The Battle of Betazed

by Charlotte Douglas

  “But you will be pleased to know,” Worf went on, “that long-range sensors are showing that their mission was successful. Sentok Nor has been destroyed.”

  “At least something’s gone right today,” Deanna muttered, then realized she’d spoken aloud. “Worf, I’m sorry. That’s wonderful news. How long before we reach Betazed?”

  Worf turned to the young Ferengi at conn. “ETA, Ensign Nog?”

  “Forty minutes, sir.”

  “Steady as she goes.”

  “Deanna,” Beverly’s voice sounded over Troi’s combadge “I need you in the medical bay.”

  Fearful of what news awaited her, Deanna hurried from the bridge. When she entered the medical bay, however, her spirits lifted. Vaughn, his right shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling, was sitting up on one of the beds. His face lit up in greeting when Deanna entered the room.

  “Your color has improved, Commander,” Deanna said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, thanks to Dr. Crusher. I should be back to normal in a day or so. And, as I understand it, thanks to you and Mr. Data as well.”

  Deanna ignored the offer of gratitude. “I’ll turn command of the mission back to you, then.”

  He shook his head. “Not yet, I’m afraid. Doctor’s orders. Did I thank you for saving my life?”

  She nodded. “But I should be thanking you. You were ready to die for Tevren.”

  “Not for Tevren,” Vaughn corrected. “For Betazed. There’s a difference. And I only did what any Betazoid would have done. Let’s just hope it wasn’t in vain.”

  On the other biobed nearby, Beverly completed her examination of Tevren and joined Deanna and Vaughn. “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the doctor said softly. “The unique technology of Tevren’s psionic inhibitor isn’t in the Defiant’s databases. And given the classified nature of Tevren’s incarceration, I doubt very much it’s in the Enterprise’s, either.”

  “Then we’ll find the specs on Betazed,” Deanna said.

  Beverly touched her arm. “I don’t think Tevren’s going to survive this trip, Deanna. His deterioration is continuing, and I can’t stop it. There’s nothing more I can do for him.”

  Deanna couldn’t believe it. “There’s got to be something—”

  “There isn’t. I’m sorry. I don’t know exactly how much longer he’s going to last, but it isn’t long. And he’s asked to speak with you.”

  Deanna nodded. She could feel Tevren’s extreme anxiety as she approached his bed. He turned his head toward her, his dark eyes no longer the same horrible void, but filled with the fear that emanated from his mind.

  “Am I dying?” he demanded in his dry voice that reminded Deanna of the rustle of dead leaves.

  “Yes,” Deanna said softly. “Your body is reacting adversely to the removal of your psionic inhibitor.”

  “Poor little Deanna,” Tevren said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  “Why poor me?”

  “You’re so deliciously conflicted. I’ve felt it ever since you broke me out of Lanolan’s box. If I survive, you have to bring me home, and the prospect of other Betazoids knowing what I know terrifies you.” Tevren was obviously finding it increasingly difficult to speak. The words started to come out in ragged breaths, but he refused to stop. “Now I’m dying, and somewhere deep inside, in a place you won’t admit exists, you’re glad. Because it means you did everything you could for Betazed, and now you think fate has seen fit to absolve you of the responsibility.”

  Deanna said nothing and turned to go, but Tevren’s bony fingers caught her wrist and pulled her back, forcing her to look at him. “Can’t handle facing yourself, Counselor?”

  Deanna glared at him in undisguised hate, but chose her words carefully. “Whether that’s true or not is a moot point. For better or worse, you are going to die before we make it home, and the choice really is out of my hands now.”

  “Is it?” Tevren whispered.

  Before she could react, he invaded her mind, pushing aside all barriers and forcing himself into her psyche. The events of his life cascaded through her in an instant, including every torturous deed and brutal murder he had ever committed. With horrifying clarity, she witnessed how he had killed his victims and, even worse, experienced the euphoria, the arousal he’d felt from soaking up the psychological terror and physical agony of his victims.

