Chapter One

Ro LAREN LOOKED UP at the yellowing clouds, whichrested uneasily upon the jagged teeth of the olive-hued mountains in the distance. She didn't see thebeauty of the twilit sky or the flowering land withharvesting season upon it; all she saw were the vaportrails of shuttlecraft and small transports streakingaway from the planet Gallon. The former Starfleetofficer knew that most of those vessels were little morethan junk and had no warp drive. Where did theythink they were going?
Her hands paused over the lush sprawl of tomatovines and plump red fruit in her small vegetablepatch. Who would have thought she could have gottenso much pleasure from coaxing food from the ground?Emotions gripped her throat like the teeth of a vole,and she wanted to lash out with her fists. This isn'tjust! No sooner had they found a semblance of peacethan another war was engulfing them with its acridstink. Ro knew well the stench of war. Burning rubble,bloated bodies, wretched refugee camps--those wereher childhood memories. This war was less her fightthan any of those other conflicts, yet it threatened todwarf them all.
She heard a door slam inside the corrugated shedthat served as their home. Ro took a deep breath androse from her muddy knees. Lean, hardened bymanual labor, her brown hair cropped short, she wasmore striking than beautiful. Her nose ridges wereprominent, and she wore the traditional chains andbands on her right ear, proclaiming her Bajoranheritage in this mostly human Maquis community.Ro wiped her hands on the apron that covered herfrayed jumpsuit, and she listened to his footstepscreaking on the thin floor of the prefabricated shed.Derek sounded unusually tense; he was probablyworking up the nerve to face her.
The door banged open again, and she heard hisfootsteps on the black volcanic gravel that served astheir soil. Only a combination of hydroponic tech-niques, chemical fertilization, and constant irrigationhad rendered it fit for growing. Ro wasn't keen onleaving this soil just yetwshe had poured too muchsweat into it.
The human walked around the comer of the shedand stopped when he saw her. She could tell every-thing she needed to know from the slouch of hisshoulders and his tired blue eyes; even his mustachedrooped wearily. He was gray-haired and many yearsher senior, but he had a rakish charm that kept himyouthful. Today that charm could not disguise theweathered, worried lines in his face. Derek had been afreelance smuggler and weapons runner, but she hadwon him over to the Maquis cause. He still dealtweapons, but for his people, not profit.
She ran to him, and he wrapped his wiry armsaround her slender frame. A strand of his gray hairbrushed her cheek, and Derek lifted her chin andgazed at her. "They didn't take the deal," he saidsoftly. "We have to go."
"Again?" she muttered, pulling away from him."I've been forced to run too many times--I'm notsure I can do it again. We stood up to the Cardassiansand the Federation; can't we stand up to them?"
He gave her a melancholy smile. "These aren't theCardies or the Feds. This is the Dominion. We can'tfight them; nobody can. The Federation, the Kling-ons--they're getting crushed right and left, and theJem'Hadar warships look like they're invincible. Plusthey've rebuilt the entire Cardassian fleet, and they'reeager for conquest. Believe it or not, our envoys sawtwo ships full of Federation prisoners come in whilethey were docked at Tral Kliban for the negotiations."
Ro snorted derisively. "Some negotiations. Whatdid you expect, trying to convince the Cardassiansthat we're neutral? Once an enemy of the Cardassians,always an enemy."
"Not so," answered Derek softly. "We may havefailed, but the Bajorans accepted a nonaggressiontreaty. They are neutral."  "Bajor?" scoffed Ro. "I don't believe it."
He gave her a sad smile that insisted it was true. "Idon't think Bajor had much choice, and the Domin-ion probably did it just to annoy the Cardassians, tolet them know who's boss. Deep Space Nine fell, andit's all going to fall--the whole Federation. Only thecloaked mines they stuck in front of the wormholehave saved them so far.
"We're small potatoes, but the Dominion will getaround to us. Our spies say they want to clear out thissector, because they're building something big on theother side of the Badlands, near Sector 283."  "What?"
"An artificial wormhole," answered Derek withawe in his voice. "They may be using slave labor--Federation prisoners."
Ro stared at him, stunned by the implications.With an artificial wormhole deep in Cardassian space,Dominion forces could travel back and forth betweenthe Alpha and Gamma quadrants without using theBajoran wormhole. They could even destroy it, alongwith everything the Bajorans held dear.
"Some of our cells have already returned to theFederation," declared Ro. "We've got to swallow ourpride and do the same thing. With the Federation'shelp, maybe we can defend this system instead ofrunning."
Now it was Derek's turn to snort. "The Federationwill be lucky if they can defend Earth. We're unim-portant, forgotten. About all we can do is find somequiet place to hide until it's all over." His attempt at asmile looked more like a wince.
"So the proud Maquis just run for their lives, givingup years of struggle?" asked Ro disdainfully.
Derek kicked a black pebble. "Our envoys got onepromise from the Cardassians--they'11 give us time toevacuate, as long as we don't try to enter the hostili-ties." Ro stared at him in disbelief. "Evacuate to where?There's no running from a war like this. We can fight,or we can surrender and be at their mercy."
"Bajor's always an option," answered Derek,calmly ignoring her tirade as he often did. "Remem-ber, Bajor is neutral. In fact, the committee is assem-bling a crew for you, and you're going to captain theOrb of Peace and take as many people as we can fit in.Traveling as Bajorans--with you in command--youstand a good chance of getting through Dominionspace."
"I wasn't even at the meeting!" snapped Ro. "Whodecided this for me?"
He gave her a weary smile and gripped her shoul-ders. "Laren, you're the only one who can pull off amission like this. We've got to gain control of theevacuation, so we don't just have people scattering tothe four winds. We'll never find each other again. TheMaquis are a community, even if we keep gettingchased off our land. I'll feel better knowing you're onBajor. I'll come as soon as possible."
Ro's nose ridges compressed like a bellows. "You'renot coming with me?"
"No. Someone has got to move our weapons stores,and I'm the only one who knows where everything is.I mean, we're not total pacifists, are we?" For aninstant, the roguish grin was back.
She gripped him desperately, and he hugged her,his fingers digging into her flesh. When their lips met,it was a bittersweet kiss with a taste of tears. In avegetable patch behind a corrugated shed on a little-known planet in what was formerly the CardassianDemilitarized Zone, now the Dominion, they clung toeach other. They knew it could be the last time. "How long do we have?" she asked hoarsely. "An hour, maybe. Your ship is en route."
"They may have to wait," said Ro, taking his armand pulling him toward the shed.
Ro materialized in the small but elegant transporterchamber of the Orb of Peace. In her gray cap andjumpsuit, with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder,she looked like a common crew member. But she wasthe captain on this ship, as testified to by the impor-tance of her welcoming committee. Crunched into thedimly lit chamber were three provisional admirals,two of the envoys who had returned empty-handed,and a cadre of dignitaries that spilled out into thecorridor.
I might have known, thought Ro. I'm ferrying thebrass to safety, not the common folk.
Although these men and women outranked her inthe Maquis hierarchy, they looked upon her with awe.Ro was a legend to the Maquis--a reclusive figurewho had deserted Starfleet to join their hopelesscause, only to become one of their greatest heroes.Time and time again, she had distinguished herself inguerrilla attacks against both the Cardassians and theFederation. Yet when the Cardassian-Klingon Warbrought them relative peace, she had spurned Maquisoffers of higher rank. A small cell of well-trainedfighters was all she had ever commanded, until now.Ro knew she was an enigma to these people, anoutsider whom they both respected and feared.
"Citizen Ro," said Shin Watanabe, one of therecently returned envoys, "we are pleased that youhave undertaken this mission."
Ro stepped off the transporter platform, and the seaof people parted respectfully for her.
"You know our objective," said one admiralbrusquely. "Do you think we can make it to Bajor?"
With her jaw set determinedly, Ro studied the facesconfronting her. Most of what she saw was fear,uncertainty, and anger, emotions she could well un-derstand. These people were close to falling apart,and she had to make sure they held together.
"I know you're all afraid," she began, "and soam I. But we have to get one thing straight before westart this journey. I am now Captain Ro--by yourchoice--and I am in total command of this vessel.Bajor is a considerable distance, and a lot can happenbetween here and there. I want your promise thatnobody will overrule my orders and decisions."
Watanabe laughed nervously. "Well, naturally, wewill have some input and advice--"
Ro jumped back onto the transporter platform,then turned to face them. "Transport me back. I'drather take my chances with the Cardassians thanhave you questioning my orders."
A female admiral charged forward. "Laren, we'veknown each other a long time. Don't start playinghierarchical mind games."
"We all know a ship can have only one captain,"said Ro evenly. "We have no world, no homeland--only this vessel flying under a false flag. When youelected me captain, you chose to put your lives intomy hands. It was your decision. If I'm in charge ofthis ship, then we're going to be a crew, not a rabble.It's that simple--take it or leave it." The second admiral, a older man named Shaffer,saluted her. "Aye, Captain. You have my word on it,and I'll throw anyone into the brig who argues withyou."
The others stared at him in shock; then they low-ered their heads in resignation, shame, and fear. Rohadn't meant to come down on them so harshly, but itwas best to settle this matter here and now. Thejourney would be difficult enough without endlesslydebating every decision. Besides, Ro wasn't in a verycharitable mood today. The good-bye with Derek hadbeen painful.
"Admiral Shaffer," she said, "have I been assigneda first officer?"
"Not yet. For the past year, this ship has only had amaintenance crew. We've staffed it as best we couldon short notice."
"Then would you be willing to serve as first offi-cer?" asked Ro.
He nodded solemnly, and the Bajoran jumped offthe platform and knifed through the crowd. Sheushered Shaffer out the door into the corridor, ignor-ing the stares of the others. After walking past a spiralstaircase that led to the lower deck, Ro got herbearings and strode toward the bridge, with theadmiral walking beside her."What's the ship's status?" she asked Shaffer."As you know, the Orb of Peace was in bad shapewhen we bought her on the black market. We refittedher, leaving enough original technology to show aBajoran warp signature.""So she's slow," said Ro, "and underarmed."Shaffer smiled. "Well, we boosted her armamentswith six photon torpedoes, and she is capable of warpthree--but she's still just a midrange transport." "What's our complement?" "Crew of twenty, plus eighty passengers."Ro scowled. "They must really be crammed in.""They are. But she was meant to carry clergy, so itdidn't take much to refit her as a troop transport.There's one good thing--she has a working foodreplicator."
"That makes her a rarity in the Maquis fleet," saidRo dryly. "See if the replicatot can make someBajoran uniforms for the bridge crew. Are there anyother Bajorans on board?""Only one, a junior engineer named Shon Navo.""He's no longer an engineer. Promote him to thebridge crew--he's to be on duty every moment whenI'm not, which won't be often. If we get hailed byDominion ships, they must see a Bajoran in com-mand on the bridge."  "Understood," said Shaffer.
A door slid open at their approach, and they sweptonto the bridge. The small bridge of the Orb of Peacewas more tasteful than practical. It was appointed inred with austere control consoles that looked likeprayer booths, and the main viewscreen was framedwith sayings of the Prophets. "The ways of the Proph-ets lead to peace" was the first word of advice to catchher eye. Ro hid her scowl, having never been asreligious or aesthetic as most of her people.
The three-person crew, which included a youngpilot at the conn, an operations officer, and a tacticalofficer, jumped to their feet. "Captain on the bridge!"piped one.
"At ease," she told them. "I'll learn your names aswe go. First dim running lights by sixty percent.That'll help to hide the fact that most of us aren't Bajorans." The young crew sat stiffly in their seats, and the ops officer dimmed the lights as ordered.
There was no official captain's chair on the Bajorancraft, and Ro took a seat at an auxiliary console. "Setcourse for Bajor.""Direct course?" asked the conn. "No evasion?""Ensign, obey my orders as I give them," said Rotestily. "We're not going to be evasive--we havenothing to hide. We're a Bajoran trade delegation tothe Dominion, and now we're headed home. I onlywish that we had time to surgically alter everyone tolook Bajoran; but we don't--so we'll have to fake it.Set course for Bajor, maximum warp."
"Yes, sir." The young blond woman worked herornate controls. "Course laid in."  "Take us out of orbit, one-third impulse."  "Aye, sir."
Admiral Sharfer moved toward the doorway. "I'llget to work on those uniforms, and I'll have Mr. Shonassigned to the bridge."
Ro nodded. The reality of their departure fromGalion had left an unexpected lump in her throat, andshe didn't trust herself to say much.
"We're clear of orbit," reported the conn o~cer."Warp engines on-line."
Ro pointed her finger exactly as she had seen acertain Starfleet captain do it. "Engage."
Phaser blasts from two Galor-class Cardassian war-ships crackled across space and rocked the sleek formof the Enterprise-E. The Sovereign-class vessel shud-dered before it veered into a desperate dive, with theyellow, fish-shaped warships in quick pursuit.
On the bridge, Captain Jean-Luc Picard gripped thearmrests of his command chair. "Evasive maneuvers,pattern Zeta-nine-two!"
"Yes, sir," answered Will Riker at the auxiliaryconn controls. The regular conn officer sat dazedly onthe deck beside his burned-out console, and Dr.Beverly Crusher ministered to a wound on his fore-arm. Everywhere on the bridge was the acrid smell ofburnt and overloaded circuits, caused by high-densityelectromagnetic pulses sweeping the ship.
"Shields down to forty percent," reported Data atthe ops console. The android spoke in a calm, busi-nesslike tone that belied the urgency of the situation.
"Target aft torpedoes on the lead craft," orderedPicard.
"Targeting quantum torpedoes," reported EnsignCraycroft on tactical. She was a young woman withnerves of titanium, and she reminded Picard ofanother young woman who had manned that stationten years ago on another vessel called the Enterprise.It seemed like a lifetime since they had grieved theloss of Tasha Yar, because now Starfleet lost a thou-sand Tasha Yars every day.  "They're lined up," Riker reported urgently.  "Lower shields," ordered Picard. "Fire!"
Ensign Craycroft plied her console. "Torpedoesaway!"
A brace of torpedoes shot from the tail of theEnterprise, and they looked like shooting stars as theystreaked across the blackness of space. The torpedoesswerved into the lead Cardassian ship like hungrypiranhas, and it exploded in a blaze of gas, flames,and imploding antimatter which engulfed the secondship behind it. The second ship veered off, sparklinglike a Christmas tree before it went dark and began todrift. The Enterprise kept going, steady on course.
Riker looked back at Picard and gave him a boyishgrin. "Works every time."
"It works on Cardassians in any case," said thecaptain cautiously. He didn't like being reduced totricks, but when they were outnumbered by superiorforces, they needed all the help they could get. TheCardassians were arrogant and eager to make a kill onbig game such as the Enterprise. That made themcareless, something the Jem'Hadar were not.  "Damage report," ordered Riker.
"There are energy fluctuations on the starboardnacelle, bridge, and decks fifteen through twenty-six,"reported Data. "Plasma couplings and EPS conduitson deck seventeen require immediate repair. Recov-ery systems are compensating, and repair crews havebeen dispatched. Shields are holding steady at fortypercent, and I am rerouting power from the mainreactor. Five casualties reported, none serious."
Beverly Crusher rose wearily to her feet andbrushed back a strand of blonde hair that had escapedfrom her hair band. Her lab coat was stained, and herface looked gaunt--a doctor at war. "I'm on my wayto sickbay," she said.
The doctor looked down at her patient and gavehim a professional smile. "Ensign Charles is stabi-lized, but I want him to sit still for a while. I'll sendsomebody for him as soon as I can. Just keep himcomfortable."
Picard gave her a wan smile. "Still shorthandeddown there?" "No, I just come up here in case both you and Willget knocked out, and I can finally take over. I want tobe on hand when it happens."
"Good thinking," said Riker, who appreciated gal-lows humor more than Picard. "But we could have thecomputer notify you."
"I'm sure I'll know." The doctor put her head downand walked across the spacious bridge, past twoempty science stations, unused since the war started.Her shoulders stiflened as she entered the turbolift,but she didn't look back.
Picard swallowed dryly. He was having a hard timeadjusting to a war in which they were being over-whelmed on all fronts, in which every departmentwas shorthanded and shell-shocked. Many of his mostexperienced crew members were now chief engineers,doctors, and captains on their own vessels. Only bycalling in personal favors had he managed to hang onto his core staff of officers. Defeats and surrenders hadtaken their toll, but Starfleet could build more shipsfaster than they could build good crew to fly them.  "What's the fleet situation?" he asked Data.  Theoretically, they were in the middle of a major  offensive against Dominion forces, but Starfleet had  stopped massing their ships in close formation. The  Dominion fleets simply outgunned them, and they  couldn't stand toe-to-toe against them. Instead the  new tactic was to spread the battle in three dimen-  sions, so that the enemy had to break off and pursue.  With good luck and a good crew, a captain might face  only two or three Cardassian warships instead of one  Jem'Hadar battle cruiser, and he might live to fight  another hit-and-run skirmish another day.
Data shook his head. "Captain, I cannot make anaccurate assessment without breaking subspace si-lence, although long-range scans should indicate pos-sible hostilities." The android's fingers swiftly workedhis console.
"Search for distress signals," said Picard, rubbinghis eyes. "Let's go to our secondary mission--res-cue."
"Setting predetermined course for secondary mis-sion," reported Riker. "Warp three?"
"Full impulse, until we make repairs," replied thecaptain. "I want to coddle this ship--she's all we'vegot."
Riker nodded and tapped his comm badge. "Rikerto Engineering. How are we doing, Geordi?"
"Fine," came a curt reply. "I know I owe you arepair crew--they're on their way. Is the war overyet?""Not quite," said Riker with a half smile.Captain Picard settled back into his chair. By allrights, they had destroyed one enemy ship and hadcrippled another, and they should be finished for theday. But somebody out there needed help--a greatmany somebodies.
On the Orb of Peace, the bridge was not as spaciousand as efficiently laid out as the circular bridge of theEnterprise. The dimly lit chamber reminded Ro of asmall Bajoran chapel, facing the viewscreen instead ofthe shrine. To complete the impression, there were allthose religious homilies decorating the frame aroundthe viewscreen. However, the elegant Bajoran instru-ment panels lent a soothing reddish and turquoiseglow to the surroundings.
Ro looked back at Shon Navo, a teenager who oughtto be in school instead of fighting a war. The two ofthem were wearing the rust-brown uniforms of Bajor,and they were wearing their most ostentatious earapparel. As the only Bajorans on this Bajoran ship,they had to play every part. For two hours, theirjourney had been totally uneventful, and they werechewing up the parsecs as fast as the transport wouldgo. Ro felt she could take a few moments to coach theboy in his duties.  "Mr. Shon," she began, "stay close to me."
"Yes, Captain," he said eagerly, as he shuffled up toher right shoulder blade. She judged him to be slightlyshorter than herself.
"If anybody hails us for any reason, you are toposition yourself in a similar position, very close tome. We'll go on visual and let them know we'reBajoran."  "Yes, sir."
"I will address remarks to you as if you were myfirst officer, and we will speak in Bajoran. They'll beable to translate it, so keep the remarks pertinent."  He cleared his throat nervously.  "Yes?"
  "I... I don't speak Bajoran. I used to know it as akid, I think, but I've forgotten it."  "War orphan?"
He nodded. "And my new parents took me withthem to the Fellowship Colony. Boy, that was nice...for a while. Then the Federation betrayed us andhanded us over to the Cardassians."
"Let's keep personal opinions to a minimum," saidRo. "We're going to Bajor. Despite being officiallyneutral, Bajorans hold the Federation in high regard.After all, the Emissary is a human."  The boy's face hardened. "Thus far, the Cardas-sians have killed all four of my parents and have triedto kill me several times. Anyone who appeases them isa coward."
  "I'm not telling you you can't hate," said Ro. "Justkeep it to yourself."  "Yes, sir."
"You might be forced to answer a hail when I'm nothere. Don't delayreit looks suspicious. Simply identi-fy yourself as the first officer and send for me. Thisisn't a big ship--I'U get here quickly. Time permit-ting, I'll teach you a few Bajoran words. You can startwith--"
"Captain," said the operations officer, his backstiffening, "there's a fleet of ships passing within fourparsecs of us. Two of them have dropped out of warpand are breaking off. They're headed our way."
"Where are the other ones going?" asked Ro urgent-ly. "Plot their course."
"The two Jem'Hadar ships have gone back intowarp and will catch up with us in a few minutes!" saidthe nervous pilot.
"We'll talk our way out of it," declared Ro. "We'relucky they're Jem'Hadar, not Cardassians. Get Ad-miral Sharfer to the bridge. And I want to know wherethe rest of that fleet is going."
"Oh, no," groaned the tactical officer. "They're...they're headed toward Galion! What are we going todo?"
Ro could tell she was a Maquis-trained officer, notStarfleet, and she tried to have patience with her."First of all, get control of yourself."
"Yes, sir," responded the woman, straightening hershoulders. "Should I arm torpedoes?"
"No, don't make any aggressive moves without mycommand. By the way, we all have people back onGalion."
The woman smiled gratefully at her, then gulped."Should we warn them?"
"If we send a message right now," said Ro, "weprobably won't get to finish it."
Ro turned to gaze at Shon Navo. The fresh-facedBajoran looked so innocent, even though his life hadbeen steeped in tragedy and hatred. "Shon, I want youto be the first thing they see. Just identify our vessel,say we're Bajoran, and that you have sent for thecaptain. With any luck, they'll be in a hurry."
She paced behind her unfamiliar crew. "Lower thelights another ten percent. Put the ships on screen."
The viewscreen revealed two silvery shapes in thedistance, dwarfed by the vastness of space. TheJem'Hadar attack ships looked unprepossessing--they were smaller than the Orb of Peace--but Roknew they were tremendously swift, maneuverable,and destructive. She had never seen the Jem'Hadar,but she had heard reports of their single-mindedruthlessness and devotion to their masters, theFounders.
"They're at warp six and gaining on us," said thepilot.
"Steady as she goes," ordered Ro. "Don't come outof warp unless they force us to. Don't change speed."
On the viewscreen, the Dominion ships were largernow--two puglike fighters with twin nacelles, all spitand chrome. Ro imagined that her ship was beingscanned and their warp signature was being verified.Even though she was expecting it, the sudden beep ofthe communications panel made her pulse quicken.
"They're hailing us," said the tactical officer with aquavering voice. "And they're demanding that wecome out of warp."
"Answer the hail first." Ro motioned to Shon Navoto step in front of the viewscreen as she retreated tothe shadows at the rear of the bridge.
Spine erect, trying to look like his idea of a firstofficer, the young Bajoran stepped into the pool oflight in front of the viewscreen. He cleared his throatand nodded.
At once, the frightening aspect of a Jem'Hadarwarrior appeared on the screen. His face was gnarledwith prickly ridges like a cactus, and his skin was grayand lifeless. His eyes appeared to be red and vivid, yetthey were darkly hooded like a lizard's eyes. A strangemechanical appendage seemed to grow out of hiscollarbone and hover in front of his left eye, and atube pumped a white liquid into an orifice in the sideof his neck. Behind the Jem'Hadar stood another lessimposing figure. Like her, he was hovering in theshadows.
"We are the Orb of Peace, a Bajoran transport,"said the young Bajoran in a confident yet respectfultone of voice.
"Come out of warp," ordered the Jem'Hadar in agruff voice. "This is Dominion space."
"I'm only the first officer," answered Shon, hisvoice cracking. "The captain has been summoned."
"This is Dominion space," repeated the craggy faceon the viewscreen.
"And we are friends of the Dominion," replied Ro,marching to the front of the bridge. Shon Navo fellinto line behind her, nearly leaning on her back forsupport. She could feel him shivering. "Captain Tilo at your service," she added. "Come out of warp," ordered the Jem'Hadar.
Ro nodded to the conn and said loudly, "Fullimpulse. Maintain course for Bajor."
On the Dominion attack ship, the shadowy figure atthe rear of the cockpit leaned over the shoulder of thepilot. This one was a different species than theJem'Hadar, although he certainly wasn't Cardassian.He had huge ears, pale violet eyes, and an obsequiousexpression, like a professional politician. A Vorta, shethought, the midlevel managers of the Dominion.
"What is your business in this sector?" he askedpleasantly enough.
"We are a Bajoran trade delegation," she answered."In the past, we have traded with many worlds in thissector, and we hope that we can continue to do so."
"We're in a state of war," answered the little manwith the big ears, "as we aid our allies in their battleagainst the unscrupulous practices of the Federation.You might be wise to continue on your way homewithout further interruption."
"That is our intention," answered Ro. "Thanks tothe benevolence of the Dominion."
The Vorta nodded in appreciation of the compli-ment, then he added, "We had noticed a large numberof passengers on your vessel--most of them human."
"Carrying passengers is a sideline," answered Roevenly, "especially on our return voyage. We areheaded straight home."
"Make certain of that." The Vorta nodded to theJem'Hadar pilot, and the screen went blank as the linkended. A moment later, they watched the two Domin-ion vessels zoom off into warp. Ro scowled. "What's their course?"
"The same course we traveled," replied tactical."They're headed toward Galion and the Maquissettlements."
"Do we resume warp speed for Bajor?" asked thehelmsman, his voice quavering.
Ro gazed from the expectant faces of her youngcrew members to the wizened face of Admiral Shar-fer. None of them ventured an opinion; none of themoffered to make the decision for her. This is what shehad said she wanted--total control over this vesseland the lives of a hundred people--and she had it.
Her eyes rested on the young blond woman at thetactical station: her face was tight with fear, but shekept her tears at bay. Ro knew the fear wasn't forherself but for those left behind, unaware that anenemy fleet was streaking toward them. Her moisteyes seemed to say that only an animal flees withoutany concern for loved ones left behind. They couldn'tbeat the Dominion ships to Galion, but they could tryto rescue survivors.
"Alert Gallon Central," she ordered. "Tell themabout the Dominion fleet. Reverse course, maximumwarp."
"Aye, Captain," said the conn officer with a mixtureof awe and apprehension.
The boxy little transport executed a 180-degreeturn and elongated into a streak of golden light beforevanishing entirely.

Chapter Two

THE ONCE LUSH PLANET OF GALLON floated in space likea charred tree stump, with only patches of moss leftalive. The great forests and groves of olive trees wereblackened swamps, and the lakes were dark with siltand mud. The cities and towns were nothing butblasted craters, still burning like hellish volcanoes.Half a million dead, at the very least. There was openweeping on the bridge of the Orb of Peace, and Ro saidnothing to discourage it. The sight was so horriblethat she almost ordered it to be taken off the view-screen, but it demanded to be witnessed.
She walked over to the navigation console andasked softly, "Any life signs?"
The young man shook his head. "No, none, sir...although the extreme radiation could be affecting oursensors." "They were so much faster than us," said AdmiralShaffer in shock. "They got here in minutes, and ittook us two hours."
Ro strode behind her crew and admonished them,"Keep scanning for life signsmtarget the cities." Inher eyes and her heart, she knew it was hopeless.Galion was nothing but a funeral pyre, and Derek wasdead, along with scores of friends and comrades.
The bridge continued to fill with passengers andtheir families, and the anquished cries became toogreat for her to bear. Ro turned to face them, holdingup her hands to quiet their gasps and sobs. "You arewitnesses. Without provocation, the Dominion hasdestroyed our homeworld, our last refuge. I submitthat we are no longer innocent bystanders in thiswar--we're part of it."
She strode to the conn and gazed over the youngman's shoulder at the readouts. "It will take four daysto reach Bajor, and they could destroy us anywherealong the way. On Bajor, Shon and I could fit in, butthe rest of you would have to be in hiding, right underthe nose of the Cardassians on Deep Space Nine. Idon't think you can hide from this war--I think youhave to stand up and be counted."
She tapped her finger on the panel. "I say we cutstraight across the DMZ to the Federation lines andoffer them our help. We can be there in a few hours."
"Yeah, kill the lying bastards!" cried the envoy whohad spent days begging the Dominion to leave theremnants of the Maquis alone. "Our safety--" began another man.
"Safety is illusory," answered Admiral Shaffer."The enemy has shown us that. We must return to theFederation."
"That will mean prison for a lot of us," mutteredthe other admiral. A resolute yet pained shadowplayed across her face.
"I'm higher on their list than any of you," repliedRo, "but we have to stand by the Federation, nomatter the personal risk. We certainly can't dependupon the mercy of the Dominion. Are there any lifesigns down there?" "No, sir," came the answer.
"Set course for Federation space, best guess," sheordered. "And turn up the lights in here."
On the viewscreen of the Enterprise was a heart-rending sight--a Federation starship floating inspace, dark and lifeless, with several jagged rifts in herhull. The Gallant was a Nebula-class vessel, morecompact than the Enterprise, with her twin nacelleslocated directly beneath the saucer section and a largestabilizer atop the craft. Not a light shone on thederelict vessel, and debris stretched behind it like atrail of blood.
"Life signs?" asked Captain Picard, already dread-ing the answer.
Data shook his head. "None, sir. There are fourteenseparate breaches in the hull, and it is unlikely thatany section of the ship maintained sufficient integrityto support life. The distress signal is on automatic andis fading in strength."
"It looks like they used her for target practice,"muttered Riker through clenched teeth.
"Log her position," ordered Picard glumly. "Some-one can tow her in later. Alert sickbay and thetransporter rooms to stand down--there's no one tosave here."
Data frowned at his readouts. "I am receiving twonew distress signals in the same vicinity at a distanceof six parsecs. One is Starfleet; the other is...Bajoran."
"Set course, maximum warp," ordered Picard."With all this killing, it would be nice to save evenone life today."
Within minutes, the Enterprise was closing in onanother pocket of death and destruction in the unfor-giving bleakness of space. Picard could only hope thatthis time they would arrive soon enough to help.
"Long-range scans show hostilities in progress,"reported Data. "An Ambassador-class starship, theAurora, and an unknown Bajoran transport are en-gaged with a Jem'Hadar cruiser."
"Shields up," ordered Picard. "As soon as we comeout of warp, fire phasers and keep firing. Don't givethe Jem'Hadar time to react."
"Yes, sir," snapped Ensign Craycroft on tactical."Phasers ready."
"Coming out of warp in thirty seconds," said Rikerfrom the auxilary console. "I thought the Bajoranswere neutral."
"This war doesn't play favorites," replied Picard."On screen."
The Jem'Hadar battle cruiser looked like a bulletwith short fins and a vibrant blue glow along her hull.She was chasing the Aurora through a thin, purplishgas cloud, exchanging fire with the crippled ship.Above the fray, a rectangular transport fired a photontorpedo at the Jem'Hadar cruiser, rocking it slightly.But the enemy had its sights set on the bigger ship,and was ignoring everything else. The captain tapped the comm panel on his chair."Sickbay and transporter rooms, stand by for casual-ties."
With skillful piloting, the Enterprise dropped out ofwarp matching the speed and course of the enemy,and they bombarded the cruiser with phaser fire.Suddenly, the Dominion warship was caught in athree-way cross fire, yet the single-minded Jem'Hadarcontinued to pound the fleeing Aurora. To her cap-tain's credit, Aurora never stopped firing, even as abrace of torpedoes dissolved her port nacelle. Theonce-proud Starfleet ship fizzled like a dud firecrackerbefore it lurched into a fatal spin.
Picard wanted to commence rescue efforts, but theywere too far away to use transporters. Unless theyeliminated the Jem'Hadar cruiser, they would allsuffer the same fate as the Aurora.
"Target quantum torpedoes," he ordered. "Readyto lower shields." "Torpedoes targeted," reported Ensign Craycroft. "Shields down. Fire!"
Picard could only hope that the cruiser's shieldshad been sutficiently softened during the battle. No-body breathed on the bridge of the Enterprise as thetorpedoes slammed into the Jem'Hadar craft. Thefirst two shots blistered off the enemy's shields, butthe second two found their mark, chewing up the aftfins on the sleek craft. Even as explosions racked theJem'Hadar ship, she came about and unleashed awithering blast of phaser fire that engulfed both theEnterprise and the plucky Bajoran transport.
As the bridge rocked, the captain hung on to thearms of his chair. "Keep firing!" he shouted.
Craycroft staggered back to her feet and poundedher console. At once, another bracket of torpedoesstreaked from the saucer of the Enterprise into theDominion ship. Energy rippled along the hull of thedoomed cruiser, finally reaching her antimatter core,and she exploded in a violent shower of gas, flame,and debris.
"Captain," said Data. "The Bajoran craft is se-verely damaged. They are losing life-support."
"All transporter rooms, lock on to the Bajoran craftand begin transporting," ordered Picard. "Medteams, report to transporter rooms."  He turned to Data. "The Aurora--"
As if in answer to his unfinished question, theAmbassador-class starship erupted in an explosiongreater than that which had claimed the Jem'Hadarship. All of space seemed torn apart by the blast,which sent waves of sparkling confetti swirling intospace.
  Picard's shoulders slumped, and he turned awayfrom the tragic sight on the viewscreen.  "No survivors," said Riker glumly.
"Log it." Picard turned back to the viewscreen,half-expecting the Bajoran transport to explode aswell. But the small, unassuming vessel just hung therein space, still intact.
"Captain," said Data with a trace of puzzlement,"we have transported ninety-five wounded people offthe Bajoran ship, and most of them are human."  "Human?" asked Picard. "Not Bajoran?" "Two of them are Bajoran," replied the android.
Riker frowned. "Maybe that explains why theywere fighting the Dominion." "Is the transport salvageable?" asked Picard. Data nodded. "Yes, sir. Except for the failure oflife-support and artificial-gravity systems, it is rela-tively undamaged."
"If they're civilians, they'll need their ship," sug-gested Riker. "She's small enough that she won't slowus down."
"Ready tractor beam," ordered Picard. "Let's bethankful that we were in time to save a few lives. Setcourse for the Kreel system. Maintain subspace si-lence."
The captain wasn't anxious to find out how thebattle had fared. From what he had seen today, hehardly expected victory. No doubt they had widenedthe front and won a few skirmishes here and there,but he couldn't be optimistic that they had dealt aserious blow to the Dominion and Cardassian forces.They were fighting now to keep from being overrun,nothing more.
"Tractor beam locked on," reported the conn."Course laid in.""Maximum warp," said the captain. "Engage."The crew of the Enterprise were as brave as theycome, yet there was a palpable sense of relief on thebridge once they were headed back to Federationspace. Picard knew they could keep fighting--therewas no shortage of Dominion ships along the raggedfrontwbut his crew was exhausted. Sickbay was fullof wounded civilians, and the Enterprise still haddamage to repair. Despite a gnawing sense of guiltover having survived when so many other bravecaptains and crews hadn't, Picard knew it was time tocall it a day.
He was rubbing his eyes and wondering if he hadthe energy to get up and get himself a cup of tea, whenthe comm panel beeped. "Picard here," he answeredwearily.
 "Jean-Luc," said the familiar voice of BeverlyCrusher. "I think you should come to sickbay."  "Is there a problem?"
"We've got gurneys spilling out into the corridor,but that's normal these days." She paused. "Webeamed over somebody you know from the transport.I've sent for a security team."
That piqued his interest, and Picard rose to his feet."I'11 be right there. Number One, you have thebridge."
Ro Laren/Picard stared in amazement at the un-conscious figure stretched out on the observationtable in sickbay. As if it wasn't crowded enough, fourgold-collared security officers stood guard around hertable and the beds of several prominent Maquisofficers. The captain never thought he would see hisformer lieutenant again, not in this lifetime, but hereshe was.
Unbidden, a host of memories came cascading backto Captain Picard. He remembered when young En-sign Ro had first come aboard the Enterprise-D--shewas already under a cloud and barely hanging on toher Starfleet commission. With her independent atti-tude and spotty record, Ro had instantly earned thedistrust of Will Riker and half the crew, but theyneeded her to infiltrate a cadre of Bajoran terrorists.She had succeeded in that difficult task as she had inso many others, until she had finally become one ofhis most trusted officers. Then she had betrayed him and Starfleet. Or was it Starfleet that had betrayed Ro? Afterpromoting her and training her in antiterrorist tactics,Admiral Nechayev had thrust her into a volatilesituation in the Cardassian Demilitarized Zone. Per-haps it was inevitable that a renegade and underdoglike Ro would sympathize with the ultimate under-dogs--the Maquis. At any rate, she had refused tobetray them, opting instead to betray Starfleet. Fight-ing Federation colonists and former comrades hadbeen the most painful duty of Picard's career. But likeso many other Chapters of his life, it paled in compari-son with the awful conflict that now engulfed them.
He turned to Beverly Crusher. "Will she be allright?"
"She'll recover," answered the doctor. "Anotherfew seconds without air, and none of them wouldhave survived. I can bring most of them back toconsciousness, but do you think they'll be a securityrisk?"
Picard shook his head. "They were fighting theDominion when we rescued them. I'm inclined to givethem the benefit of the doubt." He turned to thesecurity officers. "Wait outside, on alert."
After the security detail had cleared out, it was a biteasier to move in sickbay, and Picard stationed him-self at Ro's bedside. He nodded to Beverly, and sheadministered a hypospray to the Bajoran's neck.
Slowly, wincing with fear and confusion, Ro Larenopened her eyes and struggled to sit up. When hervision focused on the concerned face of CaptainPicard, she smiled weakly.
"Then it's true," she said in amazement, "thisreally is the Enterprise. Am I under arrest?"
"At the moment, you're under my care," saidBeverly. "But I wouldn't worry too much about Captain Picard went to considerable trouble to rescue you and your shipmates."
"Thank you." Ro sat up and looked around. "Howare my passengers?"
"We saved all but five," answered Beverly. "ShouldI log you down as captain?"
"Yes," she answered hoarsely. "Can we talk some-where?"
"Of course," said Captain Picard. "We have alounge on this ship, much like the old Ten-Forwardroom. It's not the same as it used to be--with the warand all--but we could still go there." The captainlooked at Crusher, who nodded her assent.  He tapped his comm badge. "Picard to Troi."  "Yes, Captain?" answered a lilting feminine voice.  "Counselor, meet me in the lounge right away."  "Yes, sir."
Ro swung her long legs over the side of the table andstood uneasily, holding the table for support. "Don'ttrust me, Captain? Have to make sure I'm telling thetruth?"  "We are at war," said Picard gravely.
"Understood. Do you mind if I hold your arm? I'ma little wobbly."
"Of course." Like the gentleman he was, Picardoffered a steady arm to his former foe.
It sure isn't like it used to be, thought Ro Laren asshe surveyed the deserted lounge. Only a small cornerof the cavernous room was lit, with only a handful oftables open for business. Even so, there was nobody inthe lounge but herself, Captain Picard, and DeannaTroi, who looked as confident and beautiful as always.Like Picard, Troi was dressed in a different Starfleetuniform than the ones she recalled. Evidently Star-fleet's sartorial requirements had changed since Ro'sdeparture.
Captain Picard returned to their table with a trayfull of beverages, dispensed from a replicator. "It'sself-service, I'm afraid," said the captain apologeti-cally. "Table service is a luxury we don't haveanymore. Nor do we have much time to sit andchat."
"I never thought I would say that it was good to seesomeone from Starfleet," said Ro, grabbing her glassof tomato juice. "But it's awfully good to see someonefrom Starfleet."
Deanna folded her hands and smiled pleasantly."Suppose you tell us, in your own words, whathappened to you?"
Ro set her jaw and nodded. "To keep from incrimi-nating myself, I won't tell you what I was doing whilewe were still fighting the Federation. But life becamepeaceful for us after the Klingons went to war with theCardassians, and Starfleet was fighting the Borg andothers. Everyone forgot about us--we were even ableto return to some of our old settlements."
She took a sip of tomato juice and smiled wistfully.~'I used to grow my own tomatoes--they were muchbetter than this." Ro paused and took a deep breathbefore continuing. "You can guess what happened tous. When the Dominion came, they rearmed theCardassians and turned them loose on their oldenemies. We tried to be neutral, like the Bajorans,because we were all tired of fighting. It didn't work.They destroyed our settlements and massacred us bythe thousands." "I'm sorry," said Deanna with heartfelt sympathy. Ro shrugged. "It's happening everywhere, isn't it? The Maquis are nothing special anymore--just a bunch of pathetic refugees. Fortunately, I'm experi- enced at being a refugee--I know there's a time to run and a time to fight. We set out to run to Bajor, but we decided to fight instead. When we came upon that starship in trouble, we joined in."
"That was either very brave, or very foolish," saidPicard.
"That's the story of my life," answered Ro, leaningback in her chair. "So... am I under arrest?"
"No," answered Picard resolutely. "We haven't gotthe luxury of holding grudges. I don't need to tell youthat the war is going badly."
Ro scowled. "I'm afraid I have some more bad newsfor you, Captain. The Dominion is building an artifi-cial wormhole deep in Cardassian space."
"What?" asked Picard, a stricken look in his face."Are you certain about this?"
"I'm certain." She looked at Deanna Troi. "Tellhim I'm certain."  Deanna sighed. "She's certain."
"They may be using Federation prisoners to buildit," added Ro. "Slave labor."
Picard rose to his feet, his cup of tea untouched."Could you repeat this for my staff?. They may havequestions."
The Bajoran nodded solemnly. "I will, but I wantclemency for all my passengers."
"That's not mine to grant," answered the captain."But we have your transport in tow, and Data says itcan be repaired. Excuse me." He strode from the lounge, his back stiff withresolve. Ro watched him leave, then shook her head inamazement. "Still the same Captain Picard." "Yes," agreed Deanna. "Still the best there is."
Ro Laren finished her report and dropped herhands to her sides, gazing expectantly at the officersgathered in the observation lounge. In her face wasthat odd mixture of intensity and indifference whichPicard had come to expect from her. She hadn'tgiven them any more than a secondhand account,hadn't furnished any proof, yet her statement waschilling, especially the account of ships full of Fed-eration prisoners. They all knew that to be a tragicfact.
Still the captain could see doubt in the eyes of someof his staff, especially Will Riker's. Or perhaps Will'stroubled expression was due to the disastrous impli-cations of Ro's story. If the Dominion possessed anartificial wormhole in Cardassian space, then themines in front of the Bajoran wormhole would beworthless. In fact, the Bajoran wormhole itself wouldbe worthless, and ripe for destruction. The Dominioncould stop protecting Deep Space Nine and move onto other objectives, such as Earth.  "Any questions?" concluded Ro.
"Why would they build this thing so close to theBadlands?" asked Riker suspiciously.
  "I would guess that they assumed the Badlandswould obscure it from your long-range sensors."  "That would do it," agreed Geordi La Forge.
"Could you locate this artificial wormhole on achart?" asked Riker.
"Approximately," answered Ro. "I've never seen it,but I know Sector 283 fairly well."Riker scowled. "You're sure of the reliability of theperson who told you this?"
Ro's jaw stiflened, and her eyes became flint-cold."I'm sure of everything that man told me. He neverlied, had no reason to. He was certain that theFederation was going to lose this war, which is why hewanted to make friends with the Dominion."
After an uncomfortable silence, Picard managed asmile. "Thank you, Captain Ro. Ensign Craycroft willescort you back to sickbay. I believe that most of yourpassengers have recovered."
The lean Bajoran glanced at the gleaming modelsencased on the wall of the observation lounge--allships named Enterprise--and she smiled wistfully."Many times I thought about how I was such a fool tothrow all of this away. And what happens? I findyou--the Enterprise--in the same condition as me;we're all fighting for our lives. It's funny how timereduces everything to the essentials."
"I don't see anything funny about it," mutteredRiker. His scowl softened slightly. "But I'm very gladthat we were able to rescue you, and thank you forcoming to the aid of the Aurora."
"We can't choose where to die, only how to die." RoLaren glanced at the security officer at her side. "I'mready to go."
Ensign Craycroft touched a panel. The dooropened, and she escorted the Bajoran out.
As soon as the door snapped shut again, Rikerdeclared, "She's still a traitor. On top of that, we haveabsolutely no proof of her story. It could be a trap."
"Counselor Troi detected no prevarication." Troinodded in confirmation. Captain Picard paced thelength of the gleaming conference table. "We knewthey were taking prisoners, but we didn't know why.Ro is the first person we've interviewed who hasactually been living behind enemy lines."
"Judging by her general health," said BeverlyCrusher, "she hasn't been living in luxury."
"I believe she is telling the truth," added DeannaTroi. "At least as far as she knows it."
"That's the catch," said Picard. "Is this fact orrumor? Either way, we can't ignore it. Data, is anartificial wormhole even possible?"
"In theory, yes," answered the android. "Threeyears ago, a team of Trill scientists, led by DoctorLenara Kahn, set out to answer that very question.Using the Bajoran wormhole as a model, they deter-mined that constructing an artificial wormhole wouldbe possible, although there are many problems to beovercome. Without any working prototypes, onewould have to construct a verteron collider of at leasteight kilometers in length. I could give you a moreexact estimate, if you wish."
"Perhaps later," said Picard. Geordi was leaningforward, anxious to say something. "Mr. La Forge?"
"In my opinion," said the chief engineer, "thebiggest problem is not the size of the thing but theexotic construction material you would need to estab-lish a permanent site. At the mouth of an artificialwormhole, the outward radial pressure would betremendous--like the tension at the center of themost massive neutron star. We haven't got a buildingmaterial that would stand up to that kind of pres-sure."
"Geordi, are you forgetting Corzanium?" asked theandroid.The engineer grinned, his pale artificial retinasglowing with mirth. "Come on, Data, there isn't morethan a teaspoonful of Corzanium in the whole Federa-tion. It has to be quantum-stepped out of a black holewith a tractor beam run through a metaphasic shieldenhancer. But if you had enough Corzanium, I sup-pose, it would do the trick."
"The Dominion has considerable resources," mut-tered Picard. "I'm afraid they also have the personnel,some of it ours. So this artificial wormhole could be areality?"
"Yes, sir," answered Data. "I believe we should takeCaptain Ro's report seriously."
That simple declaration dropped a pall over themeeting in the observation lounge. No one had toreiterate what a disaster it would be if the Dominioncould bring through more Jem'Hadar warships, moreunctuous Vorta, and more shapeshifting Change-lings.
"We've got to go there and see for ourselves,"declared Picard. "If it exists, we have to destroy it."
"Captain," said Riker, stroking his beard thought-fully, "I feel I should point out that what you'reproposing is... a suicide mission."
The captain sighed. "And if we fail to go, and she'sright? That would be suicide for the entire Federation.I'm sending a message to Starfleet, asking them forpermission to investigate Ro's report. Thank you foryour opinions--you are dismissed."
Ro Laren sat in a small therapy room with ShonNavo, helping the young Bajoran exercise the re-paired tendons in his right elbow and right knee. Ofthe injuries her crew had received, his were fairlymild, but the youth felt ostracized on this ship full ofhumans flying under the despised Starfleet insignia.Shon had known nothing but hatred for Starfleet formost of his life, and now he was being forced todepend upon their protection.
He bent and straightened his elbow as Ro moni-tored his progress on a medical tricorder. "Verygood," she said. "Ten more times, and we'll work onyour knee."
Shon let his arm flop onto the table. "What's thepoint? We're all going to be killed, anyway--or put inprison."
"We don't know that. In our case, there's a goodchance we could be repatriated to Bajor.""If we could ever get close to it," muttered Shon.Ro frowned, unable to refute the fact that they werea long way from home, if indeed they could callanyplace "home." Being homeless had taken its toll,and Shon was much like her--cynical, disillusioned,with no respect for authority. Now there would bemore refugees, more prisoners, more damaged andneglected lives.
She took a sip from her glass of tomato juice andreplied slowly, "The humans and their allies are notbad people. In fact, they trust too much, alwayslooking for the best, even in Cardassians. If theysurvive this war, perhaps they won't take so much forgranted. The important thing is to realize that we'reall on the same side now."
Shon's bravado slipped for a moment, and helooked like the frightened youth he was. "But won'tthey send us to a camp or a prison... just to waituntil the Dominion finally gets us? Everybody saysthey're losing the war!"  "Then look out for yourself. Fight if you have to, save people if you can, but survive. For once, it's a good time to be Bajoran." She rubbed his shoulder in a friendly gesture.
 The door slid open, and Ro turned to see Captain Picard standing in the corridor, a concerned look on his face. Out of habit, Ro stiflened, tempted to bolt to her feet and stand at attention. Then she relaxed as she realized that they were now both captains of their own ships, a respect he had shown her in front of his crew. If she could only be sure that the rest of Starfleet would be as forgiving as Captain Picard, she would feel more comfortable about this new alliance.
He smiled at the boy as he entered. "I'm sorry tointrude, but it's rather urgent that I speak to CaptainRo. I'm sure one of the orderlies would be happy tohelp you with your therapy."
Ro gazed at the young Bajoran and nodded. Withbarely concealed hatred, the boy glared at Picard as heleft, but the stalwart captain was too absorbed bymore pressing concerns to notice.
"What's going to become of my passengers andcrew?" asked Ro.
"They'll be protected, but if we lose the war--"Picard's glower finished his sentence. "All I know is, ifyou're correct about the Dominion building an artificialwormhole, then all is lost. Unless we destroy it. I'veasked Starfleet for permission to investigate your report,and their response was... not entirely to my liking."
He sighed. "They refuse to allow us to risk theEnterprise on such a mission. That leaves us theoption of using another ship, preferably one whichisn't Starfleet and won't arouse suspicion."
Ro cocked her head and smiled. "Such as the Orb ofPeace?"
"Precisely. Mr. La Forge says it can be repaired inthirty hours; that includes adding several improve-ments. A small, handpicked crew could slip intoCardassian space and deal with this threat, beingcareful not to endanger Federation prisoners."
Ro's smile grew larger. "Now you're talking about adangerous spy mission, followed by a major act ofsabotage. If we're captured, do you know how long theCardassians will torture us? We'll be begging fordeath."
"I'm well versed in Cardassian torture," answeredPicard grimly. "If you're worried about your crew andpassengers, I'll make sure they're treated fairly; they'llbe compensated for the Orb of Peace. I'm only askingfor the ship, not your participation--although Iwould welcome it."
"I go with the ship. Besides, none of you know theBadlands like I do." Hesitantly, Ro asked, "What willbe our chain of command?"
"You'll be captain of the ship, as you are," an-swered Picard. 'TII be in charge of the mission. Ioften find myself in your position with somebody elsein charge of the mission, so this will be a nice changeof pace for me."  "Do you have any Bajorans on board?"
"No, but Dr. Crusher has gotten remarkably goodat disguises over the years. She can alter humans topass for Bajorans, even on scans. We'll have a crew offifteen, which is all I can spare. You know this missionhas to succeed, don't you?"
The smile faded from Ro's gaunt face, and shelooked like a soldier once again. "Yes. But you'reasking for too much if you think we can sneak intoCardassian space, find this thing, blow it up, and saveall the prisoners. We have to be realistic--the prison-ers are lost."
"The mission comes first," agreed Picard somberly."All we can do for the prisoners is to scout thesituation. Only by defeating the Dominion can weavenge the suffering of our comrades."
Ro lifted her glass of tomato juice and gazed intothe disheartened but determined eyes of CaptainPicard. "Here's to vengeance."

