"Singularity charge now!"
The ship is coming alive all around me, lights brightening, power levels climbing. In a couple of minutes, the Timor will be back at full strength, ready for anything. The problem is, I don't have a couple of minutes.
"Firing," Marya Kothe snaps back at me. The swirling energies of the singularity fill the screen for a moment, and then it is moving, sweeping away from my ship, towards the Vaadwaur railgun. The singularity crashes into the railgun, sucking it in, spitting it back out again as a spray of white-hot debris.
Whatever Pexlini has done to the damping field generator has set it tumbling, its damaged antennae giving it a lopsided look - but the Vaadwaur can stabilise and repair it, given time. My ship's forward banks lock on, and fire. Even at lower power levels, the plasma beams make sure there is nothing left to repair.
That leaves the Vaadwaur ship itself. The interdictor cruiser is moving, fast, towards the planetoid. Too fast. Those antiques are shockingly nimble for their size and age. The tactical display is still stuttering, riven by lines of interference as my sensors come back to full strength. The Vaadwaur are moving towards the planetoid - Ostankino is hurtling across a low orbital, apparently chasing something - the Hazari picket frigates are regaining power, moving to intercept the Vaadwaur. Brathana is down on the surface, underneath the battered domes - perhaps intact, perhaps not. No help to be had from her, anyway.
"Steer two eight four mark two seven three! Get me a targeting lock on the Vaadwaur!"
Timor turns and stoops like a hunting bird upon her prey. There are other things on the sensors, now - small craft - Hazari shuttles? No, not Hazari -
"The Vaadwaur ship is attempting to recover its troop shuttles," I say. "When they do that, they'll have to lower their shields, at least for a moment. Be ready." Marya Kothe nods.
"Power levels at eighty-five per cent and building," Joaj reports.
Light glimmers across space. The Hazari pickets are firing, corrosive plasma bolts spitting from their cannons. There is no response from the Vaadwaur ship's shields - but one of the approaching shuttles bursts into flames, tumbles, explodes. The interdictor cruiser turns, slightly away from the Hazari - and blue light flares from its bifurcated hull, the light of a sustained polaron broadside that rips across the Hazari ships, overwhelming their shields, crushing them.
"In weapons range," Marya reports.
"Wait," I snarl. The cruiser is too big - we need to wait our chance, find the right moment -
"Cruiser's shields are fluctuating," Onguma says from the science console.
"Open fire!"
Green-hot light raves out of my beam banks, reaching for the Vaadwaur ship, raking along its hull and leaving trails of glowing devastation along its armour. The cruiser turns, moving with that same deadly agility - but trailing streamers of debris and escaping air. We've hurt it. How badly?
The answer comes immediately, as the polaron cannons flare and space explodes around us.
Timor rocks and trembles; alarms wail, the damage control board breaks out in a rash of red and yellow lights, and there is the flash-bang of a transient power surge in one bridge console. I curse under my breath. That first barrage has taken my shields down too far already, and there will be more to come. I can't win a slugging match with that cruiser - I have to fight smart, with all my ship's capabilities -
"Photonics online! And jam his targeting sensors!"
Just outside my ship, space shimmers as the combat holograms materialize. Driven by my ship's warp core, the phantom warships add considerably to my firepower - and, with his sensors jammed, the Vaadwaur commander can't use his. We stand a chance now -
Timor rocks, the deck leaping beneath me. More explosions on the bridge, and the lights flicker.
"Tricobalt warhead hit," Joaj reports. "Hull breach deck seven, sealing now. Main power couplings shot at section sixteen - rerouting -" The little engineer's fingers are hammering on her console.
The communicator chimes. "This is sickbay." Dr. Islim's voice. "We have incoming wounded, in quantity. If you can try not to drum up any more trade for me today -"
The Vaadwaur ship is turning. My shields are flatlined. One of the photonics, caught in a polaron blast, winks out like a bursting bubble. "No promises, doctor," I say, and cut him off.
"Secondary deflector is still operational." Sumal Jetuz sounds completely unruffled. "Sir, if we can peg him with a tractor beam -"
Yes. Get behind the cruiser, slow it with the tractors, lock on and shoot its drives away - "Steer eight four mark two. Ready tractor. And get those shields back up!"
"Couplings re-routed," says Joaj. And my shields are coming back. Woefully low, still, but they are back.
