Chapter Text

XVIII – Vengeance

As ordered, Nora left the lab complex to take a forward position within the mine to keep a look out for Jem’Hadar forces everybody knew were still somewhere within the large mine preparing for another attack.

            And yet she seemed far interested in observing the lab through the hole that had been ripped into the wall. She paid little attention to the heated argument that had erupted between Owens, Tren, and Santesh-Yardo.

            Instead, her focus was on the closed doors that led to the infirmary and into which Shelby Monroe had disappeared into a short while earlier. She was anxiously awaiting her return, convinced that Monroe—the changeling—posed a far more serious threat to them than all the Jem’Hadar fighters ever could.

            As far as she could tell, nobody was taking the matter seriously anymore. Most seemed more than willing to forget that their earlier tests had been inconclusive. Owens himself had been adamant on the issue, ordering her to back off and leaving Monroe in the care of a young and inexperienced junior officer.

            Regardless of her orders, Nora had decided to remain vigilant, refusing to be fooled as easily as the others had been.

            “Laas?”

            With her thoughts so focused on the shapeshifter, she didn’t hear Leva calling out to her.

            “Laas?” he said again as he stepped up next to her.

            She turned to look at him.

The concern in his eyes was not easily missed. “What happened?”

“We were attacked,” she said without giving the question any thought and turned back to observe the doors from a distance.

            “I mean to Gene.”

            She barely acknowledged that the mention of his name made her feel uneasy. She hadn’t thought much about what had happened to him, she had been too preoccupied with dealing with their current situation. She had told herself that she could not allow herself to be distracted. She could not let her guard down, not even for a second least that was the moment the enemy would strike again. “He was killed,” she said, her eyes never leaving those doors.

            He nodded slowly, unable to hide the sadness he felt over the loss. Even more, he felt ashamed when he remembered the last conversation he’d had with the first officer. He had acted foolishly and clearly disappointed him. But he was certain Nora had to feel much worse. He knew that they had felt for each other deeply even if they had tried to hide it. “It was the changeling, wasn’t it?”

            She didn’t answer and he took that as confirmation.

            “Losing a mate in battle is a challenge equal in measure to the challenge of battle itself.”

            D’Karr’s statement promoted her to turn to him and look straight into his eyes.

            “But you should rejoice in the knowledge that he will be waiting for you in the afterlife, prepared to be at your side once more when you are ready to join him.”

            Nora looked at him not sure how to reply to what he had said. She did not know how he knew about her relationship with Gene. And while his words seemed to make sense to her, she did not fully appreciate his input on this matter. She had no desire to speak about any of this and so simply turned away once more.

            “How long has she been gone?” she asked moments later.

            “Who?” Leva said.

            “It’s been too long,” Nora said, speaking to herself. “Her injuries were not that serious.”

            Leva and D’Karr exchanged a glance, unsure how to respond.

            Nora took action before they could. “Cover for me,” she said quickly and walked back toward the lab. “I’ll be right back.”

            Leva wanted to protest but it was too late.

            She made no special effort but managed to remain unseen by Owens when she stepped back into the laboratory and headed toward the doors leading to the infirmary.

            Hopkins noticed. Her eyes opened wide and for a moment she considered letting Owens know what Nora was up to. But a stern look from Nora changed her mind and she decided to turn a blind eye instead.

            Nora slipped through the doors and found a small hallway behind them. The ancillary facilities were not very extensive and she quickly located the entrance to the infirmary.

            The room was separated into two sections, divided by a semi-transparent screen. Ensign McAllister greeted her in the entry area.

            “Lieutenant?” he said, clearly surprised to see her.

            “Where is Monroe?”

            “She’s in the ward,” he said noticeable anxiety in his tone. “I gave her some privacy so she could treat her wounds. To be honest, I think she might have fallen asleep.”

            She couldn’t believe her ears. “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

            McAllister tried to regain some of his composure, clearly embarrassed.

            She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and stepped up to the partition. The ward behind the screen consisted of two beds, one was occupied with Monroe. She lay quietly on her back, her eyes closed and a few used medical supplies nearby.

            She could hardly believe that the woman had decided to take a nap. She raised her phaser rifle. “Monroe,” she said loudly, approaching her carefully.

            She did not react.

            She wasn’t going to take any chances. “Get up,” she said loudly and when she still didn’t get a response, she poked her with the emitter of her rifle.

            “What’s wrong?” said McAllister who had appeared by the partition.

            She ignored him. “You’re not fooling anyone,” she said. “Get up now or I’ll disintegrate you right here.”

            Only then did she realize that something was very wrong. Monroe’s chest was perfectly still, she wasn’t breathing. A changeling, of course, didn’t need to breathe in the same manner as most humanoids but at the very least they would keep up pretenses.

