STAR TREK: KHITOMER
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Kira had reported to Rashid. The Commander was not a happy man.
"General, I know that Quark can be a valuable ally, but are you really sure that it's worth it?"
"We're at war, Commander. I don't see that we have a choice. You know that he'll find a way to do what he wants anyway. Always has, always will. All I promised is that as long as his dealings happen inside the bar and have no consequence whatsoever anywhere in Federation or its allies' space, directly or indirectly, we wouldn't look at it. That essentially means he deals with Ferengis exclusively."
"A carte blanche for murder."
"No. I know Quark. He's a weasel, but not a murderer."
"So we can count on him?"
"He knows what I will do with his ears if he tries to play games with me."
***
Kara Grem was a 25-year old Bajoran, one of the few who had been found in the work camps of Cardassia Prime in 2383, when the Federation, investigating on numerous rumors, had finally discovered that the Cardassians had conveniently forgotten that area of their homeworld.
So the first eight years of her life had been spent scrounging rocks out of a dilithium mine. She had been brought back to Bajor and instantly adopted by the Kara family. But she had been a difficult child, who at sixteen had left Bajor to go to Starfleet Academy.
She had left two years later, and had reappeared on Bajor in 2399, working as an assistant to a notary public in the capital.
Today she was applying for a different kind of job.
***
She woke up — again.
She found herself tied to the same damn chair, in the same damn claustrophobic room, with the same damn ropes bleeding her wrists and ankles.
And with the same damn throbbing pain in her skull, her jaws, and her gums.
She had no idea how long she had been there. She only knew that she had woken up in that same damn chair, surrounded by a gawking group of male Klingons, wearing her tank top and panties, nothing more, fortunately nothing less either. Before she could fully realize what was happening to her, one of them had injected her in the left arm with a large hypospray. She had then — as far as she was concerned — lost consciousness.
She had woken up again, in that same damn chair. It had started again, and again, and again. Until last time.
The giant Klingon had been standing in front of her, definitely not in a good mood.
"How you resisted to our most potent drugs, I do not know. But I have sworn that I would make you talk, human. So, what did you find on the Ch'Tang that you didn't tell the High Council?"
The little woman looked at her interrogator.
"O'Brien, Molly, Lieutenant, Serial Number MSO-18931217."
She was rewarded with a brutal smack on the chin.
"That's not what I asked you, yoq!"
Molly spitted a tooth and some blood and looked at the huge man. She shook her head and simply repeated:
"O'Brien, Molly, Lieutenant, Serial Number MSO-18931217."
The Klingon smirked.
"Excellent. I was hoping you would be an obstinate little girl. Let's proceed then."
And the next thing Molly saw was the man's huge anvil of a fist closing in on her face …
***
The Klingon female had gently helped the Romulan to sit on her own bed. Then she had started undressing her.
"What are you doing? Are you a fvanna'lo too, ryak'na?"
The Klingon looked at the Romulan. She didn't seem serious. Only one way to be sure.
"I'd rather sleep with a targ, Qa'Hom. You're obviously wounded all around. I have to see where to take care of you."
The insults were still there, but the anger was gone. Both used them because they were too embarrassed to ask each other's name.
"I don't know what you've done to deserve such a beating, Qa'Hom, but I couldn't have done much better."
The young Romulan looked at her caretaker's eyes, as she was coming to her with the tricorder and the regenerator.
"Why are you doing this, ryak'na?" she asked.
The Klingon looked back at her and answered, half-nice, half-exasperated:
"Because you can't do anything in your current shape, and I want you out of my bed for your next shift."
The Romulan shook her head.
"No, I mean … Aren't you supposed to hate me?"
The Klingon looked her straight in the eyes.
"Yeah, I should. But my mother taught me to choose my enemies according to their actions, not their DNA. You are incredibly exasperating and foul-smelling, but you haven't done anything to be my enemy — yet."
The Romulan looked at her caretaker.
"Is it that simple?"
"To me, it is."
"Your mother must be a very wise woman."
"She learned by fighting her own nature."
"What? She was half-Klingon, half-Romulan?"
"Even worse."
The Romulan looked at her companion and sighed softly when she finally found out.
"Yes, of course. I should have noticed."
"Yeah, you should have, Qa'Hom!"
Now they were both smiling. The Romulan female winced once in a while, because her wounds were very painful, and the regenerator sometimes missed the spot, but she didn't complain once.
Finally the Klingon ensign finished her job.
"So you're a pure Romulan, Qa'Hom?"
"Yes."
The Romulan female had no strength left. The Klingon saw it and moved to withdraw when her guest said:
"My name is Yirina. Yirina Sorel. What's yours, ryak'na?"
The Klingon looked at her and smiled.
"Miral. Miral Paris."
"General, I know that Quark can be a valuable ally, but are you really sure that it's worth it?"
"We're at war, Commander. I don't see that we have a choice. You know that he'll find a way to do what he wants anyway. Always has, always will. All I promised is that as long as his dealings happen inside the bar and have no consequence whatsoever anywhere in Federation or its allies' space, directly or indirectly, we wouldn't look at it. That essentially means he deals with Ferengis exclusively."
"A carte blanche for murder."
"No. I know Quark. He's a weasel, but not a murderer."
"So we can count on him?"
