Objective: Bajor

by John Peel

  "On screen," Sisko ordered. He straightened in his seat. "What is it now?"

  Dron's face looked slightly puzzled, if Sisko was reading him correctly. "Captain Sisko, I owe you our thanks. We saw what you just did. You probably saved the lives of thousands of my people."

  "I didn't do it for you," Sisko replied. "I did it to prevent you from taking revenge on the survivors from your massacre."

  "Whyever you did it," Dron answered, unperturbed, "you have our thanks. I am quite surprised by your actions." His nose twitched. "You do not live on a planet, do you?"

  "No," Sisko answered. "We are from Deep Space Nine. It's a station in orbit about Bajor." He wondered if it was wise to give that information, but could see nothing to be gained by keeping the truth secret.

  "Ah." Dron seemed happy with the news. "I had suspected that you were an intelligent person."

  Sisko wondered what that was supposed to mean. "I'm also a very angry one," he replied, as calmly as he could. "Right now, my priority is to help the survivors back to Bajor. Once that is done," he leaned forward in his seat, "I promise you, I'll be back."

  The Hivemaster nodded slightly. "Yes. We may have a great deal to discuss. I look forward to seeing you again, Captain." The picture broke up.

  "I look forward to feeling my hands around his scrawny neck, Kira muttered. "Can you believe the nerve of him? Making it sound like a social call?"

  Sisko spun to face her. "Well, he'll be disabused of that notion very quickly," he promised. "Whatever Dron thinks, I aim to see that he pays very dearly for what he and his people have done to Darane."

  CHAPTER 11

  GUL DUKAT TURNED away from his screens, thinking furiously. The science team on the Karitan had decided that these unknown aliens were using some kind of monofilament weapon, which had interested him greatly. The level of the invaders' technology was quite formidable.

  There had to be some way to obtain it for Cardassia. . . .

  Dukat had been completely unprepared to witness the destruction of Darane, however. Seeing the alien ship enclose and then demolish the world had been quite unsettling. Nothing was now left of the planet but a smoking, blackened core.

  That was a weapon the Cardassians needed to obtain!

  However, there was more than the seed of uncertainty in Dukat's mind. Could even they defeat a foe as powerful as this? He was certain that the aliens would never give over their technology willingly. It was bound to come down to a match of force, but Dukat could not be certain that the Cardassians would prevail in such a match.

  And, if attempted and lost, such a war would presumably end with Cardassia itself in the place of Darane IV. The stakes were very high indeed.

  But the prize might be worth taking that risk.

  The Karitan had intercepted the conversation between Sisko and the Hivemaster. Dukat had not been too surprised by Sisko's actions. He tended to be quite predictable—for the most part. And when he wasn't predictable, he was quite a formidable ally—or foe. Sisko had bought time to evacuate the refugees, and then aimed to return.

  Was he, too, after the alien technology? The Federation preferred to barter for such things, so perhaps Sisko was returning to contact his superiors and arrange for negotiations. . . . It would be completely unacceptable for the Federation to possess this alien technology and for the Cardassians to be denied it, of course. That would affect the balance of power here far too much.

  Dukat rose to his feet and glanced around the monitoring room. No one was paying any attention to him, which was as it should be. "Ral," he barked. "Take over monitor control. If any further communications from the Karitan come through, acknowledge only and then contact me immediately. I shall be in conference with the other Guls. For the Karitan and that alone you are authorized to disturb me."

  "Understood," Ral replied, saluting. He marched across and took over Dukat's station.

  Dukat nodded curtly, and then walked thoughtfully from the room. The next decision could not be his alone, but it would have to be made swiftly. The Federation could not be allowed to be the sole recipient of this alien technology. Better yet, the Federation should not possess it at all; it belonged in Cardassian hands.

  Deep Space Nine was a shambles. The Defiant had escorted most of the refugee ships that had fled the destruction of Darane back to the station. Many of them barely made the journey, and Sisko had been forced to evacuate eighteen of the smaller, older vessels during the flight. The Defiant had been crowded when it had docked. Now the several hundred smaller refugee vessels swarmed about the station, awaiting their turn at the docking ports.

