Star Trek Deep Space 9 Dominion War 3 Tunnel Through The Stars

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Star Trek - TNG - Dominion War 3 - Tunnel Through The Stars
Chapter One
SAM LAVELLE STRODE onto the bridge of the Orb of Peace, hardly able to believe that he had given
up a spacious Cardassian antimatter tanker for this austere Bajoran transport. He was sure he had gotten
the worst of the deal, especially considering that he thought he was going to be rescued and sent home.
His last voyage had been a perfect example of Murphy's Law, and this one promised to send him from
the frying pan into the fire.
The cramped bridge had a strange viewscreen with Bajoran writing all around it. He was able to translate
two phrases: "The devout will enter the Celestial Temple," and "The Kai holds the lantern of Bajor." Even
without the platitudes, the stars glimmered enticingly on the screen, making him wish that he were going
home.
But Sam knew there was no escape from this war-- not until the Dominion was driven back to their part
of the galaxy.
He spotted the slim Bajoran, Ro Laren, seated at the conn. Both Captain Picard and Geordi La Forge
looked Bajoran--with nose ridges and earrings--but Ro was the real thing. Sam remembered hearing
stories about her on the Enterprise, but he had only seen her once, in Ten-Forward, just before her
illfated mission to infiltrate the Maquis. Now she was captain of this Bajoran vessel.
"I'm your relief, Captain," he said, keeping his voice low in the dimly lit bridge.
"Thank you." Ro Laren rose from her seat and stretched like a willowy lioness, shaking her shortcropped
mane of dark brown hair. She was wearing a Bajoran uniform which hugged the lanky contours of her
body, and Sam looked longer and harder than he should have. Ro caught him staring at her, and her eyes
drilled into his. Sam knew he should look away, but it had been a long time since he had gazed lustfully at
a woman, and he wasn't anxious to stop.
"I'm sorry," he said, managing a shy smile. "I don't know what got into me. It's funny what even a small
taste of freedom will do to a man." Her face softened, and she looked sympathetic if still annoyed. "How
long were you a prisoner of the Dominion?" "About two months, I guess," answered Sam. "It's hard to
say, because we were never allowed to see any chronometers, except when we were on work detail,
building that damn collider. And then, we only saw shift timers. We were kept segregated from the
women. I saw them every now and then on the worker transports, but that was it."
"I know the Cardassiansmit must have been bad." He nodded slowly. "Yes, it was, and a lot of good
people are still there. I wish we could do something to help them." "There's no chance for a mass
escape?" "I don't see how," Sam answered glumly. "The complex where the prisoners are housed is near
the collider, but each pod of prisoners is isolated.
There's no way to get hold of a ship like we did-- that was a fluke. No matter when you do this,
thousands of prisoners will be working. If your mission is to destroy the artificial wormhole, your mission
is to destroy them, too." Ro crossed her arms and wrinkled her ridged nose.
"You know, that's exactly what I've been telling Captain Picard. And it sounds even worse coming from
you, because you've been there." "Yes, I've been there, and I can't believe I'm thinking about going back.
This isn't exactly the way I envisioned my escape--going back to that place, on purpose." Shivering, Sam
sunk into the chair at the conn and studied the unfamiliar instruments.
"I'm sure Captain Picard would offer you a chance not to go, if he could," said Ro. "But we only have this
craft, and no way to split up." Sam snorted a laugh. "Yeah, if you don't mind me saying so, your
demolition squad is a little shorthanded." "We had a whole crew and more than one torpedo.
But we lost five torpedoes fighting our way through the Dominion border patrol, then we got shanghaied
by pirates in the Badlands, and hijacked by Romulans--" "Pirates and Romulans?" asked Sam with
boyish curiosity. The smile faded from his lips when we saw how upset Ro was about these incidents.
"Hey, I'm sorry if we lost more good people, but I'm sort of burned-out on death. I can't even think
about it, if you know what I mean." "I know what you mean," admitted Ro, staring down at the deck.
"The Enterprise is supposed to take us home, but only if we alert them with a subspace beacon." "But
how quickly could they get here?" "That's a good question." The Bajoran hovered over Sam's shoulder
and pointed at his console.
