“Damage?” Picard asked.
“A minor fire on Deck Three. We already have it under control. Sir, I’m picking up an energy spike from the Katana—”
Ahead to port on the viewscreen, Picard saw the Katana’s starboard nacelle explode, the blast ripping through the entire ship. Forty good men and women lost in a heartbeat, Picard thought sadly. But there wasn’t time to mourn them.
“Ahead, three-quarter impulse.”
Ensign Kell Perim, the Trill at conn, looked nervously at the viewscreen and the five Dominion ships between them and Sentok Nor, but she laid in the course without hesitation.
Picard reviewed his tactics. Scimitar and Tulwar would continue to draw enemy fire so the Enterprise could drop shields and transport Riker’s team onto the station. The Dominion still had nine ships and the space station’s armaments to oppose the smaller Federation force.
Protecting each other’s flanks, the remaining four Galor-class cruisers closed in battle formation and bore down on the Federation ships. The enemy vessels advanced as a unit, the lead ship firing on the Enterprise.
The science console sparked as Daniels called out, “Shields down to fifty percent.”
“Target their engines and weapons,” Picard ordered.
At the tactical station, the lieutenant, trembling with adrenaline, his face tight with excitement, held his voice steady. “I have a weapons lock.”
“Fire phasers!”
Phaser fire ripped into the closing enemy vessels and inflicted damage, but not enough to slow their approach. Picard left the oncoming enemy to his Saber-class escorts and turned his attention to the space station.
“Tactical, prepare phasers to target the station’s shield generators.”
“Pulse modulated to Chief O’Brien’s specifications, sir.”
“Concentrate phaser fire on Section 17 of the outer docking ring.” The moment the words left his mouth, Picard wanted to recall them. Daniels knew the battle plan, and Picard wouldn’t have repeated it with a more familiar officer—Worf, say—at the station. The last thing he wanted was to add to the nervous tension on the bridge.
“Fire!” Picard ordered.
Phaser beams lanced toward the station, only to be dispersed and absorbed by the shield envelope that glittered silver-green against the bombardment.
“We’re coming into transporter range,” Perim reported, sweat dripping down her face.
“Transporter room, stand by,” Picard ordered. “Mr. Daniels, don’t let up. I want those shields down.”
The lieutenant at tactical shook his head. “Sir, the modulated pulse isn’t penetrating the station’s shields.”
Picard tapped his combadge. “Number One, patch Mr. O’Brien into tactical. We have a problem.”
Picard had planned a quick strike. Nothing fancy. No complicated battle plan—just quickly transporting the away team onto the station, then distracting the enemy long enough for Riker to do his job. A prolonged firefight with a superior force had never been part of the scheme.
From the transporter room, O’Brien gave orders to Daniels. “Try remodulating the phase frequency like so . . .”
Deep Space 9’s chief of operations routed the data to the bridge’s tactical station. Daniels recalibrated, his hands flying over his console.
“Fire,” Picard ordered.
Again the station merely glimmered under the blasts. The shields held.
“It’s not working,” Daniels said, stating the obvious.
“Keep remodulating the frequency along its present curve,” O’Brien said with calm confidence. “Eventually you’ll find the right one.”
Picard swore under his breath. The Tulwar and Scimitar, in spite of brilliantly executed evasive maneuvers, were taking heavy fire. The small cruisers couldn’t hold off the Dominion forces much longer.
Again the Enterprise was strafed by Jem’Hadar phased polaron beams. The lights on the bridge dimmed, the auxiliary power kicked in.
“Damage on Decks Four, Eleven, and Twelve,” Daniels said. “Shields down to twenty percent.”
Picard realized they couldn’t win this battle. With the station shields holding, the task force would have to withdraw, rethink their strategy for boarding Sentok Nor, and return to try again.
“Evasive maneuvers. Continue to target weapons arrays and fire at will. Keep us within transporter range.” Picard hoped to buy time for the light cruisers to retreat with him. The helm responded sluggishly into a ninety-degree turn.