            She threw caution to the wind, lowered her rifle, and stepped up to the bed. Her fingers quickly darted for Monroe’s neck but she was unable to locate a pulse. Then she noticed that her throat was discolored. There were deep red marks across her neck. It didn’t make sense to her. If she was a changeling, why was she pretending to be dead? To have been killed? What kind of trick was this?

            She whipped around, seeing McAllister still standing behind her. He mirrored her confused expression. “She’s dead.”

            “What?” But his state of confusion didn’t last long.

            Even while she began to level her rifle at him, she knew she was going to be too slow.

            McAllister fired at her as she jumped to avoid the incoming blast. She was of course no match for the speed of a phaser beam. It slammed into her shoulder even as she tried to dive away. The impact pushed her backward. She ignored the stinging pain gripping her body and fought to hold on to her rifle. She managed to get behind the other biobed for cover just before McAllister could fire again and finish the job.

            The blast vaporized the bed coverings but missed her by a hair’s breadth.

            “It was you,” she shouted with boiling anger. Angry that she had been stupid enough to leave her so exposed. Angry that she had not suspected the young officer before. Angry that she had allowed him to shoot her but most of all, angry for what that thing had done to Gene.

            McAllister uttered a strange sound that sounded only marginally like laughter as he changed position to get a better shot. “You solids are so predictably paranoid. I couldn’t have hoped for a better course of events.”

            She listened carefully to his voice and when she thought she had located him, she peeked out from her cover and fired. The blast hit the partition, shattering it but missed the McAllister shapeshifter. He returned fire instantly but she had quickly retreated again.

            “You took on Monroe’s form,” she said, mostly in hopes of buying herself some time to figure out how to get out of this mess alive. “Xylion saw you.”

            “I took many forms,” he said as he moved again. “The Bolian, the Vulcan, Monroe, this one. I have to admit, watching you torturing one of your own was both enlightening and entertaining,” he continued, broken glass squishing under his feet.

            She was gripped by blind rage as she came up firing again. For a moment she was certain she would hit the changeling but his entire body simply shifted out of the way as if it were made of living clay, bending and re-shaping in distinctly inhuman ways.

            She dropped back behind cover, just in time to avoid his rebuttal. The phaser blasts were absorbed by a sturdy cabinet she had found as another cover to hide behind, scorching the surface but unable to penetrate it.

            The changeling sighed, or at least that’s what she thought it sounded like. “Your weapons are so primitive, so unreliable.”

            She heard him discard the rifle and she knew she was in trouble. She needed to move. She sat with her back against the cabinet, intently listening to the changeling’s movement. There was a liquid sound as the shapeshifter changed its appearance. She tried to jump onto her feet but was stopped in her tracks. Her eyes opened wide when she felt a piercing pain shoot through her back.

            She looked down to see the silver spike protruding out of her mid-section, covered in blood. Her blood.

            “Monroe was right about one thing,” it said with almost childish glee as it slightly twisted what looked like a solid steel tentacle it had impaled her with.  “She’ll get her revenge on you. Ironically, I’ll be the one to deliver it.”

            It were D’Karr’s last words that went through her mind when she grabbed that solid spike with both hands in a futile attempt to free herself.

Gene was waiting for her. She prayed the Klingon would remain right.

Nora Laas would know soon enough.

*        *        *

Eagle and Agamemnon’s combined repair teams had accomplished miracles in the extremely short time that had been available to them. Even though working under immense pressure and on an entirely inflexible schedule, they had managed to bring the battered starship’s shields back to half strength and both phasers and torpedo launchers were mostly fully operational again. There wasn’t nearly enough time to mend the hull breaches, tend to the damaged impulse engines, or make the ship warp-capable again. In less than forty minutes Eagle had to swim or sink and that was all there was to it.

            Culsten had spent most of that time in the observation room—he could have used the captain’s ready room but thought it to be inappropriate—and carefully listened to Amaya Donners’ plan of attack. He had spoken very little, leaving most of the details of the coming battle to the ranking officer, trying his best to appear professional and reliable in front of the captain of the Agamemnon. After she had laid out their plan of engagement and she had terminated the connection, he felt a wave of anxiety come over him. Not entirely unexpected when going into battle against a superior enemy. But he had hoped that Donners would have revealed a daringly witty plan that would ensure easy victory over the Jem’Hadar dreadnought. Instead, their battle plan was rather straightforward forward with very few surprises that could shift the fight quickly in their favor.

            His trepidations vanished the moment he stepped onto the bridge where he was greeted by a familiar face.

            “Srena,” he said with such euphoria, practically everyone turned to look at him. He didn’t care.

