Backup

by

Samuel Redfeather

USS Bluefin
Sector 21509
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

“Code One-Alpha-Zero!” Commander Inga Strauss announced from where she examined the Ops board over Lt. Commander T’Ser’s shoulder, “Ship in distress.”

Captain Joseph B. Akinola sat forward in his command chair, suddenly imbued with a sense of urgency after days of relative quietude on patrol in occupied Cardassian space. “Specifics,” he ordered.

T’Ser answered promptly, “It’s from the starship Gibraltar, sir. Records show she’s tasked to escort duty, one of four ships sitting watchdog on a convoy of freighters bearing relief supplies to Cardassian colonies in Sector 21508.”

Strauss resumed her seat, initiating a Level-4 diagnostic on all ship’s defensive systems. “Stats on the Gibraltar?” she inquired of T’Ser.

The Vulcan quirked a dubious eyebrow as the starship’s information scrolled across her display. “Upgraded Constitution-class, ma’am, reactivated and refit during the war. Moderate armament, maximum speed rated at Warp 8.2.”

“Can you say ‘sitting duck?’ muttered Senior Chief Solly Brin, a burly red-skinned Orion, from an auxiliary station aft.

“What’s her situation?” Akinola pressed.

T’Ser delved into the encoded substrate of the distress call, decipherable only to those in possession of the proper Starfleet encryption matrices. “It appears she was sent to investigate a suspicious distress call from a Kriosian freighter in the E’Mdifarr Belt some .7 lightyears off the convoy’s course.” She paused, gleaning additional information from the brief text message. She turned, fixing a serious look on the captain. “They’ve been ambushed, sir. At present, they’re fighting four ships that look to be cargo haulers modified for combat, and a number of smaller fighters and corsairs.”

“Set an intercept course for those coordinates at maximum warp and engage,” Akinola ordered, watching the starfield on the main viewer shift as the Albacore-class Border Cutter came about and engaged her faster-than-light engines. “Then send an encrypted burst message… let them know we’re on our way.”

“Aye, sir.” T’Ser acknowledged as she carried out the order. She glanced back at Akinola, “Sir, what about their fellow convoy escort ships? Wouldn’t they be able to respond more quickly?”

Akinola nodded somberly, “They could, Commander, but they won’t. Gibraltar is buying time for the convoy to get away. That’s their job.”

“Bait, sir?”

“Precisely, Mr. T’Ser.”

*****

USS Gibraltar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

“Shields down to fifty-three percent!” shouted Master Chief Tark from the Tactical station over the crash of another barrage against Gibraltar’s shields.

“Helm, tighter turns.” Captain Donald Sandhurst urged from the command chair, watching the starship slalom between enormous chunks of asteroidal debris that loomed large in the viewer.

They’d come to the asteroid belt in response to a distress call from a freighter claiming to be under attack by insurgent vessels. Though suspicious that an emergency should occur so close to the path of the convoy, the crew had at first sensed nothing out of the ordinary as the handful of armed shuttles attacking the freighter scattered upon their arrival.

But as soon as Ramirez’s away team had beamed over, all hell had broken loose. The damaged freighter had been a ruse, in fact the ship had been retrofit to carry capital weapons and shield generators, making the humble looking cargo hauler into a formidable warship.

The supposedly routed fighters had returned with a vengeance, accompanied by three more of the faux-freighters, a force clearly capable of inflicting great damage on the unsuspecting convoy. So, the Gibraltar had fled deeper into the asteroid field, drawing the pirate vessels into a pursuit to ensure that the isolated starship would not have the opportunity to call for help or warn the convoy.

“Communications?” Sandhurst asked.

“Still being jammed,” answered Lt. Commander Pell Ojana, the ship’s Bajoran second officer and diplomatic specialist.

Looking over to his young science officer, Sandhurst inquired, “Status of the IFEW?”

The ebony skinned Zulu, Ensign Kuenre Shanthi, clung to his console as Ensign Brett Lightner’s wild maneuvering at the helm pushed the inertial dampeners to their limits. Shanthi finally found his voice, answering, “The Ionization Field Effect Weapon is primed and ready for deployment, Captain.”

“Good, just make sure all our new friends are in close proximity when we set it off.”

From Ops, Lieutenant JG Olivia Juneau piped up, “Two of the freighters are lagging behind, sir. We’ll have to either slow down or double back to maneuver them in range of the device.”

“Mr. Lightner, hook us around smartly, one-hundred eighty degree turn beneath that big monster bearing 173-mark-008” Sandhurst commanded.

Beaming like a kid in a candy store, Lightner responded in the affirmative, throwing the old workhorse into a tight turn, utilizing the gravitational field of the asteroid to sling-shot the starship back in the opposite direction of their pursuers.

As Tark lay down a fusillade of photon torpedo and phaser fire, Juneau opened the aft shuttlebay doors, exposing the large cylindrical device in its launch cradle that now monopolized most of the bay’s space.

*****

Kriosian-flagged freighter SS Draskaar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Gibraltar’s away team sat in sullen silence, held at gunpoint by members of the freighter’s crew. Two Humans and a Zaranite kept watch over the Starfleeters as the freighter shuddered under fire from the starship as well as the stress of High-g maneuvers within the asteroid field.

“This sucks,” Commander Liana Ramirez announced definitively but quietly, her small frame dwarfed by the enormous Bolian lieutenant seated next to her on the deck of the cargo bay.

They’d been surrounded and captured almost instantaneously upon beaming onboard the supposedly stricken cargo ship. Their captors, whoever they were, had done an admirable job of feigning damage through the creative use of localized subspace fields and thoron emissions.

On the other side of Ramirez sat the Gibraltar’s El Aurian chief security/tactical officer. Leaning in towards the first officer with an ironic smirk gracing his deceptively youthful feature, Pava Lar’ragos chimed in, “Would this be a bad time to reflect on how your security chief voted for transporting stun grenades over prior to beaming in?”

Ramirez scratched idly at her temple with her middle finger, “Bite me, Pava” she offered in a subdued voice.

“Providing we survive this little excursion, sir, I’d be only too happy to oblige.”

Ramirez rolled her eyes as the ship’s chief medical officer, Lieutenant JG Issara Taiee grinned despite the seriousness of their situation.

“We can’t just sit here, Commander” rumbled the large Bolian engineer, Ashok.

“For the time being, Lieutenant, we have a dearth of options,” Ramirez sighed.

“Enough talking!” barked one of their jailers, emphasizing his point by waving the barrel of his Klingon disruptor rifle at the group.

She and the others obligingly fell silent, all of them still contemplating some kind of escape strategy.

The ship rocked again, the sensation accompanied by the screech and hollow thump of a hull breach somewhere nearby.

A moment later, an Andorian in smudged coveralls walked briskly into the compartment, escorted by two more armed Humans. Regarding the captured Starfleet personnel coolly, he asked, “Which one of you is the engineer?”

Lt. Ashok began to rise and was startled when Lar’ragos jumped to his feet. “That’d be me.”

The Andorian looked at Lar’ragos skeptically, then gestured to Ashok. “Then why is he getting up?”

“Him?” Lar’ragos looked to the Bolian, “Look at him, the big bruiser’s the security officer. He’s just trying to protect me.”

Ashok reluctantly resumed his seat, and Ramirez patted his arm in silent encouragement.

Lar’ragos offered the XO a discrete wink as he turned back toward the Andorian, whom he presumed to be the freighter’s engineer. “Can I have my equipment?”

Looking to one of the guards, the Andorian dispatched the man to collect the engineering kit Ashok had brought over. Holding on to the briefcase-sized kit himself, the Andorian gestured for Lar’ragos to follow, flanked by the two armed men.

Moving down a narrow dimly lit corridor, the four arrived at a dilapidated looking turbolift car. Entering the turbocar, the Andorian stepped to the side to allow Lar’ragos and his escorts room. The Andorian thought idly that it was strange for the Starfleet engineer to be wearing a disturbing little smile.

“What’s so damn funny?” the Andorian asked hotly as the doors slid closed.

Lar’ragos said nothing, but his eyes narrowed and the smile grew wider.

*****

USS Bluefin
En route to Sector 21508, Warp 9.2
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

With over an hour before their rendezvous with the besieged Gibraltar, Akinola had moved to his ready room in an attempt to gauge the likelihood that Bluefin would find survivors upon their arrival.

Taking a seat at his desk, he called up the general specs of the old Connie, reflecting that Starfleet had done an admirable job in restoring the ship, taking so much time in fact that she’d slipped from her drydock moorings only after the end of the Dominion War.

Her captain, Sandhurst, had been an engineer of some renown who’d somehow been talked into accepting a captaincy. That was the thing about long wars, Akinola mused, they created many opportunities for upward mobility through the ranks. Scanning the bullet points of the Gibraltar’s recent history, Akinola noted that Sandhurst had occupied the center seat for less than a year, but his ship was already gaining a reputation for finding itself in the eye of the storm. Having cut his teeth on the fiasco at the Cardassian colony of Lakesh in the Crolsa system, Sandhurst had followed months of routine escort missions by joining up with Jean-Luc Picard’s ill-fated mission of mercy into the Briar Patch.

Despite their widely divergent career paths, Akinola felt a growing sense of kinship for the man who, like him, commanded what many saw as an outdated vessel fated to carry out the kinds of mundane missions that nonetheless kept the Federation functioning.

Switching off his terminal, Akinola vowed that if at all possible, he would deliver Sandhurst and his crew safely from this most recent trouble. ‘We old bucket captains have to stick together, after all.’

*****

Kriosian-flagged freighter SS Draskaar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

The doors parted to reveal a scene of absolute carnage. Lar’ragos limped out of the turbocar, holding a rifle in each hand. His face was cut and bruised, but the smile remained. He spat wetly, dislodging the severed Andorian antennae that had been clutched in his teeth.

He emerged from the shadows behind the two guards watching over the remaining away team members. Triggering both rifles simultaneously, Lar’ragos sent hyper-kinetic streams of pulsed plasma into the backs of the men, turning both into smoking piles of charred flesh and fragmented bone.

Rising to her feet, Ramirez caught one of the rifles out of the air as Lar’ragos threw it to her. Looking the El Aurian up and down, she shook her head in a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “Do I want to know, Pava?”

“Almost certainly not, sir” he replied gravely.

Hefting the rifle, Ramirez motioned for the others to get to their feet. “We'll need to get to the bridge on this heap.”

*****

PART 2

Kriosian-flagged freighter SS Draskaar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

As Lar’ragos’ adrenaline ebbed, the severity of his injuries became more apparent. While Ramirez was dispatching Ashok to recover the away team’s confiscated equipment, Lar’ragos stumbled, nearly toppling over, and Ramirez and Taiee moved to assist him to the floor. Ramirez handed off Pava’s rifle to Petty Officer Saihra Dunleavy who took up a defensive position behind a cargo container, orienting herself towards the turbolift.

Still awaiting her medical instrumentation, Taiee nonetheless managed to diagnose the most serious of the El Aurian’s injuries. Lar’ragos was suffering a concussion, three fractured ribs, a broken right hand, and a hyper-extended left knee.

“What the devil happened in there, Pava?” Ramirez asked as she waited for Taiee to finish her assessment.

Lar’ragos coughed, “No room to maneuver in there. Plus, I’m pretty sure one of them is an ex-Federation Marine, he sure as hell fought like one.”

Shaking her head slightly, Ramirez chided him gently. “That was brave, Pava. Incredibly reckless and stupid, but brave.”

Wincing and gritting his teeth with the effort, Lar’ragos craned his head to look at what remained of the two men that had been guarding the Starfleet contingent. “The three in the lift car are alive, and I’m sorry about those two.” He gestured towards the rifle in Ramirez’s hand. “No stun setting, and I wasn’t in any shape for another fight.”

“You did what you had to in order to rescue us, Pava.” Ramirez glanced up at the open turbolift door, just visible in the shadows, the bodies splayed on the car’s floor still motionless. Almost wistfully, she whispered, “What you always do, in fact.”

He coughed painfully, “Just make sure Donald knows… he’s keeping me on a short leash these days.”

Ashok arrived with their gear, handing the medical kit to Taiee who proceeded to scan Lar’ragos with her tricorder as the other personnel retrieved their phasers. Looking to the Bolian, Ramirez ordered, “Ashok, find a computer access junction and hack in. I want to see what we can find out about these people.”

Looking back down at Lar’ragos, Ramirez inquired, “Your tactical assessment, Lieutenant?”

“They’re not pirates, Commander. That crowd usually runs with Orions, Nausicaans or Chalnoth as muscle.” He gave her a meaningful look, “Federation nationals in civilian vessels geared for combat. Who does it sound like to you?”

She nodded dourly, “I’d hoped those reports of a Maquis resurgence were overstated. Looks like they weren’t.”

Motioning towards Dunleavy and Ashok’s engineering assistant, Ramirez said, “Get those men out of the turbolift and frisk them for additional weapons and comms, then let Taiee treat them.”

“What about the bridge?” Lar’ragos asked.

“The bridge can wait,” Ramirez answered thoughtfully, “Our opponents just jumped a few levels higher in the threat column. We’d better have a workable plan before we take these people on.”

