Chapter Text
USS Gibraltar - Ba’ku System - The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
“Ashok,” Sandhurst practically gasped from the captain’s chair as the med-tech attended to his cracked sternum. “What’s our status?”
The Bolian’s report from Engineering was typically succinct. “It’s bad, sir, but it could be worse. The mains are offline, but we’ll have restored warp power in the next forty-five minutes. The impulse manifolds are another matter. We’re going to have to swap out some major components in the impulse drive before we can push the ship any faster than one-eighth impulse speed, Captain.”
Sandhurst glanced over his shoulder at the master systems board at the back of the bridge with its cutaway cross-section of the ship. He took account of the multiple zones of flashing crimson as he inquired, “And the structural integrity grid, Lieutenant?”
“With respect, sir, we can worry about shoring up the hull after we’ve re-established main power and our defenses.”
Sandhurst pushed down the urge to chide the engineer for his bluntness. He realized the man’s assessment and candor were both correct and appropriate. “Acknowledged, Mister Ashok. Bridge, out.”
“Captain…” Juneau looked up from her sensor display at Ops. “I’m reading a tetryon-surge at two-seven-eight-mark-two-four-four.”
The med-tech finished mending Sandhurst’s sternum with a portable ostio-knitter. Sandhurst tilted his head to one side as the medic injected him with a pain-abating analgesic while he queried, “Source?”
Juneau eyed her readings, then shot him a disbelieving look. “Vessel decloaking, Captain. Alshain by configuration, a heavy cruiser!”
He brushed past the medic and Sandhurst made for the unoccupied Helm station.
*****
As her cloaking field dissipated, the Venska opened fire on the hapless quarry in her sights. First to fall was one of the Bajoran attack ships, whose shields were already depleted from her brief skirmish with the Son’a battleship. The stout little craft erupted in a blaze of escaping gas and debris as the warship’s exciser cannons and disruptors tore into its superstructure.
The remaining Bajora-Tavan craft reacted with surprising speed, scattering outward and reforming into two-ship hunter/killer pairs. Dozens of torpedoes and plasma bolts, followed by strobing pulses of golden phaser fire crashed against the Venska’s shields, as the Army of Light sought to avenge their fallen brethren.
*****
Bajora-Tavan Attack Ship Meressa - Ba’ku System - The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
“Emissary, the recovery team is aboard. They report they have the Bajoran female.”
The Emissary nodded with the vadark’s head, “Excellent.”
An alarm wailed at the weapon’s console as the Alshain warship decloaked and opened fire. “Emissary, we have been engaged by the Alshain. Moving to evade.”
“Have the other ships screen us, Prylar-Captain. Make whatever sacrifices are necessary to ensure our survival and that of our ‘guest.’”
“It shall be done, Emissary.”
The lead ship wheeled around and fled as its fellows ran interference, peppering the heavy cruiser with fire. Unprepared for the ferocity of the Bajorans' defense, the Venska was forced to break off from her attack run on the Ru’afo and Gibraltar to fend off the squadron of doggedly persistent attack ships.
*****
USS Gibraltar - Ba’ku System - The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
Sandhurst took the Helm and used the only means of propulsion left to them, the reaction control thrusters. He fired the thrusters on full as he commanded the sluggishly responding starship to dip beneath the larger Son’a battlecruiser, shielding Gibraltar from the guns of the oncoming Alshain warship. He knew the tactic would not work for long. Without shields, the destruction of the Son’a battlewagon in such close proximity would spell doom for the starship as well.
He turned to look behind him as he took stock of his remaining crew. Plazzi was unconscious and being attended to by medics, and with the exception of Juneau his other senior staff were either trapped down on the planet or otherwise incapacitated. Sandhurst checked the sensors and ran a quick scan of the Son’a vessel. The battlecruiser was still intact, and whatever had knocked out power aboard the ship was now abating. The captain surmised the Son’a would restore full power in only a matter of minutes.
