Star Trek Deep Space 9 25 The Rebels Courageous

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Star Trek - DS9 - 025 - Courageous
CHAPTER 1
THIRTY YEARS AGO
THE BULLETIN-TEA in Legate Migar's headquarters droned on and on, stretching into its fourth
tedious hour. Sister Winn and the other Bajoran servantsmShimpur Arian, who served Gul Feesat; Lisea
Nerys and Alahata-something, who were brought down to the planet by Gul Dukat; and the six servants
of Legate Migar who cooked and served the food (one was a true collaborator, Winn was
certain)--were at last allowed to eat their own lunch in the kitchen... after they had waited upon the
high-ranking Cardassians, served, fetched, and cleared away.
Alone with themselves now, the Bajorans let their bitterness erupt; like a baby spitting up, thought Sister
Winn, surprising herself with her own cynicism. Alahata spoke of his anger at servitude. He was nearly as
young as Gul Ragat, but he had grown up in a village not far from Winn's, Riesentaka on the Heavenly
Blue River. Winn tried to calm him with homilies from the Prophets, but the boy would not be placated.
He'll learn, she thought in sadness, noting the interest of two of Legate Migar's valets, one of whom was
probably the snitch.
The others spoke of domestic issues. Nerys was worried about the rains, which had come too soon for
her father's farm. But even in the simplest conversation, Sister Winn could practically cut the tension with
a knifetif Bajorans in service to a gul had been allowed knives. They each knew who and what they
were, and how precarious was the thread by which their world dangled.
The Bajorans fell silent as Winn blessed the food, and they ate; the food was too rich for the priestess,
not the simple, country fare she had grown up with, but the elaborate, spicy meats the Cardassians
preferred among Bajoran foodsfood from the Northern Islands, Winn said to herseld Her mother had
come from there, but her father had forbidden spice in the family meals, as he had a weak stomach.
The kitchen was gigantic but cozy. Legate Migar had not built his own house, but taken over the house of
the original governor of the subcontinent, Riasha Lyas. Riasha had disappeared thirteen years ago and
was rumored to have been sent up to Terok Nor,' but no one who returned from the station orbiting
Bajor had ever reported seeing him. A stained-glass window facing northwest allowed in much natural
light in the afternoon, but Winn could not see outside. A smaller, plain window set above the stained glass
afforded an abbreviated view... assuming the priestess were to stand on a chair. The men used the plain
window to look out for arriving VIPs.
Red and blue shadows crossed the kitchen table as Winn pushed her food from one side of the plate to
the other, hoping to fool the cook into thinking she had enjoyed the meal. She answered automatically
whenever one of the other Bajorans would ask her religious advice, or beg for a prayer or benediction
for the weather, the crops, a sick cousin, the soul of Bajor. But she smiled and turned her face full on
whoever was speaking, seeming to give undivided attention; inside, Sister Winn was thinking dark
thoughts and wondering how she could pull off her mission without ending up the Headless Sister of
Shakarri.
At last, the table was cleared by the probable collaborator, whose name she learned at last: Revosa
Anan. She filed away the information for future use. Sister Winn rose, gave a final blessing and thanks to
the Prophets, and bowed her way out of the kitchen, saying she had to return and see if her master
needed anything.
She stepped lightly toward the conference room but paused in the courtyard; no one appeared to be
watching; the house felt heavy, sleepy after the midday meal. Bowing her head and walking with a firm
step, Sister Winn turned to the right and cut across the short angle of the courtyard toward a small,
forbidden door she had observed from its other side when she first arrived at Legate Migar's palace. The
door opened to her firm touch; she entered, smiling and readying an obsequious apology if she ran into an
overly dutiful Cardassian guard. Not that an apology would matter. If the door turned out to lead where
she prayed it did, and she were caught inside, then the next stop would surely be Terok Nor... and GUl
Dukat's tender ministry.
