Proud Helios

by Melissa Scott

  "Hold it, Major," Sisko began.

  "No, sir," Kira said, and stepped up onto the transporter platform. "Someone has to go, and I'm the closest."

  There was a little silence. She braced herself for the dissolution of transporting, putting aside the consequences of disobedience for later. Sisko was a fair man, she would be able to convince him—or else it wouldn't really matter. The transporter whined, the sound building toward its climax, and in the fraction of a second before she vanished, she heard Sisko's voice.

  "Very well. But be careful, Major."

  CHAPTER 9

  MILES O'BRIEN SWORE TO HIMSELF as he turned down the last corridor toward the temporary reactor control room, the words a rhythmic counterpoint to the sound of his feet on the heavy tiles. Stupid, stupid—he'd been careless earlier, left his tool kit and the datapadd containing his detailed plans in the workspace, and now he had to go back for them so he could finish fleshing out the last connecting nodes, unless he wanted to delay the installation of the new system by a good twelve hours. Serves me right for being so bloody self-satisfied, he thought. I should've known the minute Quark asked me to fix the replimat that the evening was ruined. And he was going to be later getting home than he'd planned—not that Keiko would say anything, she'd been Starfleet too long not to understand the demands of his job, and her own, but it galled him to miss reading Molly's bedtime story because of his own stupidity.

  The new control room was dimly lit, just the blue of the standby lighting and the flicker of indicators on the single working console to show him his way. The space smelled of resin and the fainter, acrid tones of the Cardassian sealant they had been forced to use on the new lengths of conduit. O'Brien made a face at the scent—he had his doubts about the sealant—but touched the wall controls to turn on the main lighting. He stood for an instant, blinking in the sudden white flare of brilliance, until his eyes cleared and he saw the datapadd, tucked under a sheaf of insulating paper on the as yet uncompleted main console. He made a face, annoyed all over again at his carelessness—It's no excuse, that there's too much to do, too many routine projects as well as this one, and this one with emergency priority—and stepped across to collect it, triggering its screen automatically. He might as well, he thought, make sure all his basic data was correct, before he went ahead with the final plans.

  He was well into the job, double-checking the last set of connections and the convoluted course of the diverted power conduit, when the security alarm sounded. He looked up sharply, and for a fraction of a second couldn't remember what that three-toned wail warned against. It wasn't a reactor breach, wasn't red alert, wasn't any of the engineering disasters that occasionally filled his nightmares. . . . And then he remembered, and touched his communicator.

  "O'Brien to Ops."

  "Dax here. Stand by, Chief."

  O'Brien waited, glancing warily toward the still-open door of the compartment. Nothing was moving in the dimmed night lighting, nor had he expected there would be. This part of engineering was deserted, except during the day watches; the night shift's duty station was in the power-plant's monitoring station. So what the hell's set this off? Full security alert, all security personnel report in—

  "Dax. Sorry, Chief, we have a situation on our hands."

  "I'm down in the lower core," O'Brien said. "The temporary monitoring station. What's going on?"

  "Odo identified Diaadul as an agent for the pirates," Dax answered, "but she broke free of arrest. Her two associates are in custody, but she's still free. Security has been alerted, has been dispatched to the docking ring, but the station will stay on alert until she's captured. All sections are to take appropriate precautions."

  "Aye, Lieutenant," O'Brien answered automatically. If Diaadul—and there's a surprise, after her delicate ways—was still on the docking ring, the habitat should be safe enough. The main doors would be sealed, and Keiko would seal their quarters as well. Even so, he would be glad to get back to them, be absolutely certain that they were all right. He turned to leave, and then stopped, glancing around the secondary control room. The main monitoring station would already be sealed tight, security in full force to keep any intruders from tampering with the station's power supply, but this room…The new consoles gave some of the same access to the conduit system, and, because it wasn't fully on-line yet, was still being worked on, the anti-tampering systems weren't fully operational, either. The working console wasn't as good as the systems in the main station, of course, didn't access the truly crucial systems except indirectly—but a dedicated, or even half-educated, troublemaker could do enough damage through them to keep the station in an uproar for hours, maybe even days. He touched the wall controls again, resealing the main door. Then he glanced around the narrow compartment, already planning his next moves, and touched his communicator again.

