STAR TREK - TNG - Battle of Betazed

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“COUNSELOR TROI,” TEVREN SAID SOFTLY. “TO WHAT DO IOWE THIS HONOR?”

“We’re getting you out of here,” Deanna said.

Tevren’s attention was on Vaughn and the others. “I’m guessing you’re with Starfleet,” he said with some

amusement. “Now, why would Starfleet be interested in me?”

Vaughn’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Tevren chuckled, delighted. His eyes went back to Troi. “You look haggard, Deanna, and it’s more than

just the years, I suspect. War going badly, is it? Things unpleasant back home? Coming here when the

place is infested with Jem’Hadar is quite a feat. Some might even call it an act of desperation.”

“Tevren, we don’t have time—”

“Maketime,” Tevren suggested. “This is all quite a fuss over someone no one ever wanted to see again.

Unless, of course, I have something you want? That’s it, isn’t it?” And with that, his eyes gleamed. “They

need me back home. They want to know what I know.”

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’

imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or

dead, is entirely coincidental.

AnOriginalPublication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

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STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license

from Paramount Pictures.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-3435-8

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

To Marco Palmieri, who made this book possible; with special thanks to Keith DeCandido

Historian’s Note

This novel takes place approximately two months after theStar Trek: Deep Space Nineepisode “Tears

of the Prophets,” and a few months before the events ofStar Trek: Insurrection.

Prologue

SARKENARENHAD VOLUNTEEREDfor a suicide mission.

Scanning the heavens surrounding his homeworld, the scion of the Fourth House, Heir to the Blessed

Books of Katara, and Holder of the Sacred Scepter of Betazed, experienced true fear for the first time in

his adult life. Not the shiver of apprehension or the cold lump of dread he’d often felt before an

unpleasant or mildly dangerous task. The sight of the massive armada of Dominion and Cardassian

warships massed near Betazed filled him with a paralyzing terror that squeezed air from his lungs and

slicked his palms with sweat.

Ironically, the intimidating size of the contingent also provided a glimmer of hope. While the enemy had

kept ships in orbit since the invasion and fall of Betazed four months earlier, never had they amassed so

many. The gathered forces implied that the rumor hehad heard was true: the Federation was mounting an

attack to free his homeworld.

If Starfleet forces succeeded in driving the invaders from Betazed, Sark’s mission was superfluous. If

their offensive was unsuccessful, however, the information he carried for the Federation became more

important than ever.

Tearing his gaze from the enemy ships, he looked to the holo of his wife above his ship’s flight control

console. Holding their newborn son, Cort, Damira stared back at him with impish laughter in her black

eyes, a smile lifting the corners of her lips, happiness radiating like a sun’s corona. His hands hesitated

above the controls. One simple command would turn the ship around, away from the Dominion forces,

and send him fleeing back to the resistance stronghold in the Loneel Mountains. There he could hold

Damira and his son in his arms again—

Until the Jem’Hadar came for them and all the other members of the resistance.

That chilling certainty overcame his terror, and with fresh resolve, Sark continued the shuttle on its

heading and moved toward a break in the Dominion line.

Suddenly, proximity alarms screeched throughout his small craft. Sensors showed a Jem’Hadar attack

ship bearing down on him. If he’d had a bank of photon torpedoes, he could have tried to blast his

pursuer from space, but Sark’s shuttle was no match for a ship designed strictly for warfare. Since he

couldn’t out-gun the Jem’Hadar, he would have to outfly them. Steering a bob-and-weave evasive

course that placed him always between a Dominion or Cardassian vesseland the determined attacker,

Sark zigzagged his way through the enemy line. If the Jem’Hadar pilot fired on the runabout, he risked

hitting one of his own battle cruisers.

With skill honed over years in the service of Betazed’s homeguard, Sark burst through the armada with

the Jem’Hadar attack ship still on his tail. He reached for the control to send the shuttle into warp, just as

the Jem’Hadar’s phased polaron weapons strafed his ship. His small craft shuddered violently.

