Star Trek Deep Space 9 09 Proud Helios

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PROLOGUE

THE SHIP SWUNG SLOWLY in its hidden orbit, matching the course of the local moon, shadowed by

that greater shadow. Power output had been pared to the bone, only the cloaking device fully

operational; within the armored hull, in the crew's quarters and on the dimly lit bridge, the air was stale,

and cold. The captain bent, intent, over the tabletop sensor display, watching the lights that were the

Cardassian battle fleet as it swept through the system. He had timed their passage carefully, aligned his

own orbit to keep his ship perfectly concealed from their sensors. As long as the cloaking device

worked-and it would, or he would know why-they were safe; even so, he kept his eyes on the screen,

and his crew huddled in the forward section of the bridge, giving him a wide berth, until the last

Cardassian ship had shrunk to a mere pinpoint on the screen. Only then did he lean back, working his

shoulders-the long wait, and the unacknowledged tension, had tired his back-and motioned to his first

officer, waiting at the command console.

"Bring us back on line."

The first officer nodded, her hands already busy on the controls, and there was a sound like a sigh as

life-support whirred back up to full capacity. The lights flickered on a moment later, and the navigator

leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together against the cold. "Course, sir?"

The captain looked at him for a long moment, long enough to make the navigator shudder, certain he'd

gone too far, and then the captain turned away, crossed to the plotting table. At his gesture, the first

officer rose to her feet and came to join him, stood respectfully silent at his elbow until he deigned to

speak.

"We've made the Cardassian reaches a little hot for us," he said, and the first officer gave a slight, ironic

smile in answer.

"Ten ships in as many months," she said. "It has attracted attention."

The captain returned the smile, but his eyes were on the plotting table. "Traffic in the Bajor Sector has

increased significantly in the past year."

"The wormhole," the first officer answered, and shrugged. "Everyone wants to be in on the opening of the

Gamma Quadrant."

"So do I," the captain said.

The first officer frowned. "That's Federation space-"

"I know," the captain said, and the first officer went abruptly silent, braced for the explosion. To her

surprise, it never came. "But here and here-" The captain's hand reached out and into the illusion of space

re-created on the plotting table, drew a pair of intersecting lines just on the Cardassian side of the

invisible border between Cardassian and Federation space. "I've been analyzing local traffic. The border

isn't well defined, a lot of Federation shipping slips over into Cardassian space here-one might call it a

shortcut, I suppose. But we can take them there, and still remain in Cardassian space."

The first officer studied the image for a moment, her face carefully neutral in the reflected light. "The

Cardassians will still be hunting us. May I remind you that Gul Dukat wants your head and several other

parts of your anatomy served to him on a gilded tray?"

The captain laughed. "They haven't caught us yet."

"They haven't really tried." The first officer looked for a moment as though she wanted to bite back the

words, but the captain laughed again, and she relaxed slightly. "And the Federation?"

The captain touched keys on the edge of the plotting table, conjured up a new image, a star system, and

then, at its edge, a shape like some strange sea creature, a disk within a ring that held three curved

pylons. "Their presence hardly matters. There are no starships in the vicinity, no planetary bases. A single

space station-what can it do, to stop us-to stop Helios?"

He walked away to stand over the navigator's shoulder, gave him the course and watched the Andorian

key it in. The first officer stared for a moment longer at the plotting table, and the space station displayed

above it, then shook her head, and turned away. The image remained, rotating almost imperceptibly

against the illusory starfield.

CHAPTER 1

COMMANDER BENJAMIN SISKO stared in some bemusement at the report flashing on his desk

screen. He wasn't sure that he'd seen that particular set of Cardassian characters before, or the scrolling

band of-was it really decoration?-that seemed to accompany it, but the message from his own software

was perfectly clear, and one he couldn't remember seeing since he had taken command of Deep Space

Nine. His schedule, for the next four hours, until the end of his working day, was completely clear. He

considered it for a moment, thinking of baseball, of an afternoon game played in the holosuite, and

pushed himself to his feet. He went to the office door and looked out and down, already framing his

request to Dax-she would understand his need to take a brief rest, to spend some unscheduled time with

Jake, and maybe keep him away from that blasted Nog-and stopped abruptly, staring down into Ops.

The space was all but deserted, only a single Bajoran technician busy at the engineering station. Sisko's

face drew into a sudden frown.

And not that busy, either if he wasn't very much mistaken, there was a game, one of Quark's

sleight-of-hand games, playing on the technician's screen. Neither Dax nor O'Brien was anywhere in

sight.