Chapter Three

SAM LAVELLE FLOATED WEIGHTLESSLY through the void,his tethered space suit feeling like a gown of the finestsilk against his chapped, grimy skin. The umbilicalcord brought him air, security, and close scrutiny.Only when he tried to lift his arms too far above hishead did he feel the restrictions of the cumbersomesuit. Then he would relax and let himself float until hehad found a better position in which to work on theexposed metal joint. He avoided using the jets on hissuit, because they often caused him to overshoot hismark, losing precious seconds.
The large spanner in his hand had no weight--itfelt like a feather--but it would make a formidableweapon, if he could only plant his feet. For thehundredth time that day, Sam fantasized about bring-ing the wrench crashing upon the head of hisJem'Hadar overseer.
"Number zero-five-nine-six," said a gruff voice inhis ear. "You are falling behind the prescribed time-table. You have fourteen minutes to tighten that seal,or you will lose your privileges."
Sam held up his hand and waved, wondering ifthey could see that his middle finger was extendedabove the others. Probably not, with the thick,segmented gloves covering his hands. "Privileges"was a euphemism for food, water, oxygen, and abunk--the bare minimum that was needed to stayalive. Those who lost their privileges only did soonce or twice before they were expelled into spacewith the garbage.
His mind still wandering, Sam Lavelle stared downthe length of the massive verteron collider, a skeletaltube over ten kilometers long and two kilometerswide. It was hard to envision the entire structurewhen all one could see of it were a few meters ofspindly supports, surrounded by the daunting black-ness of space.
The sight of thousands of space-suited workers,clinging to the structure like an army of inept spiders,gave him some perspective on its incredible length.The spectre of sleek Cardassian shuttlecrafts patrol-ling the center of the tube gave him some idea of itsimmense width. The fact that he hadn't moved sincethe Jem'Hadar had ordered him to do so made Samthink that he was prepared to die.
But he couldn't die, not now, when so many of hismates depended upon him. Through default and theforce of his own personality, Sam had become thespokesperson for five hundred prisoners in Pod 18.He harbored few illusions that he was any more noblethan his fellow captives, or any more likely to survivehis imprisonment, but he was willing to speak up forthem. For some reason, his jailers hadn't been trou-bled enough to kill him... yet.
He latched on to the bolt with his spanner, read thedigital printout on the handle, and tightened until theseal reached the prescribed tension. Two meters away,a cylindrical verteron accelerator looked down at himlike a bizarre cannon, reminding him of the war. Asfar as he knew, the war could be over and the entireFederation enslaved. On the other hand, the freneticpace of the work and the Dominion's single-mindedadherence to its schedules made it clear that theFederation was still a threat. The Dominion neededthis wormhole.
And a remarkable achievement it was--a bridge toanother quadrant, tens of thousands of light-yearsaway. The artificial wormhole was a true mixture ofDominion and Federation technology, built by Feder-ation and Dominion hands. It should have been asymbol of peace and cooperation; instead it soundedthe death knell of the Federation.
Like thousands of other men and woman driftinginside the verteron collider or slaving in the laborato-ries or factories of the complex, Sam wondered howhe could sabotage his own labor. Unfortunately, theirwork was tightly supervised, then inspected by Vortaengineers. Only when they started actual tests wouldthey know if anyone had been successful in sabotag-ing the artificial wormhole. Sam waited for his mo-ment to play the hero, but each passing day onlybrought the Dominion closer to its goals.
Like a robot trained to labor without thinkingabout the consequences, Sam finished checking theseal and logging it as completed. This was the last task to be completed on this segment, and he pushed himself away and drifted in space. There was no sensation in his body except lethargy and a gnawing hunger that could have been either his stomach or his soul.
Sam straightened his umbilical tether, watching itstretched back to the maintenance pod in the junctionof six supports. "Ready to come in," he reported.
"There will be a delay in retrieval," answered thegruff voice of his overseer.
Sam breathed a loud sigh, which echoed in thehollow recesses of his helmet. He had just beenthreatened that if he didn't finish on time he'd bepunished, and now he had been told to continuedrifting in space. Wondering what the delay could be,Sam twisted around to look in the opposite direc-tion.
That's when he saw it--a Cardassian tanker mov-ing into position at the mouth of the verteroncollider. Sam was no physicist, just a decent helms-man and navigator, but he knew that the gravitation-al and temporal forces would be greatest at the exitpoint of the wormhole. Only a few prisoners, kept inisolation, had seen the plans to construct that sectionof the collider. He assumed that it had to be a weakpoint in the machine, where sabotage could be veryeffective. Now he was about to watch an importantdevelopment--from a distance of half a kilometer.He turned his dark brown eyes upon the figures inthe distance.
Using the miniature jets on their suits, a squadronof workers maneuvered themselves into tight forma-tion around the freight hatch at the aft of the tanker.There had to be fifteen white-garbed prisoners and anequal number of Jem'Hadar guards in gray spacesuits. Something big was coming off that tanker. Withthousands of workers spread across ten kilometers, itwas impossible to say that one spot was the center ofattention, but Sam could feel the work halt as everyeye and every viewscreen focused on the activity atthe tanker.
The hatch opened, and what looked like a gleamingbeam of sunlight emerged from the recesses of thetanker. Sam wished he could see more, but he alsohad a feeling that he didn't want to be much closerthan he was. When it cleared the hatch, the stack ofpure energy looked to be about ten meters long and ameter wide. Like the pallbearers at a funeral, theworkers took positions around the blazing object andguided it away from the tanker.
Sam guessed that the mysterious material was en-cased in a stasis field, or perhaps a forcefield. Hedidn't think even the Dominion could use antimatteras a building material, but they treated this substancewith the same respect.
The Cardassian tanker suddenly fired thrusters andtried to pull away. It got only a few meters when thespace between the tanker and the glowing cargorippled like a Texas highway in the summer heat. Samcaught his breath, knowing this chain reactioncouldn't be planned. Sure enough, the glowing materi-al increased in brightness until it seared his eyes.
Squinting, Sam could see the white-suited workersfiring their jets and fleeing in panic. Ignoring thedanger, the gray-suited Jem'Hadar began firing on thefleeing workers. Phaser beams crisscrossed the black-ness of space, and several of his colleagues explodedin their suits like helium balloons set afire. He gasped and held out his arms, unable to do anything but watch the tragedy unfold.
Those who escaped the massacre did not escape thedeadly chain reaction that followed. The stasis fieldflickered out, and the glowing material within itexpanded like a solar flare, engulfing the workers, theJem'Hadar, the Cardassian tanker, and the collider.The tanker exploded in a vivid burst of silver confettiand golden gas clouds, and the mouth of the colliderwas consumed by a monstrous fireball.
Sam braced himself as the wake of the explosionstruck him and flipped him over and over like a leafcaught in the wind. He could feel a momentarywarming in his suit, which worried him until hecrashed hard into a metal pylon. He caromed off thestructure and spun to the end of his tether, whichjerked him like a puppet on a string. He watched thetether stretch to a dangerous length, and he jammedon his jets in time to compensate.
Now Sam was hurtling in the opposite direction asdebris from the explosion shot past him. Miracu-lously, none of it ripped his suit, and he was able topilot himself back into a controlled drift behind athick pylon. He finally had time to glance behind him,where it was complete chaos along the entire length ofthe collider.
Quickly Cardassian and Jem'Hadar ships con-verged on the scene of the disaster, but there was noone and nothing to be saved. People who had been hisshipmates and fellow prisoners now floated in thevoid, little more than scraps of charred flesh andcloth. The Cardassian tanker was a quickly expandingsphere of dust."Stay where you are!" bellowed an angry voice inhis ear. "Do not move!"
Sam barked a macabre, frustrated laugh. Scores oflives had been snuffed out in an instant of Cardassiancarelessness, and all his captors could think about waspreventing the escape of their slaves, most of whomwere floating helplessly in space. Where could theygo? How far could they run in a space suit containinga few minutes' worth of breathable air, minus thecord?
If it weren't so tragic, it wouM be funny, thoughtSam Lavelle. Maybe this accident was a harbinger ofgood luck, and the artificial wormhole would neveroperate as planned. That might be good news for theFederation, but thousands of Federation prisonerswould then become expendable, even more so thanthey were already. If it failed, no doubt the Dominionwould take out their anger and frustration on theprisoners.
We're all dead anyway, Sam decided as he floatedaimlessly, watching a misshapen dust cloud in thedistance. That massive cloud was called the Badlands,and it had once been a refuge of the Maquis. Now itwas a tempting mirage, promising them escape andfreedom, when there was little point in thinking aboutsuch goals.
His life had ended with the capture of the Aizawa,the cruiser on which he and his best friend, Taurik,had been serving as bridge officers. Sam couldn't helpbut wonder if their previous ship, the Enterprise, hadsurvived the war so far. He hadn't met any prisonersfrom the Enterprise or heard of its fate, but that didn'tmean much. By now, the Enterprise could be a cloud of space junk, like the Cardassian tanker which spar- kled all around him.
 He thought back to those days aboard the Enter- prise, where his closest friends included Taurik, Sito Jaxa, and Alyssa Ogawa. With all their neurotic fretting over crew evaluations and promotions, those days couldn't be called carefree, but that group had real camaraderie. They were gung-ho. Jaxa's death on a covert mission had been their first taste of reality, and of the sacrifices they would be called upon to make.
Something twinkled in the corner of his eye, andSam was glad to turn his attention elsewhere. Hetwisted around to see a squat, bronze shuttlecrafthovering over his head. "Uncouple," commanded avoice. "Prepare to be retrieved."
Sam sighed and closed off the intake valve of hisumbilical cord. He attached the spanner to its holder,unscrewed the valve, and watched the cord retractslowly into the maintenance pod. Sam floated free inspace for a few seconds, thinking this was as close tofreedom as he would ever come. A familiar tinglealong his body alerted him that the transporter beamwas scrambling his molecules.
He materialized inside the transporter room of theshuttlecraft, with three Jem'Hadar guards trainingtheir weapons at him. "Move!" ordered one of them,brandishing his phaser in a threatening manner.
Sam staggered off the transporter platform, sud-denly clumsy and leaden in his space suit. His captorslooked particularly edgy today, and usually he wasmet by only one or two of thein, not three. Under thecold gaze of their pinched, spiny faces, Sam quicklystripped down to nothing. He dropped his suit into achute in the deck and stood there, shivering in hisnakedness.
Modesty and decency had long been abandoned inthis weightless and silent hell, and Sam was usheredinto a holding cell where three male and four femaleprisoners huddled, all naked. They looked wild-eyedand spooked from their recent brush with disaster.
At one time, seeing young women nude would haveexcited the handsome lieutenant, but now they werenothing but victims, stripped of their humanity andwill. They were his sisters in this dark tragedy, notobjects of desire. All of them needed a bath, and therewas no pretext of trying to maintain proper appear-ance. Like most of the males, Sam sported a dark,ragged beard. Even Taurik, who was normally asfastidious as any other Vulcan, looked unkempt as hesat stoically with his naked back resting against a coldbulkhead.
Sam nodded wearily to his fellow prisoners as heslumped down beside Taurik. Just outside the force-field entrance of the cell, an armed Jem'Hadar stoodwatching them. Sam wondered if he would allow theprisoners to talk. Some Jem'Hadar guards didn't care,while others strictly forbade talking among the pris-oners until they were locked safely in their pods.Cardassian guards, who loved to be overbearing,would often beat prisoners for talking.
Deciding to test the guard, Sam turned to Taurikand asked softly, "What did you think of that explo-sion?"
The Vulcan cocked his head thoughtfully, as if hehad been asked a normal question under normalcircumstances. "It appeared to result from the mis-handling of a very volatile material. Possibly a stasis field was disturbed. I could only speculate on the material they are using to build the mouth of the wormhole."
A loud shuffling grabbed their attention, and theprisoners looked up to see two Jem'Hadar guardsdragging an injured human with burns over most ofhis naked body. They carried the injured man like abag of garbage and flung his body into an open cell. Ifhe was still alive, it couldn't possibly be for long--un-less he got treatment soon.
One of the male prisoners began to weep. They allknew the man would never get treatment, or even afuneral. He would die, alone and forgotten, in a cage.
Sam turned to the man and said, "It's all right. Stayalive, so we can remember this."
"I don't want to stay alive," rasped the man indespair. "And I certainly never want to remember anyof this!"
"He's a collaborator," hissed a woman, glaring atSam.
"That is inaccurate," replied Taurik. "LieutenantLavelie has volunteered to be Liaison Officer of PodEighteen, which does afford him more access to ourcaptors than a typical prisoner has. But in no sense ishe aiding and abetting the enemy as a true collabora-tor would do. He argues on our behalf."
"Never mind, Taurik," muttered Sam. "Let themthink what they want."
"This one is all right," grumbled the oldest of thefour women, a lean Klingon with scars over most ofher body. "You want a collaborator, you take thatturncoat Trill--Enrak Grofl Give me a knife, and Iwill slice the worm right out of him!" "I believe Professor Grof is an unjoined Trill," saidTaurik. "But I agree with you--he is a collaborator inthe accepted sense of the word."
Sam looked at his friend, wondering if he haddetected a trace of bitterness in the Vulcan's tone. Hecouldn't blame Taurik if he was bitter, because EnrakGrof was close to solving one of science's most elusivepuzzles, unraveling the mysteries of wormholes andactually re-creating a tunnel through space and time.In exchange for this privilege, Grof was collaboratingwith the enemy. His name was all over schematicsand memos, and he seemed to rank in importancewith the Vorta engineers. He was particularly usefulin telling the Dominion what kind of work best suitedtheir prisoners.
Come to think of it, maybe Grof did deserve to begutted with a dull Klingon knife.
Taurik shook his head. "It is highly unlikely thatany of us will get an opportunity to harm ProfessorGrof. To my knowledge, few prisoners have seen himsince his capture on Deep Space Nine."
"How was he captured?" asked the youngest wom-an. Swapping capture stories was a favorite pastimeamong the prisoners.
"He refused to abandon his experiments on theBajoran wormhole," answered Taurik, "and was cap-tured when the Dominion took over. This wouldindicate that his work is more important to him thananything else."
"Even his honor," hissed the Klingon woman. "Hemay not have a worm inside of him, but he is aworm."
"They pulled me out of an escape pod," said theyoungest woman with a haunted look in her pale eyes.Her freckles went all the way down her back.
A clank and a slight shudder informed Sam thatthey had docked at the pod complex. Although hehad never seen it from the outside, he imagined thatit looked like a giant model of a complex molecule,with long, narrow shafts connecting large, window-less spheres in which both they and their jailers lived.The place felt decentralized, with easily defendedmodules instead of a central hub. At any rate, it wasunheard of for anyone to escape from the podcomplex. Where would they go, surrounded by freez-ing space?
Sam often thought about stealing a ship, but theircaptors never left the shuttlecraft docked for morethan a few seconds. Both the Jem'Hadar and Cardas-sians were skilled and experienced jailers, and theyconsidered every possibility.
"Lucky devils," muttered one of the men. "Theones who died, I mean."
No one disputed the man's morbid assessment.Some days, it did seem as if death was a preferableoption to numbing, soulless labor that would onlybenefit the enemy. The war and imprisonment hadmade death a constant fixture of their lives, like thedarkness of space.
Armed Jem'Hadar gathered around the cell, andone' of them turned off the forcefield. Waving theirweapons, they ushered the prisoners out of the celland into the gangway. Most of the prisoners made apoint of not looking at the dying man in the adjoiningcell, but Sam pointed at him.
"Can't you do something to help him?" demandedSam.
"He is damaged," replied a Jem'Hadar. "Movealong."
Sam thought about arguing, but the Jem'Hadartreated their own with the same disregard. The strongsurvived, and the weak were best weeded out. Besides,to die in the service of the Founders was the greatestreward of all for a Jem'Hadar, and why shouldprisoners be any different? Did they grieve the loss oftheir comrades in the accident? No. Their only reac-tion was to increase security and cut short the workshift.
He followed the others down the gangway, throughthe hatch, and into the freight pod. Situated near theouter bulkhead, the hold was freezing, and the prison-ers hurried to grab frayed white jumpsuits from a rackof used clothing. They gratefully covered their shiver-ing bodies.
The woman who had accused Sam of being acollaborator gave him an embarrassed glance. Henodded, knowing the glance was as close as he wouldever come to receiving an apology. In this place,distrust was easier to come by than hope. The guardsmotioned the females into the turbolift marked withvertical red stripes, and the men shuffled silentlytoward the turbolift with the horizontal blue stripes.There was a good chance they would never see eachother again.
Sam had once demanded that the women and themen be housed together, but a Jem'Hadar had in-formed him that pregnant women would have to bekilled. That was as far as the request went.
Taurik, Sam, and the other man entered the lift andwaited for the door to close. The Jem'Hadar guardswere smart--they never rode the turbolifts with theprisoners, preferring to avoid tight places where theircharges could jump them and take their weapons.Come to think of it, Sam had never known theJem'Hadar to be careless or make mistakes. Theywould fight to the death if ordered to do so, but itwould be a controlled, measured suicide.
As the men rode in the cramped turbolift, Samwondered for the hundredth time if there was anyescape from the seamless chamber. A prisoner namedNeko had once told him that he could escape from theturbolift, but Sam had never seen Neko again afterthat boast.
The door opened, and a gruff voice said, "Prisonerthree-six-one-nine, this is Pod Fifteen. Exit now."The man who envied the dead shuffled off the lift andvanished down a narrow corridor.
When the door shut, Sam and Taurik continuedtheir diagonal journey. The long turbolift rides werethe main reason why Sam envisioned the complex asbeing individual pods separated by long shafts. Notthat it made much difference, but it was somethingto think about when a person was trying to avoidthinking.
"It has been a difficult day," said Taurik in theVulcan equivalent of small talk.
"Yes, it has been," agreed Sam. "And the mostdifficult days are ahead of us."
Somehow, before their work was done, they wouldhave to revolt and try to destroy the artificial worm-hole. Certainly it would be the day they all diedin utter futility, but the effort had to be mademorthey couldn't live with themselves. But each day, ifthey could be called days, slithered by with lethargyand hopelessness as the prisoners' constant compan-ions. The door slid open, and a gruff voice said, "Prison-ers zero-five-nine-six and zero-five-nine-seven, this isPod Eighteen. Exit now."
Sam and Taurik filed off the turbolift into the dimlylit corridor which led to their barracks. After a walkthrough a featureless hallway, they came upon anarrow metal hatch, which snapped open at theirapproach. Sam entered a high-ceiling room whichalways reminded him of the gymnasium in the base-ment of his church in Brooklyn. It had the same sortof Spartan, no-nonsense utility.
Five hundred bedrolls lay on the floor, and most ofthem were occupied with bored male prisoners repre-senting a score of Federation species, from blue-skinned Andorians to beaked Saurians. They satstaring at the observation lenses along the ceiling,from where, it was assumed, the guards stared downat them.
Half a dozen prisoners rushed Sam and Taurik asthey entered. "Did you see it? We heard there was anaccident! What exactly happened out there?" theydemanded in a babble of voices.
Sam motioned them to be calm, then he told themwhat he had witnessed, not mentioining how manyprisoners had been caught in the explosion.
"Were there many casualties?" asked a young en-sign.
Sam shrugged. "Only a few of ours, but they lost atanker full of Cardassians and a bunch of Jem'Hadarguards."
"All right!" crowed a prisoner, thrusting his fist intothe air. An excited discussion ensued.
Taurik shot Sam a look that said that he recognizedthe lie but wouldn't correct it. Like all of them, theVulcan had learned to deal differently with the world since becoming a slave laborer. Taurik was willing to overlook the truth if it gave some comfort to his dispirited comrades.
 A twinge of pain reminded Sam that he had crashed hard into the metal supports, and he rubbed his shoulder. "What time is it?" he muttered. "Time for chow?"
"More than an hour to go, we think," answered aprisoner. They were driven by chronometers whileoutside working, but timepieces were not allowedinside the prison pods. There was no day or night tomeasure the passage of time, and the jailers neverchanged the lighting. Still the prisoners kept a runningestimate, as best they could, based on changes ofshifts and meal delivery.
A klaxon blared, causing Sam to jump nervously.He stared up at the observation lenses in the ceiling,as did hundreds of his fellow prisoners. The excitedconversation dissolved into an apprehensive whis-per.
"Prisoner zero-five-nine-six, prepare to exit," said avoice.
Sam licked his lips nervously and stepped towardthe door. With a jovial smile, he told the others, "I'llsee you later at chow." They stared at him with adisconcerting mixture of fear, distrust, and envy.
The door flew open, and Sam stepped into thedimly lit corridor. When the door slid shut behindhim, leaving him alone, he felt ostracized from hisfellow prisoners. It was getting harder and harder tocap his temper and remain cordial to everyone--when all of them expected so much of him. More thananything, Sam just wanted to keep the lines of com-munication open between captors and captives. Theyweren't animals, as long as they could communicatetheir needs and wants.
He heard footsteps, and he turned to see an armedJem'Hadar marching his way. The guard was flankedby a short Vorta named Joulesh, whom Sam had metonly twice before when making official requests. Hewas not in the habit of meeting with the Vorta; usuallya Cardassian glinn was as high as he got.
"This is quite an honor," said Sam, keeping hissarcasm in check.
"You have no idea of the honor," replied Jouleshwith an enthusiastic smile. "It is only the beginning."
The little humanoid turned on his heel and strodebriskly down the corridor. Under the stern gaze ofthe guard, Sam followed him. To his surprise, theVorta stepped into the turbolift and motioned himaboard. Sam entered, expecting the Jem'Hadarguard to follow, but he remained behind in thecorridor, glowering at them. The door shut, and theybegan to move.
Joulesh wrinkled his nose at Sam. "I wish we'd hadan opportunity to clean you up somewhat, but this isan emergency. We'll make do. I advise you to be-have."
"That depends on what you plan to do to me," saidSam.
The Vorta's silvery eyes twinkled. "What happensto you depends entirely on your interview. Youaren't the only candidate for this post. However, Ihave been keeping an eye on you, and I believe youare the one."
"May I remind you that I'm a prisoner of war," saidSam, "not an employee of the Dominion, Incorpo-rated."
 The Vorta brushed some lint off his elegant, silver- brocaded jacket. "You are an asset of the Dominion. Whether you fulfill your potential or end up as waste is your decision. Thus far, you have proven yourself an able worker, and you have tried to improve rela- tionships between our people. These traits could take you far in the Dominion."
Sam forced himself to keep still and not argue withthe popinjay. The fact that the Dominion operatedunder the guise of business and mutual cooperationdidn't make them any less a dictatorship. He won-dered how long it would take the Cardassians torealize that they were the lackeys in this operation--temporary help until more fleets of Jem'Hadar war-ships arrived.
"I wish the Federation could understand that weonly want to bring them under our protection andinfluence," said Joulesh, sounding like a used shuttle-craft salesman. "Your people don't do us any good ifyou are dead or imprisoned."  "Then let us go," suggested Sam.
As the door slid open, the Vorta gave him anamused smirk. "We might do so, one at a time. Followme."
They walked down a well-lit corridor that actuallyhad doorways and multiple exits... and noJem'Hadar guards. Sam followed Joulesh into a sec-ond turbolift, which had diagonal yellow markings onit. This lift was the deluxe version, Sam decided, as heinspected the plush carpeting and tasteful instrumentpanel. The lifts he rode were controlled from outside,and this one was controlled by Joulesh's deft fingers.After a trip so smooth that Sam couldn't tell they weremoving, the door opened."Remember," warned the Vorta, "you are about tomeet a god."
The words didn't register until Sam stepped off theturbolift and found himself in a large observationlounge, with a spread of food and drink in one cornerand a lovely window in the other. A few people werescattered about, but the scent of food commandedSam's attention. Halfway across the room, he saw aremarkable creature--a slim figure dressed in a spar-kling beige robe--standing like an angel at the headof the table. His features were hairless and oddlyunformed, as if this incarnation were so simple that itdidn't require much detail.
A Founder! thought Sam with alarm. It was the firstChangeling he had ever seen, and he wasn't certainhow to react. Joulesh was practically scraping thefloor, so Sam gave his host a respectful bow. Hecouldn't offer his hand as he could scarcely imaginetouching such an ephemeral creature. Despite hishalfhearted attempt at a humanoid appearance, theChangeling looked more like an illusion than a realbeing.
Sam reminded himself that a handful of Change-lings had nearly destroyed the Klingon Empire fromwithin. It was disconcerting to know that the creaturein front of him could morph into any object or personin the room.
There were other persons in the lounge, and Samlooked at them, wondering if they were really whatthey seemed. Two Jem'Hadar guards were stationednear a golden basin, and a second Vorta conferred inwhispers with Joulesh. Standing by the observationwindow was a hulking man in a white laboratory coat;he had an uncouth brown beard and brown spots running down his forehead, temples, and neck into his collar.
 Enrak Grof It has to be him, thought Sam. This was quite a meeting. If his cellmates knew he was in this company, he would never be trusted again.
 Sam edged toward the food. "Excuse me," he asked the Changeling, "may I eat?"
 "Not until the Founder has blessed the food," cautioned Joulesh, sounding aghast at his imperti- nence.
 "It is allowed," said the Founder in a silky voice, nodding at his minion. Bowing low, the Vorta backed away.
 Sam attacked a plate of what looked like ham. He didn't care what it was, as long as it was solid food that wouldn't kill him. Assuming he would probably say no to whatever proposal they offered him, Sam figured he should eat as much as he could before they kicked him out.
"Lieutenant junior grade Samuel Lavelle, or has hebeen promoted?" said the Founder, relishing theunfamiliar syllables of his name. "Captured aboardthe Aizawa, formerly stationed on the Enterprise, nowtechnician and Liaison Officer for Pod Eighteen."
Sam mumbled through a mouthful of wonderfulfood. He was afraid to say much, lest he slobber allover the plates, but he was impressed that the Found-er had used his name instead of a number. He glancedtoward Professor Grof, wondering if he would get achance to speak privately with the most notoriouscollaborator in the complex. The Trill edged forward,looking as if he wanted to say something; but he alsoheld his tongue. Sam guessed that a smart collabora-tor didn't interrupt a Founder.
He grabbed some more food. Whatever happened,he was going to try not to get kicked out of thisshindig too quickly. With his determined chewing,Sam nearly choked on the next words he heard fromthe Founder's smooth lips:
"Lieutenant Lavelle, we would like to give you aship to command."