"You'll want to watch the hull pressure--right there." "Okay, thanks." Sam took some time to scan all the
readouts, finding them fairly easy to understand. It wasn't nearly as complex as the antimatter tanker. He
tried to concentrate on his duties, but the Bajoran's presence was bringing back memories and emotions
he had tried to push away, without much success.
"I had a good friend who was Bajoran, Ensign Sito Jaxa," he said with a wistful smile. "Her death was the
first casualty I really experienced in Starfleet, and it hit me pretty hard. She was killed by the
Cardassians, and that act started the war for me a couple of years early. I was gung-ho to get at them." "I
followed Sito's career," said Ro, "but I never got a chance to meet her. I think I was away at Tactical
Training while you and your friends were serving aboard the Enterprise." Sam chuckled. "You couldn't
help but to follow Sito's career--she was full of zip. She got into a lot of trouble at the Academy." "Along
with Wesley Crusher," said Ro with a smile.
While they shared an unexpected moment of nostalgia, Sam glanced at the striking Bajoran. It was too
bad that his life expectancy was so short, or he would have been tempted to pursue the former Starfleet
officer. Of course it was wartime, and anything could happen.
Returning his mind to his duty, Sam adjusted the viewscreen, and a brown-magenta cloud coalesced into
view, still some distance away. Pulses of light blinked on and off within its murky depths, which gave it an
oddly cheerful glow, like a surreal Christmas wreath.
"The Badlands," he mused. "Is it all that bad?" "Worse," muttered Ro. "I wouldn't go back there, except
there's no other place to hide." "Well, if it's any consolation, you're within striking distance of the artificial
wormhole from here. It's just that there's a fleet guarding it, and it's ten kilometers long." "So I gather,"
replied Ro solemnly.
They heard footsteps, and Sam turned to see Captain Picard come striding onto the cramped bridge.
He looked odd with his Bajoran earring, nose ridges, and tufts of white hair; but his voice, bearing, and
stern demeanor left no doubt who was in charge.
Immediately, Sam stiflened in his seat and studied his readouts until he was caught up.
"Status?" asked Picard as he consulted the small padd in his hands.
"Estimated arrival time at the Badlands: one hour," reported Sam. "No sign of enemy craft." "Thank you,
Lieutenant. I haven't had an opportunity to say how good it is to see you again, although I wish it were
under better circumstances." "Me, too, sir." The captain looked somber. "I've talked to your crew. I
realize that we ruined your escape attempt.
I'm sorry. I'm sure you expected to get farther away than the Badlandsm" "I wasn't really expecting to
escape," replied Sam honestly. "I just wanted to die like a Starfleet officer, not a slave. I don't want to go
back to that place--and I doubt if this mission will work--but it's still a good chance to die as a Starfleet
officer." The captain's lips thinned. "I wish there was an alternative, but there isn't. We can't allow the
Dominion to ever use that artificial wormhole." "I know, sir," admitted Sam. "I thought the same thing
every day, even while I was building it." Picard consulted his padd and looked around to make sure they
were alone. "I need an honest evaluation of every member of your crew. You know what we have ahead
of us--a major sabotage mission with a high degree of risk." Sam frowned thoughtfully. "The only
member of the crew I really know is Taurik, and I would trust him with my life. As for Woil, Shonsui,
Horik, and Maserelli--they're all career Starfleet officers, who ought to be fine in a crisis. But they've
been through some rough times lately, and they may be close to cracking. I'm sure you could say that
about all of us, except for Taurik, of course. Many times during our imprisonment, I wished I were a
Vulcan." "I've often wished that I were a certain android," said Picard with a wistful smile. "What about
the scientist, Enrak Grof?." Sam winced, trying not to show his doubts. "Until today, I would've said he
was a traitor and a collaborator--and an unpleasant one at that. He could're stopped us but didn't, so I
guess he's on our side. As I'm sure he'll tell you, he's basically in it for the science and the glory. Grof
knows that artificial wormhole backwards and forwards--he helped design it." "So he told me," said
Picard. "None of the rest of you have any in-depth knowledge of its workings?" "No," answered Sam.