Sisko's frown deepened, and he came down the short flight of steps into Ops. The Bajoran technician

heard his footsteps and turned hastily, one hand fumbling with the controls to abort his game. Sisko drew

breath to point out the Bajoran's error-one did not play video games on duty, not on Sisko's watch-when

the turbolift rose into Ops, and the science officer emerged. Sisko looked at her, at the sudden,

spontaneous smile that formed on Jadzia Dax's face as she recognized what had happened, and was not

amused.

"And where the hell is everyone?" he asked.

"Chief O'Brien is on the Promenade working on the modifications to Garak's tailoring equipment, Major

Kira is escorting some visiting Bajorans on a tour of the station, and I-" Dax's smile widened even further,

became at once good-humored and conspiratorial. "I have been playing truant, Benjamin. I confess. I've

been borrowing computer time for a project, and 1 stopped in to check on its progress." She did not

sound in the least repentant.

Sisko sighed, and admitted to himself that he was angry primarily because his crew had beaten him to the

punch. Still, this was no way to run a space station-and if he himself was succumbing to temptation, it

was definitely time to shake things up a bit. "I think we need to talk, Dax," he said, and turned back up

the stairs to his office. Dax followed him, still smiling slightly.

Sisko seated himself behind his desk, waited until Dax had seated herself opposite him. "We're getting

slack," he said, and saw Dax's smile widen.

"I'm not sure that that's the problem, Benjamin," the Trill answered. "Or even a problem. The fact that

we've finally got the station running at something close to Starfleet

standards seems to me to be something of a cause for celebration."

"And I agree," Sisko said. "In principle, anyway. But I'm not pleased to come out of my office and find

Ops deserted, and the one tech still on duty playing video games." Dax was watching him steadily, an all

too familiar expression in her dark eyes, and for an instant Sisko thought he could see the ghost of the

former host looking out from behind the mask of Jadzia's face. It was at times like this that he

understood, not just intellectually, but emotionally too, that Dax was truly three hundred years old, and

alien-and, he admitted silently, a good and honest friend. "And, yes, I suppose I'm annoyed because I

would have liked to take the afternoon off myself."

"I can take over for you, Benjamin," Dax said. Her expression didn't change, but Sisko thought he heard

a fleeting note of approval in her voice.

Sisko hesitated, tempted-it had been a long time, too long, since he'd felt that things were enough under

control even to contemplate taking an unscheduled holiday-but shook his head, not bothering to hide his

regret. "I know. And I appreciate the offer. But there are still a few things I need to do."

"Such as?"

"The Bajoran delegation," Sisko answered promptly. "And I'd like to see how far ahead O'Brien is with

the repair schedule. And-" He smiled suddenly, the expression lighting up his rather somber face. "And I

intend to draft a notice to all station personnel, to remind them of the procedures that are to be followed

if they have to leave their stations. It really won't do, Dax. We can't afford to get careless."

"I do agree, Benjamin." Dax tilted her head to one side, the mottling on her temple just below the hairline

suddenly vivid in the office's lights. "I don't like to suggest it, but I

suppose we should consider running some surprise exercises."

"If I had suggested that," Sisko said, "you would have called it malice."

Dax nodded, not quite suppressing her smile. "That's why I suggested it."

Sisko grinned, acknowledging the point. "I admit, I'm not eager to do it-I've been enjoying the peace and

quiet as much as anyone aboard. My God, this will be the first time since Starfleet took over that we've

had the leisure even to think of relaxing. But we can't afford to get slack."

"Shall I-"

Sisko shook his head. "No, I'll take care of it, Dax. If I'm going to break up everyone else's rest, I should

at least have the grace to do the work myself."

"As you wish, Commander." Dax levered herself easily out of her chair. "I'll leave you to it, then."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Sisko began, but his words were interrupted by the sudden shrilling of an alarm

in Ops. "What-?" He froze for a fraction of a second, automatically assessing-not environmental failure,

not hull damage, not a threat to the reactors-and then thrust himself away from his desk. The technician

was already at the communications console, all bus iness now, video game forgotten, his hands delicate

on the controls.

"What is it?" Sisko demanded, and came down the short flight of stairs to stare over the technician's

shoulder. The Bajoran looked up for a second, acknowledging Sisko's presence, but his attention

returned instantly to his controls.

"Commander, I'm picking up a subspace distress call, very faint. I'm trying to boost the pickup."

"I'll take it through my console," Dax said, and the technician nodded, willingly relinquishing the controls.

Sisko watched just long enough to be sure that Dax had taken over, and stepped to the intercom. "Go to

yellow

alert. Major Kira, report to Ops at once. Chief O'Brien, report to Ops at once." He looked back at the

multiple screens. "Well, Dax?"

"It's a distress call, all right," Dax answered, her eyes fixed on her screen. "Not automated-and not

Federation, I'm fairly sure. I'm trying to get a clean signal to put it on the main viewscreen."