Sister Winn entered the small antechamber that led to the formal reception room, and in the other
direction, to the entrance hall. The walls were done in bloodwood paneling, very dark, and the only light
came from two "electric candle" light fixtures at opposite sides of the outer wall. Between the fixtures was
another door, this one soundproofed and sealed with a push-button combination lock popular among the
erstwhile Bajoran military missions... like the house of Governor Riasha.
Swallowing hard, the priestess approached the lock. Her steps faltered. If she were caught in the next
few seconds, no amount of bowing and scraping could save her from interrogation, followed by
execution--and disgrace and exile for Gul Ragat; but quite frankly, Sister Winn could not have cared less
what happened to her Cardassian "master." His own conscience was in the hands of the Prophets; either
he would see and save himself, or he would remain in ignorance and be forever barred from their
embrace.
The strangest thing about Cardassians, Winn pondered, is how thoroughly they believe their rules of
conquered and conquerer.t They had won the battle; they had won the war. Simple honor among
soldiers required that the Bajorans accept their status and work to achieve full recognition as eventual
citizens of the Cardassian Empire.
It certainly never occurred to Legate Migar to run around replacing all the locks in his house. It never
penetrated his bony Cardassian skull that although poor Governor Riasha was probably in the arms of
the Prophets a decade since, and the officers of the Bajoran Army were all executed or imprisoned in
penal colonies or mines around the planet and even on Terok Nor, that many of the governor's former
civilian engineers had also worked in the palace... and some had frequent occasion to work in the
communications room.
And the legate, who had never been any kind of an engineer, civilian or military, was evidently unaware
of the disdain with which such people treat security precautions.
In particular, Legate Migar had never heard of a lock having a "back door," used by the engineers if the
military men changed the lock and neglected to tell the civilian contractors. He had ordered the
combination altered, of course; but he never realized that there was more than one combination.
Licking her dry lips, Sister Winn took a deep breath, stepped up to the lock, and punched in the
back-door code she had received from her cell leader. The lock clicked twice, and the red lights on the
side turned green. Sister Winn pressed firmly on the door, and it pushed noiselessly open, exposing a
dark room whose walls were lined with communications equipment. In front of the six chairs were lists of
common frequencies, map displays, and miracle of the Prophets, a current codebooM Please protect
me, she begged; then she stepped into the room, pushing the door nearly shut, and felt in the heel of her
knee boot for the tiny, digital holocam she had carried for four months, waiting for just such an
opportunity. The bright displays beckoned, but Sister Winn knew her first goal; she activated the
codebook and began to click through it, snapping pictures of every screen.
When Sister Winn finally finished holocamming the book, a wave of relief flooded her brain. She wasn't
"off the mountain," as her villagers used to say; she still had to exit without losing the holocam and get the
images to her cell--or some cell, at least. But at least, even if she got nothing else, her mission was
successful.
But in a lapse of security that would be incredible to anyone who hadn't lived with the Cardassians for
years and didn't know the depth of their disdain for the "lesser races," the communications room
remained unattended for another ten minutes. During that time, Winn took holopictures of every screen
and all the frequency settings; she even dared project different maps on the coder's viewer and
holocammed them as well; though her mouth was so dry, she was having trouble breathing. If there were
a history file, somebody was going to be awfully suspicious... and if there were security viewers, she
could be under fatal observation as she brought up map after map, caught and convicted by her own
hand.
Then Winn heard what she had expected to hear minutes earlier: the bootsteps of the Cardassian guard
returning on his rounds. With a lot less coolness than she would have liked, she rested her boot on the
console and rotated the heel outward with trembling fingers. She replaced the holocam and swung the
heel shut, hearing it lock into place.
She exited the room just as the guard turned the corner, but she didn't dare pull the door shut. the guard
would hear the click of the lock and be alerted.
He paused when he saw her standing with her back to the communications room door, staring with a
vacant expression as if she were in a trance.
"Bajoran slave! What are you doing here?" he demanded.
Winn turned toward the guard, blinking as if she had never seen a Cardassian before in her life and
wasn't quite sure whether it was alive or not. "Sir?" she asked, striving for an intelligence level somewhere
above imbecile but well below normal.