Chapter Four

 SAM LAVELLE LOWERED HIS PLATE and stared at theChangeling. What a poker face--there was no way totell if he was the butt of a cruel joke, or they wereactually trying to recruit him for some nefariouspurpose. Changelings were rare in the Alpha Quad-rant, and he didn't think one had summoned himonly to have a laugh at his expense. Wherever this wasgoing, it had to be dangerous and probably trea-sonous.
"You'll give me a ship to command?" he repeatedslowly. "There's got to be a catch. Why don't Icontinue to eat, and you can explain to me what youwant. Exactly."
"First," said the Changeling, "do you know any-thing about the act of sabotage which occurredtoday?" Sam looked around the tasteful observation lounge,and he could tell from their earnest faces that theywere serious. "Sabotage? Do you mean the accident? Iwas out there at the time, and that accident wascaused entirely by the boneheaded Cardassians."
From force of habit, he looked nervously aroundthe room, but there were no Cardassians present.Every other race of importance was represented atthis meeting, but not the lackeys. So Sam decided hecould speak freely.
"I don't know what you were moving out there, butthey put on their thrusters too early and disturbed thestasis field."
"Bumbling fools!" muttered Grof, unable to con-tain himself any longer. "I've warned them oftenenough."
"You said it wasn't entirely their fault," whinedJonlesh. He looked accusingly at Grof.
The Trill folded his thick arms. "I warned you thatthe compound was too unstable, and that they werethe wrong ones to handle it. I believe I was provenright on both counts."  "But all of our models--"
 Sam was beginning to enjoy this bickering when the Changeling glided gracefully between the Vorta and the Trill. "Enough. Explain it to him so that he can understand it."
 Dumb it down for the stupid human, thought Sam, bristling at the tone of the Changeling's words. But he was willing to listen until the food ran out.
 Grof pointed accusingly at the Vorta. "They chose the wrong material to reinforce the mouth of the wormhole. I'm sure you know enough physics, Lieu- tenant, to realize that we can't use a common building material for the opening. Unless we use the right substance, the collider will get torn apart by the extreme pressures."
 The scientist paced the length of the table, looking with disgust at the Vorta. "They listened to the Cardassians, who assured them they could use a material made of sub-quark particles, despite the volatility. After the stasis field was destroyed, the sub- quark particles recombined.
 "There is a far more elegant approach. The Federa- tion isolated the perfect substance only a few years ago--it's stable after it's extracted and recombined. We are the only ones who have succeeded in extract- ing it."  "Corzanium," answered Sam.
 "Ah," said Grof with satisfaction, "I see you are versed on the latest research."
"Not really," admitted the human. "My friend,Taurik, was telling me about it. He admires yourwork, but he doesn't think much of you personally."
"A common sentiment," muttered the Trill, "butmisguided. We are on the verge of great discoveries,great leaps forward--after our cultures merge. In theshort term, Federation personnel are the bestequipped to find and extract the Corzanium. Wecertainly can't rely on the Cardassians."
"Lieutenant Lavelie, will you command the craft?"asked the Founder bluntly. Joulesh's oversized earstwitched expectantly as the Vorta awaited his answer.
"Into a black hole?" scoffed Sam. "Isn't that wherethis stuff comes from? I can see why you don't wantCardassians--they're probably too smart to under-take such a crazy mission."
Despite the bravado, Sam was stalling for time ashe tried to reason it out. Even though he might godown as the greatest traitor in Starfleet history, thechance to escape from the prison with a ship under hiscommand was too tempting to pass up. Survivalinstincts that he thought were long dormant suddenlysurged to the surface, and Sam envisioned himselfmaking a break for freedom.
Besides, he knew that if he refused, he would bedead. They had told him too much to let him return toPod 18 and the general prison population.
 "Will you give us an answer," said Joulesh, "orsimply continue to eat and make snide comments?" "What do I get out of it?" asked Sam.
"You will receive your freedom," answered theFounder somberly, as if this were the greatest gift hecould bestow. "I get to pick my crew," said Sam.
"Boy, don't make this difficult!" snarled Grof. "Justsay yes to the Founder, and let's get on with it."
Sam cautioned himself to remain as stone-faced asthe Changeling and his retinue. He truly was not in aposition to bargain, but maybe he was in a position tomake a difference. It would appear that his patience,gift of gab, and good work habits were about to gethim promoted in the prison hierarchywinto his realjob. Sam wished he didn't have the spectre of EnrakGrof staring at him as he decided his fate. Either way,he doubted whether he would live to reflect on thisdecision.
"I'11 do it," he said. "I won't be going back to PodEighteen, will I?"
"No," answered Joulesh. "Would you be afraid foryour safety?"
Sam smiled. "Around here, I'm always afraid formy safety."
 "Eat," said the Founder, sounding like a friendly relative. He wasn't exactly androgynous, but his mas- culine traits were underplayed. Sam imagined that he could just as easily present a pseudo-female facade. The creature was fascinating to study, up close, and it was all Sam could do not to ask him to morph into a chair. He tried to imagine what it was like on their home planet, where they merged into a sea of their kind called the Great Link.
 Sam fought the temptation to ask this advanced being why it was so important to conquer the Alpha Quadrant. He supposed it was the same arrogance that had driven Europeans to conquer the Americas or Cardassians to conquer Bajor--a certainty of their moral and intellectual superiority.
With the slightest nod from the Founder, theJem'Hadar guards suddenly picked up the basin andcarried it out of the room. The Founder walked afterthem, and the two Vorta brought up the rear of theentourage. This left Sam alone with Professor Grof,plus enough food for a barracks.
"They're not much for good-byes," remarked thehuman.
"I think the Founder was tired," said Grof. "Heprobably has to revert to his liquid form soon. Do-minion upper management is spread very thinlythrough the Alpha Quadrant. Besides, they got whatthey came for."  "Me?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Yes, but you could have shown them more respect.This is quite an honor."
"So everyone tells me." Sam glanced around theroom. "Can I speak freely in here? Are we beingwatched?"
"Don't bother bawling me out," said the Trill. "Youwere going to tell me that I'm a traitor, a collaborator,and so on and so forth. You're going to say that weought to escape, or sabotage the artificial wormhole.Well, let me tell you--what we're building here willlast longer than either the Dominion or the Federa-tion. The war will be a footnote to this invention. I'mon the side of science, and what we're building isgoing to revolutionize the galaxy."
"At what cost?" asked Sam. "You would destroy afederation of hundreds of planets for a machine?Whose side are you on? Are you a prisoner here, orare you one of the jailers?"
Grof scowled and lowered his voice. "I'm both. Iwant to see my work to fruition, and I'm not going tolet politics stand in the way. I would like to take myfindings to the Federation. In fact, I hope that thiswork brings both sides together, and ends this stupidwar. Meanwhile, I'm still a prisoner. Would I wel-come a chance to escape? Perhaps at a later date, butonly if it's foolproof."
Sam picked up a slice of yellow melon and took abite. The delicious juice ran down his beard. "You'reobviously doing something right to have all of thishanded to you."  "I'm just doing my job," snapped Grof.
At that moment, Sam decided not to trust EnrakGrof, who seemed entirely too wrapped up in his ownself-interests. Sam would plan his escape without theTrill, unless his participation was absolutely neces-sary... and foolproof.  "What's the ship like?" asked Sam.
 "It's a Cardassian antimatter tanker, specially equipped. You start training on it right away. You willneed additional crew of six, and Joulesh and I haveprepared a preliminary list of names. We have every-one we need right here."  "I'm sure of that," muttered Sam.
Grof ignored his sarcasm and went on, "We needtwo specialists in material handling, a tractor-beamspecialist, and a senior transporter operator."  "And Taurik. I want the Vulcan."  "That leaves one more," said Grof. "Me."
Sam blinked at him. "You're going along on thismining expedition?"
"Everything depends upon it," answered the Trill."Now that their engineers have been proven wrong,it's up to us to finish the job. And show them howvaluable we are." "How dangerous is this going to be?"
The Trill smiled. "Only as dangerous as we makeit.""It's too dangerous," insisted Will Riker. "Captain,please, I beg you to reconsider."
Captain Picard, who was lying on an operatingtable in sickbay, closed his eyes and tried to block outthe concerned voice of his first officer. He concen-trated instead on the sound of Dr. Crusher and NurseOgawa preparing their instruments. It sounded likefine silverware in use at a banquet.
"Captain, we have many other people who could dothis mission," insisted Riker.
"Nonsense," said Picard. "We're so shorthandedthat every able-bodied crew member is indispensable.The fact is, you can captain the ship, making me moredispensable than the majority of the crew. I also havethe most expertise working with Ro Laren, and shecan be a bit prickly."
"She's one of the reasons this is so dangerous,"growled Riker with frustration.
"I'm sure Mr. La Forge and I can handle whatevershe throws at us." Literally and figuratively, Picardthought, recalling her formidable fighting spirit. "AndData will keep us on long-range scans."
"What if he loses you in the Badlands?" Rikerpersisted.
"Nothing is without risk, Number One. If we needrescuing, we'll release our subspace beacon with acoded distress signal." "Still, Captainw"
The captain finally opened his eyes and gazedsympathetically at his first officer. "You won't be ableto talk me out of it, Will. The truth is, I need a breakfrom this hit-and-run fighting, and you're better at itthan I am. If I can investigate Ro's story, I'll feel I'mmaking a difference."  "I hope this isn't a wild-goose chase."
"I hope it is," said Picard gravely. "A falserumorweven a trap intended to catch usmwould bepreferable to finding an artificial wormhole in Do-minion control. If we find that it actually exists, thenthe fate of the Federation rests upon our actions, righthere."
Riker scratched his beard. "I suppose it's pointlessto tell you to be careful in the middle of a war, but becareful."  "You, too."
Beverly Crusher strode over to the table and shookher head. "Captain Riker, your persistence will be duly noted in my log, but you failed yet again to talk some sense into him. That makes two of us. Now we need to get on with the procedure, because I have a full schedule of appointments today."
Riker glanced quickly at the tiny implants restingon a tray held by Nurse Ogawa. Picard tried not tolook too closely at them either. When he awoke, hisface would be altered to look Bajoran, and he wouldbe given an earring.
"I'll check on the repairs to the Orb of Peace,"promised Riker as he backed out of the operatingroom.
Brandishing a hypospray, Beverly gave the captaina professional smile. "Relax, Jean-Luc. I have to giveyou an anesthetic, but you'll only be out for a shorttime."
Picard nodded, thinking that he wouldn't mind afew minutes of blissful ignorance. As he felt thepressure of the hypo on his neck, he allowed histense shoulders to relax. The urge to do somethingwould soon be over. Like Don Quixote, he would bechasing either windmills or the biggest dragon inthe kingdom.
Sam Lavelle stood on the somber, gray bridge of theTag Garwal, studying schematics of the antimattertanker under his command. Sam had studied Cardas-sian vessels for years, and never more intently than inthe weeks leading up to the war. This design was wellknown, on a par with Starfleet tankers of similarvintage. The Tag Garwal was no speed demon orluxury liner, but it was built to be sturdy, dependable,and uncomplicated. Sam didn't think he and hishandpicked crew would have any trouble masteringthe craft.
Professor Grof sat at an auxiliary console, runningdiagnostics on the tractor beam and the transporters adeck below them. He occasionally glanced at Sam tosee what he was doing. The uncomfortable silencebetween them was beginning to make Sam nervous,and he tried to think of a subject safe enough for smalltalk."Thank you for translating the manuals," said Sam."You're welcome," replied Grof brusquely. "Butthat was really Joulesh's idea. Are you satisfied withthe ship?"
"I won't know for sure until I take her for a littlespin."
"About those little spins," said Grof. "You'll beclosely watched. An attempt to make a break for itwould be suicide."
"You don't have to lay the company line on me,"said Sam angrily. "I know how things work aroundhere. We're more expendable than the Jem'Hadar, oreven the Cardassians..."
"You may be expendable, but I'm not!" protestedGrof. "I'm irreplaceable, no matter who wins thisthing."
"Don't you even care/" Sam scowled. "Why shouldyou? You're already on their side."
"There's more to being a prisoner than your feeblemind can envision!" hissed the Trill. "The Federationis the power in the Alpha Quadrant, and that's whythe Dominion is testing us. Although you can't see it,everything we do in this secret complex is beingjudged and tested. For example, you had no idea they were paying such close attention to you, but your ability to voice dissatisfaction while being calm and reasonable was very impressive to them."
 Grof sighed with frustration. "As you know, the Dominion has no real faith in the Cardassians-- they're just convenient locals. Someday this war will be over, and we'll have to live with the Dominion. If you and I are a success on this mission, the worth of the entire Federation will go up in the eyes of the Founders."
"Oh, wonderful. Do you think they'll give me apromotion?" Sam winced, knowing that he was losingthe battle to avoid controversial subjects. He had toend this topic, before he said something he regrettedto this traitor.
"Listen, Grof, I'll do the mission, and I'll work withthem--but don't expect me to like it. I'm in this forsurvival, not science, or to score brownie points."
The Trill looked deeply disappointed, but he man-aged to say, "As long as your attitude remains prag-matic, we should succeed."
"Fine," snapped Sam. Although he knew he shouldkeep his mouth shut, he didn't like Enrak Grof. Therehad to be some way to needle him without talkinglocal politics.
"So, what's it like to be an unjoined Trill?" askedSam.
Grof snorted. "You mean, what's it like to be asecond-class citizen? Imagine your planetary societyhas a small segment of people who are automaticallyconsidered superior to everyone else, and they auto-matically get the best careers. Imagine that thesepeople have several lifetimes of experience to drawupon, and you're just starting the only lifetime youwill ever get. How would you like to compete againstthem?" "I take it you didn't pass the program?"
"No, I failed," admitted Grof. "My field docentdidn't like my attitude, or some such. Of course, wheneighteen initiates apply for every available symbiont,they can afford to be choosy."
"So you found a field in which to excel, to spitethem."
Grof's dour, hirsute face broke into a slight smile."I suppose I can thank them for some of my ambitionand drive. But I firmly believe that I would have beendoing this same work even if I had joined with asymbiont."
"Maybe that's why they didn't take you," said Sam,"too headstrong."
Grof frowned. "At any rate, it has taken me twice aslong to have my work and my theories recognized. Ishould have led teams on which I was only a member,because we had to have a joined Trill in charge."
 "But the Dominion accepted you right from the start," said Sam, putting it all together.
 "Yes," snapped the Trill. "Being unjoined has never been a detriment here. They recognized me as a man of science. In many respects, the Dominion represents a clean slate for the Alpha Quadrant."
 "That seems to be what they're going for--a clean slate with us wiped out. And you're helping them." Sam inwardly cursed his one-track mind. This was the very same conversation he had just tried to derail.
 Grof stroked his beard and looked around. Then he lowered his voice to say, "Don't you see, this technol- ogy cuts both ways--it allows us to attack them through wormholes of our making. It democratizes the galaxy."
 He shook his spotted head. "To depend on a natural wormhole inhabited by semi-mythological beingsw only seen by one person--is absurd. What we're creating here is the transportation of the future, as important as warp drive or artificial gravity! Ships won't need to carry dangerous fuel like antimatter, because artificial wormholes will take you to the next solar system or the next quadrant in seconds."
"And with slave labor, you'll have plenty of peopleto keep building them," muttered Sam. "But supposeI'm hardly any better than you. My friends think I'ma brave soul who disappeared fighting the good fight,and here I am with decent food and my own ship.That reminds me, where do I sleep?"
"Right here." Grof motioned around the cramped,utilitarian bridge. "The captain's quarters are quitenice, I understand. There is even a sleeping alcovedirectly behind us, off the bridge."
Sam looked behind him and saw a small, curtainedlounge where there would be a ready room on aStarfleet vessel. "Yes, this crate was built for long-range hauls. Well, if this is going to be home for awhile, let's see what kind of entertainment we have."
He tapped the console, and the main viewscreenflickered on. A row of closed airlocks greeted Sam'seyes for a few seconds; then the angle cut to a view ofempty cargo holds, followed by vistas of the verteroncollider and the prison complex. To Sam's delight, thespheres and shafts of the complex did look like a giantmolecule floating in space.
"Hey, we're patched into the security feed," saidSam. "There's nothing like being part of the gang."
They were treated to several tantalizing glimpses ofvarious spacecraft docked around an outer sphere.Sam plied the console and found a way to cycle morequickly through the images until he found their ownoblong tanker. Its hull was gray with yellow stripes,and it was mostly featureless except for the dents andpits.
"That's us, huh? We won't win any beauty con-tests."
Sam continued paging through the images untilthey had inspected a number of interesting locations,including laboratories, factories, and guard posts. Hecould see Grof getting nervous about scanning thesecurity channel, and he was about to stop when theywere suddenly thrust into a women's prison pod. Samlooked away with embarrassment, hoping the scenewould switch soon.
A blur of action caught his eye, and Sam lookedback at the screen to see a squad of twenty or soCardassians rush into the pod. The Cardassians werewielding clubs and were wearing vests, helmets, andriot gear; they quickly surrounded the unarmed pris-oners. The free-cycling program chose that momentto cut to another pod, which was full of bedrolls butotherwise empty. Sam frantically worked the con- trols, trying to page back to the first pod.   "Don't," said Orof softly.
 Sam ignored him and finally cut back to the occu- pied pod. Two Cardassian guards were holding a woman by her arms and shaking her violently, while a glinn grilled her. There was no sound, and Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from the viewscreen to find it on the console. The other guards herded the prisoners away from the action, but the women pushed closer, anxious to see what was happening to their comrade. It looked like a disaster in the making, and Sam gripped the handrail in front of him.
 Sure enough, when the glinn struck the woman across her face, her fellow prisoners revolted. This resulted in a ruthless crackdown, as the club-wielding Cardassians waded into the women, forcing them against the walls. As Sam watched in horror, he was glad there was no sound.
 Grof finally reached over and pounded the console, turning off the viewscreen. By the stricken look on his face, it seemed as if the Trill was about to have a heart attack, or maybe an attack of conscience.
"See, they have a good use for the Cardassians,"hissed Sam. "I'm not sure Federation personnel couldreplace them."
Grof sputtered, looking as if he wanted to saysomething but had no words. He hurried off thebridge of the Tag Garwal, and Sam heard his footstepsclomping down a ladder to the lower deck.
Despite a rush of murderous impulses, Sam tried tostay calm. He thought about turning the viewscreenback on, but what was the point? His hatreds werealready etched into his soul, and watching moreatrocities wouldn't change anything. He had to main-tain his cool, jaded faqade until there came a chanceto strike hard against the Dominion--or die trying.
Eventually Sam put on the viewscreen, but hetuned it to an innocuous view of the starscape,dominated by the swirling gases and dust of theBadlands. In all of this vast universe was there no oneto help them? Where was the might of Starfleet, andthe vaunted resources of the Federation?
For all he knew, the war could be over, and no onewas out there to give a damn. In which case, maybe heshould be looking out for number one, as he pre-tended.
Sam reclined in the alcove off the bridge and triedto sleep, but his mind kept dwelling on images ofspace-suited prisoners, exploding like balloons in thecold darkness of space.
Ro Laren stood on the bridge of the Orb of Peace,marveling at the appearance of her crew. Dressed inrust-colored uniforms with dangling earrings andpronounced nose ridges, they could have been thecream of Bajoran youth. Of course, there was theolder Bajoran sitting at the corm station. He wasmostly bald except for two tufts of unruly gray hairhanging over his ears, which made him look vaguelyabsurd and absentminded, like an old librarian. Hisearring was also slightly askew, and Ro couldn't helpbut to smile at her former captain."She's your ship," said the pilot. "Take her out.""I'm going to need a code name to call you by,"said Ro. "Your real name is a bit too well known. Doyou know who you remind me of?. Boothby, the oldgardener at the Academy."
Picard grinned. "That's quite a compliment, as Ihad Boothby in mind when we devised this disguise.Not very Bajoran, of course, but it will pass for anickname--and a code name."  "Okay, Boothby, set our course for the Badlands."Ro tapped her comm badge, a distinctive Bajorandesign of a sphere and a fin, surrounded by concentricovals. "Ro to La Forge. Is everything ready?"
"Yes, sir," came the cheerful voice of Starfleet'sbest engineer. "We'll coax every parsec we can out ofour warp drives, but this isn't a long-range craft. Wecan't cruise hours on end at maximum warp."
"I know we're not going to outrun or outrightanybody," agreed Ro. "Stealth and guile--that's whatI learned from the Maquis."
"That's well and good," said La Forge, "but I'malso worried about those plasma storms in the Bad-lands."
"There are bubbles of calm in the storms," ex-plained Ro. "That's why you have me along. Did yourun the scans?"
"Yes. We'll register as a Bajoran ship on anythingbut the most detailed inspection. Biological scanscame up all Bajoran, too."
"Thank you, La Forge. Bridge out." Ro tapped hercomm badge again and said, "Orb of Peace to Enter-prise: we are ready to launch."
Captain Riker's somber face appeared on the view-screen. He was still exhibiting his displeasure overthis mission. "Launch sequence completed. We areopening shuttlebay doors. Good hunting."
"Thank you," answered Ro. The viewscreen shiftedto an impressive view of the thick doors and smoothsilver walls that enclosed them. The sight only servedto remind her how large the Enterprise wasmhertransport had been swallowed whole inside one shut-tlebay. Slowly the huge doors slid open, revealing thestar-studded depths of space beyond the womb of theEnterprise.
Ro nodded to the conn. "Take us out, one-quarterimpulse to a thousand kilometers." "Yes, sir," snapped the dark-skinned woman.
Picard smiled at his captain. "By the book. You stillremember procedures."
"Old habits," said Ro with a shrug. "They seem towork."
With thrusters firing, the boxy transport lifted offthe deck of the shuttlebay and floated out the opendoor. Picking up speed while it rushed past the twinnacelles of the Enterprise, the Orb of Peace soared intospace.

Chapter Five

SAM HEARD FOOTSTEPS on the ladder, and he turnedaway from the ops console to see a thin, cadaverous-looking Cardassian emerge onto the bridge of the TagGarwal. His first reaction was to grab a weapon toprotect himself, but then he realized that it had to beofficial business. He was part of the gang now, Samreminded himself; and this was his ship.
Nevertheless, the Cardassian gave him a suspiciousglare as he stepped aside and let the elegant Vorta,Joulesh, rise from the hatch and join them on thebridge. Footsteps continued clattering on the ladder,and a moment later Taurik's head popped out of thehatch. The graceful Vulcan lifted his lanky body fromthe hole and stood before Sam, looking nonplussed bythis sudden change in fortune.
"Taurik!" exclaimed Sam with delight. He startedto rush forward to embrace his friend when heremembered where he was, and with whom. "It'sgood to see you."
"And you," said Taurik with a slight nod. "Thereare more of us."
He stepped aside to allow four more dazed Starfleetofficers to join them on the bridge. Unlike the Vulcan,their faces ran the gamut from confusion to curiosity,and they glanced with apprehension at the Cardassianand the Vorta.
"Here is your crew," said Joulesh with pride, "ex-cept for Professor Grof, who will join us shortly. Ibelieve you know Lieutenant Taurik." "Yes."
The Vorta motioned to the remaining two men andtwo women, who were unfamiliar to Sam. All lookedto be older, career officers. "Chief Leni Shonsui,transporter operator; Commander Tamla Horik,tractor-beam operator; Chief Enrique Masserelli, sta-sis engineer; and Lieutenant Jozarnay Woil, materialhandler. All were department heads on their ownships."
The Vorta smiled, quite pleased with himself. "Twomen and two women. Two are human, one is Deltan,and the other is Antosian. When you include theVulcan and the Trill who are part of our team, Ibelieve we have put together a representative crosssection of the Federation. All humanoids, I'm afraid.I would have liked to have a Horta or one of yourmore exotic species, but this ship is built for human-oids."
Sam pointed to the Cardassian on the suddenlycrowded bridge. "What's he doing here?"
"Trainer," answered Joulesh. "I know you prideyourself on knowing everything, but you are bound tohave questions which can only be answered by anexperienced officer. In particular, I'm concerned withtractor-beam operations."
The Vorta clapped his hands together. "I almostforgot--I should introduce you. Ladies and gentle-men, this is the ship's captain, Lieutenant Sam La-velie."
The newly summoned crew looked suspiciously atSam, as if he were one of the unfamiliar consoles thatsurrounded them. He couldn't expect to have thiscrew's loyalty or respect, so he would have to make dowith their fear and curiosity. Plus Sam knew he wouldhave their instincts for survival on his side."How much have any of you been told?" he asked."Very little," answered Taurik. "I was told that Iwas needed for a special task. Until I saw you here, Iconsidered it likely you were dead."
"Likely, but not quite." Sam scratched his barechin, which he had shaved for the first time in weeks.He was also wearing a nondescript but new bluejumpsuit, while his shipmates were still dressed inrags, with unkept hair and unshaven faces.
"It's very simple," he began. "We're going on amining expedition to extract Corzanium from a blackhole. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"
Woit, the Antosian material handler, gaped at him."Corzanium? But we've only been able to extract thatin minute quantities. What are they going to do withit?"
"Reinforce the mouth of the collider," answeredSam bluntly. "But that's not our concern. We have aship and a job to do--if we're successful, they'vepromised us our freedom." His new crew stared at him with expressions rang-ing from incredulity to belligerence. Taurik merelylooked thoughtful. Can't they read between the lines?thought Sam with frustration. In the company of aVorta and a Cardassian, they weren't going to be ableto talk frankly. It was time for this group to realizethat they were being given a rare opportunity.
Sam thought back on how frustrated Grof had beenwhen he hadn't jumped immediately at the chance tojoin up. He frowned. "I know none of you volun-teered for this duty, but you were specially chosen.Each of you impressed our captors in some way oranother. If you don't want to join this detail and goback into space, just let me know. You can go back toyour pods and your normal duties."
With a half smile on his face, Joulesh lookedcuriously at Sam. Both of them knew that thesepeople were never going back to their regular podsand work routines, no matter what happened. Whenno one called Sam's bluff, the Vorta allowed himself afull smile."Very well," said Joulesh. "Shall we begin?"After securing clean uniforms for everyone andtaking a tour of the tanker, they began the longprocess of familiarization. There was special empha-sis on operations of the bridge stations, tractor beam,transporter room, stasis fields, and the antimattercontainers that had been converted to store Cor-zanium. By the end of the day, the reluctant crewmembers had embraced the challenges of their taskand were offering suggestions on how to proceed. Samcould tell that Joulesh was quite pleased by theirprogress, while the Cardassian trainer barely hid hiscontempt.  Sam and Taurik found themselves observers duringa session on how to manipulate the robotic armmounted to a mining probe.
"I've got a side job for you," Sam whispered to theVulcan.  "Yes?" answered Taurik, keeping his voice low.
"I want you to inspect the ship and see if there areany monitoring devices aboard."
 The Vulcan glanced at him. "You wish to know ifwe can speak freely?" "Right."
Taurik nodded in response, and they went back tolistening to the lecture.
By the end of a long shift, they were joined by ataciturn Enrak Grof, who barely grunted as he wasintroduced to the rest of his shipmates. The Trillbriefly explained that he had been occupied withfinishing his regular work and calculating how muchmore Corzanium they would need to complete theproject. He assured them he would not have to returnto the laboratory, and he was joining them for theduration.
As they continued their training, Sam watched hisnew crew. They were as experienced and competentas any captain could possibly hope for, but they werehardened by their weeks of captivity. Except for Grof,they were probably loyal to the Federation, but werethey loyal enough to give up their lives? Was hekidding himself in thinking that they could accom-plish anything but saving their own skins for a fewextra days? The chances were good that they would alldie in this foolhardy undertaking.
"Very good!" exclaimed Joulesh, clapping hishands with delight and snapping Sam from his rever-ie. "I believe we have made wonderful progress, aheadof schedule. In fact, let us move up the test flight tothe next shift. The Founder will be so pleased!"
The Vorta nodded to the Cardassian, who had beensurly but helpful for most of the training. "You aredismissed."
With a parting snarl, the Cardassian climbed downthe ladder and disappeared, and Joulesh consideredhis cadre of prized pupils. "We are entrusting youwith an enormous responsibility, I hope you realizethat. Yes, you have an opportunity to act foolishly andregister your discontent, but you also have an oppor-tunity to further science and improve relations be-tween our peoples."
Sam looked around at his crew. Almost all of themwere stone-faced over this twisted reasoning, evenGrof, who had avoided Sam since his late arrival. Washe still thinking about the beatings they had wit-nessed? Or was he still angry over the senseless loss oflife caused by the Cardassians?
The burly Trill had barely hidden his contempt fortheir Cardassian trainer, and Sam was beginning toconsider him neutral but still unpredictable. If any ofthem had any sense, they would avoid being drawninto a conversation over motives and politics withthis slimy Vorta.
Joulesh continued to smile gamely at his impassiveaudience. "I know it's been a difficult shift, and youmust be tired. This ship has lodging for a crew oftwelve, so you have ample room to spread out. Thereplicators in the mess hall have been reprogrammedfor Federation tastes, and everything on this craft isfully functional, except for the weapons systems, ofcourse. They were never much to speak of, anyway."The Vorta started for the ladder, then he wavedback to them. "Use your intelligence, and don't actrashly. I will see you at your test flight. Yes, theFounder will be so pleased!"
As soon as the Vorta left the ship, Taurik moved tothe ops console and began to run diagnostics andscans of the ship. Sam hovered over his shoulder, asGrof and the four new crew members looked uneasilyat one another.
"What's the catch to this?" asked Enrique."They're not going to give us a ship and let us fly offinto space, are they?"
"Yes, they are," answered Grof. "As I've beentelling our captain, the bond between the Dominionand the Cardassians is weak, because the Cardassiansare incompetent. We have a chance to make a favor-able impression."
"Belay that," growled the bald-headed Deltan,Tamla Horik. "Despite the pretty words, I say we'reaiding and abetting the enemy."
"Keep it down," warned Sam. "We don't know thatwe're not being observed."
"Actually, Sam, I detect no monitoring devices orlistening coils," said Taurik. "I believe the ship is, asJoulesh said, unaltered except for improvements tothe containment lockers and the absence of weapons.There is no reason why we should not speak freely. Infact, our odds of success depend upon the ability tocommunicate."
"Finally somebody is making sense," mutteredGrof. "Listen to the Vulcan. This isn't a joke or atest--this is a vital mission for the success of thegreatest invention in our history. I've already ex-plained all of this to Lieutenant Lavelie, but theartificial wormhole will outlive all of us, including theDominion and the Federation. This invention turnsthe entire galaxy into one neighborhood."
"Giving the Dominion the chance to take over thewhole Milky Way," snapped Leni Shonsui.
"Don't bother arguing with him," muttered Sam."I've already said everything you're going to say, andhe won't listen."
"And what's the deal with you?" asked Leni. "Whatdid you do to make captain in the Dominion?"
"I could ask you the same thing about your assign-ment to this ship. All of us have been blessed, orcursed, by the same fate. We're here, we have a ship,and we have a job to do. Let's get on with it, and we'llworry about everything else later."
Enrique edged toward the ladder. "Does that repli-catot really have any food we want?"
"I think so," answered Sam. "Go ahead and enjoyyourselves, because I figure we probably won't sur-vive, even if we don't do anything stupid."
"The odds of completing this mission withoutbeing destroyed are approximately ten to one--against," added Taurik.
Sam chuckled, letting the tension drain out of hishandsome face. "Thank you, Taurik. Do you see?There's no sense fighting with each other. The chancesare good that we're going to die in each other'scompany, aboard this strange ship, no matter what wedo. But at least we'll die in space, not chained in acell."
Grof scowled and strode toward the ladder, pushingEnrique out of the way. "We're not going to die--we're going to succeed.t" He clomped down the ladder,his footsteps ringing all over the small ship.
Sam watched the Trill disappear into the hatch,then he whispered, "With or without him, we're goingto make an escape. But not until I say so."  "Approaching ships," warned Data.
 Will Riker bolted upright in the command chair ofthe Enterprise. "How many? From where?"
"Three ships, Jem'Hadar battle cruisers, traversingsector nine-four-six-two on an interception course atwarp eight," answered the android.
The acting captain of the Enterprise jumped to hisfeet and strode toward Data's station. "Who are theyafter? Us, or the Orb of Peace?"
"It would seem to be us, sir. It has now been nineminutes and thirty-two seconds since the Orb of Peaceentered Cardassian space, and they appear to beundetected." The android looked earnestly at Riker."Estimated arrival time of the Jem'Hadar: twenty-oneminutes and thirty seconds."  "Are there any Starfleet vessels that can help us?"  "None that can reach us in time."
Riker scowled. "We can't stand up to three cruisers.We have time to run, but we'll have to stop trackingthe away team."
"Not necessaily, sir." Data cocked his head. "TheEnterprise must retreat, but I could take a smallshuttlecraft and land on the sixth planet of the Kreelsolar system. With the shuttlecraft's sensors, I couldmonitor the transport until the danger has passed. If Imaintain my relative position, I could monitor themindefinitely."
"That's a class-Q planet," said Riker with distaste,imagining its cold temperatures and deadly methaneatmosphere. Then he realized that class Q or class Mwas all the same to Data.
"Its inhospitality will prevent the Dominion fromfollowing me. I can land in the polar region where themethane is frozen." "We can beam you down," said Riker.
"I would prefer to have a shuttlecraft, so I can bemobile."
Making an instant decision, Riker motioned to-ward the turbolift. "Go."
In a blur, the android leaped from his seat andrushed off the bridge. A replacement officer, wholooked young enough to be Riker's daughter, settledinto his vacated seat.
 "Bridge to shuttlebay one," said Riker, "prepare ashuttlecraft for Commander Data. He's on his way."  "Yes, sir," came the response.
The acting captain tugged on his beard as he pacedthe circular bridge of the Enterprise. This was hisworst nightmare--taking over the ship in the midst ofa crisis without Captain Picard, Geordi, or Data. Notonly was he worried about his friends, but he wasworried about the effectiveness of the crew withouther senior staff. He was surrounded by newly mintedensigns fresh from the Academy; half their names hedidn't know. Riker wondered whether Beverly Crush-er would like to take over for him now.
"Estimated arrival time of enemy ships: nineteenminutes," reported the young ops officer with a slighttremolo to her voice.
The captain stopped behind the conn. "If they wantto chase us, let's lure them to the rendezvous pointand get some help. Set course two-five-eight-mark-six-four."
"Yes, sir." The blue-skinned Bolian plied his con-sole. "Course set."
Riker strode toward Ensign Craycroft. "Tactical,send a message to Starfleet and tell them we're on ourway, and that we're bringing companywthreeJem'Hadar battle cruisers."
"Yes, sir." Ensign Craycroft turned on her commu-nications panel and began to enter the message.  Riker looked back at ops. "Commander Data?"
"He is entering the shuttlecraft Cook. Launch se-quence in progress... opening shuttlebay doom."
"On screen." Riker stepped back to see the hurriedlaunch on the viewscreen. For the second time thatday, he watched a small ship soar from the belly of theEnterprise, looking like a bat escaping from a caveinto the dead of night.
"Five hundred kilometers, six hundred kilometers,seven hundred kilometers--" droned the ops officer.
"Good luck, Data," muttered Riker. "Conn, pre-pare to go to maximum warp. Engage."
In a halo of golden light, the sleek starship elon-gated into the sparkling starscape and vanished.Thousands of kilometers away, a tiny shuttlecraftveered toward a medium-large planet engulfed innoxious ivory gases.
Ro Laren paced across the tastefully illuminatedbut cramped bridge of the Orb of Peace, thinking theirreturn to Cardassian space had been too easy, toouneventful. Unless a big operation was afoot andmost of the Dominion ships were occupied, theyshould have been hailed or intercepted by now. Afterall, they were making a straight shot across a war zonetoward one of the Dominion's most sensitive areas.
"No sign of any ships?" she asked Picard, who wasstill seated at the conn. In their agreed-upon chain ofcommand, she was captain of the ship, and he was incommand of the mission. For a veteran officer, thecaptain had been remarkably calm about taking asubordinate role to her own. Perhaps a real captaindidn't need to have a special chair, extra pips on hiscollar, and everyone saluting him. Captain Picard'sbearing and dignity were enough to warrant therespect of anyone in his presence.
He shook his head. "There is traffic in several solarsystems along our route, but no one seems overlyinterested in us."
"It's too easy," said Ro with concern. "We're beingwatched, evaluatedwI can feel it. By the time theycome after us, it will be too late; they will have madeup their minds."
Picard tugged on his earring, a tic he was beginningto develop.
"Then let's alter our course," Picard suggested."Pick a typical solar system that is inhabited, go thereand look like we're doing some trading."
"That will throw us off our timetable," said the opsofficer.
"Getting killed will throw us off even more," re-plied Ro, glowering at the man.
Picard nodded to his officer. "Find us a likelyplanet. Quickly.""We have goods to trade, don't we?" asked Ro."Yes," answered the captain. "We replicated asupply of zajerberry wine, Bajoran silk, and tetra-lubisol. Plus, we have a box of Bajoran religioustracts.""If we survive this, maybe I'll read them," mutteredRO.
"Won't it look odd for us to be trading with aCardassian colony?" asked the ops officer.
"I wouldn't be terribly concerned about that,"answered Picard. "According to Starfleet Intelligence,the Cardassians developed quite a taste for Bajorangoods during the occupation, and Bajor is still tryingto rebuild its economy. Under the circumstances itwill just look like a wise business decision."
Behind her, the ops officer sighed loudly, not happywith his options. "There's a Cardassian farming colo-ny on the sixth planet of System H-949."
"All right then. Set course for it and make our wayslowly, at warp one," ordered Ro. "I want them to seethat we've changed course."
Since Picard was stationed at the conn, it was hisdecision whether to obey the order, and everyone onthe bridge was watching him. Without hesitation, hepunched in the new coordinates. "New course en-tered. We'd better come out of warp to changecourse."
There was a slight tremor in the primitive craft as itslowed and made an awkward course correction.Then the warp engines revved once more, and thetransport shot into space, headed toward an obscureCardassian colony.
Ro sighed, not certain whether her relief was overthe course change or the fact that the fake Bajoranshad obeyed her order. Her authority over this crewextended solely from Captain Picard, and no one else.Without his faith in her, she was nothing but a grubbyrefugee to this crew of young upstarts. They werebrave and eager to face the enemy, while she wasjumpy and cautious. In Cardassian space, surroundedby the enemy, she much preferred her collection ofwell-earned fears to their naivet6.
"They're here," said Picard grimly as he studied hisscreen. "Two warships are now in pursuit of us. OneJem'Hadar and one Cardassian."
"I knew they were watching. Maintain course andspeed." Ro turned to face the crew. "We have toconfront them and prove who we are--to get them offour tracks. Had we waited too long, heading directlyfor the Badlands, they would've decided on their ownthat we were spies. How much time do we have?"
"Eleven minutes until interception," said the opsofficer, a trace of fear in his formerly condescendingvoice.
"When they hail us," said Ro, "be friendly and dowhatever they ask. Remember, the Cardassians treattheir riding hounds better than they treat Bajorans.We're awfully lucky that we got a Jem'Hadar ship inthe mix."
"We usually don't feel that way," said Picard witha wan smile.
Ro tapped her Bajoran comm badge and spoke in aloud voice. "Captain Ro to the ship's complement: alloff-duty personnel are to go immediately to the cargobay and unpack the zajerberry wine. Put out samplesof all the cargo. Arrange it nicely, as if it's always ondisplay. Bridge out."
"Shall we go on yellow alert?" asked the ops officeruncertainly.
"No, don't do anything that looks even remotelyaggressive. We'll either talk our way out of this or diehere and now."  The lanky Bajoran gazed at Picard. "I notice thatone of the 'improvements' you made to my ship wasto add a self-destruct sequence. Feel free to ready it. I,for one, don't want to be tortured. How about you?"
The captain cleared his throat and returned hergaze. "I'll bring it up on my console, keeping it in thebackground. I won't move from this station. If cap-ture looks imminent, I'll arm it with a ten-seconddelay."  Ro nodded. "We always did think alike."  "We're being hailed," said tactical.
"On screen." Ro turned to look at the viewscreenframed with platitudes, and fear clamped her spine.Instead of the spiny Jem'Hadar face she had hoped tosee, a bony, scaly Cardassian face stared at her. Hesmiled with the delight of a sadistic schoolmasterhaving caught a tardy student.
"And what have we here?" he said snidely. "Bajor-ans in the Cardassian Union? Roaming freely?"
"Good day to you, noble captain," replied Ro in asobsequious a tone as she could manage. "We are nolonger enemies--we are practically allies, thanks tothe benevolence of the Dominion."
That wiped the smirk off the Cardassian's face."Come to a full stop and prepare to be boarded."
"We would welcome that," said Ro brightly, "as weare looking for the opportunity to trade with yourpeople."
"What do you have that we could possibly want?"asked the Cardassian doubtfully.
"Zajerberry wine," answered Ro slyly. She knewthat Picard's comments had been on the mark. TheCardassians had developed a taste for the stuff whilethey occupied Bajor. She had once smuggled some outof Quark's place on Deep Space Nine to buy therelease of Maquis prisoners.
"Prepare to be boarded." The Cardassian scowled,and the screen went blank.
With movements that were so fast they could not befully appreciated by a human eye, Data scurriedaround his type-9 personnel shuttlecraft, the Cook.He quickly filled two shielded cases with tricorders,weapons, tools, a distress beacon, and emergencysupplies, leaving food and water behind. The androidtook a final glance at his console and confirmed thatone of the Jem'Hadar battle cruisers had indeedbroken off from the others and gone into orbit aroundKreel VI, the uninhabited planet on which he hadtaken refuge.
If Data didn't want his shuttlecraft to be detectedand destroyed, he had to shut down all systems. Plus,he knew it would be prudent to run some distancefrom the shuttlecraft in case the Jem'Hadar sent downa probe and discovered it. Fortunately, a scan of theplanet for life signs would not reveal his existence.Unfortunately, after he turned off all systems, hewould be unable to track the Orb of Peace. After thedanger passed, he would have to depend upon thetransport's last known position and scan from there.It would be highly imprecise.
Experiencing a sense of urgency, Data powereddown the shuttlecraft. After a brief pause, the interiorof the small vessel was plunged into total darkness.Data could sense his surroundings perfectly well as heopened the hatch manually, something which wouldhave required two humans to accomplish in the heavygravity of Kreel VI.
 Monstrous winds and sleeting methane snow pelted Data as he darted outside, carrying a large case in each hand. His feet crunched on the frozen tundra, and he didn't even want to think about how cold it was. Data set down the cases long enough to shut the door; then he surveyed his surroundings.
Visibility was almost zero in the blizzard, and Datarelied upon his built-in sensors to locate an outcrop-ping of rocks about three kilometers away. As the onlylandmark in the area, it would have to serve as hisdestination.
At a fast jog, leaping over fissures, he crossed theuneven ground, conscious of the opaque ice beneathhis feet. The very fact that the Jem'Hadar hadstopped to look for him on this inhospitable planetproved that their technology was quite advanced.They were thorough and determined--a dangerousadversary. Although the Jem'Hadar were biologicalbeings, Data felt some kinship with them. Like him-self, they had been engineered to serve without ques-tion in a multitude of situations, and they did sowithout complaint or selfish motives.
He heard a wrenching explosion somewhere behindhim, and a sheet of methane blasted his back. Ahuman would have been pitched off his feet by theimpact of the shock wave, but Data just kept lopingacross the uneven terrain, hardly able to see his ownlegs in the driving snow. He suddenly detected highreadings of radiation, enough to kill most creatures.
With his emotion chip turned off, the android feltno fear, but he spent a microsecond deciding that hewas in serious trouble. His shuttlecraft probably de-stroyed, his shipmates scattered in different direc-tions, he was all alone, except for an enemy cruiserwith a complement of several hundred Jem'Hadar. Ifthe Enterprise was destroyed, nobody in the universewould know where he was, even if he did manage tosurvive this incident.
Data's most unsettling conclusion, however, wasthat his mission had already failed. If the shuttlecraftwas destroyed, he could not track the Orb of?eace,nor could he catch their distress beacon when theyreleased it. They were also on their own.
His legs began to pump uphill through ice andrubble, and Data realized that he had reached hisdestination. The rocky tor offered scant shelter, but itstood forty meters tall and might disguise his massand metallic components from their sensors.
As there was nothing to see, Data didn't bother tolook for a vantage point. He set his cases down at thefirst level ground he came to, then crouched betweenthem, ready to use them for shields. The tor seemedto consist of bedrock, which was some consolation tothe android, because it might withstand an attack.Data waited, watching for the Jem'Hadar to emergefrom the dense clouds and snow that swirled allaround him.
A dabo-girl smile plastered to her face, Ro Larenstood by in the cargo bay, which had been hastilyconverted into a showroom. She watched halfa dozenCardassians paw her merchandise and shove her crewaround, while another half a dozen trained theirweapons on the helpless Bajorans. A gray-haired gulnamed Ditok had beamed down with the inspectionteam, and he rifled through the silks, then moved onto the red-clay bottles of wine."An excellent vintage," chirped Ro. "Would youlike to try some?"
He glared at her. "You have the impertinence tothink that I would drink while on duty. Or that Iwould even like this Bajoran urine?"
His men chuckled politely, while Gul Ditokgrabbed a bottle and hefted it. "Probably replicated,if it isn't totally fake."
"I can verify its authenticity," promised Ro, "al-though the truth is in the tasting." She hoped theStarfleet replicators had been up to the task--someCardassians were experts on zajerberry wine.
"Doesn't matter," snarled the gul, "you have abigger problem, no documents."
Ro offered him a smile of regret. "As I have toldyou, we have just entered this sector, and we wereabout to make our first stop, where we could apply forpermission. We welcome your visit."
The gul scowled, as if he much preferred Bajoranswho made trouble. "Is this what your proud peopleare reduced to, slinking around with trinkets, like atribe of Ferengi?"
Ro lowered her voice. "To be frank, we are curiousto get to know the Dominion better. We are neutral inthis war, you know, and it's fairly clear how it's goingto end."
The gul laughed. "Ah. So now you're cowards, butat least smart cowards."
A young glinn hovering nearby whispered some-thing in the ear of the gul, and he glowered at them."I'm reminded that your flight pattern shows youcame from Federation space, or what's left of it. Howdo you explain that?" "We did come from Federation space," answeredRo. "We were trading there first. In fact, that's wherewe obtained the tetralubisol. It's the finest space-ratedlubricant you can buy.""I know what it is," muttered the Cardassian.One of the young pseudo-Bajorans approached thegul with a pamphlet in her hand. "Would you likesomething to read? It's very inspiring."
He slapped the padd out of her hand. "Get awayfrom me! You're all sheep, the lot of you. Bajorans!"He spat on the deck.
Despite the burning bile surging up her throat, Rostuck to her plan. "We honestly come in peace. Withthe Dominion rolling over two quadrants, we haven'tgot anything to gain by remaining loyal to the Federa-tion. The Federation did nothing but interfere,anyway."
"There's a grain of truth," said the Cardassian."Have you got any more truth in you?"
"Only that you once fought against the Dominion,and now you regard them as allies. Can't you do thesame with us?"
For a moment, it looked as if the old warrior wouldaccept her entreaty of peace; then he burst out laugh-ing. "Bajorans, my dear, are hardly the Dominion."
His sunken eyes ran down her lean body. "Youpersonally are quite attractive, Captain, and perhapsyou do offer something of worth. We must have aprivate conference later to discuss it."
Ro gritted her teeth and tried not to vomit. "Then Icould offer you some wine."
"I'm afraid not," he said with a sympathetic smile."We have to confiscate all of the wine. Contraband,you know."  "What? What/" sputtered Ro, although she hadexpected this turn of events. "You can't take ourwhole cargo... I mean, we need to make a profit!"
"Experience is always a great profit." Gul Ditoksnapped his fingers, and his soldiers roughly herdedthe Bajoran crew away from the cases of wine. Withinseconds, they had transported every bottle from thecargo bay to their warship.
Ro tried to feign a mixture of indignation andhorror at this outrage, while she was secretly relievedthat they had accepted the bribe. Could she possiblyhope they would leave it at that?
"Now are you satisfied? Can you let us go?" shedemanded.
"Not yet. I want to see your bridge and yourweaponry. Our scan suggests that you have photontorpedoes."
"Only six," said Ro. "You never know when you'llconfront an asteroid belt, pirates, or some otherobstacle that requires intervention."
"We don't have pirates in the Cardassian Union,"said the gul testily.
"Ah, but we were just in Federation space, wherethey have no respect for law and order."
Once again, the gul looked disappointed that hisprey was so amenable. "Take us to your bridge."
Gritting her teeth, Ro led the way to the bridge,which was only up one level via a spiral staircase.When she entered the control room, she was glad tosee that the lights were dimmed to a soothing level.Captain Picard and two other duty officers were theonly ones present.
The Cardassian gul and his entourage muscled theirway into the cramped room and began peering ateverything and everyone. Captain Picard stood im-mediately and smiled at the visitors.
The gul looked at his conn screen. "What is yourmaximum speed?" "Warp three," answered Picard.
The Cardassian laughed. "Aren't you embarrassedto be flying this thing?"
"It's preferable to fighting in the war," said Picardwith a shrug. "We have a message of peace to bring tothe Dominion."
"We shall see about that." The gul gave a sidelongglance at his retinue, and they grinned knowingly.
"Gul Ditok!" snapped a voice. "Look what I havefound."
They all turned to see a female glinn standingbeside an open cabinet, holding a Starfleet handphaser. It was a shock to Ro and everyone else in thecrew, as they had been careful not to bring anyobvious Starfleet equipment on board. All of theirphasers were Bajoran or Ferengi.
"Aha!" declared the Cardassian. He was so melo-dramatic about it that Ro instantly knew what hadhappened--the phaser had been planted!
"You are enemies of the Dominion, in league withthe Federation," proclaimed the gul. "We are seizingthis vessel and taking you prisoner."
Picard shot her a glance, then immediately turnedto his console. His fingers pressed several membranepanels before the gul slapped him in the head andknocked him out of his chair. The captain tumbled tothe floor, but he gazed up with a satisfied look on hisface.  "What have you done?" bellowed the gul.  "We have eight seconds to live."