  "Dax, this is O'Brien."

  "Dax here."

  "I'm remaining in the new monitoring station to complete security shutdown of these systems."

  There was a little pause, and then Dax said, sharply, "Are you on your own down there, Chief? I can send a team to cover you."

  "Yes," O'Brien said, and flicked a pair of switches on the main console, bringing its paired screens redly to life. "But I don't anticipate this taking me very long."

  "I'm sending a team anyway," Dax said. "Dax out."

  O'Brien grinned—Dax could be very maternal, for a creature who spent half its time male and the other half female—but said only, "Thanks, Dax. O'Brien out."

  And I can't say I'm sorry she's sending backup, he added silently, touching the keys that brought up an internal menu. This is a pretty deserted part of the station, and I am on my own right now, and unarmed. The last wasn't a comforting thought, but it wasn't Starfleet policy for its personnel to go armed except on specific orders, and this was hardly a situation even Sisko—or even Picard—could have foreseen. He pushed the idea out of his mind, and focused his attention on the doubled screens.

  He never, even later, knew how long he'd been working. The sound of the alarm had receded from his consciousness, too familiar to demand attention, and the second set of installation lights had faded from the left-hand screen, telling him that his standard password-and-palmprint access program was in place and ready to run, when he heard the sound of footsteps outside the compartment's door. He looked up, sharply, but the locking light still glowed red, and the footsteps sounded entirely too confident to belong to a fugitive. He relaxed slightly, and in the same instant a voice crackled over the intercom.

  "Chief O'Brien? It's Macauslan, Security."

  Definitely not the voice he had associated with Diaadul. O'Brien touched a final key, settling the program securely into local memory, and went to the door controls. He touched the switch that released the lock, and turned to face the opening door. Instead of one of Odo's deputies, or a Starfleet security officer, a slim, green-clad woman stood in the opening, a leveled phaser in her hand.

  "Stand away from the controls."

  O'Brien swore once, unable to believe he'd been this careless, but lifted his hands, and took a slow step back into the room.

  "Move," Diaadul said, "or I will kill you."

  Still reluctant, but knowing he had no other choice, O'Brien took two more steps backward. Diaadul, her eyes still fixed on him and her phaser leveled, sidled over to the door controls, and touched the keys that resealed the door. O'Brien bit back another curse as he saw the red light go on again.

  "Now, Chief," Diaadul said, still in a voice he didn't recognize, a voice he belatedly realized was indeed her own, her true persona. "Your communicator. Take it off, and put it on the floor."

  "What do you want with me?" O'Brien asked, and made no move to obey.

  Diaadul extended her hand, the phaser leveled, and walked sideways again so that there was clear space between herself and the engineer. O'Brien turned with her, hating his helplessness. "I want your communicator," Diaadul said. "Take it off, now. Or I will shoot
you down and take it."

  And that, O'Brien thought, would do no one any good at all. Very slowly, he unhooked the badge from his tunic, held it palm out in his hand.

  "On the floor," Diaadul said. "Slide it over to me."

  O'Brien bent down, set the communicator carefully on the tiled floor. If she picks it up, he thought, there'll be a moment when she's distracted—

  "Slide it to me," Diaadul said again.

  O'Brien braced himself, and slid the bit of metal across the floor, ready to move the moment her attention wavered. Diaadul never took her eyes off him, but reached out with one foot, and kicked the badge into the far corner, hopelessly out of reach. O'Brien bit his lip to hide his sudden fury. He could hear a voice speaking, faintly, from the communicator, and looked at Diaadul.

  "They're calling me from Ops," he said, though he couldn't really distinguish the speaker. "If I don't answer, there'll be hell to pay."

  "Eventually," Diaadul said. "But by then it will be too late." She gestured with her phaser, motioning him toward the empty bulkhead, away from the door controls and the dropped communicator. "Turn around and face the wall. Put your hands against it and lean forward."