Sisko nodded, knowing better than to press her further, no matter how much he wanted to, and the

turbolift rose into sight, carrying the chief of operations.

"Trouble, sir?" O'Brien asked, and took his place at the engineering console.

"We're receiving a distress call from an unidentified ship," Sisko said. O'Brien nodded, but Sisko was

pleased to see that he kept his eyes on the station controls, automatical- ly checking system status. It was

a small thing, but one of the reasons he was glad to have O'Brien on board.

"Where is it? Can the runabouts reach it, do you think?" O'Brien asked.

Sisko looked at Dax. "We don't know yet, Chief-"

"I have it, sir," Dax interrupted. "I've routed it through the tactical scanners to boost the signal."

"Put it on the main screen," Sisko ordered. Behind him, he heard the turbolift hiss softly, but did not turn

his head as Kira took her place at the operations table. He fixed his eyes on the main screen instead,

staring as the image slowly swam into focus. It was streaked with static, but the picture was plain enough

an alien, an amphibian by the look of him-her?-with mud-colored skin and half a dozen fleshy barbels at

the corners of its wide, lipless mouth, looked back at him from the bridge of an unfamiliar starship. From

the arrangement of the consoles, and the unmatched gear of the crew people visible behind the speaker,

Sisko guessed that it was not a military ship, but he didn't recognize the makers.

"-ship Gift of Flight," the alien who spoke-he or she

did not belong to any of the species Sisko knew by sight- was saying. "We are under attack from an

unknown vessel, request any assistance possible. I repeat, we are under attack and require assistance."

"Can you open a channel to the ship?" Sisko asked.

O'Brien answered, "Aye, sir. I'm working on it."

Sisko nodded. "Dax, can you identify him?"

"Yes, Commander." Dax touched keys, brought a file onto her working screen. "According to the

computer, he's a Xawe-they're an independent race, with a couple of colonies on the Cardassian border

of this sector. Xawen hasn't joined the Federation yet, though there are perennial negotiations."

"I've never heard of them," Kira said.

"The Xawe keep pretty much to themselves," Dax answered. "They don't engage in much commerce, but

when they do . . ." She looked at Sisko, her face very serious.

Sisko nodded. "But when they do, their ships are heavily laden. And rich pickings. I remember them

now." In the background, the Xawe captain's voice droned on, repeating his appeal. "See if you can get a

fix on the ship, Dax. O'Brien, have you got a channel open yet?"

"No-yes, sir." O'Brien looked down at his console. "Open now."

Sisko faced the screen image, locking eyes with the Xawe captain. "This is Commander Benjamin Sisko,

in command of the Federation space station Deep Space Nine. We are receiving your distress call, how

may we be of assistance?"

"A space station-?" The Xawe's barbels writhed, a gesture that Sisko could only read as anger and

despair. The Universal Translator added the same tones to the hoarse voice. "We are under attack,

Commander, we need military assistance."

"What's your position?" Sisko asked, and the Xawe's barbels twisted again.

"I am not familiar with Federation mapping conventions-"

"I have a fix on them, sir," Dax interrupted. "There's no sign of another ship in the area."

"We have you on our sensors, Captain," Sisko said, in what he hoped would be a reassuring tone, and

looked at Dax. "Well, where are they?"

"They're just inside the Federation's borders," the science officer answered. She touched controls, and a

two-dimensional map appeared, superimposed on the lower corner of the main screen.

Sisko studied it, said aloud, "Captain, what's your top speed?"

"We can make warp five if we have to," the Xawe answered. The barbels curled inward, and the

translator tinged his voice with grim humor. "We are doing warp five now."

Sisko nodded. "Still no sign of the other ship?" he asked.

Dax shook her head. "But if it's cloaked-"

Which would mean the attacker's a Klingon, Sisko thought, or maybe a Romulan. Or someone who

trades with them. He shook the thought away as unproductive, fixed his eyes on the screen. "Captain,

come to course-" He looked down at his own console, touched keys to slave his screen to the map on

the main viewer. "-one-nine-six mark fourteen. That puts you on the most direct route for the station.

Proceed at your best speed-"

"Warp five," the Xawe interjected.

"That'll still take him six hours," Kira whispered, as much to herself as to any of the others. Sisko glanced

at her, startled, to see her eyes locked on the Xawe's image, her mobile face set in an expression almost

of anguish.

"We don't have that much time, Commander," the Xawe said. He looked down at his console, out of

sight below the edge of the viewscreen, and his barbels twitched again. "We

will proceed as you suggest, course one-nine-six mark fourteen, but we are only lightly armed. If the ship

attacks again, we will surely be disabled."