Chapter Six

Ro HAD NEVER SEEN a Cardassian's eyes widen, becauseof the thick bones which encircled their eye sockets.But Gul Ditok's eyes grew very wide when Picard toldhim that he had seconds to live. Every person on thebridge of the Orb of Peace looked terrified, and Ro'seyes went instinctively to the platitudes framing theviewscreen. "Place yourself in the hands of the Proph-ets," suggested one phrase, which was a proper senti-ment under the circumstances.
Gul Ditok barked into his communicator, "Beamus up! Immediately!"
As their sparkling shapes vanished from the bridge,Picard leaped into his chair and punched his instru-ment panel. Ro flinched, certain that the next instantwould be their last. When they weren't blasted to bits, she opened hereyes and looked around. "I counted more than tenseconds."
"I changed my mind and set it for thirty," admittedPicard. "I put the shields up, so they can't transportus off. You'd better start talking to them."
Ro motioned to Tactical. "Open a channel to theJem'Hadar ship. Put me on screen, whether theyacknowledge or not."
She strode in front of the viewscreen and poutedangrily. "This is Captain Ro Laren of the Orb ofPeace. Is this how the Dominion treats its neutraltrading partners? We come here in peace, and yousteal our shipment of zajerberry wine, you threatenmy crew, and you plant a weapon on our ship so thatyou can illegally seize us!"
She closed her eyes again, expecting quantum tor-pedoes to slam into them. When that didn't happen,Ro went on. "We know there's a war, but our workgoes on. We are a religious people, and we just want achance to trade goods and ideas. In this modestvessel, we couldn't do you any harm."
Ro tried not to think what a huge lie she had justdelivered, but she was doing the best she could in thisone-way conversation. Ro glanced down at Picardand saw that he had only paused the self-destructsequence. There were fifteen seconds left, and hisfingers were poised to resume the fatal countdown.
The viewscreen was filled with two imposing war-ships--the mustard-colored Galor-class warship andthe Jem'Hadar battle cruiser, its hull pulsing with avibrant blue light. Ro looked at tactical. "End trans-mission."  "Yes, sir."  "Are they arming weapons?"
 "No," said the officer on tactical. "They're sending coded messages back and forth to each other."
 Ro looked at Picard, and he gave her an encourag- ing smile. "You're doing fine."
 She nodded and swallowed. It felt good to yell at them, even if every word was a lie.
The tactical officer gasped with surprise. "Theyare... they are sending us documents! One set al-lows us passage in this sector, and the other is anorder to appear on Cardassia Prime in seventy-twohours to discuss a fine for our offenses."
"They gave us a ticket," commented Picard with atouch of amusement in his voice.Ro looked puzzledly at the human. "A ticket?""It's an old Terran phrase," said Picard. "It meansthat we received a summons to appear later, so trialand punishment is put off. Acknowledge it and thankthem."  "Yes, sir."
Ro didn't breathe calmly until the two great war-ships glided into graceful turns and disappeared intospace. For several seconds, the bridge crew stared atthe glittering starscape, scarcely believing that thethreat was gone.
"Keep them on sensors," ordered Ro, "for as longas you can."  "Yes, sir," answered the ops officer.
"Resume course for the farming colony until we'resure they're gone," said Ro, her mouth feelingparched.
"Aye, sir," replied Picard as he carried out theorder. "We'll have to make a run for the Badlandssooner or later." "I know," answered Ro grimly. "Let's calculate ex-actly how much time we'll need to make it. When weget a window, we'll go." "Let's hope for a large window," added the captain.
While buffeted by swirling winds and heavy meth-ane snow, Data set up a portable scanner on therugged outcropping and tried to take readings. Al-though the electromagnetic interference and radia-tion levels were high, they weren't disruptive enoughto hide his shuttlecraft, which was still sitting outthere, an alien artifact on an icy plain. At least ithadn't been totally destroyed.
He couldn't detect any other machines, vessels,probes, or life signs near the shuttlecraft, but thatdidn't mean the area was safe. The range of hisportable instruments didn't allow him to tell if theJem'Hadar ship was still in orbit around Kreel VI.
Data was neither impatient nor imprudent, and hecould have sat there for weeks, waiting until it wasabsolutely safe to venture forth. But every moment hedelayed reduced the likelihood of finding the Orb ofPeace with the shuttlecraft's sensors. His own safetywas not an issue, except that if he was captured ordestroyed, his mission couldn't possibly succeed.
Overriding these concerns was the necessity offinding out if the shuttlecraft itself was still intact. Inthe pelting blizzard, he repacked his cases and beganhis descent from the tor. Not only was the stormworse than ever, but the daylight was beginning tofade. By the time Data covered the three kilometers tohis shuttlecraft, the visibility was terrible, and he wasforced to plug directly into his tricorder to scan thearea.  Thirty meters from the shuttlecraft, he discovered adark crater brimming with radiation, and he set downhis cases and crouched between them. He assumedthe crater was the remains of the blast he had feltearlier, which meant that the Jem'Hadar had missedhis shuttlecraft. Or perhaps it had been a warningshot, intended to flush him out of hiding. Datagrabbed a phaser, a tricorder, and a bandolier loadedwith photon grenades, which he slung over hisshoulder.
Despite all indications that the Jem'Hadar had leftthe planet without finding him or his ship, Datahesitated and continued to take readings, both withhis tricorder and his internal sensors. His friend,Geordi, had an expression: "If it looks too good to betrue, it probably is." In this case, it looked too good tobe true.
As he searched for esoteric pulses and energy read-ings, Data detected the low-resonance hum of a lightsource which shouldn't be there in the foggy darkness.It wasn't a strong light source, more like a photo cellor a photoreceptor.
A motion detector. On a planet with no life, it was asimple but effective warning device.
He concentrated his search on the few meters infront of the shuttlecraft and pinpointed the locationof the motion detector--directly in front of the hatch.Was the alarm intended to alert the Jem'Hadar thathe had returned? Or was it even more basicma bombintended to turn both him and the shuttlecraft intoscrap? If he took another step closer, he would proba-bly find out.
The trick was to get closer without getting closer.The android did a careful calculation and determinedthat he was seventeen meters away from the device,and it was at ground level. He stepped backwardseveral paces, ran forward, and leaped twenty metersinto the air.
In a high arc, Data soared through the methaneatmosphere and landed with a thud on the roof of theshuttlecraft. He paused, waiting to see if he hadactivated the alarm, but the device continued to emita low-resonance hum. Because it was on the ground,its range apparently didn't extend to the roof, and theshuttlecraft itself hid his movements.
Because a bomb was a more immediate concernthan an alarm, he had to deactivate it. But getting tooclose would have just the opposite effect. Despite allof his precautions, Data realized that direct and swiftaction was required.
He looked around the roof of the shuttlecraft andspotted a deflector dish, which had to weigh at leasttwo hundred kilograms. He grabbed the dish withboth hands and yanked it from its mounts, snappingthe metal as if it were plywood. Calculating the exactlocation of the motion detector on the ground belowhim, Data leaned over the edge of the roof anddropped the dish on top of it.With a satisfying crunch, the humming stopped.Data noted that both he and the shuttlecraft werestill intact, but he crouched down and drew hisphaser, making sure it was set on heavy stun.
They came quickly. Four figures in gray space suitsmaterialized on the ground below him, and Datadidn't wait for them to react. He fired two bursts fromhis phaser, felling two of them; then he leaped off theshuttlecraft as they returned fire.
Data dropped into a crouch and fired twice more.The space-suited figures twisted from the impact ofhis phaser beams and slumped to the ground. Figur-ing the casualties would be retrieved quickly, theandroid grabbed a plasma grenade, armed it, rippedoff the adhesive, and stuck it to the chest of the closestJem'Hadar in less than a second. With movements soswift that no one could have followed them, Dataplanted a live grenade on each enemy body andleaped back. It was a particularly brutal way todispatch with a foe, Data knew. But he also knew thatbrutality was unavoidable in war.
In the dark, swirling fog, the fallen Jem'Hadarsoldiers sparkled brightly as their molecules wereswept off the planet. Data calculated the horriblechaos that would erupt on the Jem'Hadar ship whenthe four plasma grenades exploded in their transport-er roomrain point-five seconds. With any luck, therupture would be bad enough to cause a breach in thehull, occupying his pursuers until he could get away.
Data fetched his equipment and opened the hatchof the shuttlecraft, dragging his reflector shield andsupplies after him. His movements a blur, the androidpowered up the small craft, fired thrusters, andzoomed away from the surface of the planet. The factthat he was still alive a few moments later assuredhim that his diversion had been a success.
Reaching full-impulse speed in seconds, Data pi-loted the craft in an elliptical arc which put him onthe other side of the planet, away from their sensors.He ran a brief scan before he vanished over the darkhorizon and noted with satisfaction that theJem'Hadar battle cruiser was in low orbit and de-scending quickly. He doubted whether the massiveship was capable of atmospheric reentry, whichmeant they were in serious trouble.
There was no time to appreciate his unexpectedvictory over the much larger ship, because Data had aBajoran transport to find. He zoomed out of orbit andentered warp drive, missing the spectacular explosionthat sundered the ivory clouds of Kreel VI.
Will Riker gripped the arms of the command chairand held on as the Enterprise was jolted by aJem'Hadar torpedo. An ominous rumbling soundsurged along the length of the vessel.
"Shields down to thirty percent!" shouted EnsignCraycroft on tactical.
Riker checked his readouts. "If we can hold on justa little bit longer... Where the devil is the fleet?"
It was a rhetorical question, because he didn'texpect an answer. Apparently, the Dominion hadlaunched a massive offensive all along the Cardassianborder, and the ships chasing the Enterprise were justtwo of many. The fact that there were only two wasalso troubling, because it meant that one of them hadbroken off to pursue either Data or the Orb of Peace.
He couldn't worry about them now. The Enterpriseshuddered again from the impact of another torpedoagainst her weakening shields. Riker glanced at Cray-croft, and the ashen expression on her face told himeverything he needed to know.
"All residual power to shields," ordered Rikerthrough clenched teeth. It was tempting to comeabout and make a stand against the enemy, but Rikerknew it would be the last stand. He wasn't prepared tolose the Enterprise until he could run no farther. Thefleet had to be out there... somewhere.
"Sir!" gasped Ensign Craycroft. "The Carla Rom-ney and the Sharansky have responded to our hails!They'll intercept in two minutes."
Riker allowed himself a grateful sigh. "All right,hail the Jem'Hadar and tell them we want to surren-der. Conn, come out of warp to full impulse.""Verifying that order to surrender," said Craycroft."Yes, because we know they like to take prisoners.Don't lower shields, but ready phasers. Conn, beready to go to warp on a moment's notice." Rikersettled back in his chair and straightened his rumpleduniform. He had lost about ten kilos since the warbegan, and the tunic hung on him. Too bad there wasno time for anyone to appreciate his thinner phy-sique.
Craycroft listened intently to her earpiece, thenreported, "They say to lower shields."
"On screen," ordered Riker, sitting upright in thecommand chair.
When a glowering Jem'Hadar appeared on hisviewscreen, with a stream of white surging into theveins on his neck, Riker gave him his most charmingsmile.
"I am Commander William Riker of the StarshipEnterprise. We are prepared to surrender. However,our shield strength dropped to a point where anemergency backup system took over, and our comput-er currently has command of the ship. We apologize.We hope to rectify this problem in--" He glanced athis panel. "One minute."  "They're arming phasers!" warned Craycroft.  "Fire phasers!" barked Riker. They got off the first salvo, which rocked theJem'Hadar battle cruisers at point-blank range anddelayed their barrage for a few seconds.
"Maximum warp!" shouted Riker, leaping to hisfeet.
The young Bolian on the conn responded instantly,and the Enterprise shot off into space as theJem'Hadar cruisers pounded the region they hadvacated.
Riker had no illusions that he had crippled thebattle cruisers in any way, and he was running for hislife even as the Carla Romney and the Sharanskyzoomed past them on the viewscreen, two blurs oflight in the infinite blackness.
"Reverse course and go to one-third impulse," heordered. "Let's hang back and see what's happening.Ready photon torpedoes."
There came a chorus of "Yes, sir"s as his youngcrew executed his commands. A moment later, thebirdlike form of the Enterprise glided into a gracefulholding pattern, framed by the serene starscape.
On the viewscreen, it was anything but serene, asthe Jem'Hadar cruisers were caught flat-footed by twoAkira-class starships, which unleashed a phaser bar-rage as they swooped past. Space rippled around theJem'Hadar warships as they absorbed a devastatingbombardment of pure directed energy.
"Target four torpedoes on closest foe," orderedRiker. "Targeted," reported Ensign Craycroft. "Fire!"
While her allies came about for another attack, theEnterprise launched a stream of shooting stars at theclosest of the stunned Jem'Hadar ships. The cruiser'ssleek hull glowed with brilliant phosphors as shepowered up to go into warp, but the torpedoesslammed into her before she could get away. Explo-sions rippled along the hull of the battle cruiser as hersister ship successfully escaped into warp.
Riker watched with grim satisfaction as the CarlaRomney and the Sharansky swooped back into view,hurling a dozen more quantum torpedoes at thecrippled ship. The barrage obliterated the cruiser'sshields, then the cruiser itself; it exploded like a sungoing nova, hurling flame and debris into the cosmos.There had been no opportunity to take prisoners, notthat the Jem'Hadar were ever known to surrender.
Without taking time to gloat over their kill, theSharansky and the Carla Romney shot off into spacein pursuit of the second cruiser. Riker sighed andslumped back into this chair. "Any other ships in thearea?"
"No, sir, all clear," answered Craycroft, the tensiondraining from her voice.
The captain rubbed his eyes. "Inform CommanderTroi that she's on bridge duty, and set course forStarbase 209. Before we go back into action, we needto unload those Maquis passengers." "Yes, sir."
Riker rose stiffly from the command chair, feelingas though he had been caught in a barroom brawl. Hewanted to go chasing after Data's shuttlecraft, theBajoran transport, and the escaping Jem'Hadar cruis-er, but there was only so much they could do in a day.Despite all the business left unfinished, it was time torest and lick their wounds. Against the odds, they had survived this day, earn-ing the chance to do it all again tomorrow. He couldonly hope his friends had also survived one more day.
Captain Picard stood on a dusty patch of ground,surveying a speckled field of waist-high, black-tasseled grain. He couldn't believe how odd it felt tobe standing on terra firma, gazing at a leafy horizonand a cloudless blue sky. A warm breeze stroked hisface, bringing greasy smells of Cardassian food bub-bling in communal pits.
It had been a long time since he'd had any liberty--so long he couldn't remember the last time. Althoughthe visitors were surrounded by sullen Cardassians,inspecting their wares, the war seemed far removedfrom this peaceful farming community. What hadbegun as a forced stop to bolster their cover story hadturned into an unexpectedly pleasant respite.
Picard turned to see Ro talking to the leader of thevillage, a gangly Cardassian dressed in simple brownclothes. At first they had appeared standoffish andsuspicious, but now they were relaxed and cordial.These farmers were not typical of the Cardassianswith whom he had dealt. For one thing, they didn'teven possess spacecraft or transporters, which neces-sitated the trip down to the planet. The tetralubisolwas of only minor interest to them, but they wantedto buy the whole load of Bajoran silk. They posturedvery little, as if the typical Cardassian arrogance hadbeen beaten out of them.
Ro was supposed to be haggling over a price for thesilk, although the farmers didn't seem to have muchto offer except for food and hospitality. Picard hadthe feeling that these lonely people welcomed contactwith anyone from outside their limited sphere, evenBajorans, and they were in no hurry to conclude thedeal.
He knew he should be mingling with the customers,but he wanted to look around. They had to find outwhether Ro's story about the artificial wormhole wastrue, and every minute they delayed could be vital.Picard stepped away from the outdoor bazaar, whichconsisted of gray tarpaulins strung between window-less geodesic domes. The domes were an all-purposedesign that would have suited humans as well, exceptfor the lack of modern facilities. It almost seemed as ifthis place were purposely kept primitive.
The captain strolled nonchalantly along a path thatran beside the field of grain. When he was sure he wasout of earshot of the noonday shoppers in the bazaar,he tapped his communicator badge. "Boothby to Orb of Peace," said Picard.
"Bridge here," answered the cheerful voice ofGeordi La Forge. "How goes it down there?"
"Fine. We've moved most of the Bajoran silk, butI'm not sure how much our captain is going to get forit. The crops are very impressive down here."
"If you're inquiring about our friends," said LaForge, "they're still hanging around. It must be a slowday for them."
Picard tried to hide his disappointment. It washard to imagine that a Galor-class warship and aJem'Hadar battle cruiser had nothing better to dothan observe one tiny merchant ship, but that seemedto be the case. "Keep me posted if the situationchanges. Out."
He turned away from his self-absorbed conversa-tion and bumped into a Cardassian woman who wasstrolling down the path. She sprang back, cradling herbasket of fruit to her chest, and stared at him as if hewere a bandit.
"Pardon me," said Picard with concern. "I'm sosorry. Did I injure you?"
He instantly regretted his feeble words, because thiswas a fit woman in excellent health who was muchmore offended than injured. He couldn't be toocertain of her age, because their leathery skin didn'tshow much wear, but she was a handsome Cardas-sian. "Who are you?" she asked accusingly.
 He pointed lamely to the sky. "We're merchantsinwe came to trade. Our ship is in orbit."  "Bajorans?" she asked doubtfully.
"Yes," answered Picard. "Have you met our peoplebefore?"
"Yes, in prison." The woman scowled, as if she hadsaid too much. She brushed past him and hurrieddown the path.
But Picard now was intrigued, and he charged afterthe woman. "Madam, can I give you something foryour inconvenience?"
"Give me something?" the woman asked, peeringstrangely at him as if she had never gotten a break inher life. Just as well, Picard thought sadly. Therewasn't enough latinum in the Alpha quadrant tocompensate this woman for the unhappiness evidentin her vivid green eyes. "Have they sent you?" "Who?"
"Don't be coy. Are you telling me that you don'tknow what this place is?" "I don't know much about this place," admittedPicard. "It was just a name on a chart to us until awhile ago."
She snorted a laugh. "Well, somebody in your partymust have a sense of humor. This colony, this com-munal farm, is an indoctrination center. Despitethe lack of guards and fences, it's a glorified workcamp."
Picard nodded gravely, thinking that explained theabsence of off-world transportation and modem tech-nology. "What crimes have you committed."
"Things like this," answered the woman snidely."Talking to the wrong people, saying the wrongthings. I can't help myself."
"You're dissidents," said Picard, realizing that theyhad indeed picked the wrong colony to call upon.Instead of throwing off suspicions, coming here mighthave aroused them more.
"Ah, but we're toothless, powerless dissidents,"whispered the woman. "We've been spared, but wecan't leave here. We've been genetically altered--ifwe try to eat anything but the food we grow on thisplanet, we'll die."She offered him a shiny yellow fruit. "Want some?"Picard shook his head, feeling terribly sorry for thewoman and her fellow political prisoners. He wantedto tell her that Dr. Crusher could reverse the geneticengineering, but Beverly wasn't with him. He re-minded himself of his conversation with Ro; theycouldn't save the prisoners, only the Federation, ifthey were lucky. No doubt this was one of the coloniesthat the Cardassians had insisted they had the right tobuild in the Demilitarized Zone, and the Federationhad let them. What appeared to be idyllic farmlandwas just another prison camp for the most forgottenof Cardassia's victims, her own people. "How long have you been here?" he asked.
She gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you sureyou're not a spy?"
"No," lied Picard, wondering which side shethought he was on. "How do I know you're not aspy?"
"You don't. However, it was you who ran into me,and you are the stranger here. Plus, you are the onlyone of us who is allowed to leave."
"I wish that were so," muttered Picard, "but we'reunder observation by two warships."
The woman smiled. "We are always under observa-tion. As they tell us when we complain, if you'reinnocent, why should it matter that we're watchingyou?"
"I'm called Boothby," said Picard, appreciating hersarcastic wit. Her eyes narrowed, perhaps in responseto the odd nickname, Picard thought.
"Lethama," she said, apparently deciding not tocomment as she sauntered down the path in thedirection of the bazaar. "If you were to get away fromthese warships, where would you go?"
The captain knew he should be careful. But this wasa fact-finding mission, and he couldn't overlook anypossible source of information, especially a dissidentCardassian. Still, Picard had made a career of judgingcharacter, and he decided that Lethama was on hisside.
But he was guarded as he replied, "We may never bein Cardassian space again, so we would want to seethe biggest, most important sight there is.""Hmmm. There is a dust cloud called the Badlandswhich is very unusual."
"Yes, we need to go there." Picard gazed at her,hoping that his trust wasn't misplaced.
"But those ships won't let you go there. That is,unless they were called away to other duty."
"Yes," said Picard, gazing benignly at the fields."That would be ideal, if they were called away."
As some of her neighbors strolled past, Letharnaheld out a plump piece of fruit to Picard, and thistime he took it. "This planet doesn't have justfarms," she whispered. "There is also a subspacerelay station on the southern continent. From there,it might be possible to fake a general alert that wouldbring them back to their base. It might only distractthem for a short time, but that could be enough to geta jump."
Deep in thought, Picard stared at the fruit in hishand, and she finally smiled at him. "You can eat it.It's safe."
He nodded, thinking that he had already decided totrust Letharna. With a grateful smile, he bit into thefruit. "Are you sure you can't leave here?"
"Yes. We lack the enzymes required to digest foodgrown anywhere but the soil of this planet. It's arather ingenious punishment, isn't it? We requirelittle security, and we're tucked safely out of the way.Yet we're available to be displayed when visitors wantto see a nonmilitary colony. And if we don't workhard, we starve."
Picard wanted to say that Cardassians were mastersof torture and imprisonment, in all their myriadforms, but his hostess already knew that."Your help will not be forgotten," he assured her."I have only begun to help you," said Letharna.
Ro Laren stared at him, aghast. "You want to takeone of these people aboard our ship, show them whatwe're doing, and use them to take out a subspace relaystation?"
"Not take it out," said Picard. "We just want tosend a fake message, a general alert. Those ships areclose enough to get their relays from this station, andit might throw them off long enough for us to getaway."
Ro shook her head vigorously but kept her voice low."I believe youmthat these people could be dissi-dents-but that doesn't mean we can trust them. Someof these farmers are sure to be government plants, andthe others could be crazy. What if she's just looking fora way to escape, or to hijack our vessel?"
"She can't leave the planet," said Picard. "Thosetwo warships are sitting at the edge of the solarsystem, watching us. If you know a better way to getrid of them, I'm listening."
Ro scowled, and he knew that she didn't have abetter solution. Picard pressed his point: "In threedays, we're expected to go to Cardassia Prime, a tripwhich could land us in a Cardassian prison. Maybethey're hoping we'll just head back to Bajor, and thatwill be the end of it. But we can't do that. We can'tshoot our way out, and we can't talk our way out. Asyou say--we need to use stealth and guile."
Ro nodded politely to a clutch of Cardassians asthey walked by; then she strolled farther away fromthe bazaar. "What kind of garrison are we lookingat?" she asked."According to Letharna, maybe ten. I believe she'sthought this out fairly well."
"I wish we had a backup plan," muttered Ro."When do we go?"
"To allay suspicion, I would like to leave you andthe others here. You seem to have quite a few crates ofvegetables to inventory, and Letharna thinks thatwith our transporters, we can be there and back in lessthan an hour. We won't even have to change ourorbit."
Picard motioned toward the sky, which was turninga salmon color with traces of vibrant orange. "It'salready dark on the southern continent."
Before Ro could reply, the head man of the villagestrode up to them, a concerned look on his face. "Youlook unhappy. Is everything all right?" asked thegangly Cardassian.
"Yes," answered Ro, mustering a smile. "My ship-mate here doesn't like the price we got for the silk, butI overruled him."
"It's simply vegetables I don't like," said Picardwith a friendly smile. "I'll return to the ship and makeroom for them in the hold."
"A gift for you then," said the Cardassian, "foraccepting an uneven trade."
He handed Picard a small scroll, which the captainpolitely took. It wasn't until his hand closed aroundthe object that Picard realized it was solid, notpaper--the scroll was wrapped around another cylin-drical object. The intense look on the Cardassian'sface told Picard that he had better accept the gift withno questions asked, and no examination until later.
"Thank you," said the captain solemnly. He tappedhis comm badge. "One to beam up."
A few moments later, Picard materialized in thestylish but small transporter room of the Orb of Peace.La Forge was at the controls, looking quite dashingwith his dangling earring, nose ridges, and pilot'sgoggles, which hid his ocular implants. "Captain," said Geordi. "Anyone else?"
"One more person," said Picard, jumping off thetransporter platform. "But first, help me unwrap thisgift."
He carefully removed the scroll to find a copper-colored cylinder with magentic strips along its lengthand a blue label at the top.
"Hmm," said the engineer with appreciation, "anisolinear rod, Cardassian design. What does it con-trol?"
"I think we'll find out soon." Picard leaned over thetransporter console and entered prearranged coordi-nates into the computer. "Beam up one, from thatlocation."
"Yes, sir." La Forge completed the procedure, andanother figure began to materialize in a column ofsparkling light. Even wearing goggles, it was evidentthat the engineer's eyes widened considerably whenhe got a good look at the newest arrival.
Letharna stepped down from the transporter plat-form and glanced around at her ornate surroundings."I can't believe I'm in space again... on a Bajoranvessel."
"Unfortunately, there's no time to show youaround," said Picard. "Are you ready?"
She pointed to the object in his hand. "Good, youhave the isolinear rod. That will help."
Picard was having second thoughts, realizing thathe had jeopardized their entire mission on a hunch. Ifhe was wrong about Letharna--if she was well mean-ing but unstable--they could very well doom them-selves to capture and torture. For his own satisfaction,he had to ask, "Why are you doing this?"
Letharna glared at him. "I'm no traitor if that'swhat you're getting at. The Dominion is exactly whatwe have always feared. While our military leadersstrut and preen, they let an outside force take over ourcivilization. Wasn't it a terran who said, 'Absolutepower corrupts absolutely'? The absolute power of themilitary made us weak and corrupt, unable to resistthe lure of the Dominion. This is why I help you,whoever you are."
Picard glanced at La Forge, and the two old com-rades exchanged a shrug. It wasn't the first time theyhad gambled.
"Stay here, Geordi," said the captain. "We're goingto need an experienced hand on the transporter."

Chapter Seven

ON BOARD THE TAG GARWAL, Sam Lavelie took person-al control of the conn, deciding to pilot the antimattertanker himself on their first test flight. Taurik satnearby on ops, monitoring ship's systems. The tower-ing Deltan, Tamla Horik, was on tactical, manningthe tractor beam in lieu of weapons. Grof, the twomaterial handlers, and the transporter chief were alsoavailable, but Sam knew that he and Taurik werebasically the bridge crew. In fact, the others weren'teven on the bridge but below, fussing over the trans-porter, mining probe, and recombination storagechamber.
He was glad this wasn't a Jem'Hadar ship, becausehe didn't think he'd have time to get used to aneyepiece for visual input instead of the more tradi-tional viewscreen. Cardassian technology was roughlyequivalent to Federation technology, and they had allstudied Miles O'Brien's compendium of Cardassiantechnology.
It helped that today's mission wasn't very difficult.They were to disengage from the docking sphere andtake a short spin five thousand kilometers into space,where they would grab a dummy cargo bin with thetractor beam and bring it back. Sam presumed all ofthis would take place under the watchful eye of themilitary vessels docked around them.
He tapped the comm panel on the arm of his chair."Lavelie to crew. We've run through our checklist,and the bridge systems are ready for launch. Doesanyone need a delay?"
"No, get moving," grumbled the voice of EnrakGrof. "We're ready."
"Affirmative," said Sam, pressing another button."This is tanker Tag Garwal to station control, seekingpermission to launch on test flight zero-zero-one."
On his screen came the familiar face of Joulesh, theVorta, looking delighted with his charges. "Tag Gar-wal, you are clear to launch. We've rerouted incomingtraffic for you. Good luck."
Sam didn't know whether to thank Joulesh for hisprecautions or not. All of them had flown moredifficult flights than this as second-year cadets, and heanticipated no problems. He supposed that Grof wasright about one thing: they were constantly forced toprove themselves to their captors.
"Retracting airlock and disengaging," said Sam. Hewiped Joulesh's grinning face off the viewscreen andput up the view from the nose of the tanker. Sam feltas if he should be nervous, but it was such a relief tobe back at the conn of a ship, doing what he had beentrained to do. Without hesitation, he fired thrustersand slowly piloted the bulky tanker away from thespacedock.
Once they were cruising at full impulse powerthrough space, Sam couldn't help but to look atTaurik and smile. The Vulcan, of course, gave himonly a blank stare, and he was forced to look at theDeltan to convey his pleasure. The bald femalebeamed back at him, sharing his joy at this momen-tary taste of freedom.
Sam set his course and put the ship on automaticpilot to insure it was working properly. Once they gotto the black hole, they would be depending a greatdeal on the automatic settings, and there would be noroom for error, human or machine. He carefullymonitored their progress, and they covered the fivethousand kilometers in what seemed like seconds.
Looking like a trash bin floating in space, a largerectangular object loomed ahead of them, and Samslowed to one-third impulse. "Ready tractor beam," he ordered.
"This is too easy," grumbled the Deltan. "Gravitonlevels steady, tractor beam ready."
Sam brought the ship to a full stop and used histhrusters to reverse her heading. "All right, latch on."
The Deltan plied her controls as Sam watched theinvisible bonds twist their cargo around and draw itcloser to the tail of their ship. "Tractor beam hold-ing," reported the Deltan. "Levels steady."
"I would love to take it to warp," said Sam, "but Ithink that would surprise our trainers too much. I'msetting course back to the dock."
Reluctantly, Sam piloted the craft and its dummycargo back to the sphere they had left about tenminutes earlier. The successful but rapid conclusionof their test flight left him feeling oddly disappointed,and he didn't want the mission to end.
In some respects, this was the cruelest punishmentof all, he decided, waving a tantalizing glimpse offreedom and normality under their noses before forc-ing them back into their cage. He began to understandhow Enrak Grof had evolved into a collaborator. Itwould be hard to give up feeling useful and respon-sible-to go back to being a prisoner awaiting death.
"We're docked," he announced to no one in partic-ular. "Mission complete."
He heard footsteps clomping up the ladder, and heturned to see the rotund, beaming face of Enrak Grof."Excellent!" bellowed the Trill. "Very efficient pilot-ing, Lieutenant, and excellent work with the tractorbeam, Commander."
The Deltan scowled. "My baby sister could haveretrieved that cargo bin."
"Baby steps are what we must take," said Grof,"until we are allowed to take the big step."
The Trill flashed Sam a look, and then he climbedback down the ladder. There was something in hischoice of words and his expression which made Samwonder how hard he would resist an escape attempt.When the moment came, it would be hard to predicthow any of them would react. It would either beescape or death, so they would have to choose themoment carefully. If Grof resisted, they would beforced to deal with him themselves.
There were more footsteps, and Joulesh poked hisweb-eared head over the top of the hatch. "I wish toconvey the Founder's extreme pleasure with yourprogress," said the Vorta. "Two more test flights, andwe believe you will be free to make history."
Whose history? wondered Sam. Who will end upwriting it?
Jean-Luc Picard materialized inside a narrow, low-ceilinged tunnel that linked the subspace relay stationto the barracks of the permanent garrison. He wasglad that Letharna had warned him to duck, or hishead would have materialized inside a concrete ceil-ing. More black-garbed guerrilla fighters were stand-ing by in the transporter room of the Orb of Peace, incase they were needed, but the initial assault teamconsisted of himself, Letharna, and two young hu-mans who looked Bajoran.
He and his crew members were armed with phasersset to heavy stun, although they hoped to slip in,broadcast the alert, and escape without being de-tected. Letharna was armed only with the isolinearrod. In a crouch, she motioned them to follow her asshe scuttled down the dank tunnel toward a shadowydoorway.
Feeling unexpectedly nervous, Picard nodded to hissubordinates to follow her, while he brought up therear. The tunnel was intended for use during badweather, to move from one building to another, but ithad apparently fallen into disuse. According to Let-harna, it wouldn't have sensors capable of detecting asmall force beaming down, but the tunnel was givingPicard an uncomfortable feeling of claustrophobia.He didn't have enough knowledge of the station totake over the point from Letharna, so he had to trusther. Trusting Cardassians, even dissidents, did notcome easily.
He thought of another Cardassian he had trusted,Joret Dal, a Federation operative who had infiltratedthe Cardassian military. Dal disappeared in a shuttle-craft with Ensign Sito Jaxa, attempting the same thinghis team was trying to do--sneak into Cardassianspace. Was Dal found out, or was he a double agent?They would never know. What a tragedy it had beento lose Ensign Sito, recalled Picard. Putting people indanger was his least favorite aspect of command,especially when he lost the gamble, as he had withSito Jaxa.
A moment later, the captain arrived at the solidmetal door where Letharna and his two officers weregathered. Confronted by a card entry system, Lethar-na drew a handful of Cardassian security cards fromher belt, and she intently fed them into the slot,looking for one that would work.
"They don't change the codes that often," shewhispered. "After all, their nearest neighbors are onanother continent, with no way to get here."
While she worked on the door, Picard checked hischronometer. He was worried that if the operationtook too long, their ship would move so far in its orbitthat it would be out of transporter range. Then theship would have to backtrack, possibly raising suspi-cions.
He was about to tell Letharna to hurry up, when thelights on the door turned white and the lock clicked.Letharna pushed the door open, and it squeaked onrusty hinges. Stealthily they climbed a flight of metalstairs.
On the move again, Picard felt more confident.When they got to the open door at the top of thestairs, Letharna dropped into a crouch, and Picardmoved into position behind her, his Bajoran handphaser leveled for action. They crept into a largebunker filled with electronic equipment, computerstations, and the chirping sounds of a constant streamof subspace radio traffic. The only window was anarrow slit in the wall which afforded a partial view ofa giant parabolic antenna on the outer grounds.Although it was night, the floodlights outside were asbright as day.
No one seemed to be present in the bunker, andPicard felt a mixture of relief and dread. Just asbefore, it was going too smoothly. He motioned toone of his officers to remain by the door, and she didso, crouching down on the upper landing. The otherofficer followed Picard and Letharna as they creptthrough rows of shelves, boxes, and electronic equip-ment.
Suddenly they heard voices mixed in with thesubspace chatter, and all three of them dropped totheir bellies and remained prone as two Cardassianguards entered from an outside door. Laughing, theguards seemed to share a joke as they checked thereadouts on a console by the door.
Picard saw Letharna draw a long, curved knife fromher bosom and clutch it in a trembling hand. Hequickly tapped her leg. After getting her attention, heshook his head vigorously, then he held up his phaser,hoping she would get the idea. Letharna had a look ofbloodlust in her dark eyes which he had seen before inCardassians. Looking somewhat disappointed, shenodded at him.
A moment later, Picard felt a tap on his leg, and helooked back at his young officer to see him urgentlypointing. The captain turned to see one of the Cardas-sians strolling nonchalantly across the room, checkingvarious readouts as he went. He was coming closer.
For the moment, they were hidden by stacks ofequipment, but there was no way of telling when theCardassian would walk down their aisle. There wasalso no way of knowing how long these workers wouldremain on duty in this bunker, and time was runningout.
With both of his comrades staring at him, awaitinga decision, Picard made one. He held up his phaser,motioned to his officer, and pointed to the guardmaking the rounds. Then he pointed to himself andmotioned to the guard farther away on the mainconsole. A sense of urgency gripped the captain whenhe saw his target insert an isolinear rod into thereceptacle on the instrument panel.
He jumped to his feet, seeing his comrades do thesame. Picard took quick but sure aim and unleashed ared beam, which streaked across the room and struckhis target in the back. The Cardassian gasped andslumped over his console, unconscious.
Picard heard shuffling and crashing sounds, and heturned to see that his officer had missed his target.The second Cardassian scrambled down the aisle,making a dash for the exit, and there was anotherflash of movement to Picard's right.
With a total disregard for her safety, Letharnaleaped over a computer console and pounced uponthe escaping guard. Picard watched in horror as sheneatly slit his throat with her curved blade. His bodyslumped uselessly onto the floor, yet she continued toshake him, looking annoyed that the life had soquickly seeped out of him.  "That's enough!" hissed Picard, grabbing her arm.  "He was going for the alarm," she said defensively.  "That could be," muttered Picard. As disappointedas he was in her rash actions, he still needed Letharna,so he swallowed the rest of his words.
"I'm sorry, sir," said the officer who had missed histarget. The young man looked quite mortified.
"Dispose of his body," said Picard. He took theyoung man's phaser and set it to vaporize. The officernodded and went about his grim task.
Letharna was already at the main console. Shegrabbed the unconsious guard and tossed his body tothe floor; then she sat down at his place. Picard lookednervously over her shoulder and studied the unfamil-iar readouts. "Can you do it?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, that was never in doubt." Letharna gavehim a sardonic grin, and for the first time Picard saw alook of madness in her sunken eyes.
"I have control of the whole station from here, thewhole security grid--the whole planet!" With confi-dent fingers, Letharna worked the instruments. "Doyou know how long we've waited to get in here?"
Picard tried to curb his anger and impatience. "Themessage to the warships," he reminded her.
She removed the rod from the console and replacedit with the one given to them by the village leader."This should give us access to the interrupt codes.Yes, there it is. You want them to receive a generalalert that will cause them to return to base?"
"Yes," breathed Picard, worried that Letharna wasbeginning to look upon this as an opportunity to rightas many wrongs as possible.
As she entered commands, an urgent beepingcaused all of them to jump, and Picard looked accus-ingly at the blinking communications panel. Letharnakept working, a delighted grin on her face, and Picardfinally slapped the panel to silence it. A moment later,a stream of spoken Cardassian erupted from thepanel, and he tapped it again to squelch that.  "Hurry," he breathed.
"Your part is done," she said. "Now I have tocollect as many new codes as I can, while we have thischance. I'm going to fill up this rod."
The man on the floor groaned, and Picard adjustedhis phaser to a heavier stun and drilled him at point-blank range. A second later, they heard footstepsrunning outside the bunker, and Picard knew it wastime to go.
He looked around, took stock of the situation, andtapped his comm badge. "Orb of Peace--five seconddelay, then six to beam up." "Yes, sir,"
Picard motioned to his officer stationed by thetunnel, and she hustled over. He heard more footstepsand voices outside, plus the comm panel began tobeep again. "It's time to go," he told Letharna.
"One more minute," she growled, her fingers work-ing furiously.
Picard grabbed her precious isolinear rod andyanked it from its slot. The screen went blank. En-raged, Letharna screamed and jumped up with herknife over her head, but Picard shot her in thestomach. Stunned, she slumped to the floor, andPicard caught her falling body just as their moleculesturned into a swarm of swirling fireflies. When theCardassians burst in a moment later, they found noone.
Captain Picard, two humans disguised as Bajorans,and two unconsious Cardassians materialized in aheap on the transporter pad of the Orb of Peace.Picard staggered off, setting Letharna gently on thefloor and tucking her knife and her isolinear rod intoher belt. The blacked-garbed officers quickly sur-rounded the fallen Cardassians. The wounded oneappeared to be dead.
"Mr. La Forge," said Picard urgently, "what aboutthe warships?"
The engineer grinned. "They lit out right on cue,twenty seconds ago."
"Accelerated orbit," ordered Picard. "I want Roand the rest of the team back here as soon as pos-sible."
La Forge carried out the command on his trans-porter console, while the captain gazed down atLetharna. "A remarkable woman--I wish I had timeto thank her properly. I'm glad she was willing to helpus. Beam her back down to the planet." "Like that, unconscious?"
"Yes, we don't have time for good-byes." He lookedwith distaste at the living Cardassian. "I hadn't in-tended to take a prisoner, but now we have one.Starfleet may want to interrogate him."
"But, Captain," said La Forge, "we don't have abrig. And no internal forcefields either."
Picard turned to the security detail. "Put the pris-oner in the captain's quarters. We haven't been usingit. Strip the furnishings, except for a mattress, and putrestraints on his legs. I want him to feel as if he's beingwell treatedrebut watch him closely." "Yes, sir," they replied in unison.
"Captain," said Geordi, "we're coming up ontransporter range." "Notify the away team and tell them to keep theirgood-byes short," ordered Picard, striding toward thedoor. "We're getting out of here."
It was a peaceful evening aboard the Tag Garwal. Atleast, it felt like evening, with both their test flightsover and almost everyone asleep. The bridge wasquiet, with only Sam Lavelie on duty. There was noparticlar reason why he had to be on duty, becausethey were docked and safely cocooned within themight of the Dominion. Their comrades were suffer-ing only a short distance away, but no harm couldbefall the chosen ones.
That is, no harm could befall them until tomorrow,when they set off on their mission. Perhaps that waswhy Sam couldn't sleep, why he had to haunt thebridge long after his shift was over. He wasn't worriedabout their official mission, only the unofficial one.He had promised his crew that they would try toescape; it was their duty as prisoners of war. But howcould he pull it off?. Did he have the right to jeopar-dize all their lives in what could well be a futilegesture? Especially when they had a chance to survivethis hell.Survival versus honor--it was a tough choice.Sam was startled by heavy footsteps on the ladder,and he knew before he turned around that it wasGrof. The big Trill lumbered up the steps, veeredtoward him, and slumped into the tactical station.  "Can't sleep?" asked Sam.
Grof scowled. "No, of course I can't sleep with thevoices coming from the quarters next door. ThatDeltan is up all night, entertaining her friend, En-rique."  "Oh, let them be," replied Sam, putting his handsbehind his back. "Sex is a kind of religious experienceto Deltans. Besides, weren't you ever young... andabout to die?"
"We aren't going to die," muttered Grof throughclenched teeth. "The Dominion should have contin-ued to keep us segregated by sex even here."
"I guess they don't think of everything," said Samwith a sly smile. "And if we manage to live throughthis, it will be a miracle."
"I wish you would stop saying that. Although it'sdangerous, there's no reason why we can't success-fully complete this mission."
Yes, there is, thought Sam, but he wasn't going totell Grof why. Besides, it was time to change thesubject. "Tell me about our destination, the Eye ofTalek."
 Grof shrugged. "It's the smallest black hole inCardassian space. Probably the oldest, too." "It's not an imploded star?"
"No," answered Grof, "the Eye of Talek dates fromthe formation of the universe. At least that's thelegend according to the Cardassians, and the cosmol-ogy tends to bear it out. Had we tried to go with animploded star, the gravity would have been too greatfor our operation. You know, a typical black holekeeps the same mass it had when it was a star. As forthe small ones, like the Eye of Talek, and the hugeones, like that monster at the center of our galaxywwe can only guess where they came from."
"Some people think it was a supreme being whocreated the universe," said Sam. "What we call God.Some people wouldn't like the idea of you creating anartificial wormhole either. Don't you sometimes feellike you're playing God?"
"Yes," answered Grof proudly, "but it's necessaryto play God. Once we discovered that space and timewere curved, it was essential that we try to exploit theintersections where they curve back upon themselves.Where God failed was that he made wormholesunstable. The Bajorans consider the Prophets to begods, simply because they stabilized a wormhole.Imagine what kind of god I'll be after I stabilizehundreds of wormholes, connecting every corner ofthe galaxy?"
Sam shook his head in amazement. "You have a bigenough ego for the job."'TI1 take that as a compliment," said Grof smugly.The lieutenant yawned and pointed to the sleepingalcove off the rear of the bridge. "You're welcome tobunk back there if you don't want to go below."
Grof glowered at the injustice of it all, but he finallyacceded. "Thank you."
The bear of a Trill rose to his feet and shuffled off;then he looked back. "You know, Lavelie, this missiondepends entirely upon you. You're our leader. If youcrack--or you pull something stupid--we'll all godown with you."
"Not that you would put any pressure on me,"muttered Sam.
"I just want you to know how much is riding onthis. Our equalityre"
"Equality?" Sam burst out laughing. "We're slaves,Grofi Maybe someday a few of us could aspire toattain the status of a Jem'Hadar or a Vorta. Well,thanks but no thanks. There's only one race whomatters--the Founders. The rest of us are just thehelp. If you try to be a god, they'll squash you like abug. The Founders are the gods around here."
Grof opened his mouth and started to respond, butSam let him off the hook by jumping up and brushingpast him. Stomping as loudly as the burly Trill, heheaded down the ladder.
In the corridor outside the captain's quarters, RoLaren compressed her lips in annoyance as she lis-tened to the sounds of their prisoner kicking thebulkhead. Even though he had restraints on his armsand legs, he was still thrashing around like a fish in thebottom of a boat. She couldn't understand why Cap-tain Picard had put the Cardassian in their best cabin;whatever impression he wished to make, it was obvi-ously lost on the brute.
The captain stood beside her, his jaw clenched. Hemotioned to four armed officers behind him and said,"Phasers set to heavy stun." "We can't keep him stunned all the time," said Ro. "I know. And I am open to other suggestions." "We could throw him out an airlock."
The captain scowled. "That's not an option. If wecould only interrogate him, he might be useful."
"Chances are good he doesn't know anything aboutthe artificial wormhole," said Ro, "stationed in themiddle of nowhere like he was. The Cardassians aregood at keeping secrets, even from each other. Wecould jeopardize the mission if we take him with usinto the Badlands, and we'll be there soon."
"Nonetheless, Captain," said Picard with determi-nation. "It is always worthwhile to try talking." Hetapped his comm badge. "This is Boothby to thecaptain's quarters. Please quiet down and listen tome. You are our guest, and we would like to send youhome."
But the ferocious thrashing went on, and it was nowcentered on the door itself. He could wreak someserious damage if left alone like this, thought Ro.
Picard glanced at the crew assembled to help them,and he picked the two stoutest officers. "You two,hand your weapons to the others, and let's subduehim by hand. Stand on either side of me. The rest ofyou, be prepared to use your phasers."
Ro hefted her Bajoran phaser rifle as Picard step-ped closer to the door. After the two unarmed officerstook up their places on either side of him, the captainreached a long arm across the bulkhead to touch thewall panel and open the cabin door.
As soon as the door slid open, the Cardassian head-butted Picard sending him reeling into the bulkhead.Then came a howl of indignation as the Cardassianhopped out, his legs bound together and his handstied behind him. Lowering his shoulders, he bulledinto the two unarmed guards and knocked them backon their heels. He hadn't looked so big lying on thedeck, but now he looked huge, with his thick neckmuscles bulging like the hood of a cobra."Surrender!" ordered Picard staggering to his feet."Die!" shrieked the Cardassian. He lowered hishead and charged toward the captain.
Ro lifted her rifle, ready to protect the captain, buthe stepped gracefully away from the charge as hebrought his knee upward in a swift kick. He caughtthe Cardassian in the nose, and he howled as his headbounced. Then Picard grabbed him by the seat of hispants and tossed him headfirst to the deck. Thatshould have subdued him, but the bloodied Cardas-sian rolled onto his knees and tried to stand oncemore. "Cease resistance!" warned Picard.
"No!" Eyes bulging from their bony sockets, theCardassian flopped onto his back and tried to kickPicard. Amidst his enraged grunts and groans, thecaptain's comm badge sounded. "That's enough," he told Ro. "Stun him."
She shot her weapon, and the red beam finally putthe wild prisoner back into blessed unconsciousness.Only then did Picard answer his comm badge."Boothby here."
"Sir, you'd better get to the bridge," said a nervousvoice. "We've picked up enemy ships on our tail,closing fast!"