*****

USS Gibraltar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Disruptor pulses, phaser beams and merculite rockets flared against Gibraltar’s forward shields in a maelstrom of fury as the starship bore down on her would-be pursuers. Gibraltar’s return fire, however, was much more discriminating, focusing on the ersatz-warship’s shield generators with punishing blows from her photon torpedoes and surgically pinpointed blasts from her phaser banks.

“Right on the mark, Master Chief, keep it up,” encouraged Sandhurst.

“Their shield strength will have to be no higher than forty percent for this to work,” Shanthi reminded the bridge crew, somewhat unnecessarily.

“I was at the briefing, thanks” Juneau replied snidely, too focused on the looming asteroids on the viewscreen to add her customary eye roll.

“Focus, children,” Sandhurst admonished from the center seat as the ship was buffeted by another enemy salvo. Glancing at Shanthi, the captain double checked to make sure the young ensign’s hand was well away from the release toggle for the IFEW. ‘No sense in making this whole party for nothing,’ he reflected mordantly. Even if the experimental device was unsuccessful, every moment these brigands spent chasing his ship was another percentage of a parsec distance the convoy put between themselves and the pirates.

Juneau announced, “Five seconds until all FTL capable threat vessels are within range, sir.”

“Five seconds, mark.” Sandhurst acknowledged, engaging the chronometer on his chair’s armrest. As he looked up, his eyes grew wide as a giant piece of asteroidal debris hove into view ahead of them. Gesturing futilely at the viewer, Sandhurst’s command persona slipped several notches as he gasped, “Rock! Big rock!”

Purposefully looking back at the ashen-faced captain as he nimbly skirted the two kilometer wide obstruction, Ensign Lightner smiled widely, “I’m on it, sir. No worries.”

Sandhurst sank back into his chair, cursing the young pilot silently in his head as he fought to salvage his composure. Just in time, he noticed the chronometer reaching ‘1.’ “Launch the weapon,” he ordered, his voice regaining its authoritative timbre.

Shanthi tapped his panel, initiating release of the ten meter long cylinder sitting in its launch cradle in the aft-most section of the shuttle bay. The object slid out behind the starship, beginning to spin slowly end-over-end, its reflective surface glinting weakly in the diffused starlight.

“Emergency shutdown of engineering mains,” Sandhurst ordered, “Route all auxiliary power to the structural integrity field in the engine nacelles.”

The bridge duty engineer answered in the affirmative as Juneau announced, “Detonation in four… three… two…”

There was the faintest pulse of whitish light from the object and then it self-destructed in a small, ridiculously anti-climactic explosion.

Alarms began to wail from the engineering station, and the officer manning the board began a damage assessment. At Sciences, Shanthi announced, “Ion pulse confirmed, Captain. Strength and duration are within established parameters.”

“Confirmed, sir,” Juneau agreed, “The warp nacelles of all vessels within one-million kilometers have been depolarized.”

“Including ours,” the duty engineer added. “Thanks to our emergency shutdown and SIF reinforcement, we took less of a hit, sir. Crews are scrambling to begin repairs, and we’ll have a head start over the threat vessels.”

“Understood,” Sandhurst said tersely, “Launch a full spread of photons, Master Chief. Mr. Lightner, get us the hell out of here while they’re still trying to figure out what just happened.”

Pell looked up from her board, fixing Sandhurst with a cautiously worried expression. “What about the away team, Captain?”

Sandhurst was unable to keep the glare forming on his features in check, causing Pell to blanch. “You better than anyone should know I don’t leave our people behind, Commander. For the moment, however, we don’t even know which of those four freighters they’re aboard.” He turned his face, now laden with resolve, towards the viewscreen as a flurry of photons arced towards the scattering enemy craft. “We will be back for them.”

As Gibraltar fled deeper into the asteroid field, Sandhurst allowed himself a brief moment of muted satisfaction. Thanks to the successful deployment of the device, a weapon of his own design, their attackers would be unable to pursue the aid ships. Regardless of the fate that ultimately befell the Gibraltar, the convoy would be safe, and the relief supplies they carried would make it to the suffering Cardassians clinging to life amidst the rubble of their devastated colonies.

*****

USS Bluefin
En route to E’Mdifarr system, Warp 9.2
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Akinola’s ready room door chimed, and he invited the visitor inside. Strauss entered, finding the captain reclining in his desk chair, arms crossed behind his head as the strains of classic Terran jazz played in the compartment. A half-finished wood carving of what appeared to be a starship sat atop the desk amidst a pile of wood shavings and a knife.

“What do you have for me, XO?”

“Pre-engagement diagnostics complete, sir. All weapons and defensive systems are functioning nominally, and I’ve got the crew running damage control drills.”

“Very good, Commander.” Akinola sat forward slowly, a calm smile on his face. “ETA to the E’Mdifarr system?”

“Seventeen minutes, sir.” Strauss observed her captain’s relaxed demeanor, envying the older man’s composure in the face of imminent combat. She’d seen more than her share of warfare, but still got keyed up every time before an engagement.

“Anything noteworthy on sensors?”

“We detected what appears to have been a sizeable ionic discharge somewhere within the system’s asteroid field and it’s been playing hell with our sensors, sir. We’ve been unable to identify any spacecraft within the system so far, and comms are still being jammed locally.”

Akinola nodded fractionally. “Sounds like our comrades are giving the enemy a good fight.”

Strauss looked skeptical. “You think Gibraltar’s still in one piece, Captain? From the brief distress call they got off before the jamming started, it sounded as if these pirates got the jump on them, not to mention outnumbering and outgunning them.”

Akinola activated his desktop terminal, turning the screen for Strauss to see. A cross section of a Constitution-class starship was displayed, along with the lean face of a man who appeared to be in his mid-40’s, the ship’s captain presumably. “I’ve been reading up on the ship and its crew, and do you know what I’ve discovered?”

“What’s that, sir?”

“That despite the size, power, and age of their ship, they’re a wily bunch who’ve managed to turn the tables on stronger opponents more than once in the past.” Akinola gave Strauss an expectant look, “Remind you of anyone?”

She smiled in response, “Now that you mention it, sir, it does.”

Akinola switched off the terminal, rising from his chair. “I’m counting on them to stay in the fight until we get there, Commander. And then Bluefin and Gibraltar are going to make these sorry sons-of-bitches wish they’d selected a different life path.”

Strauss nodded enthusiastically, “Aye, sir.”

*****  

PART 3

USS Gibraltar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Sandhurst strode through the narrow corridor under the flickering overhead lighting, resisting the urge with every step to open the nearest EPS access panel and assist in the ship’s repairs. His engineering teams could handle it, and he had other priorities to attend to.

Stepping into Sickbay, Sandhurst was relieved to find only a few of his crew being attended to by the ship’s two Emergency Medical Holograms and Lt. Taiee’s efficient nursing staff. Quickly locating the person who’d prompted his visit to Sickbay, Sandhurst approached the examination table, currently occupied by Ensign Belinda Lascomb, the ship’s assistant chief engineer. The young woman’s legs were still clad in her radiation-hardened engineering jumpsuit, the upper half having been removed in order to treat her injuries.

Looking to the medical hologram, the captain inquired briskly, “What’s her condition?”

The EMH looked up from the panel where he was directing the ensign’s treatment. “Severe radiation poisoning, sir. She absorbed close to 500 REMS while in the nacelle housing, despite her protective garment.”

“How soon can you have her back to duty?”

The hologram favored Sandhurst with an expression of disbelief mixed with disdain, “You can’t be serious, sir? I’ve given her the maximum dosage of hyronalin that her body can handle. That, coupled with the deionization series I’m running on her will hopefully stave off any long-term damage. There’s no way she can return to duty in less than a week, and even then she’ll have to be careful not to expose herself to any further radiation, even at low levels, for several months.”

Marshalling his patience, Sandhurst explained as calmly as possible, “Our ship is damaged and without warp capability. We can only hide out here for so long until our enemies find us. I need to get those nacelles polarized within the next few hours so that we can escape this system, and at present only two people aboard have the requisite skills to do that… Ensign Lascomb and myself.”

The hologram met his gaze evenly, “Then I’d suggest finding a Rad-Haz suit in your size, Captain, because the ensign is out of commission.”

The sudden pressure of Lascomb’s hand grasping his own startled Sandhurst, who glanced down to find the young woman retching into a pan held by a nurse who held Lascomb’s head gently as she evacuated her stomach. Taking a few deep, shuddering breaths, the ensign turned her head to look at Sandhurst. She opened her mouth to speak, her teeth tinged red from her bleeding gums, “I can… do it, Captain. Just… need a few… minutes to catch… my breath.” Her eyes were focused on him like lazers, her mind and spirit willing despite the radiation-induced weakness of her flesh. The last thing she wanted to do, Sandhurst realized, was let her captain and her crewmates down.

He was momentarily overcome by a sense of self-loathing; that he had come here to force the junior officer back into the storm of hard radiation being given off by the depolarized warp coils. Sandhurst’s mind wandered back to his days at Command Officer Candidate’s training, where they’d drummed into the students that a CO must be willing to order others to their deaths for the good of the majority. ‘Easier said than done,’ he thought darkly.

Taking Lascomb’s hand in his, Sandhurst forced on his best supportive smile, “That’s alright, Ensign. You’ve done your duty. Your efforts and those of your team have got us more than halfway there. Time for the old man to step up.”

Nodding to the EMH, Sandhurst stepped away from the exam bed towards the exit, only to find Pell standing near the entrance, arms folded across her chest. He walked past her into the corridor, and Pell fell into step beside him. “The hell you are—“ she began.

“It’s not up for discussion, Commander,” he replied brusquely, cutting her off.

“Don’t think that because Ramirez isn’t here that I’m just going to sit by and let you do something foolish,” Pell pressed. “As acting XO, it’s my responsibility to make sure this crew has the best possible chance of surviving our current circumstances. Our best chance is with you in the captain’s chair, sir, not crawling around inside the nacelles.”

The pair stepped into the turbolift, with Sandhurst ordering, “Main Engineering.”

As the turbocar began its descent, Pell turned to him. “And outside the bounds of my official duty, Donald, from a purely selfish standpoint I don’t want you doing this.”

The determination set in his features softened somewhat. “I know, Ojana. I’m sorry. This is something I have to do.”

“No, this is something Lascomb has to do. It’s her job.”

Sandhurst kept his gaze fixed deliberately at the lift car’s doors. “She’s barely a year out of the academy. I can’t ask her to sacrifice her life like this. Not for something that I walked into because I wasn’t being cautious enough.”

Pell emitted an exasperated sigh, “It was an ambush! And don’t beat yourself up too badly, neither Ramirez nor your pet psychic saw it coming either.”

He shot her a hard glare as the doors parted, “Pava’s saved my life, Ojana, you’d do well to remember that. And you said we needed lessons in diplomacy?”

She followed him through Engineering to a bank of equipment lockers. As Sandhurst opened one and removed a radiation suit, he said coolly, “I’ll send updates as to my progress every five minutes. Your place is on the bridge, Commander.” Looking over to find her still standing there defiantly, he added, “That’s an order.”

In full view of the engineering personnel and heedless of the consequences, Pell raised up on her tiptoes and kissed Sandhurst briefly on the cheek. “Aye, Captain. Try not to get yourself killed while you’re being heroic, sir.”

*****

Tactical Outpost Theta
Hakton VII
Sector 21512, Former Demilitarized Zone
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

“Laren, what the hell happened?” The former Starfleet captain’s voice was taut with barely contained anger that was not assuaged by his lightyears distance from the event.

Ro Laren sighed, “I wish we knew for certain, Ben. Something’s gone wrong in the E’Mdifarr system; that much is obvious.” She felt a headache coming on, a bad one. Months of planning had gone into this operation, and it had unraveled in mere minutes.

“Laramie’s group was staged and ready to deploy. They issued their distress call on schedule and succeeded in drawing in one of the Starfleet escorts. After taking out the escort, Laramie was supposed to signal that the Q-ships were ready, before leaving to rendezvous with your group and offload cargo from the relief convoy.”

“Only he never signaled,” Benjamin Maxwell concluded.

“Correct. That’s why I aborted the mission. There was no sense in your group jumping the convoy and assuming all that risk of dueling with the other three escort ships if we were going to have to abandon the cargo.”

She could see Maxwell nodding slightly as he absorbed the facts, “You did the right thing, Laren. I just hate to see all our work evaporate like that.”

“I’m right there with you, Ben.”

“Remind me again why the hell we let Laramie join our cell?”

Her smile was tinged with irony, “Because his family owns the shipyard that produced the Q-ships and they’ve held Maquis sympathies from the beginning.”

Maxwell rolled his eyes, “That’s right, now I remember.” His mood turning more somber, he appeared thoughtful, “What do you propose we do now?”

“Cut our losses, unfortunately.” Ro shook her head, “Those ships represent a huge investment on our part, both in men and materiel. But as much as I’d dearly love to send a ship or two to find out what’s gone wrong, if Laramie and his people have been captured, they know enough to threaten our entire operation. We’ll have to evacuate all our currently established bases, at least all the ones Laramie knows about.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, that’s undoubtedly the safest course of action.” The ex-captain’s features darkened, “I’m sure as hell not going back to prison over this.”