Immediately, collision alarms blared throughout the ship. Picard leaped to his feet and stared at the viewscreen.
Two Jem’Hadar battle cruisers appeared in their path, blocking their retreat.
Without bothering to announce himself, Gul Lemec stormed into Luaran’s office on Sentok Nor. “The resistance is up to something.”
The Vorta’s mouth twitched in annoyance. “You’re making too much of one prisoner’s death.”
Lemec spoke through gritted teeth. “I hadn’t finished interrogating him.” The gul slammed a primitive blow dart onto Luaran’s desk. “This weapon killed him before he talked. I’m telling you, there’s a conspiracy among the Betazoids. They’re all supporting the resistance. We must crack down.”
“Thus far, what you call cracking down has only produced more resistance,” Luaran noted.
Lemec opened his mouth to protest, but a glinn marched through Luaran’s open door. “We’ve gone to battle alert, sir.”
“Status?” Lemec asked.
“Sensors have picked up four Federation warp signatures in this sector.”
Alarms sounded. The gul followed the glinn from Luaran’s office down to Level One, the command center of the station. In the sunken interface system which his men had nicknamed “the pit,” Cardassians monitored every function on the station from engineering to ketracel-white processing, if the blasted Betazoid-assembled equipment was functioning as it should.
Lemec’s gaze focused on the large display screen over the pit where the Federation warp signatures presented green trails of light. Dominion forces were yellow, outnumbering the enemy almost three to one, if he counted the approaching Jem’Hadar battle cruisers.
“Enemy ships are dropping out of warp,” the glinn announced in surprise.
“Raise shields,” Lemec ordered.
“Shields up, sir, but the station’s weapons are still off-line.”
The Vorta had followed them to the operations center and stared at the screen. “Are we in danger?”
Lemec shook his head. “With twelve ships, even without the defensive capabilities of Sentok Nor, we are the superior force. They have four lone ships.”
“The Founders will not be pleased if our work is interrupted,” the Vorta said, her voice trembling. The gul didn’t respond, and she pressed him. “You don’t anticipate a problem?”
“Nothing our forces can’t handle.”
The Federation ships blasted out of warp, opening fire at once. Within moments, two Cardassian cruisers and a Jem’Hadar attack ship were destroyed in a spectacular display of fire.
“The odds in our favor have suddenly decreased,” the Vorta noted with irony.
“What’s going on?” Dr. Moset asked as he strolled into the operations center. “Why have our ships been destroyed?”
Civilians didn’t belong in the middle of the war, and the gul would have been happy to send the doctor packing. Moset had been nothing but a first-class pain in the neckbones since he’d arrived on the station. Out of habit, Lemec held back his dislike. “I suppose you think I should have anticipated the Federation’s desperate attack?”
“You should have anticipated my needs,” Moset complained. “We have a freighter of Betazoids arriving. This interference is most inconvenient.”
The gul’s gaze zoomed in on Betazed and the unscheduled freighter approaching the station. “Order the freighter to turn back.”
“Let the ship come.” Luaran belayed his order. “According to the Fo
unders’ orders, Moset must have those prisoners.”
Lemec shook his head. “That freighter doesn’t have the embedded ID codes needed to enter the station during combat conditions.”
“You’re saying you’ve raised the shields?” Moset’s voice ascended an octave. “That they can’t dock?”
“Neither can the Federation.” Lemec held his temper and settled for sarcasm. “If we lower the shields, Starfleet might decide to drop in for a visit.”
Moset rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “You’re obsessed with the Federation. I hardly think—”
“Federation forces just destroyed another Jem’Hadar attack ship,” Luaran interrupted.
“Get those weapons back on-line,” Lemec ordered. “Now!”
“No,” Moset protested. “I won’t have power diverted from my experiments.”
“Your experiments are the reason our weapons are down,” Lemec informed Moset. The Dominion and Cardassian forces still had an obvious advantage, so he took his attention from the screen to rebuke the doctor. “If you hadn’t insisted that my engineers set up your equipment instead of completing the weapons repair and upgrade, we’d have the ability to defend ourselves.”