Chapter Eight

Ro FOLLOWED CAPTAIN PICARD onto the bridge of theOrb of Peace. The relief personnel had an edgy lookabout their eyes, and they didn't seem Bajoran any-more, despite the nose ridges and earrings. Maybe itwas the human scent of their sweat.
The man on the conn jumped to his feet when hesaw Picard.
"Status?" barked Picard as Ro headed toward theconn.
"Three Jem'Hadar attack ships are on an interceptcourse with us," reported the officer, stepping aside tolet the Bajoran take his seat. "They're going twice ourspeed, and they'll be in weapons range in approxi-mately thirty-six minutes." "And how much time to the Badlands?" "Approximately forty minutes," answered Ro. Picard scowled, and she could feel his frustration.They were so close to reaching a hiding place, onlyminutes away, but the hounds were running themaground. Ro knew this feeling of dread--to run forher life with time counting against her. "Evasive maneuvers?" she asked.
"Not yet," replied the captain, tapping his finger tohis chin. "Steady as she goes."
Ro knew that Picard was reviewing his options, butthey weren't many. They were no match for oneJem'Hadar ship, let alone three, and they couldn'texplain making a mad dash to the Badlands. Thistime, they probably wouldn't even get a chance to talkto the enemy before the attack began.
"They must have us on scanners," said Ro. "I'msure they're watching every move we make. Evasivemaneuvers might work against bigger ships, but notagainst these. The Jem'Hadar attack ships are themost maneuverable vessels we've ever seen."
"The Orb of Peace has two operational escape pods.Let's put our Cardassian friend into one of those podsand launch him toward a planet. If they're watchingus, they'll have to stop to investigate, especially afterthey scan and find a Cardassian on board," saidPicard.
Ro tugged thoughtfully on her earring. "We'll haveto come out of warp, which will cost us some time,but it will be worth it."
"Captain," said the officer on ops, "may I remindyou that we need both of those escape pods toevacuate the ship's crew. If we're missing one, eightcrew members cannot evacuate."
The captain gazed at Ro, and the Bajoran knewfrom his determined expression that they were still onthe same frequency. This mission would either resultin success or death, perhaps both, so there was nopoint in planning for survival in Cardassian space.When Picard armed the self-destruct sequence, theyhad both known it would be all or nothing. -
Will Riker had been right--this was a suicidemission.
Picard leaned over her. "Attend to it, Ro. Readyescape pod one, and put the prisoner into it. Tie himdown securely." "Don't worry about that," she assured the captain.
A short while later, a snarling Cardassian strappedto a vertical seat tried to spit in Ro's face, but shejerked away just in time. He ended up drooling on hisangular chin and staring hatefully at her. She didn'twant to sink to his level, but she lifted a spool ofmetal-coated tape and waved it in his face. "I couldshut you up."
"You... you are cowards!" sputtered the prisoner."Terrorists!" He gasped when a muscular officer tug-ged sharply on the belt stretching across his chest.
Because the cramped sphere was designed to flyautomatically toward an inhabited planet and makean atmospheric reentry, anyone aboard would have tobe strapped in his seat. The Cardassian was simplystrapped in more securely than usual, with his handsand legs bound together with metal tape and strips.
"We're letting you go," said Ro, "so I don't knowwhy you're so angry with us."
"Bajorans!" he hissed. "We should have killed youall!"
"You tried," said Ro evenly. "In fact, if our roleswere reversed, I'm sure you would just toss my bodyout an airlock. But we've treated you like a gul. Weput you up in the captain's quarters, and now we'resacrificing this whole escape pod just to let you gofree. You ought to be grateful."
The Cardassian growled and tried to twist out of hisbonds, but they held tightly. Ro had made sure to getthe same two officers who had tried to subdue himearlier; they had scores of their own to settle. Shewanted to ask him about the artificial wormhole, andshe would have, if they were going to slit his throatinstead of let him go. But asking him about thewormhole would reveal their mission, and it probablywouldn't gamer them any information.
In fact, maybe this was a good time to impart somefalse intelligence. "We're neutral, you know," ex-plained Ro. "We're not interested in your stupid warwith the Federation. We have some terrorists stillhiding out in the Badlands, and we're only trying torescue them. So if you leave us alone, we'll finish ourmission and go home. You'll never know we werehere."
'Tll know, because you've ruined my career!"wailed the Cardassian. "Why don't you just kill me?After failing to protect the station and being kid-napped, I'll be lucky not to be sent to a work camp!"
"These are dangerous times," replied Ro. Shelooked at her comrades, and they nodded, signalingthey were through. "Sorry for the inconvenience.Have a nice flight."
Ro and the two officers ducked through the hatch,which she secured herself. Then she cleared the air-lock and listened to the air escape with a hiss. Likemost escape pods, this one was jettisoned into spaceby an array of tiny thrusters, and its flight was totallyautomated. All that was needed was to enter the coordinates of the destination planet, hit the launch button, and hope for the best.
 She tapped her comm badge. "Ro to bridge. Our passenger is secure in escape pod one."
 "Good," answered Picard crisply. "We're working on his itinerary. We've got several possibilities, but we need to find a planet which will allow us to jump out of warp and back quickly. We can enter the coordi- nates from here, so you can return to the bridge."   "Yes, sir."
A minute later, Ro stood on the bridge, explainingto the captain how she had told the prisoner they wereon a simple rescue mission to the Badlands.  "Do you think he believed it?" asked Picard.
"That's hard to say," answered Ro. "He was mostlyupset that we wrecked his career."
"Coming within range of H-574," announced theconn. "Optimal launch window in forty seconds."
Picard turned to tactical and asked, "How far arewe from our pursuers?"
"At present speed and course, we will make contactin approximately twenty minutes."
"Come out of warp, half-impulse," ordered Picard,"and prepare to launch escape pod one.""Yes, sir," answered three voices at once.Stepping out of the way, Ro watched the viewscreenas the Orb of Peace slowed down just long enough tojetrison the escape pod. The tiny sphere shot intospace like an ancient musket ball and swerved towarda nearby planet covered with shimmering blue waterand emerald islands, sparkling in the sun. The Car-dassians had all these beautiful planets, thought Ro,and they begrudged the Maquis even one little rock."Escape pod on course," reported the officer onops.
"Set course for the Badlands, maximum warp,"ordered Picard. "Engage."
Once again, they were streaking through space at anincredible speed that was faster than light but wasn'tfaster than the three Jem'Hadar attack craft. Therewas silence on the bridge and little to discuss untilthey saw how their pursuers responded to the escapepod. Ro wondered whether they would take the bait,and if so, how many of them would be delayed.
When the tactical officer spoke, her voice betrayedthe uncertain nature of the news: "Captain, one of theJem'Hadar ships has broken off in pursuit of theescape pod. The other two remain on an interceptcourse with us. Contact in approximately twelveminutes."
Picard glanced at Ro. "That's about the best wecould expect. Any more ideas on how to even theodds?"
"Well," answered the Bajoran, "there's an old trickwe used to use on Starfleet. When you have a smallcraft traveling at warp speed, it's almost impossible todistinguish it on long-range scans from a photontorpedo at warp speed, especially if you set it forindefinite distance and no detonation."
Picard scratched his chin, and a smile of apprecia-tion crept across his face. "You mean, use torpedoesas decoys?"
"Yes. We could launch two torpedoes, one of themon the course we're traveling now, and the second oneon another likely course to the Badlands. We'll pick athird course and hope they go after the two decoys."
"We'll have to match speed exactly," said Picard,sounding excited--or concerned, it was hard to tell.He hovered over the tactical station. "Do you under-stand what Captain Ro is proposing?"
"Yes, sir," answered the officer, plying her console."I'm configuring torpedoes now: one for our exactheading and one for ten degrees to port. They're setfor no target, indefinite distance, no detonation, andwarp speed matching ours."
"Right, stand by." Picard stepped across thecramped bridge to the conn. "Set course ten degreesto starboard. We'll enter the Badlands at a differentplace than we planned, but that can't be helped. We'llslow our warp speed by point-zero-five to launchtorpedoes, then change course and resume maximumwarp."
"Yes, sir," said the pilot. He glanced at Ro and gaveher a grateful smile. Although she hadn't saved his lifeyet, the young man was hopeful that she would.
"I should point out that we will be reduced to fourtorpedoes," said the tactical officer.
"Acknowledged." If it pained the captain to use historpedoes for subterfuge instead of a real attack, hedidn't show it. "Course changes laid in," reported the conn.
With a glance at Ro, Picard brought his hand down."Reduce speed." "Speed reduced," echoed the conn. "Fire!" "Torpedoes away," announced tactical.
"Changing course," said the conn. "Resumingspeed."
Now it was time to wait again, to see if theJem'Hadar fell for the parlor trick. A tense silence fellover the bridge, and it wasn't assuaged by the fact thatthey could see the Badlands on the viewscreen, shim-mering in the distance. Although the forbidding cloudappeared relatively close, it was a long way in anunderpowered Bajoran transport chased by swiftfighters.
"This is a trick I hadn't heard of before," said Pi-card conversationally. "And we've been studying Ma-quis tactics very closely the last few months."
"You need a small ship," answered Ro. "I'm wor-ried that this one may be too large."
"It's worth a try," said Picard. "If they changecourse at all to chase the decoys, we'll pick up val-uable minutes."
With everyone staring intently at their readouts orthe viewscreen, the gasp of the tactical officer madethem jump. Ro whirled around to see her triumphantgrin. "Both Jem'Hadar vessels are following the decoyon our old course."
She stared intently at her instruments, and every-one else stared intently at her. After a minute thatseemed like a day, the implants over her nose wrin-kled into a frown. "Now one attack ship has changedcourse and is in pursuit of us. They'll be in weaponsrange in eight minutes." "How long to the Badlands?" "Eleven minutes."
"All right, we're down to one," said Picard. "Thatis certainly much better odds than I expected. Main-tain course and speed." "Yes, sir."
Now it was Ro's turn to hover over the connstation. "Listen, the Badlands are a plasma dustcloud, and instruments are completely useless there.So the sooner we reach it, the better. Like most dustclouds, it has fingers and tendrils which stretch intosurrounding space. If we can find a tendril, maybe wecan cut our time getting there."
Picard walked to the viewscreen and studied theoctopus-like cloud that loomed in front of them. Hepointed to a massive finger of dust shaped like ahorse's head. "There--that looks promising."
"IfI change course," said the conn, "we could reachit maybe two minutes sooner. But we wouldn't havetime to scan the area before we entered."
"We don't have much choice." Picard turned backto Tactical. "What's the position of the second craft?"
"They've broken off pursuit of the decoy," an-swered the young woman, not hiding her disappoint-ment. "They're on an intercept course, but they won'treach us in time. Only the first one is a threat."
"Change course, most direct route," ordered Pi-card. "Yes, sir. Course laid in."
The captain tapped his comm badge. "Bridge toEngineering. Geordi, we need you to boost our warpspeed--right now. Any increase would help."
"We're in the red zone now, Captain," replied theengineer, "but I can shut down the safety overridesand coax a bit more out of her." "Make it so."
"Captain," interrupted the woman on tactical,"they're sending a message, demanding that we stopand surrender. The message is repeating on all fre-quencies." "They don't want to talk," said Ro.
"Ignore it," replied Picard. "How many of ourtorpedoes are aft-mounted?"  "Only two."
Two or twenty, it didn't matter, thought Ro, be-cause the Orb of?eace wasn't a warship. If they didn'tmake the Badlands in time to hide, the Jem'Hadarwould pick them apart.
"Lead ship has launched a torpedo," cut in thetactical officer, surprise in her voice. "But they won'tbe in optimal range for several minutes."
"But their torpedo will reach us a few secondsbefore they do," said Picard. "We're both playing forseconds now. Conn, maintain course and speed, butbe ready to go to evasive maneuvers."
"We can't use our standard patterns," replied theofficer.
"Devise something simple but effective, based onthe alpha pattern, but keep us headed toward thattendril."
They could see it clearly now on the viewscreen--the daunting cloud of dust and debris which rose overthe darker body of the Badlands like a horse's head.The colors kept shifting from a murky brown to agolden orange to a vibrant magenta, as plasma stormsglimmered behind the clouds like lightning in a far-offthunderstorm.
Ro couldn't help but to remember all the times shehad made this mad dash to the Badlands, thinkingeach time would be her last. Unfortunately, she hadnever been in a vessel so ill equipped for fighting. Roalso remembered all the ships that had entered thatforbidding region but had not come out. Brave com-rades, deserving Cardassians, bumbling Starfleet--the plasma storms and anomalies played no favorites.Decrepit shuttlecraft or great starships, when theBadlands claimed them they were gone.
The Cardassians and Starfleet had developed ahealthy fear of the massive cloud, but Ro had no ideahow seriously the Jem'Hadar took the legends. Withtheir vaunted superiority, they might think they wereimmune to the sinister lure of the Badlands. Perhapsthey would pursue them into the heart of it, althoughthat wouldn't be easy once their instruments desertedthem.
Thatg it! thought Ro as a shiver gripped her spine.We have to fool their instruments now!
"Contact with torpedo in one minute," reportedthe officer on tactical.
"Ready aft torpedoes," said the captain grimly."Target our first one on their torpedo and the secondone on the lead ship." "Yes, sir."
In the confines of the small bridge, Ro was alreadyat Picard's back. "Sir, if we detonate both of ourtorpedoes directly behind us, we can blow up thetorpedo and disrupt their sensors."
"That will only last a few seconds," said Picardthoughtfully, "but we can go to evasive maneuversright after."
"Captain," insisted tactical, "contact in thirty sec-onds."
He strode toward the young woman. "Target bothtorpedoes on the lead craft, but detonate two secondsafter launch. Conn, go to evasive maneuvers on mymark."  "Yes, sir," came the tense replies.  "Launch when ready."  "Torpedoes away!" barked the tactical officer.
Silently, Ro counted to herself, one thousand one,one thousand two.  "Mark," said Picard, pointing at the conn.
While the pilot worked his console, Ro tried toimagine the brilliant light, like a miniature nova, asthe two photon torpedoes exploded inside a warpcorridor. That would make a very large blip on theirpursuers' scanners, not to mention sending theirtorpedo haywire. For several seconds, the Orb of Peacewould be invisible. When they found her again, theywould have to change course, but which course? If thepilot were good, he could send them the wrong wayagain, buying the transport a few more seconds. Shefought the temptation to hover behind him and watchwhat he was doing.
"They're firing more torpedoes," said tactical."Phasers, too. But we're out of phaser range."
"They're desperate," said Picard. "We're losingthem."
The viewscreen filled with an ominous cloud ofdebris and dust--the scene of some cosmic cataclysmand the resting place of countless ships. The twinklingof plasma storms in the swirls looked like some exoticlighting in a smoke-filled nightclub."I'm losing instrumentation," said the conn.Picard motioned for Ro to take over for the youngman, who bolted to his feet. "Good flying," said Ro asshe took his seat.
"Thank you." Beaming, the young man shuffledbehind Captain Picard.
"Keep the viewscreen on as long as possible,"ordered Ro. "And keep adjusting to correct forstatic." "Aye, sir," answered the officer on ops. "They're closing on us," warned Tactical. "That's all right. By now, they're losing sensors andinstrumentation, too. I'm corning out of warp--tofull impulse. Shields up!"
"Shields are up," echoed the woman on tactical,"but I've lost the Jem'Hadar! They're nowhere to beseen."
"Keep looking," said Ro, knowing it was useless;but it would keep her busy. Flying through the Bad-lands was not for the faint of heart, especially with theenemy hot on your tail and no reconnaissance aheadof you. If they hit a major plasma storm, nothing inthe universe could save them.
The scene on the viewscreen changed very little asthe boxy transport plowed into the thick of theplasma-charged cloud. She couldn't see the sleekattack ship with its pulsing blue lights, but she knew ithad followed her in.
Without slowing speed, Ro piloted them throughthe thickets of smoke and mist, which flowed past onthe viewscreen like some psychotropically induceddream, She tried to navigate the pockets of calm,avoiding the plasma streaks, which lit up the cloudlike electrical impulses shooting across a nerve end-ing. Ro didn't mention to her comrades that at anymoment they could get struck by plasma and evapo-rate-or whatever ships did when they disappearedin here. Ideally, she would pick her way through thismorass at one-quarter impulse, but there wasn't any-thing ideal about this mission.
The viewscreen crackled with streaks of static, andshe slowed to half impulse. She had to find theirpursuer while there was still a chance. "Ops, give me a view from aft," she ordered. "Want a split screen?" asked the man. "No, give me what I ask for," demanded Ro."Flying like this through the Badlands requires moreluck than sight."
Stiffening his back, the ops officer changed the viewto the aft lens. It was hardly any different than theview from the front, except that their wake was like atunnel in the colorful dust. She saw a small beam oflight in the distance, and at first she thought it wasanother bolt of plasma--until the Orb of Peace shud-dered from a sudden impact.
"Torpedo," said Tactical. "I'm not sure it hit us--no damage."
"It was discharged by the plasma," said Ro."They'll quickly figure out they'll have to use phasers,or whatever kind of beamed weapons they have. Frontview."
The ops officer obeyed her order instantly, showingRo the thickening, stringy fog of the Badlands, shotthrough with brilliant streaks of plasma. For the firsttime, Ro set course for the brightest storm in the areaand increased speed to full impulse.
"You are aware, I take it, that we are heading intothe storm?" asked Picard, controlled concern audiblein his voice. Just how far does he trust me? Rowondered.
"I'm coming about now, before we reach it." Roeased the transport into a steep turn, finding that thecraft was surprisingly easy to handle. At least herpeople built simplicity and elegance into all theircreations.
"You're hoping to draw their fire," said Picard,comprehension dawning on his face.
She squinted into the filmy swirls of dust anddebris, searching for their nemesis. When she finallyspotted the Jem'Hadar ship, they were almost nose tonose, streaking toward each other at speeds too fastfor the limited visibility. Ro ignored the gasps behindher as she dropped the transport into a steep dive. Inthe same instant, the warship fired a deadly beam thatstreaked through the dust, barely missing the trans-port.
Instead the phaser beam struck a bolt of plasma inthe storm that Ro had lured them into. The plasmarippled along its new path and hit the Jem'Hadarattack ship like an avenging bolt of lightning. Roturned her ship around just in time to see the sleekvessel light up like a fluorescent bulb and then burstinto a billion shards of shimmering crystal.
When the gasps quieted, Picard said hoarsely,"Well done."
Ro sighed and brought the craft to a complete halt.She was finally able to rub her eyes and brush the hairoff her clammy forehead.
"For once," she said, "it was good to fight aJem'Hadar ship. I couldn't have pulled that trick on aCardassian."
"I can truthfully say, we would not have made itwithout you," answered Picard. The faces of theyoung crew beamed at her with relief and respect, andthey began to look Bajoran again. Maybe they wouldhop to when obeying her orders next time."So we're here," she declared. "What now?""First of all, we have to see if the artificial worm-hole exists," answered Picard. "We have to know ifit's there. Data said they need a verteron collider oflarge size, so we should be able to find it."
He wrinkled his artificial nose ridges. "Of course,that means we have to cross the entire Badlands,without knowing where it is on the other side. I wishwe could get some intelligence first. I understand thatthe Badlands are inhabited by people who like theirprivacy, for one reason or another, and they're willingto risk the plasma storms."
"There is a place--" mused Ro, turning back to herconsole. "I wonder if it's still there? I'll get an approx-imate fix from our last known position, and we'll usedead reckoning from there. Settle back, and let metake you on a tour of the Badlands."
On the shuttlecraft Cook, Data put in another dayof work without relief, staring at instruments as hedrifted through an asteroid belt for cover. He wouldnot have thought to complain; in fact, Data believedhis time had been remarkably well spent. He hadlocated the Orb of Peace on long-range scanners andhad followed her all the way until her disappearancein the Badlands, which was to be expected. He hadalso seen the transport somehow manage to shakefour enemy ships, with a fifth one still in pursuit.
Had his emotion chip been turned on, the androidwould have been extremely apprehensive about themad chase he had witnessed from afar. Now it wassimply a successful incursion into Cardassian space,unless the fifth ship had destroyed them. But fromwhat he knew of the Badlands, Data considered it farmore likely that the plasma storms would destroythem.
His vigilance was far from over, as now he plannedto vacate the asteroid belt and sneak even closer toCardassian space. From peripheral scans, Data hadconcluded that the fighting had moved on from thissector, leaving him some room to maneuver. For asmany days and weeks as it took, he would scan theBadlands, looking for a craft which could be the Orbof Peace. At the same time, he would be looking forthe Enterprise to rendezvous with him. Since theywere currently overdue, there was a very good chancethey had been destroyed as well.
No, concluded Data, he had no intentions of turn-ing on his emotion chip.

