by Emily
and nothing was certain; the short-range shield emitters were essentially down, running with no backup. If the strike fighters continued to hit any one area, they could inflict serious damage.
"Could," they already have. Taking out a Nebula-class Starship hadn't proved much of a problem.
"Positions, Lieutenant And run course probabilities. Without targeting it may be the best we can do."
Most of the directional sensors were working. Nog read the numbers aloud, tapping in trajectory calculations as he spoke. The Jem'Hadar had turned back toward the station, wheeling into a loose formation, point high.
"Dax, how's the station doing?" Jast asked.
"Unable to establish a full interface," Ezri said. "Their shields are down at least forty percent"
Jast seemed unfazed. "Let's see if we can tempt them away, people. Ensign, get us as close as you can to point at full impulse, bearing two-two-seven mark nine, and be prepared to run evasive pattern Theta 16 at my word. Lieutenant Nog, when we're 20 kilometers out to range, lay down a calculated phaser spread in front of the lead ship, firing at will. Better they mink we're a bad shot than underpowered." Nog could hear the grim humor in her voice. "Who knows, enough runs and we may get lucky."
It was a clever scheme. The Jem'Hadar could be fanatic about following point and although the computer predictions had a minimal chance of scoring a hit, die phasers would come close enough to be threatening. The evasive pattern would turn the Defiant back to run a two-degree parallel to its "strafing" course, keeping i he well-shielded front of the ship facing the attackers.
The Defiant sped away from the station, angling into the path of the point ship. The instant they went to fall impulse, Nog could see they were in serious trouble. At the unmanned engineering station, a bank of lights started to flash. All across the bridge, lights brightened—and abruptly dimmed, filling me tool-strewn deck with shadows.
"Sir, the mid-hull RCS thrusters are bleeding power from the electrical system!" Nog shouted. He knew the danger would be obvious to last; an electrical crash would shut everything down.
With a full crew, it would have been noticed immediately. Or if I'd bothered to look closer. I should have checked that, I should have—
"Compensate! Cut impulse to half and run a tap," last snapped.
"Sir, if we boost it from here without checking the source—" Nog began.
"I know," last said. "We risk an overload, but we don't have a choice."
Nog stepped away from tactical, but the commander was already out of her chair and headed for the engineering station. "Stay at your post, Lieutenant, I'm OB it Ensign, report."
"One hundred and ten kilometers and closing," Ten-mei said tensely. "Intercept projected course in eleven seconds."
As Nog knew from experience, experience he'd hoped never to revisit, those seconds seemed to stretch into eternity, time slowing, his senses recording it all. The trio of Jem'Hadar ships streaked toward the station, their flat, insectile shapes shimmering like water mirages beneath heavy shields. The low hum of the
bridge systems increased, the lights strengthening as Jast manipulated the power flow. Ezri called out the stats from DS9, confirming the toss of shield efficiency to thirty-seven percent and severe energy surges in every major system. Nog laid in the phaser directionals, intensely conscious of the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, the hot, acrid smell of scorched optical cable—and the crawl of numbers on the console that told him the Defiant was being targeted.
Forty... thirty... now.
Nog fired, a series of layered shots mat responded with agonizing slowness to his command—and as the bright pulse bolts shot out into space, he could feel that they were lucky, the triumph blossoming in his gut, visual proof following an instant later.
Yes!
The right flank ship took a massive hit to its port side and fell away, spinning out of control as hull plates tore and atmosphere escaped. A veil of light and mist trailed behind the dying ship like a comet's tail, a pale streak lost in the brilliance of the final explosion a second later.
Everything sped up then, as if making up for the eternity of waiting, happening too fast for Nog to absorb all at once. He started to call out the information to last, who was still at engineering; Tenmei was shouting at the same time that the lead ship was shifting position; and, from the pulse phaser mains below, Turo Ane was trying to tell him something about the hull, her voice filtering through the com in a haze of sudden, violent static—
—because the Jem'Hadar point ship was firing, scoring a jagged hit across the Defiant's bow. A terrible
light filled the screen. Nog hugged his console as the gravity net pitched, as the ship bounced and jerked, and Jast let out a short, sharp scream.
