There was no time to savor the victory; the Enterprise shook again under enemy fire.
“Shields at fifteen percent, sir,” Daniels called out. “Jem’Hadar ships are moving to intercept. Captain, I think they intend to ram us.”
That won’t do. Picard studied the tactical inset, then glanced at the chronometer. It was going to be close.
“Stay on course,” Picard ordered. “Increase speed. Maximum impulse.”
Perim glanced over her shoulder. “Sir, the Jem’Hadar ships—”
“Follow my orders, Ensign,” Picard said calmly. “Full impulse.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Picard could hear the tremor in Perim’s voice, but was pleased to see her hands move quickly to execute his order. And as she did, the first of the Jem’Hadar warships swept toward them.
Chapter Ten
RIKER, LA FORGE, O’BRIEN, and a security detail of six beamed into an access tunnel of Sentok Nor’s upper core near a panel that, the chief was certain, opened into the station’s security office. Calling on the vast knowledge of Cardassian technology he’d gained on Deep Space 9, O’Brien had selected the insertion point. Like those of its sister station, Sentok Nor’s eighteen-plus kilometers of access tunnels were effectively shielded not only from electromagnetic interference, but also, and more importantly for this mission, from active scanning beams. “Unless Cardassian sensors have improved significantly,” O’Brien said, “the station’s security force will have a hell of a time finding us, especially if we keep moving.”
“They know we’re here,” Riker said. “Sensors in ops will have picked up our transporter signals. We have to assume Cardassian and Jem’Hadar security teams are scouring every nook and cranny trying to locate us, so stay alert.”
O’Brien craned his neck, taking his bearings. “Let’s hope the resistance has drawn all the Jem’Hadar to the planet.”
“Yeah,” La Forge said with irony, “so that leaves only about fifty Cardassian engineers and who knows how many of their soldiers to slow us down.”
“Our first objective is crucial,” Riker reminded them. “Once we take control of the security office, we can shut down every system on the station—”
“Environmental, communications, engineering, and tactical,” O’Brien said with a grin. “What more could a man want?”
Riker allowed his team a few moments to adjust to the warm, dry conditions with the slightly higher concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere mixed for Cardassian comfort. In the cramped tunnel, where a cross-section measured a mere one-point-three meters by one-point-four meters, La Forge snapped on a light, and the toranium frames and duranium panels gleamed dully around them.
“Ready?” Riker asked O’Brien.
“Ready, sir.” With efficiency and speed even in such tight quarters, O’Brien set up a portable force field generator to create an invisible wall blocking off an area eight meters in diameter and four meters high. The force field secured their portion of the tunnel and extended into the adjoining security office, preventing Cardassian reinforcements from pouring into the office and grabbing the away team as they exited one by one from the tunnel. Their Starfleet combadges contained receivers keyed to the force field generator, so they could move freely in or out of the field. Anyone else would be trapped either inside or outside the force field. Riker doubted, however, that they’d be lucky enough to find the security section unguarded.
“Commander,” La Forge whispered, “the access panel into the security office is directly behind me.” He wiggled into position in the cramped space, removed a device from his belt, then pressed it against the panel.
Riker motioned for half the security detail and O’Brien to retreat down the access tube and around a corner, just in case armed resistance awaited them on the other side.
La Forge slowly popped open the panel. Those around Riker held their breaths. An angry squad of Cardassians could be trapped inside the force field with them, waiting on the other side of that panel. Or Riker’s group might find no one in the office at all. The team members would be most vulnerable during their exit from the tunnel, since the small opening forced them to enter the office one at a time.
His phaser set on stun, Riker took the point, diving and rolling through the panel’s opening into the tiny office and surprising two armed Cardassians. The soldiers fired, but Riker kept moving, and the weapons blasted holes in the spot he’d just vacated, fortunately nowhere close to where the rest of his team waited.