Chapter Nine

AT LONG LAST, THE TAG GARWAL was cruising throughspace under the command of Federation prisoners,with orders to stay out until her mission was accom-plished, or they were all killed. Despite the direcircumstances, Sam Lavelle felt almost giddy as hestood on the bridge and watched the endless expanseof stars stream past. He could easily forget the war,the Dominion, the artificial wormhole, and every-thing else in the mistaken belief that he was free toexplore this dark infinity. Space was oblivious of theirpetty quarrels; it always looked the same--endless,vast, imponderable.
For a taste of realism, Sam put the aft view on thescreen. Now he could see the Jem'Hadar attack shipkeeping a respectful but watchful distance behindthem. The craft was smaller than theirs, but Samknew it superior in every other way. The tankerhad decent shields but no weapons, whereas theJem'Hadar craft was a flying arsenal with no otherpurpose but to destroy enemy vessels. Their shadowwas friendly at the moment, but Sam had no doubtsthat the Jem'Hadar would destroy them with allaboard at the slightest provocation.
"Their relative distance has not changed in twelvehours," observed Taurik, seated at the conn.
"I know," replied Sam. "I didn't expect them to begone.""Staring at them will not change the situation.""I know!" groaned Sam. Vulcans! Sometimes theirliteral nature drove him crazy. Of course, it made nosense to stand here and watch the Jem'Hadar ship,hoping it would go away, but that was precisely thesort of thing humans did.
How could he make it go away? That was thequestion. Without their shadow, they were in a goodposition to make an escape and get back to Federationspace. The Tag Garwal was a common type of supplyship found everywhere in Cardassian space, and shewould typically be traveling alone. Nobody would payany attention to them.
He looked around the bridge. As usual, only he andTaurik were on duty, with Grof and the rest of thecrew below, fretting over their tractor beams, trans-porters, mining probes, and recombination chambers.
Sam tapped the ops console and put the starscapeback on view, then he lowered his voice to ask Taurik,"How can we get away from that Jem'Hadar ship?"
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "I hope you areasking in the theoretical sense, because eluding themwould be virutally impossible." "Impossible?" repeated Sam, not liking the taste ofthe word in his mouth. "Then we just carry out thisoperation and put them closer to victory? We don'teven try to escape?"
"I did not say that," answered Taurik, "only thatescape from that Jem'Hadar attack ship is virtuallyimpossible. We have no weapons, and they are wellarmed and three times faster than us."
Sam bent down and whispered into the Vulcan'spointed ear, "Could we beam over to their ship? Wehave a larger crew--we could take them in hand-to-hand combat." Taurik raised an eyebrow. Sam knewthe Vulcan was calculating the abysmal odds of such afight.
"We could if only they lowered their shields andcame within transporter range, neither of which theyappear inclined to do."
"Then we'll have to make them do it," said Samdeterminedly. He heard footsteps on the ladder, andhe asked loudly, "How much longer to the Eye ofTalek?"
"Twelve more hours. We are approximately halfwaythere."
"Excellent!" barked the voice of Enrak Grof as helumbered out of the hatch and strode toward them.He was followed up the ladder by Enrique, the luckymaterial handler.
"Is the ship handling well?" asked Grof expan-sively, as if this were his private yacht.
"Fine," answered Sam with false cheer. "It feelsgood to be out in space again."
"I would imagine," Grof replied. "I would hate tobe separated from my work for a lengthy period."
Sam bit his tongue and didn't say any of the severalnasty things that occurred to him. Despite everythinghe had seen and heard, Grof was steadfastly deter-mined to get the Corzanium and return to the Domin-ion. The war, the slave-labor camps, the subjugationof the Federation--these were all annoying side is-sues to the important matters of Grotes wormhole andhis place in history.
Sam once again decided not to trust the Trill withany knowledge of their escape plan, when they hadone. Grotes only purpose was to provide cover untilthey were ready to make their move. Sam had to makesure they got a realistic opportunity to sabotage themission and escape. He hated to think about killingGrof with his own hands, but he would if he had to.
The professor motioned toward the glimmeringstarscape ahead of them. "Even without this worm-hole business, we are making history on our littlemission. No other operation has ever succeeded inextracting more than a few cubic centimeters ofCorzanium from a black hole, and we're going tomine fifty cubic meters of the stuff."
"If we live long enough," added Taurik. "There arelogical reasons why no one has been successful. Shall Ilist them?"
"No, thank you," muttered Grof. "Nobody hasever had as good a reason as ours, or else they wouldhave done it before. All the models say it's possiblewith standard equipment. Right, Enrique?"
 But the material handler was staring off into spacewith a moonstruck expression on his face. "Right, Enrique?" asked Grof testily.
"Whatever you say, boss," replied the avuncularhuman. "I'd better get below and recheck thosecalibrations." Whistling cheerfully, the lithe mandropped into the hatch and was gone.
Grof scowled and opened his mouth undoubtedlyto offer another tiresome prudish opinion, Samthought. He cut the Trill off before the tirade evenbegan.
"Oh, let him be," said Sam. "We've got twelve morehours before we have to get serious. The importantthing is not to get overconfident or careless. No one'sever been sucked into a black hole and lived."
"Or ever been found again, except for some minutetrace particles," added Taurik.
"The Eye of Talek is perfect for this operation,"insisted Grof. "We've got nothing like it in the Feder-ation. But I agree with you, Sam--we have to becareful. You just keep reminding me of that, because Ido have a tendency to be overconfident."
Sam blinked at this outburst of humility. "I'11remember that, Grof."
The Trill nodded and looked uncomfortable for amoment, as if he wanted to be accepted into theircircle but knew he never would be. "See you at chow!"called Grof, heading for the hatch.
"Yeah, at chow." Sam waved lazily and turned hisattention to the viewscreen. Once the footsteps hadstopped clomping down the ladder, Sam switched theview back to the sleek Jem'Hadar ship on their tail.Taurik would never agree, but maybe staring at itwould give him an idea on how to lure it close enoughto board it and capture it.
At times during their tense but sluggish cruisethrough the Badlands, Picard wanted to ask Ro if shereally knew where they were going. He admired herability to navigate by dead reckoning, only getting herbearings on rare occasions when they found a bubble,as she called them, where the dust and interferencewere thin enough to take sensor readings. He couldtell that Ro was tempted to remain awhile in therelative safety of the bubbles, but she knew they hadto push on.
Once, it seemed, they came very close to anothership, but they passed so quickly in the surreal fog thatit was impossible to tell for sure what it was. Maybe itwas only a plasma storm, thought Picard. Perhapsthey were hallucinating. The Badlands struck him asthe kind of place where a person's imagination andfear might get the better of him.
So dense was the dust and debris in some stretchesthat Picard felt as if he were on a submarine floatingthrough a sea of mud. The shields took a beating, butthe transport held together and somehow avoided theubiquitous bursts of plasma.
Through all of this, Ro piloted the craft in abusinesslike calm, talking very little and only relin-quishing the conn for a few moments. Picard hadlittle to do but watch the bizarre light show.
After hours and hours, Ro began to peer intently atthe viewscreen, and Picard began to watch moreclosely, too. He saw it at the same moment she did--something black and ominous that sat like a giganticspider in the middle of a vast neon web.
 "There!" she said excitedly, pointing toward theviewscreen. The relief in her voice surprised Picard.  "What is it?" he asked.
"I think it started life as a space station," answeredRo. "Don't ask me whose, because it's ancient. I don'tknow how anyone thought they could build a stationthat would survive in this mess, although maybe itwas here before the cloud. The Maquis call it the 'OKCorral.'"
Picard smiled. "It seems fitting that the Badlandsshould have a famous corral."
"And that's what it's used for," added Ro, cau-tiously steering them closer. "It's been hit so manytimes over the years by the plasma blasts that it'sdeveloped a repulsion effect--now the plasma actu-ally stays away. The hull is nothing but a black hulk--you can't even tell what it's made out of."
"It sounds fascinating." Picard stared with interestat the spidery structure hanging in the magenta-brown haze. When it was illuminated by a far-offstreak of plasma, be could see that the "legs" of thespider were broken spokes coming from a central hub.In its prime, this station must have been bigger thanDeep Space Nine, and it was built in a similargyroscopic design. Despite its familiar traits, the OKCorral seemed otherworldly, perfectly suited to itsbizarre surroundings.
Ro circled the blackened ruin from a respectfuldistance, as if she were afraid something was going topop out. Close up, the structure looked more like alopsided, pitted asteroid than a creation of civilizedbeings; but its shape and symmetry were too exact tobe accidental. It reminded Picard of an ancient burialmound he had seen in North America--beaten intosomething natural by the elements yet unmistakably awork of intelligence and artistry.
Without warning, they were jarred by a suddenblast, and Picard had to grab Ro's chair to remainupright. "What was that? Plasma burst?" Ro scowled. "More like a photon torpedo."
"She's right," agreed the tactical officer. "No dam-age."
"A warning shot," added Ro grimly. "But we're notgoing to be warned off. We've got as much right hereas anybody else. Still, keep those shields up."
Picard was about to ask where the shot had comefrom when a burst of plasma reflected off somethingsilvery lurking within the hulk of the old station. Asthey continued to circle the OK Corral, the captainspotted a gaping crater that was big enough for theEnterprise to fly through. It looked as if somethinghad taken a huge bite out of the central hub, leaving ablackened, hollow wreck. Sure enough, docked insidethis unlikely safe harbor were two Ferengi marauders;they looked like sleek, bronze horseshoe crabs.  "Ro," said Picard, pointing at the viewscreen.
"I see them," she answered with a smile. "The oldneighborhood is still active. They're most likely pi-rates and smugglers, so let's keep on our guard.Tactical, all auxiliary power to shields."
"May I remind you," said the woman on Tactical,"we're down to two torpedoes."
"They won't do us much good, anyway," answeredRo. "When they see how small we are--and thatwe're Bajoran--maybe they'll let us in." "If they don't?" asked Picard.
"Then we'll look for friendlier pirates and smug-glers. A good friend of mine used to say that you don'tmeet any choirboys in the Badlands." When Romentioned her friend, her eyes got a faraway look, andPicard glimpsed the grief she had been hauling withher.
Acting as if the Orb of Peace were the equal of thetwo battle-scarred warships, Ro Laren swept throughthe crater and into their midst. Picard half-expectedthe Ferengi to rake them with withering phaser fire;then he realized that these ships were not going to riskdestroying their refuge. He had seen enough of theBadlands to know that safe places to stop were fewand far between.
Now that they were inside the hollowed-out ruinsof the main hub, the captain marveled at the bizarresights that surrounded them. In addition to the twogarish warships, he could see a cross section of thedevastated space station, complete with decks, cham-bers, and bays; it all looked like a massive burnthoneycomb. He made a pact with himself that if hewere ever free to travel Cardassian space--with nowar--he would come back to the OK Corral andinvestigate this wondrous artifact.
"Have we got anything to trade for information?"asked Ro. "Perhaps some tetralubisol," Picard suggested.
 Ro shrugged. "I guess that's worth a try. I'm goingto hail them. Ops, let's dim the lights." "Yes, sir."
"Remember," said the captain, "they're smugglersand pirates."
"And fellow neutrals." Ro stood up and nodded toTactical.
"Hailing frequencies open," reported the youngwoman on duty.
"Greetings. This is Captain Ro Laren of the Orb ofPeace, from Bajor. We were forced off course by someunusual circumstances, and we hope you don't mindif we stopre"
"Quiet!" growled a voice, and the viewscreenpopped on, showing a flurry of moving figures, mostof them naked. They were clearly in the masterstateroom of the Ferengi captain, because his wiveswere scurrying to get out of the way. But it was amuscular, unclothed Orion male who stepped intotheir view. The green-skinned humanoid grabbed ashimmering blue robe and pulled it around his thickbody; then he motioned to the unseen shadows.
"Shek, get out here!" bellowed the Orion. His roughvoice seemed to have only one volume--loud.
Accompanied by giggles and women straighteninghis clothes, a scrawny Ferengi strolled toward themfrom the shadows. He looked a bit taller and more fitthan the typical Ferengi, although he was still dwarfedby the big Orion.
With a snaggletoothed grin, the Ferengi askedthem, "What is this? A Bajoran vessel sneakingaround Cardassian space--in the middle of a war7Are you lost? Or crazy?"
The muscular Orion glared suspiciously at her."Nobody knows about this place... nobody who'sstill alive."
Ro put her hands on her hips and sighed. "Okay,we're really trying to find some terrorists we left here.We think they're still fighting the war with Cardassiaand don't know that we're neutral. This used to be aplace we could find them."
The Orion and the Ferengi looked at one another,and Picard thought they would buy it--until theOrion turned and shook his fist at them. "I say we loottheir ship! You have ten seconds to surrender!"
"Wait a minute, Rolf," said Shek, patting his largepartner on the shoulder. "You never dispose of mer-chandise until you find out its worth. They haveexhibited considerable skill and knowledge just get-ting here. Unless I am a worse judge of appearancethan usual, they have nothing of value aboard theirship. Their ship isn't worth anything either. I know. Itried to sell one of those once--took a real loss. Hadto sell it to the Maquis!"
The Orion scratched his chin and leered at her. "!know a place where they pay dearly for young Bajoranfemales. It's not far from here either."
"We're not young," scoffed Ro. "We're all old andhaggard, like me." She reached out and pulled Picardinto their view. "See, this is my first officer. He'stypical of this crew. This is a humanitarian mission torescue some of our warriors who no longer need tofight. Do you think somebody young and beautifulwould take a job like this?"
Shek laughed. "I like her. Let's have dinner withher. Anyone who can find her way here has got to havesome interesting stories."
The toothsome Ferengi wiggled his finger at her."We'll beam you over in one hour--you and your firstofficer. Unarmed, please."
"Thank you," said Ro evenly. "We accept yourinvitation."
The screen went dark, and Ro's tense shoulderblades finally dropped into their regular position. Shelooked so worn, Picard thought as he placed a tenta-tive, but he hoped comforting, hand on her shoulder.
"It's worth the risk," he said gently. Ro glancedback at him with a rare glint of insecurity in her darkeyes.
"Those are fast ships out there," Picard continued,pointing to the two bronze marauders filling theviewscreen. "They can outrun Jem'Hadar and Car-dassian ships, so they've probably seen a lot of thissector. They may also have dealings with the Domin-ion. If the artificial wormhole is real, they ought toknow."
Ro looked back at her young crew and whispered,"On the other hand, our relief should be prepared torun for it, if we don't return." "We'll work out a signal," said Picard grimly.
Ro smiled. "Make sure your earring is on straight.Believe me, how you wear that earring is nine-tenthsof being a Bajoran." "Understood," answered Picard gravely.
Will Riker paced outside the office of CommanderShana Winslow on Starbase 209, fuming. Winslowwas head of the repair pool, and she had refused torelease the Enterprise for active duty. Sure, Will knewthey were a little banged up, but unfit for duty? Hedidn't think so! Besides, he had friends and comradesout there who needed him, and Starfleet forces werespread too thin to worry about one little fact-findingmission. Picard, Data, La Forge, every member of theaway team--they were counting on the Enterprise.
Commander Winslow's assistant was a bookish-looking Benzite, who sat behind his desk and watchedRiker with thinly veiled contempt. Every so often, heclucked like a chicken, which was driving Riker crazy.
"Where is she?" grumbled Riker. "Doesn't sheknow there's a war going on?"
"Oh, she's quite aware there's a war going on,"answered the Benzite with a long blue face. "Toomany ships needing repair, too few parts, too manyinterruptions in supply and manufacturing--it's allquite difficult.""If I don't get in there to talk to her pretty soon, it'sgoing to be even more difficult," vowed Riker.
At that moment, the door to Commander Wins-low's office slid open, and four engineers walked outand brushed past him with stricken expressions ontheir faces. They looked like men who had just beenchewed out. Riker straightened his uniform and triedto be calm. Honey instead of vinegar, he told himself.
He stared expectantly at the Benzite, who took hissweet time in looking up and saying, "You may go in,Commander."
"Thank you." Riker stode through the door fromthe anteroom to Commander Winslow's inner office.The first thing that struck him was the size of theoffice: it wasn't ready-room-size but more like aminiature auditorium with several rows of seats and alarge viewscreen. Either Commander Winslow con-ducted classes here, or she liked to chew people out enmasse.
The second thing that struck him was CommanderWinslow herself. She was a striking brunette about hisown age, with dark eyes that drilled into him as heapproached her. She was also partly bionic, with aprosthetic left arm and left leg, which he glimpsedbefore she limped behind her desk.
Commander Winslow gave him a businesslikesmile as she sat down and punched her computerterminal. "Commander Riker of the Enterprise," sheread aloud. "I thought that ship was still under thecommand of Jean-Luc Picard. I trust that CaptainPicard is all right?"
"So do I," answered Riker, mustering a smile. "I'macting captain, and I hope we can return to active dutysoon. We've got to support Captain Picard and sever-al of our senior officers who are on a mission intoCardassian space."
"Sounds risky," replied Winslow with extreme un-derstatement. She folded her hands and drilled himagain with those dark eyes. "Commander Riker, Iknow you want to leave right now, but the Enterprisehas failed almost every readiness test. You've gotleakage from the warp coil, stress failure on the outerhull, burned-out circuitry on every deck, and dozensof patchwork field repairs that are holding, somehow,but can't for long."
Riker winced, then held out his hands. "But she'sstill in one piece. We flew in here, didn't we? La Forgehas kept her in top shape--."
Shana Winslow gave him a sympathetic smile."Despite the redoubtable Mr. La Forge, your ship isin no condition to go back into action. I would beremiss in my duties if I released her now."  Riker's shoulders drooped. "How long?"
"The Enterprise is a top priority, Commander, butthe best I can promise is a week."
"A week!" blurted Riker, not meaning to. He wasshocked that it would take that long--in a week,Captain Picard could be dead.
She fixed him with her disconcerting eyes. "I'msorry, but if I release you before we complete all thenecessary repairs, Starfleet's most advanced star-ship--and most experienced crew--could be lost tous. It's my job to make sure that ships are ready to dothe job for which they were intended, and your ship isnot." Back off, Riker told himself. Honey, not vinegar.
He stepped away from her desk and sighed. "Isuppose I should welcome a few days of liberty for mycrew, but it's difficult when we've got comrades outthere."
"Believe me, I know." Winslow lifted her prosthet-ic arm and set it on her desk. "I was once a ship'sengineer--I'm still not used to flying a desk."
He glanced at her arm and wondered why Starfleethadn't provided her with a more natural lookingprosthetic. "How did you get injured?"
"On board the Budapest last year, defending Earthfrom the Borg. We let them get past us--thanks forsaving our hides."
She paused, apparently noting his stare. Smilinggently she said "Your ship and I have something incommon." She pointed to her clumsy artificial limb."We both have to wait out the war shortages to beproperly refitted."
Riker grinned. "The Enterprise spent a month on413 after that battle, while we cleaned all the Borgtechnology out of her."
Commander Winslow leaned forward eagerly. "Oh,I wish I could've been there to see that, to be able tostudy it firsthand. I've always had tremendous inter-est in the Borg, which was only heightened when theyalmost killed me. Their efficiency is amazing--if Icould only get a crew of them working for me."
"I've had them on board, and I don't recommendit." Riker stepped closer and flashed a boyish smile."If you were to have dinner with me tonight, I couldtell you all about the Borg."
"Hmmm," she replied thoughtfully, checking hercomputer screen. "Yes, that would be acceptable at,say, nineteen hundred hours. And I can explain to youabout our procurement problems, which have delayedeverything. We've got to end this war soon, or theinfrastructure is going to break down."
"Right," said Riker. "That's why I'm trying to getback into it."
"I know." Winslow stood and motioned to thedoor. "We'll meet here again at nineteen hundredhours."
Riker started to the door, then turned nervously."The Enterprise, you are--"
"Yes, we're working on it. See you later, Com-mander."
Captain Picard steeled himself as he felt the tingleof the transporter beam, although Ro gave him anencouraging nod at the last second. He admired her61an--she seemed more at ease around scoundrelsthan most, though he wasn't entirely sure she wouldregard the sentiment as a compliment if he gave voiceto it.
They materialized inside a sumptuous dining hallfestooned with pastel-colored banners and goldentinsel draped from the ceilings. In one sunken comerwere plush pillows and chaise longues that overlookeda stage upon which torches burned brightly. To therear of the hall was a beautiful table of pure amber, setfor four. A Ferengi harpist sat in another corner,playing a sweet melody on his golden instrument.
"'Song for Solitude,'" said Ro with a faint smile."It's a well-known Bajoran piece. We'll have to thankour hosts."
Picard tried to imagine himself as someone else, akindly vedek perhaps. Ro was the captain, so shecould play the tough one. He needed to appear sereneand spiritual, above the baser, petty aspects of life.
Double doors at the far end of the hall swept open,and Shek, the Ferengi, swept into the room, withluxurious satiny robes trailing behind him. Toweringover him, looking like a bodyguard, came the hulkingOrion, Rolf.
"Welcome!" gushed Shek, rushing toward Ro andtaking her hand. He gazed lasciviously into her sulleneyes. "It's a pleasure to have you aboard my humblevessel, the Success. This is Rolf, captain of our con-sort, the Swift. Excuse us for firing upon you, CaptainRo, but you can never be sure who you will meet inthese trying times."
"Understood," said Ro with a polite bow. "This ismy first mate."
"We are enjoying the music," said Picard with apolite bow. "'Song for Solitude' always reminds me ofchildhood. Thank you."
"You're welcome. And may I say, that is a very niceearring you're wearing. That stone comes from Jer-rado, doesn't it?"
"Yes," answered Picard with a smile. "Not manypeople realize that."
"We recognize items of value. Since no one canvisit Jerrado anymore, that earring is a real collector'sitem. Are you hungry?" Dwarfed by his oversizedrobes, Shek shuffled toward the table. "We don'tknow much about Bajoran cooking, although it looksless exotic than our own. It's certainly less exotic thanOrion cooking, what with all those tear-inducingspices."
"Bah," grumbled Rolf. "He likes everythingbland."
"I do not," countered Shek. "It's just that we haveto respect other people's tastes. Therefore, we arehaving roasted hornbill, a type of local fowl."
"Yes, we saw some at a Cardassian farming colonyon our way here," said Ro. "The Cardassians stolehalf our cargo; they said it was contraband."
Rolf laughed heartily. "Yes, they'll do that. If youdon't have a ship that can outrun them, what do youexpect7"
Shek pulled out a chair for Ro. "Please sit here,Captain."
"Thank you," said the Bajoran, taking the profferedchair.
Shek quickly sat on one side of her, and Rolf sat onthe other, leaving Picard to take the outermost chair.He didn't like the way the two pirates were sand-wiched on each side of Ro, but his persona didn'tallow him to do much about it. With a pleasant smileon his face, Pieard had to watch them fawn over her.
"You can't possibly expect to find any terroristsalive after all this time," said their host. "Would youlike some Trakian ale?"
"Thank you," answered Ro, folding her hands infront of her. "Whether we expect to find them alive ornot, we have to look."
"Have you ever considered dancing?" asked theOrion, admiring her slim physique.
"I'm a ship's captain," she replied, "the same asyou. Have you considered dancing?"
"Eldra!" shouted Shek, waving toward the door. Ashort, blubbery Ferengi woman rushed in with apitcher full of dark ale, bubbling at its narrow neck.Picard had to admit that his throat was dry, and thebeverage looked good. There was a pause in conversa-tion as glasses were poured and drinks were hoisted."To hell with the Dominion!" cheerfully toasted theOrion before downing his entire glass. Picard and Rodrank along with him as they exchanged glances."You don't care for the Dominion?" asked Picard."Who could like those Denebiau slime devils?"grumbled the Orion. "The Cardassians were finebefore they came--they were corrupt; they could bebought. The Dominion just wants to take over every-thing. They don't want any competition. What fun isthat?"
"And they're trying to kill our best customers,"sniffed the Ferengi. "The Dominion is bad for busi-ness. A Ferengi will take a monopoly if he can get one,but he still knows it's unnatural. These people thinkit's all right for a puddle of shapeshifters to rule thegalaxy, and skim off everybody."
The Orion snorted with laughter. "We hope theFederation wins, but we hope the war goes on for along time, don't we?"
"Of course," answered the Ferengi. "War is goodfor the black market. It's chaos, and chaos is alwaysgood for those of us who work in the shadows. But notthis war--too much killing."
The guests nodded, unable to add much to thatsentiment. Fortunately, the food arrived shortlythereafter, delivered by the rotund Eldra, who encour-aged them to eat. So zealous were her eritreaties thatPicard assumed she had prepared the meal. He hopedshe hadn't also prechewed it.
It was good food and decent company, with discus-sion on all sorts of matters, ranging from the price ofantimatter to Bajoran neutrality. Picard wanted tocasually slip the idea of an artificial wormhole intothe conversation, but it seemed premature. They hadjust now struck a civil discourse with one another,and even the Orion was behaving like a gentleman.
After the dishes were removed, Shek clapped hishands and rose to his feet. "It's time for the evening'sentertainment."
They retired to the cushions and lounges of thesunken den in front of the stage. Picard was a littlelight-headed after all the ale, although he had tried topace himself. He had to admit that the food had beenexcellent, very similar to squab, and he had eatenmore than his share. Thus far, this respite with thepirates had proven to be surprisingly enjoyable.
Once they had settled into the upholstered lair,Shek tugged on his ear and gave them a snaggle-toothed grin. "Tonight's entertainment is furnishedby my good friend, Rolf. Ah, here is the Saurianbrandy."
When Eldra appeared with a carafe and smallglasses, Picard felt like declining, but he saw a warn-ing look in Rolf's eyes. When the green giant took aglass of brandy, he held it up for all to see, and Picardknew that he had better do the same.
"We toast to your health and your gods," said theOrion. "To the Prophets," said Ro, drinking. "To the Prophets," echoed Picard, taking a sip. "To the dancing girls!" crowed Shek.
A drumroll crashed and thundered behind them,and Picard was about to turn around when three lithefigures leaped from the curtain behind the stage. Theylanded in the flickering pool of light given off by thetorches and began to sway. As the drums increasedtheir frenzy, the green-skinned Orion women undu-lated to the pulsing beat. Picard had heard of thesefamed entertainers, but he had never thought hewould actually see them... in the flesh, so to speak.There was a great deal of green flesh exhibited by thefilmly costumes.
He felt so relaxed and content as he snuggled in theoversized cushions, watching the acrobatic and sug-gestive dancing of the Orion women. It was hard notto imagine that this dinner party was really a gather-ing of pirate chieftains in some remote tropical har-bor, participating in the drunken debaucheries ofyore.
Picard looked over at Ro Laren, and she was asleep,curled peacefully among the pillows. So rare for her tolook so peaceful, thought the captain. He looked backat the dancing women--so animalistic, so exotic, sovoluptuous. He could almost smell their pungentscent and taste their sweet green skin. Sweat wasbreaking out on the back of his neck. Enough wasenough, he decided. It was time to get some air.
As Picard staggered to his knees, he heard Rolflaughing uproariously in his ear, and a big armreached out and dragged him back into the cushions."Settle down, my good man. What about the girl youcame in with?"
The captain looked again at Ro Laren, and herealized that she shouldn't be sleeping. A spark in theback of his brain cut through the fog and told him thatthis shouldn't be happening. He was in some kind oftrouble. He started to reach for his communicator togive it two quick taps--the signal--but his limbs feltas leaden as tree trunks.
A hand came from nowhere, slapped his chest, andripped the comm badge off. He touched the hole inthe fabric where it used to be, gazed bewilderedly atthe big ears of the Ferengi, then slumped back ontothe pillows.
"All fight," said Shek, leaning over him, "whydon't you tell us where you really came from. Andwhat you're really doing here.""My... my ship!" gasped Picard helplessly."Yes, let's not forget about your ship," agreed Shek.He tapped his comm badge. "Captain to bridge:activate tractor beam. Prepare to hoard."

Chapter Ten

LYING SUPPINE ON CUSHIONS in the dining hall of theFerengi ship, Captain Picard had a strong sense ofd6j/~ vu. He felt the way he had when he was goingthrough emergency heart surgery--conscious but un-able to feel anything or control his limbs. He didn'texactly float over his body, but he wasn't inside of iteither. He felt oddly apart, like an observer, shuntedoff to the side.
The Orion dancing girls kept undulating sugges-tively to the throbbing drumbeat, but there wassomething wrong with them, too. They seemed to benothing but moving bodies, devoid of consciousness.
The Ferengi, Shek, clapped his hands. "Computer,end program."
At once, the green-skinned women disappeared,and so did most of the furnishings and decorationsin the sumptuous dining hall. Glasses of brandydropped to the floor and shattered, and Picard's bodycollapsed onto a hard floor as well. He struggled to situpmbut couldn't.
"It's a nerve conditioner," said Shek. "You have nocontrol over what you do or say. Oddly, you andCaptain Ro reacted completely differently to the drug.She fell asleep."  "And you?" asked Picard in a hollow, raspy voice.
Shek smiled and pointed to Rolf, the big greenOrion. "Oh, we took the antidote before dinner."
Roll scowled. "I miss the days when we used totorture people to get information."
"Yes, but you must admit, these new species-specific drugs are faster and more efficient." Shekpatted his large partner on the shoulder, then turnedback to Picard. "All right, what is your real name andposition?"
He tried to make his mouth form the words "Lieu-tenant Tom Smith," or "Chief Ray Jones," or any-thing but the truth. But to his horror he heard his ownvoice say "Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the StarshipEnterprise."
"Really?" said Shek, obviously impressed. "Andyour friend, Captain Ro?"
"She is Captain Ro Laren of the Orb of Peace,formerly of my command." "What are you doing in Cardassian space?"
"We are looking for the Dominion's artificialwormhole."
Rolf burst out laughing. "And what are they goingto do with it when they find it? The Federation ismore desperate than I thought." Perhaps he could pretend to be as feebleminded ashe felt and change the subject to something a bit lesscontroversial. "The dancers?" asked Picard reachingtoward the empty space where they had been.
"Alas, they're holograms," replied Shek. "In thisday and age, who can afford real Orion slave girls? Butyou're more interesting, anyway, Captain. What wereyou planning to do with the artificial wormhole,should it exist?" Change the subject, indeed. Perhapshe was as feebleminded as he felt, Picard thoughtbitterly. "Destroy it," he whispered.
The Ferengi and the Orion looked at one anotherand laughed, slapping their thighs. "Do you knowhow big that thing is?" asked Shek. "How big?"
Shek pushed him back onto the hard floor. "Weneed to confer now, Captain. Your eyes are gettingheavy, and you're very tired. All you want to do issleep, like your comrade. Go to sleep, Captain Picard,you've earned the rest."
With that the captain closed his eyes and driftedinto unconsciousness.
"When the reactor exploded and the concussion hitme, I went unconscious," said Commander ShanaWinslow as she stirred her Mai Tai with a swizzlestick held in the mechanical fingers of her left hand.She and Will Riker were sitting at a back table in aplace called the Bolian Bistro, reputed to be the bestrestaurant on Starbase 209, although it served alimited menu. All of the eateries on the starbase weresuffering from shortages.
"For all intents and purposes, I was dead," she wenton. "I never knew they beamed me out until I wokeup in a bed on a medical ship. And when I lookeddown and saw how much of me was missing, I cursedthe hell out of them."
Will Riker smiled and shook the ice in his glass. "Ican imagine you did. How long did your recoverytake?"
"It's still going on," answered Winslow. "The phys-ical therapy, the counseling sessions--I don't think itwill ever end. As I said, I long to be out there as muchas you do, but I've got to be realistic. This is my jobnow; it's a job for which I'm suited.""And you don't have any family to worry about?"The engineer shook her head sadly. "Not now. Ihad a husband, but he died aboard the Budapest inthe same action against the Borg."
"I'm sorry," said Riker, regretting his glib com-ment.
Winslow managed a bittersweet smile. "Don't wor-ry about it. Talking about it is part of my recovery. Insome respects, it was a marriage of convenience, sincewe were both so wrapped up in our careers. We hadfinally gotten assigned to the same ship, and we weregoing to work on the marriage. Instead, we nearlydied together in our first action."
She stirred her drink and looked at him coyly."What about you?"
"Confirmed bachelor," answered Riker, leaningback in his chair and grinning. "Although I won't saythat I haven't come close to marriage--but only once,seriously." "And what happened to her?"
"She's my best friend," answered Riker, taking asip of his drink. "She understands me better thananybody--well enough to know that she wouldn'twant to be married to me."
"Yes, that's what I miss most about Jack beinggone. It's good to have at least one person who reallyknows you, around whom you don't have to pretend."Shana Winslow gave him a melancholy smile.
Riker reached for her hand. "Listen, you werespared for a reason. We've all been spared this longfor a reason--maybe it's to fight this lousy war."
"Ah, now you're getting back to the subject of yourship," said Winslow. "It's still seven days--six if wecan get the EPS couplings we need by tomorrow."
Riker smiled. "Who do I have to rob to get thosecouplings?" "Just hope for the supply convoy to get through."
Riker quickly lifted his glass. "Here's to the supplyconvoy. And also to good company."
"To good company," echoed Shana Winslow, heft-ing her glass and peering at him over the rim with herintense dark eyes.
"I hope my crew is enjoying their liberty as much asI am," said Riker.
Ro Laren awoke with shooting pains in her arms,legs, and head. She quickly determined that the causeof the pain in her extremities was from the ropesbinding her to a stiff, hard chair. But the pain in herhead was like the worst hangover she'd ever gottenfrom drinking's Derek's homemade wine.
She looked around the empty room, which had agrid on the walls but nothing else, and she sawCaptain Picard sitting about five meters away. He wasalso bound tightly to his chair. The captain lookedmore disheveled and beaten than she did, although hemanaged a wan smile. "Good morning."  "What happened?" she asked with a groan.  "We were drugged by our hosts.""But they ate and drank the same things we did.""Yes, but they took an antidote first." Picard strug-gled against his bonds for a moment, but it wasuseless.  "Where are we?"
"Same place we were before," answered the cap-tain, "only now you can tell it's a holodeck. Listen,my memory is hazy, but I believe they know every-thing."  "Everything?" she asked in horror.
He nodded grimly. "I don't know what they intendto do to us."
Ro shivered, not wanting to think about all thegruesome options they had.
Picard continued, "I believe they know they have avaluable prize. If I were them, I might go to both theFederation and the Dominion, seeing who will bidmore to get a starship captain." "The ship--" began Ro.
"Your ship is all right," said a snide voice. Withdifficulty and pain, Ro twisted her head aroundenough to see Shek and Rolf stride through the doorsinto the holodeck. The Orion was holding a padd, ahandheld computing device, which looked out ofplace in his big green hands. The Ferengi had a pulsewhip tied to his belt in a serpentine coil.
"We've just interrogated your crew and searchedyour ship," said Shek glumly. "As I suspected, youhave nothing of value. Why are patriots always sobroke?"
"There are some young Bajoran females." Rolfsmiled lasciviously at the prisoners. "They aren't really Bajoran," countered Ro.
"We know," muttered Shek, "and that is problem-atic. If they ever found out we sold them fake mer-chandise... well, that's not a good way to conductbusiness. So the only thing of value is Captain Jean-Luc Picard."
"I'm not valuable," answered Picard. "I would bejust one of thousands of prisoners of war."
"At least that way you might get to see yourartificial wormhole," joked Rolf.
Both Ro and Picard stared at the Orion. "Then itdoes exist?" asked the captain.
Rolf nodded. "Oh, yes. It's a gigantic thing, biggerthan several moons I've seen. If it were up to Shekhere, you would never see it, because he wanted to sellyou to the Dominion. But I convinced him not to."
Ro and Picard looked accusingly at the scrawnyFerengi, who gave them an apologetic shrug. "Hey, afellow has to make a profit."
"I convinced him that we should let you carry outyour mission," said the muscular Orion with a note ofpride in his voice. "With a little help from us."
Ro gaped at him. "You're going to join us with yourships?"
The Orion burst out laughing. "Hardly! Do we looklike fools? We can't be seen having anything to dowith this."
Shek pointed a bony finger at them. "And we hopeyou have the good sense not to get captured again!Next time, have the decency to get killed, will you?" Picard ignored the last part of Shek's request. "Wehave no intentions of being captured by the Domin-ion," he said.
"Good." The Orion held out the computer padd."We've done some calculations, and we don't see howyou could ever destroy the verteron collider, even ifyou had the Enterprise with you. But maybe you don'thave to destroy it to keep it from working."
Ro and Picard glanced puzzledly at one another,then back at their captors. "What do you have inmind?" asked Ro.
Even though they were all alone on the Ferengivessel, Shek glanced around nervously and loweredhis voice. "I received a nice bit of intelligence theother day. The Dominion has had a hard time finish-ing the mouth of the wormhole, because they need arather exotic material to withstand the pressure. Theyblew up a tanker trying to off-load a sub-quarkcompound, and now they're getting desperate."
Shek tapped his fingertips together. "My spies tellme that they've sent a mining vessel to a black holecalled the Eye of Talek. They're trying to extract someCorzanium to use for the building material. Does thissound plausible to you?" "Very," answered Picard.
"So," concluded Rolf, "you don't have to destroythe whole thing to stop them. You just have to keepthem from mining the Corzanium--destroy the min-ing vessel."
"Do you know the location of the Eye of Talek?"asked Ro. "I've heard of it, but I don't know where itis."
"Right here," answered Roll, pointing to his com-puter padd."Then why are we still tied up?" demanded Ro."We need to get moving!"
The Orion and the Ferengi glanced at one another,and the Orion shrugged and pulled a curved knife outof the gold sash around his waist. Ro winced as thesharp blade ran down the skin of her forearms andsawed the rope tying her wrists. When her arms finallydropped to her sides, Ro never thought she could feelsuch reliefi She watched intently as he cut the ropearound her ankles, then she stood and stretched,trying to ignore the screams of her cramped muscles.
Picard sat stoically as the Orion cut away his bonds;then he stood and rubbed the chafed skin on hiswrists. "You know, we could have reached the sameconclusion without so much trouble."
"Ah," said the Ferengi, grabbing the handle of hiswhip, "where is the fun in that? Frankly, if you hadtold us that a little Bajoran transport with two torpe-does was going to take out a verteron collider that isten kilometers long and protected by a Dominionfleet, we wouldn't have believed you. Would we have,Rolf?."
"I'm still not sure I believe them," grumbled theOrion. "But the truth potion never lies, which meansthey are simply deludedmso let's give them a chanceto die for their cause! Besides, we want to keep thewar going, don't we, Shek?"
"Yes, we do," answered the Ferengi, "but if I findout that you've been captured--when I could havesold you to themmI'11 be very angry."
"You won't have to worry about that," vowedPicard. "Can we go back to our ship now?"Roll nodded and shoved the padd into the captain'shands. "Use this information well--we hate to give itaway for free."
"Is it going to be hard to reach the Eye of Talek?"asked Ro.
"In your ship, it's a journey of two days," answeredRoll. "But you have made it past the front, wheremost of the Dominion ships are deployed, so youshouldn't encounter many of them."
"Thank you," said Picard. He reached for hiscomm badge and found a torn patch of fabric where itshould have been.
"Oh!" exclaimed Shek, producing two Bajorancomm badges from a pocket on his vest. With anapologetic smile, he handed them over.
"Thank you." Picard tapped his badge and said,"Away team to the Orb of Peace."
"Captain!" answered La Forge's breathless voice."Are you all right? We thought you were dead... orworse.""We're fine, Geordi. Our hosts are letting us go.""They hit us with a tractor beam," said La Forge,"and we had no choice but to let them board andsearch us."
"Yes, they're very thorough when it comes to dig-ging for information," agreed Picard. "But they'vegiven us some news that could prove to be invaluable.Two to transport back."  "Yes, sir."
"We never had this conversation," insisted Shek asthe tingle of the transporter beam gripped Ro's spine."You don't know us!"
"Nevertheless," said the Bajoran, "we won't forgetyour help."
 After they were gone, the two pirate captains lookedat one another and shook their heads in amazement.  "Do you think they stand a chance?" asked Shek.  "None!" scoffed the Orion. "A tiny transport  against the entire Dominion? They'll have to get very  lucky."
"Something tells me that Captain Picard knows athing or two about luck." Shek tugged on an oversizedearlobe. "Maybe they will disrupt the Dominion longenough for us to pull offa caper or two. Let's go to thechart room and plan it."
The Orion slapped his scrawny partner on theshoulder. "Now you're thinking. Lead the way!"
Before the two scurvy captains could exit the holo-deck, the Ferengi's comm badge chirped. With ascowl, he tapped it and answered, "This is CaptainShek. What is it?"
"Captain," said a quavering voice, "that ship whichjust left--three men beamed over from transporterroom two when the others beamed back. Desert theydid, sir!"
"The scoundrels!" growled the Ferengi, reachingfor the handle of his whip. "Listen, hail the Bajoransand tell them they've got stowaways!"
"We tried that, sir, and there's too much interfer-ence. The plasma storms are really bad out there--they'll be lucky if they make it through. Should we goafter them, sir?"
"No," growled Shek, "not if the storms are bad.Plus, we've got to meet the Plektaks here. Who did welose?"  "The three Romulans."  "Good riddance," muttered Shek. "Out."
Rolf chuckled. "I told you not to take them on. Nowthey've decided to grab their own ship and go free-lance. Pretty good timing."
"Captain Picard's luck just turned the other way,"muttered the Ferengi, shuffling out the door.
Will Riker stood at the door of Shana Winslow'squarters, wondering how far he should go in thepursuit of special treatment for the Enterprise. Logictold him that no matter what he did, it wouldn't makeany difference. Maybe in the field, under fire, Winslowwould be willing to make quick and dirty repairs; butin her current post, she was determined to followprocedures. He didn't think she would make anyexceptions for an amiable dinner date.
Then why was he here, paused to follow Shana intoher private chambers? He had to answer that he wasinterested in the woman, not what she could do forhim. She had lost her family and her ship, and hisheart went out to her. Will knew how many peopledoubted his sanity over his refusal to leave the Enter-prise to take command of another ship. But theEnterprise and her crew were like no other ship. Theywere family, and the Enterprise was home.
"A penny for your thoughts," said Winslow as herdoor slid open.
He smiled wistfully. "I'm afraid I was thinkingabout my ship and her crew. I can be awfully single-minded."
"Me, too." She motioned toward her small buttastefully appointed cabin, standard issue, as if shehadn't really moved in yet. "Would you like to comein for a drink?"  "Yes, I would."
She led the way. "I have to warn you that even thereplicators are offering reduced selections these days.We have to ration both raw materials and powerconsumption." "Do you still have cold water?"
"I think so," she answered with a smile, movingtoward the food slot. "One cold water. Please, have aseat."
"On the ship, our biggest problem is a lack ofexperienced personnel," said Riker, dropping into acushy sofa. "It doesn't do any good to throw bodies ata problem unless they have the experience to dealwith it."
"Tell me about it." Winslow brought him a glass ofwater, carrying it in her natural hand. "How wouldyou like to have to compete with ships of the line forgood people? The admirals just want to throw every-body into the front, forgetting all about the supportservices. We've shut down two wings of the station--nobody to do maintenance."
"I noticed." Riker sipped his water and lookedquizzically at her. "You're not drinking anything?"
"I'm going back now. I have a hard time carryingmore than one glass at a time."
Riker fought the temptation to jump up and fetchher a drink. Instead he watched her laboriously getherself a cup of tea and return to the sofa. He wasflattered when she sat down close beside him.
"Ah," said Winslow with a sigh. "Now, where werewe?"
"We were complaining about how we don't haveenough good people."
"These are extraordinary times," said the engineer."Starfleet has fought plenty of conflicts before, butwe've never been stretched so thin, over such a longperiod of time--with no end in sight."
Riker sighed. "There is an end in sight, but it's notone we want to think about."
"That bad, huh?" She shook her head. "I know theshortages and pressure we're under, but I don't reallyget a feel for it. I wish I were out there--with youpeople."
"We're holding our own," he lied. "Even withoutyou."
Winslow smiled sweetly at him, her dark eyesglimmering. "I suppose we have to make the most ofevery moment we're alive. That's something I reallyhaven't learned to do since the Budapest went down.Sometimes it's just so easy to get caught up in yourwork."
"I know," said Riker, his arm curling around hershoulder. "Maybe this is a good time to start."
She snuggled back into the crook of his arm andclosed her eyes. "Can I just sit here for a moment?Human contact, and all that. There's one thing youdon't get much in Starfleet--a hug. They ought tohave a couple of people in charge of hugs, just todispense them randomly."
Riker settled back, too, his arm around this veryagreeable women, not in any rush himself. In hisyounger years, he would have been all over Shana, butnow the simple contact felt good. He hadn't had muchtime for hugs either.
When she finally opened her eyes, they sparkledlike two black opals, faraway and dreamy. Her facehad beauty, ruggedness, and character--the face of awoman who worked too hard for too little in return.Looking surprised, she touched his other arm, as iftrying to make sure he was real. That was when heknew he had to kiss her.
Riker bent low, and she angled her chin upward,closing her eyes again. As his mouth was about totaste her honey and tea-scented lips and her handgripped his bicep, an urgent beep sounded on anearby comm panel.
"I'm sorry, Will," said Winslow apologetically asshe rose to her feet. "I told them not to call me unlessit's an emergency."  "I understand," said Riker.She tapped the panel and said, "Winslow here.""This is Lieutenant Harflon, work detail three onthe Seleya," came a crisp voice. "The energy fluctua-tions in the IPS are still affecting the grid. Lorimarsaid you had an undocumented fix for this, and thework orders say to call you."
 "Yes, yes," she answered. "Is the test flight stillscheduled for oh-eight-hundred?" "Yes, Commander."
"I'll be right there. Out." Winslow winced at Rikeras she headed toward the door. "Sorry, Will. But youknow, this might not take long. You're welcome tomake yourself at home... relax."
"How come the Seleya is getting special treat-ment?" asked Riker, following her out into the corri-dor. "Because it's the admiral's ship?"
"Could be, except that it's been in my shop for aweek already, and the admiral is like you--impa-tient." She headed determinedly toward the turbolift.  "Well, then... what about enjoying life?"  Winslow waved as she entered the turbolift. "In  case you hadn't heard, there's a war on! Dinner  tomorrow, same time?" "Sure."
The turbolift door shut, leaving Riker to shake hishead in amazement. He turned and headed back theother way, curious to see if any of his crew were still atthe Bolian Bistro.
On a large moon where the atmosphere was so thinthat day looked like night, Data sat in the powderydust, watching his portable instruments. They wereattached by wires to a small sensor array which he hadmounted on the roof of his shuttlecraft. Doing so hadhelped him target the Badlands.
In his short stay on the nameless moon, Data hadmonitored considerable traffic in Dominion shipsmoving to and from the front. He kept diligent noteson the enemy ship movement, thinking that somedaythe information might be important. But he hadn'tfound the Orb of Peace, nor had he detected the returnof the Enterprise. Even concentrating long-range sen-sors on the Badlands, he had yet to locate any shipthat could possibly be the Bajoran transport or itsemergency beacon.
As far as he could tell with the shifting borders, thismoon was located well into Cardassian space, and hedared not go any deeper. Going farther would onlyendanger his mission without substantially increasinghis odds of success, which were not good to beginwith. Data calculated that the odds of the Enterpriseor another Starfleet vessel finding him were less thanone in four. He preferred not to calculate the odds ofrecovering Picard, Geordi, Ro, and the Orb of Peace.
In this instance, the android couldn't be sure thatpatience would have the desired effect, but he coun-seled himself to be patient anyway. Nevertheless,Data had recurring thoughts about Japanese soldiersin World War II stranded at their jungle posts yearsafter their war was over. He thought about not everseeing his friends again, and he academically consid-ered the grief and worry he would be experiencing ifhis emotion chip were turned on.
No, Data decided, war required a level head, goodjudgment, and that ethereal commodity known asgood fortune. Unfortunately, it appeared as if hewould have to wait for the good fortune part.