Frowning, Ro observed, “We’ve both done time in the Starfleet Stockade, Ben. Don’t flatter yourself. That place is a damned country club compared to Lazon II. After you’ve experienced Cardassian and Dominion hospitality, even Rura Penthe would seem luxurious.”

Maxwell winced at his own gaffe, “I’ll have to take your word for that, Laren. I’m sorry if it seemed like I was invalidating your experiences there. I know those wounds are still fresh.” He signaled to someone off screen, “Anyway, looks like it’s time to start packing. I’ll meet you at our auxiliary rally point in say… two weeks?”

“Two weeks it is. I’ll see you then, Capt—“ she caught herself, “Mr. Maxwell.”

*****

USS Bluefin
E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Akinola waited patiently in the command chair for updates from his senior staff. He had learned long ago that constant prompting from an anxious captain did not speed matters up so much as cause sufficient angst among the bridge officers to encourage hasty assessments that invariably endangered the mission.

“Still experiencing significant communications jamming, sir,” reported T’Ser from Operations. “It’s strongest in the vicinity of the system’s asteroid field, bearing 116-mark-025. If we close any further, we’ll be out of comms range with Starfleet.”

Strauss looked up from the Tactical station, “We could drop a series of communications buoys behind us as we approached, sir.”

Akinola smiled, “A variant on the old bread-crumb trail, XO?”

“Something like that, Captain,” Strauss confirmed. “The buoys will be vulnerable to attack, of course, but if the people that ambushed Gibraltar see them, it might just be enough to draw them out to try and disable our comms relay.”

“A solid plan,” Akinola assessed. “Implement it immediately, Commander.” Turning back to look at Lieutenant Bane at the sensor station, Akinola gave the man a questioning expression.

“Nothing yet, Cap’n,” Bane announced in his Australian-accented Standard. “If someone’s out there in the asteroids, they’re keeping their heads down. No worries, though, I can detect a Cardassian vole fart at a lightyear plus, Captain.”

Mock wincing, Akinola observed, “Thank you for that unnecessarily graphic descriptive, Nigel.” Calling back over his shoulder, the captain asked, “Chief Brin, what other assets do we have inbound to assist?”

“At last report, sir, the starship Trafalgar and the cutter Onodaga are en route at maximum warp. However, Trafalgar isn’t due to arrive for another nine hours.”

Akinola mused, “Hmm, Captain Littlefoot is going to miss out on all the fun. Pity, Marcus always did like a good scrap.” To the bridge crew in general he announced, “Alright, people, let’s step up our readiness.”

“Red alert,” ordered Strauss, initiated the crimson strobes and muted klaxon that elevated their status from yellow alert and set the crew to general quarters. “This is not a drill, all hands to battle stations!”

*****

Kriosian-flagged freighter SS Draskaar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

The turbolift doors to the freighter’s bridge opened to a dazzling burst of weapons fire that scored and blacked the interior of the lift car for lack of another target.

Karl Lightner lowered his disruptor pistol, frowning at the empty chamber. “Dolka, where the hell are they? You said the lift car didn’t make any stops between the cargo level and here.”

“It didn’t,” came the Tellarite’s gruff reply. “Sensors confirmed there were three lifeforms in the car.”

Lightner shook his head in disgust, stepping forward to examine the battered interior of the lift. “This is ridiculous. First the Starfleeters manage to overpower our people in the cargo bay, and now they’re playing mind games with us. We’ve got to reassert control of this situation now. This is our damn ship!”

The ceiling panel on the lift car banged downward, opening unexpectedly, causing Karl to jump back and begin raising his weapon. A hand reached down from somewhere atop the lift car and tossed a cylindrical device onto the bridge. Lightner had just enough time to yell, “Grenade!” as he dove for the dubious cover of a cargo status console on the upper deck of the rectangular bridge.

The photon grenade, primed for stun, bounced off the top of the control station and clattered under a work station at the back of the bridge. The force of its detonation was partially blocked by the interceding consoles that shielded most of the Maquis from more than a brief dose of the weapon’s discharge.

Ramirez dropped down into the lift car from the ceiling hatch, followed closely by Dunleavy, both women armed with hand phasers. As the two pivoted smartly around either side of the lift, they were disappointed to see most of the armed bridge crew clambering to their feet, weapons in hand. The women opened fire nearly simultaneously.

Ramirez scored two hits, sending her targets reeling and crashing to the deck. Then, someone off to the side of the lift grabbed a hold of her extended arm and pulled, throwing her off balance and sending her stumbling onto the bridge. She found herself face to face with a Human male who looked suspiciously familiar, though in the heat of the moment she couldn’t quite discern why. Wrenching her arm, the man forced her to drop her phaser, and Ramirez replied by driving her knee up and into the man’s thigh.

Dunleavy, meanwhile, dropped another two of the freighter crew with well placed stun shots, only to be knocked backwards herself by a disruptor bolt that slammed into the side of the lift door near her head, showering her with molten metal shrapnel.

The Maquis danced backwards, favoring his other leg as he tried to throw the smaller Ramirez off balance. Bringing her head forward and then up sharply, Ramirez drove the back of her skull up into the man’s chin, sending him stumbling backwards. She followed this with another knee strike to his groin and a palm-heel blow that rocked his head back yet again, this time sending him tottering and causing him to fall backwards down the short staircase into the bridge well.

Turning to retrieve her phaser, Ramirez found a Maquis pointing a late 23rd century Starfleet pistol phaser directly at her, his finger depressing the trigger. She braced herself for the killing shot, only to blink in confusion as something whistled past her head and buried itself in the man’s chest. As the stricken Maquis sank to his knees and his phaser clattered to the deck, she realized the implement used to bring him down was a rectangular panel cover from inside the lift car.

Ramirez spun around just in time to see Ashok, who’d finally managed to wriggle down through the small ceiling hatch, disarm yet another of the Maquis by grabbing the man’s forearm and wrenching it to the tune of cracking bone. Then, the enormous Bolian picked the man up and threw him bodily across the bridge to collide with the last of the bridge crew, who was bringing his Ferengi phaser to bear. The two men collapsed in a tangle of limbs and unconscious flesh.

Dumbfounded, Ramirez looked back at the Maquis with the panel cover protruding from his chest. “Lieutenant… how… I mean, holy shit!”

Picking an unconscious crew member up in each hand and dragging them towards the back of the bridge, the taciturn Bolian said simply, “Starfleet Academy, track and field, discus champion three years running.”

Ramirez moved to assist Dunleavy, who was huddled in the corner of the lift, clutching at her burned face with both hands. “And I thought Pava was the dangerous one…” the exec murmured.

*****  

PART 4

Kriosian-flagged freighter SS Draskaar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

“How’d it go?” Lar’ragos asked from where he lay recuperating on the floor of the cargo bay.

“About what you’d expect,” Ramirez said as she entered and knelt next to one of the away team’s equipment kits. “Stun grenade didn’t work worth a damn, and we ended up having to go hand-to-hand. Dunleavy’s got burns and shrapnel in her face, and Ashok hit a guy with a turbolift.”

Lar’ragos winced, “Why can’t anything ever go easily for us?” Pushing himself up on his elbows, he regarded the XO as she squatted over the kit, tapping at a tricorder. “How’s Dunleavy?”

“Taiee says she’ll be fine, no signs of ocular damage, just superficial facial injuries.”

“Good,” he nodded, glad to hear one of his most capable security specialists would suffer no permanent injury. “By the way, it’s official. Next time Big Blue gets to take the ’lift ride with the goons.”

“So noted,” Ramirez remarked distractedly. Looking up, she focused on the El Aurian. “You up for assisting in an interrogation?”

“Sure, who’s the subject.”

“I’m pretty certain the captain of this freighter is Ensign Lightner’s older brother, Kyle.”

He chuckled darkly, “Small galaxy.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “What are the odds?”

*****

USS Gibraltar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Sandhurst had lost track of time within the nacelle housing, his hands moving as if of their own accord, his mind already five steps ahead in the process of restoring functionality to the warp field coils.

Not until his suit called out, ‘WARNING: Radiation levels reaching design tolerances. Five minutes until suit occupant experiences injurious radiation exposure.’

Cursing his lack of attention, Sandhurst stood from where he’d been crouched at the base of a coil toroid, re-initializing one of the plasma injectors. He began taking long, lumbering steps towards the forward maintenance compartment, where he would change into a fresh radiation-hazard garment and take a few minutes rest before returning to his arduous task.

Once having passed through the permeable shielded doorway and into the decontamination chamber, Sandhurst reflected on how Ensign Lascomb had repeated this procedure more times than safety protocols would allow. He could do no less. Without warp speed, when they finally managed to locate and rescue the away team, they would have no way to escape their pursuers. The pressure door hissed open, allowing entry to the medical team that swarmed Sandhurst, injecting hyronalin into his neck as they assisted him out of the cumbersome suit and began preparing its replacement.

*****

USS Bluefin
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Bluefin slipped cautiously through the substantial mass of asteroids, searching outwards with all the vessel’s senses to detect any signs of spacecraft, whether threat or friendly.

Lieutenant Bane looked up from his sensor scope, stretching to relieve the muscle fatigue resulting from sitting in the same position for five hours straight.

Strauss had the conn, and was perched in the captain’s chair reviewing status reports on a padd. She had briefly toyed with the idea of standing down from red alert, as one could only have the crew on the razor’s edge of alertness for so long before adrenaline and attention began to ebb. Keeping the crew keyed up for prolonged periods of time reduced their effectiveness and reaction time. However, Strauss had decided to let the captain make that call whenever he came out of his ready room.

Suddenly, Bane’s scope began to chime insistently. “Transient contact detected, Commander” he announced.

He had her attention immediately, “Bearing and distance?”

“Distance unknown, sir. It’s a sporadic sensor return, probably interrupted by the debris between it and ourselves. Bearing is roughly 303-mark-006.”

Strauss sat a little straighter in the chair, “Helm, move us onto a gradual heading for intercept. Nothing too jarring, if they haven’t detected us yet, I’d rather they think we’re just another piece of rock out here.” Glancing upward out of habit, Strauss called, “Captain to the bridge.”

Akinola had been catnapping in his office mere meters away, trying to keep his mind sharp despite the lack of a concrete enemy to engage. He was up and out of his chair in an instant, roused from his semi-sleeping state and returning to full wakefulness in just seconds as he stepped across the threshold and onto the bridge. “Report.”

Strauss filled him in as she surrendered the command chair to the captain and assumed her customary post at the Tactical station.

Moments of tense silence followed as Bluefin threaded her way past billions of metric tons of planetary rubble, trying to slide in unobserved behind whatever was producing the sensor contact.

Then, on the main viewer, an object could be seen darting between the mammoth outcroppings of free floating rock.

“Magnify and identify,” ordered Akinola.

“Kestrel-class raider, sir.” Bane elaborated, “She appears to be outfitted with photon torpedoes and Class-6 phasers.”

“I haven’t seen one of those since before the war,” observed Akinola. “Not since the last time I tangled with the Maquis.”

From the Tactical station, Strauss quietly relayed, “Starfleet Intelligence has been reporting a potential Maquis resurgence in and around the former DMZ, Captain.”

“Damn,” the captain breathed, “This complicates things.”

“Par for the course?” Strauss offered wryly.

Bluefin slipped unseen behind the smaller craft, whose sensors were directed forward as the ship executed a search pattern.

“Ready the tractor beam,” Akinola leaned forward slightly in his chair, like a bird of prey observing his quarry from on high.

“Tractor beam, aye” confirmed Lt. Commander Gralt, the Tellarite chief engineer.

Just as Bluefin moved into tractor range, the raider arced around the curve of an asteroid measuring five kilometers in diameter. Following in the raider’s wake, the older Albacore-class cutter came around the far side and unexpectedly came face-to-face with a large Kriosian cargo hauler.

Collision klaxons blared and Akinola gritted his teeth as the freighter loomed large in the main viewer. “Helm, hard over!”

The freighter opened fire at nearly point blank range, her disruptor ports and missile batteries already exposed in anticipation of the raider drawing the cutter in. Merculite missiles and disruptor pulses raked Bluefin’s shields as the ship heeled over and raced for cover. The raider doubled back, adding its phasers and photon torpedoes to the fusillade of fire pounding the cutter.

“Helm, evasive pattern theta! Tactical, return fire, engage targets at will!” Akinola clung to his chair as the ship shuddered from repeated blows and the spaceframe groaned from the strain of violent evasive maneuvers.

“Aft shields at thirty-three percent, starboard grid at twenty-nine percent and falling.” Strauss assessed calmly, her earlier jitters having evaporated now that battle had been joined.

“We’ve got stress microfractures in the starboard nacelle pylon,” Gralt appraised as he clutched at his console. “By the pulsing sphincter of the Andorian goddess, those bastards set us up!” he cried in an infuriated tone. “Bastards!” he reiterated for effect.

Akinola glared as his chief engineer from the command seat, “Belay that crap, Commander! This isn’t the first time we’ve been sucker punched, so keep your head in the game.”

Looking to Strauss, Akinola braced himself as the Bluefin bucked from yet another wave of weapons impacts. “Okay, XO, let’s turn the tide in our favor, shall we?”