"Taurik knows some of the theory, but we were grunt labor, only told what was needed. Grof was right
in there with the Vorta engineers, on a buddy-buddy basis with our resident changeling." "You saw a
changeling?" asked Picard with interest.
"Only once, when they put me in charge of the tanker." Sam smiled nostalgically. "To tell you the truth,
Captain, I remember more about the food than anything else. It was the first decent food I'd had in
weeks." Captain Picard allowed him a slight smile. "I know this has been difficult for you, Lieutenant, and
I wish I could relieve you of further burden. But you know our situation." "Not really," answered Sam.
"Taurik and I were captured early on, defending the outer colonies. We volunteered for that service, if
you can believe it. I've heard rumors--if this ship is any indication of what Starfleet can spare, I guess
we're in a lot of trouble." The captain looked grave as he explained, "If the Dominion manages to bring
through reinforcements from the Gamma Quadrant--either by clearing the mines from the Bajoran
wormhole or through their new artificial wormhole--the situation will be desperate. We didn't even know
about the artificial wormhole until we encountered Ro and her passengers. There wasn't enough time to
do anything but gather intelligence, which is why we're using this ship.
We've done that, we know it exists, and now it's time to take the next step." The way Picard said it
almost convinced Sam that they could pull it off. He tried not to think about what few resources they had
at their disposal, even if the Enterprise was out there somewhere. These people have no idea what
they're up against.
After a few moments of uneasy silence, during which no one voiced their obvious concerns, the captain
turned off his padd and set it on an empty console. "It appears we have to depend upon this makeshift
crew, despite our doubts. Now I have to go talk to the Romulan." Sam blinked at him. "Romulan?
There's a Romulan on board?" "A wounded Romulan," answered Picard. "He lost an arm when we
recaptured the ship, and he's in the captain's quarters, recuperating. Had I known we would have all
these casualties to deal with, I would've brought Dr. Crusher along." Hesitantly Sam asked, "Is Alyssa
Ogawa still serving on the Enterprise?" Picard smiled. "Yes, we've managed to hold on to Ogawa. She's
now chief nurse in sickbay, and that's quite a job in wartime. Do you feel confident with the Bajoran
conn, Lieutenant?" "Yes, sir. I'll contact you if I have any questions." "Good. Ro, will you please
accompany me?" "Yes, sir." Sam couldn't help but watch Ro and Picard walk off the bridge--they were
two of a kind, calm and controlled on the surface and wild-eyed gamblers underneath. My life is now in
the hands of those two.
He would have disobeyed anybody else in the universe who ordered him to go back to that monstrous
collider and the slave pens, but he had to follow Captain Picard. If anybody could get them through this
insane war alive, it would be him.
As Captain Picard descended the spiral staircase to the lower deck of the Orb of Peace, he wondered
what he should do with their Romulan prisoner. Some would say it was practical to execute him on the
spot--it was no less than he deserved--but such actions were not in Picard's nature. Essentially, the
Romulan had been doing the same thing they were doing, pretending to be someone he wasn't in order to
gather information about the artificial wormhole. His methods were much different, however, in that he
and his comrades had murdered a dozen innocent people trying to hijack the Orb of Peace.
Picard turne0 to glance at Ro Laren, who was striding behind him, a determined look on her angular
face. He wondered if she thought they had a chance to destroy the artificial wormhole, to get out of this
alive. But what could she tell him that he didn't already know? They were behind enemy lines, confronting
overwhelming odds, and they had no choice but to continue.
Ro smiled at his concerned expression. "It's all right, Captain. I've given up the dream of living to an old
age and retiring on a Starfleet pension." "! don't think anybody is enjoying their pension at the moment,"
remarked the captain.
With a rush of heavy footsteps, a burly figure bolted from the mess hall and planted himself in front of
Picard and Ro, blocking the corridor. His eyebrows and beard bristled, and the brown spots on his
forehead, temples, and neck seemed to pop out of his skin, like mountains on a relief map.
