Objective: Bajor Page 8

  "And bloody killers," Kira growled. "Look what they've done to Darane."

  "Oh, they're killers all right," O'Brien agreed. "I was admiring their technology, not their actions. It's a damned shame to pervert science like that."

  Dax glanced up from her panel. "I've managed to patch through to that … ship," she announced. "The person in charge is a Hivemaster Dron, and he's reluctantly agreed to speak with you, Captain."

  "Has he?" asked Sisko softly. He felt a burning rage in the pit of his stomach at what these intruders had done. "Then put him on the main screen. I think we all want to see him."

  The picture of Darane being ripped to ruins faded, to be replaced by that of Hivemaster Dron. Sisko's right eyebrow rose slightly as he studied the alien.

  It was impossible to judge his size just from the picture, but he looked vaguely humanoid. Actually, Sisko realized, what he most resembled was an armadillo. The most obvious thing about Dron and the other aliens he could glimpse behind the Hivemaster was that they all had segmented shells covering their backs and skulls. They were all varying shades of gray and brown, and none wore clothing of any kind. Their arms were long, with four thin fingers. Their necks were thick, their heads long. They had snouts, with two slit nostrils in the front, and large, expressive eyes. Small tufts of spiky hair protruded in clumps all across their non-shelled skin.

  "What is it?" asked the Hivemaster, clearly annoyed.

  "I am Captain Benjamin Sisko of the U.S.S. Defiant," Sisko replied, trying to keep his anger under control.

  The alien peered at him, and then wrinkled his nose. "Another alien species," he complained. "How many of you are there in this system?"

  That wasn't quite the response Sisko had expected or hoped for, but he wasn't about to get sidetracked. "Hivemaster," he said firmly, "call off your ships."

  "They are not attacking," Dron snapped. "They are defending. The criminally insane inhabitants of this world attacked us."

  "That's not what I heard," Sisko replied coldly. "Nor is it what I see. You have destroyed Darane and killed almost half a million people."

  Dron's snout almost rippled with muscular spasms. "That is not what occurred. You have been misinformed."

  It was more than Sisko could bear. "Your ship is sucking the shreds out of Darane's dead husk!" he cried. "You're trying to tell me that you didn't do it?"

  "That is not what I claim," Dron replied. "We have absorbed the planet, yes. It is necessary for our survival. But the fighting was begun by the inhabitants of this world. Captain Sisko, we offered them safe passage away and even aid in leaving. They refused our offer and attacked us." He spread his arms wide in a very human gesture. "We had no choice but to retaliate."

  Sisko wasn't going to argue semantics while there were still people dying. "Call off your ships," he repeated. "Allow us to aid the survivors."

  Dron's snout twitched again. "I would be more than happy to comply," he agreed. "But only if you will guarantee that the attack on our Hive will cease. If you do so, we would be glad to help you collect survivors."

  "I don't think we'll need your aid," Sisko answered, only just managing to contain his fury. "But I will make certain that you are not attacked."

  Dron inclined his head. "Then I shall have my defenders withdraw, Captain." He turned to give an order to one of his fellows. "It is done," he reported. "You may collect your peoples."

  Sisko nodded, and made a chopping motion with his hand. Dax cut the link, and the picture of Dron vanished, to be replaced again by the smoking wreckage of Darane. "Start scanning for survivors," Sisko ordered the command crew. "See how many need assistance." He stared at Bashir. "Doctor, I suspect a great number of them will need considerable medical help."

  "My teams will do what they can here," Bashir replied. "And I'll organize DS9 to prepare for refugees."

  "Can you believe that creep?" Kira snarled, as she started the scans Sisko had ordered. "Claiming that Darane started this?"

  "I believe that Dron really thinks that," Odo answered her. "Or, at least, wishes us to believe that he really thinks that."

  Kira glowered at Sisko. "Are we just going to allow them to get away with what they've done?" she demanded.

  "No," Sisko replied softly. "I promise you, they will be held accountable for every death they've caused. But this is not the time to start a fight. We still don't have weapons capabilities, and even if we did, I doubt we could fight a vessel like that."