Tiae commander flew back from the engineering station in a shower of sparks and fell heavily to the deck. Nog stared at her for a half second before snapping his attention back to his screens, tapping up damage reports and checking their shields—but that half second was enough, the image of her face clear in his mind.
Commander Jast was dead.
The two remaining Jem'Hadar ships continued toward the station, apparently uninterested in the faltering Defiant as it rapidly angled away from mem. The commander wasn't moving, and for a second, in spite of a thousand small indicator alarms, it seemed strangely quiet on the bridge.
Because someone should be giving orders.
Ezri was on her feet before she considered what she was doing, her heart pounding, a number of powerful memories strong in her mind—mostly from Jadzia, confident and in control, moving about the Defiant's bridge, speaking as firmly as she was now.
"Nog, report"
Nog was obviously flustered, practically shouting the information. "Single intensity polaron, shields down to eighty percent! There was an electrical surge straight through the ship's structural body, warp plasma
injectors are down, and we've lost communications with the station!"
Electrical surge. Ezri had crouched next to Jast and touched the woman's brow, running her finger along the central vertical ridge. A Bolian's pulse could be detected there, something she hadn't known she knew; the memory was Curzon's, vague, holding a Bolian baby at a political dinner, feeling the flutter of life through the ridge of flesh and bone. Tiris Jast had no pulse. Her eyes were wide and fixed, and there was a settling of her features that Dax had seen often enough to recognize—life had left them, transforming the strong and delicate face into a waxy likeness of Jast's, into a mask.
Even if there was still a chance... No doctor aboard, they couldn't transport her, and no one on the Defiant could be spared for the shuttle. As quickly as that, the decision was made; she could doubt it later. Maybe. If they were very lucky.
'Tenmei, execute evasive pattern Theta 16," Ezri said, standing, stepping in front of the captain's chair. Jadzia had commanded the Defiant on more than one combat mission, which made her the only person on board with the experience for it It'll have to be close enough.
"Nog, shut down the bridge's engineering console, route it down to Turo. Is the shipwide working?" She was surprised at how calm she sounded, and it seemed to have a positive effect on Nog. He took a deep breath before answering.
"Negative."
"Then com them directly, tell mem to put everything they can into repairing the phaser lag—we need them
more than shields or thrust And keep trying to reestab-lish contact with the station. Tenmei, get ready, we're about to go on the offensive."
The Defiant swung back toward DS9, Ezri's stomach reeling as the inertial dampeners wavered. Both of the strike ships had reached their objective and were firing, brilliant arrows of light flashing up against the dark, glowing hull of the Lower Core. The ships dropped down and split as they completed their run, each darting away in a different direction, spinning and curving between pieces of the Aldebaran like strange, deadly fish.
They were much smaller man the Defiant, and faster, but only in s
prints. If we can bear down on them one at a time, refine phaser accuracy through constant bombardment and hone in... The Defiant would probably take heavy fire from the second ship, but it was a solid plan and they had to do something immediately. The station was practically defenseless.
"Hard to port, close in, and fire as soon as we're in range," Ezri said, feeling too many things to sort through, hidden among them a tiny astonishment as the full realization hit—she was commanding the Defiant by memories of Jadzia, but with a confidence all her own.
Except for the docking ring and the upper pylons, ops was situated at the point farthest from the attack on the Lower Core, but each hit resonated through all of the structure's segments. Ops trembled, lights and consoles wavering, streams of information lost as backup networks crashed—but enough came through Shar's console to show him how fortunate they were com-
reared to other parts of the station-Damage reports from the Lower and Mid Cores were serious, bordering on critical, and the Defiant had only managed to destroy one of the fighters. Unless last stopped them, another attack could prove disastrous to the already fluttering shields.