Enrak Grof scowled angrily. "Captain, I just heard that you expect all of us to go with you on this insane
mission to destroy the wormhole! I can understand why you and your crew would feel a need to
sabotage it, but it's simply impossible that I go. I'm the only one in the Federation who understands this
technology-the only one who could possibly duplicate it.
It's imperative that you send me back to Starfleet headquarters immediately!" The captain tried not to grit
his teeth as he calmly replied, "Believe me, Professor, I would like nothing better than to send you back
to Starfleet, but this vessel and the people aboard it are all I have. You are the only one who understands
the technology of the artificial wormhole, which makes you the most essential member of the party." "I
can't argue with that," snapped Grof, "but the information I possess in my head cannot die with me.
You must find a way to return me safely to Starfleet!" While Picard clenched his fists, and carefully
considered his next words, Ro stepped in. "What if we could find a way to return the information you
possess but keep you here with us--to help? Would that be satisfactory?" "If this is your only ship, how
could you do that?" asked Grof skeptically.
"I don't know yet," answered Ro, "but soon we'll be in the Badlands, where almost anything is possible.
Let's keep our options open, because there must be a way to safeguard your knowledge. In the
meantime, I suggest you go to the science station on the bridge and start recording your notes."
The Trill nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose I should do that, anyway. What if I had an accident or
something? Good thinking. What did you say your name is?" "Ro Laren, captain of this vessel." "Well,
Captain Ro, I sincerely appreciate your willingness to accommodate me. I am not exaggerating when I
say this technology is crucial to the future of the galaxy." Reluctantly, it seemed, Enrak Grof shifted his
attention from the attractive Bajoran to Captain Picard, and his scowl returned. "Captain, you just don't
understand the import of the situation like Captain Ro does. You want to destroy the greatest invention of
our times, but I won't let you destroy the knowledge as well." "We'll find a way," promised Picard.
"You had better." The Trill stomped toward the spiral staircase and headed toward the bridge.
The captain watched him go, then lowered his voice to say, "Insufferable man." "I know that kind," said
Ro. "Maybe if he does a good job of transcribing his notes, we won't need him." The captain nodded
appreciatively, then grimaced.
"But we still have him, plus a murderous Romulan and a handful of ex-prisoners who should be in
sickbay, not on duty." Ro gave him a smile. "This is how we assembled crews in the Maquis--whoever
showed up.
Sometimes it works." 'Tm glad you're here," said Picard gratefully. "Now let's go see our prisoner." He
led the way into the captain's quarters, the only private cabin on the whole ship. Since the Orb of Peace
was a civilian transport, it had no brig or interior force-fields, so they had turned the captain's quarters
into a temporary cell, with only a mattress. A Cardassian prisoner had managed to escape, but so far the
Romulan prisoner had been docile. Of course, he had lost an arm and a considerable amount of blood;
he had to be extremely weak.
Nevertheless, Ro drew her Bajoran phaser as they approached the door. Geordi had disabled the
circuitry which opened the door from the inside, and the Romulan had been alone in there for several
hours.
They had to be prepared for anything--from a dead prisoner to a berserk prisoner.
The captain nodded to Ro to be ready as he touched the wall panel. The door slid open slowly, as if it
were still slightly damaged by the Cardassian's rampage.
Soothing red and turquoise lights lit the cabin, which appeared empty except for a sleeping figure on the
mattress.
The figure on the bed stirred slightly as they entered. Ro stationed herself in the doorway, her weapon
leveled for action, and Picard took a step forward.
The Romulan rolled over, gripping the bandaged stub of his arm. Lying there helplessly, he looked
younger than Picard had remembered, the equivalent of a human in his early thirties. Picard knew,
however, that appearances could be deceiving with these longlived races. The prisoner gazed at them not
with hatred or fear, but resignation.
"How are you feeling?" asked Picard.
He sighed. "Weak and ashamed over my capture. I assume now you will execute me." "Don't tempt us,"
said Ro.