            The petite Andorian smiled at him as he approached.

            He froze for a moment as he spotted those contrasting white teeth against her dark blue lips. Was it appropriate for him to be this welcoming to a person he had only just ordered to her death? Could he pretend it had never happened? He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to treat her now.

            “With your permission, I’d like to resume my station,” she said before he could ponder the answers to his own questions. She was still smiling. “I hear you’ve got a big fight coming up. You’ll need me.”

            He nodded slowly and Srena wordlessly relieved the noncom who was currently manning the helm. Culsten didn’t miss the fact that she was limping slightly.

            He almost casually moved to her side, looking down at her with a pained expression on his face.

            She noticed. “Don’t tell me you want to sit here instead.”

            “Shouldn’t you be in sickbay? I’m sure you were shaken up quite a bit in that shuttle earlier.”

            Her expression hardened and she looked back at her station. She had obviously hoped to avoid the subject. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s just my leg and I don’t need that to pilot a starship.”

            He suppressed the urge to chuckle. He had placed his hand on her headrest but now wanted to move it down onto her shoulder. He resisted that notion as well. When he spoke he did so with a voice not much louder than a whisper. “Listen, about earlier—“

            She looked up at him before he could finish the thought. “You did what you had to, sir,” she said emphasizing the title. “I know it couldn’t have been easy for you to make that decision.”

            He nodded slowly before stopping himself. Was she truly able to be this rational about what had happened? Had she already processed the events that had nearly led to her death and was she more equipped to handle them than he was? Only then did he notice the tears swelling up in her bright white eyes. She was holding them back admiringly but refused to look back at him.

            He knew it wouldn’t look very professional but that didn’t stop him from leaning down toward her. “I want you to see Trenira when all this is over. I think we both should,” he said, referring to the ship’s resident counselor.

            She nodded slowly but didn’t speak. Only once he had finally turned away, she added quietly: “If we’re still around by then.”

            “Sir, the Agamemnon is hailing us,” Trinik said, cutting off any attempt to reply to her gloomy remark.

            “On screen,” he said and faced forward.

            Donners came on instantly, her face a stern mask of concentration. “It’s time.”

            Culsten nodded. “We’re ready.”

            “Godspeed, Eagle,” she said and cut the transmission.

            He swallowed but thankfully nobody was watching him. The entire bridge crew was far too focused on their instruments to pay him any attention. They had to be or this battle would quite possibly be their very last.

            “Helm, set course zero-two-seven mark one-seven-seven, engage at one-quarter impulse.”

            Srena acknowledged with a curt nod.

            “Divert maximum power to forward shields, stand by all weapons.”

            “Forward shields at ninety-two percent,” Trinik said. “Phaser arrays one and two, fully operational. Torpedo launcher two ready and loaded.” One frontal launcher had been all the repair teams had been able to make available in the short time they had. It would have to do.

            As Eagle turned toward Ligos IV and as the sight of the massive Jem’Hadar battleship came into view, he once again considered the flaws of Donners’ plan. Eagle would take a serious beating in the battle that was to come. People would die. It was inevitable. But he couldn’t really blame Agamemnon’s captain for that. She had offered him an out after all. Two actually. He had refused both and in the end, this meant that he would be responsible for whatever happened next.

            “Distance to target: One point two million kilometers and decreasing. We’ll be entering weapons range in two minutes,” Stanmore said with a voice that only slightly betrayed his growing anxiety. He had held fast at his position through three battles today. Three more than he had expected when he had gotten out of bed in the morning.

            He sat in the captain’s chair as he watched the battleship increase in size by the second. It was huge, easily three times the size of Eagle or Agamemnon. And the other Starfleet ship was not anywhere in sight. For now, it was a one-on-one with Eagle playing the role of the underdog.

            “You know,” Stanmore said, never taking his eyes off the screen. “It’s not too late to turn around.”

            He had meant it in jest but nobody was laughing.

            “Steady as she goes,” he said with ironclad firmness in his voice. His eyes narrowed and his brow furled. As far as he was concerned, the only way was forward.

*        *        *

“I thought you were opposed to the entire concept of Archangel,” said Tren after Owens had explained his plan. “Didn’t you equate it to genocide?”

“I don’t condone the use of any weapon designed to wipe out an entire species of people but at the moment it is our only way out of here. And if I understood Doctor Santesh-Yardo correctly, we currently do not have enough power to make Archangel effective beyond a very limited range.”

The Grazerite scientist nodded. “If fed by an appropriate power source Archangel is designed to carry electromagnetic waves over subspace and as far as thirty to fifty light-years.”

Owens felt a cold shudder run up his spine as Santesh-Yardo explained the potential of this weapon.

