, he would soon become a problem.

  "Lock him in the captain's quarters," said Picard.

  "Whoever is stationed in Engineering will pay periodic visits and keep him sedated." "I volunteer--" began Ro.

  "No," answered Picard with a smile. "You steered us through the Badlands, and you must be exhausted.

  I'll take the bridge, La Forge Engineering, and Ro-- you get the bunk. And that's an order." "Aye, Captain," she answered with weary resignation. "Do you think we can do this by ourselves?" "We have to," said Picard with determination.

  "There's no one else." Collecting three more loads of Corzanium without incident had mollified Enrak Grof somewhat. The 'Frill sat in the mess hall, playing with his newest toy, a fist-sized chunk of Corzanium, while Sam drank a cup of coffee. Although Grof hadn't liked it, he had agreed to give them a rest break for two hours. Everyone needed it.

  Grof hefted his golden rock, then removed his hand, letting it float in the air. "This is amazing stuff," he told Sam. "If we had enough of it, we could build shuttlecraft that required only a slight push to get them off a planet. We could shoot probes into the largest sun and have them come out again on their own power. In fact, gravity-resistant probes would make mining Corzanium itself a snap." He squinted at the floating rock. "I wonder if it will ever be possible to replicate this stuff?." Sam yawned. "Grof, do you ever stop thinking about getting ahead?" "No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Progress is my business. The rest of the universe may be content with the status quo, but I never am. Most of our greatest achievements are only beginnings, halfway measures until the real thing comes along. I'm going to be famous someday, Sam. You'll be able to brag to your grandchildren that you knew me." "Only if we escape from here," said the human, staring pointedly at the Trill.

  For once, Grof met his gaze. "What do you want from me? Some pointless act of patriotism that won't stop the juggernaut of the Dominion for one second?

  You think I don't hear your little whispered conversations and plots? I do. Of course, Sam, I've heard you talking about escape for several days now, and I think it's just talk. Just by doing your job, you're getting closer to freedom--by earning it instead of being stupid. If there's such a big difference between us, I'd like to know what it is." "You think it's just talk," murmured Sam, worried that the Trill could be right.

  "Let me put it this way: I'm a man who looks for options, and thus far, you haven't presented me with any." Grof snatched his floating rock from the air and stalked out of the mess hall.

  Sam watched the collaborator go, thinking that, for once, he was right. The time for talking and waiting was over.

  Commander Shana Winslow led the way through the aquarium, which was part of the Natural History Exhibit on Starbase 209. Will Rikor followed behind her, marveling at what had been done in such a small space to give the feeling of an aquatic world. There were magnified tanks of starfish, seahorses, and neonorange coral fish, letting a few aquatic animals stand in for many. He paused in a round anteroom, where a school of hundreds of glinting sardines swam around the amazed visitors, moving like electrons in their circular tank.

  "Beautiful, aren't they?" asked Winslow. "At one time, they were a staple food source for our ancestors." "Seems like it would take a lot of them to make a meal," observed Riker.

  A cacophony of excited voices diverted his attention, and he and his date stepped out of the way as a gaggle of schoolchildren walked through, talking and pointing excitedly at the whirl of sardines. Since he was taller than them, his view was unobstructed; still Riker found himself watching the school of children instead of the school of fish. Some of them looked distracted, sad.

  When the group had moved on, he turned to see a melancholy look on Winslow's face. "What's the matter?" he asked.

  She sighed and shifted her weight onto her natural leg. "Most of those kids are war orphans whose parents are not coming back. This base isn't really at the front lines, yet we're filling up with war refugees, orphans, and the like. You brought us almost a hundred of them. I don't know how much longer we can go on before we start busting at the seams." "Aren't there any transports out?" asked Riker.

  "Not very many of them. The commercial space routes are all shut down, and Starfleet's ships are all too busy. There was a time when we could ask a ship like the Enterprise to ferry some of these folks for us. I don't suppose you'd like to take a side jaunt to Earth or Bajor before you go back into action?" "No," admitted Riker, studying the woman's honest face and large brown eyes. "In truth, we probably couldn't make it to Bajor." "Then the Bajorans may be stuck on this starbase... for the duration." Winslow left the school of sardines and wandered toward a wall tank of swaying seaweed and skittery octopus. Riker silently followed her between the soothing tanks of fish.

  When he reached her, she mustered a smile and said, "You haven't asked me about your ship all evening. I don't know whether to thank you or be offended." "I know you and everyone else on 209 are doing all you can." He reached out and brushed a strand of d
ark hair off her pronounced cheekbone, as he gazed into her wide, sultry eyes. "It's funny. When we first got here, I was in a big hurry to leave. But now I'm not in such a big hurry. I'd be a fool not to enjoy these last few days... with you." "You don't expect to come back either?" asked Winslow hoarsely.

  "To tell you the truth, Shana, I don't know what to expect. I'm scared. But I'll keep doing my duty and trying to protect my crew until... until there's no point. All I'm trying to say is that you've made these few days better than I had any reason to expect--" Before he could finish, Captain Winslow pulled him toward her with surprising strength. Her mouth met his in a kiss that was fierce and demanding, only becoming tender after they tasted each other. She gripped his broad shoulders as if hanging on for her life, and he pulled her slight frame into his chest.

  They heard giggling, and they turned to see two of the schoolgirls watching them intently. "Shoo!" said Riker with a good-natured grin. The girls ran off, joining the larger pack of children as they wound their way out of the aquarium.