In the background, Sisko could see the crew moving to obey the new orders, could see red lights flicker

across one console-engineering, perhaps?-before one of the other Xawe did something to the control

board and the red faded again. "I understand, Captain," Sisko said. / understand only too well, I've been

in your shoes, and I never want to be there again, or to see anyone else faced with those choices- He

clamped down hard on those memories. They weren't important now; what was important was to find

out what he could about this invisible attacker, so he could save other ships, if not Gift of Flight. He said,

faintly surprised to find his voice so steady, "What information can you give us about your attacker,

Captain-?"

"I understand," the Xawe said, and Sisko was suddenly perfectly sure that he did. "I-my name is Arrishan

fin'Yrach, and my ship is called Gift of Flight. Remember us to Xawen if all goes ill."

"I will," Sisko said. But I'll be damned if I'll give up without a fight. Too bad the Defiant is at Utopia

Planitia for repairs.

Again, the Xawe seemed to read his thoughts. The barbels curled again, and fin'Yrach said, "I'm afraid I

don't have much data on our attacker, Commander. The ship is large, and travels cloaked; our sensors

cannot follow it at all. We came under fire as we crossed the border into the Bajor Sector, photon

torpedoes and phasers both-very powerful phasers. We took evasive action, fired three of our own

torpedoes, and ran. The ship disappeared again, but it is following. We have seen it uncloak half a dozen

times, and we have been fired on repeatedly. We are continuing evasive action."

"Right." Sisko looked at Dax. "Any sign of the attacking ship?"

"No, sir." Dax shook her head for emphasis, still watching her screens. "Not even a sensor shadow."

Sisko looked back at the screen, then down at his own console, the first hint of a plan beginning to take

shape in his mind. "Fin'Yrach, what's your cargo?"

There was a little silence, almost a hesitation, before the Xawe answered. "Why do you want to know?"

"Can you tell me, please?" Sisko bit back his impatience, willing the Xawe to answer. After a moment,

fin'Yrach's barbels drooped, and the translator relayed a sigh.

"We are carrying the taxes and the ceremonial tithe from Anabasi-our richest colony world-to Xawen

itself. We carry letters of credit, and three thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum. And handicrafts of the

planet."

"Three thousand?" Sisko repeated. He heard O'Brien whistle, looked toward the engineering station to

see the younger man staring openmouthed.

"I wonder what they mean by handicrafts," the engineer muttered.

Dax said, "Sir, Xawen is particularly noted for its manufacture of computer equipment, which they treat

as an art form-"

"All right," Sisko said again. "Major Kira. I want you to take the Ganges, and rendezvous with Gift of

Flight-a Federation presence may be enough to scare off this mysterious attacker, now that they're in

Federation space."

"Yes, sir." Kira nodded sharply, touched her communicator to contact the docking bay.

Sisko touched the intercom controls. "Dr. Bashir."

To his surprise, the young doctor answered at once. "Infirmary. Bashir here."

"Doctor, we have a ship under attack, a Xawen ship, and

I'm sending a runabout to intercept and offer assistance. Put together a medical kit that can go into the

runabout-and I need it immediately."

"Yes, sir." Bashir's voice did not change. "Um, sir, these are the amphibious Xawe?"

Sisko suppressed a surge of unreasonable annoyance. I don't mind him being right all the time, what I

mind is him rubbing my nose in it. He said, "That's right, Doctor. Immediately, if you please."

"Yes, sir." There was a little pause, but Bashir didn't cut the connection. "Sir, request permission to join

the runabout crew."

"Bashir, you're a doctor, not a combat pilot-" Sisko stopped, took a deep breath.

Bashir said, "Yes, sir . But if their ship comes under further attack, there may be wounded, and I'm best

qualified to provide frontline treatment. I'm more familiar with my own equipment than anyone else is,

too."

And that was true, Sisko admitted. Bashir was young, inexperienced, but as far as medical training went,

he was one of the best Sisko had ever worked with. "All right, Doctor," he said. "Bring your equipment

to the docking bay-you're going aboard Ganges."

"Thank you, sir," Bashir answered, and cut the connection.

"Sir, the docking crew reports that Ganges is ready for preflight," Kira reported.

"Very well," Sisko said. He gestured for O'Brien to reopen the channel to the Xawe ship. "Captain

fin'Yrach, how many people are in your crew?"

The Xawe's barbels twitched. "We carry a crew of fourteen."

Sisko allowed himself a sigh of relief. It would be a tight squeeze, but the Ganges could carry them.

"We're sending

an armed runabout to rendezvous with your ship. Keep to course one-nine-six mark fourteen-your most

direct line to us-as much as you can. We'll be tracking you from the station as well."

The Xawe dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Commander. We will proceed as ordered."