Smoke from the burning metal stung Riker’s nostrils. Adrenaline surged into his system and added power to his movements. His diving lunge knocked one of the thick-necked Cardassians off his feet and awkwardly tumbled him to the deck, giving Riker time to confront the second man. From the office floor, Riker side-kicked his foe’s wrist, sweeping the Cardassian’s phase disruptor rifle to the floor with a loud clatter.
The Cardassian sprang for the rifle.
Riker knocked it across the room. The Cardassian’s hands came up empty, and he swore and turned his fury on Riker. The soldier charged, his large hands grasping for Riker’s throat. Riker shifted and rammed an elbow into his opponent’s jaw, heard it crunch as bones broke. The commander followed up with a damaging knee to the groin.
With a soft gurgle, the Cardassian collapsed, and his unconscious weight pinned Riker to the deck. Shoving the fallen man aside, Riker started to level his phaser at the other Cardassian, but his foe had regained his feet. He loomed over Riker, his weapon aimed, ready to fire.
“Don’t move,” La Forge ordered, his phaser pointed at the Cardassian’s chest.
The Cardassian froze in surprise. Riker shoved to his feet, careful not to block La Forge’s aim. “Thanks for the assist.”
“I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun,” La Forge replied, never taking the focus of his ocular implants off the Cardassian. “Drop your weapon.”
The Cardassian’s finger flexed. La Forge reacted faster and fired his phaser. The second Cardassian hit the deck with a thud, and the engineer shook his head. “They never learn when to give up.”
Riker wondered briefly how the Enterprise was faring. He had limitless faith in Captain Picard, but they’d transported away from a tactical nightmare—one Picard had deliberately taken the ship into so Riker’s team could insert.
Then there was Deanna, who, along with two of his closest friends and one arrogant, inscrutable old man, might even now be fighting for her life trying to break a sociopath out of prison on an enemy-occupied planet—
Enough! Snap out of it, Will! Stay focused!
At Riker’s signal, O’Brien and the rest of the team poured through the access panel. Riker ordered security to restrain and gag the wounded Cardassians and move them out of sight into one of the brig’s holding cells.
O’Brien reached into his tool kit and took out a Starfleet tricorder and a Cardassian padd. The padd was specifically loaded, he’d claimed, with the root patterns of every decryption program the Cardassian military had in use until the Cardassians withdrew from Bajor. There was, of course, a very good chance a lot of them would no longer work. But a few still would. The trick was going to be finding the right one so they could hack in. O’Brien placed the padd on the desk, then set up an interface between the padd, the tricorder, and the security console.
Riker eyed the unlikely arrangement of devices warily. “I hope this works.”
“So do I, Commander,” O’Brien said without looking up.
Riker nodded toward the padd. “Who’d you say you got those codes from again?”
“Fellow I know on DS9,” O’Brien said absently. “The guy who fixes my pants.”
* * *
Standing before the door Director Lanolan’s housekeeper had just slammed in their faces, Deanna Troi prepared to reach for her phaser. With their cover blown and the Jem’Hadar at their backs, the Daronan away team would have to fight their way to the prison.
“I’ll take the leader,” Vaughn whispered qu
ickly. “On my signal . . .”
Before Vaughn could complete his instructions, the door swept open and Director Lanolan stepped onto the porch. “You must forgive Adana. The soldiers frightened her. Please, come in.”
The director, tall and thin as Deanna remembered but with his dark hair now completely gray, stood aside for them to enter. Crusher assisted Vaughn, who continued his senile old man disguise, across the threshold. To maintain her character in the family charade, Deanna gave Data an impatient shove, then followed him inside.
We told the Jem’Hadar we’re a family who work for you, Deanna advised Lanolan as she passed. Please don’t give us away.
I’ll do my best.
Once his visitors were inside, Lanolan descended the steps toward the patrol leader. Deanna and the others moved out of sight of the open door and, on Vaughn’s signal, drew their phaser rifles.
“If Lanolan can’t convince them we’re his domestics,” Vaughn whispered, “we attack first to gain the advantage. Understood?”