On the tactical display, the lines of the course projections twist and turn like fighting snakes. "Fire viral probes." A computer subversion attack might buy us enough time. Might. But the last of my photonics is dead already, the singularity charge is still rebuilding, and the Vaadwaur ship is so fast....
"Coming about," Marya reports. "Targeting tractor -"
The cruiser's cannons flare again, and Timor is caught in the barrage - and this time it is closer, and worse, far worse. Marya screams as her console explodes. The lights flicker and fail, to be replaced by the lurid red glare of the emergencies. The artificial gravity wavers. Smoke and sparks fill the air of the bridge. Somehow, we ride it out. Somehow.
"Main power offline," says Joaj. "Hull breaches decks three through eight. Weapons banks are drained - attempting to make repairs -"
No beams. We still have our aft-mounted torpedo tube, though, and the rear shield has taken less of a hammering than the others - "Come about. Target aft torpedo, warhead maximum yield." Hopefully, the Vaadwaur commander will think we are turning to flee, will spare some thought for his own damage before ordering his gun crews to finish us.
I will not give up. I will not.
Something flashes on the stuttering tactical display. The cruiser's shields are flaring, as something slams into them - I reach out for my console, bring up a visual.
The Ostankino. The little raider has come up on the other side of the Vaadwaur ship, and her cannons are blazing with corrosive plasma, and torpedoes are spilling from her launch tubes. The Vaadwaur are firing back, of course, but the raider is nimbler and more agile even than their ships, is avoiding the worst of the barrage, is continuing to rain fire onto them.
"Get me some power!" I yell. "Get us something to fight with!"
"Linkages are shot past frame sixteen," Joaj mutters, "but I can manage -" Her fingers fly across the engineering console. "Bypassed. We've got power to the after beam arrays. Can't tell you how much, but -"
"Use it," I spit. "Open fire."
Timor's spaceframe groans as the beam arrays open up, as the heavy tricobalt torpedo shoots out of the tube. The Vaadwaur aren't the only ones who can use tricobalt. And they find that out, as the plasma beams claw down their shields, and the torpedo slams into their drive assembly. This close, the detonation is intense, apocalyptic. The tac display fills with dazzle. Is it enough?
The display clears. I snarl. Not enough.
The cruiser is still there, and it is moving - limping and sluggish, shields failing, fragments of hull falling away as Ostankino presses her attack. But the cruiser is moving, and its return fire is weak and ragged. I put the situation together in my head. The Vaadwaur ship is fleeing -
Then space curdles and tears in front of the cruiser, and it passes through and vanishes. The Underspace tunnel. Of course.
I sag, defeated, in my command chair. Marya Kothe groans feebly at my feet. I get up, kneel to check on her. Burned, shocked, but she will live. Perhaps we all will.
"Hail from the Ostankino, sir," says Sumal. I rise to my feet.
"On screen."
Pexlini appears in the viewer. The Talaxian looks terrible - her face is puffy and bluish, as if it is all one massive bruise, and in it her eyes are nightmares, the whites turned solid red by broken blood vessels in the sclera. Her voice is weak and rasping. "I'm guessing you're in no shape to pursue," she says.
I look around the smouldering bridge. "We've taken substantial damage," I say quietly.
"Yeah, so've we," says Pexlini. "On the plus side, we definitely hurt that cruiser... but no telling what support he might have stashed in Underspace, and anyway the Turei'll get mad if we go down their rabbit hole without permission." She coughs. "Damn the Hazari anyway. They could've told us that thing was there."
"Perhaps they didn't know."
"Oh, they knew, all right. Why'd you think they chose this particular rock for a conference venue?" Pexlini coughs again. "Look, we'd better paper over the cracks a bit. You need to make repairs, and I think I got a date with my ship's doctor. Meet you in an hour, say, and see if we can pull anything out of this situation, right?" She cuts the channel before I can agree.
I look around the bridge. Repairing everything will take a lot more than an hour. I turn to Sumal. "Scan all frequencies. See if we can contact the surviving Hazari, or the Brathana."
"Yes, sir." Even the impeccable Betazoid looks hurt and bedraggled. I kneel down by Marya again and press her hand, comforting her. "Sir, I have a visual on the Brathana now -"
On the screen, I can see it, the lean shape of the Klingon cruiser slinking out of the wrecked Hazari docking bays. I stand up, snarling. "Contact them. Tell that arrogant genetic reject there will be a command conference here in one hour's time."