Kira shouted orders to divert power, to shut down noncritical systems, to evacuate everyone into the Upper Core. Even occupied as he was, Shar couldn't help but notice how well Kira handled herself. Her reputation for being indomitable under pressure was well-deserved.
As the tremors subsided and the Jem'Hadar coursed away, the Defiant veered sharply after the point ship.
"Defiant's status?" Kira called.
"Unable to lock sensors, and there was an energy surge after they were hit that wiped out the interface." Shar resisted the urge to extrapolate aloud on the state of the subspace sensors. He felt very focused, very alert, his ability to absorb and process information at its peak. He didn't glory in conflict or seek it out, but he couldn't help his body's natural response, an Andorian's response; the stimulus of the situation was now profound enough mat he had no fear of injury or death. And though he was deeply anxious for the station and horrified by the loss of life that the Aldebaran's destruction represented, he couldn't help his objectivity or his exhilaration.
The peace broken so soon; cruel and impractical. We're witnessing the creation of new woes. The obvious implications of the Jem'Hadar's actions had not been voiced, there was no benefit to it, but Shar silently
lamented the breaking of the treaty. Wars of ignorance benefited no one.
On me mam screen, the Defiant maneuvered into position behind the point ship and fired, multiple pulses that went wide, the striker gliding easily among the untargeted beams. The second ship was streaking back to join the battle, the Defiant and the point ship roughly 200 kilometers from the station at varying planes of altitude.
As the lead ship continued to elude the Defiant's attack, the second ship reached its weapons range and opened fire. The Defiant's rear shields sparked violently, but she held her course, closing on the target. Shar was impressed by last's commitment to their course of action, the Defiant taking several severe bits from behind as they continued their pursuit.
The tension in ops built upon itself, every spare glance on the main screen, every awareness at least partially toned to the Defiant's conflict She fifed again and again on the point ship as it swerved and dove, each series of shots coming closer, accuracy improving in costly increments as the second ship blasted mercilessly away.
Within the data stream that flowed across his console, an alarming series of numbers caught bis full attention—a partial sensor read on the Defiant that he hoped was faulty. If it was correct, Jast was about to lose her shields. And if mat happened with both Jem'Hadar still in commission, it was all over.
"Colonel, we're picking up the Defiant, they're losing their shields," he said, as there was another volley of shots from the second Jem'Hadar, brutal and effective that proved his words out. The Defiant's shield en-
velope burst, the only visible sign of her imminent demise a brief, brilliant flicker of her aura—
—and the Jem'Hadar point ship exploded, becoming an expanding wave of energy and debris. last's gamble had paid off; die Defiant was certainly damaged, but even without shields, they stood a likely chance at victory over a lone strike ship. The Defiant sailed up and over her victory, the last Jem'Hadar ship retreating rapidly as their target turned to confront them.
Nobody cheered. People had died and there was still an enemy to deal with, but the atmosphere in ops expressed a release of tension, a partial conquest understood. Techs returned to their work with renewed fervor. Shar was warmed by the release physically, his skin flushing in reaction to the elevated bioelectrical charge in the air. His left antenna itched madly.
Colonel Kira stood a few meters away with her fists clenched, watching the screen with an expression of total concentration, her body rigid.
"They're going to attack us again," she said, almost to herself, startling Shar. Of course they were, but somehow, it hadn't occurred to him until she spoke. The ship wasn't retreating from the Defiant; it was coming back for another run at the station.
The Jem'Hadar had to know they wouldn't survive, they shouldn't even have made it this far. Why would they stop firing on the station now, just because they'll certainly die?
"Put everything into shields, everything," Kira shouted, as the Jem'Hadar set its course back for the station—
—and as if some unloving god had decided to put a stop to their hopes, die Defiant died in space. Shar
didn't need to look at whatever scant information the station's sensors could tell him; it was there on the screen in front of them all.