The Cardassian was only too happy to oblige, seeing her as a conquered "animal." He spoke very slowly,
enunciating every word in Bajoran (but with a barbarous accent). "Whymare--you-- here?" Winn
brightened. "Oh! Can you help me? My master needs the activity reports on Resistance action for the last
month. He's very important." "Activity reports? I don't know anything about that! I have received no
word. Who is your master?" He paused, and Winn stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"Who--ismyour--MASTER?" shouted the impatient guard, raising his clenched fist.
The priestess cringed away from the man, burying her face in her hands and falling heavily to her knees.
"Please don't hurt me! My master is Gul Ragat, subgovernor of Shakarri and Belshakarri!
He is here to meet with their lordships Legate Migar and Gul Dukat for the bulletin-tea." The guard,
wearing the uniform of a sergeant major and carrying only a hand disruptor at his belt, paused to ponder
the new information. He was evidently aware of the bulletin-teas, but didn't seem to know for sure which
guls were on the invitation list. "Well," he snarled, "where are you supposed to find this report? You're
not allowed to be in this part of the building!"
"Please, sir! My master told me to report to the duty officer of the communications room." The sergeant's
gaze strayed immediately to the door, still open a crack. His eyes widened.
"What--!" Rushing to the door, he threw it open, seeing only the dark room with a few illuminated
controls and the main viewer showing the Cardassian insignia, the neutral "background" image when
nothing else was displayed.
A moment later, he returned to the hall, staring down at Sister Winn with a new light of crafty intelligence.
"Did you enter this room, Bajoran?" "I wanted to," she blurted out, "but I was too afraid! I don't know
what the report looks like, and--and I was afraid to go poking around where I wasn't--I didn't know
what to do, so I just waited until..." Winn began to sniffle, making hemelf cry real tears and sneeze; it was
a talent she had learned as a child, always good for eliciting sympathy from sympathetic adults. It didn't
work quite as well against Cardassian conquerers; but still, it was the only weapon she had. Her knees
hurt, which helped the deception.
"Look, stop that sniveling! Did--youmenter-- this--roorn? Just answer the question!" Winn shook her
head vigorously. "No, sir, but I.. 9, "Yes?" "I didn't, but I..." "You WHAT?" The sergeant major was
rapidly losing what tiny bit of patience he had.
"I--I--I touched the door/Oh, Prophets preserve me, I pushed it, and it swung a little, and I--I looked
inside for a minute/" The guard sighed and seemed to slump a little.
He looked away, starting to be embarassed by the sight of a but still somewhat pretty, young woman
sobbing hysterically on the floor. The priestess peeked through her fingers and saw the man chewing his
lip and staring at the door, probably wondering whether he's going to get in trouble over the open door,
she understood.
"Stupid civilian com-techies," he muttered in Cardassian. Then he looked back over his own shoulder,
reached out, and pulled the door shut tightly. "Look, you couldn't get the report thing you wanted
because there wasn't anyone in the room. You got that? Do--you--underSTAND?" The sergeant major
nodded his head affirmatively.
"There wasn't... I couldn't get the report?" Winn put on a look of bewilderment.
"Therewwasn'tmanyone--here! Oh, for goodness sake, it's sommeasy!" He used an obscenity Winn had
heard before, but only from lower-class Cardassian soldiers.
"Oh! I couldn't get the report because. because..." Winn paused, tapping her forehead as if thinking
through the scheme. "... there was nobody in the room!" "Yes!" he exclaimed, pushing her back against
the wall. "Open your foolish Bajoran ears next time! And"--he leaned close to snarl directly in the
priestess's facem"don't you ever push open a door like that again! Never/You understand me?" For
emphasis, he put his metal-shod boot on Sister Winn's back; she made no move to push it away, merely
drawing back in terror, and the sergeant major didn't put his weight on it, either.