“I’m all ears, Captain,” Strauss replied earnestly as she sent a stream of phaser energy back at their attackers, accompanied by a flight of crimson torpedoes.

*****

Kriosian-flagged freighter SS Draskaar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

“Kyle?”

His eyes fluttered at the sound of his name. Where was he? Was this the penal colony on Leavenworth?

“Inmate Lightner, front and center! Sound off like you’ve got a pair!”

‘That cinches it,’ he thought, ‘I’m still in lockup. That whole neo-Maquis business was just another damned dream.’ Kyle Lightner forced his eyes open only to find himself staring into the face of the young Starfleet commander who’d left him unconscious on the command deck of his own ship.

“There you are,” she said with a disarming smile.

Lightner tried to sit forward, only to find that he was secured to a chair in the freighter’s small dining compartment. “What is this? Let me go!”

“Kyle Lightner, you are in a lot of trouble.” The commander moved away, leaning against the side of a nearby table. “My name is Ramirez. Obviously, I’m with Starfleet.”

“Obviously,” he spat venomously.

“Kyle, we need to know the size and disposition of Maquis forces in the E’Mdiffar system.”

He laughed in response, “Piss off.” Only then did he notice the presence of the other officer, a youthful looking man wearing lieutenant’s insignia. He was watching Kyle very closely, almost as if… “Is he a Betazoid?” The color drained from Lightner’s face. “You can’t scan minds without consent!”

Lar’ragos smirked, pointing to his eyes. “I’m no Betazoid, Kyle. Just relax.” There was something about the man’s smile that set Lightner on edge.

The Maquis scowled, “How do you know my name?”

“That’s not important,” Ramirez said. “What’s important is for you to cooperate with us to shut down this operation before anyone else gets hurt.”

Lightner shook his head, “Not a chance.”

Ramirez’s features darkened, “Three of your crew are already dead, Kyle, and you’re looking at a lot of prison time for this stunt.”

Lightner was defiant, “I’ve done three years in a Federation penal colony, Ms. Ramirez, you’ll have to do better than that.”

Her eyes taking on a hard cast, Ramirez nodded fractionally, “Fine, how about this? You’ve committed acts of terrorism and attempted piracy in Cardassian space, making you and your friends subject to Cardassian law.”

“Nice try,” came his acerbic retort, “We both know you can’t render prisoners into the custody of powers that aren’t signatories to the Seldonis IV Convention. The pre-war Cardassian government might have paid lip service to the treaty, but since you invaded and occupied them, that government and it’s treaties are no longer valid.”

Lar’ragos took no small amount of pleasure in voicing, “The newly constituted Cardassian government just signed the Seldonis Convention three weeks ago. I guess it pays to watch the news feeds.”

“A Cardassian prison,” Ramirez practically chortled, “My that does sound like fun.”

Lightner’s pale complexion became positively waxen, and he found himself unable to form a comeback as he tried to imagine what that particular version of hell might be like.

“What I can’t understand is just who you thought you were dealing with?” Ramirez mused. “I realize you were with the original Maquis movement before the war, but you apparently haven’t been paying attention. This isn’t the same Starfleet you faced four years ago, Kyle. Most of us still drawing breath are hardened veterans used to fighting the likes of Jem’Hadar and Cardassians. You and your little band of pirates are playing in the wrong damn league, my friend.”

“It would be in your best interests to talk, Mr. Lightner” Lar’ragos said evenly, seeing no need for theatrics. “Your cooperation would go a long way toward our requesting that your case and those of your crew be heard before a Federation court.”

Barely thirty seconds passed before Kyle Lightner started talking. The Starfleet officers were surprised, having decided beforehand that it would take the Maquis at least five minutes before betraying his comrades.

*****

USS Bluefin
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

“Good work, Mr. Fralk, keep the high-g maneuvers coming!” Akinola praised from the center seat. Glancing back at Strauss, he asked, “We all set, XO?”

“Aye, sir. Tractor beam standing by for your command.”

Turning to face the viewer, Akinola ordered, “Very well. Initiate tactic ‘Pinball One.’

In response to the captain’s order, the aft tractor emitter reached out and contacted the forward shields of the pursuing raider. With the raider’s shields up, it would be especially difficult to get a tractor lock under normal circumstances. However, the beam had been inverted in such away that it now repelled rather than attracted, and the resulting collision drove the smaller ship off course, causing the raider to glance off the side of a relatively small forty-thousand ton rock, which nonetheless managed to shear off the raider’s port wing strut and thruster assembly, sending it into an unrecoverable spin that ended abruptly on the surface of the first asteroid’s larger cousin nearby.

Grinning mightily, Strauss tamped down the urge to cheer, announcing instead, “Pinball One is a success, sir. However, it now appears we’re fresh out of balls.” She blanched as several heads swiveled in her direction, faces struggling to maintain composure. “Wait… that’s not what I—“

Akinola laughed out loud, despite the dire situation still facing them. “That’s okay, Commander, I know what you meant.” Swiveling around in his chair, he fixed his gaze on the crusty Tellarite manning the Engineering board. “Mr. Gralt, what’s our status?”

“Shield generators starboard and aft are overtaxed, and I’m having difficulty firming up the grid. Current operational strength of those deflectors is hovering around twenty-five percent, sir. The starboard nacelle pylon will need shoring up before we can push any faster than Warp 3, and our aft phaser array is inoperable. We’ve got structural buckling on Decks 4, 5, 7 and—“

Akinola held up a hand, “I’ve got the picture, Commander. Why don’t you go see to your damage control teams personally?”

“Thank you, sir.” Gralt allowed gruffly as he made a beeline for the turbolift.

“Mr. Bane, status of the other threat vessel?”

Still gazing into his sensor display, the Australian lieutenant answered without looking up, “They couldn’t match our maneuvers, sir. We’ve lost them for the moment, though I am reading a new sensor contact bearing 279-mark-357. That might be them initiating a grid search pattern.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Akinola pondered that for a moment. “Keep an eye on that contact, Mr. Bane.” To the Helm, he directed, “Ensign Fralk, snug us up close to the asteroid where the raider crashed while we make repairs. Hopefully, anyone wandering through here will mistake our energy signature for residual traces of the raider’s antimatter containment breach.”

Giving Strauss a serious look as he slid out of his chair, Akinola instructed, “XO, compile a complete casualty and damage report for me. I’m going on walk-about to tour the ship.”

“Right away, Captain.”

***** 

PART 5

Maquis Bird-of-Prey Garth of Izar
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Ben Maxwell sat in the gloomy, somber silence of his cabin. He mused that on this particular day, the bleak Klingon bulkheads and deficient lighting suited his mood as he contemplated the four ships and over fifty Maquis members that he and Ro Laren had summarily written off an hour earlier.

Since rejoining her Maquis brethren, Ro had become the consummate pragmatist. Having spent years in a Cardassian prison camp had removed all pretenses from her nature. She had no time or patience for sentimentality, for the indulgence of exuberant idealism. All shades of grey had been erased from her universe; a thing was or it wasn’t, it did, or it didn’t. No middle ground, no hesitation, no flexibility.

Maxwell could not let those men and women go so easily. It was the Starfleet in him, the core of the man he once was, before the humiliation of court-martial and the soul sapping tedium of the stockade. For five years he’d languished in captivity, carrying out mundane make-work chores for the penal authority under the guise of rehabilitation. As if hand checking isolinear chips for production defects, a task carried out thousands of times more efficiently and accurately by computer, could quench the torch of vengeance he carried within him.

He had been released mere months before the start of the Dominion War. When the conflict had erupted in earnest, Maxwell had begged Starfleet to reactivate his commission, to allow him to serve in the capacity in which he’d demonstrated unparalleled genius, the art of warfare. He had been summarily refused. Maxwell had then offered his services as a civilian strategic advisor, and again had been rebuffed. So stained was his name among the leadership of Starfleet that certain members of the admiralty had even petitioned to have the two Christopher Pike medals of valor he’d been awarded during the Cardassian Wars rescinded. Ultimately that idea had been quashed, but only barely.

And so, Maxwell had eventually found his way to the Federation/Cardassian border, the area encompassed by the old DMZ. Here he had been approached by the newly reconstituted Maquis. Those from among the freedom fighters who’d been imprisoned before the Dominion purges had formed the core of a reinvigorated movement. They sought the colonization of those worlds ceded to the Cardassians by the Federation in the disastrous treaty six years earlier. When Cardassia had joined the Dominion, the Jem’Hadar had scoured those worlds clean of any Federation presence, obliterating Maquis and civilian settlements with equal enthusiasm.

Now that those worlds were again under Federation jurisdiction, the friends and relatives of those killed in the Dominion purges of the DMZ had petitioned the Federation Council to reinstate their settlement rights. The Council had refused, stubbornly replying that when the alliance relinquished control of Cardassian territory to the Union’s newly formed civilian government, the borders would be identical to their pre-war lines. Thus, the Maquis had come back into the picture, the group rededicated to ensuring that the planets that had been settled by Federation citizens and had been paid for in their blood would not fall into Cardassian hands once again.

Sitting forward and placing the now empty glass of scotch atop the Spartan desk, Maxwell came to a decision. If this endeavor had any chance of success, the Maquis, old and new, must learn to trust one another. Leaving people behind to be captured would send the message to the others that they were expendable. Reaching out to toggle the antiquated Klingon comms, the former Starfleet captain stated, “Maxwell to bridge, prepare to copy change of heading.”

The speaker hissed and crackled, finally allowing, “Beston here, Ben. Where are we headed?”

“Set course for the E’Mdifarr system and engage at best speed. Ready the gunnery crews, we’ll be going into combat.”

“You got it, Ben.”

Maxwell sat back, forcing his mind clear of all matters save the potential tactical scenarios they might encounter in the hazard-ridden star system. Flexing mental muscles that had lay dormant for years, he prepared to bring his substantial knowledge of Starfleet strategy and tactics to the fore, in order that he might now employ them against his former comrades.

*****

Kriosian-flagged freighter SS Draskaar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

As they stepped out of the dining compartment, Ramirez moved a few paces down the passageway before turning and leaning against the bulkhead. Lar’ragos stepped to the other side of the corridor, moving stiffly and looking pained.

“What do your senses tell you, Pava?”

Choosing his words carefully, the El Aurian hesitated a moment before replying. “He’s telling us the truth, sir, or what he knows of it. He’s been deliberately kept in the dark, and doesn’t even know who’s running this operational cell. Just as he told us, his immediate superior is a man named Laramie. They’ve got four of these Q-ships, and the five smaller craft we saw faking the attack on this freighter when we arrived.”

“And he’s being truthful about their plan?”

Lar’ragos nodded, “Yes, sir. They were to disable or destroy Gibraltar and then set a pursuit course with the convoy. Presumably, the other Maquis attack group slated to intercept the formation and overcome the other three escorts was laying in wait somewhere along their route.”

Ramirez frowned, “And with local comms frequencies jammed, we have no way to warn the convoy or to discover if their attack was successful.”

“Not until we leave the system.”

She gave the lieutenant a curious look, “You said they planned to disable or destroy our ship. The Maquis used to go out of their way to avoid causing Federation and Starfleet casualties.”

Shrugging with his hands, Lar’ragos noted, “This is a whole new breed, Commander. Look at it from their perspective for a moment. They tempered their pre-war efforts with restraint, and what did it get them in the end?”

“Wiped out,” was her somber reply.

“Exactly, sir.”

Ramirez’s compin chirped, “Ashok to Ramirez. Impulse power has been restored, sir. We can be underway in fifteen minutes.”

After acknowledging the message, the XO reached up and gripped the security officer’s shoulder, “Good work, Pava. As always, your insights are invaluable.” Turning towards the antiquated and battle-scarred turbolift she gestured for the remaining security specialist to stand guard over Kyle Lightner in the dining compartment. Looking back to Lar’ragos she said, “C’mon, Lieutenant, let’s go even the odds a little.”

*****

Settling into the command chair of the combat-rigged freighter, Ramirez cast a glance towards Ashok who towered over the relatively diminutive engineering station. “Are we good to go, Lieutenant?”

Ashok, abhorring physical violence as he did, was now more aloof than normal following the earlier unpleasantness on the bridge. In response, he nodded curtly, the Bolian assessing, “You have full impulse and warp reactor power at your command, as well as shields and weapons load-outs. The warp drive itself is still offline, however, and I don’t have the proper equipment to polarize the nacelles.”

“Understood.” Turning to where Lar’ragos sat uncomfortably at the weapons console, she asked, “And you, Mr. Lar’ragos?”

“Weapons and defensive systems standing by, Commander. We’re armed with Ferengi disruptors, Talarian merculite missile batteries, and Bajoran phaser cannons.”

Ramirez shook her head, smirking. “We’re outfitted like an orbital display model at an Orion arms bazaar.”

Lar’ragos returned the grin. “Being heavily armed means never having to say you’re sorry, sir.”

“Let’s put your aphorism to the test, shall we, Mr. Lar’ragos? Helm, ahead slow, advancing to fifteen-hundred kph.”

Manning the helm console, Dunleavy would have smiled as well, if not for the dermal regeneration patches affixed to her face. “Aye, ahead slow, sir.”