“But don’t have access to such a power source here,” he said. “At the moment we can hope for about one percent of that range before the electromagnetic waves deteriorate.”

“That is more than enough,” Owens said. “We’ll be getting rid of the Jem’Hadar in the mine, the whole planet even.”

“This entire solar system,” added Louise Hopkins quietly.

He considered her briefly. It was more information than what he had wanted to know. In his eyes, nobody should possess that kind of power even if it seemed rather convenient to solve their current dilemma.

Is this how it starts? He wondered. Was this how Jana, Santesh-Yardo, and all the others who had taken part in developing this doomsday weapon had thought at first? If you can destroy the enemy on the battlefield, why not all across the planet? Why not all over the system? Why not across the entire cosmos? Where do you stop and draw the line?

“As I said before,” Santesh-Yardo said, seemingly unperturbed by the implications Owens was pondering. “Even if we get Archangel up and running, we’re still having problems with the wave modulation. We know that it will target the Jem’Hadar genome but we cannot be certain that it will kill them right away.”

“It will have a detrimental effect on them, that’s for certain,” Tren said. “The waves are designed to break down hydrogen bonds that hold their DNA together. They may not break down immediately, but fast enough that they won’t be able to function for long after the initial exposure, as long as it remains constant enough. Given our situation, I think we’re better off facing them severely debilitated.”

There seemed to be general agreement on this part amongst everyone present.

“Sir?”

It was Xylion who was alerting Owens of the person approaching the group. It was Monroe. Her injuries were now healed but her uniform was still torn and dried blood and sweat hinted at the toll her body had suffered earlier. And yet she strode toward them with confidence, alone and unarmed. She ignored the stares as she stepped closer.

“Where is Ensign McAllister?” Owens said.

Instead of answering the question, she seized him up first as if she couldn’t believe the audacity of his question. “Believe it or not but he fell asleep in the medical bay. I guess the events of this damned day finally got to him. Would you like to go check on him?” she said in a brisk tone.

Owens was about to reply but she didn’t give him the chance. “With all due respect, Captain, I’m done with your accusations. You and your people have tested and tortured me with vicious intensity and found nothing to implicate me as a changeling. You don’t trust me? Fine. I don’t care. Like all of you, I just want to make it out of here alive. Of course, if I do, I’ll promise you that you’ll wish I hadn’t because I will brief Command on every single gruesome detail that has transpired here. I’m sure they’ll be very interested.”

Owens considered her for a moment. He did not know what exactly Nora had done to her but for now, he preferred to remain ignorant. One crisis at a time, he decided.

“Until then, sir, I am still a senior officer of this station and I ask—scratch that. I demand to be included in any plans you are about to make.”

He looked at Tren. She seemed more sympathetic to Monroe’s plight and slowly nodded her head.

“Very well, Commander,” he said but with no intention of wasting precious time to fill her in on all the details. Instead, he faced the trio of technical and scientific experts: Santesh-Yardo, Xylion, and Hopkins. “Let’s be very clear about this. I hate the very notion of activating this infernal machine but I see few alternatives. The question is how can we use it without it blowing up in our faces before it can do its job?”

“Essentially,” Hopkins said slowly, sounding somewhat uncertain of herself, “we need a computer-controlled program that can automatically modulate for the unexpected fluctuations that will rip the machine apart once it begins to emit the electromagnetic waves.”

“How long would that take?” Tren said.

“A team of skilled programmers would require approximately two days to design an AI syntax that could understand and react to all eventualities,” said Xylion.

“Obviously, we do not have that kind of time,” Owens said. “What is the other option?”

“Manual control,” Xylion said.

Santesh-Yardo shook his head. “That will not work. Not for long. The required modulations would become so complex within a few minutes that no person could adjust the system manually quickly enough.”

“If somebody would manually work the device,” said Monroe, “would that person be able to keep it running long enough to build up the power necessary to destroy the Jem’Hadar and give the others a chance to escape?”

Owens looked at Monroe, surprised at her sudden question. He didn’t like it but it was the right one to ask. He looked to Santesh-Yardo for the answer.

The scientist seemed reluctant to answer it. “It’s possible if the operator knows what they’re doing. But it’d be suicide. Archangel would rip apart the instance the modulations become too complex to handle, and destroy everything and everyone in a one-hundred-meter radius.”

Nobody spoke. It had become apparent what had to be done. Only one question remained.

Owens decided to be the one to ask it. “Who here would be able to keep it running the longest?”

Silence ensued again. Owens was aware that he would have been the logical choice to stay behind. He was the ranking officer and therefore carried full responsibility for the people under his command. If Epsilon Twelve had been a starship, he would not have hesitated to take on that role. But he knew he was completely out of his element. He didn’t know the first thing about how this machine worked. He would not be able to give the others a realistic chance to clear the mine before it destroyed itself and everything around it.