  Recoiling in horror, she wrenched herself from his grasp, but it was too late. She knew everything Tevren had wanted her to know, and the thought of it made him smile.

  “Go to hell, Deanna.”

  Alarms sounded on the biofunction monitors above his bed, and Beverly came running. Working desperately, she activated the neural stimulators on Tevren’s temples and injected him with a massive dose of epinephrine. After several frantic minutes of treatment, the doctor reached up and switched off the monitors.

  “He’s gone,” Beverly said. “I’m sorry. There was nothing else I could do.”

  Deanna turned away from Tevren’s body and crashed against an instrument cart, toppling it as she fell against the wall. Her mind reeled from Tevren’s intrusion and the awful truth of his dying malediction.

  “Deanna!” Beverly cried, rushing to help her. The doctor eased her into a chair as Vaughn ran over, both of them saying her name over and over, demanding to know if she was all right.

  All she could think about was the horrific burden Tevren had forced upon her, the knowledge that was now hers to share or withhold, the responsibility she thought she’d been freed from.

  Filled with self-loathing and an anguish she thought would consume her, Deanna fled to her quarters, bitterly aware that Tevren had won.

  With deliberate calm, Picard marched toward the Enterprise brig. O’Brien had already shown him the contents of Dr. Moset’s padd, but it contained only indecipherable numerical data, and neither the captain nor O’Brien had been able to determine from those cryptic notes whether Moset had succeeded in creating telepathic Jem’Hadar. He had ordered the chief and La Forge to work on it while he resolved to take a more direct approach.

  In the corridor outside the brig, Picard paused and straightened his uniform. Recognizing the maneuver as a stall before an unpleasant task, he took a moment to draw a deep breath. The prospect of confronting the doctor who had killed so many Bajorans and Betazoids repulsed him. Assuming the guise of a friend and colleague sickened the captain even more, but the sham might be his only chance of getting Moset to talk.

  The captain strode into the brig and, hoping their absence would create a more congenial atmosphere, dismissed the guards.

  In the far right cell, Moset huddled on a bunk behind a force field, his head resting on the wall, his knees drawn to his chest. The moment he spied the captain, the Cardassian jerked to his feet. “Come to gloat?”

  “On the contrary.” Picard forced a warm and congratulatory tone. “I’m here to pay my respects to the man who won the Legate’s Crest of Valor and made medical history for his work on the Fostossa virus.”

  Moset eyed him with suspicion. “How do you know about my work?”

  “You’re famous throughout the quadrant.” Picard settled into a chair on the opposite side of the force field and tried to appear relaxed. “As a fellow scientist—”

  “You’re a Starfleet captain.”

  “True, but archaeology is my first love, and while my standing in the scientific community is insignificant compared to yours, I’m hoping you’ll humor me.”

  The wariness hadn’t left the Cardassian’s eyes. “How?”

  “This damnable war has kept me from my true passion, my science. I miss stimulating conversations with colleagues, especially those with superior intellects, like yours.”

  Moset preened slightly at the praise, and Picard stifled a smile. Perhaps the exobiologist’s enormous ego would work in the captain’s favor after all.

  “Someday,” Picard continued, “this war will be over. Then everyone will remember that scientists, no
t soldiers, make the most important contributions to society.”

  “The war keeps interrupting my work,” Moset grumbled. “I needed more time . . .”

  His eyes burned with passion, and Picard noted with satisfaction that, with each stroke to Moset’s ego, the doctor acted less hostile.

  “Your work is much bigger than the war,” Picard said, struggling not to gag on his words. “And from what little I’ve been able to learn, it was quite compelling. Unfortunately, because my orders were to destroy the station, you may not receive the credit you deserve for your research aboard Sentok Nor.”

  “I have no doubt the Federation will execute me,” Moset said glumly.

  Picard didn’t bother explaining that the Federation didn’t kill prisoners. Instead, he used Moset’s misinformation to his advantage. “Perhaps I might be of some assistance.”

  Moset’s expression brightened. “You’re offering to help?”

