by Diane Carey
This building had eight-inch walls of poured concrete . . . might provide some cover. Escape routes—to the right and directly behind. The left was cut off, but the right and behind were clear. One led to the sewers, one to the bank.
Once he decided they were leaving themselves a possible way out, Steve huddled and watched the Cardassian ship maneuver for a landing in the middle of the mall the Cardassians themselves had shattered.
It was a sight—a ship coming in for a landing. Here!
“They’re coming to finish us,” Brent Atherton said flatly. “They must’ve decided they don’t need us anymore.”
Steve didn’t stop him. Everyone in the Madred Village had lived intimately with death for months upon months. They didn’t coddle each other here. There was no good in it.
“Then we’ll fight. We’ve been fighting the Cardies’ way all these months, we can fight to save our own lives. We know how to do it. It’s for real this time.”
The lack of response, in fact the very coldness that blanketed everyone else right now, was a bitter testimonial. Other than straight surrender, there was no other way.
And if the Cardassians had decided it was time for their guinea pigs to die, nothing in the sector could stop that. The Federation crews were completely boxed in.
“Unless . . .”
Had he said that? Yes he did.
“Unless we can take that ship.”
“Take it?” Mark McClellan shoved his brother around to face him. “Are you crazy?”
“It’s a way off, isn’t it? Look at it! Warp nacelles. We can take that vessel and get out of Cardassian space!”
“You’re nuts. All right, let’s try.”
“Brent?”
“I agree. How many charged phasers do we have?”
“Seven, between both crews,” Les reported from somewhere in the dark. “Ten molotovs, sixteen crowbars, nine shrapnel grenades, four radiation grenades, and two concussion salvos.”
“Got it,” Steve said, adding up the odds in his head.
“They’re down!” Mark called, and everyone fell silent.
Out in the middle of the mall under the moonless night, a full-sized Cardassian warship settled hoggishly onto the cracked and pocked pavement, lit only by the reflection of its own harsh scene lights.
What a massive and ugly thing it was, its hull of flinty scales, its windowless body, its hungry weapons arrays.
How could they take a thing like that? They’d have to. This was the critical moment. Take the ship, or die here and hope posterity got something out of it.
Around him, the crews had gone utterly silent. No one moved. Not a pebble grated. In all these months, they’d learned how to hide.
Only Atherton moved—he shifted close to Steve and put his lips near Steve’s ear. “Somebody’s getting off.”
Steve squinted into the darkness. He’s never learned to see at distances quite as well as Atherton could. Yes, there was a portside hatch coming open, and a ramp dropping down. Foggy light from inside the craft obscured the humanoid forms that appeared at the top of the ramp.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four people.
Atherton’s arm pressed against Steve’s as they huddled together, watching.
“A human!” Atherton gulped. Out of habit he kept his voice down to almost nothing. “What’s a human doing riding with Cardassians on a Cardassian fighter?”
“I don’t know,” Steve uttered.
“Do we fight them?” Mark asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you recognize him?”
“No . . .”
“What do we do?”
“I guess . . . I better go out and talk to them.”
“Steve!” Mark gasped the cry out loud, unable to contain himself. “The hell you will!”
“Stand down,” Steve snapped. “That’s an order!”
“Order, hell!”
Atherton shoved Mark back. “Shut up right now! Steve, let me go. You’ve got more crew here than I do.”
“And you’ve got more experience. If I’m neutralized, they’ll still have you in command. I’ve got to go now, before I pee myself.”
Brent Atherton let out a gallows chuckle. “Well, don’t do that.”
As he stood up on shuddering legs, he heard his brother’s pathetic whisper. “Neutralized . . .”
Steve McClellan moved laterally across the concrete building, then across the backs of two other buildings and down an alley, until he was well away from any of the crew. When he emerged onto the open mall, he was relatively sure he hadn’t given away anyone else’s position.