  "So we just do nothing?" Kira cried.

  "No." Sisko gave her a very firm stare. "We help the survivors. Then we think about retaliation. Do you understand me, Major?"

  It took a great deal of willpower, but Kira finally managed a very tense, curt nod. "Yes, Captain."

  "Good." Sisko deliberately turned away from her. He hated having to confront Major Kira—especially when a large part of his own mind was crying out in the same pain as hers. But the living came first. The dead could wait.

  "Captain!" Odo looked up from his panel. "I'm reading signs of a dangerous engine overload from the Morvan Falls. Its engines are going critical."

  Bashir paled. "They must have had a malfunction."

  "No malfunction," Odo contradicted him. "The crew has done this deliberately. They are moving in toward the intruder on a collision course."

  "A suicide run," Sisko exclaimed. "They're on a suicide run." He stared at the image of the Hive on the screen. What would happen if they succeeded?

  CHAPTER 10

  TORK HURRIED OUT of the meeting room, relieved to be leaving the scenes of death and destruction he had witnessed. His conscience ached terribly with the strain of what he had seen. Had it been necessary? He still couldn't answer that. But he strove to bury his doubts as he went to meet with Sahna. Today had been her Determination, that much he knew. But why had she come to take him from such an important meeting?

  And why had Dron allowed it?

  Then Tork saw Sahna, standing nervously, her fingers running up and down the edge of her shell. It was obvious to him that she was in serious emotional pain. There was a tic below her left eye. "What is it?" he asked, concerned and protective. "What is wrong?"

  "I just spoke with Harl," she answered, the tic more pronounced. "He told me that we have attacked an alien world and killed its inhabitants. Is this true?"

  Tork's snout twitched in concern and anguish. "Yes," he conceded. "It is indeed true."

  She looked at him in anger, shock, and betrayal. "How could you allow this?" she cried. "You, of whom I thought so highly? How?"

  It didn't help Tork's emotional state that he had been pondering much the same question. "They attacked us first," he explained. "Their ships began the fight. We only retaliated after that."

  "And their planet?" Sahna gestured behind her wildly. "I am no fool, Tork. Processing has begun. Servos have started their operations. Phase Two is beginning. That can only mean that the Hive has processed the alien planet."

  "Yes," he agreed again, reluctant to meet her accusing stare. "Their world is processed. We have almost everything from it that we needed."

  "And its inhabitants?"

  The fury of the question was like a knife between his plates. "Most are dead. The survivors are being allowed to leave unmolested."

  "How generous!" Sahna cried. "What happened? Did even Hivemaster Dron's bloodlust get sated?"

  "They were all insane," Tork answered, trying to quell his own doubts also. "They were dangerous. They refused to leave their world peacefully. Sahna, they lived on the dirt of a planet, and would not go! We could not reason with them."

  "Is that any reason to slaughter them?" she asked, with a cold fury.

  "No," he admitted. "No, it is not. But I could think of nothing to do that would save them, or stop Dron. I did not know that this would happen. Nor did many of the other Hivemasters. Dron told only those he could trust, I am certain. The rest of us were caught with our shells open, unprepared. I am sorry, Sahna. I need time to think this through. I w
ant to do what is right, but I am becoming more and more uncertain what that is."

  The anger in Sahna's eyes faded slightly. "I knew that you would never support such evil deeds," she told him, stroking the edge of his shell. "And I am sorry if was too harsh on you."

  "No," Tork replied. "You are not as harsh on me as I am with myself. This is a terrible situation, and I must find some way to honorably resolve it. I promise you that I shall do something although at this moment I do not know what it is." .

  "You are a good person, Tork," Sahna said, the affection in her voice unmistakable. "And I only wish that I could support you in all the ways that you need."

  "You always have," he said gratefully. "And I am certain that you always will." This reminded him of his earlier thoughts. "Today was your Determination!" he exclaimed. "I had almost forgotten. Today you have become an adult."

  "Yes," Sahna agreed, and there was no mistaking even further pain in her voice. "And it is the most wretched day of my life."