  Sisko had contacted Lieutenant Soyka on his way back, and he had managed to organize dozens of spare rooms. Others that had been unoccupied since the Cardassian departure three years before were being opened and prepped for temporary use. Everywhere one looked on the station, there was feverish activity.

  Many of the refugees had nothing but the clothes they wore. Even so, they were the lucky ones. Hundreds were in need of medical help, and Bashir had fled to the infirmary as soon as he could. He and his teams were working like dervishes, trying to get at least the most serious cases stabilized. Even so, there were hundreds waiting, with temporary bandages covering scar tissue, gashes, and sometimes even the stumps of lost limbs.

  Those survivors who were at least mobile tried to find rooms and stay out of the way, but it wasn't easy. They were tired, scared, sick, and angry. There was no way that they could forget what had happened to them, even for a moment.

  Shuttles were also arriving from Bajor with whatever medical staff and supplies Shakaar had managed to obtain. It wasn't much, but it was a help—and it added to the congestion. As Sisko made his way to Ops, the cries, the despair, and the tears of the refugees gathered around him like a cloud. He couldn't afford to let his anger and sympathy affect his judgment, and he tried his hardest to steel his heart against reacting.

  It wasn't easy.

  Reaching Ops at last gave Sisko a little quiet. Only the essential staff were here, and the noise seemed muted compared with the rest of the station. Kira and Dax were already at their posts. O'Brien, of course, was nowhere to be seen. He was either helping to prep more rooms for the refugees or else already back at work on the Defiant. Lieutenant Soyka nodded to Sisko, and then took a science station out of the way.

  "Contact Starfleet," Sisko ordered him. "I want to speak with Admiral Noguchi immediately." He turned to Kira. "I think you'd better speak to Minister Shakaar," he said gently. "Tell him everything that's happened."

  "And then what?" Kira asked pointedly. "He's bound to want to know what we're going to do." She didn't have to add what Sisko could read in her eyes: And so do I.

  "Tell him that we're going back as soon as the refugees are unloaded from the Defiant. We're going to talk with Hivemaster Dron."

  "Just talk?" demanded Kira.

  "What would you have me do?" Sisko asked mildly.

  The tone should have warned her off, but it didn't. She glared at him. "Wipe them out," she said bluntly.

  "With what?" Sisko asked. "Even if the chief gets the Defiant's weapons systems back on-line, I very much doubt we could take out that starship of theirs. And I'm not at all sure that we should, even if we could."

  Kira gave him a filthy look. "They massacred Darane!"

  "I don't need to be reminded of that," Sisko answered.

  "But who is they? Is it every inhabitant of the Hive? That ship is enormous; it must contain a population of millions, if not billions. Are they all guilty? Or was the attack planned and executed only by the elite? Until I know for a fact which it was, I am not going to sanction genocide."

  Conflicting emotions warred across Kira's face. Finally, though, she managed to neutralize her expression and give a very tight nod. "I'm sorry, Captain," she said, through gritted teeth. "You're right, of course. Genocide is not the answer."

  "Thank you." Sisko managed a weak smile. "But I'm sure you expressed an opinion a lo
t of people must hold by now. Probably one that Shakaar will have. Do your best to see that he understands mine, please."

  "Of course." Kira turned, and Sisko could see the tension in every muscle of her lithe body. It wasn't easy for her to control the urge to strike back.

  It wasn't a lot easier for him to restrain the same urge.

  "I have Admiral Noguchi for you, sir," Soyka called out.

  "I'll take it in my office," Sisko replied. He felt almost as though he were fleeing Ops and accusing eyes as he headed for his room. As the doors hissed shut, he hurried to his desk and tapped in the accept call code. The ancient, wrinkled face stared back at him. "Admiral."

  "Captain," Noguchi replied, inclining his head slightly. "You have something to report?"

  "Yes," Sisko sighed. "I have to report the destruction of Darane Four, and the deaths of a great number of its inhabitants. I'll be transmitting complete recordings, Admiral, but thought you should hear this immediately." He gave a brief report of all that had happened. "I'm getting ready to return to the Hive," he finished. "Hivemaster Dron has agreed to a meeting."