Deanna nodded with the others, but she feared for her mentor. The director stood directly in the line of fire between them and the Jem’Hadar.
“Is there a problem with my staff?” Lanolan’s loud, clear voice carried easily and echoed off the limestone floor of the foyer where the away team hovered in the shadows.
“They have been wandering the countryside without proper credentials,” the patrol leader said.
“Idiots,” the director said heatedly. “I’ve told them repeatedly, but they’re not very bright, I’m afraid. Shall I send them for their ID chips now?”
The patrol leader hesitated, as if considering Lanolan’s offer.
“Set phasers to maximum,” Vaughn ordered in a soft but steely voice.
Deanna held her breath and checked her weapon, dreading the prospect of taking life but ready to carry out her orders.
“We’ve already wasted enough time,” the Jem’Hadar said. “Be warned that if they’re abroad again without ID chips, we’ll kill them.”
“Understood,” Lanolan said in a conciliatory tone. “They are a trial to my patience as well, but with the war, domestics are hard to find, even poor ones.”
Without another word, the Jem’Hadar patrol marched down the walkway and onto the road. A moment later, Lanolan stepped inside, closed the heavy outer door and locked it. He turned to Deanna, a thin sheen of perspiration glistening on his upper lip.
“That was close. Come.” With three long strides, he crossed the foyer to what appeared simply another of the wooden panels that lined the walls, but with a flick of his hand along the top molding, the panel swung inward. “You’ll be safe in here, in case the Jem’Hadar return.”
Data stepped into the hidden passageway first, followed by Beverly, then Deanna. Vaughn brought up the rear with Lanolan, who closed and secured the panel from the inside before following them down a spiral staircase to an underground room. They entered through a utilitarian titanium-alloy door with an intricate locking system, but the room’s interior, by contrast, was lavish in its furnishings. Comfortable chairs and sofas, lush tropical plants, and a state-of-the-art replicator provided the well-lighted area with a pleasing ambience. A cozy grouping of chairs around a table filled the corner nearest the food replicator.
“A bolt-hole,” Lanolan announced, “one I built primarily for the safety of my wife in case any of our more dangerous prisoners escaped. Until today, I’ve never needed it, thank the gods.”
He turned to Troi. “It’s good to see you, Deanna, though I must admit, your visit has taken me quite by surprise. Please tell me you’re here on behalf of the Federation, and that Betazed and Darona are about to be liberated.”
Vaughn spoke up. “That’s why we’re here, sir. I’m Commander Elias Vaughn of Starfleet. This is Dr. Crusher, and Lieutenant Commander Data. We’re part of a mission to help the Betazoid resistance drive the Dominion from your system. The situation is a bit complicated, but what it comes down to is that we need your help. Commander Troi can explain.”
“My help?” Lanolan frowned. “I don’t understand. What can I do? Wait, forgive me. Can I offer you refreshment? Are you hungry?”
Vaughn shook his head. “We haven’t time to eat, but we’ll take water if you have it.”
Lanolan went to the replicator and quickly handed out bulbs of chilled Daronan spring water, which Data alone politely declined. Deanna’s first sip of the distinctive sweet liquid brought memories of her months of internship tumbling back, triggering nostalgia for a simpler, gentler time when the universe had been a safer place.
Once his guests had been served and seated, Lanolan took a chair and turned to Deanna. “Now, will you tell me what this visit is about?”
Deanna nodded. As swiftly as possible, she recounted the Starfleet defeat in its attempt to drive the Dominion forces from the Betazed system, the formation of the Betazoid resistance, the building of Sentok Nor, and the plans to destroy it. She saved until last the resistance request for Tevren and their intention to apply his unique telepathic talent in their fight against the Dominion.
“You can’t be serious.” Lanolan’s face glowed an unnatural white against the beige of his prison director’s uniform, and he shuddered visibly with misgiving. His disbelief and reluctance rolled over Deanna in waves. In all her time on Darona, she had never seen the garrulous director at such a loss for words.