  Fear stabbed at his stomach. "What do you mean?"

  "My Determination was that I should become an astronomer—"

  "Which you desired!"

  "Indeed. But … I am to be on Team Two."

  Tork was devastated by this news. There had always been this possibility, of course, but he had always refused to face it. He and Sahna were meant for one another. The Determination would have to reflect that and place them both together. And now—this, on top of everything else. Tork didn't have to say a word; Sahna knew what was going through his mind, because it had to be going through her own as well. She gripped his hands.

  "I know that it is terrible," she said, as gently as possible. "But it is the Determination. It has been decided."

  "Yes." Tork spoke dully. He felt as if the shell had been ripped from him, leaving him naked and utterly defenseless.

  "Harl believes that you will try to get the Determination changed," she added. "But I know that you are too honorable to abuse your powers in such a way."

  "Then I wish I were not so honorable!" Tork cried. "To avoid losing you, I would almost go so far as to request a reassignment.

  "Sahna stroked his shell gently. "But only almost."

  "Yes." Tork sighed. "It would be wrong of me to question the Determination. It would seem that we are destined to be apart, always." He shook his head in bewilderment. "If there were only something I could do!"

  "You can be brave," Sahna informed him. "I am as shattered by this as you, my love, but we must both be strong. We have to face our destinies and do the best we can for the Hive. If it must be apart, then no matter how difficult it is, we must bear it."

  Tork sighed again. "I have much to bear," he told her. "And, saddened as I am by this news, there are more urgent calls on my attention. There must be something that I can do to mitigate the next phase of the Great Design."

  Sahna managed a wan smile. "If anyone can, it will be you. I have great faith in you—and great love for you. Remember that, always." She turned, and left the chamber swiftly.

  "As if I could ever forget it," he murmured to himself. With a heavy shell, he turned and walked back to face his own destiny. Never before had he felt so alone, or so bleak.

  Waiting for him inside the conference room was Hosir. Tork didn't want to talk with anyone, not even Hosir, at this moment, but he could hardly avoid it without being extremely rude.

  "Bad news?" guessed the elder. He wrinkled his snout in sympathy. "Has your woman jilted you?"

  "Not exactly," Tork answered. "She has been assigned to Team Two."

  "Ah." Hosir nodded, and then scratched at himself below one of his plates. "And you, of course, are Team One. Well, what are you going to do about it?"

  "What can I do about it?" demanded Tork, angrily. "The Determination has been made. And it is a basic of our life that the Determination is never wrong."

  Hosir snuffled. "Yes, I suppose it is. Still, even if the Detrmination is infallible, it isn't omniscient.

  Think about that." He gave Tork a friendly pat on the shell and then wandered off. What did he mean by that?

  Tork had no idea whether Hosir was making a point, or whether he was simply getting senile. Still, as depressing as the news about Sahna was, the most important thing to do right now was to try and figure out a way of alleviating the terrible pain that the next phase of the Great Design would cause to the inhabitants of this area of space.

  If there was any way …

  "Get me Marel," Sisko snapped at Kira. Then, to Dax he added, "Move us closer to the Morvan Falls. We have to stop them." Finally, he whirled around to O'Brien. "Chief, get to the transporter room. Lock on to any life-forms aboard that ship and beam them over as fast as possible." O'Brien acknoweldged and ran for the turbolift.

  This was all he needed right now! Sisko was finding it more and more difficult to keep his temper under control. The universe seemed to be filled with nothing but lunatics at the moment.

  "On screen!" Kira called.

  Sisko glared up as Marel's image faded in. The warrior looked aged and tired, which wasn't surprising. "Marel," he snapped. "Break off this suicide run. I'm having your crew beamed off now."

  "No, Captain," Marel answered, with some hint of steel still in his voice. "This is my last chance to pay those murderers back for what they've done. Don't try and stop me."

  "I have no option!" Sisko thundered. "If you attack the intruder, they'll annihilate whatever survivors there are from this massacre. Stand down, now."

  "No, Captain," Marel repeated. "I'm sure that the survivors would agree with me. We have to strike back."