Picard's jaw tightened. "I still don't see why you had to kill my crew and hijack my ship, just to get away
from Shek and Rolf." "You don't know that Ferengi and his Orion henchman," muttered the Romulan.
"We would have done anything to get away from them, even if our mission hadn't been almost finished.
You happened along, and we knew we might not get another chance to escape. I sincerely doubt if you
would have given us your ship." "Perhaps not," answered Picard, "but we might have given you
sanctuary, if you had asked. What is your name?" "You can call me Hasmek, if you need a name for your
reports, but I refuse to be interrogated." "We know all about your mission," said Ro. "You talked while
you were in shock. You and your confederates enlisted with the pirates to get close to the artificial
wormhole. Now that you know it exists, you were going to advise your superiors to give up neutrality
and ally themselves with the Dominion. Have I left anything out?" Hasmek sneered at them. "Only that I
also know your missioninto destroy the artificial wormhole. I realize the Federation is given to fits of
fantasy, but do you have any idea how impossible that will be?" "We don't have much choice," replied
Picard. "At the moment, our problem is what to do with you." With a grimace, the Romulan sat up and
stared at him. "You mean, you haven't decided to kill me?" "That's not Starfleet practice," said Picard.
"However," added Ro, hefting her weapon, "not all of us are in Starfleet." "You're Bajoran, technically
neutral like us. Or are you a fake Bajoran, like him?" asked Hasmek.
Ro shook her head with disgust. "We're getting nowhere with him. I say we maroon him somewhere in
the Badlands, somewhere he'll never be found." The Romulan's cheerful disposition turned sour.
"Yes, leave me to starve to death--that's the humane Federation way. If you don't execute me properly,
I'll make an escape attempt and force you to do it." Ro asked, "I wonder what the Dominion would do
with a Romulan spy?" "Probably the same thing they would do with a Federation spy," answered
Hasmek. "But they wouldn't have the qualms about it that you seem to have." "We can't let the Dominion
find him alive, and he knows it," said Picard. "We could conceivably give him back to Shek and Rolf, if
we could find them." The Romulan stuck his jaw out and assumed an arrogant pose. "That would be as
good as an execution, probably for all of us." The captain heard footsteps in the corridor, and he turned
to see the Vulcan, Taurik, slip through the door. Even in the subdued light, Picard was surprised by the
similarity in the facial appearance of the Vulcan and the Romulan. They were similar in age, too, and both
men had straight black hair that was uncharacteristically long after their adventures in Cardassian space.
Hasmek was momentarily stunned to see his double, then he slumped weakly back into bed. "A Vulcan
lackey." "Captain," said Taurik in a low voice, "we don't wish to alarm the crew by using the comm
system, but Sam has detected a ship. They may be in pursuit." "What kind of ship?" asked Picard.
"It appears to be Cardassian." The captain exhaled as if he had been punched in the stomach. Relying on
Bajoran neutrality, they had talked their way past Jem'Hadar and Vorta sentries, but not Cardassians,
who couldn't resist harassing Bajorans whenever the opportunity presented itself.
"I'11 check on it." Ro shouldered past Taurik and headed for the bridge, with the Vulcan right behind
her. Left alone in the room with his prisoner, Picard turned and gazed at Hasmek.
"The Cardassians have no qualms about torture and execution, especially for spies," he said somberly.
"I know," answered Picard grimly.
Chapter Two
PICARD REMAINED in the captain's quarters, watching his Romulan prisoner, who was watching him
in return. A crazy idea was percolating in his mind, and he might have to act on it, depending on what Ro
discovered.
A few seconds later, Picard's cornbadge chirped, and he answered it with his code name, "Boothby
here." Ro's normally resolute voice sounded disheartened as she reported, "A Cardassian Galor-class
warship is on an intercept course with us. Contact in approximately twenty minutes." "Any chance that
we can make the Badlands in time?" "None." We have one photon torpedo at our disposal, the captain
reminded himself. We'd be lucky if we couM take out an unarmed shuttlecraft.
