CHAPTER

11

 

DAX REACHED FOR her comm badge, but it was inside her jacket pocket. That moment of forgetfulness near-ly cost her her life when Elaka lunged across the room and wrapped the cord afound her neck.

At the last microsecond, Dax got her hand to her throat, and the thin muscles of one hand had to battle the brawny forearms of the Bajoran woman. Elaka yanked for all she was worth, trying to tighten the cord; Dax staggered, just trying to stay on her feet. This bizarre dance continued around the table until Dax got enough wits about her to remember her legs. In a fundamental judo move, she wrapped her leg behind Elaka’s and punched her in the chest with her free hand.

The maneuver worked better than expected, because Eiaka not only lost her balance but fell against the wall and struck her head. Dax was instantly in her face with another right cross that snapped her head around and sent her sinking to the carpeted floor.

Dax staggered backward, massaging a hand that felt as if it had been mangled by farm machinery. Her neck was raw and swollen from all the abuse, and she could only swallow with great pain. With her better hand, she reached into the pocket of her jacket for her comm badge; then she thought better of it. If she didn’t somehow make peace with Elaka, she would be at her throat again the next time she saw her, and the entire caper would be too risky.

So Dax grabbed a chair and threw it on top of the Bajoran. She threw her weight across the chair, leaned over the edge, and peered into the terrorist’s face, waiting for her to revive.

She did a second later, sputtering and squirming. “Why don’t you just kill me? You beat me—you deserve it. Or let me go!”

Dax’s voice was hoarse when she replied, “No. You tried to kill me, and I want to know why.” ‘Elaka snarled, “You mated with Rizo!”

“No!” shouted Dax. “Whoever told you that is a liar.” She shook her head and began to cough; then she paused to catch her breath. “I know who told you that… those blasted bugs!”

“Then it’s not true?” asked Elaka in amazement. “You flirted with him enough.”

“I flirt with everyone,” muttered Dax. Actually it was Jade Dixon who answered that one. “Why would the Ecocids lie?” asked the Bajoran. “Because they want a piece of this deal, and we won’t give it to them. That’s the whole thing. They don’t mind lying if it’s to their gain.”

“Are you lying?” snapped Elaka. “If you are, I will find a way to kill you.” “There’s nothing between me and Rizo, except business,” answered Dax, being specific in her denial. “Look, in a few hours, you will never see Marcus and me again. I promise.”

Elaka pouted, but Dax could see the fight drain out of her, along with a lot of blood. “I never thought you would defend yourself like that. You’re a fighter.”

“Thanks,” said Dax. “But I don’t enjoy it, like you do.”

“Something in you enjoys it,” said Elaka. “Let me go. I’ll leave you alone, I swear by the revolution.”

Every muscle in her body aching, Dax staggered to her feet and pulled off the chair. She certainly hoped that Elaka wouldn’t renew the fight, because she felt unable to defend herself against a stiff breeze. Elaka looked worse than she did, but the Bajoran sprang to her feet with a reserve of energy. Warily, she studied the Trill.

“Remember,” she said, “there had better be no lies.”

At this point, Dax was too weary to tell anothcCr lie, so she merely shrugged. Elaka cast her a final glare, unmindful of the blood drooling down her face; then she marched out the door.

Jadzia Dax sank into a chair and lifted her right hand to pull her comm badge out of her pocket. It was the hand that had stopped Elaka’s cord, and it was shaking so badly that she doubted if she had any control over it. She had to use her left hand to fish out the badge and beep it.

“Dax to Mekong,” she said. “Beam me up. Better get out the medkit.”

“Medkit?” said Sisko with alarm. “What happened?”

The Trill rubbed her bruised neck. “Another interesting experience.”

Commander Sisko was seething. “That woman needs to be taught a lesson!”

“I think she learned a few things,” said Dax. She grimaced in pain as Odo flattened out her hand on the treatment table.

“Supposedly, this machine will speed up the heal-ing of your ligaments,” he said, gazing doubtfully at a silver tubelike device. “But I would be careful with that hand, if I were you.” Dax smiled gratefully. “Just do the best you can.” “Look at that neck,” muttered Sisko with alarm. He shook his head miserably. “I shouldn’t have let you go down there alone.”

“It turned out okay,” Dax assured him. “I accomplished my mission, and the hive mind will stay out of it. We just have to hope that Elaka was the only one they told.”

“But what if she tries it again, or somebody else goes crazy?” asked Sisko.

Dax shrugged. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes, like I did with Elaka. I think I made my peace with her. But these are unstable people, and that includes the hive mind.”