  Noguchi's face seemed to have grown even more lines while Sisko had been talking. "And what do you aim to do, Captain?" he inquired.

  "Discover who is responsible for this massacre," he answered. "How long will it be before I can expect backup?"

  Scowling slightly, the admiral answered, "Seven days."

  "A week?" Sisko tried not to make it sound like a reprimand. "Isn't that a … long time?"

  Noguchi nodded. "As you know, we don't like to keep too many large vessels in your sector, Captain. It makes the Cardassians rather nervous. Normally, the Enterprise would have been much closer, but …" He spread his hands. Sisko knew all about the recent destruction of the Enterprise-D, of course. "The next closest vessels are the Farragut and the Pike. I've had both rerouted to you. The Farragut will arrive in seven days, and the Pike in nine. That's the best I can do, Benjamin."

  That wasn't what Sisko had been hoping to hear. Knowledge that there was a starship close behind the Defiant would have boosted morale. Especially his. "And how about our allies, sir?" he asked carefully. "Any chance of help there?"

  "The Klingons are being rather … difficult at the moment," Noguchi answered politely. "They will not be able to spare aid. The Cardassians, of course, have three fleets in your vicinity, but they also claim they can spare no ships,"

  "Marvelous," muttered Sisko. "So, it's entirely up to me, then?"

  "I have tremendous faith in you, Benjamin," Noguchi answered. "How are repairs to the Defiant progressing?"

  "At last word, we had no weapons up and running," Sisko informed him. "I imagine that will be rectified as soon as possible, but it does mean that at the moment my most powerful weapon is diplomacy. I'd have preferred something considerably stronger."

  Noguchi nodded. "Yet you have always been very capable at talking. I am sure you will do everything possible in these less than encouraging circumstances."

  "I don't have a lot of options, do I?" asked Sisko.

  "No," agreed Noguchi. "And for that I am truly sorry. You are in a very difficult position."

  "Then I'll simply have to work harder to extricate myself." With a sigh, Sisko signed off. Not good news. Not good at all. Seven days …

  Who knew what the invader would be up to in seven days?

  He clambered to his feet, wishing he had time for a shower and some rest. Right now, they were luxuries he simply couldn't afford. He returned to Ops, and caught Major Kira's eye. She didn't look at all happy. "What's wrong now?" he asked gently.

  "Shakaar is … less than overjoyed with my report," Kira informed him. "He is also less than happy with what we've done so far. He seems to share the majority opinion on Bajor."

  Sisko sighed. "Which is that we should annihilate the invaders?" he guessed.

  "Something like that."

  "Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint him—and the rest of your planet. At the moment, I doubt we could eliminate a fly using the Defiant's weapons." He tapped his communicator. "Sisko to O'Brien. Give me some good news, Chief. I really need it."

  There was a slight cough, and a muttered oath, and then O'Brien's testy reply: "Weapons are up, Captain. We've got about forty-percent capacity right now."

  "Thank you, Chief," Sisko said sincerely. "That's the best news I've had all day."

  "And," O'Brien added, "the refugees are almost all evacuated. I've just got a systems check to run, and we can launch again in … oh, fifteen minutes, I'd estimate. Fontana and I can work on the weapons systems in flight."

  "Chief, you're a marvel." Sisko nodded to Kira. "'Major, Dax … get Odo again, and meet me on the Defiant." He managed a tight smile. We're going to practice our diplomacy."

  "I'm not so sure about that," Harl said, staring at the comp. "It seems potentially dangerous to me."

  "Well, of course there will be some risk," Tukh agreed, scowling. "But this is rebellion, right? We aim to show the Hivemasters what we think of their plans. We have to take some chances."

  "I know that," Harl replied, trying not to let his anger get the better of him. Tukh was on his side, after all. "But sabotaging the drones seems to me to be an indiscriminate method of striking at them. Someone might get injured."

  "Afraid?" asked Tukh, sneeringly. "You're not truly committed to change, are you?"