"Yes, sir! I understand, sir! Thank you, sir!" He let her up but made no move to help; Winn rose shakily
to her feet, bowed and cringed in the most servile manner she could manage, and backed awayinstill
bowing and thanking him for correcting her. As soon as she rounded the same corner whence the guard
had come, she turned and bustied as fast as she could manage to the "allowed" section of Legate Migar's
house. She didn't meet any more Cardassian guards along the way; this deep inside the pale, the gul had
no fear of Resistance action, and he seemed to take an austere pride in living virtually alone with his
family and only a skeleton force of soldiers. She had already returned to the conference room, where her
master was desperately trying not to nod off during an interminable supply report by Gul Feesat before
the reality struck her full, starting her trembling all over again: I did it/she screamed inside her mind; I
actually did it and got away/ But another voice answered back, the voice she usually used to correct her
behavior when she violated the word or spirit of the Prophets: You've not gotten away yet, child; or
haven't you noticed whose house this still is?
She couldn't help smiling, praying that the worst was over. But her inner nag warned that the worst had
just begun. Sister Winn was now officially "hangable."
The young Gul Ragat was still brooding over his possible elevation, and annoyed that nobody mentioned
anything at the bulletin-tea about it: Legate Migar and Gul Dukat simply spoke to him as they normally
did, with no special winks or nods, nothing to indicate it was other than ordinary that Ragat be invited to
such an unordinary meeting.
He complained--or hinted at his irritation, actually-to Sister Winn in a long soliloquy in the garden that
evening, while Winn did her best to appear sympathetic and hopeful.
Her own agenda was somewhat different. "My Lord," she said soothingly, "I'm sure you were right in
your original thought, that you are being groomed for the higher grant of honors. Surely you see the hand
of the Prophets in this?" "The Prophets?" Gul Ragat blinked at Winn. "I don't quite follow. How do the
Bajoran Prophets figure into my elevation?" "They know what a compassionate man m'lord is; they must
know that of all the Cardassians, Gul Ragat is most concerned about the physical and spiritual ills of the
Bajoran people! Surely they have brought your qualities to the attention of Legate Migar for a reason."
Ragat paced agitatedly. "A reason? Because I will be a more compassionate master than, say, Gul
Dukat, with his iron fist and heart of stone?" "Oh, you most certainly would be." She wondered whether
he would catch the significance of the reference to the spiritual ills; Winn had heard that somewhere in the
Cardassian Empire, scattered and powerless but there, was a group of Cardassians who argued bitterly
against the occupation of Bajor, and indeed all the other planets forcibly "civilized" into the empire. She
knew Gul Ragat was not a member of that outlawed group-- he certainly wouldn't be given even a
subgovernorship if there were the slightest hint in his background check!--but if Winn had heard of them,
then Ragat had heard of them... and she would not give up hope that the Prophets would in time lead
those Cardassians with even the slightest hint of decency to the moral position.
"Yes," he mused, "I suppose I could do much to alleviate the needless suffering of your people, were I to
be granted a higher position in the administration of Bajor." "My Lord," said Sister Winn, bowing her
head and looking intently at her feet, "may I speak frankly?" "Of course, of course! I allow all my
servants the freedom to say what is truly on their minds, in private." "My Lord, if your people continue
along this path they have chosen, there will certainly be bloody resistance against Cardassian rule. My
Bajorans are a proud people, and we do not take well to the leash." "Winn, you are a priestess! A
spiritual leader!
How can you threaten such a terrible thing?" You young fool.t "My Lord, I do not threaten; I predict. I
know my own. And I know that a few hundred thousand Cardassian troops will not hold against an
entire planetful of bitter, determined freedom fighters. I shudder at the images my mind conjures, fantastic
scenarios of mass destruction.
But I cannot turn my face from the inevitable." Gul Ragat turned his back to Sister Winn. "I cannot listen
to a prediction of such betrayal!
Sister, I'm surprised at you, giving credence to the juvenile boasting of that Resistance rabble. You know
what would happen: those who revolted would be wiped out, as well as their family and probably their
friends, even if innocent." The garden was dark and cool, but Winn saw it full of menace and unfriendly,
grasping tree branches--though it was the same, friendly garden as in the days of Riasha Lyas. Evil had
escaped from the Cardassian garrison inside the house and permeated the trimmed paths and hedgerows
of the pastoral arboretum. "And it would be such a waste of resources," sighed the young subgovernor,
almost to himself.