“There,” said Odo, lifting the instrument and turning off its vibrant green beam. He craned his long neck to study the Trill from stem to stern. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do about the bruises on her neck, except some cold packs and a hypo for pain. You need to rest, Lieutenant.”

“I will, Odo. Thanks.” She craned her neck to check the time, then groaned slightly with the pain. “What time is it?”

“We have less than three hours,” said Sisko. He turned to Odo. “You’d better rest, too, Constable.” “And what will you do?” asked the morph.

“Worry.” He patted Dax on the shoulder and smiled. “When things start popping, I hope I have time to beam those insects back.”

“You’ve got to,” Dax insisted. “We can’t deprive them of their queen.”

“I’d have to lower my shields to do it,” said Sisko. “This whole thing will require split-second timing.”

Odo growled, “And a lot of luck.”

“That, too,” agreed the human.

“Then if luck is the deciding factor,” said Dax, “a few seconds won’t make any difference. I gave them my word we would return their queen to them.”

“You’re awfully forgiving,” said Sisko, “considering how they set you up.”

Dax coughed. “I think the hive mind is another one who has learned a lesson.”

Odo cut in, “Commander, she has to rest. If you insist, I will, too.”

“I insist,” said the commander. “Leave the worrying to me.”

 

Captain Jon Rachman manned the conn of the Starfleet cruiser Regal as she disengaged from the docking ring of DS9 and eased into space. Chief O’Brien sat right beside him at the Ops console, monitoring ship’s systems. The crew was extremely skeletal—rounding out the bridge crew were an engineer and two lieutenants, one on weapons and the other on communications. Life-support was cut off everywhere except for the bridge and Engineering, which had a crew of two.

“Half impulse,” ordered Rachman.

O’Brien punched in the command and nodded with satisfaction. “Half impulse is totally stable. You can alway~ fall back to that.”

“Setting a course for Bajor,” said the captain, entering the coordinates himself. “Let’s try full impulse.”

O’Brien gave him a hopeful smile. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

A few seconds later, the chief was satisfied, but the engineer at his station called out, “Twenty-percent drop in fusion rate. I wouldn’t want to keep this up more than a minute or two.”

“Blast it,” muttered the chief. “I thought it would hold better than that.”

“That’s okay, Chief,” said Rachman. “Drop to half impulse. Shields up.”

Everyone held their breath for a few seconds, until O’Brien announced, “The shields are holding steady at seventy percent. Any power loss?”

“None,” said the ship’s engineer. “We could keep this up all day.”

“That’s better than I expected,” said the captain. “Congratulations to you, Chief.”

“Oh, it’s a pretty good craft,” O’Brien responded modestly. “Don’t get me started with the things I wasn’t able to do.” “Weapons status?” Captain Rachman called out. “All systems functioning,” answered the lieutenant on the weapons console. “Photon torpedoes 1oaded~ phasers powered.”

“But the phasers could be erratic,” said O’Brien, “and a real power drain.”

“That’s okay,” answered Rachman with a smile. “As long as we’re in this sector, we’re not lowering the Shields except to dock. Maybe not then,” he joked. “I’ll stick with the torpedoes.”

“But if you get into a toe-to-toe—” O’Brien started to say. He didn’t need to finish.

“I understand,” the captain said grimly. “We’ll just look tough. No slugging it out.” He turned toward the communications station. “Open a channel to Deep Space Nine. Tell them we’re coming home.”

“Yeah, home,” mused O’Brien. “Who would think you could call a place like that home?”

“I’d like to spend some time on Deep Space Nine,” said Rachman. “Maybe I’ll request a transfer. I like being on the frontier.”

O’Brien wrinkled his face. “Do it while you’re single. I’m not so sure if this is the place to raise a family.”

Rachman scratched his dimpled chin. “Speaking of which, does Major Kira have a steady, er, arrangement?”

O’Brien laughed out loud. “Now you are getting ambitious. Why don’t you stick to something easy, like making admiral before you’re thirty.”

“A challenge never discouraged me,” said he young captain. “Computer, what are my chances with Major Kira?”

“I do not understand the question,” said the computer bluntly.

“Okay,” said Rachman with a deep intake of breath. “We’re ready.”

 

The transporters worked overtime, especially those on the Ferengi Marauder. If anyone on Eco thought it was odd for an entire ship’s complement of several hundred people to beam down all at once, they didn’t say so. Dax watched with awe as a banquet room on Hive Three filled with Ferengi of every description, including young children, grizzled crew members, aged retainers, and several cadres of naked women. Dax didn’t want to think of them as harems, but that’s what they had to be. Food and drink were being served by the ubiquitous servants of Hive Three, but several of the Ferengi snuck off to explore the underground metropolis.