He considered Xylion. The Vulcan was a reasonable choice, he seemed to grasp the concept of how Archangel functioned and he had reflexes and abilities beyond those of most other races. Louise Hopkins was the most talented engineer in the group and had managed to perform miracles on plenty of occasions.

But there was one person who seemed to be more familiar with this doomsday device than anybody else present.

Santesh-Yardo could read Owens’ thoughts like an open book. “It would have to be me.”

*        *        *

Obedience brings victory. That was the most essential mantra of the fighting forces of the Dominion. It had never failed, had never been proven wrong, and never had the Jem’Hadar questioned its indisputable truth. There had been exceptions. Rare stories, myths really, of Jem’Hadar units that had abandoned the Dominion, even turned on their leaders. But those were usually quickly explained away by reasonable-sounding explanations such as a defective patch of clones or unexpected shortages of the ketracel-white drug.

There appeared to be just one inherent flaw in the Jem’Hadar’s well-proven battle cry. Obedience could only deliver victory if those who demanded it knew exactly what they were doing.

Wegnour did not and it was becoming quickly apparent that the situation was getting away from him.

“Why has unit four not responded,” he shouted at a Jem’Hadar operating one of the consoles that had been put up in a hurry in the large cavern-turned-improvised command center.

Leaving behind the battlecruiser to send it after the Starfleet ships in the system was yet another decision First Telaka’clan had not agreed with. But just as it was customary for the Jem’Hadar, he had not questioned the order. “Communications are unreliable within the mine,” he said, preempting an answer from the soldier Wegnour had focused his fury on. “We were able to maintain reliable communications from the ship but without we do not have access to the required resources.”

The implication in his statement was obvious enough for the Vorta to redirect his anger at Telaka’clan. “I don’t want excuses, I want results.”

“Bring back the command vessel, engage all available units onto our main objective. Give me the tools I need and I will deliver results.”

Wegnour stared at the Jem’Hadar with a mixture of disbelief and anger. Such defiance and candor were practically unheard of within the Dominion military. The fact that the Vorta did not immediately request the blunt-speaking Jem’Hadar terminated spoke of the desperation he felt.

They continued to glare at each other, Telaka’clan, calm as ever, waiting for the Vorta to make any kind of move while Wegnour seemingly stunned by the soldier’s words was holding out for some form of explanation or perhaps even an apology.

            Wegnour quickly realized that he would wait in vain and that the continued stand-off was making him look weak compared to the taller and stronger man who refused to stand down. The Vorta had never been more aware of the physical difference between them. It was uncomfortable, threatening even.

The Dominion ambassador sprang into action, turning away from ‘Clan he faced another Jem’Hadar fighter. “Give me that,” he said and reached out for the man’s sidearm. The Jem’Hadar offered no resistance and Wegnour quickly pointed it straight at Telaka’clan’s chest. The Jem Hadar First didn’t flinch at the Vorta’s disappointment.

“Is there any good reason why I shouldn’t eliminate you on the spot?” he said his voice cracking up ever so slightly.

Ignoring the imminent danger to himself, Telaka’clan took a step closer to the Vorta. “Kill me now and this mission of yours is guaranteed to end in failure. There are no more qualified soldiers in my unit to lead. In the name of the Founders, I ask you—“

“Don’t you dare justify your actions by inferring the name of the Founders, you insolent dog!”

‘Telaka’clan was not impressed by the outburst and continued as if nothing was the matter. “To follow my suggestion and attack now before Starfleet devises of a plan to defeat us.”

Wegnour’s anger transformed into an arrogant laugh. “Defeat us? They don’t have the strength to pose a serious threat to us. We will prevail,” he said, albeit his voice losing conviction with every other word.

“Are you willing to take the chance to disappoint the Founders?”

Wegnour wanted to swallow but managed to suppress the urge. He understood that their overwhelming odds had dwindled since they had first engaged the Federation outpost. But he had operated under increasingly difficult conditions. What Telaka’clan didn’t realize, and Wegnour had no intention on sharing, was the fact that he was receiving his orders from a much closer source than anybody realized. However, he had not been given any new instructions for a few hours, leaving him without a clear direction.

“Go and organize the men,” Wegnour finally said, lowering the weapon. “Assemble them for an immediate strike. But use caution. We might need the outpost’s key personnel alive. Kill the rest.”

Relieved by the new orders the Jem’Hadar First nodded in acknowledgement.

Wegnour lips turned up into a malicious grin. “Return at once,” he added, fully aware that Telaka’clan was still hoping to see battle himself in order to fulfill his most primal urges. “I want you to remain close where I can keep an eye on you.”