Winn was glad the garden was dark, so Gul Ragat could not see her rolling her eyes in disgust.
She quickly and silently apologized to Those who did see, because They saw all. Then her young
"master" made one more offhand remark that electrified the priestess: "Perhaps it would secure my
advancement and serve the true interests of your people both," he mused, "if I were to bring in a few of
these rabble-rousers myself... the ones who incite peaceful Bajorans to bloody revolution and cause us
no end of trouble." There was nothing, nothing that Sister Winn wanted more desperately than to get
away from Legate Migar's palace and relocate somewhere she could pass along the priceless content of
her holocam. But Bajoran servants--slaves, she corrected herself unemotionally--simply did not travel
alone without travel documents issued by the Cardassian Planetary Authority... not even priestesses on a
religious mission. There were only two ways for Winn to remove herself from Migar's estate without
exciting attention: get her gul or another, higher-ranking gul to send her on an errand; or else, get Gul
Ragat to travel with her.
The first was virtually impossible; anything important enough to go get was by and large too important for
a Cardassian to leave to a Bajoran.
The invaders had skimmers; they had shuttles; they had starships with beaming facilities. If Gul Ragat
really wanted something physical, an artisan's vase or a barrel of sunberry wine, he would either transport
it to him or transport himself to it; he would not send Sister Winn.
But ff Ragat wanted to personally capture some antiCardassian Resistance leaders--especially without
alerting other guls who might want to elbow into the credit--he was pretty much restricted to moving by
skimmer, as he came... and moving his entire entourage in the direction of home.
Anything less, or moving in any other direction, and the Planetary Authority would demand his travel
documents! Since he didn't have enough skimmers for everyone, he and his household would ride, while
everyone else, Cardassian honor guard and Bajoran domestics, would go as they had come, on foot, as
befit their station as a subject race.
It's amazing how many opportunities a lengthy walk presents, thought the priestess craftily. But before
she could plan an escape or rendezvous, she first had to start the wheels in motion: Winn had to persuade
Gul Ragat to take the trip in the first place.
"My Lord, I..." Winn trailed off, then tried to look as though she had said nothing.
"Yes, Sister Winn?" Gul Ragat waited; Winn could feel the tension in his body, and she realized she had
struck just the right tone: I've got a terrible secret, but I don't know whether I can tell you!
She fidgeted. She opened her mouth and sucked in a breath, then let it out without saying anything.
"You can tell me anything when we're alone," soothed the gul, deliberately standing far enough away from
her that she wouldn't feel crowded.
Again, the priestess almost spoke and didn't.
Finally, she pretended to come to a resolution.
She sat slowly on the bench, despite the fact that her gul was standing... a terrible breach of protocol!
"My Lord, I know of a rise that's planned for a few days from now--but I cannot tell, I cannot!
Not even to secure your advancement." Now, Gul Ragat couldn't contain himself. He spun to face her
and asked breathlessly, "You do?
You know? You have? You will?" "I cannot violate the trust of my people, even if it means your grant of
honors, Gul Ragat. I just can't!" Come along, chiM... convince met The gul stepped back, seeming to
stop himself by brute force from grabbing Winn's shoulders and shaking her vigorously. "But,
Winn--Sister Winn... you wouldn't be doing it for me; you'd be doing it to help your own people!" "My
own people? How do you mean?" She allowed a note of hope to creep into her voice.
"Your own people, whom you would save from the brutal retaliation sure to be inflicted upon them by the
harsh and stern military leaders of the Empire! Imagine what will happen to the Bajorans living in that
province or prefecture if you allow this insane rebellion to proceed!" Sister Winn gasped. "I never thought
of that." "You must! You must think on it, and you will see that the only thing to do is to tell me now,
quickly, so I can stop the troubles from ever starting by arresting the callous, uncaring leaders." "Must I?"