Dax set her heavy handbag on the floor and hoped, for Odo’s sake, that he wouldn’t have to maintain that shape for a lengthy time. As far as the Ferengi were concerned, the evacuation was going as efficiently as possible, and they had twenty times more people than the tanker. Dax didn’t want to see the Bajorans again, but she couldn’t avoid it if she was going aboard their ship. She left the Ferengi fiesta to head to the conference room and check on the Bajorans.

Minus their leader, the rest of the terrorist band sat around the conference table or slumped against the walls. A few were quietly sampling treats from the food slots. She had met only a handful of the hijackers, and the impoverished condition of the other dozen or so troubled her. For the last two days, they had been eating regularly, but she doubted if many of them had before that. Several of the terrorists were sick or nursing wounds. One woman was in a litter and had to be carried from place to place. About half of them were wearing captured Starfleet uniforms, and she kept her jacket zipped up so as not to reveal her own.

The age of the terrorists also troubled her—Rizo had to be one of the older ones, and they ranged down to the early teens, mere children. Petra was a typical age, and she probably wasn’t even twenty. Dax supposed that rebellion was an activity for the young, and she wondered how many of their parents had died trying to cast off the Cardassians. She wanted to tell them that it was time to rebuild, not tear down, but that would be the same as admitting who she really was.

It dawned on her that—if they were successful— they were abandoning these lost souls on the planet of Eco. What would their fate be at the whims of the hive mind? She didn’t want to think about what might happen to them, but then Eco was a large planet and there were undoubtedly other cultures and other hives, perhaps more scrupulous. They might end up working for a hive, as did the hirsute creatures; or perhaps the Ferengi would find some use for them. At any rate, the punishment for their crime was exile from their homeworld to a world ruled by insects.

It was hard to feel pity for these murderous thieves, but she only had to look at Elaka and Petra to see the two extremes. One psychologically damaged and possibly beyond redemption, and another who simply knew no other life. In Petra’s case, Dax hoped, the exposure to the Ecocid culture would be positive. Whatever happened, it could scarcely be worse than the way they were living now. “Jade!” said an angry voice.

Dax whirled around to see Elaka, and she instantly tensed for an attack, even though they were surrounded by people.

“I kept calling your name,” said Elaka. “Are you all right?”

Dax pulled her collar up around her throat, to hide the bruises. “Thanks to you,” she muttered, “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“So sorry,” said Elaka. “A little fight is good for you—keeps your battle skills honed. We’re both still walking today, aren’t we? Say, why are you bringing that purse aboard?”

Dax was ready for this question. “We’re picking up a little gold-pressed latinurn, too.” She still didn’t know whether Rizo or Petra had taken Elaka into their confidence about hijacking the Marauder. The absurdity of the idea made Dax cringe, and she wondered whether anybody was really believing their crazy stories. The hijackers were supposed to fall into their trap, but what if it was the other way around?

“I don’t know about that bag,” Elaka was saying.

“You can scan it, search it manually—anything you

want,” Dax responded. “Look, I’m a little tired this

morning, but everything will go okay.”

“It had better,” warned Elaka. “We’re all down, except for Rizo, of course. How are the bloodsuckers doing?”

“They were doing quite well a few minutes ago,” said Dax, relieved to be headed toward the door. “Let me check on them again.”

The Ferengi captain assured her that the entire ship’s complement was on the ground, except for Gimba. Dax knew this wasn’t the truth, but it would have to do. She could see in the captain’s eyes that he knew the fix was in. Just going through the motions in order to dupe someone—nothing out of the ordinary for him. She could only hope that the Bajorans weren’t trying similar tactics. Dax herted the heavy bag, thankful to have a secret weapon.

The Trill returned to the conference room and the motley collection of Bajoran terrorists. Petra smiled at her trustingly as she entered.

“The revolution will remember you,” said the young woman.

Dax wanted to tell her to get a shower and get away from these people, not necessarily in that order, but she held her tongue. She sought out Elaka, who was overseeing medical treatment of the wounded woman.

“They have medical facilities here,” she said, hand-ing Elaka her two leftover bilbok. “See if that will get her some treatment.”

The Bajoran women stared at her, as if her act of charity was both a miracle and an affront. Elaka said, “You act like you’re not coming back.”

“I’ve had enough of this place,” said the Trill. “As soon as Marcus and I get a little antimatter for our reactor, we’re leaving here.”

“We’ll soon have our own latinum,” said Elaka proudly.

“But you have this now,” insisted Dax, wrapping the other woman’s fingers around the rectangular coins. “On Eco, gold-pressed latinurn may not buy a bucket of warm spit.”