"He knows what I will do with his ears if he tries to play games with me."
***
Kara Grem was a 25-year old Bajoran, one of the few who had been found in the work camps of Cardassia Prime in 2383, when the Federation, investigating on numerous rumors, had finally discovered that the Cardassians had conveniently forgotten that area of their homeworld.
So the first eight years of her life had been spent scrounging rocks out of a dilithium mine. She had been brought back to Bajor and instantly adopted by the Kara family. But she had been a difficult child, who at sixteen had left Bajor to go to Starfleet Academy.
She had left two years later, and had reappeared on Bajor in 2399, working as an assistant to a notary public in the capital.
Today she was applying for a different kind of job.
***
She woke up — again.
She found herself tied to the same damn chair, in the same damn claustrophobic room, with the same damn ropes bleeding her wrists and ankles.
And with the same damn throbbing pain in her skull, her jaws, and her gums.
She had no idea how long she had been there. She only knew that she had woken up in that same damn chair, surrounded by a gawking group of male Klingons, wearing her tank top and panties, nothing more, fortunately nothing less either. Before she could fully realize what was happening to her, one of them had injected her in the left arm with a large hypospray. She had then — as far as she was concerned — lost consciousness.
She had woken up again, in that same damn chair. It had started again, and again, and again. Until last time.
The giant Klingon had been standing in front of her, definitely not in a good mood.
"How you resisted to our most potent drugs, I do not know. But I have sworn that I would make you talk, human. So, what did you find on the Ch'Tang that you didn't tell the High Council?"
The little woman looked at her interrogator.
"O'Brien, Molly, Lieutenant, Serial Number MSO-18931217."
She was rewarded with a brutal smack on the chin.
"That's not what I asked you, yoq!"
Molly spitted a tooth and some blood and looked at the huge man. She shook her head and simply repeated:
"O'Brien, Molly, Lieutenant, Serial Number MSO-18931217."
The Klingon smirked.
"Excellent. I was hoping you would be an obstinate little girl. Let's proceed then."
And the next thing Molly saw was the man's huge anvil of a fist closing in on her face …
***
The Klingon female had gently helped the Romulan to sit on her own bed. Then she had started undressing her.
"What are you doing? Are you a fvanna'lo too, ryak'na?"
The Klingon looked at the Romulan. She didn't seem serious. Only one way to be sure.
"I'd rather sleep with a targ, Qa'Hom. You're obviously wounded all around. I have to see where to take care of you."
The insults were still there, but the anger was gone. Both used them because they were too embarrassed to ask each other's name.
"I don't know what you've done to deserve such a beating, Qa'Hom, but I couldn't have done much better."
The young Romulan looked at her caretaker's eyes, as she was coming to her with the tricorder and the regenerator.
"Why are you doing this, ryak'na?" she asked.
The Klingon looked back at her and answered, half-nice, half-exasperated:
"Because you can't do anything in your current shape, and I want you out of my bed for your next shift."
The Romulan shook her head.
"No, I mean … Aren't you supposed to hate me?"
The Klingon looked her straight in the eyes.
"Yeah, I should. But my mother taught me to choose my enemies according to their actions, not their DNA. You are incredibly exasperating and foul-smelling, but you haven't done anything to be my enemy — yet."
The Romulan looked at her caretaker.
"Is it that simple?"
"To me, it is."
"Your mother must be a very wise woman."
"She learned by fighting her own nature."
"What? She was half-Klingon, half-Romulan?"
"Even worse."
The Romulan looked at her companion and sighed softly when she finally found out.
"Yes, of course. I should have noticed."
"Yeah, you should have, Qa'Hom!"
Now they were both smiling. The Romulan female winced once in a while, because her wounds were very painful, and the regenerator sometimes missed the spot, but she didn't complain once.
Finally the Klingon ensign finished her job.
"So you're a pure Romulan, Qa'Hom?"
"Yes."
The Romulan female had no strength left. The Klingon saw it and moved to withdraw when her guest said:
"My name is Yirina. Yirina Sorel. What's yours, ryak'na?"
The Klingon looked at her and smiled.
"Miral. Miral Paris."
PLACE your Betts HERE PLACE YOUR BETS!...
Obrien Vs. The High Council interrogator...
personaly i give molly 3 to 1 odds as far as weather she talks and better than even odds says that either way the cheef breaks him into more than 3 pieces... 'corse if he were to bring a really good doc with him he could do so over and over again muhahahahaha...
Obrien Vs. The High Council interrogator...
personaly i give molly 3 to 1 odds as far as weather she talks and better than even odds says that either way the cheef breaks him into more than 3 pieces... 'corse if he were to bring a really good doc with him he could do so over and over again muhahahahaha...
I think you like Molly.
I don't think she'll talk either. Not just with anvils crushing her face anyway ...
As for O'Brien, he's 72. I have a couple of people, already part of the story, who will crush any Klingon in so many pieces, even a Ferengi won't be able to count them all ...
CHAPTER FIVE — LOSSES
February 10, 2400
The Mogai was getting close to Bajoran space. Soon they would know if the IPC, which had failed to protect the Chameleon, would protect the Mogai, a much smaller ship.
Subcommander Lovok, the ship's First Officer, Centurion Terik, the Chief Engineer, and a group of engineers were observing the Starfleet Commander finishing the preparations required to activate the device.