His hands were cold, clammy. He was sweating beneath what was left of his uniform. And shivering. Death walked with him as he crunched over the rubble toward the three Cardassians and the human.
Two Cardassians stopped coming forward when they saw him. Guards . . . both armed.
A shiver ran up Steve’s spine as he anticipated the shock of an energy bolt from those weapons.
Then the third Cardassian hung back, and the human came forward.
“Captain Fernando?” the man called.
Clipped accent. Deep voice. Speaking English.
Steve couldn’t manage an answer—his throat was twisted tight. He wondered whether they could see his dirty, torn, soot-caked Starfleet uniform. He hoped they could. Might as well go out proud.
All alone, he limped toward the landed ship, toward those who stood still now and waited for him to approach them in his own time.
The human was wearing plain black clothing, no uniform or insignia of any kind. The suit looked like Starfleet commando issue, but anybody could buy that surplus. Lots of merchant fleeters wore surplus. Atherton did. Didn’t mean anything.
Steve approached the unlikely pair, and stopped only ten feet back. If they decided to be aggressive, he couldn’t run on his bad hip anyway. Might as well make a good-looking stand of it.
“Lieutenant,” the human said, now that he could see Steve’s uniform. “I’m Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Starfleet.”
Steve’s first reaction was cold doubt. The man stood there, not offering a hand, not stepping closer, letting Steve absorb the words.
A sudden surge of hope drove Steve’s heart so far into his throat that he could scarcely respond. It took two tries.
“Lieu—Lieutenant . . . Stephen McClellan, sir . . .”
By now the story was telling itself. From half a dozen hiding places, a few nerve-wracked captive souls were appearing from the rubble in Steve’s peripheral vision. They were coming forward, slowly, doubtfully, hopefully.
As the others appeared one by one, the human who said he was Picard requested, “Lieutenant McClellan, make your report.”
Steve swallowed a ball of dust. “Yes, sir . . . I regret to report . . . Captain Fernando is dead, sir. So are all our senior officers, including our chief engineer.”
Jean-Luc Picard now moved forward, and the empathy upon his strong features was undisguised. “McClellan, I’m sorry. Are you in command?”
“Ah—affirmative, sir.”
“That’s most commendable, young man. By rising to this challenge, you’ve brilliantly demonstrated what rank protocol is all about. Go on.”
Steve parted his lips to say thanks, but nothing came out. He closed them quickly, pretty sure that the captain could hear his heart slamming against his breastbone. Around him, tentative after so many months, members of both crews came forward, the lights from the Cardassian ship showing off the clothing that hung on their thinned bodies.
McClellan’s Starfleeters and Atherton’s sailors . . . Steve waited until Atherton arrived at his side and they could stand together.
He tried to speak then, but had to wait. Throat still tight. His tongue felt twice its size.
“Captain Picard,” he struggled, “this is Captain Brent Atherton, of the satelliter Tuscany.”
Picard smiled in a mellow way and offered his hand to Atherton. “Captain, so glad to m
eet you. Are you all right?”
Pale, Atherton gaped at him. “Are we . . . going home?”
“Yes, you’ll be going home.”
Picard raised his voice now so all who were beginning to cluster around would hear. He seemed anxious to tell them what they all wanted to hear.
“You’ll all be going home! Your medical needs will be seen to immediately, and then right away you’re getting a three-course dinner.”
He smiled, let that sink in, then dropped the smile and turned to the nearest Cardassian, the only one not carrying a weapon.
“Come here, Madred.”
Steve McClellan flinched as Atherton grabbed his arm and squeezed it. They both stared.
“Madred,” Steve whispered.
Was this a trick?
The Cardassian, a man who had dominated their lives since capture, had been lingering in a shadow between the harsh streak of illumination from the ship’s scene lights. Now he came forward and Steve remembered his face from hours upon hours of torture and sorrow.
He knew Brent did too. Everyone did. Mark, Dan, Les, Peggy, everyone.