  “If you explain your work to me, in lay terms, of course, I might convince my superiors that your scientific knowledge is more important than the petty political differences between our peoples.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “I cannot promise I would succeed. However, I can assure you that you will not be executed and that you will get full credit for your work.”

  Credit enough to rot in hell, Picard thought darkly.

  He kept his face impassive, knowing the notoriety Moset craved would keep the man behind a force field for the rest of his life. Recalling the dying Betazoids in the cargo bay, their suffering a direct result of the Cardassian’s experiments, Picard felt no guilt for misleading the man.

  “I was so close.” Moset paced the brig, seemingly unsuspicious of Picard’s interest. “First, I isolated the gene that allows Betazoids to develop telepathy. Then I designed a way to transfer the gene into mature Jem’Hadar.”

  “So you succeeded?”

  “The Founders provided such a poor product to work with,” Moset said with a disgusted shake of his head.

  “The Jem’Hadar?” Picard recalled Riker’s report of the thousands of Jem’Hadar that had not survived Moset’s experiments.

  Moset nodded. “In spite of the inferiority of these vat-grown soldiers, I made them telepathic.”

  Picard’s blood turned cold, but he refused to reveal the horror that chilled him. Faced with a telepathic fighting force, the Federation might never win the war.

  “My procedure worked,” Moset crowed, then his exhilaration faded. “But the Jem’Hadar died.”

  “They all died?” Picard prodded in a sympathetic tone.

  Moset was shaking his head at the frustrating memory. “Every damned one of them. Almost immediately.”

  “As a fellow scientist,” Picard said, “I can certainly understand your frustration.” The captain kept his voice even, consoling. “Perhaps you could explain to me why they died?”

  And Moset told him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  IN TRANSPORTER ROOM TWO of the Enterprise, Deanna struggled to keep her emotions under control. A few moments earlier, she had bidden Worf and Miles O’Brien good-bye, and their parting, although guardedly cheerful on the surface, had been underlaid with sadness. With war raging across the quadrant, Deanna didn’t know if she would ever see either of them again. They were sorely needed back on Deep Space 9 and in the front lines. In addition to the sorrow of parting with friends, the counselor struggled with apprehension over her upcoming visit to the resistance. Although she hadn’t heard from Lwaxana since the invasion of Betazed, she had always assumed her mother and little brother had managed to survive. Once Deanna reached the surface of the planet, she would learn the truth of her family’s fate. Tapping her forehead lightly with her fingertips in the reassuring meditation technique, she concentrated on positive thoughts to ease her inner turmoil.

  The transporter room doors opened, and Commander Vaughn strode in, fully recovered from his wound, followed by Will. The color had returned to the older officer’s face, as had the quickness to his stride, but she still sensed an underlying ennui whose cause she’d never been able to identify. Most likely he was tired of the war. Everyone was sick to death of it.

  “We’re beaming down with you,” Will said without preamble. “Things are getting bad on the surface. According to the Enterprise sensors, the Jem’Hadar have been busy since Sentok Nor was destroyed. They’re rounding up civilians indiscriminately and having a good number of them shot, probably hoping either to break the resistance, or find it. As far as we can tell, they’ve done neither, but the civilian death toll is rising fast. We don’t have much time.”

  Deanna nodded. “Then let’s go.”

  “I’m still worried that the Jem’Hadar will detect our transporter beam,” Riker said to Vaughn. “They may not notice it immediately, but they will before long, and then they could home in on the resistance stronghold.”

  “Can’t be helped,” Vaughn said. “And the way things are going down there, tactical projections are that the Jem’Hadar will find the resistance inside of forty-eight hours anyway.”

  Deanna took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Do you have confidence in the beam-in coordinates?”

  “They were contained in the original resistance message the Nautilus received asking for Tevren. However, because the Jem’Hadar are expected to overrun that position at any time, we’ll go in with phasers drawn.” Vaughn stepped onto the platform and nodded to the transporter chief. “Be prepared to yank us out at a second’s notice.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Ready when you are, Commanders.”

  Readying their own weapons, Deanna and Will joined him on the transporter pad, and Vaughn ordered, “Energize.”