Ragat shook his head sadly, sorrowing with her, not at her. "There is no other honorable course for you
to take. You are a leader, the voice of the Prophets. You must look after your--your flock; yes, that's the
word. They look to you for guidance!
Exercise your moral leadership to lead them to acceptance of the inevitable, and think of how much
happier they will be." Sister Winn suddenly jumped to her feet, pretending guilt at suddenly realizing she
was sitting while her "master" stood. "Forgive me, My Lord!" she cried; Gul Ragat waved away the
infraction, intent upon the information she might give him.
Winn felt like a fisherman reeling in her catch.
The problem, Winn realized nervously, was that she actually had the information to give. In her position
as spiritual leader for all the Bajorans who lived at Ragat's compound and many in the village of
Vir-Hakar, in the county of Belshakarri, she always heard rumors of Resistance activity. often
well-founded. She knew, for instance, that there was a planned meeting in precious Riis, a meeting that
would probably lead to action against the spaceport ten kilometers away--a facility now used by the
Cardassians to transport high-ranking members of the military and important visitors to and from the
planet. A bombing was likely, and a full-scale assault was not out of the question.
It was the only such action that she knew of; if she wanted to give Ragat something he could
substantiatemand it was clear he would check it out through his own intelligence network--there was
nothing else for her to give. The attack could probably be postponed without much danger, if she got
word to the Resistance in time! If not... then Sister Winn would have just committed a real,
honest-to-Prophets act of collaboration which would surely result in the violent deaths of many Bajoran
freedom fighters. It was a terrible choice!
But really, she thought anxiously, I have no choice. With the information digitized in her holocam, such
blows could be struck as to completely eclipse the strike at the Riis Spaceport, called the Palm of Bajor.
If she could get the holocam to her cell leader; as always, IF!
"My Lord," she whispered, "I have heard that there is to be a rising very near to here." "Yes?" "Between
here and our own home, in fact." "Yes?" Gul Ragat's excitement was palpable; Winn fought hard to keep
her expression neutral, her eyes cast respectfully downward, and to sniffle a bit.
"It will be in--in Riis. That is what I heard." "Riis? On the Shakiristi River?" "That is what I heard,
M'Lord." Now Ragat sat suddenly, wearing a goofy grin and staring into space... staring at his grant of
honors, thought the priestess bitterly. After a moment, he remembered himself and grew solemn.
"You have done a noble and brave thing, Sister Winn. You have saved many of your people from a
terrible fate. The Prophets would be proud of you... I'm certain of it." Oh Prophets, she prayed, please
grant me that same certainty! But the Prophets, as was often the case, remained as mute as the stones on
the issue.
Once more, Kai Winn woke in the night, the tendrils of the past wrapped around her. Now, at least, she
knew there was some reason--that the Prophets were sending her a message, something that she must,
must, be clever enough to grasp.
CHAPTER 2
"LISTEN UP, away team," said Captain Sisko, standing before his away team on a dark red bluff
overlooking a shady, indigo valley; Worf came to attention, awaiting the new orders. A hundred meters
below them, "Mayor-General" Asta-ha and her commandos--the Terrors of Tiffnaki, the name suggested
by the hereditary mayor's daughter Tivva-ma--ran the rest of the Tiffnakis through a heavy set of drills,
trying to beat into their posteconomic heads some sense of the danger they were in.
Worf had designed the drills himself, and he was pleased at how quickly the Natives were learning how
to fight as a unit.
"All right," asked the captain, "what's it going to be, then? We cannot reach the main planetary power
stations and destroy them on foot; they're thousands of kilometers away. We need transporation, and the
Deftant seems to have left orbit. So, do we try to overwhelm a small patrol by force or by stealth?" Days
earlier, the away team had finally left the natives of Sierra-Bravo to continue training themselves, for all
the good that would do. Worf had few doubts what he would find upon his return: ragged, threadbare,
unarmed, frightened, cowering, starving refugees crouching in the bushes like animals.
But what could he do, stay forever with Asta-ha and her "Terrors" of Tiffnaki? The captain was right: it
was time the Starfleet team took direct action against the Cardassians who had invaded this world and
routed themthe inhabitants.