The gathering on the mall turned as cold and stony as the rubble upon which they stood. Fear crackled from man to man.
“Go ahead,” Picard said to the infamous Cardassian. “Apologize to these people.”
Madred came forward to Picard’s side, but left a good two strides between them. He faced forward, looked out at the gaggle of castaways, and took the time to meet eyes with Steve and with Brent.
“My apologies. I have stolen your lives. They will now be given back.”
“What about the other Madred Villages?” Brent Atherton blurted out. “Are they shutting down too?”
Madred paused, and plainly this was the part he hated. Interesting—the apology was nothing to him.
“The other installations . . . will be purged also.”
Maybe it was real. Steve glanced at Mark, then at Brent. Maybe it really was happening. They weren’t drifting toward delusion.
“All right, Picard,” Madred said, turning. “You’ve proven to me that you are no longer merely a benign tumor. You are a barracuda. Granted. Allow me to be in awe. You have what you wanted. Now I want my daughter.”
“That will be up to her, Madred,” Captain Picard said fluidly. “You’ll have to win her back.”
Madred balled his fists and went up on both toes. “I want her back!”
“Then act decently and honorably. She will return to you.” Picard raised a communicator, and only then did Steve notice the captain wasn’t wearing any kind of combadge. “Picard to Half Moon. Captain Reynolds, commence beamdown.”
“We’re ready, Captain. Energizing.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“What’s going on?” Atherton demanded.
“It’s all right, Captain,” Picard assured. “Just a little unfinished business between myself and our gracious host over here. Stand by.”
Steve choked out, “Standing by, sir.”
Twenty meters away, transport beams sizzled into form, three of them. Humanoids . . . a human woman . . . a Klingon . . . and a Cardassian teenaged girl.
Must be Madred’s daughter.
New respect caused Steve to stare for a moment at Jean-Luc Picard. Kidnapping? Not exactly Starfleet method.
“Jil Orra,” Madred uttered, clearly relieved at her return.
The teenager stepped forward then, leaving the doctor and the Klingon behind. “Captain Picard. I can speak for myself.”
Picard stepped back. “Very well.”
“Father, I wish to explain. I am the one who contacted the Federation and told them about your prisoners. I told them you were holding Federation nationals, and Klingon, and Romulans, Orions, Deltans, Lenzhai, and at least one Andorian, and where they could find you.”
“Why would you do this?”
“Because you lied to me and I felt foolish growing up to believe lies. You humiliate me when you lie.”
“What lie have I ever told you?”
“You said that the enemies of Cardassia deserved their fates, and you were their fate. You said we must be vigilant against all who are not Cardassian. Then I found out you were also capturing and torturing Cardassians. You even have Cardassian Madred Villages. How could you do that? Using your own people as experiments? I found out you never let any of these people have their freedom, even after they have served you in terrible places like this. I could understand that for our enemies. But I couldn’t sleep at night knowing that you never let your captive Cardassians go free either.”
Madred’s voice went to a low grinding. “You . . . contacted . . . the Federation? You?”
“Yes. And I will continue working with them, and with anyone else who wants to believe that not all Cardassians are like you.”
“You’re only a little girl!” the father burst. “You can’t know what you’re thinking!”
Beside Steve, Brent Atherton bent over and placed his hands on his knees, breathing deeply as if he were about to retch. But is wasn’t that, Steve knew. He stood beside Brent and watched the weight of the past months’ horror roll off those shuddering shoulders. While the weight of responsibility had been bearable, this relief was almost overwhelming.
Silent as they witnessed the drama before them, Steve put his hand on Brent Atherton’s back and just stood there with that simple tactile contact assuring them both that all this was really happening.
His daughter took another step or two toward Madred.
“When I was much littler,” she told him, “you took me into your torture room and you let me see men like Captain Picard sprawled in agony on your floor and you didn’t think I was too small then to see your version of the truth. So now that I’m older, I see more.”