Telaka’clan had never imagined that he would be as openly defiant to a Vorta as he had been. He would have killed any member of the Dominion who had displayed such disrespect without a second thought or remorse. In fact, he had done so when eliminating his trusted lieutenant for speaking his mind earlier. He had no excuses left except for a feeling deep in his gut that Wegnour was a disgrace to the entire Dominion. He turned away without uttering a single word, respect or no, he knew his destiny was sealed.

“First,” Wegnour said quietly before the Jem’Hadar had a chance to slip out of the command post.

Telaka’clan froze with his back toward the Wegnour.

“Be under no illusion. Your behavior here, today, was entirely unbefitting a soldier of the Dominion. Upon completion of this mission expect to be terminated.”

            “I shall think you and me both,” he said just before slipping out of the command post.

Wegnour looked after Telaka’clan. He had not expected the retort but now he was beginning to sense that perhaps he would remain right.

He spotted the Jem’Hadar standing closest to him staring in his direction. Wegnour angrily threw the weapon at him. “What are you looking at? Get back to work!” Damn you and your entire brain-deprived race, he added in thought only.

*        *        *

“Doctor,” Deen said softly as she joined Santesh-Yardo as he was making preparations to activate Archangel. “Do you need a hand?”

            He stopped to look at her. Surprisingly, a smile formed on his lips. “There isn’t much you can help me with, my dear,” he said. “But I appreciate the gesture.”

            She nodded.

            Santesh-Yardo looked up at the machine he had spent years to develop and that would now ultimately spell his own doom. “To tell you the truth, I never really felt comfortable with this thing,” he said without ever diverting his glance. “I don’t know how much you know about Grazerites, Lieutenant, but most of us are not violent people.”

            She stepped closer. “You abhor violence,” she said sympathetically. In that regard, her people were not much different.

            He nodded. “And yet I was instrumental in creating a machine designed to wipe out an entire race.” He turned to look at her, his eyes mirroring a sadness deep within. “Don’t you think it is appropriate then that I shall be the one to destroy it and myself along with it?”

            She was no counselor. But she could have easily become one. Her natural aura—the Tenarian Glow as some called it—made others around her feel comfortable, sometimes even happy to just being close to her. She could inspire, motivate, and even alleviate discomforting thoughts by doing little more than speaking to another person and offering a smile. She had felt a profound sadness for the Grazerite scientist who had been chosen to stay behind and die to give the others a chance to live. She had wanted to do for him whatever she could in the little time they had left. But now she realized that even she had nothing to offer to combat the despondency he had surely felt for a very long time.

            He continued without letting her answer. “It’s all right my young friend,” he said with a tiny smile on his lips. “This is what must happen. It is the only thing that makes perfect sense in this utterly imperfect galaxy. And there is little time to waste,” he added and then quickly went back to his calculations.

            She didn’t know what else to say so she softly placed a hand on his shoulder.

            “Dee?”

            Louise Hopkins distracted her from trying to encourage the ill-fated scientist further.

            “Have you seen Laas?” she said as she approached with some urgency.

            “I thought she was standing guard outside.”

            Hopkins shook her head slowly. When she spoke, she purposefully kept her voice low. “I think she went to find Monroe.”

            Both women turned to look at the station’s first officer who stood close to Owens and Jana Tren. Not too close though. It seemed that nobody dared to approach the commander. Either because they didn’t quite trust her or because they felt uncomfortable being around a person they had watched being tortured not so long ago.

            “Did you ask her?” Deen said.

            “No.”

            She couldn’t blame her. “And you’re sure she went to look for her?”

            Hopkins nodded. “Pretty sure,” she said and then quickly turned away from Monroe. The station’s first officer had now noticed the two women looking at her and had started to glare back at them. “She still looking this way?” she said after a beat.

            Deen offered a subdued nod in response and then turned slightly as well as if to pretend they were not talking about Monroe. It didn’t work. “She’s coming over here.”

            “Not good.”

            Monroe walked slowly but determinedly toward the two women. Even though only watching her out of the corner of her eye, Deen was certain that there was menace in the way she moved. The last thing she wanted was to confront Monroe. Like the others, her conscience was plaguing her about what had happened earlier. She had tried to stop it, of course, but now she felt she should have done more. She was certain Monroe thought so as well. She had foolishly hoped to be able to put off the implications of what they had done to her until they had managed to escape this place.

            The doors leading to the infirmary opened and Nora Laas stepped out. She looked awful. Her uniform jacket was gone and her mustard-colored shirt was in tatters and soaked through with blood. Just below her chest, a large tear revealed an apparently freshly mended wound.