“We’re off to find Gibraltar, and if we happen to stumble onto any more Maquis during our search, we can repay them in kind for our ambush.”

The away team’s only response was a series of grim smiles.

*****

USS Gibraltar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Sandhurst stumbled into the decon chamber, gasping for breath as the deionizer beam swept back and forth over him, its bluish rays laboring to neutralize the radiation swirling around the suited figure. As the beam terminated and Sandhurst tore off his helmet, the internal speakers could be heard scolding, ‘WARNING: Radiation levels have exceeded design tolerances. Lethal exposure in one minute, thirty seconds.’

The medical team rushed in, hefting Sandhurst up and spiriting him towards the small, two person lift car that shuttled maintenance personnel from the engineering hull up the nacelle strut and into the small habitable compartment. The captain’s body was already flooded with nearly twice the recommended dosage of hyronalin and all that could be done for him now was a deep tissue deionization treatment in Sickbay.

As the med-tech clutched Sandhurst to him and squeezed into the transport car, the captain croaked to one of the engineering personnel present, “Tell the bridge… warp drive re- restored.”

*****

The nacelle diagnostic readouts flashed green just as the text message arrived. The petty officer manning the Engineering board called to Pell, “Commander, warp engines back online.”

Sitting motionless in the command chair, Pell waited just long enough to make certain her voice was free of anxiety before positing the question, “Status of the captain?”

“Unknown, sir. He’s en route to Sickbay,” came the hushed response.

She nodded soberly. “Time to find our people.” Initiating the public address, Pell’s voice carried throughout the ship. “This is the Second Officer. We have restored warp capability and are now getting underway to locate our away team. I realize that in a perfect world the captain or Commander Ramirez would be sitting up here calling the shots, but I assure you I have every intention of finding and rescuing our missing crew. May the Prophets take pity upon anyone who stands in our path, for our cause is righteous and our resolution fixed as the Rock of Gibraltar. All auxiliary personnel report to damage control rally points and standby for further orders. Make ready for combat; all hands to battle stations.”

As the ship got underway, Pell reflected distantly that it appeared she had been contaminated by the same lack of subtly she’d recently referenced to the captain. ‘When in Rome…’ she thought, surrendering silently to the inevitable.

*****

USS Bluefin
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Akinola strode into Main Engineering, already smirking at the constant stream of colorful invective that had been audible for the length of the corridor.

Junior officers and enlisted specialists scurried to and fro in a flurry of activity as Gralt struggled into an EVA pressure suit. “Move your frinxing backsides or I will see the lot of you scrubbing plasma conduits with your own toothbrushes! No, belay that, I’ll track down a waste hauler and make you clean that out using nothing but the tongues your misbegotten, genetically deficient parents passed on to you!”

“Ah, so you’re the one,” Akinola called up to Gralt as the Tellarite fought to get his oversized foot into a troublesome boot on the mezzanine level.

“The one what, sir?” Gralt groused with evident irritation.

“The author of ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People,’ the captain replied dryly.

“No time for fun and games, sir.” Gralt finished pulling on the pressure garment and stepped onto the transparent lift platform that descended to the main level. “The rest of my EVA team is waiting in the shuttle bay. We’ve got to get those work pods out there and secure that strut ASAP.”

Stepping to the side, Akinola gestured to the exit. “Don’t let me stand in your way, Commander.”

“Thank you, Cap—“ The intercom sprang to life, cutting short Gralt’s reply.

“Strauss to the captain. One of the modified freighters is sniffing around our asteroid, sir. Estimate they’ll stumble upon our position in less than five minutes.”

Akinola and Gralt shared a grim look as the captain tapped his compin. “Acknowledged, XO. On my way.” Turning for the exit, Akinola called back over his shoulder, “Sorry, Gralt, you’ll have to make due for the time being. Get your people back from the shuttle bay, I’ve got a feeling we’re going to take a few more hits before this is over.”

As the doors hissed closed behind him, Akinola could make out a bellowing cadence through the door as Gralt and his team shifted priorities yet again and set to work.

*****

PART 6

USS Bluefin
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

As Akinola took his place in the center seat, the main viewer displayed an image of one of the innocuous looking Kriosian freighters moving slowly around the perimeter of the asteroid towards Bluefin’s hiding place.

“Status,” the captain uttered tersely.

Strauss answered promptly from the Tactical station, “Their shields are up and weapons are on hot standby, Captain.”

“Sir,” T’Ser observed from Ops, “Their power curve reads like that of a dedicated warship. I’m picking up signs of secondary and tertiary power sources to supplement both shields as well as weapons.” Looking back over her shoulder, she locked eyes with Akinola. “I’d estimate they outgun us by at least 2-to-1.”

“Noted,” was Akinola’s only reply. Turning to face Tactical, the captain addressed Strauss, “XO, I want a full phaser and torpedo spread aimed at their primary sensor array. We’ll throw some sand in their eyes while we put some distance between us. Slugging it out with them here in this asteroid field will be like a knife fight in a turbolift, and odds favor the people with the bigger guns.”

“Aye, sir,” she replied steadily. “Standing by for your command.”

“Captain to Engineering,” Akinola called, “Be prepared to route auxiliary power to the impulse engines and aft shields.”

“Understood, sir,” came Gralt’s response. “I’ve got the starboard nacelle pylon reinforced through the SIF, but we’ll need to try and avoid any hits to that quarter.”

“We’ll try, Commander, but no promises. Bridge, out.”

Bane looked up from the Science console, “Cap’n, this is odd. I’m reading significant radiation leakage from their engine housings.”

“Battle damage?” Akinola asked.

“There’s no sign of physical damage to the nacelles, but if I’m interpreting this correctly through the radioactive soup, it appears their nacelles have been completely depolarized.”

Smiling slightly, Akinola surmised, “So, no warp drive then.”

“Correct, sir.”

“Advantage to us,” the captain breathed. “Alright, people, stand ready.”

*****

Bluefin darted out from cover, launching a salvo of photon torpedoes and a scintillating volley of phaser fire that slammed into the Q-ship’s shield grid. The surprised freighter crew rallied, trying to acquire a target lock on the fleeing cutter, but their sensors had been partially overloaded by the opening barrage and Bluefin had rounded the curve of the asteroid by the time their screens cleared.

The Q-ship fired up its impulse engines and set off in pursuit.

*****

USS Bluefin

“Another freighter directly ahead!” T’Ser called out in alarm.

Akinola’s stomach clenched at the thought of being trapped between two of the disguised warships. “Another full spread at the approaching target. Helm, Z plus one-thousand meters, then come to 090-mark-00 and engage at one-half impulse!”

Bane’s voice added to the cacophony filling the bridge, “Aft threat vessel has cleared the asteroid and is acquiring a weapons lock.”

The captain’s mind raced with tactical permutations, nearly all of them coming to the same dismal conclusion. They might be able to overwhelm one of the Q-ships with superior tactics and maneuverability, but two would prove impossible. “Helm, prepare to jump to warp.”

Fralk, to his credit, did not voice the obvious. They were still in an asteroid field, and a warp jump, even a short one, was tantamount to suicide. “Aye… sir” the young man stammered, plugging away gamely at his board and attempting to compensate for the seemingly endless tons of debris that still lay in their path.

*****

Kriosian-flagged freighter SS Draskaar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

The sight of a Federation starship arcing around the large asteroid directly in their path had been surprise enough, but the storm of fire from the ship, however understandable under the circumstances, was still something of a shock.

“Federation starship, sir, an Albacore-class cutter” Lar’ragos identified the ship even as its weapons thundered against the Draskaar’s forward screens. “Shields holding… wait, another sensor return just cresting the asteroid, Commander. Another Q-ship in pursuit of the starship.”

“Try tight-beam laser communications, Ashok” ordered Ramirez. “We’ve got to let them know we’re on their side.”

“They’re taking fire from the Q-ship, sir. I don’t think they can even detect the comms laser due to all the EM interference.”

Ramirez nodded slowly, her hands gripping the armrests of the command chair. “Target the Maquis vessel and communicate our extreme displeasure to them, Mr. Lar’ragos.”

A wicked smile gracing his lips, the El Aurian did as instructed. “Ripple-firing merculite missiles, sir, followed by phaser and disruptor barrage.”

*****

USS Bluefin

Seconds seemed to crawl past as Fralk struggled to compute a safe faster-than-light jump vector through the dense field. Another volley from the ship that had chased them from the asteroid slammed home, causing the deck to buck wildly as control circuits sparked at one of the auxiliary bridge stations.

T’Ser spoke up, her voice sounding incredulous even as she announced, “Captain, the oncoming Q-ship has just fired on the one that is pursuing us.”

“Say again, Commander?”

“Confirmed, sir!” Bane acknowledged, “The second ship is pounding the first one with everything they have.”

“Helm, bring us about one-hundred eighty degrees,” Akinola barked suddenly. “XO, target the vessel on the receiving end of that salvo and add our fire to the effort.”

Bluefin turned around sharply, her forward tubes disgorging a flight of shimmering torpedoes that struck the Maquis vessel in concert with it’s sister ship’s incoming fire. The resulting paroxysm of destructive energy overtaxed the vessel’s formidable shields, and the last of Bluefin’s photons passed through the dissolving deflector grid and impacted the naked spaceframe of the ship.

Streamers of flame boiled from the blistered hull of the Q-ship and were extinguished by vacuum. It continued on its original course, rudderless and on fire, its momentum carrying it towards a contingent of asteroids many times its mass.

“Incoming laser-link communication detected from the other freighter, Captain. They’re requesting parlay.”

“This should prove interesting,” Akinola mused. “On screen, Commander.”

A grainy image took shape on the viewer, taking a moment to clear as the two vessels’ directed-energy comms systems synced up. Rather than the Maquis crew he’d been expecting, Akinola was face-to-face with a youthful looking woman in a Starfleet uniform. Behind her were other Starfleet personnel, manning the freighter’s bridge stations.

The woman stood, coming to attention. “Sir, I am Commander Liana Ramirez, First Officer, starship Gibraltar.”

Still wary of a ruse, Akinola buried his skepticism beneath a cool veneer of authority. “I assume you have an explanation for your presence aboard that ship, Commander?”

“Yes, sir. Our away team beamed over to this freighter after it had issued a distress call. We were immediately captured by the freighter’s crew and our ship was ambushed. These people are Maquis, Captain.”

Strauss called up a crew manifest from the Gibraltar, matching the woman on the viewer to the picture from her service file. Quickly scanning its contents, she murmured sotto voce to the captain, “It’s a match, sir. She’s listed as the ship’s XO.”

“Forgive me for saying so, Commander, but you don’t appear especially ‘captured’ to me at the moment.”

“No, sir. We were able to overpower our captors and assume control of the ship.”

Akinola pondered that. “I’ll tell you what, Commander. We’ll beam you over here and you can explain in greater detail. In the mean time, I’d appreciate it if you powered down your weapons and lowered your shields as a sign of good will.”

Ramirez nodded, “Immediately, sir.” She motioned to an officer at the back of the bridge, and the freighter’s shields and weapons powered down.

“I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Ramirez.” Akinola said, gesturing for the comms signal to be terminated. He looked to Strauss, “XO, please meet our guest in the transporter room.”

*****

Strauss arrived in the transporter room flanked by two security personnel to find Chief Petty Officer Deryx at the console, holding three matter streams in transit, the columns of bluish light wavering on their individual beaming pads.

“Three signals in the buffer, Commander. Two human females, and an El Aurian male.”

Strauss frowned, “I thought we were only beaming over one person.”

“Commander Ramirez indicated the other two needed medical attention, sir.” Deryx replied.

Glancing at the transporter console, Strauss asked, “Any signs of weapons or biological agents, Chief?”

“None, sir.”

“Bring them in, then.” Strauss ordered.

A second later, the three matter streams coalesced into fully realized people. A diminutive female of Hispanic heritage stepped forward, “Commander Ramirez, reporting as ordered. Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted,” Strauss allowed. She moved forward and offered her hand as Ramirez stepped down off the platform. “Inga Strauss, XO of the border cutter Bluefin.”

Ramirez shook the proffered hand firmly, “I should have realized it would be the Border Service coming to our rescue,” she said with a smile.

Strauss worked to decipher any hidden subtext to the statement, suddenly self-conscious after having briefly reviewed the other woman’s service record. “Meaning?”

“Only that it’s usually you folks tasked to come to the rescue of us regular fleet pogues when we get in over our heads,” Ramirez said with a deferential grin. She turned to introduce her comrades. “This is Lieutenant Lar’ragos and Petty Officer Dunleavy. Both were injured in the effort to take the ship from the Maquis. I’d like to request they be attended to in Sickbay.”

“Of course,” Strauss gestured to one of the security specialists. “Escort them to see Dr. Castille.”

Strauss moved into the corridor with Ramirez in tow. “How’d you manage to take the ship, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Our security chief back there thinks he’s a Klingon targ in a Starfleet uniform,” Ramirez answered. “Taking the bridge was a bit of a fiasco, but we got it done. We’ve got six Maquis prisoners aboard as well.”

The two stepped into a turbolift. Strauss glanced over at her counterpart, her expression uncertain, “I’m afraid we haven’t detected any signs of the Gibraltar yet.”