The suddenly dark Defiant plummeted on momentum alone after the Jem'Hadar ship, no longer firing as the attacker closed on the station.
The money was all safe, of course. No good businessman would leave his latinum box or account access codes behind just because a few shots were fired. But in all the excitement, Quark had forgotten the kai wager sheet in the bar's hidden floor compartment An easy mistake, considering how hectic evacuations were, securing the bar, having to keep track of each fleeing customer's bill, but a mistake all the same. He'd been two steps from his heavily fortified storeroom when he remembered, and had been forced to risk life and limb to come back for the hard copy.
At least the firing seems to have stopped, I could probably just wait it out here. The bar was silent and empty, a depressing sight but strangely peaceful. Extending the bar's hours had been a wise decision, the profit margin respectable, but he sometimes missed the quiet times, the silence of the dabo tables when the lights were low....
/ have got to get more sleep. Maybe his stress level was higher man he thought. The station was under attack, after all, and his nephew was unaccounted for— although Quark figured Nog was probably slaving away on an engineering level somewhere, wishing he had taken the advice of his elders and kept the security assignment. As for the attack, it was probably a pack of drunk Klingons, or some random terrorist element...
the station had been fired upon more than once in recent years, and hadn't Mown up yet.
And if there was even a whisper of war in the air, I would have caught it. The proverbial "grapevine" enjoyed a healthy offshoot at Quark's, and he couldn't help overhearing a few things. Quite simply, nothing vast was brewing anywhere, or at least nothing within a troubling distance.
Quark replaced the floor panel behind the bar and stood, tucking the paper in his jacket Kira had been adamant about no more pools when she found out he was taking bets on Winn's successor (as it had turned out, her timing couldn't have been more fortuitous; he'd given easy odds on Ungtae, who was barely in the running anymore), and since he didn't want to spend any tone in a cell, he'd decided to keep mat one, at least, on paper. Programs could always be traced; anyone could draw up a list, if they remembered to use DNA-resistant paper.
Although considering who would arrest me, maybe I should let myself get caught...
"What the hell are you doing he
re?"
Startled, Quark looked up—and saw the source of his budding prison fantasy glaring down at him from the balcony.
"Lieutenant Ro!" He smiled up at her, pleased with the opportunity to interact with her again... assuming she hadn't seen him pocket the list. "I was just making sure that everything is secured here. You know, it's my responsibility to maintain Federation and Bajoran safety standards during all emergency procedures—"
"Fine, don't tell me," she said dismissively, heading
for the stairs. "But whatever it is, it's not worth risking your life over."
Quark nodded, simulating agreement The wager sheet was worth a few bars of gold-pressed latinum, easily. "Why are you here, if you don't mind me asking?"
"I had to check the holosuites," she said, starting down. "They're empty, by the way. Now if you don't mind, I think we should get—"
There was a sudden, violent quake, knocking Quark off his feet The already dimmed lights flickered, and there was the sound of glass breaking in one of the unshielded cabinets behind him, a high, clear sound over the heavy, threatening rumble of uncertain machinery.
Please, let that be machinery!
He stayed where he was for a few seconds after the rumbling stopped, waiting for the station to evaporate around nun in a ball of flame—but other than his stomach, which seemed to be in serious disagreement with his breakfast, nothing seemed to be broken.
He stood up, brushing at his coattails, suddenly quite anxious to get to a better-shielded area. "Lieutenant?"
No response. Then he heard a low groan, from the shadowy recess at the bottom of the stairs. Quark hurried to the end of the bar and out onto the main floor, worried about Ro, about the attack, wondering if he could be held liable somehow for any injury she might have incurred—
—and saw her lying on the floor, far enough from the stairs that she had to have been pitched off. Her eyes were closed and she groaned again, the sound half-conscious.
Quark hesitated, thinking it might be better if he