  O'Brien did as he was told, a cold chill running through him as he recognized a professional at work. There was almost nothing he could do in this position, not unless she got very careless, and there didn't seem to be much chance of that. He glanced carefully over his shoulder, and saw her reach into her tunic with her free hand, still without taking her eyes off him. She came out with a palm-sized communicator, and held it to her lips.

  "Helios, this is Number One. Helios, this is Number One. Respond, Helios."

  There was a slight pause, and O'Brien could hear static singing faintly from the system. Diaadul frowned slightly, and he allowed himself to hope, and then a voice sounded from the speaker.

  "Helios."

  "Abort plan one," Diaadul said. "I repeat, abort plan one. Commence plan two."

  "Beginning plan two," the voice said promptly. "Confirm number of packages for pickup?"

  "Two," Diaadul answered, and smiled openly now. "Two packages, Helios. We haven't lost yet, Demaree."

  "Confirmed," Helios answered, and Diaadul took her finger off the transmit button, tucked the communicator back into her tunic.

  "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" O'Brien demanded, and the Trehanna shook her head.

  "Don't talk, Chief. Just keep very still."

  The threat in her voice was unmistakable, and O'Brien resigned himself to wait. He had a bad feeling about this, a distinct sense that he already knew what Diaadul was up to, though he didn't yet know why. But if she had two "packages" for Helios, he had a nasty feeling that he was one of them. Dax said she was sending Security, he thought, so where the hell are they? There was no answer, and no point in wondering. He risked another quick glance over his shoulder, and saw Diaadul still watching, her great eyes fixed on him in unwinking, almost clinical assessment. She would have to make a major mistake before he'd have a chance to jump her—and so far, he thought bitterly, she was doing everything right.

  * * *

  Sisko's warning was still ringing in Kira's ears as she materialized on level twenty-nine. She crouched instinctively, scanning the night-lit corridor for any sign of Diaadul, and straightened cautiously when she realized the other woman was nowhere to be seen. She kept her own phaser in hand, however, and eased forward into the shelter of a sealed hatchway before she risked contacting the commander.

  "Kira to Sisko." She had kept her voice low, barely more than a whisper—whispers carried; she had learned that long ago—but even so she winced, and glanced up and down the corridor again.

  "Sisko here. What is it, Major?"

  "I'm on level twenty-nine." Kira glanced at the plaque on the hatch above her head, translating its numbers and letters into location. "Sector eight, about halfway between the main turbolift shaft and the main monitoring station. No sign of Diaadul—and I don't know where she's heading." Probably toward the turbolifts, though, she added silently, except that a full security alert shuts them all down. Diaadul might not know that—but it would be standard procedure, and so far the Trehanna woman hadn't made that kind of mistake. That left engineering, but, again, Kira couldn't see what the woman would gain from that.

  "All right, Major," Sisko said, his voice sounding very loud in the silence of the deserted corridor. "Stay where you are. I'm sending a team to join you. We've sealed off the turbolifts, and every other occupied space in the lower core. She can't get far."

  "Commander!" Dax's voice broke into the conversation, sounding more excited than Kira had ever heard her. "Commander, Chief O'Brien is in the new supplemental control room—alone, he was securing the station—and I can't raise him. He's not responding to my calls."

  "Damn!" Sisko's curse crackled over the communicators, and then he had himself under control again. "All right. What's the location of the new control room?"

  "Level thirty, sector nine," Dax answered.

  "Sir—" Kira began, but Sisko was already speaking, overriding her response.

  "Major Kira, get down there at once. See what's happened to O'Brien, and report. If he's a prisoner, stay out of sight, stay in contact, and keep security informed. I don't want you to take on Diaadul on your own."

  "Yes, sir," Kira said. And if the Chief's dead or injured, she added silently, I know enough to call Bashir. I just hope to hell it doesn't come to that.

  "The security team will follow you," Sisko went on. "You say your present location is secure?"

  "As far as I can tell, sir," Kira answered. "I haven't seen any sign of Diaadul."

  "Then I'm beaming them to your current location. Sisko out."