  The next instant Deanna glanced around, finding herself on a rocky ledge at night, a dark wilderness spread out below her.

  Vaughn, phaser ready, did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree visual sweep of their beam-in location. “If the resistance was here, looks like they’ve left.”

  Deanna started to agree, then felt the gentle probe of a highly adept telepath brush her mind. A man stepped out of what appeared to be a solid wall of rock with his hands raised in a nonthreatening gesture.

  “You’re Starfleet, aren’t you?” He made no effort to hide the jubilation in his voice. “We had almost given up hope.”

  The commander lowered his phaser. “I’m Commander Elias Vaughn. This is Commander William Riker and—”

  “Deanna Troi. I’m Cort Enaren, and I’ve known Deanna since she was a little girl.” Enaren glanced past them. “You’re alone?”

  “The Enterprise is in orbit.” Deanna sensed Enaren’s disappointment. “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “My son, Sark.”

  “We received his message,” Vaughn explained. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “And Sark?” Enaren’s desperate hope was evident in his voice. “You left him on the ship?”

  Vaughn shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  Enaren’s face momentarily crumpled with sorrow, and grief stabbed Deanna. The casualties of Betazed had taken on a familiar face. She had played with Sark Enaren as a child, and they had attended school together. Her former classmate had apparently given his life to deliver the resistance’s message to Starfleet. How many more of the people she knew and loved had died?

  Enaren quickly regained his composure and pointed to the rock face. “Come with me.”

  Vaughn motioned Deanna ahead of them, and she followed Enaren through a fissure in the cliff wall and down a rock-strewn trail. They had progressed only a few meters when approaching footsteps hammered on the path ahead of them. Another mind reached out to touch hers, and happiness flooded through her. She raced past Enaren and ran straight into Lwaxana’s arms.

  “Oh, Little One, I thought I’d never see you again!” After a fierce, brief hug, Lwaxana tugged Deanna through an aperture in the mountainside and down a short tunnel that opened into a large chamber filled with
people. After the midnight darkness, the bright light and smoke of the torches burned Deanna’s eyes, and the smell of unwashed bodies assaulted her nose.

  Most distressing of all, however, was her mother’s appearance. Deanna couldn’t remember ever seeing her mother when she wasn’t elegantly dressed or didn’t have her hair perfectly coiffed, but the woman in front of her was a shambles. If Lwaxana’s mind had not already touched hers, Deanna wouldn’t have recognized her. Her clothes were tattered, her hair windblown and knotted, and dark circles ringed her eyes. Her formerly voluptuous figure was skin and bones. Underneath her happiness at reuniting with her daughter lay desolation and grief.

  “Barin?” Deanna asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  Before Lwaxana could reply, a small body launched itself out of the crowd and latched onto her knees.

  “D’anna! You bring me chocolate?”

  Deanna knelt and gathered her brother in her arms. “Not this time, Barin, but I will the next, I promise you.”

  Someone detached herself from the group and picked up Barin. Deanna realized with a start that the young woman who looked more like a scarecrow was her cousin Chaxaza. She, too, had obviously suffered from the privations caused by the conquering armies.

  “Chaxaza, it’s good to see you.” Guilt flooded through Deanna. She had fought the Dominion, losing friends and crewmates in the process, but she hadn’t experienced the deprivation these people had. At the end of every battle, she had always had her shower, her clean uniforms, and her replicator.

  “Will!” her mother cried, interrupting her thoughts. “And Elias, is that you?” Lwaxana ran forward and immediately apprised the officers of a terrible outbreak of Rigelian fever among the children in the resistance stronghold.

  Riker turned to Enaren. “We’ll need to gather all the children and any noncombatants together immediately,” the first officer told him as he tapped his combadge. “Riker to Enterprise, prepare to beam up sick and injured, mostly children. Inform sickbay to expect numerous cases of Rigelian fever, malnutrition, and assorted injuries. Stand by to transport on my signal. Riker out.” Riker gestured for Enaren to lead the way deeper into the tunnels of the stronghold.