Sark tapped the panel and sent his shuttle into warp drive. Glancing at his sensors, he saw that the

Jem’Hadar attack ship had broken off, returning to its position in the Dominion line. With a sigh of relief,

Sark assessed his damage. The hull had been blistered by the polaron beam, the vessel’s pitching and

yawing indicating severe damage to its stabilizers, and life support was barely functioning.

Damage to the ship paled into insignificance beside the loss of subspace communications. He had no

way to transmit the contents of the datachip he carried. Turning back was no longer an option. He would

have to deliver his intel personally to those who could make best use of it.

With the shuttle trailing a thin thread of plasma, he headed on an unsteady vector toward Starbase 19.

The journey of only a few hours at warp speed seemed a lifetime in his badly damaged craft before he

finally spotted his goal. Ahead, the graceful form of the starbase beckoned, and beyond, a bright cluster

of blue-shifted points of light marked the approach of nearly fifty Federation starships.

Hope spread through him like a blessing. Help for Betazed was on the way.

When he glanced at the aft sensor display, however, Sark’s optimism shattered. The Dominion and

Cardassian fleet stretched behind him like a black cloud. With horror, he realized the armada had moved

away from the Betazed system to engage the Federation forces here, at the starbase.

He ran a quick systems check. If his shuttle held together and his life support lasted long enough for him

to reach Starbase 19, he could deliver the datachip to the station’s commander, who could then forward

it to Starfleet Command. With a swift prayer that the Federation ships protecting the starbase would

allow him access, Sark stiffened his shoulders and coaxed more speed from his damaged engines. Failure

was not an option. If Betazed was to throw off the Dominion’s oppressive rule, Federation leadershadto

receive his message.

Upon reaching the starbase, Sark tapped out a hail using the shuttle’s outboard running lights, hoping his

attempt to identify himself would be understood, praying his Betazoid biosignature would register on the

base’s sensors and that his ship wouldn’t be fired upon for its unannounced approach.

Sark’s ship was suddenly seized by a tractor beam and guided into a docking bay. A klaxon was blaring

in the bay as he disembarked, and a Starfleet security detail with weapons drawn surrounded him. One

of the guards pointed a tricorder at him, no doubt scanning for weapons.

“Identify yourself,” the team leader, an Andorian lieutenant, demanded.

Sark fought to control his breathing and spoke rapidly, hands spread. “Sark Enaren, I’m with the

Betazed resistance, and I have to speak to your C.O. immediately.”

“That won’t be possible,” the lieutenant said. “The base is coming under attack. If you follow my

men—”

“You don’t understand,” Sark interrupted, the deck suddenly shuddering beneath him with what had to

be the first salvo of enemy fire. “What I have to tell him could make all the difference for Betazed. Please,

just let him know I’m here. Tell him I’m with the resistance. Let him decide.”

The guard with the tricorder held out his findings to the lieutenant. The Andorian took note of them and

seemed to waver. Then abruptly he tapped his combadge. “Th’Vraas to ops,” he said.

“Georgianos here,”a gruff voice bellowed.“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, I have the pilot of that shuttle we snagged. He claims to be with the Betazed resistance. He says he

needs to speak with you urgently.”

The deck shuddered again and Sark could hear a cacophony of activity over the lieutenant’s combadge.

After a moment it lessened, and the gruff voice returned.“Haul his ass up here, and make it fast.

Georgianos out.”

“Your lucky day,” the lieutenant said to Sark. “Follow me.” The Andorian turned and began marching

out of the bay, Sark falling in behind. As they moved into a corridor bustling with rushing Starfleet

personnel, waves of frenzied emotions assaulted Sark’s Betazoid sensibilities and he attempted to shield

his mind, but the feelings were too raw, too primal to block. Alongwith the strong determination and

heightened excitement, he could almost smell the fear. With the size of the Dominion force bearing down

on them, everyone on the station realized that within a matter of hours, they could all be dead.

An explosion cut through the corridor behind him, tearing into a knot of junior officers. One young man

landed a few feet away from Sark, eyes glazed, his left arm missing. Smoke, choking dust, and the

coppery stench of blood saturated the air. Sark reeled from the agonies of the wounded and dying that

jammed his mind. A dusky blue hand suddenly gripped his arm. “You all right?” Lieutenant th’Vraas

asked.