"It won't work."
"Yes, it will, you'll see", the Commander replied.
"Starfleet has no experience in cloaking devices. The Chameleon was supposed to be the best they could do."
"The Jem'Hadars were lucky. This one won't be so easy to deactivate."
"All it takes is one shot."
Sonya Gomez turned around and looked at the tall and skinny Chief Engineer. She was in no way a small woman, at 1.70 meters, but Terik had a good 20 centimeters on her.
"Then all your tactical officer has to do is make sure that that shot won't be fired, right?"
Terik smiled. He wouldn't win that easily.
"Are you ready?" Lovok asked.
"Yes, Subcommander", Sonya replied. "The molecular phase inverter is running smoothly, the plasma intercooler modulators are at their peak efficiency, everything operates well inside the safety parameters. In fact, right now, the force fields are not even required."
"But they remain activated, right?"
"Of course, Subcommander", she answered with the most beautiful, almost motherly, smile. "Rest assured that we won't take any chances with your beautiful warship."
"Bridge, we're ready!" Lovok said in his communicator.
"Engage the cloak then." Teroth replied from the Bridge.
Gomez obeyed and slowly the interphase cloak activated, concealing the Mogai from all sight.
***
Mitena had left the hospital. Nicole had come in the morning. Sabrina felt lonely and useless that afternoon.
For the first time in what seemed to be years, she had put on a Starfleet uniform over her new, numb body. Considering the artificial arm and the artificial leg — and the artificial eye, and boobs, and everything else — she didn't look that bad. But it wasn't her any more in the mirror. It was some kind of drone, an afterimage of who she had been.
She was the Borg.
She had been assimilated.
She would never, ever be who she had been again. That part of her life, that life was over. What would happen now would depend on what they would decide they would do with her.
Did drones have red blood if they were former humans? Her blood was red, she knew it, because not an hour, it seemed, went by without someone coming to take some out of her.
Did drones feel anything? Maybe one of the two Voyager had brought back could have told her, as it was not covered in the Collective 101 course given at the Academy.
Did drones ask themselves all kinds of stupid questions like that? Probably not. They were content to serve the Queen and didn't care dying for the Collective, since in a way they lived forever.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Sabrina withdrew from her daydreaming, turned around and looked at the young woman. A beautiful slender blonde with a ponytail, deep green piercing eyes, 1.60-meter tall … and a gold uniform with two full pips was looking at her, her arms crossed in her back.
"Lieutenant!" Sabrina said, standing at attention.
"Relax, Sabrina. I'm not here in any official capacity."
"Do we know each other?"
"Not yet. But I've been told that you might appreciate my visit. You might have a few questions to ask of me."
"Possibly. But why?"
The young blonde smiled.
"I'll introduce myself first", she said, extending her hand. "My name is Annie Racicot."
***
B'Elanna Torres was still the spitfire she had always been. Of course, a 55-year old Klingon was still quite young, as Klingons biologically could live much longer than humans. But B'Elanna was not just a young woman, she acted like a young woman, and it meant that many males were quite attracted to her. The first to truly make her conquest had been Tom Paris, who had had the unfortunate idea to accept Janeway's invitation to return with her aboard Voyager and had died with her in the Battle of Romulus.
After his death, B'Elanna had sworn to herself that she would never, ever marry again, that she would devote herself to her daughter first, then on her duties in the Klingon government. But her half-human heritage had caused her to be shunned by most of the High Council, and she had finished on Kubrak V, in a life of utter misery.
Worf was a pure Klingon, but his human upbringing had made him much more tolerant of what others called half-breeds, and that was the nicest word they used. He had brought B'Elanna back to Qo'noS and used her to the fullest of her abilities. He had been hated and despised for it.
So B'Elanna was now the Federation liaison to the High Council.
She was Wilkins' liaison to the High Council.
"Admiral, I have made a few discoveries that I want to share with you only."
"Is it about the Salan affair?"
"That, the destruction of the Ch'Tang and about a dozen other crimes which the High Council has decided to keep private."
"And you just found out?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"So Worf is hiding the truth from one of his closest collaborators?"
"He knows that I'm all devoted to the truth, Admiral, and that I will not allow anyone to lie to you."
Once again, B'Elanna was standing very close to Wilkins, so close that the two were now whispering.
"So what did you find?"
"There are several factions, some in the High Council, others independent from it, who object to Worf's policy concerning the Federation. Among the most important are the Soldiers of Kahless and the Children of Grethor."
"Sounds like religious movements to me."
"In a way they are. The Soldiers of Kahless believe that any kind of collaboration with aliens messes with the purity of the race, that such collaboration must be avoided and stopped, lest we are ready to become an unclean race of mongrels."
"They must love you a lot."
"They tried to kill me twice. The Children of Grethor have a similar agenda, throw the Federation away, but their motivations are somewhat muddier."
"Muddier as in unknown?"
"Exactly."
"And one of those movements might have destroyed the Salan shipyards?"
"I'd bet my life on it."
"Which one?"
"I'd say the Children of Grethor, Sir."
February 10, 2400
The Mogai was getting close to Bajoran space. Soon they would know if the IPC, which had failed to protect the Chameleon, would protect the Mogai, a much smaller ship.