That argument struck home, and Elaka pocketed the bilbok. “Fare thee well, fighter,” said the Bajoran. “If you ever care to fight for more than your life, come find us.”

“I will,” Dax promised, thinking she would bring an army of counselors with her when she came to look for them. “The Ferengi are in the hive, so I think we can proceed.” “All right,” said Elaka. “Hand me the bag.”

Dax hesitated. “You can scan it. Besides, the Ecocids wouldn’t let me carry a weapon down here.”

“I want to look inside,” the Bajoran insisted. “If it’s empty, I’ll give it back.”

So as not to reveal the bag’s unusual weight, Dax opened it and held it open for Elaka’s inspection. The Bajoran reached inside and felt around for hidden objects, but she never removed the bag from Dax’s grasp.

“Nice bag,” Elaka said. “Supple leather.” She slapped her stolen Federation comm badge and announced, “It’s me. Jade Dixon says the Ferengi are all down, and she’s ready to go up.”

Rizo answered, “Tell her to go outside the door of the conference room, and I’ll lock on.”

Elaka quickly added, “She’s clean, Rizo, no need to search her.”

Rizo grumbled something and signed off. Elaka pointed to the door and said in a whisper, “Remember, Jade, he’s my man.” “I know,” said Dax. “Take care of your people.” Elaka gave her another strange look, but Dax wasn’t about to explain her comment. She strode out the door, trying to look comfortable carrying the heavy bag. As soon as she reached the deserted lounge area, she felt her body tingle in the distinctive way a transporter beam affected it.

Dax materialized, along with her handbag, in the transporter room of the Starfleet tanker Phoenix. It was very cramped and utilitarian, mostly for personnel, because antimatter cannot be transported. The docking bay of the Phoenix was probably much more impressive, thought Dax.

She wasn’t surprised that Rizo wasn’t there to meet her, because he was alone on the Starfleet tanker. Or at least, he was supposed to be. The knowledge at the Ferengi Marauder was somehow keeping people back didn’t sit well with Dax either. This was like a convention of snakes with no one to be trusted or predicted.

She found a turbolift and entered it, saying merely, “Bridge.” The hijackers must have rigged it by now to accept commands from virtually anyone, she thought. Sure enough, the turbolift rose swiftly.

As the door opened, she hoisted the bag, trying to make it look light. Dax smiled as she strode onto the compact bridge of the tanker, and she saw the broad back of the hijacker as he sat hunched over the navigation readouts.

“Take Ops,” Rizo ordered. “I can’t do every damn thing by myself.”

Dax almost set the bag on the floor where she stood, but she decided she had better keep it close. She hauled it to the Ops station and carefully set it on the floor beside her. Then she slipped into the seat and looked at an array of familiar instruments.

“Docking is almost automatic,” she said. “At least that’s what Marcus told me. Just select the ship you wish to refuel, and the computer and gyrostabilizers will take over.”

“Yeah?” scowled Rizo. “All right, then. Let’s start that scan of the Marauder, and I’ll be looking over your shoulder.”

Efficiently, Dax responded, “Both ships are supposed to contact each other first. That’s what we agreed to.”

Rizo stopped for the first time to look at her, and he gave her a lopsided grin. “Well, we wouldn’t want to break an agreement, would we? Contact them.”

Dax hoped that Rizo wasn’t watching her too closely, because she couldn’t entirely hide her profi-ciency at the Ops station. She hoped he wouldn’t notice that she was routing most of the command functions of the ship, including communications and weaponry, into her console.

But Rizo was busy pacing, staring at the viewscreen. “What are those bastards up to?” he muttered. “Are they really off the ship?” “You never told us,” said Dax, as her fingers sped across the colored panels. “Are you going to try to take the Marauder?”

“No, I’m not,” rasped Rizo. “I can’t put my people through any more of this. We already have a Starfleet tanker, and what good does that do us? We need to go someplace and hide out, rest, get our bearings. We’ll probably end up selling the tanker for a little peace and quiet. I don’t want to have to worry about a Ferengi Marauder, too.”

Dax shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the way she was cheating Rizo. He deserved punishment, but he deserved honesty, too. He deserved to have someone treat him fairly, and she was upset that it couldn’t be her. She was also sorry that he wasn’t going to be one of the terrorists who got a fresh start here in the Gamma Quadrant. He was a casualty of the Cardassian invasion, and he would remain so.

“Jade Dixon to Ferengi vessel,” she said in a sultry voice. “Do you read me, Gimba?”