Steeling himself against the pain of those around him, Sark nodded once and let himself be led into a

turbolift. The ride to the base’s operations center was thankfully brief. As he entered, Sark suspected

that the station’s nerve center was being successfully targeted by the attacking ships. Damaged wires and

conduits dangled overhead, flames licked the weapons console, and smoke dimmed the room, but the

officers of Starbase 19 remained calm and focused, carrying out their duties as if the all-out attack were

no more than a drill.

In the center of the room, a short, stocky man with blond hair, intense gray eyes, and the framed pips of

an admiral on his collar snapped orders with precision.

“All phasers, fire,” he directed the tactical officer, and on a large viewscreen, a Jem’Hadar battleship

blossomed brilliantly as twin beams converged on its port engine nacelle. The admiral grunted in

satisfaction before turning. “Commander Stein, get a team on thosesensor arrays,” he called out as his

eyes settled on Sark. “I’m Admiral Georgianos. You have thirty seconds to tell me who the hell you are

and what brought you here.”

Quickly, Sark told him. And before his thirty seconds were up, Georgianos seemed to understand that

the Betazoids’ struggle to end the Dominion occupation of their planet had become desperate.

Before the admiral could respond, there was an announcement of incoming fire from tactical. An

explosion ripped through ops and knocked Sark to the floor, causing his vision to fail momentarily. He

struggled to his feet and saw Admiral Georgianos slumped against a railing, blood trickling from a gash on

his forehead. Another officer sprawled dead across the weapons console. Georgianos pulled himself to

his feet and wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Shields off-line,” a young lieutenant reported in a shaking voice. “All communications are down, too,

sir.”

Her announcement stunned Sark. “Admiral, my message needs to get to Starfleet—”

“Jem’Hadar, Admiral!” a security officer yelled. “They’re beaming in through weak spots in our

scramble field.”

Defeat flickered over Georgianos’s square face, then disappeared in an instant. “Get those shields back

up. We’ll hold them off as long as we can. The Twelfth Fleet is almost in range.” Georgianos turned to

the Andorian security officer. “Th’Vraas, get this man to an escape pod.” To Sark he said, “I can’t spare

anyone to go with you, so you’re on your own. If the Jem’Hadarattack ships don’t spot you, there’s a

good chance a Starfleet ship will pick you up. Good luck.”

Georgianos was already bellowing new orders over the thunder of the Dominion barrage as Sark raced

after th’Vraas again, this time down a narrow passage leading away from ops. The entire station

shuddered spasmodically, and Sark wondered if he’d live long enough to reach the pod. Tamping down

fear for his own survival, he silently repeated his mantra.

Failure is not an option.

Rage empowered his tired legs, but he wouldn’t let his anger at the Jem’Hadar distract him from his

purpose.

“We’re here, sir.” Th’Vraas tapped a control panel in the passage wall and popped open a hatch. He

pointed inside to a contact near the pod’s entrance. “As soon as you’ve secured the hatch, hit this and

you’re launched.”

“Thank you.” Sark avoided the gaze of the lieutenant and climbed inside, fearing for the safety of the

Andorian and the others on the station. Sark had seen the size of the Dominion fleet. Starbase 19, he

feared, didn’t stand a chance.

Pushing the thought from his mind, he concentrated on his mission, secured the hatch, and tapped the

launch control.

Nothing happened.

A nearby explosion must have jammed the mechanism. Sark tapped the contact repeatedly.

Still nothing.

The station rocked again. Sark searched wildly for a manual control, found a lever, and yanked on it,

hard.

The force of the pod’s ejection from the starbase slammed him back into the opposite wall of the

compartment, temporarily dazing him. His senses returned, and he scrambled to his feet.

Wasting no time, he inserted the datachip with its encrypted message into the subspace transmitter and

began sending. Someone on a Starfleet vessel had to receive it. If Starfleet’s offensive didn’t succeed, the

contents of the datachip might be Betazed’s only hope of throwing off the Dominion’s yoke.

From the corner of his eye, through the starboard viewport, he caught the unmistakable outline of a

Jem’Hadar attack ship.

He had time for only one thought.

Damira—

In an instant, the escape pod exploded in a burst of light, and Sark Enaren with it.