Sandhurst inclined his head towards Juneau and said, “Lieutenant, you have the Conn.” He stooped to pick up a pair of phasers from the deck, then tapped his combadge. “Captain to Security, I want a heavily armed detachment in transporter room one ASAP, prepared for boarding action.” Another tap, “Sandhurst to transporter room one, beam three stun grenades onto the bridge of the Son’a vessel immediately. Five seconds after they detonate, initiate a site-to-site transport and put me on the bridge of that ship.” As an afterthought, he added, “And put proximity-fuse stun grenades into the lift cars and adjoining corridors of the Son’a vessel, I don’t want anyone interrupting us over there.”
Juneau remained at the Ops console as a senior enlisted crewman took over at Helm. She gave Sandhurst an incredulous look, clearly mystified as to his reasoning. He directed a fatalistic smile at the young woman. “Gibraltar’s out of commission for the moment, so I’m borrowing a bigger ship for a little while. Be prepared to leave at best speed when Ashok gets the impulse engines back online. If you lose contact with me over there, you are to assume I am dead or captured and you are to fall back to the task force, and do not attempt a rescue. Your first responsibility is to the crew and the ship. Am I understood?”
She nodded numbly, still processing the unusual order.
Sandhurst’s combadge chirped, “Chief Towsend to the Captain, make ready for transport.” He extended a phaser in each hand and stood in front of the main viewer as he prepared himself. The transporter field engulfed him…
*****
…Only a single crewman was still moving on the bridge of the Ru’afo when Sandhurst materialized. A heavy stun discharge solved that problem. Sandhurst approached the command chair, taking measure of the gruesomely disfigured Son’a adhar in charge, now slumped insensate in his chair.
“Thanks for being so accommodating on such short notice, Adhar.” He holstered one of his phasers and used his free hand to pull Wuuten out of the chair, dumping him unceremoniously onto the deck. As he took the seat, he pulled a console interface to him and began familiarizing himself with Son’a systems layout.
The hum of an incoming transporter beam presaged the arrival of Gibraltar’s security team.
Sandhurst greeted the assembled crew without looking up. “Welcome aboard the newly rechristened SS Bitter Irony, gentlemen. Please see to our privacy as I attempt to access their intruder control systems.”
*****
Son’a Battlecruiser Ru’afo -- Ba’ku System - The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
Anij sank to the deck, the effort of having generated such a large and prolonged temporal inversion had drained her considerably. The cabin lights flickered on as the field-effect withered away, and Gallatin’s first thought was of the armed security contingent just outside their quarters, doubtless with orders to kill the both of them.
He struggled past the shuddering pneumatic door as the entrance’s circuitry struggled to reassert it’s control over the hatch. He pounded down the corridor and turned the corner just in time to see the security team still moving at a sluggish pace, obviously disoriented by the experience. As Gallatin approached the first of them and reached for the man’s holstered sidearm, neurozine gas began to pour into the passageway.
*****
Bajora-Tavan Attack Ship Meressa - The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
Having fled into the surrounding miasma, the Emissary’s ship made good its escape. Now, no longer imperiled by the Son’a or the Alshain, the Emissary had the time and opportunity to thoroughly interrogate the Bajoran Federation officer.
He wielded the energies of the Orb of Transcendence and probed her thoughts, combing through her memories as he mined everything he could regarding the last fifty years of Bajoran history.
What he found dashed eons of hope and decades of careful planning. He withdrew slowly from her mind, easing back the tendrils of his consciousness that had slithered along her neural pathways.
She regained awareness slowly, her eyes finally fluttering open to find him staring at her. “Wha—“ Pell sputtered as recently occluded synapses resumed old relationships. “Who are you?”
The Emissary raised a trembling hand as if to study it. “At the moment I reside within Vadark Jobrin Adnai of the Bajora-Tava. As for a name of my own, my true designation is beyond the vadark’s vocal capabilities.” His eyes glowed amber briefly as he reasserted control over Jobrin’s body. The man was a willing vessel, but the physiology of the possessed would on occasion try to expel the Emissary’s consciousness of their own accord, like an organism trying to overcome a viral pathogen.