---
Pexlini still looks terrible, though her medics have evidently been hard at work. The bruising is still plainly apparent on her face, she moves slowly and stiffly, and her eyes are still horribly bloodshot. But it is not Pexlini who has my attention.
"We could have had them," I snarl at Rrueo. "If the Brathana had been out in space to back us up - but no, you had to take her down to the planetoid, so you could grandstand in front of the Hazari -"
"You should have used your resources better!" Rrueo spits back. "Why did you waste the singularity charge on the railgun? You should have taken down that cruiser with your first shot!"
"We had to stop the barrage! It was a matter of protecting lives - including your life!"
"Unimportant," says Rrueo. Her ears are flat to her head, and her fur is bristling. Like mine. "The paramount task was to stop the Vaadwaur - and a competent tactical commander should have achieved that! If Rrueo could get help from the KDF, instead of having to rely on a soft Starfleet scientist -"
"This soft scientist was the one who fought the Vaadwaur while you were trapped underground!"
"Rrueo also fought. Do you wish to see Rrueo's claws as proof? Rrueo is ready."
My own claws tense in my fingertips. The Ferasan stands there, scowling, still spattered with dried Vaadwaur blood. I don't know if I can take her - but I am seconds away from trying -
Then a hoarse voice says, "All right, that's enough."
We both turn our heads. Pexlini raises her wrist to her mouth, speaks into a communicator. "Ajbit. Transmit my command clearances to the Timor and the Brathana via secure laser link."
There is a brief pause, and then the Bajoran's voice comes back, "Are you sure, sir?"
"I'm sure. It's need to know." Her bloodshot gaze sweeps across us both. "They need to know. Transmit."
"Yes, sir. Transmitting now."
Pexlini lets her arm fall back to her side. "While that data download's going on," she says, and her voice is somehow different, "let me explain. M'eioi, remember how you asked me if we'd met before?"
I blink at her in bafflement. "Yes?"
"Simple explanation. We have met. A couple of times, at the Academy. I was on tactical track, and you were sciences, and anyway, the Academy is full of freaky-looking aliens from everybody's point of view. Even weird cases like me get lost in the crowd."
"Wait," says Rrueo. "The Academy? The Starfleet Academy?"
Pexlini nods.
"But you are Talaxian," says Rrueo. Then her eyes narrow, and she adds, "Are you?"
"Oh, yeah," says Pexlini. "Born in the Delta Quadrant, but my parents - they ran a tramp freighter, they'd heard a bit about Neelix, and Voyager - so, when a freak wormhole opened up in front of them, they decided to take a chance. Not the best, as it turned out. We wound up in Ferengi Alliance space, and things got kinda hairy until we fetched up in the Federation. Federation's a lot better place to live if you're obscure alien refugees, believe me. So, when I got old enough, I decided I owed something to 'em, and I applied to Starfleet Academy."
My head is spinning. "So why did you drop out?" I ask.
"I didn't. Must've graduated the same time you did, but I was on a cold-weather commando course on Andoria so I missed the actual ceremony. Of course, when the whole Delta Quadrant business blew up again, I was a natural choice for Intelligence to feed me back in, undercover. I get to be a slightly shady independent trader, somewhere on the wrong side of the law... travelling around and keeping my eyes and ears open. And I make damn sure I live the cover too. Never let a day pass by without doing something that'd get me cashiered for conduct unbecoming." The corners of her mouth lift in a brief grin. "I'm not saying some of it doesn't come natural."
Her tone sharpens. "However, I am still a Starfleet officer, and I have the same roving commission and the same authority as you do. And since you two are cooperating like cats in a sack, I am the ranking Starfleet tactical officer here, and so I am assuming command of this operation. Admiral M'eioi, I expect you to follow my orders. General Rrueo, if you don't want to follow my orders, you can take your ship back to Qo'noS and sort it out with the Chancellor, because I will not permit interference. By now, your secure comms will have my clearance codes, so you can verify all this at your convenience. So, are we clear on this?"
It is a completely different person, standing there. "I -" I swallow. "Yes, sir."
Rrueo looks down and glowers. "Rrueo must comply. The protomatter device is in Vaadwaur hands, the situation is too urgent to permit dissension. Rrueo... accepts your orders."
"Good," says Pexlini. "So, the first thing to do is figure out what we can salvage. Have we got any sort of line to the surviving Hazari captains?"