Subcommander Lovok, the ship's First Officer, Centurion Terik, the Chief Engineer, and a group of engineers were observing the Starfleet Commander finishing the preparations required to activate the device.
"It won't work."
"Yes, it will, you'll see", the Commander replied.
"Starfleet has no experience in cloaking devices. The Chameleon was supposed to be the best they could do."
"The Jem'Hadars were lucky. This one won't be so easy to deactivate."
"All it takes is one shot."
Sonya Gomez turned around and looked at the tall and skinny Chief Engineer. She was in no way a small woman, at 1.70 meters, but Terik had a good 20 centimeters on her.
"Then all your tactical officer has to do is make sure that that shot won't be fired, right?"
Terik smiled. He wouldn't win that easily.
"Are you ready?" Lovok asked.
"Yes, Subcommander", Sonya replied. "The molecular phase inverter is running smoothly, the plasma intercooler modulators are at their peak efficiency, everything operates well inside the safety parameters. In fact, right now, the force fields are not even required."
"But they remain activated, right?"
"Of course, Subcommander", she answered with the most beautiful, almost motherly, smile. "Rest assured that we won't take any chances with your beautiful warship."
"Bridge, we're ready!" Lovok said in his communicator.
"Engage the cloak then." Teroth replied from the Bridge.
Gomez obeyed and slowly the interphase cloak activated, concealing the Mogai from all sight.
***
Mitena had left the hospital. Nicole had come in the morning. Sabrina felt lonely and useless that afternoon.
For the first time in what seemed to be years, she had put on a Starfleet uniform over her new, numb body. Considering the artificial arm and the artificial leg — and the artificial eye, and boobs, and everything else — she didn't look that bad. But it wasn't her any more in the mirror. It was some kind of drone, an afterimage of who she had been.
She was the Borg.
She had been assimilated.
She would never, ever be who she had been again. That part of her life, that life was over. What would happen now would depend on what they would decide they would do with her.
Did drones have red blood if they were former humans? Her blood was red, she knew it, because not an hour, it seemed, went by without someone coming to take some out of her.
Did drones feel anything? Maybe one of the two Voyager had brought back could have told her, as it was not covered in the Collective 101 course given at the Academy.
Did drones ask themselves all kinds of stupid questions like that? Probably not. They were content to serve the Queen and didn't care dying for the Collective, since in a way they lived forever.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Sabrina withdrew from her daydreaming, turned around and looked at the young woman. A beautiful slender blonde with a ponytail, deep green piercing eyes, 1.60-meter tall … and a gold uniform with two full pips was looking at her, her arms crossed in her back.
"Lieutenant!" Sabrina said, standing at attention.
"Relax, Sabrina. I'm not here in any official capacity."
"Do we know each other?"
"Not yet. But I've been told that you might appreciate my visit. You might have a few questions to ask of me."
"Possibly. But why?"
The young blonde smiled.
"I'll introduce myself first", she said, extending her hand. "My name is Annie Racicot."
***
B'Elanna Torres was still the spitfire she had always been. Of course, a 55-year old Klingon was still quite young, as Klingons biologically could live much longer than humans. But B'Elanna was not just a young woman, she acted like a young woman, and it meant that many males were quite attracted to her. The first to truly make her conquest had been Tom Paris, who had had the unfortunate idea to accept Janeway's invitation to return with her aboard Voyager and had died with her in the Battle of Romulus.
After his death, B'Elanna had sworn to herself that she would never, ever marry again, that she would devote herself to her daughter first, then on her duties in the Klingon government. But her half-human heritage had caused her to be shunned by most of the High Council, and she had finished on Kubrak V, in a life of utter misery.
Worf was a pure Klingon, but his human upbringing had made him much more tolerant of what others called half-breeds, and that was the nicest word they used. He had brought B'Elanna back to Qo'noS and used her to the fullest of her abilities. He had been hated and despised for it.
So B'Elanna was now the Federation liaison to the High Council.
She was Wilkins' liaison to the High Council.
"Admiral, I have made a few discoveries that I want to share with you only."
"Is it about the Salan affair?"
"That, the destruction of the Ch'Tang and about a dozen other crimes which the High Council has decided to keep private."
"And you just found out?"
"Yes, Admiral."
"So Worf is hiding the truth from one of his closest collaborators?"
"He knows that I'm all devoted to the truth, Admiral, and that I will not allow anyone to lie to you."
Once again, B'Elanna was standing very close to Wilkins, so close that the two were now whispering.
"So what did you find?"
"There are several factions, some in the High Council, others independent from it, who object to Worf's policy concerning the Federation. Among the most important are the Soldiers of Kahless and the Children of Grethor."
"Sounds like religious movements to me."
"In a way they are. The Soldiers of Kahless believe that any kind of collaboration with aliens messes with the purity of the race, that such collaboration must be avoided and stopped, lest we are ready to become an unclean race of mongrels."
"They must love you a lot."
"They tried to kill me twice. The Children of Grethor have a similar agenda, throw the Federation away, but their motivations are somewhat muddier."
"Muddier as in unknown?"
"Exactly."
"And one of those movements might have destroyed the Salan shipyards?"
"I'd bet my life on it."
"Which one?"
"I'd say the Children of Grethor, Sir."
The Yorktown's mess was abuzz as usual.