Pell’s eyes narrowed. “I know you, demon,” she hissed. “Kosst Amojan! Deceiver, betrayer, false Prophet, and enemy to the true gods of the Celestial Temple.”
He smiled in response, “Yes and no, my child. I did once dwell with the others in the Temple, but I was not cast out like my wicked cousins. I left of my own volition.”
Pell was unconvinced, and replied, “More lies from the king of deceit.”
“I have no reason to lie to you, child. Indeed, you and the rest of the Bajoran people are the ones who’ve been betrayed and abused by your so-called Prophets. It was my attempts to help the Bajoran people that resulted in the denizens of the Temple turning their backs on me.”
Pell studied him in sullen silence.
The Emissary sighed, “I see your indoctrination in the liturgy has left you unable to consider alternative avenues, Ojana.” He leaned forward, tapping a finger to his temple. “Stop reacting like a devout Bajoran for a moment and put to use the keen mind that Starfleet trained you to think objectively with. The species that inhabits the Celestial Temple is both powerful and wise, but we are not gods. The Prophets flatter themselves by encouraging your worship, and all the while they toy with your people’s culture, bending your beliefs to fit their whims.”
“The Prophets are the protectors of the Bajoran people!” she spat defiantly.
“Oh, really?” he chortled. “Then how do you explain the Cardassian Occupation? The Prophets could have cast the Cardassians out at any time with almost no effort at all. Don’t forget, Ojana, when in the Celestial Temple we exist outside the confines of linear time. The fact the occupation would occur was known by the Prophets long before your people were walking upright, but they never warned you, did they? Oh, they alluded to it in vague prophecies, but nowhere did they set a date or instruct you to raise up armies to defend yourselves against their eventual incursion.”
Pell shook her head, “Lies! I won’t hear this!”
“Deny the truth all you want, child. It won’t change the simple facts. The Bajorans have been lied to and manipulated for countless generations. It is the destiny of the Bajora-Tava to end that crime, to correct the sacrilege that has festered among your people for far too long.”
“You can’t be one of the Prophets, you don’t even sound like one of them.”
He smiled wistfully. “That’s because I’ve lived among the Bajorans for millennia, Ojana. I was sent from the Temple to walk as a man, to gain a greater understanding of your people and to convey that understanding to the others. At times I jumped from person to person, often simply observing your ways and not interfering. When I finally felt I understood you enough to actually live as one of you, I found a succession of men and women, many of them unrepentant criminals, whose only contribution to your society was inflicting pain and misery on others.
“These people’s bodies I used for my own. I married, raised families, and worked as everything from a share-cropper in Rakantha Province to the Most Solemn Kai of the Vedek Assembly. Eventually, the others felt I had become too enamored of the Bajoran people, and my desire to protect your people from harm was seen as being blasphemous to their ideology. The gates to the Celestial Temple were forever barred against me, and I have wandered as a disembodied specter ever since.”
Pell stared at him, the weight of his words sinking into her soul. “This goes against everything I was ever taught” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I know, child, and I’m sorry. When I led the first of the Bajora-Tava away from Bajor only months after the Cardassians’ arrival, it had been my intent to forge a holy army capable of wresting Bajor back from Cardassian hands. Now I come to find that the occupation is long over, and the faith of my misguided brothers and sisters has infected every facet of Bajoran society.”
“What will you do?” Pell asked fearfully.
“The only thing I can do, child. I will lead the Army of Light back to Bajor and drive out the evil that now resides there.”
Tears flowed down Pell’s cheeks at the thought of Bajor once again engulfed in turmoil and bloodshed. “Please, don’t do this,” she begged. “We’ve only just begun to recover from the depredations of the occupation. Bajor needs peace and stability, not a holy war.”
“Bajor needs truth, child,” he said heavily. “And if that truth must be accompanied by fire, then so be it.”
*****
Planet Ba’ku - Dorian Mountains - Bajora-Tavan Attack Ship Drosov
Issara Taiee sat in the corner of the attack ship’s tiny operating theater and wept. She was emotionally and physically spent. Three hours of intensive surgery following her capture and interrogation by the Bajora-Tava had tasked her almost beyond imagining.
