AT THE MINE site in Formax, the blasts of energy burned the ground, searing through hundreds of feet of soil to the rich mineral deposits below. Several hundred miners were incinerated in the deadly beams of light, the few grams of metal in their vaporized bodies being added to the metals being siphoned off into space. The ground cracked, shook, and collapsed under the barrage of energy. The old tunnels collapsed, and more people died in the devastation. The mine supervisor barely had the chance to scream before she, too, burned away. She had been standing three miles from the impact point, but the bare shadow she left on the desiccated soil vanished as the earth trembled and imploded in the wake of the attack.
Similar scenes of devastation occurred all across the surface of Darane IV as the planet died.
Worin was beyond panic now. His mind had almost overloaded on mental and emotional pain. His world was being murdered around him, and there was nothing he could do about it. The various monitor screens showed devastaton after disaster all over the peaceful planet he had governed only this morning. The high-intensity energy beams were tearing the world apart, as they sought out metals, minerals, and anything else the invaders wanted. Worin wasn't even bothering to try and cope with the death tolls, because thousands were added every minute. Some died in the barrage, others when the superheated atmosphere burned them down. Others died in the earthquakes caused by the beams.
So few had been able to escape this incredible devastation. Whatever spaceworthy craft there had been on Darane had been filled to capacity and sent off into space. The invaders would probably massacre the survivors as they fled, but perhaps some would stand a chance of escape.
And, hopefully, somehow, extract revenge for this genocide.
"We have to get out of here!" one of his aides screamed, barely audible over the terrifying roaring outside. The air that had boiled away into space had created a vacuum. Hurricane-level winds whirled across the planet as nature tried to fill that void. The winds were ripping apart what few buildings and structures the earthquakes and energy rays hadn't managed to destroy.
"And go where?" Worin yelled back. "There's nowhere left to escape to. And no ships left to flee in."
The aide was beyond thinking logically, however. He simply bolted for the closest door, running for his life. For a second, Worin considered following him. But what was the point? Out there or in here, he would still die. It didn't matter any longer.
There was the familiar hum of a transporter beam, and for a brief second hope flared within the minister. Somehow, they were being rescued! Maybe it was the Federation at last, or—
His heart fell as he realized that the targets of the transporters were not the survivors. In a shimmer of light, blocks of computers, equipment and anything still intact were vanishing.
The invaders weren't content to destroy the inhabitants of Darane IV. They were even robbing the corpses as they died. . . .
"No!" Worin screamed, shaking a futile fist at the sky. It was pure white now, as energy bolts arched from horizon to horizon, dismantling everything in their path. The ground shook beneath his feet, sending him reeling against one of the now-blank walls. In a shower of exploding glass and mortar, that collapsed. Worin's dead body was briefly buried under half a ton of brick and steel before the energy arcs played across it, vaporizing everything.
"Heart of the Prophets," breathed Marel. His mind refused to function as he saw the destruction of his homeworld. "This is genocide. . . ." Sections of the crust of Darane were breaking apart as he watched. The inner magma of the planet surged free, spurting up in great geysers of boiling rock. "Nothing could survive that. . . ."
He finally broke his gaze from the screen and stared into the shocked faces of his bridge crew. They were even more affected than he was, he realized. Every one of them had lost families, friends, and neighbors in the holocaust. As Darane seethed, cracked, and bubbled, everyone and everything they knew must surely have perished.
Marel tried to concentrate. The intruder was still sucking the last dregs of whatever it wished. The energy fires were still blazing, but there was no atmosphere left to conduct the great discharges any longer. Incandescent blasts continued to rip through the heart of Darane.
"Enough!" he announced. It was impossible to help his world any longer, but perhaps it was not too late to extract some measure of vengeance. Turning to his first officer, he ordered, "Set course for the closest of those portals you discovered on the intruder. Maximum speed." Turning to his engineering officer, he added, "I want all warp drives to be overrun. Throw the damn dampers away. And I want the containment fields down-powered."
None of them had to ask him what he meant. And, thankfully, not one of them questioned his orders. As they moved to obey, he saw only the desire for revenge in their otherwise bleak eyes.
Marel collapsed into his seat, drained of everything save the desire for revenge. Perhaps his phasers could do no damage to the alien craft. Well, they'd see what a starship with its warp core breached might do when it crashed into the intruder. . . .
Satisfaction filled Dron's being as he watched the projection of the target planet that hovered over the conference table. As anticipated, the energy beams were boiling away the much-needed metals and chemicals of the dying world. The comp was scrolling facts and figures faster than anyone could possibly read as the tally was taken of the resources obtained. The transporter rooms were taking all the intact machinery they could find for future salvage. And the botanical receptors had rescued billions of units of plants and edibles.
The processing of this world was going well.
Dron glanced up as he realized one of the messengers was standing beside him. "What is it?" he asked, annoyed at being disturbed in this moment of triumph. "Can you not see that I am busy?"
"My apologies, Grand Master," the female answered, bowing her head obsequiously. "There is a female at the chamber door who insists she must speak with Hivemaster Tork with great urgency."
"Send the fool away," snapped Raldar, looking up from the projection. "You know we are not to be disturbed whilst in session."
"Wait," Dron ordered, as the messenger started to turn. "This female—would her name be Sahna?"
The messenger bowed again. "Indeed."