Chapter One

COMMANDERDEANNATROISTAREDout the wide expanse of windows in her quarters aboard the

U.S.S. Enterprise.Sadness darkened her deep brown eyes, and worry etched the smooth perfection of

her attractive face. Her long dark hair, usually sleek and shining, looked as if it had recently been

attacked by a Myrmidon wind devil. She gazed at a cluster of stars that she knew included that of

Betazed, her homeworld, shining through the spires of Starbase 133 as if mocking her with their peaceful

glow. For once, the sight of home failed to brighten her spirits. If anything, it depressed her more.

“A fine state for a ship’s counselor,” she muttered, aware that her mood fluctuated between depression

and anger but unable to throw off the negative emotions and provide for herself the cheer and

encouragement she supplied so readily for the rest of the crew.

The Federation had been at war with the shape-shiftingFounders of the Dominion, their genetically

engineered soldier species, the Jem’Hadar, and their Cardassian allies for more than a year now. Four

months ago, they had invaded and annexed Betazed, gaining a strategic hold in the very heart of the

Federation. Starfleet’s attempts to break that hold had so far failed disastrously. On every front,

casualties were growing daily, with no end in sight. Too many ships lost, too many dead, too little hope of

victory against an enemy that bred new soldiers faster than Starfleet could recruit and train cadets.

Deanna rubbed her burning eyes. Every bone in her body ached with fatigue. In less than two hours she

had to report for duty, but she hadn’t been able to sleep. How could anyone sleep, knowing what was

happening out there? Every time she closed her eyes, she saw—

The chime on her door sounded.

She didn’t answer, knowing who it was and hoping he would leave. The last thing she felt right now was

sociable.

The chime sounded again. She flung herself down on the window seat and pulled a pillow over her head.

Imzadi?

She sensed Will Riker’s presence, picking up telepathically his concern for her. Will had been her first

true love and would always be her best friend, herImzadi.But she was in no mood to face anyone now.

Not even Will.

“Go away,” she called.

For an instant there was quiet, and she was breathing a sigh of relief when the doors to her quarters slid

openand Will stepped inside. He’d used his security override to enter.

She bolted upright. “What part of ‘go away’ don’t you understand?” Anger filled her voice, but her

more rational side realized it wasn’t Will who angered her.

It was the damned war.

Will crossed the room and slid onto the window seat beside her. “I’m worried about you.”

“You have a ship to run. Go worry about it.”

He cocked his head in that little-boy gesture that always tugged at her heart because it seemed so at

odds with the strength and maturity of the tall, seasoned Starfleet officer with his piercing eyes and regal

beard.

“Maybe I should call Beverly,” he suggested. “Have her look in on you.”

“I don’t need a doctor, Will,” she snapped.

Will inclined his head toward the tabletop next to her. “You never met a chocolate you didn’t like. And

you’re losing weight. I think Beverly should check you out.”

Deanna glanced at the dish on the table that had once held a sinful concoction of chocolate ice cream,

hot fudge sauce, whipped cream, and chocolate sprinkles. The bowl’s untouched contents were now

indistinguishable from a mud puddle.

“I’m all right,” she insisted.

Will slid closer on the bench, draped his arm around her shoulders, and fixed her with a stare. “Try

again.”

Deanna couldn’t help smiling. Will knew her better than anyone, and although she was the ship’s

counselor,he could give her a run for her money in the listening department any day.

Remembering the source of her depression, she let her smile fade. “You’ve heard the latest news?”

Sympathy filled his eyes, and he squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’m sorry.”

Deanna snatched a padd from the table beside her and rattled off the information. “Thirty-six ships

destroyed—hit before they could even enter the Betazed system! Starbase 19 practically obliterated.”

She leaped to her feet and flung the padd across the room. It bounced off the far wall, barely missing a

gilded Louis XIV mirror. Her reflection glared back at her, eyes flashing with rage, hair tousled, her

cheeks sunken hollows from weight loss and worry.

She pivoted, all her anger and frustration focused on Will. “Thousands died. And for nothing! The

Dominion’s grip on Betazed is as strong as ever.”