Vaughn looked down at him. “The request for Tevren’s help comes straight from the leaders of the Betazoid resistance, Director. We’re not insensitive to the ethical quandary the plan presents—”
“Ethical quandary?” Lanolan exploded. “Respectfully, Commander, have you any idea at all how dangerous the individual you propose to take with you is? Or what would happen if he were unleashed?” He turned his glare on Troi. “Or what this ‘talent’ as you euphemistically call it would do if it were loosed among our people? How can you be party to this? You of all people! You’ve seen what he’s capable of!”
“Yes, I’ve seen it,” Deanna said quietly, meeting his eyes. “You know what else I’ve seen? Casualty lists. Names of dead Starfleet officers that seem to go on forever. I’ve seen the wreckage of spacecraft that once held hundreds, sometimes thousands of lives. And among the survivors of such carnage, I’ve seen men and women, wounded not just in body but in mind. And on this very day, Director, I felt a family of Betazoids—a father, a mother, and their children—as they were shot dead by Jem’Hadar while trying to enter Jarkana.
“The Federation isn’t winning this war, sir,” she went on, her words gathering strength as she spoke. “And Starfleet fears that by the time it can muster a force capable of ousting the Jem’Hadar from Betazed, the Dominion will have used our world to launch attacks upon others. But if this nightmare continues, it will not, it will not be because we didn’t do everything in our power to end it. So please don’t ask me how I can go along with this until you’ve seen what I’ve seen.”
Deanna sensed her mentor’s turmoil, even though he struggled to keep his emotions shielded. No matter how hard he tried, however, he couldn’t hide his supreme loathing at the prospect of loosing Tevren on the civilized world.
Vaughn spoke quietly. “With your cooperation, Director, we may be able to do this quickly and with a minimum of bloodshed. We certainly don’t want any innocents to be hurt in the process. But make no mistake, we’ll take Tevren whether you help us or not.”
Lanolan covered his face with his hands. “Please give me a moment. I need to think.”
Taking pity on her old friend, Deanna crossed to the replicator and ordered his favorite drink, one whose consumption Madame Lanolan had always rationed severely: Saurian brandy.
She handed the glass to the director, who chugged it down as if it were vile medicine. He returned the snifter with a quivering hand. Again she sensed his emotions were closed and blocked, but she better than anyone else in the room could understand his anguish.
“You would truly storm
the prison?” Lanolan asked Vaughn in disbelief.
No one could mistake the determination in the commander’s eyes. “We’ll do what we have to.”
“But my guards are unarmed,” Lanolan said. “The only means the Jem’Hadar left us to contain our prisoners is the force fields.”
Deanna knelt beside Lanolan’s chair and placed her hand on his arm. “Please, help us. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”
The old man slumped in his chair. “You’ve obviously had time to think through the ramifications of this insane scheme. As for me, I can see only tragedy in what you propose.”
“The tragedy if we don’t go through with it is far worse. Director,” Deanna prodded gently. “We’re running out of time.”
He lifted his head and met her gaze. “I’ll take you to him, but I’ll also hold you responsible for what he unleashes.”
Deanna shivered at the director’s declaration and at the violent emotions clashing inside the man in spite of his attempts to hide them.
With a weary shove, Lanolan regained his feet and crossed the room. From a compartment by the replicator, he removed an older model of a Federation phaser and concealed it in his smock. “If we run into Jem’Hadar on the way to the prison, you’ll need all the firepower you can get.”
“Then let’s move out,” Vaughn said.
The trek through Lanolan’s back gardens and up the hill to the prison took only minutes. At the director’s instructions, the guards at the gate dropped the force field for the group to pass into the prison grounds. Deanna stared around her in disbelief. The exotic gardens she remembered from her internship were choked with weeds and dying from neglect.
The director read her thoughts and shook his head sadly. “Outdoor activity had to be discontinued once the occupation started,” he explained. “Since we’re no longer permitted weapons, we can’t risk arming our prisoners with gardening tools.”
The Battle of Betazed Page 12