Yirina had received her meal and was looking for a seat. As usual, nobody seemed willing to welcome her.
"Qa'Hom! Come here!" a familiar voice was screaming.
Yirina turned around and looked. There, sitting with a young Vulcan male, Miral was making ample gestures. Yirina walked up to them.
"You're sure you want me at your table, ryak'na?"
"Sit down before I change my mind and have you eat your meal by the wrong end!"
Yirina smiled and sat down. The Vulcan was very surprised.
"The dummy there is Vasik, he works in Engineering too. But his mind only goes at impulse, so he's still an ensign, at an age when he should be a Full Lieutenant. Dummy, that's Yirina, my stinking Rommie friend."
"I'm honored", Vasik answered, extending his hand to shake.
"Me too, I'm sure", Yirina answered, lightly shaking the hand, not quite sure of what to do.
"What's that, Yirina? Romulan swill?" Miral asked.
"It's plomeek soup, actually, a kind of tasteless Vulcan soup, with all kinds of herbs and spices to add some taste to it."
"Plomeek soup is an acquired taste, Yirina. The Romulan palate, I understand, prefers much tastier foods."
Yirina looked at Vasik, surprised.
"Well, yeah. But it's … not bad, you know."
"Did you ask for paprika?"
"What's that?"
"It's an earth spice. I find that when I want to give taste to plomeek, two small pinches of paprika have a spectacular effect."
"I'll have to try next time."
Yirina smiled. It wasn't often that she had a peaceful exchange with anyone, and she appreciated the chance.
***
Miles O'Brien was now at the Salan shipyards. Finally all that could be cleaned up, all that could be collected for investigation had been. The Shran twins had almost completely forgone sleep.
So had Miles. Of course, his thoughts didn't allow much sleep anyway.
"Mommy, where'd you go?"
"I'm getting ready for school tomorrow, honey …"
"Can I come to school?"
"I wish you could … at least I'd know one student would be coming … but you have to wait a year or two …"
So pretty, so nice she was … He didn't know yet how he could tell Keiko. How could he? He remembered too well that poignant episode with the portal.
"... there's also a blanket and a knife."
"Lupi."
"That's right, honey."
"Everything's ready to go. I recalibrated the temporal field generator. We should be able to put her back at the same point in time that we took her out. Molly, honey … I want to show you something."
"You're going home now, Molly. Home is right through there."
"Home."
"Mommy loves you, Baby."
"I love you, too. Go ahead, honey. Home."
"Stars … your home."
"That's right. Whenever you look up at the stars, that's where we'll be — watching you."
"Go on, honey."
"Molly loves you."
"Admiral?"
Miles came out of his memories.
"Yes?"
"We found here something which bears your daughter's name."
The old man, who looked a hundred now, came closer.
"What is it, Sir?"
"It's … her personal toolkit."
"Huh."
"Where did you find it?"
"In what was left of Engineering."
O'Brien looked at the kit.
"According to Haro, that's where she was when the bomb exploded."
"Yes, Sir."
"Hmm."
Akeen noticed his expression and came closer.
"Something is troubling you, Admiral?"
"No, nothing."
"Admiral, please? Something is bothering you. Does it have anything to do with the investigation?"
"It's just … How come we found it?"
***
"Aaaahhh!"
The plasma whip had just struck her back for the first time.
"The little one likes it! She wants more!"
The giant Klingon had struck her again, this time on the belly. She had screamed again. The whip had cut once again deeply into her flesh. The pain was like being burned by acid and molten lava at the same time. And, since she was hanging by her wrists, the skin around the lacerations was tearing apart even more.
The second Klingon had come closer to her, sniffed her.
"She smells bad. Maybe I should clean her up with my tongue."
Yeah, that will help. That will definitely please me, feeling the tongue of that butt-ugly, retarded, slobbering, dog-breath Klingon licking me. I'd rather be eaten alive by red ants or piranhas.
Molly really had thought that she could fool them. Obviously, she had been wrong. Two days earlier, for the first time since her first encounter with "them", she had "agreed" to cooperate with them. They had supplied her with every piece of data about the Ch'Tang disaster. But yesterday, "they" had not been happy.
"Miss O'Brien, up to now you explained to me a very interesting theory on a theta wave assembly being able to further analyze communication systems and told me several other little pieces of entertaining yet useless trivia. That is not what I asked of you. Are you keeping something from me?"
"Well, no, of course. I mean, this is not an easy task …"
"Excuse me, Miss O'Brien. I don't intend to disrespect you, but, you see, when you think that you are alone … you really are not. You are taking a lot of notes, that no one can understand, but certainly there is more on those PADDS than what you have told us until now. I think I need to refresh your memory on who is taking decisions here."
Once again, she had felt the unbearable pain on her weak little body. She had been left breathless and sobbing. The voice had concluded:
"Tomorrow at the same time, Miss O'Brien, I expect your full cooperation. Otherwise, I will let my men take their own notes on you with their meqleHs. They are very eager to have a little playmate. In the meantime, you understand that I have no food to waste on you tonight."
Yirina had received her meal and was looking for a seat. As usual, nobody seemed willing to welcome her.
"Qa'Hom! Come here!" a familiar voice was screaming.
Yirina turned around and looked. There, sitting with a young Vulcan male, Miral was making ample gestures. Yirina walked up to them.