"Replicate two Romulan uniforms," ordered Picard. "Put one on Taurik and send the other one down to
the captain's quarters." "Yes, sir," answered Ro in a quizzical tone. "Out." Hasmek sat up in bed and
looked suspiciously at him. "What are you planning, Boothby?" Picard strode toward him and said, "I
know you're weak, but do you think you could remain on your feet for a few minutes and do some
talking?" Hasmek grinned at him. "Very clever. You're planning to put me and the Vulcan on-screen and
say that Romulans are in charge of this vessel. I didn't know Federation captains could be quite so
devious." "I'm learning," muttered Picard.
"How do you know I won't betray you?" "You have nothing to gain and your life to lose.
Bajoran neutrality works with the Jem'Hadar but not necessarily with Cardassians. I'm hoping that they'll
respect Romulan neutrality. There's hardly any bad blood between your races." "Not yet," answered
Hasmek. "Have you been so foolish as to come here with no permission at all?" The captain's eyes
narrowed--he wasn't used to being addressed in this fashion. "We have documents of passage in our
computer, given to us on our first stop. I don't think they've expired yet." With a flurry of footsteps, Sam
Lavelle burst into the room clutching a thick gray jumpsuit in his hands.
He looked quizzically from Picard to the wounded Romulan and held out the bundle of clothing. "Is this
what you wanted, sir?" "Yes. Remain here to help me get Hasmek to the bridge. Hasmek, this is Sam."
"Charmed," drawled the Romulan, doing a comical impression of a human accent.
"Yeah," answered Sam doubtfully.
With his good hand, Hasmek gripped the back of the conn chair and held himself steady. His empty left
sleeve was tucked under the armpit of his uniform. The moody lighting on the bridge of the transport had
been arranged so that only he and Taurik, at tactical, were visible. Picard and Ro crouched in the
forward shadows, phasers in their hands, both aimed at the one-armed Romulan.
Everyone else was below.
At his console, Taurik actually had command of the ship and was poised to fire his lone torpedo and go
to warp if the Cardassians tried to board or attack. They probably wouldn't get far, but escape was their
only option if talking failed... or the Romulan betrayed them.
Right now, a massive, bronze Galor-class warship filled the small viewscreen and commanded everyone's
attention. It looked like a manta ray caught in shallow waters under golden sunlight.
Ro Laren told herself that she had to watch the Romulan and not be distracted by the enemy, who stood
poised to vaporize them. As her sweaty hand gripped her phaser, she glanced at Captain Picard, who
nodded to the Vulcan and the Romulan. She leveled her weapon and waited for Taurik to send
commands from his console.
"Gul Dubarok is on screen," said the Vulcan.
Ro had seen enough Cardassians in her life to know that she didn't have to turn to look at this one. She
could imagine the thick, muscular neck, pallid gray complexion, severe black hair, and sunken eye
sockets which gave a cadaverous look to the haughty face.
Luckily, the one race which could match the Cardassians in sneering arrogance were the Romulans, who
considered themselves vastly superior to everyone, including the Dominion.
Disdainfully, Hasmek declared, "I am Captain Hasmek, and this is the Orb of Peace, under the command
of a Romulan crew. We have broken no law--why have we been stopped?" Ro heard a woman's voice
reply, "You are in a war zone. State your business, and know that we have scanned you. Why do you
have such a mongrel crew?" The Romulan drew himself up indignantly. "We have a multiracial crew
because we are a joint scientific mission, sponsored by governments which are neutral in this war,
principally Bajor and the Romulan Star Empire. Our people have been studying the Badlands for
years--you can see that we're virtually unarmed. In our opinion, the Dominion has total control over this
sector, and the Badlands are safer than they have been in years." "You've had no contact with Federation
vessels or Federation sympathizers?" "Federation vessels?" Hasmek sneered and motioned toward his
empty sleeve. "I lost this arm fighting the Federation. If you think Romulans would aid the Federation,
your worries are baseless.
You've beaten those sniveling do-gooders, and I for one am jubilant. By the way, we have traveling
documents, which we would be happy to transmit to you." There came a pause, and Ro licked her lips
ner- vously. The Romulan appeared unflappable, but she could see his knuckles whiten where he gripped
the chair for support. There were also blood spots seeping through his folded sleeve--she hoped the
Cardassians wouldn't notice.