Will folded his arms across his chest and waited, as if sensing she needed to vent her frustrations without

interruption. She wouldn’t disappoint him. “And where were we? Sitting safely here at Starbase 133

while others did our dying for us!”

Unruffled by her heated display, Will rose to his feet and pulled her into his arms. He smoothed her hair

and held her silently for a moment, as if trying to transfer his calm to her. “That’s not fair, Deanna. There

isn’t one of us who wasn’t itching to help, but theEnterprisewasn’t battle-ready. The damage we took at

Rigel still won’t be repaired for a couple more weeks.”

Her ragged breathing eased and her temper cooled.Will offered her his hand and led her back to the

window seat.

“Lwaxana?” he asked.

Deanna blinked back tears. “I’ve had no word from Mother, not from anyone on Betazed. With the

Dominion’s communication blackout, I have no way of knowing if Mother and my little brother are even

still alive. No way of knowing how many on Betazed have died.”

“Your mother is one of the most resourceful women I’ve ever met,” Will assured her. “If anyone can

outsmart the Jem’Hadar, it’s Lwaxana.”

Deanna stood up again and stomped across the floor. She didn’t want comfort. “I want todosomething.”

“We all do.” Will retrieved the padd from the floor on the other side of the room. Handing it to her, he

raised an eyebrow. “No more throwing things, okay?”

“I can’t agree to that.”

“Why not?”

“Because throwing things can be very good therapy.”

Will nodded toward the mirror she’d almost shattered. “Then use the holodeck next time you need a

therapy session. You’ll be less likely to destroy your prized possessions.”

“Right now, possessions are the least of my worries.”

“Picard to Troi.”The captain’s rich, crisp tones sounded over her combadge.“Please report to the

observation lounge. And bring Commander Riker with you.”

Deanna closed her eyes and sighed, got a grip on her emotions, and tapped her badge.

“Acknowledged.”

With Deanna at his side, Riker navigated the corridor toward the nearest turbolift. Although the interior

of theship was mostly deserted, Riker knew from the duty roster that work crews in environmental suits

were swarming like ants over the port nacelle. The warp engine housing had been severely damaged by a

disruptor wave cannon from a CardassianGalor-class warship in a battle for the Rigel system two weeks

earlier. TheEnterprise,however, had been lucky. It had managed to limp back to Starbase 133. Four

other ships and their crews hadn’t returned at all.

“Those repairs should have been completed weeks ago,” Riker said. The war had produced a critical

shortage of resources and personnel needed for rebuilding, delaying La Forge’s efforts to get the

Enterpriseback into the fight.

Deanna nodded. “Even Geordi is losing patience. He’s barking orders like an Academy drill sergeant.

After several scathing rebukes to members of his staff who weren’t giving a hundred and fifty percent, he

came to see me. He was mortified at his loss of control.”

“I’m sure you gave him good advice.”

“I told him to repair theEnterprisefirst and work on rebuilding rapport later.”

Riker didn’t blame the chief engineer for his impatience. The dismal progress of the war was affecting

everyone, even Deanna. Although her mother was Betazoid, Deanna’s late father, Ian Andrew Troi, had

been human, a Starfleet officer. Given her genetic heritage, Deanna didn’t possess the intense telepathic

abilities of a full-blooded Betazoid. She was, however, a talented empath who could sense another’s

truthfulness and experience what others were feeling. That ability enhanced hereffectiveness as a

counselor, but at a time when so many suffered the fear, grief, and stress of war, her job was taking its

toll on her usually sunny and optimistic nature.

They reached the turbolift. Riker followed Deanna inside.

“Observation lounge,” he ordered.

While the lift moved soundlessly through multiple levels, Riker eyed the woman at his side. Before

leaving her quarters, Deanna had changed into her uniform and brushed her hair, but she still wore the

same exhausted expression, and her uniform hung loosely on her formerly curvaceous figure. She

appeared to be wasting away before his eyes, and he felt helpless to comfort her. Since they’d lost all

communication with Betazed four months ago when the Dominion invaded, no one knew what was really

happening on her home planet. Not knowing freed the imagination to conjure the worst.

“Any idea why the captain wants us?” she asked.