The viewscreen lit up, and a chubby Ferengi grinned lasciviously. “Read you, Jade Dixon? I’d like to smother you with… Oh, hello, Rizo. I was hoping I could talk to Jade privately for a moment.”

“On your own time,” scowled the Bajoran, “not mine. Let’s start these scans, and they had better come out clean.” “Yes, they had better,” Gimba agreed pleasantly. Rizo strode behind Dax’s back. “You seem to know how to operate that thing. I won’t ask you where you learned it. Start the scan.”

Dax bit her lip to keep from saying too much. If she was found out now, at least she was aboard, and her secret weapon was only a few centimeters away.

“Starting scan,” she said, directing the tanker’s impressive array of sensors at the Marauder. This step was actually necessary, because the tanker’s computer needed to know what type of vessel it was dealing with.

On the viewscreen, Gimba leaned over and prodded his panel with stubby fingers. “I’m starting mine,” he announced.

Rizo leaned directly over Dax’s shoulder, so close she could feel the heat of his breath and the hardness of his chest. “What have you got?” he said hoarsely.

“Scanning all decks,” answered Dax. “Looking for life-forms. None registering, except for Gimba on the bridge.”

Rizo was smarter than he looked. “What’s that blinking area?” he asked, pointing to an abnormal section of the readout.

She swallowed. “An area inside their engine room cannot be scanned. Some sort of interference.”

“What the hell kind of interference?” growled Rizo. He glared at the viewscreen. “Gimba, why are you interfering with our scan? What have you got in your engine room?”

But the Ferengi was barely listening. His eyes kept widening as he punched his console and scanned through the screens. “What are you braying about? You are trying to cheat us! I make a number of possible life-form readings in cargo bay two.”

Rizo shrugged. “Those are dead bodies you’re reading. We never had time to dispose of them.”

Dax’s lips thinned, knowing whose bodies they were. Former crew members, people she had met in a hundred Starfleet installations, part of her family. She said nothing, because the deal was already teetering enough.

“Well, yes,” conceded Gimba, “there is something wrong with them. But a living person could be hiding in that mass of tissue.”

“Not likely,” answered Rizo. “There’s no atmosphere in cargo bay two. Jade can tell you.”

The hijacker looked at her expectantly, and Dax had to admit by her actions that she knew the controls well enough to run a status report on cargo bay two.

“It has no atmosphere,” she reported.

“What about that spot in your engine room?” countered Rizo. “What’s in there?”

Gimba shook his floppy ears. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now that we have all the crew off the ship, we are running some low-level tests for radiation leaks, and that might be affecting your instruments. That’s all I can think it would be.”

Dax held her breath, waiting to see what effect this lie would have. When no one spoke, she told Rizo, “Their engine room is eight decks away from their main cargo bay. I don’t think this should be a deal-breaker.”

Rizo cocked his head and smiled. “Expert opinion? Go ahead, Jade—you’re in command. Start up the docking procedure.”

That had been what Dax was waiting for. As the tanker drifted toward the Marauder to dock, Gimba would be off his guard, and a phaser blast might cripple the Ferengi warship long enough for them to get away. If they didn’t delay the Ferengi, they would hunt them down in the wink of an eye. She entered the docking sequence and turned over control of the Phoenix to the computer. The ship began to move out of orbit, setting its course automatically.

“I need to go down to our cargo bay,” said Gimba. “How long before we dock?” “Hold on a minute,” said Rizo, circling behind Dax. “Gimba, there’s somebody I want you to meet.”

“Who?” said the Ferengi, showing his anger.

“You’re supposed to be alone!”

“Except for Jade Dixon,” said the terrorist. Brutal-ly, he gripped her ponytail and snapped her head back. “You’ve met her—now meet Jadzia Dax. A Starfleet lieutenant!”

Dax started to protest, but the pain and the threat of more pain quieted her. She glanced at her handbag. It was as still as she was.

Gimba laughed. “A Star fleet officer? Believe me, I’ve met Starfleet officers, and they don’t look like Jade.”

Abruptly, Rizo let go of her hair, and Dax slumped forward. When she swiveled in her seat to look at the Bajoran, he was aiming a phaser at her.

“Tell him,” Rizo ordered. He moved the weapon slowly up and down her body. “I wouldn’t want to burn any holes in that pretty body. Tell him.”

Dax managed a sneer. “You don’t believe that stupid hive mind, do you? It’s been causing trouble for me since the beginning. What does it matter who I once was—you’re getting what you want, aren’t you?”

The rugged terrorist shook his head. “Not good enough.”

A blue beam stretched between the phaser and Dax’s chest, and she bolted backward in her chair. With a moan, the Trill toppled to the floor.