  "Don't be a fool," Sisko exclaimed. "There's nothing to be gained by this attack. Right now, the important thing is to look after the living, not avenge the dead. That can come later."

  Marel shook his head. "There is no later," he said simply. "There is only now. Goodbye." He cut the transmission, and the screen returned to stars.

  "Damn that man," Sisko muttered. "Major, what's he doing?"

  "Still on a collision course with the intruder," she reported. There was both pain and pride in her voice. "He's not going out without a fight."

  "That's what he thinks," Sisko said. Tapping his communicator, he called, "Chief? How's it going?"

  "I'm trying to lock on, Captain," O'Brien's voice said from the air. "With that power overload, it's going to be difficult. I can only chance taking out half a dozen or so at a time."

  "Then do it as soon as you can," Sisko ordered. He turned to Odo. "Any idea how long we have?"

  The security officer scowled. "About four minutes, I'd say." His face twitched. "Those engines are really straining now."

  Sisko nodded. To Dax, he called, "How close are we?"

  "Three thousand kilometers." Her hands were steady on the helm. "Closing slowly. They've built up their own velocity quite well."

  Kira spoke up. "When the ship explodes, will our shields be able to take it at this range?"

  "We'll have to find out," Sisko replied. "Dax, use the tractor beam on maximum. Slow down the Morvan Falls."

  "Acknowledged." The Trill's fingers flew across her board even faster. Sisko leaned over her shoulder and adjusted the main viewer.

  The intruder vessel filled the whole screen. They were approaching it in pursuit of the Morvan Falls. It had seemed impressive at a distance, but as they drew closer, it was breathtaking. The entire outer shell seemed to be smooth and polished. The lights of the stars reflected from the burnished metal—if it was exactly metal—creating a tinged reflection, with the light spinning off in rainbow hues. As O'Brien had commented, these aliens had an incredible technology. It was appalling that they couldn't apply it constructively.

  "Got her," Dax announced. "But it may not hold. Tractor strength is only eighty-seven percent."

  Sisko could see the tiny form of the Morvan Falls on the screen now. The vague glow of the tractor field that had enfolded it showed up thanks to the computer enhancement. The tractor lock ha
d to hold.

  "Transport commencing," Odo announced from his station. Then he shook his head. "The chief doesn't have much time."

  "Tractor lock is weakening," Dax announced, striving furiously to establish a stronger link. "Those circuits still aren't back to normal, and they're starting to break down."

  "Hold on," Sisko encouraged her—and the Defiant. "Hold on. Just another minute …"

  The picture on the screen abruptly reverted to that of Marel, who was desperate and furious. "Sisko! Let us go!"

  "I'm sorry, I can't do that," Sisko replied. "Prepare to be beamed over." He cut the transmission by hand.

  "They're overrunning their engines harder," Odo announced. "It can't—"

  His words were cut off as the screen exploded to white light, and then the dampening field closed down the incoming view. Dax slapped her hand down on her controls, cutting off the tractor beam.

  The shock wave of the explosion, transmitted down the tractor carrier wave, slammed into the Defiant. Buffeted like an ancient sailing ship in a storm, the ship whirled, the inertial dampers striving to absorb and redirect the load. Sisko was sent stumbling against his own command chair, and he grabbed hold of it. The other bridge crew had all been seated, and managed to stay that way by grabbing any available handholds.

  Then the blow faded, and the ship reverted to normal. "Report!" Sisko barked.

  "Shields are holding," Odo announced. "Though we've lost several minor systems. The chief isn't going to be happy."

  "Helm is responding to power again," Dax added.

  "O'Brien?" demanded Sisko, slapping his communicator. "How many did you get off?"

  "Eighteen, Captain," came the chiefs voice. "It was all I had time for."

  "Well done," Sisko told him. That meant another forty must have died in that futile gesture. War is hell, indeed … "Prepare to continue searching for survivors," he ordered.

  As the crew moved to obey, Dax glanced up. "There's an incoming message from Hivemaster Dron," she said, surprised.