“They are firing phasers at the outer docking ring,” the glinn at tactical reported. “I’ve brought one phaser bank on-line. Shall I return fire?”
“No,” Moset shouted and pointed to the screen and the slow-moving ship from Betazed. “If you fire, you might damage the freighter.”
Lemec glowered at the doctor but enjoyed having the upper hand. Ever since they’d arrived at Sentok Nor, the civilian exobiologist had lorded his position over the gul. He’d used his influence with the Vorta and, as a result, weakened the station’s defensive capabilities. Due to Moset’s interference, the gul had problems on the station, and problems on the planet. Lemec grew thoughtful. He’d just returned from a visit to Betazed, where the natives had had the nerve to exterminate one of their own, right beneath his nose. Then the Federation dropped out of warp to do battle. A good leader had to ask if there was a connection between the incidents.
Unfortunately, Lemec didn’t have enough information to draw a conclusion. He was in charge of tactics, however, and he would demonstrate the unimportance of Moset’s wishes during a Federation attack. “That freighter is carrying Betazoids and a few Jem’Hadar. They’re expendable. Target phasers.”
“Phasers targeted,” said his tactical officer.
“No. Please, don’t shoot,” Moset practically begged, and Lemec took pleasure in every squeal of protest. “A little phaser fire won’t damage the station. I’m at a sensitive stage in my work and need those prisoners right away. I don’t have time to wait for you to round up another group.”
“Is there any way to accommodate the doctor?” the Vorta asked.
“Not without compromising the safety of this station,” Lemec replied.
Moset’s eyes flared with rage. Not bothering to hide his satisfaction, Lemec turned to tactical. “Fi—”
Moset shoved Lemec aside and launched himself over the console. Before Lemec could react, the doctor slapped the control panel. The station’s shields dropped.
In moments, the two Jem’Hadar battle cruisers would fire phased polaron beams at the Enterprise’s weakened shields. From aft, two of the Cardassian cruisers recharged their spiral wave disruptors. With shields down to twenty percent, Captain Picard considered his limited maneuvering options, knowing his decision could mean the difference between escape and destruction.
“Captain, the station shields. They just came down.”
Excellent. This might be his only chance to beam the away team onto the station, but with enemy vessels bearing down on them, there was only one way he could think of to make it work. However, taking advantage of the situation would risk his ship and his crew.
Picard didn’t like to gamble with the lives of his people, but sometimes a shot at success was worth the risk—especially when the freedom of every Betazoid on the planet was at stake. He weighed the risks against the peril and made his decision.
The captain tapped his combadge. “Away team, stand by to transport. Tactical, prepare to lower shields.”
“Sir?” Daniels wiped perspiration from his eyes with his sleeve.
“You heard me, Lieutenant. Stand by for my command and open a hailing frequency.” The captain straightened his uniform and ignored the looks his bridge crew exchanged out of sight of the enemy. “This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise. I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage.”
“Jem’Hadar are responding, sir.”
“On screen,” Picard ordered.
A thick-skulled Jem’Hadar First stared at Picard from the viewscreen. “Prepare to die.”
“I’m prepared to surrender.” Picard ignored the gasps from around him.
“We don’t take prisoners.” The Jem’Hadar raised his hand to cut off communications.
Picard spoke quickly. “This is the Federation flagship. Much of its technology is still highly classified. This would be the Dominion’s first opportunity to examine a Sovereign-class vessel, as well as study its tactical databases. As a show of good faith, I’m dropping our shields.”
Picard motioned to tactical. Daniels might not agree with the risk his captain was taking, but discipline and training prevailed. Daniels lowered the Enterprise’s shields, leaving them completely vulnerable to attack. Picard continued with what he hoped seemed a careless disregard for his betrayal of the Federation. “Why don’t you consult with your superior officer and get back to me about terms for our surrender?”
He was betting that the Jem’Hadar didn’t have a Vorta on board. If the Dominion crew had to send a message and wait for further orders, Picard might buy enough time to transport the away team onto the station while his ship’s shields were down.