"You're sure you want me at your table, ryak'na?"
"Sit down before I change my mind and have you eat your meal by the wrong end!"
Yirina smiled and sat down. The Vulcan was very surprised.
"The dummy there is Vasik, he works in Engineering too. But his mind only goes at impulse, so he's still an ensign, at an age when he should be a Full Lieutenant. Dummy, that's Yirina, my stinking Rommie friend."
"I'm honored", Vasik answered, extending his hand to shake.
"Me too, I'm sure", Yirina answered, lightly shaking the hand, not quite sure of what to do.
"What's that, Yirina? Romulan swill?" Miral asked.
"It's plomeek soup, actually, a kind of tasteless Vulcan soup, with all kinds of herbs and spices to add some taste to it."
"Plomeek soup is an acquired taste, Yirina. The Romulan palate, I understand, prefers much tastier foods."
Yirina looked at Vasik, surprised.
"Well, yeah. But it's … not bad, you know."
"Did you ask for paprika?"
"What's that?"
"It's an earth spice. I find that when I want to give taste to plomeek, two small pinches of paprika have a spectacular effect."
"I'll have to try next time."
Yirina smiled. It wasn't often that she had a peaceful exchange with anyone, and she appreciated the chance.
***
Miles O'Brien was now at the Salan shipyards. Finally all that could be cleaned up, all that could be collected for investigation had been. The Shran twins had almost completely forgone sleep.
So had Miles. Of course, his thoughts didn't allow much sleep anyway.
"Mommy, where'd you go?"
"I'm getting ready for school tomorrow, honey …"
"Can I come to school?"
"I wish you could … at least I'd know one student would be coming … but you have to wait a year or two …"
So pretty, so nice she was … He didn't know yet how he could tell Keiko. How could he? He remembered too well that poignant episode with the portal.
"... there's also a blanket and a knife."
"Lupi."
"That's right, honey."
"Everything's ready to go. I recalibrated the temporal field generator. We should be able to put her back at the same point in time that we took her out. Molly, honey … I want to show you something."
"You're going home now, Molly. Home is right through there."
"Home."
"Mommy loves you, Baby."
"I love you, too. Go ahead, honey. Home."
"Stars … your home."
"That's right. Whenever you look up at the stars, that's where we'll be — watching you."
"Go on, honey."
"Molly loves you."
"Admiral?"
Miles came out of his memories.
"Yes?"
"We found here something which bears your daughter's name."
The old man, who looked a hundred now, came closer.
"What is it, Sir?"
"It's … her personal toolkit."
"Huh."
"Where did you find it?"
"In what was left of Engineering."
O'Brien looked at the kit.
"According to Haro, that's where she was when the bomb exploded."
"Yes, Sir."
"Hmm."
Akeen noticed his expression and came closer.
"Something is troubling you, Admiral?"
"No, nothing."
"Admiral, please? Something is bothering you. Does it have anything to do with the investigation?"
"It's just … How come we found it?"
***
"Aaaahhh!"
The plasma whip had just struck her back for the first time.
"The little one likes it! She wants more!"
The giant Klingon had struck her again, this time on the belly. She had screamed again. The whip had cut once again deeply into her flesh. The pain was like being burned by acid and molten lava at the same time. And, since she was hanging by her wrists, the skin around the lacerations was tearing apart even more.
The second Klingon had come closer to her, sniffed her.
"She smells bad. Maybe I should clean her up with my tongue."
Yeah, that will help. That will definitely please me, feeling the tongue of that butt-ugly, retarded, slobbering, dog-breath Klingon licking me. I'd rather be eaten alive by red ants or piranhas.
Molly really had thought that she could fool them. Obviously, she had been wrong. Two days earlier, for the first time since her first encounter with "them", she had "agreed" to cooperate with them. They had supplied her with every piece of data about the Ch'Tang disaster. But yesterday, "they" had not been happy.
"Miss O'Brien, up to now you explained to me a very interesting theory on a theta wave assembly being able to further analyze communication systems and told me several other little pieces of entertaining yet useless trivia. That is not what I asked of you. Are you keeping something from me?"
"Well, no, of course. I mean, this is not an easy task …"
"Excuse me, Miss O'Brien. I don't intend to disrespect you, but, you see, when you think that you are alone … you really are not. You are taking a lot of notes, that no one can understand, but certainly there is more on those PADDS than what you have told us until now. I think I need to refresh your memory on who is taking decisions here."
Once again, she had felt the unbearable pain on her weak little body. She had been left breathless and sobbing. The voice had concluded:
"Tomorrow at the same time, Miss O'Brien, I expect your full cooperation. Otherwise, I will let my men take their own notes on you with their meqleHs. They are very eager to have a little playmate. In the meantime, you understand that I have no food to waste on you tonight."
"I guess it's better to forget it now."
"Four months later, if nobody found him, clearly he's dead — or worse."
Wilkins, Forsythe and Dvorak had read together the last reports. The ships were coming back. There was nothing left to find, and it wasn't worth the risk anyway.
"We'll have to thank the Romulans, Admiral", Dvorak said. "They did an extraordinary job. We were hoping maybe half of those people would be rescued. But less that fifty finally unaccounted for …"
"We will, Samantha. Don't worry, we will. Not only that, but I believe we'll need to be more proactive about those who remained in Starfleet …"
"That would be a nice gesture, Leo", Forsythe opined, "as you're for all practical purposes the new Starfleet C-in-C."