Finally the Gul replied, "Begin transmission." Hasmek nodded to Taurik, who plied his console.
While the documents were being sent, the Romulan casually sunk into the chair at the conn. Only those
on the bridge could tell that he had done so to keep from collapsing.
"Transmission complete," said the Vulcan.
There were several more long moments while the Cardassians digested the permits, and Taurik and
Hasmek nonchalantly checked their instruments.
They were both cool under fire, thought Ro. If the Romulan weren't a cold-blooded murderer, he would
have made an interesting addition to this crew.
"Captain Hasmek," said the haughty feminine voice, "the Orb of Peace is cleared for passage. Any
deviation in course from the Badlands will result in expulsion from Cardassian space." Hasmek waved
imperiously. "Understood. When we meet again, we will toast to your victory and dance on the bones of
the Federation." "We await that day," agreed the Cardassian. "Out." The screen switched back to a view
of the starscape, dominated by the sleek bronze warship. This time Ro watched as the Galor-class vessel
glided slowly over their bow, turned in a graceful arc, and disappeared into warp with a brilliant flash.
Only then did she begin breathing.
The Romulan slumped forward onto the conn and rested his head on his forearm. Picard holstered his
phaser and approached the prisoner. "Well done," he said. "You have acted with honor." "You mean, I
lied with honor," murmured Hasmek with a weak smile. "If you think we want to ally ourselves with the
Dominion, you would be wrong.
Romulans are a proud people, and we aren't eager to serve anyone." Picard nodded resolutely. "Now I
know what to do with you. I've got to take you with us on this mission to make sure that you see the
artificial wormhole destroyed with your own eyes. Then I'll get you back to your superiors, so that you
can tell them to remain neutral in the war." Ro gaped at the captain along with the Romulan.
CouM he be serious? Although the Romulan had just shown his worth, how could they add a
treacherous murderer to their already makeshift crew?
"You won't regret this decision," said the Romulan a moment before he closed his eyes and lost
consciousness.
Will Riker stood in a nondescript corridor on Starbase 209, torn as to which direction he should go.
One way led to the repair facilities, where the Enterprise-E lay in space dock, undergoing extensive
repairs. In the other direction was the base commander's office, under Vice-Admiral Jack Torrance, a
man younger than Riker.
In yet a third direction--below to the nineteenth level--were the medical facilities of Starbase 209.
Riker was certain that members of his crew would be there, either receiving outpatient treatment or, in
the case of Deanna Troi and Beverly Crusher, assisting the overworked staff. According to their logs,
they had been helping out every day since the Enterprise's arrival four days ago, while Riker had been
attending tactical meetings. Those meetings had been terribly depressing, because there was no way to
disguise the fact that they were losing the war.
To him, it seemed as if they had been at Starbase for four months instead of four days. Even with the
unexpected diversion of his romance with Captain Shana Winslow, he found it difficult to wait here while
the war raged elsewhere. He felt helpless, guilty, and oddly relieved all at the same time.
Most of all, Riker wanted to know that his comrades behind enemy lines were safe, and he wanted to
know that he would get his ship back in time to help them. As Shana had told him, Starfleet had no
personnel to dispense hugs and reassurance, and that was what he needed most.
On top of that, he had something else to worry about--Shana's mental health. She was the cause of his
quandary, his indecision over which way to go in the corridor. Riker took a few steps toward the base
commander's office, but stopped, knowing that he couldn't go over her head without giving her a chance
to defend herselfi And he couldn't bring himself to go to her workplace and put more pressure on her, not
knowing how she would react. He hadn't seen Shana for a day and a night, since she broke down and
cried in his arms.
No, decided Riker, I have to talk to Deanna Troi before I do anything else. Feeling relieved with his
decision, he strode into the nearest turbolift and requested level nineteen.