Picard signaled Daniels to end transmission, and the viewscreen went blank. “Transporter room, energize!”
“Transport initiated, sir,” came the reply. “They’re in.”
On Sentok Nor, Gul Lemec regained his footing in the operations center. He couldn’t believe the cretin Moset had dared to lay a hand on a gul. Even worse, the fool had lowered the station’s shields, putting all their lives at risk.
Raising his fist, Lemec fully intended to put a stop to the doctor’s interference, but Luaran stepped in front of Moset. “Save your wrath for the enemy. There will be no fighting among ourselves.”
“Just lots of dying if we don’t raise our shields,” Lemec shouted.
Luaran raised her eyes to the screen. “In a moment the freighter will have docked, and the station’s shields can be raised again.”
“Feel free to wait. In another moment we’ll be blasted out of the sky.” Enraged, Lemec rounded the console, fully intending to raise the station’s screens and defy Luaran’s wishes. With so many Cardassian lives at stake, Central Command would back his decision.
“Look.” Luaran pointed to the viewscreen. “Our ships have the lead Federation starship trapped. We are about to finish her off. There’s no need to waste the prisoners. Our enemy’s shields are down.”
Lemec’s battle instincts rebelled against leaving the station’s defensive shields lowered with an enemy so close—even a seemingly defeated enemy. He peered at the sensors, but spied nothing suspicious.
His communications officer glanced up with a confused look. “Sir, the Jem’Hadar say the Federation Sovereign-class starship is offering to surrender the ship and crew.”
“Blast them out of space,” Lemec ordered without hesitation.
“Absolutely not,” Luaran countered. “Don’t you recognize that ship? It’s the Enterprise. Capturing her would be a huge coup for us and a demoralizing defeat for Starfleet.”
“It’s a trick.”
“Really?” Luaran shook her head. “Do long-range sensors indicate a fleet of Federation ships ready to sweep down on us?”
“No, but—”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t we have superior firepower?”
“Yes, but—”
“Tell them we accept—”
Alarms suddenly rang out.
“Status?” the gul asked.
“We’re picking up a transporter signal.”
“Shields up,” he snapped.
Since his precious freighter had already docked, Moset didn’t protest.
“It’s too late, sir,” the science officer explained. “They’ve already beamed aboard.”
“Raise shields, Mr. Daniels, and fire at will,” Picard barked. “Perim, evasive maneuvers!”
As the battle was joined again following the successful insertion of Riker’s away team, Picard spared a moment to admire how well his crew had performed thus far. With the Federation forces stretched so thin, Picard had bargained with Starfleet to keep his senior officers by offering his lower-ranking crewmen to other ships. Now with most of his experienced officers on away missions, he’d been forced into battle primarily with wet-behind-the-ears ensigns and newly graduated Starfleet cadets. The situation aboard the Scimitar and Tulwar was no better. Under the leadership of experienced captains, personnel aboard the Saber-class ships were mostly rookies, too. In wartime, the neophytes would learn quickly or they wouldn’t survive. The manner in which the inexperienced crew had conducted themselves up to now made hope surge within him. Under the most difficult of circumstances, they had obeyed orders, risking their lives without question.
Picard’s initial gamble of surrendering to the Jem’Hadar had paid off, but greater challenges lay ahead.
Within the tactical inset on the viewscreen, Picard saw that the Scimitar and Tulwar had broken formation and were each savagely strafing a Cardassian cruiser with concentrated bursts of phaser fire off the stern of the Enterprise.
Softening them up, Picard realized. If he acted quickly—
“Lock aft torpedo launchers,” the captain snapped. “Full spread. Fire!”
As the Saber-class vessels veered away, pinpoints of red destruction fanned out from ports on the Enterprise’s stern, catching the overwhelmed Cardassian cruisers across the bows. One of the enemy ships erupted in a burst of light and debris. The other listed to starboard as small explosions ruptured the hull along its port side.
The Battle of Betazed Page 11