            She held a rifle, she immediately pointed at Monroe. Her face was distorted into a mask of pure rage like somebody desperately lusting to draw blood. Deen realized that she would have discharged her weapon without hesitation had it not been for the people in her line of fire.

            “Lieutenant?” Owens said with surprise both at her sudden emergence as well as her disheveled appearance.

            “Get out of the way,” she said without giving one thought to proper etiquette. “It’s Monroe. She’s the shapeshifter.”

            “We’ve been through this, Lieutenant,” Owens said with increasing anger. He raised his own weapon suddenly quite worried about the seemingly unstable state of his security chief. He could tell from the look in her eyes that she would not back down this time until somebody was dead.

            “It’s her, damnit!” she shot back, not slowing her pace, trying to get around Owens and Tren who were blocking her way.

            Monroe acted swiftly, taking full advantage of her shielded position. She stepped up to the still-distracted Hopkins and snatched the phaser from the engineer’s holster. Monroe spun back around, pointing the weapon at her accuser. “I will not hesitate to shoot you, Lieutenant. Lower your weapon. Do it now,” she said with an intensity matching that of Nora Laas.

            Deen took a careful step toward Monroe. She knew the weapon was not set to stun, none of their phasers were, and just one carefully aimed shot would certainly kill Nora. “Commander, think about what you’re doing,” she said but didn’t reach for her own weapon.

            “She knows exactly what she’s doing,” Nora said in her stead. “You want me dead. Just like you killed Gene and the real Monroe and McAllister and probably countless more.”

            “You will lower your weapon, Lieutenant. Now!” Owens said, now standing a few meters away from her.

            She ignored him and instead began to sidestep the captain and Tren to try and line up a clean shot. “Next time you’re trying to kill somebody make sure you don’t leave them for dead in a medical bay,” she said and spat out some blood. “But I guess you wouldn’t know all too much about humanoid physiology, would you?”

            Something on Monroe’s face changed. Deen noticed it first, causing a cold shiver to run up her spine. She reached for her weapon.

            “What tells us you are not the shapeshifter?” Monroe said. “The one shouting the loudest usually has the greatest secret to conceal.”

            “You need to stop,” Doctor Santesh-Yardo said and approached Monroe. “We have half an army out there trying to kill us. What point is there in trying to do the same to each other? I know what we’ve done to you wasn’t right and let me be the first to apologize,” he said and tried to get in front of her and directly into her line of fire. “But please, save your anger for the real enemy.”

            “Doctor, move away,” Deen called out, trying to stop Santesh-Yardo from getting too close.

            Nora had managed to get around the captain, ignoring the phaser rifles pointed at her. But just as she thought she had a clear shot, Santesh-Yardo stepped into her line of sight.

            “Sir,” Hopkins said, clearing having seen the same thing that had disturbed Deen, and addressing the captain while stepping away from Monroe. “I don’t think the commander is who she says—“

            Monroe reached out for Santesh suddenly, roughly grabbing him by the neck and pulling him in front of her like a shield. She pressed her phaser against his temple and started to walk backward toward Archangel.

            Within an instant, all phasers in the room were pointed at Monroe and her hostage. Most reacted merely instinctively not even comprehending what was happening. Others quickly realized what was transpiring. Commander Shelby Monroe, falsely accused and tortured almost to death had finally snapped.

            Jana Tren took a small step closer to Monroe. Owens tried to hold her back but she slipped passed his grip. “Commander, this doesn’t serve any purpose at all. Let the doctor go and we can talk about this.”

            “Wake up,” Nora said, also approaching the hostage taker. “This is not Monroe. She’s the same damn shapeshifter that killed Commander Edison and nearly killed me.”

            Tren froze and looked at Nora, attempting to get a good read on her. There was a chilling confidence in her tone now that had been absent before. Nora knew without a doubt that she was right.

            “Lower your weapons or I will kill this man,” Monroe said. Her words sounded strange and unfamiliar, not quite fitting the person who uttered them.

            Owens looked at two Starfleet crewmen standing nearby who had their weapons pointed at Monroe also. “Go and check on McAllister in the med bay.”

            The two nodded and quickly departed.

            “They will find both McAllister and Monroe’s bodies,” Nora said dryly, her eyes still piercing the imposter. “Game’s up.”

            Santesh-Yardo’s eyes widened now that he realized for the first time that the person threatening to kill him might indeed be a changeling infiltrator.

            “This is your last warning,” Monroe said again, this time not even attempting to impersonate the Starfleet officer’s voice. “Lower your weapons now or he will be killed.” For emphasis, she dug the emitter cone deep into the Grazerite’s furrowed temple.

            Nora uttered a sharp sarcastic laugh. “You will kill him anyway. You have no leverage here.”