It had been a near thing. Lar’ragos’ injuries had come frighteningly close to overwhelming her capabilities. She had lost count of the number of times she had paused during the procedure, prepared to ask the non-existent EMH its opinion of her handiwork, or to assist at a particularly dicey moment.
Dr. Murakawa had been right. She was far too dependent upon the hologram’s abilities and advice, and that dependence had almost cost Pava his life.
She glanced up at the bio-monitors, which showed the El-Aurian’s biometrics reading steady and stable. He would survive long enough for more comprehensive follow-on care aboard the starship.
*****
Shuttle Heyerdahl - Planet Ba’ku - Dorian Mountains
High mountain peaks loomed over them as Ensign Lightner maneuvered the shuttle towards the mouth of the cave. Crouched near the open rear hatch, Prylar-Captain Bral shook his head in disbelief. “This other Emissary is a human? How can that be? How could the Prophets allow such a thing?”
She squat next to him and Liana Ramirez chuckled softly. “You’d have to ask them, Bral. The Prophets apparently selected him, and Kai Opaka sanctified his arrival on Bajor seven years ago. It is said that Sisko now dwells with the Prophets in the Celestial Temple.”
“Heresy” was Bral’s only comeback.
Now in position, the shuttle turned slowly to allow the joint-Bajoran/Starfleet search and rescue team to offload at the mouth of the same cavern complex that had sheltered the Ba’ku months earlier during the standoff with the Son’a. Other teams were proceeding on foot back up the mountain trail, checking other potential hiding places along that route.
They jumped down off the back of the shuttle, moving in covering fire-teams to the cave mouth. Ramirez shone her beacon-light into the blackness as she shouted, “I’m Commander Ramirez of the Federation Starfleet! We’ve come to rescue survivors of the Alshain attack. We have food and medicine.”
At first there was no response. Then, ever so slowly, figures began to move in the darkness. Shuffling into the light of Ramirez’s beam, a Ba’ku male clutching a small child blinked against the harsh glare as his face registered the onset of the recently unfamiliar emotion of hope.
*****
Alshain Heavy Cruiser Venska - Baku System - The Briar Patch (Klach D'Kel Brakt)
R’Voss was jostled in his seat as the cruiser was buffeted by another Bajoran salvo. The attack ships were proving formidable and elusive; large enough to pack a serious punch, yet small enough to make targeting them difficult at close range.
“Shields holding at sixty-three percent, Sutahr,” announced the young oyan manning the secondary tactical post.
Three more of the Bajoran ships had fallen before Venska’s torpedoes and exciser cannons, but that still left five to contend with.
Captain Yejokk looked on with frustration as the inexperienced gunners sought to obtain weapons locks on their cagey opponents. He grabbed two handfuls of thick fur and yarded one of the gunners out of his seat, taking the Alshain’s place at the weapons console. “You must use manual targeting,” he snarled, “and allow the reticule to float until you are prepared to target and fire simultaneously.” By way of demonstration, Yejokk locked on to one of the attack ships and sent a flurry of swarm missiles at the nimble vessel, which was rocked by multiple impacts.
As the stricken attack ship tumbled through space out of control, her sister ships broke formation and scattered, following the Emissary’s retreating craft.
The bridge of the Venska trembled unexpectedly as a volley of five photon torpedoes and a brace of disruptors hammered her starboard-aft quarter. A sputtering console ignited the fur of one young officer, who was quickly engulfed in flames and began to flail wildly, one of his blazing arms nearly hitting Yejokk at his gunner’s station. In response, the Klingon drew his sidearm and vaporized the howling oyan as he announced, “Starboard-aft shields have failed, Sutahr. That strike came from the Son’a vessel.”
R’Voss let out a low growl from the captain’s chair. “Not so incapacitated as they let on.”
Son’a disruptors lanced into Venska’s hull through the gap in her shields, blasting the ship’s forcefield generators all along the port side. The bleating alarms became almost deafening on the bridge, where R’Voss tried to sort out this suddenly catastrophic turn of events.