"Fuck, don't say that, Bill. I don't want the job. I don't deserve it."
"You do and you know it, Leo. With Dalton gone, there's no one else anyway."
"We'll miss him. When it came time to fight the Borg, there was no one like him. He was THE expert, much more than Janeway ever was. He had learned from the drones she had brought back, and he had expanded that knowledge. He knew how to fight them, he understood them …"
"And yet he lost at Palomar."
"If we hadn't had to fight the Dominion here, he would have had ten times the fleet he had, and he would have whooped their collective ass from there to the Delta Quadrant."
"Then how come we didn't do the same with the Dominion?" Samantha risked.
"What?"
"Sir, the Borg fleet at Palomar had three hundred Cubes. You're saying that our fleet would have changed the issue of the battle. How come we couldn't do anything against the Dominion? How come our current fleet can't 'whoop their ass', as you say?"
"Those are questions I've been asking myself for quite a time now, Commander."
"Add this one, Admiral: how come ONE ship, the Deletham, was able to defeat FIVE Cubes all by itself?"
"That's not the right question, Samantha."
"What is, then?"
"How come they built only one of those ass whoopers, when they knew that the Dominion would eventually get to them?"
"They wanted to test it thoroughly."
"How come WE couldn't build a little ship like that? Because, you know, it would wipe the floor with one of our Defiants, which are theoretically our strongest tactical warships?"
"Where did they find the technology, you mean?"
"Bingo!"
***
Sabrina had taken Annie's hand in hers, shaking it somewhat mechanically. That name seemed to mean something to her, but she really had no idea where she could have heard it before. Still, the woman was smiling, seemed warm — not her actual body, of course, Sabrina had no way of knowing, as she didn't even feel the hand, but she seemed a warm person.
"Am I supposed to know that name?" she asked.
"It's not necessary. I'll tell you who I am. May we sit?"
Sabrina, without a word, made a gesture with her hand, inviting Annie to sit on the bed.
"You remember 2390, when some rogue members of the new Obsidian Order briefly took power on Cardassia and almost started a new war with the Federation?"
"Yeah, I do. They thought that we were too busy with the Dominion, and that they would be able to take back Bajor, then offer the Wormhole to the Dominion."
"Yeah. But that part is irrelevant. You know that for a few months, they were quite successful, until Admiral Wilkins, then a Fleet Captain, brought the Magnificent Seven and beat the crap out of them. During that time, the Cardies captured several civilian ships. What is less known is that some lucky subjects had the dubious honor of participating to some … honing of their … special talents."
Sabrina was now looking at Annie with horrified eyes. It was slowly coming back to her now.
"I was aboard one of those ships, Sabrina. I was fourteen then, and Gul Madred decided that I would be an excellent subject for some … special procedures he had never attempted before."
Sabrina was still searching in her memory. But the knot in her stomach was getting bigger and heavier each second.
"Madred …" she asked. "Isn't he the one who tortured Captain Picard in the seventies?"
"Yes. He told me about him, before … Then he explained to me in detail what he was going to do to me. Then … he did it."
"The Baltimore."
"Yup. The Baltimore."
***
Deep Space Nine was still in effervescence. Jaro's deadline had expired. They should all have left the station now. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
In the meantime, Rashid had armed every ship, runabout or civilian commandeered vessel to the teeth. He had made sure that ALL the station's weapons were ready to operate. But he knew that they wouldn't survive a Dominion attack, if a deal had been made with them. There was no way to know, since no information came from Bajor any longer, and all communications had been lost.
In Ops, Ro had just checked the screens.
"General? Commander?"
"Yes?"
"Some kind of large subspace surge just activated our security sensors."
"Where is it?" Kira asked.
"Bearing one four eight, mark two one five. Distance: three hundred meters."
"Three hundred meters? That's almost inside our shield perimeter", Rashid exclaimed.
"From the intensity and the harmonic signature, it might be a cloaked ship, but I've never seen an energy dispersal pattern like this."
"It's too close for comfort, whatever it is. Red Alert. Raise shields, energize phaser banks, stand-by to lock …"
"The energy signature's fluctuating … it's decloaking."
On the screens, everywhere, a very strange ship was appearing. It was dark gray, looking partly like some kind of Jem'Hadar attack ship, except all lights — warp nacelles and everything — coming out were red, and partly like some kind of slightly wider and shorter Defiant.
"What the hell is that?"
"We're being hailed. A Commander Gomez. She says she's Starfleet."
"On screen."
Gomez and Teroth appeared together. Fox was the first to talk.
"Commander, and, huh, Commander, welcome to DS9."
"Thank you, Admiral", Teroth answered. "We bear gifts from Admiral Wilkins and the Romulan Star Empire. May we dock?"
"Of course! Ops will give the details. Commander, any news from the Beta front?"
"Not in a communication, even a secured one, Admiral. But things are moving."
"Four months later, if nobody found him, clearly he's dead — or worse."
Wilkins, Forsythe and Dvorak had read together the last reports. The ships were coming back. There was nothing left to find, and it wasn't worth the risk anyway.