            The shapeshifter’s eyes twinkled slightly, perhaps out of concern or perhaps fear. Nora was determined now. She was going to end this anyway she had to and the changeling knew it.

            Tren looked at Owens. “It’s not going to kill Santesh. The Dominion will need him in order to make Archangelwork for them.”

            Owens nodded slowly. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Commander Leva and Lieutenant D’Karr were getting into position to take down the shapeshifter as soon as it moved far enough away from the super-weapon. The imposter had not spotted them yet.

            “All right,” he said. “Everybody, lower your weapons.”

            Everybody complied. Everybody but one.

            “You can’t be serious,” Nora said, now only a couple short meters away from the changeling. “We have to take it down now or it will kill us all.” She was so focused on the hated opponent in front of her that she did not notice the Klingon who had silently and effortlessly climbed on top of the massive Archangel device and was now getting in place to leap onto his target.

            “Captain,” Santesh said and swallowed hard. His words were not coming over his lips easily. “She is right. I … I’d rather die than help the Dominion.”

            Owens was not having any of it. “Lieutenant, follow my order.”

            Nora threw Owens a venomous look as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying. She was fiercely loyal to the captain, always had been. She had never disobeyed an order he had given her, never even considered it. But she could not let the changeling go. Not after all that it had done to her. She would kill that thing even if it meant losing everything she held dear. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t much left in any case.

            The one second she afforded herself to look away from the shapeshifter was all it needed.

            “Laas!”

            Hopkins’ warning came too late. Nora whipped around instantly only to see the blur of an object being slung her way. There was no time to evade. She knew right away what it was when it collided with her. It was heavy but soft and organic. The changeling had used its hostage as a weapon, catapulting it toward Nora with immense force.

            She heard the sickening sound of crunching bones as she was violently jerked back like a puppet whose strings were being pulled suddenly. Her body lifted off the ground for just a meter or so before she landed painfully on the floor with Santesh-Yardo on top of her. Together they slid across the smooth floor plates until they both smashed into the wall with her being squashed in between.

            D’Karr leaped from the top of Archangel, holding a razor-sharp dagger at his side ready to slice the changeling into pieces.

The move had been anticipated.

            As if it had eyes on top of its head, the shapeshifter simply reached out for the Klingon and grabbed him in midair. Except that its arm was no longer that of a human being. Instead, it had swiftly transformed into a thick tentacle that easily wrapped around the large warrior.

            Owens and the others reached for their weapons without delay and it was still not quickly enough.

            In one swift motion, the abnormally formed creature brought down the Klingon still entangled in the tentacle, and used him like a bullet whip, lashing out at the armed officers surrounding it.

            Deen, Hopkins, and Xylion were cut down instantly and so were most of the remaining scientists and Starfleet crewmembers. Owens and Tren managed to avoid the vicious attack by flattening themselves to the ground in time to avoid the sweeping tentacle.

            Leva performed a quick ground roll to dive underneath the appendage that finally released the Klingon only to fling him across the room to take down two other scientists who had managed to remain on their feet.

            Leva came up with his phaser rifle locked on his target. He fired and watched with satisfied certainty that the powerful discharge would blast the Founder apart. His facial expression turned into disbelief when the beam simply passed through its target as the changeling morphed its shape in time to create a large gap inside its own body.

            A dozen or so tentacles fired out from its now ball-shaped and semi-liquid torso. Its appearance had become sickly disturbing. Still possessing the uniform-clad legs and Monroe’s head, nothing in between looked remotely humanoid at all.

            Owens scrambled onto his feet, trying to bring his own weapon to bear only to be struck by one of the tentacles that proceeded quickly to wrap itself around his neck and lift him off the floor. He lost the grip on his weapon and it clattered to the ground. His hands instinctively reached for his throat trying to dislodge the appendage. It was slimy and slippery and he was unable to get a firm grip on it. It was only after a few seconds that he realized that it wasn’t trying to choke him. Not yet. For now, it seemed content to just keep him dangling in the air, entirely helpless.

            Owens managed to turn his head just enough to see that most of the others were now in a similar position all across the room. Everyone who was still conscious had been suspended by another tentacle, held firmly by their puppet master enemy.

            The person being held closest to him was Tren and he could sense what she was feeling. This was the end. The Dominion had won. All the changeling had to decide now was how to dispose of its prisoners. It could either do the dirty work itself by doing nothing more than applying a little more pressure, or it could wait for the Jem’Hadar fighters to arrive to finish the job instead.

            But there was something else he could see in her eyes. It wasn’t about their failed mission or the potential end of the Federation or even their imminent demise. It was much more personal. It was pure and utter regret. Regret that all hope for a future for the both of them together had now come to an undeniable end.