Ramirez didn’t seem particularly disturbed by this bit of news. “She’ll turn up. She always does.”

Strauss nodded wordlessly at the other woman’s evident confidence in her crewmates as the lift completed its ascent.

*****

For a physician of Castille’s caliber, the injuries from the two visiting Starfleet personnel were an easy mend. As Dunleavy sat in a special chair under a dermal regeneration mask, Castille completed his repair of Lar’ragos’ fractured ribs. It wasn’t the man’s present injuries that fascinated the young doctor, however, but the history of traumatic episodes hinted at by the mass of scar tissue and bone calcification throughout the El Aurian’s body.

Castille waved the ostio-knitter over Lar’ragos’ chest and said by way of making conversation, “I’m guessing you’ve got some interesting stories to tell, Lieutenant.”

“If you only knew,” the man replied cryptically.

The doctor glanced at a computer readout, frowned, and then passed a medical sensor wand over Pava’s mouth, moving down towards his abdomen. “I’m picking up traces of Andorian blood in your oral tissues and digestive tract. You’re not mixed-race, by any chance?”

Lar’ragos shook his head slightly, “No, I’m not from around here.”

“Then how did it get there?”

“One of the Maquis was Andorian,” Lar’ragos said simply, “I bit off his antennae.”

Castille blinked at the casual mention of such extreme violence. “You… you what? Why would you do that?”

“He proved unreasonably stubborn and wouldn’t stay down.” Lar’ragos answered, sitting up and dangling his feet over the side of the exam table. Flexing his leg, the lieutenant nodded approvingly. “Nice work, Doc. Much obliged.” Sliding down off the table, Lar’ragos moved to the exit and addressed the security detail. “Can I get an escort back to the transporter room? I’d like to return to the freighter as soon as possible.”

“Where--“ Castille tried to wrap his mind around the man’s indifference. “Where are the antennae now? I might be able to reattach them.”

Looking thoughtful, Lar’ragos reflected, “One of them is someplace near the turbolift on Deck 5 of the freighter. The other…” he glanced down at his abdomen, “Well, I’ll be seeing that one in a few days, I’m sure.”

The security officer stepped out into the corridor, gesturing for Lar’ragos to follow.

Grinning at the horrified look on Castille’s face, Pava added, “Don’t worry, Doc. Of all people, you should know those things grow back.” Leaning back through the doorway, Lar’ragos called to Dunleavy. “Dun, report back to the freighter as soon as you’re discharged, okay?”

Unable to speak due to the dermal mask, Dunleavy responded with a thumbs up from the chair.

***** 

PART 7

USS Bluefin
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

The captain’s ready room door chimed, prompting him to call, “Enter.”

Strauss obliged, leading Ramirez into the small office. Akinola stood from behind the desk as his XO made the introductions. “Captain Joseph Akinola, Commander Liana Ramirez of the Gibraltar.”

“I appreciate your sense of dramatic timing, Commander,” he said with a pronounced smile, his hand fairly enveloping that of the smaller woman. Despite the difference in their statures, Ramirez’s handshake was firm and she maintained a self-assured presence.

“It was our pleasure, sir. My thanks for coming to our rescue.”

Akinola gestured for Ramirez to sit, and she slid easily into one of the chairs facing the desk. Strauss moved for the exit, but the captain motioned towards the other seat, “I’d like you to sit in on the debrief, XO.”

For the next twenty minutes, Ramirez gave a detailed report on the situation that had drawn Gibraltar to the E’Mdifarr system, and the capture and subsequent escape of her away team from the clutches of the Maquis.

As he listened to her story, Akinola reflected on the service record he’d skimmed while Strauss was collecting Ramirez from the transporter room. Ramirez’s posting to the Constitution-class vessel was as unusual as Akinola having been assigned Strauss. The women were of a kind, both highly professional, driven, with sterling service records and numerous citations and decorations to their credit. Akinola surmised that it wouldn’t be long before both of them commanded ships of their own.

“One question, Commander. We noticed both the Maquis ship that we destroyed as well as the one you’ve commandeered had damaged warp drives. Any clue as to why that is?”

Ramirez nodded, “Yes, sir. Captain Sandhurst engineered a device designed to create a pulse capable of depolarizing the warp engines of any spacecraft within a certain radius. The idea was that if someone attempted to ambush the convoy, we’d run interference and set off the device near the largest number of enemy ships possible, dropping them to sublight and leaving them unable to harass the convoy any further.”

Akinola looked reasonably impressed, “And would this device affect Gibraltar similarly?”

“Yes, sir. We’d hardened some of our systems against the pulse and increased the structural integrity fields of the nacelles so as not to take as heavy a hit, but if the ship’s shields are even moderately compromised, there’s no known defense against it.”

“And am to understand you’re in possession of Maquis prisoners?”

“We are, sir. We have six Maquis in custody aboard the freighter. With your permission, I’d like to transfer them aboard the Bluefin. At present, we don’t have the necessary facilities to keep them securely guarded.”

“Of course.” Looking to Strauss briefly, Akinola fixed his gaze on the visiting first officer. “Have you detected any signs of the Gibraltar since you took control of the Q-ship, Commander?”

“None, Captain” Ramirez answered evenly. “I’d speculate they went to ground somewhere in the asteroid field to conduct repairs to their nacelles.”

Akinola frowned, “Before attempting to recover your away team, you mean?”

Ramirez answered his downcast expression with an earnest look, “To be perfectly candid, sir, the captain likely realized that finding us before restoring their warp drive would preclude a quick grab-and-escape operation. Additionally, he knows his senior staff can handle themselves in a detached capacity; we’re rather used to it.”

Still looking dubious, Akinola pressed, “Just so we’re clear, I don’t suffer captains who would put their people in danger needlessly.”

Holding Akinola’s stern gaze without flinching, Ramirez replied, “Respectfully, Captain, the last time my away team was in danger, Sandhurst went head-to-head with a Son’a battlecruiser and an Alshain warship to rescue us. All shipboard loyalty aside, sir, one thing I cannot fault him on is his dedication to his crew’s welfare.”

Inclining his head grudgingly, Akinola conceded, “If you say so, Commander.”

Ramirez’s compin chirped, and she tapped the device as she gave the captain an apologetic look, “Go ahead.”

“Lar’ragos here, sir. I’m finished in Sickbay, and ship’s security is escorting me back to the transporter room.”

“Understood, Mr. Lar’ragos. Please coordinate with Bluefin’s security detachment to transfer custody of the Maquis to the ship.”

“Acknowledged, Commander.”

A thoughtful expression on his features, Akinola reflected, “Lar’ragos… where do I know that name from?”

“Probably Tzenketh, sir.” Ramirez offered. “He was in the last group evacuated from the embassy compound four years ago during the planet’s last cycle of succession violence. Made something of a name for himself as ‘the last man off Tzenketh.’”

Nodding in recognition, Akinola said, “That’s right, he went back for the flag. Wasn’t there some investigation surrounding a power station that exploded right after the last shuttle evacuated?”

An ironic smile tugged at the edge of Ramirez’s mouth, “There was, sir.” That appeared to be all she was prepared to say on the subject.

Akinola held her gaze a moment longer. “Alright, then. What would you propose for our next course of action?”

“I’d advise keeping our ships together to maintain an edge in firepower, sir. The Maquis still have two more Q-ships that we know of, plus a half-dozen or so reasonably well armed smallcraft.”

“Agreed, Commander. However, I want you and your people prepared to abandon that freighter at a moment’s notice. If we have to retreat from this system, Bluefin appears to be the only ship in the vicinity still capable of achieving warp speed.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Thank you, Commander Ramirez.” Akinola nodded to the officer, “Dismissed.”

After Ramirez had stepped out, the captain focused on his exec. “Impressions, XO? Is she covering for Sandhurst?”

Suppressing a sardonic grin, Strauss noted, “Weren’t you the one singing the man’s praises just a few hours ago, sir?”

“That’s before I was aware he’d left his away team in enemy hands.”

Playing devil’s advocate, Strauss observed, “They were under attack by a superior force. You’re suggesting he should have sacrificed the entire ship and crew in a futile attempt to rescue six people, sir?”

Akinola blew out a breath, his irritation ebbing slightly. “Point taken, Commander. It’s just not the way I’d have handled it.”

Strauss shrugged, “His ship, his rules. Besides, if Ramirez isn’t bothered by the fact, why should we raise a stink, Captain?”

Nodding slowly, Akinola relaxed. “You’re right, of course.”

*****

USS Gibraltar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

Gibraltar slipped silently around the asteroid, the shattered landscape of the planetary shard bearing mute witness to the vessel’s stealthy pursuit of her enemy.

Ensign Lightner kept the ship just outside the sensor range of the Q-ship, using the massive rocks themselves to shield their presence from the Maquis.

“Nicely done, Ensign” Pell observed from where she stood directly behind the Helm and Ops stations, a hand on the back of each seat. “Anything from our passive sensor reception, Mr. Shanthi?”

His eyes fixed to his sensor display, the lanky young man uttered, “Nothing yet, sir. The freighter’s heavy shielding means she isn’t giving off much in the way of decipherable information.”

Pell glared at the fleeting image of the freighter as it wove its way between the stony obstructions as if she could will herself to see into its structure. Was Ramirez’s team being held captive aboard the Q-ship? Could they safely return fire on the warship if attacked without having to worry about the welfare of their comrades? So many questions, so damnably few answers.

“Sickbay to Commander Pell.”

Her heart crawling into her throat, Pell tapped her compin. “Pell here.”

“I have an update on the captain’s condition, sir.”

Pell wanted desperately to take this conversation to the ready room, as much to shield the crew from her own reaction if the news was bad as to protect them from the news itself. She had lost her husband, Soyam, to the depredations of the Cardassians more than a decade earlier. Her renewed relationship with Donald was still so new, so tenuous, that the thought of losing him as well after such a long time spent in deliberate isolation was nearly more than she could bear.

She retreated to the command chair, taking a seat. “Proceed, Doctor” she instructed the hologram.

“I’ve run a successful deionization series on him, as well as a blood transfusion. At present I’ve injected him with a heavy concentration of nanoprobes designed to repair any remaining cellular damage caused by his radiation exposure. I expect a full recovery, Commander, due in no small part to my ingenious treatment regimen. The captain should be clear to return to duty within seventy-two hours.”

She was so relieved at the good news that Pell didn’t even blink at the EMH’s conceited assessment of it’s own prowess. “Thank you, Doctor. Well done.”

*****

Maquis Bird-of-Prey Garth of Izar
E’Mdifarr Asteroid Belt, E’Mdifarr system
Sector 21508
Alliance Occupied Cardassian Territory

‘I can’t believe they’ve still got a Connie in service,’ thought a bemused Ben Maxwell, his cloaked Bird-of-Prey following in the wake of the Federation starship. Upon arriving at E’Mdifarr, Maxwell had managed to trace the Q-ship based on the fact that it was now the only remaining source of communications jamming in the system. He had very nearly decloaked and signaled the other Maquis ship when his weapons officer spotted the escort ship trailing the freighter. Now, Maxwell had joined the cat and mouse game, likening himself to the wolf bringing up the rear.

“Status of their shields?” He asked, still admiring the graceful lines of the starship on the viewer.

“Holding at approximately seventy percent of rated output.”

Maxwell rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Still too strong for us to breach their shields with a single volley.” He chewed various tactics in his mind, cycling through dozens of possibilities until he settled upon a plan that would serve two purposes simultaneously.

“Weaps, target disruptors on their rear phaser emitters and photon launcher.” Pushing buttons on the worn command chair, Maxwell called up an orange and red Klingon tactical display on the viewer. “And put the first of our torpedoes here. The detonation should cause a cascade barrage that will overwhelm their shields. Once the shields are down, we’ll disable their remaining weapons and raid their medical supplies and their armory.”

“On it, Ben.”

*****

USS Gibraltar

Shanthi called out, his voice suddenly laced with dread, “I’m reading a tetryon surge, Commander.”

Swiveling towards the Science station in her chair, Pell prompted. “Location?”

Looking perplexed, Shanthi glanced up from his sensor display. “Surge from astern!”

“Aft view,” Pell ordered. “Standby weapons.”

“Vessel identified,” Juneau announced from Ops, “Klingon Bird-of-Prey, B’rel-class.”

“Friend or foe?” Pell pressed.

“They’re arming weapons and raising shields,” Juneau noted, her voice tightening. “They’re locking targeting sensors.”

Unconsciously leaning forward in the chair, Pell urged, “Full spread aft!”

Tark carried out the order, watching a glowing green torpedo flash from the scout ship’s forward launch tube an instant before pressing his own firing toggle.

The torpedo raced past Gibraltar, slamming instead into the side of a tumbling asteroid nearby and cleaving away a sizeable piece of rock. The calved shard immediately shattered into dozens of pieces of scattering rubble. This debris pelted the starship’s starboard shield grid, the generators laboring to repel the massive kinetic force of the onslaught before finally succumbing to their pre-programmed overload protocols.

Simultaneously, the Garth of Izar’s disruptors waited until the red glow of Gibraltar’s aft torpedo launcher announced a launch was imminent before firing. The green energy bolts met the torpedo just aft of the starship’s shield envelope, causing a concussive explosion that collapsed the aft shields, ripped away the shuttlebay doors, and scorched the hull plating along the aft third of the engineering section.