"Rrueo is holding Ge'Sirn. Rrueo's crew got him back to the Brathana without further incident. Rrueo also has the attention, at least, of Y'Nadan, who seems to be senior among the Hazari gathered here. The Hazari are angry, and Rrueo believes they can be trusted to cooperate with us against the Vaadwaur."
"OK," says Pexlini. "Now, we've got one name, anyway, to work with - this Tuarak. Ordinarily, I'd say search the Delta Command intelligence databases, but as we know, that's going to ring someone's alarm bells. Can we get any background on him from the Hazari?"
"Rrueo can ask. Rrueo... also has another name. She heard this Tuarak mention someone called Nessick. It is a slim lead to follow, but all our leads are slim."
"Wait," I say. "Nessick?" I turn to Pexlini. "We still haven't cracked the encryption on those data chips you gave me... but we've got partial deciphering of the comms envelopes. I'm almost certain that name's been mentioned. Somewhere."
"All right," says Pexlini, "now that might be good news. If we can connect up some dots here... if we can tie Tuarak and Nessick back to the security leak... that's an angle we can follow up."
"Rrueo will enquire among the Hazari while the Caitian completes her data analysis."
"Sorry," says Pexlini. "While who completes her data analysis?"
Rrueo stares at her. "The Caitian -"
"Sorry," says Pexlini. "Who?"
Rrueo's whole body tenses. Her green eyes lock with the scruffy little Talaxian's bloodshot ones. I feel the tension myself, feel my claws ready to slide out.... It lasts for what seems like an age.
Then Rrueo says, rather faintly, "M'eioi."
"Right," said Pexlini. "I guessed that was who you meant. Now then. Brathana is least damaged, so we can process the Hazari casualties through her med bay, maybe get some brownie points with them there -"
---
Afterwards, I escort Rrueo back to the transporter room. The Ferasan is uncharacteristically quiet, subdued, her whiskers drooping.
"That was unexpected," I say to her.
"Quite," she mutters. "Well. Rrueo will accomplish her assigned tasks, Rrueo expects M'eioi to do the same -"
"I still rate a name, then?"
Rrueo stops and looks at me, hard. "Once given, a name can be lost only if its bearer commits some act of exceptional infamy. M'eioi has not done so. Yet," she adds tartly. "Since Pexlini obviously required it -"
"She gets her name too?"
"Pexlini required Rrueo to give M'eioi a name, and would not have - standing - to make such a demand, if Pexlini did not merit one herself. Simple logic. The only alternative would have been for Rrueo to kill Pexlini."
"I'm surprised you didn't."
"Rrueo is not blinded by pride. The situation is critical, Rrueo would have done everyone a disservice by reducing our scanty force by a third." She steps onto the transporter pad, then turns. "Besides...."
I look hard at her. She is visibly uncomfortable. "Besides, what?"
"Rrueo is in the habit of devising metaphors for the minds Rrueo touches. When Rrueo perceived Pexlini's mind, Rrueo's image was of a dabo table."
"Fast and flashy? I suppose an intelligence operative would have to have a mind like that -"
"It is a more exact metaphor than Rrueo had first thought. Look beneath the superficial gaud and glamour of the dabo table, and what is there to find? It is a quite pitiless machine for extracting money from gamblers. To prevent tampering, most dabo tables are built on a solid duranium base. And Pexlini's mind is... like that." Rrueo shakes her head. "If Rrueo were to engage Pexlini in combat, Rrueo is not entirely certain who would be victorious."
I stare at her. "Seriously?"
"Pexlini is not a soft Starfleet scientist. Rrueo does not make these admissions lightly. M'eioi should be aware of that."
I snort. "All this avoiding pronouns is going to get tedious."
"M'eioi is under no obligation to follow Ferasan custom." She steps back on to the pad. "Rrueo notes M'eioi does not ask how Rrueo perceives M'eioi's mind...."
"I'm not sure I want to know."
She smiles, displaying those terrible Ferasan teeth. "M'eioi's mind is an army, an army with banners. Thus far, they do not droop in defeat. Thus far. Rrueo hopes they will still be flying bravely when this business is concluded." She nods to the transporter chief. "Energize."
I stare at her as she sparkles into nothingness.
I'm still staring when the transporter room door slides open. Marya Kothe comes in. Her face is half shiny pink, fresh from the dermal regenerator, but she is up and moving, at least.
"There you are, sir," she says. "Dr. Islim wants you to review these casualty lists, and Commander Joaj has completed her estimates on the urgent repairs." She holds out a PADD.
I take it from her hand. An army with banners. Indeed.
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