Hidden in the shadows behind the warp core, the alien who had assaulted Permenter had found a ripped-out section of damaged EPS conduit and hefted it over his shoulder, obviously screwing up his courage to attack anyone who approached him. He jabbered away incoherently.
“Why are you here?” Vaughn asked, cautiously approaching the agitated alien. “What do you want with us?”
The alien responded by swinging the conduit out in front of him and shouting something long but totally incomprehensible. Vaughn backed off, maintaining a respectable distance between them.
Bashir’s patient inhaled sharply, sputtering and coughing; the membranes over his black-brown eyes lifted. He lurched up, bent over and retched on the floor. Soothingly, Julian patted his back.
“I’ll give you something for the nausea.” He scanned his patient once more with the tricorder, frowning again before applying another hypospray. The intruder’s head swayed and tipped backward. Julian braced his fall, easing him back onto the floor. Searching the medkit, he found an emergency blanket to cover the alien. “You’re going to be fine. When your temperature stabilizes, you’ll feel better.”
“Nijigon boko nongolikattack us?” the alien gasped, wiping its mouth with the back of its gloved hand. “We were trying to help.”
“Finally,” Bowers muttered, relieved that the universal translator had succeeded in decoding the aliens’ speech.
“We haven’t understood your language until now,” Vaughn explained to the pipe-wielding alien. “Our ship has recently come under attack. For our own protection, we had to assume that you set the weapon that damaged our vessel, and that you and your companion had hostile intentions. I’m glad to find out we were wrong. We have no desire to hurt anyone.” Vaughn holstered his phaser and spread his hands, stepping forward. “I’m Commander Elias Vaughn of the Starship Defiant,representing the United Federation of Planets. We’re on a peaceful mission to this part of the galaxy.”
The armed alien dropped the conduit and detached his helmet from his environmental suit. No, Nog saw, herspacesuit. Save her greenish-gray skin, she closely resembled her colleague. She ran long, knobby fingers through a profusion of violet colored braids attached to a headpiece. Skin pockets hanging off her jaw alternately inflated and deflated with each breath.
“We saw what happened to your ship,” she said, her voice low and percussive. “When the snare activated, it registered on our sensors. We’re quite familiar with what these weapons can do, so we came to assist you. We brought with us an energy source and were about to integrate it into your power systems when that one—” she pointed at Nog “—attacked my partner.”
“Lieutenant Nog, chief engineer,” he said. “And I’m very sorry. After what we’d just been through, I had no way to know you were trying to help us.”
A long silence elapsed. The alien riveted her attention on Nog. She took a cautious step toward him. “If you couldn’t translate our message, it was an understandable error.” Her lashless lids moved up and down over her eyes several times. “I, also, am my vessel’s technologist. My name is Tlaral.”
Nog grinned. Her statement told him all he needed to know. Suddenly he was at her side, examining her equipment. “As engineers, we already speak the same language. Show me how this device works,” he said, tipping his head back to look up at Tlaral. “Is this a duranium casing?”
“Looks like we’re done here,” Bowers shrugged.
Folding his arms, Vaughn chuckled and shook his head as he watched Nog and Tlaral commiserate. “Witness here, first contact—engineer style.”
Within the hour, the alien technology poured energy into Defiant’s auxiliary systems. As Vaughn learned from Tlaral, the temporary fix would power environmental and computer systems until they could reach a safe port. What would come after? Vaughn called an impromptu strategy session in his ready room to make that determination. He invited Tlaral to join them while her companion, a “technologist” named Shavoh, recovered in sickbay under Julian’s watchful eye.
As the meeting progressed, Vaughn realized their options were slim.
“Other than your world—” Vaughn began.
“Vanìmel. Where there are repair facilities, supplies—whatever resources you might need,” Tlaral interrupted. “I’ve been authorized by my chieftain to offer your ship and its crew our world’s hospitality. He awaits your decision.”
“You’ve stated my crew has few alternatives beyond Vanìmel,” Vaughn said, repeating Tlaral’s assertion. The technologist had been adamant that the Defiantcome to her homeworld. From Dax’s review of the sensor logs, Vaughn had learned of multiple M-class worlds with warp-capable civilizations located within a few days of their current locale. Why Vanìmel and not one of the others was a question Tlaral had yet to answer.
“Of course there are other worlds—most are some distance from here—that might be willing to offer aid to strangers. Assuming they didn’t first shoot you down for trespassing,” Tlaral left her chair to point out several planetary systems on the starchart displayed on Vaughn’s viewscreen. “Here, and toward the Wiiru system. And that’s hoping you make it that far without encountering another one of the weapons that caught you today.”
From a padd, Bowers examined the preliminary data Tlaral had provided on the web weapons. “What are the odds of us being hit again?”
Tlaral explained patiently, “This whole sector is webbed. Vanìmel and my people, the Yrythny, are under siege. That’s how we know these weapons so well. They are meant to ensnare us,but they do not distinguish between our ships and others. You might not see any ship-to-ship combat, but make no mistake, this is a war zone.”
Vaughn folded his hands together, rolling the day’s cumulative knowledge around in his head. The stopgap power bridge Tlaral had installed in engineering had already proved the effectiveness of Yrythny technology. Even Nog had been impressed. Pragmatically, the Defiantwas days away from the closest advanced civilizations, assuming they could restore warp drive without further assistance. Vaughn disliked having limited options to choose from, but from appearances, Vanìmel was a solid one. He made his decision. “We gratefully accept your chieftain’s generous invitation, Tlaral. From there, we’ll determine how to go about repairs.”
“Our government will be very accommodating,” she said earnestly. “The present struggle has isolated us from our neighbors. I know our leaders will be grateful to have an ally.”
Ally,Vaughn thought, musing on Tlaral’s word choice. Perhaps these Yrythny have motives beyond offering aid and comfort to weary travelers. Which begs the question…what will they expect in return?
2
Before Colonel Kira Nerys opened her eyes, she resisted the impulse to thump the walls or kick the panels of her quarters, though part of her suspected that if she uttered the phrase “Computer, end program,” the world as she sensed it would dissolve in an instant. Or that she would awaken from an exhausted sleep on the frozen Dakhur ground to be told it was her turn on watch. Or, even better, that she had dozed off, midconversation with Odo, and when she finally emerged to consciousness, she’d feel the warm flow of his embrace.
Sprawled diagonally across her bed, mussed covers tangled around her legs and pillow smothering her nose, Kira rightly guessed that whatever reality she was in, she slept solo. Her own smells and the definitive silence testified to her aloneness. But maybe, just maybe she wasn’t actually on the station any longer, maybe she was…