“Sutahr, all shielding along the port side is gone… and we are being hailed by the Son’a.”
“Ignore them and cloak!” the Sutahr ordered.
“Damage to the shield grid has overloaded the cloaking device, sir.”
R’Voss’ heart sank at this latest news. He hoped to bide some time and he instructed, “On screen.” Yejokk barked out a curse and ducked behind his console as the viewer flickered to life.
It took R’Voss a moment to decipher the image on the viewscreen. Rather than a ghoulish Son’a officer, a human male in a Starfleet uniform sat staring at him from the adhar’s seat.
“Good day to you, sir,” Sandhurst offered with mock joviality. “I’ve already accepted the Son’a’s surrender, and I’m prepared to hear yours as well.”
“I’d sooner die, as would my crew,” R’Voss answered fiercely.
Sandhurst shrugged indifferently. “This ends now, or I’ll transport your entire crew into vacuum and take your pretty ship.” He leaned forward, smiling confidently. “I’m gathering quite the collection today as you can see, and I need yours to complete the set.”
R’Voss stalled. “You’re Starfleet, and Starfleet follows guidelines, even in a time of war. Your threats are empty ones.” Without looking, R’Voss used one hand to quickly type a text message to the weapons stations as he maintained eye contact with the human, Wait until they lower shields to transport and then obliterate them.
In response, Sandhurst murmured, “Now, Mister Juneau.”
Roughly half the members of Venska’s bridge crew vanished in humming transporter fields. Sandhurst cautioned, “You forget, Sutahr, I have two ships. I needn’t lower Ru’afo’s shields to fulfill my obligations. And I’d urge you to take a good look around. There’s an entire nebula between myself and the rest of Starfleet. What happens in the Briar Patch stays in the Briar Patch.” He sat back in his chair, his body visibly knotted with tension. “Oh, and tell that cowering petaQ hiding behind the console to stand and show himself.”
At that, Yejokk rose from behind the tactical station and mustered as much dignity as he could under the circumstances. The Klingon’s eyes shot daggers at Sandhurst.
“There now, doesn’t everyone feel better now that everything’s out in the open?” The condescension in Sandhurst’s voice was unmistakable. “Speak, Sutahr. Do I leave your people bouncing around inside my transporter buffers, or do I materialize them in the cold of space?” He added, “You’ll be the one who has to tell their Septs the circumstances under which they died.”
R’Voss stood as unmoving as a statue, his mind racing with calculations of his potential loss in Alshain social standings should he surrender, versus his family’s accrual of prestige should he die honorably in battle. With his cousin R’Vor’s recent defeat, R’Voss’ Sept could absorb no more blemishes.
He clasped his hands behind him and the sutahr bared his menacing teeth. “I will die with my crew, human.”
Yejokk gave the Alshain an approving look as he moved to fire one last fusillade against the Son’a warship.
Sandhurst sighed, “We do this the hard way, then. Juneau, do it!”
Multiple stun grenades took shape upon the Venska’s bridge, deposited by transporter. The pulsing flashes of energy permeated every centimeter of the command center, sending its remaining occupants sprawling across seats, consoles, and onto the deck. Simultaneously, the Alshain that had been beamed off the bridge were transported into one of Gibraltar’s cargo holds that had been preemptively filled with anesthezine gas.
Within moments, it was over. As his security teams, bolstered by regular Gibraltar crew, fanned out aboard the Son’a and Alshain warships to secure both vessels, Sandhurst could scarcely believe their outrageous luck. He had kept expecting the proverbial bottom to fall out from under the audacious plan, but there had been sufficient distractions present that the combatants had virtually ignored the small Federation ship and its crew.
As his adrenaline ebbed, Sandhurst remained in the chair, forcing himself to relax. There was still the matter of Ramirez’s away team, which had been out of contact for over a day, not to mention Pell Ojana’s abduction at the hands of the mysterious Bajoran sect. There was still much to be done.
*****