The handful of Cardassians and their Drek'la footsoldiers had struck upon the perfect tactic.
The Natives, though not technological themselves, somehow had access to bucketsful of technological
toys left over from a previous higher civilization.
But everything worked off of broadcast power from central power plants relayed by local stations. The
Cardassian-led assault teams simply blew up the relay stations, obliterating all power to a given region;
and all the deadly toys used by the Natives instantly ceased operation, leaving them utterly defenseless,
stunned, confused, ready to be harvested like scything wheat.
The captain's plan is bold, thought Worf; it is Klingonlike. No other Starfleet officer would have dared!
Sisko had decided, after much agonizing, to take his team to the central power plants and knock them
off-line himself, plunging the whole planet into darkness. The Natives, forced to react to the loss of
power for weeks or months before the invaders got to them, would be over the shock and better able to
resist conquest.
The only problem, however, was that the power plants were thousands of kilometers away... and the
away team was on foot. They would need to find an enemy camp, somewhere, and liberate a skimmer to
have any chance at all.
Worf, as usual, was first to express his opinion on the purely military question of tactics once they located
the Cardassians. "I have nothing against stealth, Captain; as you know, Kahless himself often used stealth
against a superior enemy--it is entirely honorable." "For once," said Quark, "I totally agree with the wise
commander." "However," continued Woff, glaring at the Ferengi, "in this case, I do not think we can
manage to steal a skimmer without being detected. We do not look anything like Cardassians or
Drek'la." "Oh, I don't know, Worf." The Klingon turned and immediately fell into a defensive posture: the
speaker was a very mean-looking Cardassian wearing a face mask and the uniform of a gul. Worf
grabbed the Cardassian infiltrator with one hand while he drew his d'k tahg knife with the other, but his
brain finally caught up with his warrior's body, and he realized he was about to plunge a knife into the
absent heart of Security Chief Odo.
"Odo!" he snarled. "You fool, I could have killed you!" "Not unless your d'k tahg can penetrate a
centimeter of titanium," replied the changeling laconically, tapping his breastplate.
"Odo makes a pretty compelling argument, if you ask me," said Chief O'Brien.
Taking a deep breath and calming his violent impulse, Worf decided it was honorable to admit when one
was in error, despite the merriment that might give to the wretched Ferengi. A glare from the Klingon
following the admission silenced Quark.
The captain smiled. "Odo has given us the seeds of an excellent plan. Now let's see if we can't make
them grow into something tactically usable."
Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax quickly ran through a pro forma departure checklist with Julian
Bashif; most of her mind was busy living anywhere but the present, crammed into a tight and
motion-constricting dry suit, an air tank backpack, mask, and flippers within easy reach. The Nylex
gloves made her palms itch, and the rolled up hood pressed uncomfortably against the back of her neck.
I'll bet Julian is as comfortable in Nylex as he is in a uniform, she griped inwardly.
Her mind ranged ahead and behind, worrying about everything in the quadrant. She worried about Joson
Wabak, the jaygee now in command of the submerged Defiant; she had issued final orders for him to
follow another suggestion from the strangely helpful Julian Bashir: the seventeenhundred-meter-tall
antenna that would poke into the air.
Subspace communications between the ship and the surface had been swallowed up as soon as the
planetary defenses spotted them; but perhaps they could still transmit along the surface. If not, both Julian
and Jadzia had modified their combadges to send and receive in the radio frequencies of the
electromagnetic spectrum... just in case. In either event, she would probably need line-of-sight with the
raised antenna, unless they could bounce the radio signal off the cloud cover.
Jadzia fretted about the hull integrity of the ship, even though she herself had supervised the containment
field modifications; if the hull began to buckle, Wabak would have to order them to upship and face
Cardassian pounding again. She nervously wondered how long the runabout hull would withstand the
ocean pressure; she was terrified of the possibility of having to scuba to the surface, despite two
run-throughs in the holodecks with the good Dr. Bashir. And she still fumed about her performance in the
battle, poor enough by her own standards that she had relieved herself of command.