  "No one can say that about me," Harl said. He felt like slamming his companion's head against the nearest metal wall. "But I want to be certain that when I strike, it will harm only the Hivemasters. We are not at war with our fellows."

  "I know that, of course," agreed Tukh, obviously attempting to placate him. "But we have to get attention. Sabotaging the drones in this sector while they are hard at work will draw a lot of notice."

  Harl considered it. While the drones were replicating feverishly, it wouldn't be too difficult to cause a glitch in their programming. But there were an awful lot of workers around, and too many chances that one or more might be injured it something unexpected occurred. "No," he decided finally. "It's a good idea, but too risky, We'll have to find some other way of striking." He handed the comp back to Tukh. "This is not the way."

  Scowling, Tukh accepted the comp ungraciously. "I think you're wrong," he complained. "But … have it your way."

  "Good." Harl moved off to his next workstation, ignoring his companion in rebellion.

  Which was decidedly a mistake. As soon as Harl disappeared from view, a wide smile crossed Tukh's snout. "It doesn't matter what you wish," he said softly. "The sabotage will take place." He glanced down at the comp he held carefully. It had Harl's palm prints all over it, and he had been the one to use the keys to access the details of the sabotage.

  Once Tukh set the destruction in motion, it would be Harl who would be blamed for the resulting explosion. And Tukh was quite certain that there would be casualties. He'd already selected three victims who would be in the processing area when the drones exploded.

  With three victims and such a visible act of sabotage, Harl was bound to be arrested, tried, and convicted, just as Security Master Raldar had ordered.

  Pleased with his planning, Tukh set off to finish his task.

  CHAPTER 12

  GUL DUKAT STOOD stiffly at attention in the quarters of Gul-Tar Keve. The suite of rooms was very spartan, even by Cardassian standards. This would not have been so remarkable had Keve not been the effective ruler of the Cardassian Empire. Not technically, of course—theoretically, Cardassia Prime was ruled by a Citizens' Council that was elected into power.

  Practically speaking, the Council was no more than a figurehead for Keve and the military. They held the power, and power was everything.

  Despite this, Dukat was impressed that Keve eschewed almost all the trappings of power. His suite of rooms was larger than most, naturally, but he had more support staff in attendance. There were few furnishings beyond the utilitarian desks, monitors, and seats. There were n
o artworks of the sort that many of the lesser military loved to show off in their own quarters. Even the food for Keve's table came from a standard-issue replicator. Keve had always claimed that his position was one of responsibility and not privilege. Dukat sometimes believed that. More often, he believed that Keve believed it.

  "At ease," Keve finally barked, looking up from the report he had rather too ostentatiously been studying. It was the oldest I'm in charge and you're not trick in the book. Even the humans used it. "I've studied your reports and recommendations, Dukat. Incisive, interesting, and egotistical as ever."

  "Thank you, sir." Dukat inclined his head slightly. There were questions he was dying to discover the answers to, but there was no way he was going to ask them. It was up to Keve to announce his plans—or keep them bottled up, as he often did.

  "Your recommendations are—provocative," Keve added, standing up. He was a thickset, elderly figure, slightly shorter than Dukat, and he walked with a pronounced limp, the result of an old war wound. Or, at least, so he claimed.

  Dukat said nothing, knowing this was merely a conversational gambit. Keve was trying to get him worried and nervous. With others, these tactics often worked, but Dukat had served under the Gul-Tar for too long. He knew all of his affectations and mannerisms.

  Keve, knowing that Dukat knew this, tapped the computer screen. "You propose taking the Home Fleet to the Darane system and investigating this alien vessel further."

  "Yes, sir," agreed Dukat. Now was the time to explain his reasoning. "The First Fleet is needed to protect our borders from Dominion infiltration. The Third Fleet is several days distant. The Second Fleet is monitoring events on the Klingon frontier. Only the Home Fleet could reach Darane in time to contact the aliens."

  "True," agreed Keve. "If that were our priority." He glowered at Dukat. "The Home Fleet is needed precisely where it is: at home. Your request is denied."

  Dukat scowled back. "Then we are to do nothing about this potential threat?" he asked, feigning surprise. "That is a little … puzzling, sir."