  "Yes, sir," Kira said, and wondered if she was talking to empty space. It was a reasonable enough precaution, beaming the security team to her current location, but not entirely reassuring. They would have to move fast to catch up with her in time to do any good. She pushed herself out of the hatchway, glanced at a directional sign on the opposite wall, and started for the nearest Jeffries tube.

  It wasn't a real Jeffries tube, of course, but the Cardassian equivalent, a wedge-shaped maintenance shaft lined with pull-out circuitry on two sides, and a ladder running down the third. The rungs were badly spaced for her height—Cardassian design again—and she had to alternately stretch and step short. She lowered herself cautiously down the narrow tunnel, bathed in the red glow of the emergency lighting, and paused about halfway down to touch her communicator.

  "Kira to O'Brien. Kira to O'Brien. Please respond, Chief."

  She listened for a long moment, but there was no answer. She hadn't really expected one, but even so, she felt a shiver run down her spine. Either O'Brien was Diaadul's prisoner, or he was lying somewhere, unconscious or dead. For an instant, she tried to persuade herself that the communicator might have malfunctioned, or that O'Brien might just have been careless, but the possibilities were vanishingly small. O'Brien took too much care of his equipment—was too professional, too much the Starfleet officer—to make such an error.

  She reached the bottom of the tube, and turned her attention to the hatch. She needed both hands to work the cumbersome control wheel, and she made a face, reluctant to reholster her phaser, but there was no other choice. There was no way of telling if there was anyone in the corridor— the tubes had been designed for maintenance, not sneaking around the station—and she braced herself for the worst as she heaved at the wheel. It resisted her efforts for a long moment, and then, just as she was beginning to think she might be stuck, it loosened abruptly, and she had to catch it to keep the hatch from rolling open too quickly. She took a deep breath, drawing her phaser, and eased the hatch out of its bed. She stopped when she had an opening maybe seven centimeters wide, and pressed her face against the narrow space. The alert lights pulsed at her, alternately red and orange, slightly out of synch with the still-sounding alarm, but she saw nothing moving in the
flickering shadows. She rolled the hatch the rest of the way back into its bed, and clambered out into the corridor, letting the hatch fall shut again behind her.

  Level thirty seemed quite deserted, no one moving along a corridor that contained only three doorways. There was nothing much down here, she remembered, except the engineering monitoring station; only the technical staff spent much time in the maze of corridors and maintenance spaces. A good place to hide, maybe too good: the solid-looking bulkheads concealed any number of crawl spaces and access tubes for the engineers' use. She shook herself then—if Diaadul had taken to the engineering spaces, there was nothing she, Kira, could do about it without significant backup—and checked her location again. The new control space was in sector nine: only a little farther, just around the corridor's gentle curve.

  The control room's door was closed, the red light of a locked system gleaming above the outer panel. Kira stared at it for half a dozen heartbeats, suppressing her instinctive desire to charge ahead, and made herself stand quite still, looking up and down the corridor. The walls were mostly empty, except for another closed door perhaps fifteen meters ahead. It was the only possible cover, unless Diaadul had indeed gone to ground in the accessways. Kira eyed it warily, kept her phaser leveled on it as she eased toward the control room door. Nothing moved in the red-flashing shadows, but she flattened herself against the bulkhead anyway, twisting her body to provide a minimal target. The lock light still glowed steadily: Either O'Brien has locked himself in, she thought, which would be the sensible thing to do, or Diaadul has locked herself in there with him. And if she has, I'll only make things worse by letting her know I'm out here.

  She looked at the control panel for a moment, then risked reholstering her phaser to study the boxy display system. Like so much of the station hardware, it was Cardassian, one of the pieces that hadn't yet been replaced with Starfleet's own equipment—but at least it was a system she knew. Very carefully, she touched a key sequence, hoping that O'Brien hadn't disabled the eavesdropping function, and allowed herself a sigh of relief when the familiar pattern appeared on the screen. The Cardassians liked to be able to keep their own people under surveillance; the Resistance had been quick to learn to use the inbuilt functions. She touched a second switch, easing up the volume, and heard O'Brien's familiar voice.