"Sisko out." Sisko motioned for O'Brien to shut down communications, looked away to find Dax

watching him with a slight frown. "Well, Lieutenant?"

His tone was forbidding, and intended to be so, but Dax ignored it. "Benjamin, fin'Yrach has already said

that Gift of Flight was outgunned by this-this pirate. Our runabouts aren't well enough armed to make

much of a difference."

"I know." Sisko was aware of Kira watching him, waiting for further orders. The Bajoran was already

fond of lost causes, too fond in his opinion, and it was to her he spoke. "Major, I don't expect you to

fight the attacker-in fact, I'm ordering you to avoid a firefight if you possibly can. My main concern is Gift

of Flight's crew. Your primary mission is to get them to safety. If you can bluff the attacker now that he's

in Federation territory, well and good, but my main concern is fin'Yrach and his people."

"Yes, sir," Kira said. She stood braced for an instant, then burst out, "Sir, Bashir's a doctor-"

"Precisely," Sisko said, riding over whatever objection she might have made. "You may need one."

Kira took a deep breath, nodded once. "Yes, sir."

"Then let's get on with it, Major," Sisko said. "And good luck."

Major Kira Nerys made her way through the corridors of the habitat ring to the service bay where the

Ganges was docked. The airlock at the station end of the docking tube hissed open for her, and she

hurried down the dimly lit

corridor, the airlock rolling closed again behind her. The second lock opened, and she stepped into the

runabout's crowded cockpit. Three of O'Brien's technicians-fellow Bajorans, all of them; none of them

familiar-were busy at the various stations, working on the preflight checks. One of them-the senior, Kira

assumed, a tall man with a receding hairline and a concerned frown that looked permanent- looked up

from his work and came to meet her, snagging a dataclip as he came.

"Major Kira. We've finished bringing Ganges on line, and we're about halfway through the preflights." He

held out the dataclip, and Kira took it, mutely. "The phasers and shields are all fully operational, but I

wanted to remind you that you only have two microtorpedoes aboard. We could load another one, but

that would take time-"

"How much time?" Kira asked, scanning the dataclip's miniature screen. As promised, everything seemed

to be in order, but it would be nice to have more to fight with than just the runabout's standard

equipment.

"Another hour, at least," the technician answered.

And that really was too much time. Kira shook her head, forced a fleeting smile. "Thanks anyway, I think

I'll pass. When will we be ready to launch?"

"As soon-" The technician interrupted himself as one of the others turned away from the last console,

tucking her dataclip back into a belt pouch. "You can begin the pilot's preflight now, Major."

That was the last step before launch. Kira nodded. "Thanks," she said again, and flung herself into the tiny

command chair. The boards lit at her touch, and she ran her hands over the controls, initiating the final

check sequence. She heard the airlock open and close again behind her, assumed it was the technicians

leaving, and did not look up until she heard someone clear his throat behind her.

"Excuse me, Major? Where should I stow my equipment?"

Bashir, Kira thought. Sisko would have to send Bashir. She understood why he was there, knew he was

needed, would be better with the wounded than anyone else aboard the station-but if there aren't any

wounded, she thought, if I pull this off without a fight, I am personally going to have words with Sisko

when I return. She put that thought aside-she didn't mean it, anyway-and said, "Somewhere accessible,

Doctor."

"Yes, I know," Bashir said, in the politely reasonable voice she found most annoying. "But where are you

planning to put the Xawe when we bring them aboard?"

It was not, Kira admitted silently, an unreasonable question. And I don't have an answer yet. She looked

down at her controls, playing for time, and the communicator crackled.

"Major Kira."

It was Sisko's voice, rich and assured, and Kira took a breath to calm herself. "Kira here, sir. Dr.

Bashir's aboard, and I'm pursuing the final preflight. We should be ready to launch in ten minutes."

"Good." Sisko paused, and Kira could hear indistinct voices in the background, but couldn't spare a

glance at the smaller viewscreen to see what was going on. "Dax has the plans for the Xawe ship-it's a

standard freighter, a Federation hull-to upload to you, just in case the transporters aren't working and

you have to take them off directly. She suggests you leave your ventral airlock clear for emergency use; it

should be easier to mate to their airlocks."

"Very good, sir," Kira said. "Standing by to download."

"Downloading," Dax answered, and lights flared on a secondary console.

Kira turned to Bashir, and was surprised to see that the doctor had already finished tucking his

equipment into

hull-mounted storage compartments. He had left the approaches to the transporter and the ventral airlock

completely clear. He was wrestling a final piece of equipment- some kind of a scanner, Kira thought-into

place beside a pull-down emergency bunk, mating its cords to the runabout's power supply.