“You are a traitor!” the father burst.
“I’m a Cardassian and I’m more loyal than you are. Cardassia has to have a future, and your kind of brutality will be bad for us in the long run.”
“How can you do this?” Madred demanded. “You’re my daughter! I love you!”
“And I love you,” the girl said. “But I want to sleep at night again.”
“She’s got principles, Madred,” Picard interrupted them. Stepping forward, he took charge of the situation again. “Your daughter found out you’re an equal opportunity monster. You’ll even brutalize your own. No matter what you’ve gained from your actions, you have paid a large price—your daughter’s respect. I don’t know what it means to you, but it would mean a great deal to me. And because of Jil Orra, I shall always remember that any race, no matter how monolithic, is made up of individuals who must ultimately think for themselves.”
He was about to say more, when his comm unit beeped. “Captain Picard.”
“Go ahead, Captain Reynolds.”
“We’ve been sent an emergency communique from Starbase Twelve. Sir, the Enterprise has been hijacked!”
“You’re not serious!” Picard blasted.
“I’m afraid so. And it’s warped into Cardassian space, not too far from here, and it’s cutting up signal outposts on its way to Cardassia Prime. Making just an awful mess—”
“Who in God’s name hijacked it?”
“A Klingon called Kuzar.”
“Kuzar . . . you can’t mean Kozara!”
“That’s it!”
“My God . . . Bateson!”
For an instant Picard indulged in thinking what a buffoon Bateson was to let his ship be taken, but he couldn’t think that about Riker. There must’ve been mitigating circumstances—something that had given Kozara an advantage.
Captain Reynolds gave all this a moment to sink in, then said, “Starbase wants to know if you have a suggestion for heading them off. It’ll take six hours for another fleet starship to arrive. By then the Enterprise’ll be at Cardassia Prime for over two hours. They could slice up a whole continent before anybody could shut them down.”
“What about the Cardassian defense fleet?”
>
“All but two of their ships are on the Dominion and Klingon defense perimeters. They’ll take even longer to get here.”
“What are the two ships?”
“Fighter-transports. Not very big by comparison.”
“No, but a combined attack might serve.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Stand by.”
Feeling as if he were in a dream, watching a show in which he could not participate, Steve looked at Atherton. Due to familiarity, Steve knew the other man still suspected a trick.
Captain Picard moved closer again. “I’d been hoping to take you home for a well-earned rest, but as you just heard, the new starship, the Enterprise-E, has been hijacked in the Typhon Expanse by a disgruntled Klingon commander. He’s been initiating a series of raids leading toward the center of the Cardassian civilization. He’s threatening to unleash the power of the Federation’s new flagship on the innocent civilians of Cardassia Prime and its surrounding settlements.”
“ ‘Innocent,’ ” somebody mocked from behind.
Picard let the grumble run through the crews, then looked at Steve with such intensity that Steve thought one of them was about to melt.
“As the senior Starfleet officer in the sector,” Picard announced officially, “I’m taking charge of the situation. Mr. McClellan, I will appropriate two more Cardassian ships of the class you see behind me. I’m conferring upon you a field promotion to the rank of lieutenant commander. You’ll take charge of one ship. Captain Atherton, I believe you deserve command of the third ship. We also have with us the M.F.P.S. Half Moon, upon which we’ve mounted a swiveling dorsalturret phaser cannon in anticipation of close-quarter battle. Any of your crews who wish to be with you shall be at your sides. I shall command the fleet. This is obviously an extremely dangerous CQB exercise. We may be liberating you only to have you killed in the line of duty. The ships named Enterprise have for generations been the forward symbol of Federation integrity in the galaxy. Now that is at stake. I’m offering you the opportunity to finally fight for something beyond yourselves, and to show the Cardassians what the Federation is really all about.”
Picard paused a moment, gazed at Atherton, at Steve, then scanned the shivering crews clustering around them. He seemed determined to meet eyes personally with each individual.