Tark’s phaser beams sizzled across the Bird-of-Prey’s shields as the smaller craft executed a diving roll that sent it spiraling behind the cover of the asteroid Maxwell had targeted moments earlier.

Gibraltar’s bridge lurched as panels overloaded and klaxons howled in protest. Juneau cried out, “Shields have failed, sir! Reading explosive decompression of the shuttle bay and multiple hull breaches in the aft sections of the secondary hull.”

“Oh… God.” Lightner’s plaintive cry brought Pell’s attention back to the main screen, which now displayed a forward view. The Bird-of-Prey was coming at them head on, her wingtip disruptors flashing as the scout systematically blasted the phaser emitters arrayed along the saucer as Gibraltar juddered in protest.

“Return fire!” Pell shouted.

“With what?” Tark growled. “Phasers are disabled and we can’t fire torpedoes at this range without shields.”

Shanthi called out from the Science station, “The Kriosian freighter has apparently detected our exchange of fire, Commander. They’re coming about.”

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Pell uttered a silent prayer to the Prophets. Tark beat his fists against now useless Tactical console, cursing colorfully in his native tongue.

“Reading transporter signatures in Sickbay and the security armory, Commander.” Juneau noted dourly, drawing a phaser from beneath her console. “It looks like they’re beaming away our stores of medical supplies and small arms.”

Sighing heavily, Pell looked to Tark. “Master Chief, assemble teams to repel any boarding parties. Take whomever you need.”

Tark drew his own phaser, then gestured to Lightner and Juneau. “With me, sirs.”

Shanthi slid into the Helm station as his fellow ensign vacated the seat. From behind him, he heard Pell say quietly. “Someone open a channel to the Bird-of-Prey… and announce our intention to surrender.”

*****

PART 8

Sickbay, USS Gibraltar

Something tugged at the edge of Donald Sandhurst’s consciousness, drawing him inexorably upward from the depths of his torpor. His eyes felt leaden as he struggled to open them, only to find Sickbay bathed with the blood-red strobes of alert lighting. He tried to catch the attention of a nurse rushing past, but discovered that he couldn’t find his voice. Sandhurst heard raised voices, shouting, something about medical supplies and evacuating the patients from Sickbay. Digging down deep within himself, Sandhurst fought to muster enough will power to roll off the biobed. It was only after he had completed the initial weight shift and roll that Sandhurst discovered to his dismay that his legs didn’t seem to want to function…

*****

Bridge, USS Gibraltar

“Surrender, sir?” Shanthi asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“It’s called stalling for time, Ensign.” Pell answered patiently as she moved from the command chair to the master system’s display at the back of the bridge. Analyzing the cutaway diagram of the ship, Pell assessed Gibraltar’s overall state. Moderate to serious damage to the secondary hull. She imagined that Engineering would be scrambling to restore key systems right about now. Looking at the EPS lines to the ship’s transporter rooms, she deciphered that transporter functions were offline for the moment.

The enlisted rating now occupying the Ops station called back to Pell, “Commander, I have the Bird-of-Prey on comms, audio only.”

Moving back to the center of the bridge, the Bajoran officer pressed an interface toggle on the armrest of the center seat, engaging the audio pickup. “Unidentified vessel, this is Lt. Commander Pell Ojana of the Federation starship Gibraltar. You have initiated an unprovoked attack on our ship, causing serious damage and casualties. State your intent.”

The crewman at Ops looked up from his console, whispering, “Casualty reports coming in, sir.”

Pell held up her hand in a delaying gesture, awaiting a response from their attackers. Finally, it came, a heavily digitized voice whose gender and species of origin were unknowable. “Federation ship, you will power down all weapons and defensive systems. Once we have completed taking the supplies we need from your stores, you will set a course at one-quarter impulse and exit the system. If you deviate from your egress route or attempt to re-enter the system, you will be destroyed. Signal your intent to comply with these instructions.”

A shimmering purple line appeared on the master system’s display, tracing a path from the EPS feeds to the transporter grid and catching Pell’s eye. One of their transporter rooms now had power. Opening the channel once again, Pell replied, “I understand your terms and hereby signal our agreement.” She muted the audio and stated to the petty officer at Tactical, “Cut power to the shields and weapons, make it look like we’re complying.”

Tapping her compin, she ordered, “Transporter room one, ready photon charges for transport over to the Bird-of-Prey on my mark.”

“Aye, sir.”

*****

Maquis Bird-of-Prey Garth of Izar

Maxwell’s weapons officer looked up from his sensor window, smirking, “Just as you predicted, Ben. They’ve restored partial transporter power, and it looks like they’re prepping to beam over explosives.”

Nodding with satisfaction, Maxwell turned to another of his crew. “Dorsey, how goes our resource reallocation?”

“Three minutes and we’ll have emptied their armory. We’ve got the medical supplies aboard, and Eiena says the ship appears to be equipped with two medical holograms.”

Maxwell raised an eyebrow, “A holographic doctor. That would come in handy. Weaps, ready another torpedo, set for EM-burst detonation. I want to fry every multitronic circuit and iso-chip on that starship. We’ll leave them reflecting on the meaning of ‘compliance’ as they’re drifting without power in an asteroid field.” Looking to his first mate, Maxwell inquired, “How’s an EMH holo-system going to stand up to that?”

The former Starfleet lieutenant commander replied evenly, “They’re designed to be operational even under disaster circumstances, and the holomatrix database and projectors are rated to take a substantial EM discharge. I’d give us 50/50 odds of recovering an operational unit.”

Maxwell weighed the odds. “Let’s do it. Tell Osgood to put a boarding party together. I want one of those holographic medical modules and enough emitters to set up wherever we establish our next outpost.”

“You got it, Ben.”

*****

Bridge, USS Gibraltar

“Transporter room, how’s it coming?” Pell pushed.

“Almost there, sir. Some of the automation circuitry is offline so security’s down here arming the charges manually now.”

“Reading another torpedo launch, sir!” Ops shouted.

Gritting her teeth, Pell knelt to the deck and grabbed the safety railing. “Brace for impact!”

The greenish missile detonated some fifteen meters from the starship’s hull, infusing the entire superstructure with electro-magnetic radiation. Roiling white streamers of electricity arced across Gibraltar’s hull as the ship’s running lights flickered and died.

On the bridge silence and inky blackness reigned, interrupted by the occasional gout of sparks from an overloaded console and the sizzle of dying circuitry. “Emergency power,” Pell ordered, trying to keep the tenor of desperation from creeping into her voice.

Emergency lighting wavered and then steadied, leaving Pell staring at a bridge bereft of power. The only faint glimmer of operability was from the Engineering station, where the crewman was squinting to make out the faint text scrolling across the compartment’s only working monitor. “Main power’s out, sir. The auxiliaries, too. We’re on tertiary backups, just enough power left for life support and gravity.”

“Transporters?” Pell asked hopefully.

The crewman shook his head, “Negative, sir.”

Her mind racing, Pell sought urgently for an innovative plan, something to steal momentum from their attackers and turn the tide. Something like Donald or Liana might come up with. This, she decided, is why she’d never pursued the command track. Ultimately, the fate of the crew would rest on the shoulders of their commanding officer, and as Pell felt herself burdened by that weighty responsibility, she found herself wanting. “Wait…” she called out, “The transporters aboard the shuttlecraft should still be operational, right?”

“No way to get to them, sir” Shanthi replied from the inert Helm station. “The shuttle bay’s depressurized and we don’t have the power to erect a forcefield over the breach.”

Pell moved back to the command chair, her legs giving out and depositing her unceremoniously onto the seat. Leaning forward, she cradled her head in her hands, “Whatever power we have left, route it to comms. Hopefully, this time they’ll let us surrender genuinely.”

Looking doubtful, Shanthi abandoned the Helm station and made his way towards the randomly flickering Engineering station, reconfiguring part of the panel display to communications. “I’ll try, sir” the young man uttered soberly, Pell’s apparent helplessness beginning to creep into his own psyche.

*****

Sickbay, USS Gibraltar

Sandhurst crawled to a counter, reaching up with shaking hands and managing to lever himself to a sitting position from which he could just make out the contents of the tabletop. Grasping a hypospray syringe he fumbled through the medication ampoules with his other hand, finally locating two promising vials that he loaded into the base of the device, one after the other. An adrenaline-analogue and a potent dose of amphetamine. Hoping that his concoction wouldn’t kill him, Sandhurst pressed the hypo to his neck, the contents injecting into his bloodstream with a soft hiss. As the chemicals flooded his body, Sandhurst managed to pull himself to his knees with his new found, albeit artificial strength. Again, he began sorting through the drug ampoules, whispering, “Thank you, Ahmet Kutav,” with no small amount of irony.

*****

Corridor Intersection 5-D, USS Gibraltar

Orange streams of Starfleet phaser fire lit the corridor, competing with the brilliant strobes of disruptor bolts and pulse plasma discharges from Maquis small arms that screamed back down the passageway. Tark and his security team were at an impasse, unable to advance any further in the face of furious opposition. The master chief was trying to arrange a flanking maneuver, but onboard communications were spotty, and even their compins had become unreliable in the heavily EM laden environment.

Lightner eased around the corner of the corridor intersection, letting off a sustained burst of phaser energy before darting back behind cover as a fusillade of return fire gnawed at the tritanium plating inches away from his head. “Yep,” he assessed helpfully, “They are definitely in no mood to retreat.”

Tark looked askance at the youngster, shaking his head. “Why don’t you jump out there and draw some more fire for us, genius?”

Lightner grinned broadly, “That’s genius ‘sir’ to you, Master Chief.”

“Whelp,” the pugnacious Tellarite replied, unable to completely hide his own grim smile. Returning to the fray, he tapped his compin, yelling into the device, “Tark to Ensign Diamato, how’s it coming in the Jeffries tube?” Static was his only reply.

“What about stun grenades, Master Chief?” Security Specialist Sharpe posited.

“They were among the armory supplies that were beamed away by our friends out there,” Tark snarled, his disgust evident.

On the opposite side of the intersection, Juneau cowered against the bulkhead, her unfired phaser clutched in both hands like some kind of magic talisman whose mere presence would keep evil spirits at bay. She’d demonstrated plenty of bravado by drawing the weapon on the bridge and dashing off with Master Chief Tark to defend the ship against enemy boarding parties, but now that the fighting had begun in earnest, she found herself paralyzed by fear.

Juneau kept waiting for the bravery and leadership skills credited to her during Gibraltar’s classified mission to the Pierosh system to re-emerge. She had supposedly led a last-ditch defense of an underground bunker complex against an attack by a horde of nightmarish creatures and had subsequently been awarded a citation for bravery by the captain. She remembered none of it, having become the apparent victim of a stray energy discharge that had erased her short term memory along with that of the master chief subsequent to their being beamed back to the ship. Now, however, any thoughts of bravery and sacrifice had fled from her mind, and her current paralysis was just another in a long line of bad memories she could credit to her lackluster career.

*****

Sickbay, USS Gibraltar

Former Starfleet Special Forces operator Sylvan Osgood and his Maquis boarding party entered Sickbay, fresh from a vicious firefight with a security team that had burst forth from a Jeffries tube access hatch right in his party’s midst. It had quickly become a brutal hand-to-hand engagement, and only Osgood’s skill and stamina had turned the tide against the less experienced though eager security officers. Fortunately the youngsters would live to learn from the experience. Osgood reflected guiltily, ‘Well, most of them will.’ He’d been forced to shoot one of them at close range with a Ferengi phaser set to kill.

As they played their portable lights across the dimly lit Sickbay ward, they discovered the compartment had been largely evacuated prior to their arrival. So much the better, Osgood mused. A single Starfleeter, garbed in a medical gown, sat slumped unconscious against a storage cabinet along one wall. “Fan out, people. Disassemble as many of the holoprojectors as you can find. T’Mir and I will pull the program storage block.”

As the Vulcan Maquis approached the compartment’s main computer interface panel, the crewman resting against the cabinetry suddenly lunged forward, eyes open, pressing a hypospray against the woman’s leg. T’Mir moved to draw her pistol, but suddenly collapsed before her weapon had cleared its holster. “Computer, activate EMH!” the man shouted.

Raising his Ferengi phaser, Osgood took aim at the man. “Brave, but stupid. She’d better only be unconscious, or you’re the one who’ll need medical assistance.” The former commando heard the brief hum of ionization as the EMH took form behind him.

Then he heard a gasp, and one of his men muttering, “What the hell—“

Pivoting around, Osgood spotted a metallic cylinder hovering on end in the middle of Sickbay. An assortment of blades, flails, and other cutting implements jutted from its central mass. “Computer, identify all non-crewmembers as threats and engage now!” the man urged from where he remained sitting.

Instantly, the device became a whirling dervish of carnage as it began spinning towards the Maquis intruders, hacking and slashing them to ribbons so quickly only two of them managed to get off ineffectual shots before the holographic weapon was upon them. Osgood evaded, diving over the main examination table in the center of the room, performing a shoulder roll, and coming up with his phaser at arms length.