Get a grip, girl, she commanded herself; your mind is everywhere but here and now. Julian finished the
departure checklist and segued immediately into the launch checklist; Jadzia absently responded.
She touched all the right touchplates, slooshing with every flex of her dry suit, and got the engines spun up
to speed; then she said, "Off the checklist, Julian; let's flood the launch bay." She glanced at the
doctor--always too cute by half to attract her; she liked her men rugged and perhaps a little cruel
1ookingmand both of them took deep breaths as Jadzia pressed the transmit touchplate: "Amazon II to
Defiant; open the floodgates, Joson." "Aye, aye, Commander," said the Bajoran jaygee.
Dax heard a loud bang, followed by a prolonged clanking; she imagined an immense anchor chain
winding up somewhere, pulling open the locks to let the seawater rush into the bay. Looking out the front
viewscreen, she rotated the fish-eye lens to show the hastily improvised "floodgate"; a stream of blue
green water shot through the small holes, kicking up a turquoise froth as it poured across the deckplates
and began to fill up the launch bay.
"I guess around here," said Julian, tugging at his own hood, rolled and circling his neck, "the Natives go
blue-water rafting." Jadzia debated making a witty comeback, but decided the doctor's joke was feeble
enough not to warrant response. It's just his way of warding off anxiety, she told herself.
Soon, the water was crashing around the runabout's legs, and in a few moments, climbing up high enough
to start filling the viewscreen. After four minutes of flooding, Joson Wabak said, "Flooding complete;
you're clear to launch. Good luck, Commander." "Don't forget about the giant antenna," said Dax, "and
don't hesitate to take off if you have to.
You can probably leave orbit before the Cardassians spot you." "Come on, Jadzia," said Bashir, "he
knows what to do." "And Joson. Listen on both subspace and radio frequencies for our signal... we might
need you in a hurry." "Aye, aye, Commander," said the Bajoran.
"Goodbye, Lieutenant," shouted Dr. Bashit, killing the corn-link. "Jadzia, are you going to release the
docking clamps? Or are we taking the Defiant with us?" Jadzia Dax sighed and touched the release light.
The ship shuddered and immediately began drifting towards the overhead; though she'd been somewhat
expecting it--the ship was essentially an air bubblerathe rapid movement still took her by surprise. By the
time Dax corrected for the drift and brought the Amazon II under control, they were dangerously close to
the ceiling.
"Dax to Wabak; open the launch bay doors." The doors slid open with a grinding noise, much louder
than normal because the seawater conducted sound so well. The commander piloted the Amazon H
perfectly through the dilated aperture and shot into the open ocean. Behind her, she knew, the doors
were slowly contracting and the seawater being pumped out of the bilge. For good or ill, they were
committed to their ocean adventure.
Ensign Joson Wabak tried desperately not to tremble under the crushing weight of sixteen hundred
meters of seawater above him and a crew of seventy-eight below. In cornmand! He was twentythree
years old, a newly minted ensign in Starfleet, and in command of the U.$.S. Defiant. It was an awesome
and shuddersome thought. Command might have been intoxicating were they in orbit, instead of
scuppered at the bottom of a purple sea.
"Containment shields down to forty-six percent," announced his erstwhile classmate, Ensign
N'Kduk-Thag, or Ensign Nick, as Commander Dax had dubbed it, in its uninflected voice; unlike
Vulcans, who experienced emotions but suppressed them (Joson had been told), the Erd'k'teedak
literally did not experience emotions the way Bajorans like Ensign Wabak did. Under extreme stress,
摘要：

StarTrek-DS9-025-CourageousCHAPTER1THIRTYYEARSAGOTHEBULLETIN-TEAinLegateMigar'sheadquartersdronedonandon,stretchingintoitsfourthtedioushour.SisterWinnandtheotherBajoranservantsmShimpurArian,whoservedGulFeesat;LiseaNerysandAlahata-something,whowerebroughtdowntotheplanetbyGulDukat;andthesixservantsofL...

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