Chapter Eleven

THE EYE OF TALEK LOOMED before them like a holepunctured in the fabric of space, notable for anabsence of stars and a golden halo of gas and duststreaming into it. The black hole was the size of asaucer section on a big starship, but almost brilliantlyblack, like the sun as seen in a photographic negative.
Sam turned away from the viewscreen and lookedat Grof, who was beaming with pleasure. "Isn't itmagnificent?" asked the Trill with a grand sweep ofhis arms.
"'Scary' is the word I would use," replied Sam. "Ithought you said this was a small black hole."
"It is. If it were a large one, we couldn't have comethis close."
"What's on the other side?" asked Jozarnay Woil,the Antosian material handler.Grof laughed. "There is no other side--it's a celes-tial body with gravity so strong that not even lightparticles can escape. An old professor of mine used tocall this singularity a 'gravity graveyard.' The smallerthe black hole, the older it is. Over time, somematerial will escape through natural quantum step-ping, so in ten billion years, maybe this black hole willshrink to nothing. For now, it's the only place whereCorzanium can be found."
"However," said Taurik, seated at the corm, "themain reason our task is so difficult is that gravitywarps space. At a distance directly proportional to themass of the collapsed object, an event horizon occurs.In essence, the material making up the black holeexists in a different space-time continuum, which iswhy the gas and debris seem to disappear when theyenter. This is also why we must quantum-step theCorzanium out, particle by particle."
"Have you and Horik made the adjustments to thetractor beam?" asked Grof.
The Vulcan nodded. "The metaphasic shield en-hancer is on-line and has been integrated with tractor-beam operations." "Excellent!'~
Sam's mind wandered while Grof and Taurik en-gaged in a rapid-fire discussion of various scientificaspects of their mission. He was more concernedabout the Jem'Hadar attack ship that had trailedthem halfway across Cardassian space, just to makesure they attended to business and didn't try toescape. Sam was determined to disappoint them andescape anyway.
Since they didn't have any weapons and couldn'trun fast enough from the small warship, the onlyplausible plan was to escape in the attack craft itself.Either that, or they had to use their transporters todamage the Jem'Hadar shiprain effect, tossing amonkey wrench into their engine.
While Grof, Taurik, and Woil continued their dis-cussion, Sam used the ops console to locate theJem'Hadar ship. The small but deadly craft hadassumed an outer orbit around the Eye of Talek at adistance that was a hundred kilometers beyond theirtransporter range. The trick would be to lure it closerwith some kind of catastrophe or emergency. Butwhat?
The Jem'Hadar were undoubtedly prepared for anescape attempt, and they were certainly under ordersto make sure the prisoners perished rather thanescaped. As prisoners and crew, they were expend-able, but their cargo was not. The tanker would soonbe very important to the Dominion and the war.
That meant they would have to extract a largeamount of the exotic ore before they could make theirmove--probably by making the tanker appear to bethreatened. If they weren't careful, they could all diein an accident before they had a chance to make abreak for it. Reluctantly, Sam tuned back in toongoing conversation, figuring he had better concen-trate on their mission for the time being.
Jozarnay Woil still looked confused as he scratchedthe bun of tight black hair atop his head. "Professor,can you go through the high points one more time?Listening to you and Taurik is over my head."
Grof thrust his finger into the air. "To begin with,the Corzanium is extremely volatile until wequantum-step it beyond the event horizon and recom-bine it in the chamber. The sequence goes like this:Using the tractor beam, we lower the mining probeinto the black hole just above the event horizon. Thenwe bombard the hole with tachyons, which changesthe terms of probability and quantum-steps the parti-cles, expelling them in the process. You might com-pare this to drilling in a typical mining operation.Now we have escaping matter which we can guideinto the probe with the tractor beam. Then we beamthe probe on board and put it in stasis.
"After that, Mr. Woil, you work your magic andtransfer the ore from the stasis field into the recomchamber. Then it's just like any other metal, exceptthat it has a unique resistance to gravity."
The Antosian shook his head. "No wonder it's sorare."
"We wouldn't be here if it weren't," muttered theTrill.
"Remember, we only have three probes," said Sam,trying to sound interested. "We can't afford to loseany." "That will be plenty," countered Grof. "When do we start?" asked Woil.
"There's no time like the present!" The Trillclapped his hands together.
"I would take issue with that," replied Taurik."While some of us have been sleeping, others likemyself have been on duty for twenty-five hoursstraight. Although you make the extraction processsound relatively simple, it is anything but. A mistakeby any one of us could destroy this ship and allaboard."
"But we could get a start," countered Grof. "Takesome readings, prepare the equipment."
"A mistake in any of those tasks would be equallydisastrous," answered Taurik.
"He's right," said Sam, putting a friendly hand onGrof's beefy shoulder. "Let's get some rest. Do youthink our shadow would mind?"
"Forget them," said Grof irritably. "They're merelyan escort--/am in charge of this mission."  "But they have the weapons," Sam reminded him.
"Oh-six-hundred hours," grumbled the Trill, check-ing his chronometer. "No later than that."
"Okay, no later," Sam assured him. "Woil, can youtell the others?"
"Sure, Captain." The Antosian climbed down theladder, and the last thing to disappear was the bun ofblack hair atop his head.  "I want this to go smoothly," warned Grof,
"And if it doesn't," said Sam, "you can harangueme about it in the next life."
The Trill shot him a look of disgust. "Remember,I'm an unjoined Trill--I only get one life." Then hisglower changed into a tepid smile before he clompeddown the ladder, pulling the hatch lid shut behindhim.
"Is he mellowing, or is he crazy?" asked Samrhetorically.
"I think a bit of both," answered Woil. "The ques-tion is, what are we?"
"We're hiding our time," said Sam, biting off thewrapper of a rations bar.
"All instruments and systems back on-line," saidthe young man at the ops panel with obvious relief.On the viewscreen of the Orb of Peace, the murky butalluring dust cloud called the Badlands faded fromview. The rectangular transport finally escaped intoopen star-studded space.
Ro Laren looked up from her conn and turned tosee a dozen young pseudo-Bajorans gathered on thecramped bridge, beaming at her. The final leg throughthe Badlands had been extremely tense, with plasmastorms rippling all around them, and most of the crewhad peeked into the bridge to offer support or look forcamaraderie.Ro gave them a smile and said, "Well done.""Well done to you," declared Captain Picard, whothen leaned back in his seat at the tactical station andtook a deep breath. "There aren't many people whocould have made it through there."
"Nobody else was foolish enough to try," answeredRo. She stood and stretched, thinking that she wasmore stiff now than she had been when she was tied toa chair on the pirates' ship.
"Captain Ro, I think you deserve some relief, andsome rest." Picard motioned to one of the youngbystanders to take her place at the conn, and Rodidn't resist. She stepped aside and let the blondwoman have her seat.
 "Our course is laid in," Ro told her. "Just take herto maximum warp, when ready." "Yes, sir."
The Bajoran turned to Picard and asked, "Any signof enemy ships?"
"There are a few possible ships on long-range scans,but none of them are headed to intercept us. I thinkwe're finally clear of the border patrol."
Ro let out a sharp breath. At last, they were behindenemy lines.
Picard squinted at his board and reported, "I'mpicking up something that might be the artificialwormhole. It's where our friends said it was."  "Can you put it on screen?"
"Yes, but it won't be very clear. These aren't themost accurate scanners and screens."
A large, gleaming cylinder appeared on the view-screen, floating in the blackness of space. It mighthave been mistaken for some kind of space probe orsatellite, except for the bright blips that surrounded itlike fireflies swarming around a log in the woods. Roknew these insignificant blips were in reality mightywarships, tankers, and troop transports.
"Boy, up close, it must be the eighth wonder of theuniverse," said the officer on ops.
"I'm glad we don't have to take it out," answeredRo.
But she wondered if this terrible threat could beresolved as easily as all that--by just destroying amining vessel outside a black hole. Thus far, thepirates' information had proven correct, so perhapsthis incredible structure did have a weak spot. Still, itwas hard to imagine that the Dominion's most impor-tant project in the Alpha Quadrant would turn out tobe nothing but a white elephant, useless for lack of theright building material. But now they had seen itmthe artificial wormhole really existed.
"Can we take a holoscan of it for Will Riker?" sheasked.
Picard smiled. "I don't believe that will be neces-sary. He'll be more than happy to apologize when weget back."
"I'm not sure I'll be going back," said Ro. "I'm notthat fond of prison."
Picard's jaw tightened. "I'll do everything I can toget your situation squared away, I promise. In fact, Ican even see about getting you your commissionback."
"One step at a time. First, let's make sure there's aStarfleet to go back to." Ro started toward the rear ofthe bridge and paused in the doorway. "If you want totalk about it, Captain, I'll buy you a drink."
"All right. I think things are under control here."Picard rose from the tactical station and motioned toa junior officer to relieve him. The young crew mem-bers were all too eager to resume their stations nowthat they were away from the unpredictable dangers ofthe Badlands.
"We should have someone check on those fruitsand vegetables in the hold," suggested Picard. "Let'sdispense them to the crew before they start goingbad."
"Good idea," replied Ro. "Henderson, you havethe bridge. Send a detail to the cargo bay--we'll be inthe mess hall." "Yes, sir."
Ro followed Picard out, and the Bajoran felt aweary sense of satisfaction as they strolled down thecorridor. She finally felt as if she had earned the trustof her unfamiliar crew. She'd had Captain Picard'strust all along, but the others didn't know her andwhat she could do. Now they did.
Picard stopped at the turbolift and smiled at her."Do you mind if we ask Mr. La Forge to join us? Hecould probably use a break, too."
"That's fine," answered Ro. In reality, she was tooweary to make much small talk, and she knew thegregarious engineer would fill in the gaps in theconversation. Also she wasn't ready to commit to going back to Starfleet, even if they would have her. Ro knew she ought to sleep, but she was too wired for that. Just a chair, a glass of juice, and nothing to do for a few minutesmthat sounded manageable.
 Picard tapped his comm badge. "Boothby to La Forge: can you meet us in the mess hall?"
 "Sure," answered the engineer. "Let me assign my relief, and I'll be right there. Out."
Picard and Ro wended their way down a spiralstaircase to the lower level, then strolled along adeserted corridor.
"I was serious about what I said," began Picard,"about getting you back into Starfleet."
"I know you were," answered the Bajoran, "and Iappreciate it. But if my people really are neutral in thewar, perhaps I should be, too. That would be a changeof pace for me--I'm always partisan."
"I know," said Picard with a smile. "Well, you haveour gratitude. Without you, we wouldn't have knownabout the Dominion's plans until it was too late.Apparently we're here in time to stop them."Ro led the way into the mess hall. "Let's hope so."A moment later, they sat down in a small, austeredining room, decorated in tasteful beige colors andsubdued lighting. All the rest of the young crew wereeither working or taking their sleep shift.
"What would you like to do when this is over?"asked Picard. "Providing it ends the way we hope itwill."
"Maybe I'll help refugees. There are bound to bemillions of them." She held up her hand, cutting himoff, she hoped not too abruptly. "I know, there arepositions like that in Starfleet, but I have a hard timethinking that far ahead. Whenever I make plans tohave a normal life, things go haywire."
"I know that feeling," replied the captain wistfully."You think you can escape from the pressures, butthey always come after you."
La Forge strolled jauntily through the door, stilllooking rather roguish with his earring, nose ridges,and pilot's goggles. "Hello, Captain Picard, CaptainRo," he said cheerfully, stopping at the food replica-tor. "What's your pleasure?"
"Hello, Geordi," said Picard with an uncharacteris-tic yawn. "Tea, Earl Grey, hot."
"Knowing that replicator, I think you might have tosettle for Bajoran tea," said Ro. "I'11 have the juicecocktail."
La Forge repeated their orders a few times into therecalcitrant repticator until it was finally able toproduce their beverages. He delivered their drinks tothe table, then went back to get his glass of milk.
"So, is it clear sailing from here?" asked the engi-neer, pulling up a chair.
"Theoretically," answered Picard. "If we can delaythem by destroying the shipment of Corzanium--andwe can get back to our lines and tell everyone whatwe've seen--maybe we can mount an attack againstthis thing. A few distractions here and there along theline, and a sizable attack force could slip through tothe Badlands. At least we found the wormhole beforeit's operational."
"I wouldn't mind playing with a verteron colliderthat huge," said La Forge wistfully. "It's really toobad that we've got to destroy it, or at least make sureit never works. A completely stable artificial worm- hole that we have total control over--it sounds like a dream come true."
 "Or a nightmare, depending on which side you're on," muttered Picard. He took a sip of tea.
The Bajoran's comm badge beeped, and she an-swered, "Ro here."
"This is Ensign Owlswing outside the cargo bay,"responded a female voice. "Henderson sent us downto check on those vegetables and fruits in the hold,but something's wrong with the cargo-bay hatch. Wecan't get it open--it's locked and won't respond tothe controls."
Ro started to rise wearily from her seat. "We canoverride the lock, take it off the computer, and open itmanually."
"I know, sir," said Owlswing, "I just wanted yourpermission to try it."
Ro sunk back into her seat and saw Picard smilingat her. "Yes, go ahead. Ro out."
"See, it really is your ship," said Picard, "and yourcrew."
"For a young crew, they've been relatively calm andlevelheaded," conceded Ro. "Let's hope they stay thatway, because we're not done yet."
Picard sat forward and folded his hands in front ofhim. "That's true, and we've got to decide how we'regoing to destroy this mining vessel with our limitedfirepower."
"If they're working in the vicinity of a black hole,"offered Geordi, "it should be fairly simple to causethem to have an accident and get sucked inside.Maybe it's something we can do from a distance, witha minimum of risk." From somewhere in the ship, they heard a muffledshout. Picard turned around at looked at the opendoor and the empty corridor beyond. "What wasthat?"
Geordi shook his head. "I think it was just thewelds groaning. No offense, Ro, but this ship is kindof a bucket of bolts."
"No offense taken," answered Ro. "We're allaboard the Orb of?eace because we didn't have a lotof choice."
Suddenly, they heard frantic footsteps on the spiralladder, followed by a loud shout. A young femaleofficer paused in the doorway, a stricken look on herface, as a beam of red light shot from behind her anddrilled into her back. As she stood transfixed in thedoorway, her eyes wide with horror, a glowing redsplotch appeared on her chest, and she collapsed in aheap on the deck, her eyes staring straight upward.
Picard jumped instantly to his feet and rushed forthe door as another young officer ran past. He, too,was consumed in the beam of a sloppy shot, whichscattered sparks off the bulkhead. Before Picard couldreach the wounded man, the doors slid shut on theirown, blocking out the scene of carnage in the hallway.The captain started to pound on the wall panel toopen the portal when caution got the better of him.They didn't have a weapon among them, and to rushinto the line of fire was foolish, no matter what thehorror.
Ro slapped her comm badge. "Captain to bridge!What's going on?"
A harried voice came on, "Intruder alert! Intruderon the bridge... aaggh!" His voice dissolved into astrangled scream.  Ro looked at Geordi, who ripped his goggles off andstared at her with alarmed, pale eyes. He tapped hiscomm badge. "La Forge to Engineering--respond!Engineering, come in!" No one answered his franticcall.
"It doesn't mean they're dead because they didn'tanswer," said Ro. "Communications may be down."
"Then again," said Picard grimly, "if they hit thebridge and Engineering on this ship, they've hit it all."
The Orb of Peace was indeed a tiny ship, which asmall, determined party of armed intruders couldcapture from stem to stern in a matter of seconds. Butwho? Where had they come from? Ro didn't want tothink that someone on their own crew could havemutinied against them, but she read that very thoughtin Picard's face.
Only a few seconds had passed since the attackstarted, but it was now deathly quiet on the transport.The mess hall was about the most useless place to beduring an emergency, as it contained no weapons, noequipment, and no computer terminals, except for thefood replicator. There was also no escape, except forthe door that Picard stood ready to open. Or perhapshe intended to keep it shut, in case the intruders triedto break in.  "I've got to go out there," said the captain.  "We'll all go," offered La Forge.
"No. You two stay in hiding. If worse comes toworse, you may have to take back the ship."
"Sir, it's my ship," said Ro, brushing past thecaptain. "It's my place to see what's going on."
He looked as if he wanted to argue with her, thenthought better of it. "I'11 give you a few seconds' lead,then I'm going to see if they found the weaponsstorage in the dormitory. Geordi, we have to keep youin reserve. You've got the mess hall--see what youcan do with it." "Yes, sir."
"Let's hope it's not what we think it is," mutteredthe Bajoran as she slapped the panel and opened thedoor.
Ro stepped out into the corridor to see three deadbodies. The woman was slumped in front of the door,the man was crumpled against a bulkhead a fewmeters away, and another officer was sprawled acrossthe top of the spiral staircase. Whoever the intruderswere, they shot to kill.
She walked cautiously toward the stairs, knowingthat she had to go to the bridge to find out who wasbehind this massacre. On the deck was a lump ofsilvery metal, which Ro recognized as one of theirBajoran phasers, melted by a blast from the intruders'weapon.
After stopping to remove her shoes, she started upthe stairs in her stocking feet, hopeful not to undulysurprise whoever was on the bridge--whoever wasnow in command of her ship. Ro didn't enjoy walkinginto death, but she and death were old friends by thistime. He had brushed awfully close to her lately,especially when he took Derek. Ro didn't fear death,but she was awfully angry about the way he toyed withher, and the way he exulted in this insane war.
After climbing the staircase, she found anotherdead body, this one blasted almost in two by beamedweapons. The destruction was so horrible that Rowanted to look away, but she had to search the bodyfor weapons, on the off chance that the assailants hadmissed collecting them. After searching unsuccessfully for a handheld phas-er, Ro strode down the corridor toward the open doorto the bridge. She could hear muffled voices. On thebulkhead walls, storage cabinets had been pulledopen and rifled through, and a pile of bandages laystrewn across the hallway. Another body--this oneHenderson's--blocked the doorway. His petrifiedface gazed up at her, no longer looking so arrogant.
Ro steeled herself for an odious job. In essence, shewas poised to surrender her ship--her first com-mand-to whomever was in charge of the bridge.Considering the ruthlessness of the attack, she wouldprobably join her shipmates in death, but she had tomeet the new masters of the Orb of Peace first. Shehad lost the ship in the blink of an eye, while she hadbeen relaxing, negligent in her duties. That was themost galling part.
Captain Picard jumped up from a crouch anddashed across the expanse of the dormitory room,where several score of hammocks hung from theceiling like old moss. It was dark, and he dared notturn on any lights for fear of being spotted. As heneared the last row of hammocks, he stumbled overthe dead body of a young ensign. By her looseclothing, he concluded that she had been ruthlesslycut down while she slept.
The war and a life fraught with danger had inuredhim somewhat to death, but it was still difficult toaccept when the victim was a young person with somany years ahead of her. To see her cut down unex-pectedly, for no reason, was a sinful waste. Even so,thought Picard, he had been willing to kill this sameyoung woman instead of letting her be taken prisonerby the Dominion. He had killed and was prepared todo it again.
He tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Whyhad someone wanted this ordinary little ship so badlythey had to kill for it? Their assailants seemed toknow their way around the ship fairly well; they knewexactly where to strike. So Picard wasn't optimisticabout finding their cache of hand phasers intact as hereached the rear bulkhead in the dormitory.
Sure enough, the cabinet had been stripped of itsweapons. He heard a groan, and he whirled around tosee a lump in the corner, twitching, groping for him."Help me!" rasped the figure.
Picard ran to the wounded man and tried not togape at his wretched condition. "I'm right here," hetold the dying man. "Please stop trying to talk. Saveyour strength."
The man gripped Picard's shoulder, and the captaincould feel him shivering, growing weaker. Both ofthem were obscured by shadows. "No warning,"croaked the officer.
"Who was it?" asked Picard as he tried to straight-en the man's limbs and make him comfortable.
"Romulans!" wheezed the officer with a violentshudder. Suddenly his shivering and twitchingstopped, and he went limp in the captain's arms.
"Rest in peace," whispered the captain, setting theman gently onto the deck. His jaw set determinedly,Picard rose to his feet and looked around the dormi-tory for any object he could use as a weapon. Hespotted a toolbox and quickly opened it. Among thetools was a heavy spanner, which he hefted in hishand with grim satisfaction.
What his plan was, Picard didn't yet know. He wasin reaction mode, thinking of other ships, other timeswhen intruders had taken over and forced him intoguerrilla warfare on his own decks. Every time, his foehad been so ruthless as to leave him no choice.
Picard pounded the spanner into the palm of hishand, jumped up, and dashed back through the dor-mitory. It was deserted except for the ghosts.
Ro paused outside the door of the bridge. Still inher stocking feet, she had approached the hijackersunseen and unheard, and she could see them hoveringover the consoles, oblivious of the butchered bodiesthat littered the deck. The streaked image on theviewscreen led her to believe that they were still inwarp drive, probably still on course for the Eye ofTalek.
She saw two of the victors and heard the voice of athird, all men and dressed in civilian clothing--notthe Bajoran uniforms of her crew. At least it hadn'tbeen a mutiny. To know so much about the ship, theseintruders had to be connected to the pirates. Maybethey had boarded during the search of the ship, whileshe had been drugged. Chuckling and congratulatingeach other, they sounded elated over the success oftheir murderous assault.
At that moment, when she had intended to surren-der to them, Ro knew she couldn't do it. Her fury atlosing her ship and her instincts for survival forcedher to back slowly away from the door. Suddenly sheheard angry voices, and one of the intruders turnedaround and strode toward her. Although his uniformwas unfamiliar, she identified his straight black hairand imperious bearing. A Romulan!
He stared at her, scowled, and reached for a Kling-on disruptor in his belt. Ro darted down the hall andvaulted over a body and into the spiral staircase. Sheplunged several steps as a disruptor beam vaporizedthe hand railing, scattering droplets of molten metaldown on her.

Chapter Twelve

Ro CHARGED DOWN THE STAIRS, listening to the shoutsand footsteps of her pursuer. She had no intent but torun like hell, which she did as soon as she hit thelower deck. Glancing behind her, Ro didn't see thefirst body sprawled across the corridor, and she stum-bled over it. She crashed to the deck just as heavyfootsteps bounded onto the deck behind her."Need help?" shouted a distant voice from above."No, no!" answered the grinning Romulan as heleveled his disruptor at Ro. "I've got matters incontrol."
Expecting to be vaporized, Ro flinched, and shenearly missed seeing Captain Picard spring frombehind the staircase and hit the Romulan across theback of his skull. His features contorted for a secondbefore he collapsed onto the deck, sending the disrup-tor skittering across the floor toward Ro. She instantlypounced upon the weapon and aimed it at the top ofthe staircase, waiting for more of them to descend.
Picard searched the fallen Romulan but foundnothing worth keeping. He motioned to Ro, and shepicked herself up and scurried over. Picard pointed tothe body and back down the corridor; then he grippedthe prisoner's closest armpit. Keeping her weaponaimed at the Romulan, Ro gripped the other armpit,and together they dragged their prisoner back downthe corridor toward the mess hall.
Seeing the bodies of their comrades was no easierthis time, but she struggled on, helping Picard dragthe unconscious Romulan to the door of the dininghall. When the door didn't open, Picard pushed thepanel beside it. When that failed, he rapped on thedoor. "Geordi! It's us!"
The door slid open, and they dragged the Romulaninside, as Ro stole a glance down the corridor. Theother two were still above deck, thinking their friendwas in control. La Forge gaped at them. "You caught a Romulan?"
"Yes," answered Picard breathlessly. "I see youhave the door rigged?"
"For now," answered La Forge, gingerly sticking afork back into the open wall compartment and mak-ing an adjustment. "These aren't heavy-duty doors--they could bust through fairly easily. How many arethere?"
"Three," answered Ro. "Him and two others, allRomulans."
"And there were Romulans in that bunch of pirateswho boarded us," recalled Geordi. "I guess they had alook around and liked what they saw."
Picard's jaw tightened. "We've got a weapon, andwe've lowered the odds. But I really don't want to trya direct assault on the bridge."
Their prisoner groaned and began to move hislimbs. Ro looked at the disruptor and scowled. "Thisis the cheap model, the one with no stun setting."
"Don't hesitate to kill him if necessary," orderedPicard. "Mr. La Forge, have we got anything to tiehim up?"
The engineer reached into the open panel andyanked out several long strands of electrical wiring,which he tossed to Picard. "Use this, because I'vedisabled the door's circuitry."
When the Romulan groaned some more and triedto open his eyes, Ro's finger encircled the trigger ofthe disruptor and aimed the weapon at his chest. LaForge jumped down and helped Picard tie the cap-tive's wrists together. They were working on his feetwhen he came to and gaped at them with startlingclarity. "What?" he gasped. "What is--"
"Quiet," ordered Picard. "Kill him if he breathesanother word." "With pleasure," answered Ro.
The Romulan's darting eyes took in Picard's sternvisage, then the disruptor in Ro's hands, and finallythe intense look on Ro's face. She didn't need to doanything to put the fear into him, because her deter-mination to kill him was etched into her gauntfeatures. He stopped his movements and stared atthem, wide-eyed.
"Why did you kill so many of us?" demandedPicard.
"We wanted your ship," said the Romulan evenly."Would you have given it to us?"
"Why did you want this ship?" he pressed thecaptive.
"It was the only one which presented itself to us."The Romulan winced as he shifted position. "Youdon't know what it was like, serving under Roll andShek! We were virtual prisoners--allowed none of theluxuries they got. And all the things we were forced todo--well, we learned how to take over a ship fromthem."
"Did they have anything to do with this?" askedPicard.
"No, Rolf would torture and kill us, if he knew. Wehad been talking about deserting, if we could get aship. After we returned from searching your vessel, weput our plan into action. We're Romulans. We wereborn to rule, not serve.""We're recapturing this ship," vowed Picard."There's no need for bloodshed," offered the Rom-ulan, struggling against his bonds. "Turn me loose.Let me talk to them."
Ro glanced at Picard and La Forge, and it wasobvious from their grim expressions that the Rom-ulan was not getting his freedom any time soon.  "On your feet," ordered Picard.
"You're going to let me go?" asked the Romulan inamazement.
"Yes, and you're going to march straight to thebridge. Only I'll be right behind you, with the disrup-tor in your back."
When the Romulan struggled to stand up, La Forgetried to help him. With a sullen expression, hebumped Geordi with his shoulder and knocked himaway. "I can do it!" snarled the Romulan. He stroderesolutely toward the door, staring straight ahead.
Something is wrong, thought Ro. None of thisseemed right to herin not the hijacking, not the sense-less killings, not the piratical Romulans.
"Wait a minute," she said, moving toward to theprisoner with the disruptor leveled at his stomach."What are you doing here--in Cardassian space--with a war going on?"
It was the same question she had been asked a dayearlier, and like her, the Romulan did not have asatisfactory answer. He looked evasive as he replied,"We were young and foolish, out for adventure."
"They're Romulan spies," concluded Ro. "Perhapsthey're even here for the same reason we're here."
Picard and La Forge glanced at each other, whilethe puzzled Romulan turned abruptly to Ro. "Ithought you were Bajoran merchants."
"No," answered Ro with a clenched jaw. "Youmurdered a dozen Starfleet officers who were dis-guised to look like Bajorans. Now I'll ask again: Whyare you here?"
The Romulan licked his lips, as if tasting the truthfor the first time in his life. "We may be neutral in thiswar, but it's only natural to gather intelligence."
La Forge frowned. "And what better way to seewhat's happening than to enlist on a Ferengi ship thatprowls back and forth across the lines. So what haveyou found out?"
The Romulan smirked. "I know you're losing thewar, but I don't suppose that's news."
"Hakron!" shouted a voice that was distant, but notdistant enough.
When the Romulan looked as if he wanted torespond, Ro jabbed him sharply in the ribs with thedisruptor and glared at him. "What else?"
"Let's make a deal," he whispered. "Let me talk tomy comrades. The chances are, we both want thesame thing."
"You wanted our ship," said Ro testily. "Why?What do you know about the Dominion's artificialwormhole?""Hakron!" shouted the voice, sounding closer."You haven't got a chance," said Hakron smugly.Picard promptly grabbed their captive and shovedhim toward the door. "Be quiet and don't say aword." He nodded to La Forge, who went to thedoctored door panel and awaited his orders. Then heheld out his hand to Ro, who gave him the disruptor.
Picard grabbed the Romulan by his collar andpressed the barrel of the weapon against his neck."We're going out. Tell them to hold their fire. Don'ttry to get away, or you're dead. Understand?" The Romulan nodded languorously.
 The captain looked at Ro. "Can you be the eyes inthe back of my head?" "Yes, sir."
Picard nodded to La Forge, and the engineer ap-plied his fork to the circuitry. With a jolt, the doorslid open, and the captain pushed his captive outahead of him. Ro immediately peered around theedge of the door, looking in the direction wherePicard's back was turned. To her relief, she didn't seeanything but a corridor littered with bodies.
Her relief was short-lived, because Hakron sud-denly whirled around with his foot and caught Picardin the knee. The captain started to fall, but he kept hisgrip on the Romulan's collar and dragged his prisonerto the deck with him.  "T'ar'Fe'" cursed the Romulan.
At the end of the corridor, his confederate leapedout of the dormitory, saw them, and aimed hisweapon. Picard hoisted the Romulan to his knees andducked behind his torso just as a red disruptor beamstreaked down the length of the hallway.
"No!" screamed Hakron as the beam struck him inthe chest, setting it aglow. Using the slumping Rom-ulan as cover, Picard fired his own disruptor. Thedeadly beam pulsed down the corridor and sliced hisfoe's left arm off at the shoulder. His screams echoedthroughout the ship as he staggered for cover insidethe dormitory.
Ro suddenly realized that she was neglecting herduty by watching the melee, so she turned to look atthe spiral staircase. When she saw the body on the topstep move slightly, she shouted, "Watch out!"
Picard whirled around to shoot blindly at the top ofthe stairs. The disruptor beam blew the corpse off thesteps and forced their adversary to retreat; they heardhis scurrying footsteps. Now they were in the difficultposition of having to defend both ends of the corri-dor, although it wasn't certain that the Romulan ontheir level could still mount an attack. Picard mo-tioned to Ro and La Forge to follow him as he led theway toward the dormitory.
"Captain," whispered La Forge, "if I could get upone level to the transporter room, I could fix the guyon the bridge--without risking more disruptor fire."
Picard stopped to consider the problem. "But theonly way up is that staircase." "He might be changing course, taking us intoRomulan space," added Ro. "We've got to get thebridge under control."
The captain nodded. "Let me see if we have anotherweapon." He moved cautiously down the hallway andinspected the deck in front of the dormitory door,which was closed. Ro could see the severed arm, butapparently their foe hadn't dropped his weapon.
Looking sickened by the violence, the captain re-turned to his comrades. "All right, I'll cover the stairsand the door to the bridge. Mr. La Forge, you go to thetransporter room."
"What are you going to do, beam him into space?"asked Ro. "Is that a problem?"
"Not under these circumstances," she replied with-out hesitation. She knew that Picard cringed at thethought of fighting to the death, but the enemy hadn'tleft them much choice. With Ro keeping an eye ontheir rear, they began moving toward the spiral stair-case.
Startling them, a voice crackled over the ship'sintercom. "To those who are resisting--you muststop! We have control of the ship. You must surrender!We won't harm you."
Picard never stopped moving, and he was alreadyhalfway up the stairs, with La Forge behind him andRo bringing up the rear. She assumed that if he wasspeaking to them on the ship's comm, he had to be onthe bridge, probably with the door shut. When theyreached the top of the stairs, she found her assump-tion to be true, and Picard covered them while LaForge and Ro dashed down the corridor to the safetyof the transporter room. Ro watched the door while La Forge rushed to thetransporter controls. A moment later, Picard joinedthem, as a voice continued to plead over theintercom:
"Lay your weapons down, and we will talk. We arereasonable people, and we have all your weapons. Ihave control of the bridge. You must deal with me!"
"Not necessarily," said La Forge as he skillfullyplied the transporter console. "I've locked on to theonly life sign on the bridge. That's an outer bulkheadbehind the transporter. Ro, will you pace it off forme?"
"Sure." She leaped upon the raised platform andquickly paced off the rough distance to the wallbehind it. "Five meters," she reported.
"All right," said La Forge with a sigh. "Do we givehim a chance to surrender?"
"No!" snapped Ro. "They didn't give our crew achance."
Keeping watch at the door with his disruptor,Picard shook his head concurring with Ro's assess-ment. "Energize."
La Forge slid an old-fashioned lever forward, and aalmost melodic noise sounded in the air. But nothingappeared on the transporter platform.
"It's done," said La Forge heavily. "What about theone in the dormitory?"
"No," answered Picard, "he's probably in shock.We should be able to deal with him. All of ourweapons must be on the bridge--let's go get them."
Cautiously, they made their way down the corridor,following Picard and his disruptor. The small bridgeof the Orb of Peace, which usually looked so serene,now looked like a chamber of horrors. There weredead bodies everywhere, and an impressive pile ofweapons in front of the viewscreen. Ro and La Forgeeach grabbed a Bajoran hand phaser, and Ro checkedthe readings on the conn.
"We're still on course to the black hole," shereported. "Still at warp three."
"I want to question the last Romulan," said Picard,"if he's still alive."
Once again, they wound their way down the spiralstaircase, past the familiar dead bodies. When theyreached the dormitory, Picard motioned them awayfrom the door as he pressed the wall panel. When thedoor slid open, they flung themselves out of the way,expecting fire to erupt from the room--but nonecame. Cautiously Picard reached around the edge ofthe door and felt for the panel that would turn on thelights. When he found it, the shadowy chambers weresuddenly illuminated by cheerful lighting.
Once again, they pinned themselves against thebulkhead in the corridor, expecting enemy fire topulse through the doorway. Picard picked up a pieceof nearby battle debris. He tossed the debris into theroom, and it hit the deck with a loud clunk.
"Unnh!" groaned a voice with surprise, as if theyhad awakened him from a nap. Suddenly wild disrup-tor fire streaked out the door and raked the oppositebulkhead.
"Hold your fire!" shouted Picard, backing awayfrom the door. "Your confederates are dead, andwe've recaptured the ship! If you throw your weapontoward the door, we'll come in and give you medicalattention."
The scattered beams stopped, and they waited intense silence, punctuated only by their own rapidbreathing. Finally, there came a skittering sound as adisruptor bounced across the deck and out the door-way. Ro instantly scooped it up.
"Mr. La Forge, see if you can find a med kit,"ordered the captain. "Let's go."
Still keeping his weapon leveled in front of him,Picard led the way into the hammock-filled dormito-ry. Ro tried to ignore the sight of more young officers,pointlessly slain in the cowardly attack; she concen-trated on searching the room for the wounded Rom-ulan.  "Here!" called Picard.
She caught up with the captain as he knelt downbeside a shivering humanoid who was clutching theburned stump of his arm. Sweat and grime smearedhis once-proud face, and he blinked at them withterror and shock.  "La Forge!" called Ro.
"Coming!" The engineer reached them a momentlater. He popped open a white case and took out ahypospray.
After they injected the hypo into the Romulan'sneck, he calmed down considerably and stoppedshivering. Ro figured that they had only a few secondsbefore he lost consciousness... probably forever.
She bent over him, her face inches away from his."The Dominion is building an artificial wormhole.What do you know about it?" "Must see if it works--" he answered dazedly.
"Why?" He was losing consciousness, and she hadto shake him to get his attention. "Why?"
"If it works," he rasped, "we become their al-lies... we join the Dominion."
Then he was out, unconscious but still breathingroughly. She looked gravely at Picard and La Forge.None of them needed to say what it would mean if theRomulan Star Empire turned against them, too. Theywould be caught in a vise.
"It's not going to work," vowed Picard. "It's nevergoing to work." He slumped back on his haunches,weary and shell-shocked. The raw struggle for survivalhad been won, leaving Ro with a sense of failure and adread of the killing to come.
His fingers twitchy and nervous, Sam Lavelle sat atthe conn of the Tag Garwal, waiting for his crewmatesto finish their last-minute preparations. In the holdwas a mining probe that would soon be dangled over ablack hole. He didn't know why he was so nervous,because theoretically he had the easiest job of the lotof them--to simply maintain their position. Ofcourse, he was captain as well as helmsman, and heknew it would be up to him to take over in anemergency. At the same time, he had to look out forprovidential opportunities to escape.
He glanced at the viewscreen, knowing it was theEye of Talek that made him nervous. Although smallas black holes went, it looked like a stealth moon--analien world within the endless void. In some strangeway, it made space seem vulnerable. Although Grofhad said that matter escaped from it, the flow of dust,debris, and gas seemed to be all one way.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Grof, settling into the seatat the ops console.
"It's still scary to me," answered Sam. "Maybethat's because I don't trust it."
"When the Cardassians discovered it," said Grof,"they only had telescopes, no space travel, and theydidn't know what it was. But they had a myth about alarge monster with one eye which consumed every-thing it saw. That was Talek."
"That makes me feel so much better," murmuredSam. "I take it your main job is to shoot the tach-yons?"
"That, and to monitor everything that goes on. I'dlike to observe you, for instance, and learn your job.""I'm sure you would," Sam replied snidely.
"In a positive sense," said the Trill defensively. "Wehave a small crew, so the more efficiently we canrelieve each other, the better off we'll be."
"Just do your job," ordered Sam, "and let every-body else worry about theirs." In truth, he wouldrather have had Taurik on the bridge with him, butthe consensus was that Taurik was needed at theairlock with the mining probe, which was too heavyfor anyone else to lift. Then Taurik would assist thematerial handlers in the transporter room and therecombination chambers.
Footsteps on the ladder made Sam jump, and hewhirled around to see Tamla Horik, the tractor-beamspecialist, emerge from the hatch. The Deltan lookedcontented and relaxed these days, just glad to be free.This was Sam's first command, he thought to himself,and he couldn't even enjoy it.
The Deltan took her seat at the tactical station andreported, "The others are all set. Commence whenready."
"Thank you," said Grof testily. He punched thecommunications panel, and his voice echoed through-out the ship. "Crew of the Tag Garwal, we are ready tobegin our historic mission. Release the miningprobe." Sam shook his head at the pomposity of the Trill.He talked as if he were running the operation when, inreality, the only one in charge was the Jem'Hadarattack ship. It continued to scrutinize from afar, withthe power to destroy them at any second.
Knowing he had to forget about them and concen-trate on the job, Sam put the mining probe on theviewscreen. The small unmanned craft looked un-gainly with its array of robotic arms, sensors, andreflector dishes. And it looked helpless as it cruisedinexorably toward the deep emptiness of the Eye ofTalek.
Sam tried not to think how much was riding on allthis Cardassian equipment, but he knew that Grof,Taurik, and the others had checked every piece adozen times. He had to rely on their judgment aboutthe equipment, as they relied on his about the ship. "Tractor beam," ordered Grof.
"Tractor beam on," replied the Deltan at the tacti-cal station.
The escaping probe was engulfed in an invisiblebeam that registered only on their instrument panels.Nevertheless, the probe now had a leash which,theoretically, would keep it from plunging into theblack hole.
"Distance to event horizon: three hundred kilome-ters," reported Horik. "Tractor beam holdingsteady." "Don't let it cross that horizon," warned Grof. "Or what will happen?" asked Sam.
"If the tractor beam held, we could retrieve it,"answered the Trill, "but that's a big 'ifi' And I don'tknow what kind of shape it would be in. More thanlikely, we'd be down to two probes."
"Two hundred kilometers," said the Deltan. "I'mslowing speed to one-quarter impulse.""It's looking good," said Grof, his eyes intent uponhis readouts.
Sam looked at his own readouts to make sure theyhadn't drifted in their orbit, which was matched tothe slight rotation of the black hole. It seemed odd tobe orbiting nothing, but this nothing had a lot ofgravity for its size.
"One hundred kilometers," reported Horik."Thrusters stopped. We're now coasting into positionone-half kilometer in front of the event horizon."
"We're sure about those calculations, are't we?"asked Grof, sounding nervous for the first time.
"Yes," answered the Deltan, "unless this black holedoesn't obey the known laws of physics, which isalways possible with a singularity."
Sam didn't like the way Grof gnawed on his lowerlip as the probe completed its final approach to theblack hole. He tried not to think about the incrediblegravitational pull on the small probe, counteractedonly by their souped-up tractor beam. Sam increasedthe magnification on the viewscreen to get a betterlook at the probe... perhaps the last look at it.
"Approaching one kilometer," said the calm, con-tented Deltan. She plied her console. "All right, it'sstopped."
The three of them stared at the viewscreen, half-expecting the awkward probe to vanish forever intothe gaping blackness. But the probe was stopped,hanging on the lip of the abyss.
Grof let out a loud sigh, and then he rubbed hishands together, ready for his part in the drama. Firsthe made a shipwide announcement. "Attention, crew:the probe is in place. I'm bombarding the black holewith tachyons--stand by tractor beam, remote con-trol, and transporter room."
Sam hoped that soon they would get proficientenough at this operation to do it without Grof'smelodramatics; but for the moment, he was glad thatsomeone was calling every shot. On the viewscreen,they watched an impossibly long strand of tachyonsstretch from their ship, past the probe, into theblackness of the singularity. Sam knew this was acrucial step, the one that would actually quantum-step the particles and force them outward. The tractorbeam would capture and guide them into the probe.  "Extend tractor beam," ordered Grofi  "Extending," said the Deltan.  "Start extraction."
Leni Shonsui's voice came over the comm. "Extrac-tion in progress."
Again there was a tense silence as they watched thetimers and their readouts. Sam noticed that someforce was slightly altering their orbit, and he compen-sated without comment. There would be time later topoint this out to the others and make a correction forthe next shot. Right now, they were all absorbed intheir own tasks.
"Load full!" announced Shonsui's voice. "Let's reelit in."
Now everyone breathed a sigh of relief, althoughthey weren't out of the woods yet. Sam knew that theyhad to perfectly coordinate cutting the tractor beamat the same moment that they transported the probeback to the ship.
Grof held up his finger. "Transport on my mark.Three, two, one... mark!"The Deltan punched her board. They waited forconfirmation.
"Masserelli here," came a voice from below."We've got her, and the stasis field is holding!"
"At last." Grof slumped back in his seat and turnedapologetically toward Sam. "I've got to go down andsee it."
"Go ahead. I wouldn't mind seeing the next stepmyself." Sam didn't mention it, but the ship was inextreme danger at this point, with a highly volatilematerial in stasis.
"You two go on," said Horik at her tactical station."I can watch things here."
With Grof eagerly leading the way, they trompeddown the ladder to the lower level and dashed alongthe corridor to the transporter room. The glow of thestasis field in the center of the transporter pad cap-tured their attention and forced them to halt in thedoorway. Woil, Shonsui, and Masserelli were wearingprotective gear that covered them from head to foot,and Sam and Grof sunk back from the danger.
Jozarnay Well grabbed a flexible tube that hungfrom a mass of pipes in the ceiling and checked itsfittings. As if he did this every day of the week, hecalmly walked up to the glowing stasis field, stuck thetube in, and clamped it to the elevated mining probe.Woil stepped back, motioning to Enrique Masserelli,who manipulated the stasis field and the probe with ahandheld remote. Shonsui stood at the transporterconsole, keeping a close watch on an array of read-outs. Soon the tube was bulging as the contents of theprobe were being evacuated to the recom chambers inthe hold.Grof nudged Sam with an elbow. "Come on."The human followed the Trill to the stern of theship. From there, large double doors opened into thetwo-story-high cargo hold. As an antimatter tanker,the Tag Garwal's hold was by far her most impressivefeature. Antimatter was the most volatile cargo in thegalaxy, and it had to be stored in special forcefieldcontainers and transported in special conduits, whichsnaked all over the ceiling and walls of the hold.
The upright containers looked like massive Africandrums. Having been used strictly for storage, nowtheir forcefields were being used to recombine parti-cles that had, until a few moments ago, existed inanother space-time continuum. Despite Sam's mis-givings, it was exciting to think that they could fillthese drums with material dredged from a black hole.
They heard footsteps, and they turned to see En-rique walking toward them with his headgear and atricorder in his hands, and a big grin on his face."How does it look?"
"Like Corzanium!" declared Grof. "Which one is itin?"
Enrique muscled past them in his bulky suit andapproached the first upright container. He opened atricorder and took readings. "Right here. It's all goingas planned."
Suddenly there came a loud crashing sound fromdirectly behind them--in the transporter room. Bigman though he was, Grof whirled around like adancer and bolted down the corridor. Sam and En-rique jogged after him.
When they reached the transporter room, they wereall horrified to see the mining probe lying on thetransporter pad, many of its external componentsbroken and smashed. No one needed to ask what hadfallen over. "What happened?" roared Grof, shaking his fists.
Shonsui looked at Woil, and the Antosian shrugged."When I cut the stasis field, then it... I don't know."
"Cutting the stasis field had nothing to do with it,"said Chief Shonsui on the transporter controls. "Itake full blame. I didn't have it adjusted for thecorrect weight of the empty probe, which is somethingI wouldn't have to do with a Federation transporter. Imean, you don't expect to empty a probe and have itweigh more."
"You idiot! Up to this point, it was going perfectly/"Grof stomped around like a little boy denied hisdessert at suppertime.
Sam knew he should keep his mouth shut, but hecouldn't help himself. "I wouldn't say it was perfect. Ihad to compensate to hold our position, and thatwasn't in any of the models."
Now the Trill glared at him. "And you didn't sayanything? Imbeciles! I'm surrounded by imbeciles!"Grof stormed out of the transporter room, and theycould hear him shouting all the way down the cor-ridor.
Sam looked at his crew and shook his head. "I'mpersonally proud of you that you managed to pull thatoff so well. In one day, we've collected more Cor-zanium than anybody else in two quadrants, andthat's using Cardassian equipment, with a gunpointed at our heads! Screw that old goat."
"Yeah, so we had a few minor glitches," saidEnrique. "That's to be expected." Still, there was noway to look at the damaged probe without thinkingthey had made a grave error--one that might costthem their lives.
Taurik appeared in the doorway, looking non-plussed by the mess on the transporter pad. "I willprepare another probe."
As the Vulcan hurried off, Sam sank against thebulkhead. He was disheartened by the realization thatthey would have to go through that tense procedureagain and again until they had collected a hoard ofCorzanium. He looked around and could tell by thestark faces that his crew knew the truth: they were stillslaves, even with a ship at their disposal. This tankerwas nothing but a floating jail, with a lunatic as thejailer.
"Get another probe out there," said Sam. "Butdon't worry, we're getting out."