Sandhurst winced and covered his face with his arm as gore spattered the compartment. In seconds, it was over. Only Osgood remained, the man’s gun-hand shaking with rage as he moved around the exam table to get a clear shot at Sandhurst. “You sick son-of-a-bitch!”

The captain’s expression was appropriately dark. “You didn’t give me much choice, Maquis. Get the hell off my ship, and I’ll let you and your companion go, no strings attached.”

“I’m going to kill you, you bastard!” Osgood stood from his crouch, finger depressing the trigger. Sandhurst rolled to the side as the phaser beam punched a smoking hole in the cabinet he’d been leaning against. At that moment, a uniformed arm appeared in front of Osgood, and snatched the phaser from his hand with both inhuman speed and strength. The commando replied by driving an elbow at his attacker, only to fall completely through the holographic figure, a standard Mark I EMH projection. The EMH then bent at the waist, delivering a textbook perfect Vulcan nerve pinch to the Maquis, rendering him insensate.

It’s scything blades now flinging off the last of the Maquis’ blood, the twirling weapon uttered a choppy rendition of it’s programmed verbal opening, “Please… state the… nature… of the medicaaaaaaal… emergency.”

A bleak frown scarring his face, Sandhurst climbed slowly to his feet. “Doc, I think you just violated your Hippocratic oath.” Looking down at his blood soaked hands and hospital tunic, Sandhurst ordered, “EMH-1, program pause.” The spinning flail of death stopped obediently in mid-air.

The un-modified EMH-2 looked around Sickbay with undisguised horror. “Was this necessary?” it asked, its voice thick with derision.

Kneeling to check the pulse of the unconscious Vulcan, Sandhurst murmured, “I’m afraid so.”

***** 

PART 9

USS Bluefin

The Bluefin and the captured Maquis Q-ship Draskaar moved together through the field of slowly drifting asteroids, their destination a set of coordinates where the ever watchful Lt. Bane had identified energy discharges similar to those marking an exchange of high-yield weapons fire.

Akinola had allowed Gralt and his team forty-five minutes to shore up their starboard nacelle strut as best they could before resuming their search for Gibraltar. The obstinate Tellarite wasn’t happy with that, and truth be told, neither was the captain. Regardless, the lives of their fellow Starfleet personnel took precedence over repairs which, if completed, would only improve Bluefin’s performance by a marginal factor.

Sitting patiently in the captain’s chair, Akinola resisted the urge to stare at Bane while the man worked to tweak his incoming sensor returns to maximize data yield. He did, however, look over at Strauss to find the young woman’s gaze focused on the Australian lieutenant. Far from anxious, Akinola would have described the look on his XO’s face as being a mix of pride and longing. Suppressing a smile, the captain turned his attention to the viewer.

“ETA to energy discharge contact three minutes,” Fralk announced from the Helm station. The Denobulan was completely engrossed in his console, plotting constant course adjustments to avoid the ever-shifting field of planetary rubble.

“XO, sound General Quarters.”

“Aye, sir.” Strauss replied, toggling the PA. “All hands, red alert. Stand to battle stations.”

Akinola accessed a scrambled laser-link comms frequency, raising the Draskaar, “Commander Ramirez, what’s your status?”

Her reply was immediate, “All weapons running hot and shields at full strength, sir. Awaiting your orders, Captain.” Akinola had to admit that thus far he’d been impressed by Ramirez. Despite being without her ship, she and her team had overcome significant odds to turn the tables on their captors. Upon Bluefin’s arrival, Ramirez had exhibited no hesitation at following the orders of a ‘mere’ Border Service captain. Rather, she’d immediately acknowledged his authority and set about working seamlessly with his crew. Joseph knew there were more than a few first officers in the Fleet who’d have balked at surrendering their authority to the CO of a cutter.

From an auxiliary console, Senior Chief Brin observed, “Captain, the Trafalgar should be arriving in system any moment, sir.”

Giving a small shake of his head, Akinola responded, “They’ll drop out of warp at the system periphery due to the severe navigational hazard of the belt. ETA from there to here at max impulse is over forty minutes. I expect this will all be over by then.”

*****

Maquis Bird-of-Prey Garth of Izar

Maxwell sat impatiently, watching the seconds tick past on the chronometer his crew had installed below the viewscreen. He was just about to ask for a status report when his chief gunner spoke up. “Ben, we just lost bio-telemetry from most of the boarding party.”

Standing suddenly and moving across the cramped bridge to the gunner’s station, Maxwell asked, “Most? Who do you have?”

“Osgood and T’Mir are the only two I’m still reading, and their returns indicate both of them may be unconscious.”

“What the hell’s happening over there?” Maxwell fumed. “Beam those two back straight away.”

“Roger that.”

*****

Sickbay, USS Gibraltar

The main doors to Sickbay hissed open, and Tark found himself staring down the emitter of the Bajoran phaser pistol Sandhurst had liberated from T’Mir’s holster. “Captain?” Tark stepped forward, clearly concerned about Sandhurst’s disheveled and blood-soaked appearance.

The captain was kneeling over an unconscious female in the midst of what looked to be almost unimaginable carnage. The walls, ceiling, and work surfaces of the main Sickbay ward were splashed with crimson, the shredded remains of what appeared to be multiple people littered the floor.

“Sir… are you alright?” Tark stepped aside, allowing the rest of his ad-hoc security team through the door. There were gasps and muttered oaths from the others as they caught sight of the slaughter.

Sandhurst nodded numbly, lowering the phaser clutched in his trembling hand. “Maquis. No options,” he croaked weakly.

“I’m… I’m sure, sir.” Tark offered lamely. As he moved towards a second intact but unmoving figure, this one a male Human, he detected the harmonic component of a transporter beam. As the comatose male vanished before his eyes, Tark turned to shout a warning to Sandhurst, spinning around just in time to see the telltale red shimmer of a Klingon transporter beam engulfing both the captain and the woman at his feet.

*****

SS Draskaar

Calling back to where Lar’ragos manned the weapons console, Ramirez inquired, “You ready for a fight, Pava?”

“Always am, sir.”

“Mr. Ashok,” she called, “Ready those additional generators and power cells, we’re going to kick the Maquis in the teeth until they beg for mercy.”

The Bolian’s only reply was a satisfied sounding grunt.

Taiee stepped onto the bridge, carrying an emergency medical kit. She assumed a seat at an empty cargo management console.

Ramirez glanced over at the nurse practitioner, “Evening, Doc. Come to watch the show?”

“More like patch the lot of you up after the brawl,” she answered with an ironic smile.

“Fair enough.” Ramirez addressed Sarnak, the Vulcan flight control officer on loan from the Bluefin. “How is she responding at helm, Lieutenant?”

“Sluggishly, sir. Her modification into a combat platform included only a slight improvement in maneuverability from the ship’s original design specifications.”

Ramirez grinned, “You mean she handles like a beached whale.”

Sarnak minded his console, trying to maintain formation with the more maneuverable Bluefin. “I believe that is what I’d indicated, Commander.” The Vulcan seemed immune to the laughter this response elicited from the others. As the Draskaar cleared the last of the rocky obstructions, he noted stoically, “We have arrived at the projected coordinates, sir.”

Lar’ragos chimed in, “Sensors reading… one Constitution-class starship, one Maquis Q-ship, and a Klingon scout-type Bird-of-Prey.”

Ramirez resisted the urge to lean forward in the command chair, “Status of Gibraltar, Ashok?”

“I’m seeing moderate damage to the engineering hull and serious structural integrity loss to the main shuttle bay. Their tactical systems and shields have been compromised, and they appear to be running on minimal emergency power, sir.”

“She’s damaged and in over her head,” Lar’ragos muttered sardonically, “It must be Tuesday.”

*****

USS Bluefin

Bane reported much the same information to Akinola as the Bluefin crested an asteroid similar in size to the object that caused the great Cretaceous extinction on Earth. Akinola keyed his comlink to the Draskaar. “Akinola to Ramirez, we’ll take the Bird-of-Prey, you keep that other Q-ship occupied.”

“Acknowledged, Captain.”

A photon torpedo accompanied by twin disruptor blasts from Garth of Izar’s wingtip cannons slammed into Bluefin’s forward screens, causing the bridge lights to dim momentarily as the ship’s shield generators pulled additional power to stabilize the defense grid.

“XO, priority targeting on weapons and propulsion. I want prisoners.” Akinola planted his elbows on the command chair’s armrests and interlaced his fingers, his mind now switching to full tactical mode.

“Aye, opening fire.” A volley of torpedoes reached out for the Bird-of-Prey as the smaller ship winged-over and raced for cover. One of the two torpedoes reached their target, as did a phaser blast from the cutter, delivering a serious blow to the scout’s aft deflectors as the ship disappeared behind a nearby asteroid.

Momentary confusion on the part of the Maquis manning the Q-ship led to their opening fire on Bluefin first, despite the sudden approach of the Draskaar. A salvo of merculite missiles swarmed through the void to impact the cutter’s shields amidst punishing strikes from the freighter’s disruptor batteries.

On Bluefin’s bridge, it felt like multiple sledgehammer blows against the ship’s spaceframe, causing consoles to crackle and tossing T’Ser out of her seat at the Ops board. Cursing under her breath, the Vulcan pulled herself back into a sitting position as Gralt called out, “Port-aft shields failing, Captain. Re-routing the auxiliaries to the defense grid, but that’s going to drain our available phaser power.”

“Do what you have to, Commander,” came Akinola’s brusque reply. “Helm,” Akinola called out over the cacophony of alarms and the squawk of frantic comms bleeding across the PA system, “Get after that bird, and keep us out of that monster’s gun sights!”

*****

SS Draskaar

“The Q-ship’s firing on Bluefin.” Lar’ragos assessed as the Draskaar bore down on her sister vessel.

“Open fire, Lieutenant. Give them everything we have.” Calling over her shoulder to Ashok, she ordered, “All ancillary power to the forward shields.” Then to Helm, “Mr. Sarnak, ramming speed.”

To his credit, the Vulcan did not hesitate or demonstrate the slightest emotional response, merely voicing, “Aye, Helm answers ahead full. Ramming speed.”

“Bring us in at an angle that will cause maximum damage to their weapons arrays as we clip them, Lieutenant.”

Sarnak complied promptly, adjusting the Draskaar’s course while Lar’ragos pummeled the other ship with a scorching bombardment designed to tax their opponents’ shielding.

Ramirez keyed the PA, “All hands, brace for collision!”

Draskaar slammed into its twin, the impact devastating the faltering shields of the Maquis vessel. Draskaar’s underside hull plating gouged a trench across the other Q-ship’s faux upper cargo holds which contained her formidable weapons arrays. Secondary explosions rippled across the Maquis ship’s exterior as her merculite batteries and disruptor cannons were annihilated by the mass of the attacking vessel.

As Draskaar lurched free of its doppelganger, trailed by a cloud of glittering debris and escaping gasses, Lar’ragos pivoted his weapons batteries on their swivel mounts to an aft-ward orientation. The El Aurian sent a stream of disruptor fire and the last of their merculite missiles at the now unshielded behemoth. His aim was true, and Lar’ragos’ fusillade devastated the last of the Maquis weapons arrays as well as their impulse engines, leaving the hapless freighter adrift in a shimmering cloud of flotsam as atmosphere vented from her catastrophic wounds. “Target has been incapacitated, sir” he announced with finality.

“Well done, Pava,” Ramirez praised as she assessed the condition of Gibraltar, which hung dark and powerless on the viewer, the latter-half of her secondary hull scored and pitted.

“Shall we pursue Bluefin and the Bird-of-Prey, Commander?” Sarnak inquired.

“Negative, Lieutenant. Both ships are too maneuverable, we’d never catch up in this hulk. Bring us alongside Gibraltar so we can render aid.”

*****

Maquis Bird-of-Prey Garth of Izar

Sandhurst blinked, eyes adjusting to the dimly lit interior of the Klingon transporter room. He caught sight of a Human female standing at the control console, staring at him with evident shock. She reached for something at her waist, and Sandhurst raised and fired his phaser in a single impulsive movement that was completed even before he’d fully realized what was happening.

The beam struck the left side of the woman’s chest, which erupted in a shower of sparks as the energy stream penetrated her torso and incinerated the organs within. As disoriented as Sandhurst was, he’d merely assumed the phaser was set to stun, he had neglected to check when he’d pulled it from the Vulcan’s holster. “No!” he screamed as he rushed off the transport platform. “No, no, no!” He knelt at the woman’s side, searching frantically for a pulse, a breath, any sign of life. There was none.

Sandhurst began CPR, giving the woman life-breaths and chest compressions until after a few moments it became evident that there was no longer an intact heart or pulmonary system left to stimulate.

The doors lurched open with a metallic shriek, admitting a burly looking Bolian that the dazed Sandhurst nearly mistook for Ashok. The man looked at the unconscious Vulcan and Human laying on the transport dais, then zeroed in on Sandhurst kneeling over the clearly deceased transporter operator.

Casting a glance at the Bajoran phaser laying nearby, Sandhurst realized that if he went for the pistol he’d have no chance to alter the setting before firing. He’d be forced to kill. Again. The Bolian evidenced no such hesitation, drawing a large knife from a l