"It's a hydrator," he said, sounding almost cheerful. "The Xawe are prone to dehydration. They don't

have a very efficient circulatory system, and they require a great deal of moisture from the air as well as

from their drinking system. This should help keep them from going into anhydric shock."

"Oh." Kira looked back at her boards, saw that the download was complete, and turned her attention to

the preflights still flickering through her systems. They were almost finished, and even as she watched, the

last indicator bar went from yellow to green.

"Can I help with anything?" Bashir asked, and took his place in the copilot's chair without waiting for an

invitation.

Yes, by keeping quiet, Kira thought, but curbed her own tongue. He was also Starfleet, and that meant,

of necessity, he knew how to fly a runabout. The little ships were easier to handle with a two-person

crew. "Open a channel to Ops," she said instead, and to her surprise, Bashir obeyed instantly.

"Channel's open, Major."

"Kira here. We're ready to launch."

"This is Sisko." The commander's voice was very calm, a deep, soothing resonance that no longer

deceived Kira. "You may launch when ready, Major."

"Keying the elevator," Kira said. The runabout shivered as the docking tube withdrew, and then there

was a soft rumble of machinery, more felt than heard, as the elevator began to move, lifting the runabout

to the surface of the

station. The hold light flashed red on her main screen, and stayed red even after the elevator shuddered

to a halt.

"Put the scanners through to the main viewscreen," she said, and Bashir obeyed without comment. The

screen lit, displaying the outer skin of the habitat ring as it curved away from the runabout. To the left, the

core of the station rose in massive terraces, a warning light blinking from Ops at the very top of the

station; to the right, the upper docking pylon loomed at the top of the screen, more lights blinking from its

tip.

"Ganges, you are clear to launch," Sisko's voice said, from the speakers. "And good luck, Major."

"Thank you, sir," Kira said, and took a firm grip on the controls. "Launching now."

Ganges was light to her touch, responsive to her controls. Kira eased the runabout free of the pad, then

threaded her way past the upper docking pylons. "We've cleared the station," she announced, and was

not surprised when Sisko answered.

"You're cleared for impulse power, Major. Our sensors show that the Gift of Flight is maintaining a more

or less constant heading, still on course one-nine-six mark fourteen. Backtrack along that line until your

sensors pick up the ship."

Kira glanced at Bashir, who shook his head. "I don't show any sign of it."

He seemed to have the sensors aligned correctly. Kira said, "We're not picking them up yet,

Commander. You'll have to talk us in, at least until we're in sensor range."

"Acknowledged, Ganges," Sisko said. "Dax will keep you on course."

"Thank you, sir," Kira said. She was oddly glad it was Dax who would be guiding them; she liked the

Trill. "Going to impulse now," she said, and triggered the engines. The

station seemed to drop abruptly away as the runabout picked up speed, all internal sense of motion

banished by the inertial damping system. Kira smiled, watching the stars' apparent motion, and brought

the runabout onto its proper course.

"Who do you think is out there, Major?" Bashir said suddenly.

Kira looked at him in surprise. It was hard, she thought, to know how to answer a question like that it

was too tempting to be literal, and tell him, "The Xawe and a pirate," when she needed to stay on at least

civil terms with him for the duration of their journey.

"I mean," Bashir elaborated, "who do you think is attacking?"

"I figured," Kira said. She had been wondering that herself, wondering if it was some new Cardassian

ploy-but the Cardassians didn't have the cloaking device. "I don't know. There's not really enough data

to make a guess."

"Do you think it could be the Cardassians?" Bashir went on.

"Gift of Flight said the ship was cloaked," Kira said. "Cardassians don't have the cloaking device." Yet, a

small, voice whispered in her mind. They don't have it yet. And if the Cardassians did have the cloaking

device, they would certainly use it, she thought, and probably in just this fashion, trying it out on

defenseless merchant ships first, and then proceeding against their enemy's warships and planets. ... "I

don't know," she said again, hoping to silence the internal voice. "We just can't tell."

"Ganges. "That was Dax's voice, and Kira seized gratefully on the interruption.

"Ganges here. What's up, Dax?"

"Another transmission from Gift of Flight," the Trill answered, and her voice was grim. "The attacker has

fired on them again. They've taken evasive action, but they're still

on the same approximate heading. I suggest you proceed at maximum speed."

"Acknowledged," Kira said. "Bashir, stand by for warp drive."

"Yes, sir," Bashir said. "Major, did we get a look at the attacker?"

Kira darted an annoyed glance at him-she hated it when he got his questions in first-and said, "Dax?"

"Nothing immediately identifiable," Dax answered. "I got some readings, but the ship cloaked itself again

almost immediately. We'll be running them through the computers to see if we can pick up anything on

enhancement. Gift of Flight reports no direct damage, but the captain says their engines are beginning to

feel the strain."