Dron smiled slightly. "Then by all means you had better pass on her message to Hivemaster Tork," he told her. "And tell the Hivemaster that he is excused his duties for the moment to speak with her." The messenger bowed again and hurried away. Dron smiled once again, this time at Raldar. "She has no doubt come to tell Tork that she has been assigned to Team Two," he explained. "Tork will then need to save her." Dron tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the edge of his shell. "He will have to come to ask for a favor from me. I have been watching him as this … recovery operation has been taking place. He did not look happy. I have a strong suspicion that he will attempt to block our next procurement. If he is in our debt, however, this will prevent him from an outcry."
Raldar inclined his head. "A wise plan," he murmured.
"I know," Dron agreed. He turned his attention back to the holographic projection. "Now, to business. I see that the operation is thirty percent accomplished—in so short a time. I think we shall have to publicly commend Boran and his team for their magnificent work."
The rape of Darane continued.
"We're approaching Darane Four now," Dax called from her console. "We can drop out of warp in two minutes."
"Understood," Sisko answered. He had been monitoring all the information he could from Bajor; all transmissions from Darane had died out more than twenty minutes earlier. None of what had come through, though, was good. It sounded as though the invader was annihilating everything and everyone in its way. Sisko slapped his comm badge. "Sisko to O'Brien. Chief, tell me something I want to hear."
O'Brien's voice floated back. Sisko could hear the strain in it. "Well, the good news is that shields are up to eighty percent, Captain. The bad news is that it'll be at least two more hours before Fontana and I can get the weapons systems back on-line. The circuit boards here were really riddled."
"All right, Chief," Sisko said, trying not to sound too disappointed or worried. "I know you're doing your best. Can you return to the bridge? I know I'm going to need you here. Sisko out." He stared at the screen thoughtfully, weighing his options. With the shields almost back up to strength, at least they had some protection against whatever the aliens were using as weaponry. But without firepower, they weren't going to be able to sway the course of the battle much.
Which left diplomacy—if that had a chance of working. If he couldn't make the aliens—listen, then there would be little option but to run for cover, tail between his legs. And he hated that option. It would look as if he were abandoning his responsibilities, and the situation was appalling enough without that.
Dax glanced around from the navigation console. "Approaching Darane," she reported. Even she looked tense.
"Full impulse," Sisko ordered, focusing all his thoughts on what was about to happen.
Dax's hands flew across the panel, and there was the subtle shift in engine thrumming that signaled change. "Full impulse," she reported. "Switching main screen."
All eyes on the bridge were drawn to the screen as it sprang to life. There was a collective gasp of horror at what they all witnessed.
Darane was virtually invisible, with the intruder vessel draped about it. Bolts of celestial lightning ravaged the smoking, blackened core of the murdered planet. About thirty percent of its mass was gone, either to the ship or boiled off into space.
Sisko managed to swallow and called out, "Life signs?"
Julian, looking pale and shaken, managed to turn back to his station. His fingers shook as he fought to gather readings. "On the planet … none," he answered, his voice haunted. "I can't get any readings from the intruder."
"I'm picking up several hundred ships," Kira called from her post. With weaponry off-line, she was staffing the science station with Julian. "Most of them are fleeing the planet. Hard to say how many survivors made it, but there can't be a whole lot."
"There's still some fighting going on," Odo added. "I'm reading eight alien vessels, unfamiliar configuration. And three … Bajoran craft."
"On screen," Sisko ordered. Almost anything had to be better than watching the destruction of Darane. The picture shimmered and was replaced by one of four of the alien's dartlike craft speeding toward two of the defenders. As Sisko watched, he heard the turbolift door hiss open.
"Bloody hell." That was O'Brien's voice.
The first two alien ships caught up with one of the Daranian ships. The lone vessel was pouring everything it could into phaser power, but the shields of the attackers held firm. As the bridge crew watched, the two aliens passed on either side of the Daranian ship, which seemed to simply disintegrate into dust as they passed.
"Chief, what are they using?" Sisko demanded.
O'Brien was already at the closest sensor post, striving to get readings. "Give me a minute, Captain," he said. "Two new weapons in two weeks …"
Sisko dragged his eyes away from the screen. "Dax," he said grimly. "Try and raise the invaders' ship. I have to try and talk to them."
"Got it," O'Brien said, with a trace of satisfaction in his voice. "I've been trying to figure out what they were doing since we got the first pictures of the battle from Bajor," he explained. "I had an idea, but my readings just confirmed it."
"So, what is it?" growled Sisko impatiently.
"Monofilament."
"What?"
O'Brien spread his hands, fingers extended. "Monofilament," he repeated. "Wire only a few microns thick—virtually invisible and undetectable. But aligned molecules. The result is an incredibly tiny thread that can cut through anything at all with virtually no resistance. These aliens have made a sort of web out of it, stretched between two of their ships. They just fly past their target and the monofilament slices it apart."
Kira scowled. "But why won't shields stop it?"
"Because it's too thin," O'Brien explained. "It's probably out of the shields' sensor range. It's only a couple of atoms thick, and no shields I know of can stop a couple of atoms from getting through."
"Can ours?" asked Odo.
O'Brien snorted. "Not even at full strength. And we've only got eighty-two percent right now."
"That's not very reassuring," Odo answered.
"It's the best I can do," O'Brien informed him. "But I have reconfigured the sensors to detect the nets."
Kira looked thoughtful. "Now we know why the enemy attack only in pairs. They need two anchors for the monofilament, to keep it tense."
"Right," O'Brien agreed. "It's fantastic technology.
There have been experiments with the stuff before, but nobody's been able to stabilize monfilaments that thin. They generally just break apart." He shook his head admiringly. "I'd love to take a peek at how they do it. They're marvelous engineers."
"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?