He emerged into a broad, busy corridor. Two occupied, robotic gurneys rumbled past going in opposite
directions, following invisible magnetic strips embedded in the floor. A flock of medical workers emerged
from one room and ducked into another, conversing in low voices as they walked. Two orderlies jogged
past in a big hurry, and a man in an automatic wheelchair cruised slowly along the corridor.
Riker wandered the hall, glancing at signs denoting various departments, such as Surgery, Research, and
Recovery. He took a chance and walked toward the door marked "Recovery." When the door slid
open, Riker was immediately plunged back into the war. Every bed in the immense room was filled--row
after row of injured people from dozens of different races. Over each bed, digital readouts pulsed with
cheerful precision, and workers carrying trays and hypos maneuvered through the rows like overworked
honeybees. A few visitors clustered around individual beds, and Riker wandered in the direction of one
such gathering.
He glanced at the patient, a blue-skinned Bolian; he was surrounded by uniformed officers, who were
joking and kidding with him, obviously happy to have their comrade on the mend. Riker walked down
the outer row of beds, seeing several patients who looked alert and well. But he saw many others who
were badly scarred, unconscious, and still in field dressings and casts. The most disturbing were those
who were awake but were staring vacantly into space--they were still at the battle site. A few patients
who looked bored and disgruntled reminded Riker uncomfortably of himself.
The medical workers and volunteers paid no attention to him as they bustled past. Evidently, visitors
were common in the Recovery section. Riker looked for a familiar face among the workers, but there
were none until he reached the last bed in the last row.
There he spotted Alyssa Ogawa administering a hypospray to an unconscious patient.
He walked closer to her and stood patiently until she finished. "Hello, Nurse Ogawa." "Commander
Riker," she said with some surprise.
"Can I help you with anything?" "Yes, I'm looking for Counselor Troi." The nurse stepped away from her
patient and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I believe I saw her in the psychiatric section, which is
out the main door and two doors to the right." "Thank you," answered Riker with a friendly smile.
"I'm amazed how many patients there are in this room. It's great to see so many people on the way to
recovery." "Not all of them are," said Ogawa sadly, glancing back at her patient. "There aren't enough
beds for everyone. Some of them... we're just trying to make comfortable." "I see." The smile faded from
Riker's face. "It's very commendable that you're working here, when you don't have to be." Ogawa
sighed and looked around at the hundreds of casualties. "Oh, I definitely have to be here. They just keep
coming in--and these are the lucky ones. Excuse me, Captain." "Certainly." Riker watched the slender,
darkhaired nurse return to her duties, then he wandered between two more rows of beds, feeling
disheartened and ashamed. Here he was, worrying about a handful of close friends, when death and
destruction were all around. It was hard to imagine that these people and the crew of the Enterprise had
been lucky, but they were... when one considered the alternatives.
According to Ro, thousands of Starfleet officers were toiling in slave labor camps, where they were
treated worse than animals. He wanted to do something-- anything!--but all he could do was to
concentrate on his job, which at the moment meant sitting and waiting.
Riker almost didn't enter the door marked "Psychiatric Care," knowing he could be pulling Deanna away
from patients. But he couldn't stop thinking about Shana Winslow, her torments, and her incredibly
important position. He had to talk to somebody.
Taking a deep breath, he walked into the most depressing of the wards on Starbase 209, the place
where the casualties couldn't be cured by skinbonding, blood transfusions, and antibiotics. The first room
he entered looked like a typical recreation room, with Ping-Pong tables, video viewers, game tables, and
a food and drink replicator. Two people were playing a game of three-dimensional chess, and two more
people were watching a science program on the viewer. The only thing amiss was the two-way mirror by
the door, through which the attendants were undoubtedly monitoring their charges.
A white-garbed attendant stood by the interior doorway, which led to a corridor and many doors
摘要：

StarTrek-TNG-DominionWar3-TunnelThroughTheStarsChapterOneSAMLAVELLESTRODEontothebridgeoftheOrbofPeace,hardlyabletobelievethathehadgivenupaspaciousCardassianantimattertankerforthisaustereBajorantransport.Hewassurehehadgottentheworstofthedeal,especiallyconsideringthathethoughthewasgoingtoberescuedands...

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