"Damn." Kira shook herself. "Thanks, Dax." She looked at Bashir. "Warp four, Doctor."

"Yes, sir," Bashir said, and the stars hazed briefly in the viewscreen. "Warp four."

Kira leaned back in the command chair, watching the numbers shift on her screens. Everything was

operating at peak efficiency, all systems green, but she wondered, suddenly, if it would be enough.

Whatever was out there-and it felt Cardassian, somehow, the sort of thing they would do-it was a

potentially dangerous enemy, and the runabouts were never meant to be warships. But you stood up

against the Cardassians with less than this, she reminded herself. You can do it again.

Dax watched her multiple screens carefully, emptying her mind of everything except the point of light that

was the enhanced image of the Xawe ship, and the cross that marked the last sighting of the attacker.

Paler lines and symbols overlaid the map of space, indicating both physical features and the invisible,

political distinctions. Gift of Flight was inside the Federation's borders now, but not by much; at the

projected rendezvous point, Ganges would be coming perilously close to the space claimed by the

Cardassians. And that was always dangerous, particularly when Kira was concerned. Kira had every

reason to hate the Cardassians, and she lacked the temperament-the years of experience, of training and

of healing-that would let her step back from a challenge, weigh all the implications before she acted. It

was, Dax admitted silently, one of the Bajoran's most appealing traits. The corners of her mouth lifted in a

faint, fond smile, and she brought herself back to her work. In the long-range screen, Gift of Flight was

clearly visible, a bright pinpoint of light against the schematic chart of the border; on a second, smaller

screen, Gift of Flight's course curved in to meet Ganges's approach.

"Any further signs of the attacker?" Sisko asked, his deep voice rumbling from a point just above and

behind her shoulder, and Dax glanced up without surprise. She and Sisko tended to think in parallel; it

was one of the reasons she had been glad of this assignment.

"Not yet." She touched her control board, displayed a blue cross above and to the left of Gift of Flight's

course. "This was its location when it fired on Gift of Flight; if it continues on its apparent heading at that

point-" She drew a ghostly line that paralleled the Xawe's course. "-this will be its course. However . . ."

She paused, and Sisko said, finishing her thought, "You can't tell much that's useful from one sighting.

Dammit, why don't they show themselves?"

"I'm not picking up wave emissions," Dax said, answering the thought rather than the words. "Not at this

range." Sisko nodded. "Do the computers make anything from the enhancements?"

Dax shook her head again. "It's large, or at least very massive, but that's about all I've been able to

determine."

"How large?"

"From one-third to one-half the size of a Galaxy-class starship," Dax answered. "I can't be more precise

at this point."

"One-third to one-half-" Sisko broke off, frowning. That made it nearly as large as his own lost Saratoga.

A hostile ship that size would almost have to be heavily armed, and provided with a power plant to match

its mass, which meant that Kira was heading into more danger than she, or he, had bargained for. He

controlled his instinctive response with a firmness born of long practice. He had long ago learned that his

first response to any situation was always the active one; it often worked, but more often it paid him to

wait a moment longer, and see what other options were available. Dax's data wasn't firm yet, any more

than her course projection could be more than a guess at the stranger's intent. "Or it could simply be very

massive," he said, repeating Dax's words. "Heavily armored, maybe?"

Dax nodded. "That's the other possible interpretation of these readings. The computer won't decide

between them; they're both considered to have a thirty percent probability of being the correct

assessment."

"And which do you think is right, Lieutenant?"

Dax took a breath, buying time for her answer-she couldn't be sure, not with the scanty data-and new

lights exploded on her screen. She swung to face her screen, hands already dancing across her controls,

and saw a new presence fade into existence, a sensor trace that was already all too familiar. "They're

back, Benjamin," she said. "They're firing again."

"Can you get a fix on them?" Sisko demanded. He leaned forward, hands braced on her console, his

gaze riveted to the screens as though he could force the alien ship to identify itself by sheer force of will.

Dax didn't answer, too busy with her controls, letting the computer handle the secondary tasks, but

directing the main probe herself, tuning the Cardassian sensors as tightly as she could. A series of telltales

went from orange to green, indicating that the system had acquired its target, and she thought for a

moment that she might have them, but then the lights winked out, and the alien ship vanished completely

from her screens. She ran her hands across the controls again, but knew already that it was in vain. "I've

lost them. They've recloaked."

"Sir," O'Brien said. "Gift of Flight reports that the attacker has fired on them again. They took one hit, no

damage, and are taking evasive action."

"Acknowledge," Sisko said, and schooled his voice to betray none of the frustration he felt, observing this

battle from a distance. "Dax?"