Chapter Thirteen

Ro LAREN, GEORDI LA FORGE, AND JEAN-LUC PICARDstood in the transporter room of the Orb of Peace,with La Forge at the transporter controls. The room'snonthreatening, welcoming atmosphere was severelytested by the sight of four bodies piled like firewoodon the transporter pad. Picard tried not to think ofthe other three piles of corpses which had lain there inthe last hour. Very badly, he wanted to wash hishands, but he wasn't done yet.
This pile of bodies was a mixture of two of hiscrew and two dead Romulans. Whether they wouldappreciate the burial rites, he didn't know. Thecaptain's face drew tight as he performed his leastfavorite duty.
"We commit these bodies of our comrades--andour enemies--to the void of space, to which theydedicated their lives. I only wish they could haveexperienced more of the joyful, awe-inspiring aspectof space exploration, rather than the senseless de-struction of war. But no matter how advanced theraces of the galaxy, we still suffer from greed andbloodlust."
The captain sighed, bereft of words to explain whathad happened to these young people--and so manyother young people who were dying at that verymoment in the far-flung theater of war. He knew whythey fought, and what they fought to preserve, butexcuses for killing were beyond Picard at that mo-ment.
"May their beliefs in the afterlife be fulfilled,"concluded the captain.
He nodded to La Forge, who turned the pile ofcorpses into a glittering funeral pyre for a few briefseconds until they disappeared entirely.
Picard strode to the door. "I wish there were timeto reflect and mourn, but there's not. Since there'sonly three of us, we have to conserve our resources.One of us must be sleeping while the other two are onduty--one in the engine room and one on thebridge."
As they followed the captain down the corridor, Roasked, "What about the one-armed Romulan?"
Picard stopped to consider the question. Against allodds, their prisoner hadn't died... yet. When itcame to first aid, none of them were Beverly Crusher,but they had apparently done a satisfactory job ofpatching him up. It helped that he was a fit, youngRomulan. But if he kept recovering, he would soonbecome a problem.  "Lock him in the captain's quarters," said Picard."Whoever is stationed in Engineering will pay period-ic visits and keep him sedated."  "I volunteer--" began Ro.
"No," answered Picard with a smile. "You steeredus through the Badlands, and you must be exhausted.I'll take the bridge, La Forge Engineering, and Ro--you get the bunk. And that's an order."
"Aye, Captain," she answered with weary resigna-tion. "Do you think we can do this by ourselves?"
"We have to," said Picard with determination."There's no one else."
Collecting three more loads of Corzanium withoutincident had mollified Enrak Grof somewhat. The'Frill sat in the mess hall, playing with his newest toy, afist-sized chunk of Corzanium, while Sam drank a cupof coffee. Although Grof hadn't liked it, he had agreedto give them a rest break for two hours. Everyoneneeded it.
Grof hefted his golden rock, then removed hishand, letting it float in the air. "This is amazingstuff," he told Sam. "If we had enough of it, we couldbuild shuttlecraft that required only a slight push toget them off a planet. We could shoot probes into thelargest sun and have them come out again on theirown power. In fact, gravity-resistant probes wouldmake mining Corzanium itself a snap."
He squinted at the floating rock. "I wonder if it willever be possible to replicate this stuff?."
Sam yawned. "Grof, do you ever stop thinkingabout getting ahead?"
"No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Progress is mybusiness. The rest of the universe may be content withthe status quo, but I never am. Most of our greatestachievements are only beginnings, halfway measuresuntil the real thing comes along. I'm going to befamous someday, Sam. You'll be able to brag to yourgrandchildren that you knew me."
"Only if we escape from here," said the human,staring pointedly at the Trill.
For once, Grof met his gaze. "What do you wantfrom me? Some pointless act of patriotism that won'tstop the juggernaut of the Dominion for one second?You think I don't hear your little whispered conversa-tions and plots? I do. Of course, Sam, I've heard youtalking about escape for several days now, and I thinkit's just talk. Just by doing your job, you're gettingcloser to freedom--by earning it instead of beingstupid. If there's such a big difference between us, I'dlike to know what it is."
"You think it's just talk," murmured Sam, worriedthat the Trill could be right.
"Let me put it this way: I'm a man who looks foroptions, and thus far, you haven't presented me withany." Grof snatched his floating rock from the air andstalked out of the mess hall.
Sam watched the collaborator go, thinking that, foronce, he was right. The time for talking and waitingwas over.
Commander Shana Winslow led the way throughthe aquarium, which was part of the Natural HistoryExhibit on Starbase 209. Will Rikor followed behindher, marveling at what had been done in such a smallspace to give the feeling of an aquatic world. Therewere magnified tanks of starfish, seahorses, and neon-orange coral fish, letting a few aquatic animals standin for many. He paused in a round anteroom, where aschool of hundreds of glinting sardines swam aroundthe amazed visitors, moving like electrons in theircircular tank.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" asked Winslow. "At onetime, they were a staple food source for our ances-tors."
"Seems like it would take a lot of them to make ameal," observed Riker.
A cacophony of excited voices diverted his atten-tion, and he and his date stepped out of the way as agaggle of schoolchildren walked through, talking andpointing excitedly at the whirl of sardines. Since hewas taller than them, his view was unobstructed; stillRiker found himself watching the school of childreninstead of the school of fish. Some of them lookeddistracted, sad.
When the group had moved on, he turned to see amelancholy look on Winslow's face. "What's thematter?" he asked.
She sighed and shifted her weight onto her naturalleg. "Most of those kids are war orphans whoseparents are not coming back. This base isn't really atthe front lines, yet we're filling up with war refugees,orphans, and the like. You brought us almost ahundred of them. I don't know how much longer wecan go on before we start busting at the seams.""Aren't there any transports out?" asked Riker."Not very many of them. The commercial spaceroutes are all shut down, and Starfleet's ships are alltoo busy. There was a time when we could ask a shiplike the Enterprise to ferry some of these folks for us. Idon't suppose you'd like to take a side jaunt to Earthor Bajor before you go back into action?" "No," admitted Riker, studying the woman's hon-est face and large brown eyes. "In truth, we probablycouldn't make it to Bajor."
"Then the Bajorans may be stuck on this star-base... for the duration." Winslow left the school ofsardines and wandered toward a wall tank of swayingseaweed and skittery octopus. Riker silently followedher between the soothing tanks of fish.
When he reached her, she mustered a smile andsaid, "You haven't asked me about your ship allevening. I don't know whether to thank you or beoffended."
"I know you and everyone else on 209 are doing allyou can." He reached out and brushed a strand ofdark hair off her pronounced cheekbone, as he gazedinto her wide, sultry eyes. "It's funny. When we firstgot here, I was in a big hurry to leave. But now I'm notin such a big hurry. I'd be a fool not to enjoy these lastfew days... with you."
"You don't expect to come back either?" askedWinslow hoarsely.
"To tell you the truth, Shana, I don't know what toexpect. I'm scared. But I'll keep doing my duty andtrying to protect my crew until... until there's nopoint. All I'm trying to say is that you've made thesefew days better than I had any reason to expect--"
Before he could finish, Captain Winslow pulledhim toward her with surprising strength. Her mouthmet his in a kiss that was fierce and demanding, onlybecoming tender after they tasted each other. Shegripped his broad shoulders as if hanging on for herlife, and he pulled her slight frame into his chest.
They heard giggling, and they turned to see two ofthe schoolgirls watching them intently. "Shoo!" saidRiker with a good-natured grin. The girls ran off,joining the larger pack of children as they wound theirway out of the aquarium.
Winslow stepped away from him and pushed a fewstrands of hair back into place. "I should think twiceabout public displays of affection, or the other cap-tains will think you have the inside track."  "Well, don't I?" asked Riker with a grin.  "I mean, for getting your ship serviced faster."
"Ah." His hands encircled her waist. "That's not onmy mind anymore."
Winslow gently pushed him away. "We need to bemore discreet. Shall we return to my quarters?"
"It's your call," said Will, giving her a graceful wayto escape his clutches. Under the best of circum-stances, he knew he could be something of a wolf, andthese weren't the best of times. He only knew thatShana Winslow filled some empty spot within him,and he hoped he did the same for her. These weren'tgood times to be alone.
"I'm inviting you," she answered, taking his handand squeezing it. "But, Will, I want you to know thatI... my body is--"
"You're an oasis of beauty," insisted Riker. "I'vegot a few scars, too--we can compare them. TheKlingons gave me a dandy one when I served aboardthe Pagh, and it's in a place few people get to see.Then this Borg scratched me across the back with adrill bit--"
Winslow snuggled into the crook of his arm. "I lookforward to exploring all of them."
They walked slowly through the suddenly quietaquarium, and Riker asked, "Are you going to get anyemergency calls?" "Not tonight. The admiral's ship is gone." She gavehim a worried smile and gripped his forearm tighter."Unless all hell breaks loose--"
"It won't tonight," Riker assured her. "Maybetomorrow, but tonight the galaxy is going to stand stillfor us."
After several shifts and a dozen loads of Cor-zanium, a professional level of confidence was creep-ing into the work of the tanker crew. No longer wasevery extraction from the black hole into the recomchambers a white-knuckled dance with death. Moreand more, the process was like a slow-motion relayrace, where the baton kept getting handed off until itcrossed the finish line. The flaky Cardassian equip-ment began to seem stable, even adequate.
They began to think of the Eye of Talek as a deepmining shaft instead of a black hole, and they called itsimply "the Hole." It was still dangerous, to be sure,but the Hole was no longer the ominous mystery ithad been when they had first seen it. For good or evil,they began to see the black hole as a resource to beplundered.
Grof was still bossy, but he was in a fairly goodmood over their progress. The best result of theirlatest fight was that Grof was now keeping away fromthe bridge entirely, which suited Sam just fine. Mostof the others were good company on the bridge,whenever they filled in at relief or simply stopped byto hang out. But even his best friend, Taurik, wasn'taround very much. In the pecking order, it wasbeginning to seem as if the real action was below-decks in the cargo hold, and Sam was just an after-thought, like the shuttlecraft pilot on the companypicnic.
Nobody thought much about the Jem'Hadar shipoff starboard, except for Sam. He watched it everyspare moment and thought about it constantly. Afterall this time, he still didn't have a plan to capture theattack craft or disable it. He didn't know whether theJem'Hadar were getting cocky and overconfident atall, but they deserved to be. So far, everything hadgone their way. Patience, Sam told himself, a goodidea will come. An opportunity will present itself--beready to act.
Perhaps his troubled thoughts were distracting himthat first shift of the day, when he should have been athis most alert. But why was Enrique so unobservantat the tactical station? Why was nobody even at theops station? Were the Jem'Hadar groggy from theirwhite stuff?. It probably wouldn't have made anydifference, but somebody should have seen that mete-oroid come streaking out of nowhere, headed straighttoward the Eye of Talek.
The meteoroid caught them at the most criticaljuncture of the extraction, when they had just ex-tended the tractor beam into the black hole to attractthe escaping Corzanium. The probe hung on the edgeof the event horizon, centimeters from plunging intoanother realm of space and time. It couldn't haveappeared at a worse time.
"Oh, my God!" muttered Enrique when he saw thething on his readouts.
Both he and Sam stared up at the viewscreen intime to see a monstrous rock as big as a house comehurtling past them. As if that near miss wasn't badenough, the meteoroid crossed the tractor beam,breaking the seal with the probe. The delicate piece ofmachinery, which they had babied since dropping thefirst one, was sucked into the blackness in a microsec-ond. It disappeared from Sam's readouts like a phan-tom blip.
"What's going on?" demanded Grof over the ship'scomm.
There was no time for Sam to reply, because themeteoroid's path was altered by the tractor beam. Itpassed through the beam again, caught hold, andjolted the ship. Having much greater mass than theprobe, the meteoroid abruptly dragged the tankertoward the Eye of Talek.
"Cut the tractor beam," ordered Sam, but it wastoo late. Angry footsteps sounded on the ladderbehind him.  "We're falling into the hole!" yelled Enrique.
Sam threw every forward thruster into full reverse,and they were tossed out of their seats by the oppos-ing forces. He heard Grof roar with rage as he wasdumped off the ladder, but Sam was totally preoccu-pied with his job now. With every reflex, instinct, andsliver of experience he had, Sam worked the controlsin a desperate attempt to save the Tag Garwal andthemselves.
But the response was sluggish--it was as if the shipwere under water, a submarine. Sam realized it wasthe gravity from the Eye of Talek and possibly someunknown effect of the event horizon. They were toolow--on a reentry course with something theycouldn't possibly reenter.
Finally Grof stomped up the ladder and stormedout of the hatch, his face purple with rage. "What areyou doing, you idiot? You're wrecking my ship!"
"Shut up," growled Enrique. "He's trying to save it.Look at the viewscreenmit's a huge meteoroid!"
Sam heard gasps as the giant rock disappeared intothe hole, which had come close enou~ to fill theentire viewscreen with blackness. M1 of this was onthe periphery of Sam's senses, as he strug~ed with thehelm. Perhaps a first-class shuttlecraft with a slew ofthrusters would have survived this descent, but notthe awkward antimatter tanker, which was not aterrestrial craft. It didn't have enough power to fillthis kind of cavity.
"Pull out!" bellowed Grof. "Before we hit the eventhorizon."  "I'm going into wa~ drive," declared Sam.  "No!" said Grof. "They... they'll kill us."
"Not if we're already dead." He was about to applyan emergency procedure that would probably tearthem apart, when something else jolted the Tag Gar-wal. Sam looked at his controls and was amazed to seethat their plunge into the hole had been slowed byeighty percent.
"The Jem'Hadar ship," said Enrique. "They've gotus in their tractor beam."
Sam changed the viewscreen immediately, puttingup the pulsing blue vessel, which was closer than ithad ever been before. It was even in transporter range!although they had just saved his life, his first instinctwas to disable them. But he wasn't prepared--it wastoo sudden.
He again jammed on the jets and finally began topull away from the gaping singularity, which hadswallowed a gigantic meteoroid and a probe withoutso much as a burp. The Jem'Hadar ship backed awayquickly, but Sam was already counting in his headhow many seconds they had stayed within his trans-porter range. They didn't release his ship and returnto their former position until the tanker was well outof danger. For almost a minute, they had been vulner-able.
Sam didn't relax until the Tag Garwal was safelyparked in her former orbit. He felt an odd mixture ofanger, fear, and elation. They had almost gottenkilled, but they had learned a valuable lesson: theJem'Hadar were willing to risk their ship and theirlives to save the tanker from disaster.
He flicked on the comm. "Captain here. We're okaynow, but we lost that probe. Start looking for dam-age." He tapped it off.
Grof breathed a raspy sigh of reliefi "You see, Sam.Now what do you think about the Jem'Hadar?"
"I think the damned idiots should have shot downthat meteoroid before it got to us!" ~owled Sam."Enrique, open a channel to them."
"Belay that order," said the Trill. "Sam, I beg you,don't do an~hing foolish."
"I'm the captain of this star-crossed ship," mut-tered Sam. "Enrique, do it."
After a brief pause, the dark-haired humanpunched his panel. "Opening hailing frequencies.Audio and visual."
Sam stud up and whispered to Grofi "Have somefaith in me, will you." "You're on," said Enrique.
Sam straightened his jumpsuit and stared resolutelyat the viewscreen. "I wish to thank our escort for theirquick action in saving the Tag Ga~al. Our entirecrew is in your debt, because we would have been lost,along with our valuable cargo.
"However, that meteoroid should not have beenallowed to get so close to us. I know you consider thatyour primary mission is to watch us, but you've alsogot to watch the sky. That meteoroid must have had atrajectory that could be tracked. You have to be ourshield and look out for us. If you do that, it will makeour job easier." Sam put his hands on his hips andwaited.  "They're responding!" said Enrique nervously.  "On screen."
A spiny, cracked, gray face appeared on the screen.The Jem'Hadar lowered his heavy lids and nodded."Message acknowledged. We will add the service yourequested to our duties."
"Thank you." Sam allowed them a polite smile,although he didn't get one in return.
"Out," said the Jem'Hadar before the screen wentblank.
Sam turned to look at Grof, who appeared relieved,terrified, and amazed at the same time. "You got themto change their mission."
"To help us stay alive," Sam added. "I guess theythink that's a good idea. Don't you?"
"Yes, yes," answered Grof. "I'm sorry I yelled atyou, Sam. I didn't know what had happened."
"Yeah, but you're awfully quick to blame yourcoworkers for everything that goes wrong, whensometimes it's just a matter of Murphy's Law."
"Murphy's Law?" asked Grof. "I'm unfamiliar withthat concept.""Anything that can go wrong will go wrong."Grof nodded sagely. "Yes, I can see the wisdom inthinking along those lines. And I must take responsi-bility for only bringing three probes, which I thoughtwould be sufficient." "Let's take a look at the one we dropped," Samsuggested. "Maybe there are some parts we can repli-cate."
They heard footsteps on the ladder, and Taurikemerged from the hatch. "We have secured the cargoand the equipment, but we did suffer minor damage. Isuggest we suspend operations for the rest of this shiftto make repairs and review our procedures."
"Absolutely," said Grof. "We can't be too careful.From now on, we follow the maxim called Murphy'sLaw. We learned a valuable lesson today."
"Yes, we did," agreed Sam, although he wasn'ttalking about the same lesson. He had learned thechink in the Jem'Hadar's armor, but it would requirea great deal of courage to exploit it.
There was really only one person he would need totake into his confidencemLeni Shonsui, the trans-porter operator. For the time being, the fewer peoplewho knew, the better; plus Shonsui disliked Grof andwouldn't be inclined to talk to him. The Trill had tobe kept in the dark and neutralized, when the timecame.
He looked up to see the professor giving him awarm smile, which he found rather unsettling whilehe was scheming to murder the man. "You did asuperb job during the crisis, Sam, and I was wrong--it was a good idea to contact our escort. From now on,I'm going to temper my criticism."
"Good idea, Grof." Sam patted the Trill on theback and steered him toward the ladder. "We mightas well get along, because we're all going to hangtogether."

Chapter Fourteen

SAM COLLAPSED INTO HIS BUNK in the alcove off thebridge of the Tag Garwal. He was vaguely aware of thelowered voices of Taurik and Woil as they held downthe bridge and monitored shipwide systems. It wasdowntime on the tanker while they licked theirwounds after the near-fatal accident. Apart from theshaken nerves, the major effect was obvious: theywere down to one probe with only about a fourth oftheir projected cargo in the hold.
Unfortunately, this meant that Sam would have toput his plans into effect before they accidentallydestroyed the third and last probe. He had no doubtthat they would head back to base with half a loadrather than none, and he knew he might never getanother opportunity to escape like this one, with aship. Sam struggled to push all these conflicting con-cerns and details out of his mind. He had alwaysbeen a worrier, even when he was a little kid. In thelast couple of years, he had learned not to let it showso much, but it hadn't gone away entirely. Sincedeveloping more faith in himself, Sam now madequicker decisions and backed them up more force-fully. He guessed he was learning to command,although most of the time he felt helpless and frus-trated.
Of all the commands in the galaxy, this had to bethe worst: in charge of both the ship and the muti-neers, perched on the edge of a black hole withphasers breathing down his neck. That realizationdidn't console Sam as he struggled to clear his mindand fall asleep.
Finally the lieutenant succumbed to exhaustionand slipped into an agreeable dream. In this dream,he was a lowly ensign back on the Enterprise withOgawa, Sito, Taurik, and those veteran officers likeRiker and Worf, who seemed so wise and calm. Nowhe knew they must have been sweating out every crisisalong with the rest of the crew, but it was their job notto show it.
Even Riker was nice to him in this dream, whichwas like an endless party in the Ten-Forward lounge.Promotions, recommendations, congratulations, andsalutations all around! It was like graduation fromhigh school. In fact, some of his old high-schoolchums were there, too, which struck Sam as odd for afew seconds, until he remembered that this was theEnterprise. Anything was possible on the Enterprise/
He danced with Jenny, his high-school flame, on thedance floor of the Ten-Forward lounge in his dressuniform. Hot dog/Does it get any better than this?After they danced, they walked off to a dark cornerwhere they could study the serene starscape togetherand hold hands, while listening to the soft jazz ofRiker's quartet. He could feel her hands in his,caressing his chest, stroking his face--
Real hands shook him forcefully. "Captain, wakeup!" insisted the Antosian, Jozarnay Woil.
  Sam bolted upright, disappointed to find his dreamreplaced by stark reality. "What now?"  "Another ship has just arrived."
Sam rolled off the bed and pulled his shoes on. Hedashed out to the bridge and gazed at the viewscreen,rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sure enough, anothership had approached the Jem'Hadar craft at a respect-ful distance, and the two seemed to be parlaying. Hedidn't recognize the ship or its origins; it was aninelegant craft, possibly even uglier than the TagGarwaL
"Is that another tanker?" he asked Taurik on theconn.
"Negative," answered the Vulcan. "The warp signa-ture identifies it as Bajoran. I would say it is atransport, perhaps a scientific vessel."
"Bajoran?" muttered Woil, shaking his head. "Thiswar just gets weirder and weirder."
Sam's sleepy vision and foggy mind cleared as hestudied the strange craft, wondering if he dared to hailthem. That would depend, he supposed, on how theJem'Hadar treated the new arrivals. Unless they werepart of the club, he sincerely doubted that their guardwould let them hang around the prison work party.Still there might be some way to use their presence tohis advantage, and this could be an opportunitywaiting to be snatched. "Should we tell the others?" asked Taurik.
 "No," answered Sam. "Look, they're leaving. Trackthem, Taurik." "Yes, sir."
The bridge crew watched silently as the boxy shipmade an awkward turn and retreated. "Maintain long-range view," ordered Sam.
Observing the Bajoran vessel proved worthwhile.She hadn't gone very far before she stopped andturned around to watch them. Sam wondered if thestrangers could provoke the Jem'Hadar enough tochase them and desert the tanker, even for a fewseconds.
"They have moved outside weapons range," re-ported Taurik. "Although I can hardly believe theywould be any match for the Jem'Hadar craft."
"Maybe it's the Eye of Talek they're interested in,"said Woil. "You know, tourists.""Or a scientific team," suggested Taurik.Whatever the ship was doing here, Sam didn't wantto lose an opportunity. If the Bajorans could becoerced into playing a role in their escape, he had tofind a way to do it. "How close are we to first shift?" asked Sam. "Twenty-nine," answered Taurik.
"I think we should get everyone up and get an earlystart on the day's work," declared Sam, rubbing hishands together as if he were Grof. "Let's put thatprobe out there and grab some more Corzanium."
Taurik gave him a raised eyebrow, but he still rosefrom his seat and headed for the ladder, ready tocarry out the orders.
Woil looked at him point-blank and smiled."You've got something planned, don't you?"
"Just don't get too attached to your job," cautionedSam.
Ro Laren stood on the bridge of the Orb of Peace,flanked by Captain Picard and Commander La Forge,who was seated at the conn. According to theirshorthanded work regimen, one of them should havebeen in Engineering and the other one asleep in hisbunk, but all three had come to the bridge to surveytheir target:
The Cardassian mining vessel floated in space,looking like a glint in the Eye of Talek. To Ro, itseemed incredible that they could deal a cripplingblow to the Dominion's plans merely by destroyingthis insignificant craft. Thus far, all of the Ferengi'sintelligence had been correct, even though they hadpaid a high price for it. The mining ship had to bedestroyed.
As with most of the objectives on this foolhardymission, this one wasn't going to come easily, becausesitting between them and their target was aJem'Hadar attack ship. They had seen enough ofthese craft in the last few days to know exactly hercapabilities and strengths. Making a frontal attack onthe mining ship would be suicide, especially with twotorpedoes.
They had already tried stealth and guile, by tellingthe Jem'Hadar that they were a Bajoran scientif-ic mission sent to study the Eye of Talek. TheJem'Hadar had told them to go away. Now they werejust outside weapons range, knowing that theJem'Hadar had undoubtedly meant for them to gofarther away than this. Would the watchdogs feelthreatened by the small transport, or would they leavethem alone?
Picard frowned at the enemy ships on the view-screen. "We have to act quickly. Mr. La Forge, can weshoot a torpedo from this range and know that it willeventually make it to the black hole?"
"We could," answered the engineer, "but it wouldhave to be sublight speed, and they would have timeto take evasive maneuvers. Then the black hole'sgravity would throw off the torpedo's guidancesystem.""And we'd be dead thirty seconds later," added Ro."Is there something we could do which would beundetectable?" the captain asked hopefully. "Can wemake use of the black hole and its side effects?"
With his ocular implants, La Forge scanned quicklybetween the screen and his readouts. "Maybe there issomething we could do. What if we caused a rockslide?" "A rock slide?" asked Picard.
"Yes. We passed an asteroid belt about three hun-dred thousand kilometers back. In a bunch of years,those asteroids will find their way into the black hole,anyway, but we could speed up the process." Ro leaned over him. "How?"
"Collect as many as we can in a tractor beam,"answered La Forge, "then take off at low warp speed.We cut the tractor beam and come out of warp,leaving the rocks to go on their way. Sort of like agiant slingshot. At near-warp speed, they won't knowwhat hit them."
"I used to throw rocks at Cardassians as a kid,"said Ro. "Sometimes they can be very effective."
"It's the shotgun approach," admitted La Forgewith a shrug. "We might miss, but we won't have touse any of our torpedoes. There's nothing that willdivert those rocks from that black hole--no shields,no phasers. You can blast them into smaller bits, butthey'll just keep coming."
Picard tugged thoughtfully on his earring, then henodded. "Make it so."
Leni Shonsui was probably the oldest member ofthe Tag Garwal crew, and the Terran had a tough, no-nonsense attitude about life. She had taken theaccident with the first probe personally and hadwithdrawn from the rest of the crew. She was ofAsian extraction, thought Sam, and she might havebeen very beautiful in her youth. Now she wasattractive but much embittered by captivity. Never-theless, what she had managed to do with the Car-dassian technology was quite impressive, despite herone lapse.
Sam didn't want to leave seeing her alone tochance, so he purposely called a shipwide meeting inthe mess hall for everyone to discuss the probesituation, only he summoned Shonsui to the bridgeone minute beforehand.
After the small woman had climbed out of thehatch, he quickly locked it shut behind her. "Leni,"he said, "I won't waste time. You know what we haveto do--we have to escape. Now we know that theJem'Hadar will come into transporter range andlower their shields to save us, and you have to disablethem so that we can get away. Any ideas."
The woman took a sharp breath. "What aboutGrof?." "We'll get somebody to neutralize him."
"Okay." She lowered her voice and stood on tiptoesto reach his ear. Her trembling hands gripped hisforearm. "Let me beam some of that Corzanium intotheir warp coil. I grabbed a chunk for myself. Any-where I put it is bound to cause a problem, even if Imiss a bit. We must have schematics of an attack shipon board."
"Yes, I've already located them," answered Sam,pointing to his console. "You take over here on thebridge while I go to the meeting. We'll use thenotification icon on your readouts. When I give youthe signal, that means we're within transporter range.You have about a minute to do your part. Don't worryabout how I get them within range."
"But we won't go into the hole?" asked Shonsuiwith concern.
"No. Leave that to me. I'm counting on you, Leni,and not a word to anybody. Basically, you and I canmake this happen."
"Okay, Captain," she answered with a grin. "Andwe get to kill a lot of the enemy in the bargain."
"Yeah," answered Sam with somewhat less enthusi-asm. Sometimes when he looked at his fellow prison-ers, he forgot that they were damaged goods, drivenbeyond endurance by their captors. He tried to re-member all the details he had to attend to.
"We'll fix them," promised Leni, sitting at theconn. "I'll be ready when I get your signal."
"Thank you," breathed Sam as he backed towardthe hatch. Now he was certain that he would reallyhave to go through with it. The one person who mighthave talked him out of it had embraced his foolishplan wholeheartedly.
Sam stepped down the ladder with a feeling ofdread. In a short while, he was either going to escapethis hell, or he was going to commit suicide and takehis fellow prisoners with him.
Will Riker was jolted out of a deep, contented sleepby a piercing, frightened scream. He rolled out of bed,momentarily uncertain where he was.
Turning, he saw Shana Winslow thrashing her fistsin the air, sobbing pitifully. With her eyes screwedshut, she still seemed to be asleep, but she was also insome kind of torment. Riker felt he had to wake herup.
"Shana! Shana," he said, gently shaking her. "Wakeup."
With a gasp she opened her dark eyes and stared athim. For a moment, she didn't seem to know whereshe was either. Finally she focused on Riker's face;then she gave him a desperate hug, gripping him as ifhe were the only real thing in her life.
"Oh, Will! Am I crazy? I see my death everynight--the one that didn't happen. I was supposed todie on the Budapest--I know itmbut they pulled meback from death."
Her fingernails dug into the flesh of Riker's back,and she stared past him. "I see them all--the oneswho did die! My husband, the captain, the firstofficer--"
"Hey, it's all right to see them," said Riker sooth-ingly. "It's just survivor's guilt. Your dreams may takeyou back to the past, but you're really here in thepresent--with me. We're alive. I don't know for howmuch longer, but we're alive now... and we're to-gether.""That's right," she breathed. "We're alive, andthey're dead. Don't know how long--"
In the darkness of a modest cabin on Starbase 209,surrounded by war, refugees, damaged ships, andcold space, the acting captain held the grievingwoman in his arms. Riker knew all about survivor'sguilt; he was feeling it himself, certain that thecaptain, La Forge, Data, Ro, and all the rest weredead. He gripped Winslow's fragile body until hershaking stopped.
"Let's do it!" said Sam over the ship's comm."Prepare to launch the probe."
"That's the spirit," bellowed Grof, standing behindhim. He looked uncertainly at Taurik, who was nowon tactical. They had gotten used to having the Vulcanbelowdeck, filling in where needed, but Sam wantedhim here--for this run.
"Whatever happened to that other ship?" askedGrof, sounding as if he were making nervous smalltalk.
"They left," replied Taurik, "approximately onehour ago." "Probe ready," announced Woil from below.
"You're on ops, Grof," ordered Sam, slipping casu-ally into his seat at the conn.
"No, wait a minute," blustered the Trill. "WithTaurik up here, I'm needed belowrowe're short-handed."
"Nonsense," answered Sam. "Lately the problemshave been up here, not in the hold. I'll let you shootthe tachyons. Please, I want the crack team on thebridge, just for a while." He thought that appealing to Grof's ego would winhim over. The large Trill sunk into the seat at opsand mustered a put-upon smile. Sam nodded grate-fully.
"Captain to crew," he announced. "Launch probewhen ready. Stand by on tractor beam."
Despite the disaster of the last probe and thebizarre circumstances, they knew the routine after adozen successful runs. They were professionals, do-ing the jobs for which they had trained and lived.The probes may have taken a beating, but the tankerand her crew were still in prime condition, a factwhich Sam was counting on. This ignoble craft hadto make due as their escape pod back to the Federa-tion.
Without incident, they captured the probe with thetractor beam and lowered it to the brink of the blackhole. With a halo of dust flowing into its unquench-able emptiness, the Eye of Talek looked aptlynamed--a window into the soul of a monster. Itsprimitive force made the war, the Dominion, and ahandful of prisoners seem like plankton to a whale.Worst of all, the hole still looked hungry.
"Beginning tachyon bombardment," said Grofsoftly, as if taken by the solemnity of the occasion.They were very close to the moment when they hadbeen ambushed by fate the last time. "Extending tractor beam," reported Taurik.
"Extracting Corzanium," came Tamla Horik'svoice from below.
With his heart beginning to race, Sam turnedslightly in his seat so that Grof couldn't see hismovements. The Trill appeared to be fixated on hisown console, as did Taurik, although he would needthe Vulcan's attention very soon. After yesterday,Sam knew enough not to cause a problem while thetractor beam was still extended into the hole. Butafterward, when they began to withdraw the probeback to a place where it could be safely transported--that was the time to strike. Now it was time to plantthe seeds.
"Grof," cut in Sam, "I'm still having to compensatefor slight shifts in our trajectory. That anomaly hasnever been corrected." He leaned back and pointed tohis display.
"Just compensate," growled Grofi "I believe you.There must be spikes in the gravity or something.Someday you can come back and figure it out. Fornow, just keep us on course."
"If you say so," replied Sam pleasantly, doing as hewas told.
Taurik cocked his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps thiseffect is caused by minute differences in the probesthemselves. They may look identical, but they arenot."
"Could be," allowed Sam, silently thanking hisfriend for buttressing his claim. "Like the professorsays, nothing to get upset about."
After a few seconds more, Tomla Horik announced,"You were shaking things up in the cockpit, but it'sfull now. Reel her in."
"Retracting tractor beam," said Taurik. "Stand byto--"
Without warning, the Tag Garwal was slammed bya series of sudden jolts, like machine-gun bulletsraking their hull. Luckily, Sam's eyes were on hiscontrols, because he immediately fired thrusters to getthem away from the black hole.  Sparks and acrid smoke spewed from a wall panelto his left, and Grof was shouting, "What's going on?We've lost the probet"
"Damage on level two," reported Taurik evenly."Hull breach, losing atmosphere--"
Sam tuned out the noise, the voices, and the panicas he struggled with the helm, visions of yesterday'sdisaster swimming in his head. He had a slight jump,more distance, and no tractor beam to contend with,and his reflexes were poised for action. Sam stoppedtheir descent at a safe distance from the eventhorizon, but he tried not to make it appear too safe.Maybe this was the chance he had been waiting for.
Almost as an afterthought, he glanced at the statusof the Jem'Hadar ship, and what he saw made himgasp. He put it on the viewscreen to make sure hewas seeing it correctly. The attack ship was list-ing badly, with gases escaping from half a dozenbreaches in her hull. Whatever had hit them, she hadtaken the brunt of it. Her sensors must have beenmalfunctioning; normally a Jem'Hadar ship coulddeflect just about anything. Her thrusters burnedbrightly, trying to escape the inevitable gravity, butshe was on a slow descent straight toward the Eye ofTalek.
"Shields up!" he ordered Taurik, thinking theymight be hit by more of the invisible missiles, whatev-er they were.
Sam watched the crippled Jem'Hadar ship driftcloser, until she was nearly in transporter range. Hisfinger moved to the corner of his panel, where aspecial icon awaited his touch: it was the signal toalert Shonsui in the transporter room. "Hold it right there!" barked Enrak Grof. Samlooked up to see the Trill glaring at him with hatredand suspicion in his piggish eyes--and a small handphaser trembling in his hand."Where did you get that?" Sam demanded."Never mind! I don't know how you did it, but Iknow you're behind this. You're insane! Back awayfrom the conn."
"Professor," said Taurik evenly. "We are likely todie unless you allow Sam to pilot the ship. Now pleaseexcuse me, there are wounded below, and I am goingto attend to them."
While Grof was momentarily distracted by thedeparture of the Vulcan, Sam pressed his panel andsent the signal to the transporter room. Now it was amoot point. They might all die, but the Jem'Hadarwould die first.
The burly Trill looked so angry that his spots werepulsing on his forehead. "Sam, I swear I'll shootyou!"
"Then shoot me already! I was going to knock youout before we made a move, but then this happened.You want options, Grot'?. Here are two: shoot me anddie, or escape with us to freedom!"
Stricken by indecision, the Trill looked up at theviewscreen and the damaged attack ship. Now itsthrusters weren't even firing, and the vibrant blueglow along its hull was gone, replaced by a dull,lifeless gray--like the skin of a Jem'Hadar.
Grof wailed, "They'll think we did this! They'llhunt us down from one end of the galaxy to the other.You could save them, Sam--lock the tractor beam onto the Jem'Hadar. Do it, or I shoot!"  Sam flinched, certain that in the next instant hewould feel the phaser beam rip into his skin. But heignored Grof and maintained steady impulse poweraway from the attack ship and the black hole whichwas about to claim it.
"I warned you," muttered Grof, aiming hisphaser.

Chapter Fifteen

IGNORING THE PHASER pointed at his skull, Sam Laveliegazed at the viewscreen and saw the Jem'Hadar attackcraft go into a slow spiral in its inexorable descentinto the Eye of Talek. He wondered if those stoicwarriors showed any panic when confronted withimminent death. Sam himself was surprisingly calm,considering that death was all around him. Thedestruction of the Jem'Hadar ship had seemed like anact of God, and Sam was willing to believe thatnothing would stop their dash to freedom.
"Grof," he said slowly, not turning around, "am Ito assume you're not going to kill me?"
Glumly, the Trill lowered his phaser. "I should, butI'm not going to.""Welcome back to the Federation," said Sam, mus-tering a wan smile. "And wave good-bye to yourfriends."
The two crewmates, prisoners, and former enemieswatched in stunned silence as the Dominion warshipsank into the blackness of the Eye of Talek anddisappeared. It was a terrible ending for any starship,thought Sam, as if space had consumed one of its ownchildren.
"Now to set course," said the pilot, shaking off thewillies and turning back to his controls. "Any ideas?""We could--"
Before he got a chance to finish his sentence, theywere struck again by an unseen object. This time, theimpact knocked Grofto his feet and threw Sam out ofhis chair, while sparks and smoke engulfed the tinybridge. Sam glanced at the viewscreen long enough tosee the crate-like Bajoran transport heading towardthem, coming in for the kill!
Coughing from the acrid smoke, Sam staggered tohis feet, vaulted over the unconscious Trill, andcollapsed on top of the tactical station. With his lastshred of consciousness, he opened the hailing fre-quencies.
"Their shields are gone," reported La Forge at theconn of the Orb of Peace. "The next one will finishthem."
"Target the last torpedo," ordered Picard grimly."Fire when ready."
When he didn't hear his order repeated back to himafter a suitable time, Picard turned to glare at Ro ontactical. "I said fire when ready." The Bajoran squinted puzzledly as she held anearphone closer to her head. "I know, sir, but... I'mgetting a message from one of them. He says they'reFederation prisoners."
"Prisoners?" echoed Picard in amazement. "Askhim to identify himself."
Ro gaped at the captain. "It sounds familiar--Lieutenant Sam Lavelie?"
"Lavelie!" The captain strode to Geordi's stationand gazed over the engineer's shoulder. "Are we inany danger? Can they fire weapons?"
"No, sir, they're unarmed." La Forge looked at himand frowned. "They're drifting into that black hole.Unless we do something to help them, they're fin-ished, anyway."
"Very well, get down to the transporter room, andlock on to whoever's on that bridge. Beam one over,and if he's really one of ours, get them all."
"Yes, sir." La Forge bolted to his feet and dashed offthe bridge.
Ro hefted a phaser and checked the settings. "I'dbetter help him out."
"Go ahead, I'll take over the conn. Ro, we'vealready got one prisoner, and I don't want to take anymore, unless it's necessary."
"Understood, sir." Her jaw set determinedly, thelanky Bajoran strode off the bridge, leaving the cap-tain alone.
He slumped into the seat at the conn, watching theCardassian mining vessel drift toward the same mon-strous end as the Jem'Hadar ship. Now that he hadseen the awesome black hole up close--and witnessedits dangers--he had no problem believing that theDominion was using slave labor for this sort of work.Would a person who had free will plant himself at theedge of a black hole? Could a sane person look intothat opaque abyss every day?
Picard wasn't surprised when he heard from Ro afew moments later. "Captain," she said breathlessly,"it's true. They're Starfleet, all but one Trill civilian.There are seven in all, and a few are wounded. Butthey're alive."
"Make them comfortable," ordered the captain."Send La Forge to Engineering, because we're gettingout of here. I'm concerned that the Jem'Hadar mayhave sent out a distress call. I'm pulling back tomaximum torpedo range."
Had he more than one torpedo, the captain wouldhave blasted the Cardassian tanker right then andthere. But with only one, he had to be content tosneak away to a safe distance and watch the crippledvessel drift closer to its doom. If he ever had todestroy a starship without leaving a trace, now heknew where to bring it. Finally, the ship disappearedlike a candle flame being blown out.
At least they had rescued a handful of prisoners,prisoners who might have a great deal of firsthandintelligence. Most importantly, they had stoppedwork on the artificial wormhole. Feeling a measure ofrelief, Picard set course for the Badlands at maximumwarp.
Captain Picard and Ro Laren sat in the mess hall ofthe Orb of Peace with the three healthiest of therescued prisoners. Two of them had served aboard theEnterprise, Sam Lavelie and the Vulcan, Taurik--Picard remembered them as friends of Sito Jaxa. Theother man was a Trill scientist named Enrak Grof,who had been captured during the fall of Deep SpaceNine.
After the preliminaries, they got down to importantmatters. "Have we really managed to deal a serioussetback to the enemy's artificial wormhole?" askedPicard.
Sam, who was still dazed over their rescue, noddedslowly. "I think we have. They can't finish it withoutthe Corzanium you sent back into the hole. Thanks toyou, I think we've stopped them."
Taurik and Grof looked less convinced. A show ofenthusiastic confidence was not expected from theVulcan, but the Trill's gloomy expression was trou-bling.
"What's the matter, Professor Grof?." asked Picard."You don't share Sam's opinion?"
The Trill sighed heavily. "I wish I could, but I knowsomething they don't know." He looked glumly atSam, whose smile slowly melted from his face.
"Sam, I... I made it sound as if we were the onlyteam sent to extract Corzanium, but that isn't true. Atleast one other team of Cardassians was sent secretlyto another black hole. I fully expected us to be theones who succeeded when they failed."
"Why am I not surprsied?" muttered Sam, rising tohis feet. "Just one more lie you had to tell us, huh,Grof?."
"Come on." The Trill scowled. "You didn't expectthe Dominion to put all their eggs in one basket. Wewere an important experiment, but they were pre-pared for our failure... or attempted escape."
Ro Laren slumped back in her chair. "So whatyou're saying is--we've still got to take out thatverteron collider."
Grof nodded wearily. "Yes, it's a shame, too, be-cause it's a triumph of engineering and construction.It would have worked."
"It will work, if we don't destroy it," concludedTaurik. "The Dominion has the resources and theresolve to complete the work. Before the accidentwhich necessitated our mission, I believe they werenearly ready to begin tests."
"And they'll probably use prisoners for that," saidSam gloomily.
Tight-lipped, Picard turned to Ro and said, "Putthe subspace beacon away. We're not going home for awhile."
Boredom was an abstract term to an android, butData knew very well what it meant: the absence ofsomething to do. He had a duty, of course--monitor-ing the scanner array he had set up on the barrenmoonrebut it required less than one percent of hisattention. Staring at the starlit sky had never im-pressed him as being an entertaining activity, as it wasfor many humanoids, but he found himself doing justthat for hour after hour.
Finally, in the interest of experimentation, Dataturned on his emotion chip. At once, a shock wave ofworry, fear, guilt, and war sickness slammed intohim, making him feel more despondent than he hadever felt in his entire existence. The horror, tragedy,and destruction of the war was too much to contem-plate, even for his positronic brain, and Data couldonly stare at the dust at his feet. He fretted over hislost comrades, all of whom were afraid, lonely, griev-ing, and bored. Realizing it had been a mistake to activate hisemotion chip, Data reluctantly turned it off. Afterreturning to normal, he still felt weakened and so-bered by the assault of heartrending emotions. NowData had an interesting question to contemplate as hesat on his barren outpost: How did humans and othersensitive races deal with war, knowing its horrors?How could they possibly maintain their sanity?