"We'll have to thank the Romulans, Admiral", Dvorak said. "They did an extraordinary job. We were hoping maybe half of those people would be rescued. But less that fifty finally unaccounted for …"
"We will, Samantha. Don't worry, we will. Not only that, but I believe we'll need to be more proactive about those who remained in Starfleet …"
"That would be a nice gesture, Leo", Forsythe opined, "as you're for all practical purposes the new Starfleet C-in-C."
"Fuck, don't say that, Bill. I don't want the job. I don't deserve it."
"You do and you know it, Leo. With Dalton gone, there's no one else anyway."
"We'll miss him. When it came time to fight the Borg, there was no one like him. He was THE expert, much more than Janeway ever was. He had learned from the drones she had brought back, and he had expanded that knowledge. He knew how to fight them, he understood them …"
"And yet he lost at Palomar."
"If we hadn't had to fight the Dominion here, he would have had ten times the fleet he had, and he would have whooped their collective ass from there to the Delta Quadrant."
"Then how come we didn't do the same with the Dominion?" Samantha risked.
"What?"
"Sir, the Borg fleet at Palomar had three hundred Cubes. You're saying that our fleet would have changed the issue of the battle. How come we couldn't do anything against the Dominion? How come our current fleet can't 'whoop their ass', as you say?"
"Those are questions I've been asking myself for quite a time now, Commander."
"Add this one, Admiral: how come ONE ship, the Deletham, was able to defeat FIVE Cubes all by itself?"
"That's not the right question, Samantha."
"What is, then?"
"How come they built only one of those ass whoopers, when they knew that the Dominion would eventually get to them?"
"They wanted to test it thoroughly."
"How come WE couldn't build a little ship like that? Because, you know, it would wipe the floor with one of our Defiants, which are theoretically our strongest tactical warships?"
"Where did they find the technology, you mean?"
"Bingo!"
***
Sabrina had taken Annie's hand in hers, shaking it somewhat mechanically. That name seemed to mean something to her, but she really had no idea where she could have heard it before. Still, the woman was smiling, seemed warm — not her actual body, of course, Sabrina had no way of knowing, as she didn't even feel the hand, but she seemed a warm person.
"Am I supposed to know that name?" she asked.
"It's not necessary. I'll tell you who I am. May we sit?"
Sabrina, without a word, made a gesture with her hand, inviting Annie to sit on the bed.
"You remember 2390, when some rogue members of the new Obsidian Order briefly took power on Cardassia and almost started a new war with the Federation?"
"Yeah, I do. They thought that we were too busy with the Dominion, and that they would be able to take back Bajor, then offer the Wormhole to the Dominion."
"Yeah. But that part is irrelevant. You know that for a few months, they were quite successful, until Admiral Wilkins, then a Fleet Captain, brought the Magnificent Seven and beat the crap out of them. During that time, the Cardies captured several civilian ships. What is less known is that some lucky subjects had the dubious honor of participating to some … honing of their … special talents."
Sabrina was now looking at Annie with horrified eyes. It was slowly coming back to her now.
"I was aboard one of those ships, Sabrina. I was fourteen then, and Gul Madred decided that I would be an excellent subject for some … special procedures he had never attempted before."
Sabrina was still searching in her memory. But the knot in her stomach was getting bigger and heavier each second.
"Madred …" she asked. "Isn't he the one who tortured Captain Picard in the seventies?"
"Yes. He told me about him, before … Then he explained to me in detail what he was going to do to me. Then … he did it."
"The Baltimore."
"Yup. The Baltimore."
***
Deep Space Nine was still in effervescence. Jaro's deadline had expired. They should all have left the station now. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
In the meantime, Rashid had armed every ship, runabout or civilian commandeered vessel to the teeth. He had made sure that ALL the station's weapons were ready to operate. But he knew that they wouldn't survive a Dominion attack, if a deal had been made with them. There was no way to know, since no information came from Bajor any longer, and all communications had been lost.
In Ops, Ro had just checked the screens.
"General? Commander?"
"Yes?"
"Some kind of large subspace surge just activated our security sensors."
"Where is it?" Kira asked.
"Bearing one four eight, mark two one five. Distance: three hundred meters."
"Three hundred meters? That's almost inside our shield perimeter", Rashid exclaimed.
"From the intensity and the harmonic signature, it might be a cloaked ship, but I've never seen an energy dispersal pattern like this."
"It's too close for comfort, whatever it is. Red Alert. Raise shields, energize phaser banks, stand-by to lock …"
"The energy signature's fluctuating … it's decloaking."
On the screens, everywhere, a very strange ship was appearing. It was dark gray, looking partly like some kind of Jem'Hadar attack ship, except all lights — warp nacelles and everything — coming out were red, and partly like some kind of slightly wider and shorter Defiant.
"What the hell is that?"
"We're being hailed. A Commander Gomez. She says she's Starfleet."
"On screen."
Gomez and Teroth appeared together. Fox was the first to talk.
"Commander, and, huh, Commander, welcome to DS9."
"Thank you, Admiral", Teroth answered. "We bear gifts from Admiral Wilkins and the Romulan Star Empire. May we dock?"
"Of course! Ops will give the details. Commander, any news from the Beta front?"
"Not in a communication, even a secured one, Admiral. But things are moving."