"This was the attacker's position when it fired," Dax said. A second bright blue cross appeared on her

screen, and she traced a line joining the two positions. It matched the projected course almost perfectly,

and she felt a small, guilty thrill of pride. "I have a preliminary estimate of their speed and course, based

on direct observation and on elapsed time." Her hands were working as she spoke, conjuring numbers

from the computers. "You're not going to like this, Benjamin."

"Try me."

"If the attacker stays on this course and speed, he will overhaul Gift of Flight a full eighteen minutes

before Ganges reaches transporter range."

"Damn." Sisko stared at the screen, the intersecting courses, and the numbers that scrolled beneath them.

The Xawe ship had already reported that it was making its best speed, and fin'Yrach's engineers would

be doing everything in their power to coax a few more ergs of power out of their

engines. But Ganges- "O'Brien, open a channel to Major Kira."

"Aye, sir."

An instant later, Kira's voice crackled from the speakers, her thin face vivid in the main viewscreen. "Kira

here, Commander."

"The attacking ship has fired again," Sisko said. There was no time for preliminaries, and, of all his

officers, Kira was least in need of them. "We managed to get a good fix on their position, and a course

projection. At present speeds, you're going to be about eighteen minutes late to your rendezvous."

There was a little silence, and O'Brien cleared his throat. "Sir-"

Kira interrupted before he could finish. "It must be possible to push these runabouts a little, sir. Isn't there

an emergency factor?"

"Sir," O'Brien said again. "She'll make warp four-point-seven if you push her."

"For how long?" Sisko asked, and gave a bleak smile as he saw the realization strike Kira. The Bajoran,

at least, hadn't quite thought through all the implications of emergency power.

O'Brien fiddled with his controls, running a quick series of calculations. "Long enough," he said, after a

moment. "You can reach the rendezvous and make it back to the station before any appreciable strain

sets in."

"Permission to go to emergency power," Kira said instantly. "Sir."

Sisko looked at Dax, who nodded slowly. "That increase will bring Ganges into transporter range ten

minutes before the attacker overhauls Gift of Flight. If,

of course, the attacker maintains its present course and speed."

"Sir," Kira said again.

"Do it, Major," Sisko said.

"Acknowledged," K ira answered, the relief plain in her expressive face before her image vanished from

the screen. Numbers shifted in Dax's screens, reflecting the increased speed.

"I can confirm the revised projection," Dax said softly. "Ganges will reach Gift of Flight first."

// the attacker maintains its present speed, Sisko thought. And they'd have to be fools to do so-it will be

obvious what we've done. But then, the cloaked ship was unusually massive, Dax had said; maybe that

would restrict their speed, too. Not for the first time, he wished for a proper starship, or at least that a

starship were stationed in this sector. He stared at Dax's screens, and then up at the main viewscreen,

where the intersecting courses wove across dull black. Nothing yet, he thought. Maybe, just maybe,

fin'Yrach will be one of the lucky ones.

"Commander," Dax said, and Sisko turned to her instantly. "I'm picking up wave emissions now, faint but

definite. I think-I'm sure it's the attacker."

"Put it on the screen," Sisko said, and instantly a pale blue wedge appeared, tracing a line very close to

the course Dax had predicted. "Speed?"

Dax shook her head. "I'm not-no, I have it now." Her voice was suddenly very tired. "Warp

seven-point-five-three, Benjamin. They'll overtake Gift of Flight with nearly thirty minutes to spare."

"Damn," Sisko said again. He stared at the image in the viewscreen, his mind frantically juggling numbers

even though he knew that the laws of celestial mechanics had already defeated him.

"Commander," O'Brien said. "Ganges is hailing us."

"Put it on the main screen," Sisko said. "Yes, Major?"

Kira's face appeared again, her expression taut with an agonized fury. "Commander, we have Gift of

Flight on the sensors now, and what looks like a wave source at extreme range, bearing down on us at

seven-point-five."

"I know, Major." In spite of himself, Sisko sounded immensely tired, and knew it.

"Is there any way we can get more speed out of this thing?" Kira looked as though she wanted to hit

something, was restraining herself only with an enormous effort.

"Mr. O'Brien?" Sisko spoke without hope, already certain of the answer.

The engineer shook his head slowly. "No." As if he felt Kira's stare accusing him, he burst out, "It's a

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PROLOGUETHESHIPSWUNGSLOWLYinitshiddenorbit,matchingthecourseofthelocalmoon,shadowedbythatgreatershadow.Poweroutputhadbeenparedtothebone,onlythecloakingdevicefullyoperational;withinthearmoredhull,inthecrew'squartersandonthedimlylitbridge,theairwasstale,andcold.Thecaptainbent,intent,overthetabletopsen...

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