“Someone docked in shuttlebay two while I was on my way to your quarters. Maybe there’s news.”

Her dark eyes clouded. “I don’t think I can stand more bad news.”

He started to reassure her that the news might be good, but held his tongue. Lately, good news had been

scarcer than the grizzly bears that had once ranged his native Alaska.

The turbolift stopped and its door slid open. Riker motioned Deanna ahead and followed her into the

observation lounge.

Captain Picard and an unfamiliar officer stood at the windows, their backs to the door. Admiration for

his commanding officer flooded through Riker. He’dbeen offered his own command many times, but he

hadn’t wanted to leave theEnterprise.He loved the ship. His loyalty was to her captain, and it was

difficult to imagine one without the other, or himself anywhere else.

“Ah, you’re here,” Picard said, tugging by habit at his jacket as he turned to greet them. His voice was

warm, but his expression somber, and Riker feared Deanna was probably right about more bad news.

The unknown officer turned away from the window and faced them. He was a Starfleet commander,

taller than Picard, with a full head of silver hair and a closely trimmed beard of the same color. Fine lines

etched the corners of the stranger’s serious blue eyes and the broad expanse of his tanned, high

forehead. Riker noted that while he appeared relaxed, the man moved with a precision and economy that

he’d seen before only in the most seasoned officers.

“Commander Elias Vaughn,” Picard said, “my first officer, Commander William Riker. Commander

Vaughn is attached to Starfleet special operations.”

“Commander,” Riker said. Vaughn nodded but said nothing as he gripped Riker’s hand.

“And I believe you already know my counselor, Commander Troi,” Picard went on, which puzzled

Riker. He couldn’t remember Deanna ever mentioning an Elias Vaughn.Not that that means anything.

There’s probably a long list of people in our pasts that Deanna and I have never discussed.

“Hello, Deanna, it’s been a while.” Vaughn shook her hand as well.

Troi nodded to him, though Riker could feel hergrowing tense next to him. “It’s good to see you, Elias,”

she said evenly.

“Now that everyone’s acquainted,” Picard said in a tone that inhibited further pleasantries, “let’s begin.

Commander Vaughn?”

Vaughn clasped his hands behind his back and eyed his fellow officers from beneath thick brows. “As

I’ve already explained to Captain Picard, I’m here under orders from Starfleet Command to brief you on

theEnterprise’s next assignment.”

“Begging your pardon, Commander,” Riker interrupted, “but our ship’s in no condition—”

“She will be,” Vaughn said. “Effective immediately,Enterpriseis Starbase 133’s top priority. Your ship

will be mission-ready in less than four days.”

“Everything Commander Vaughn is about to tell you is classified,” Picard said as he took his place at the

head of the table, “and not to be shared with anyone outside this room until I give you clearance. Is that

understood?”

Riker watched Picard settle in his chair with the same air of undisputed command that he assumed on the

bridge. Vaughn sat opposite Deanna with the easy grace of an athlete. Riker could sense Vaughn holding

back and, from the grim set of Picard’s face, guessed he wouldn’t like what the senior commander was

going to tell them.

“Yes, sir,” Riker answered, and Deanna nodded.

Vaughn looked directly at Deanna. “As you know, last week’s attempt by the Twelfth Fleet to retake

Betazed was preempted by the Dominion’s attack on Starbase 19, in which much of the force gathering

there was wiped out.”

Riker could sense Deanna tensing next to him.

“What you don’t yet know,” Vaughn went on, “is that Starfleet now believes that the recent battle

actually was more disastrous to the Dominion forces stationed at Betazed than we previously believed.

Recent reconnaissance indicates that only a dozen Jem’Hadar and Cardassian ships are left to defend the

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摘要：

“COUNSELORTROI,”TEVRENSAIDSOFTLY.“TOWHATDOIOWETHISHONOR?”“We’regettingyououtofhere,”Deannasaid.Tevren’sattentionwasonVaughnandtheothers.“I’mguessingyou’rewithStarfleet,”hesaidwithsomeamusement.“Now,whywouldStarfleetbeinterestedinme?”Vaughn’seyesnarrowed.“Don’tflatteryourself.”Tevrenchuckled,delighte...

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