105

Deirdre looked crestfallen, "Aric's dead?"

"I'm afraid so." Macen replied over the viewer's pick up, "He chose self destruction over capture. He did relay instructions for you and your people to lay down arms and await the proper authorities."

"Yes." Deirdre said distantly, "I saw the message you'd broadcast, the exchange you and Aric had before he died."

"Deirdre," Macen began, "I can't help you with your grief but I can make this transition easier. I'll beam you aboard my vessel. I'll plead your case before a Federation Magistrate, just surrender."

"No." Deirdre shook her head, still remote, "I'll make you a counter-proposal. Arrest me alone and let my people go."

"I'm not here to negotiate Deirdre." Macen warned.

"Fine." she shrugged, "Our ships are powered up. We'll meet you in a few moments and we'll finish this dance of death."

"It doesn't have to go this way." Macen pleaded.

Deirdre nodded, "Yes, it does."

Macen sagged slightly, "They'll still have to contend with Starfleet and local planetary authorities."

"Yes, but they won't have you hunting them across the galaxy."

Macen turned to Daggit, "Rab, have you contacted the Starfleet authorities on Risa?"

"I signalled the mainland and told them the island's forces were vastly outnumbered." Daggit smiled nastily, "They agreed with me and are sending several air trams the Maquis' way."

"But they won't make it in time." it was a statement not a question, "Has there been any communication in or out of the shared Resort Security/Starfleet office?"

"Nothing on Starfleet channels." Daggit revealed, "The resort's security traffic has escalated to a new high though."

"They're expecting us." Macen said with a sigh, "I guess we'd better not disappoint them."

"The Maquis ships are lifting as a whole." T'Kir reported.

"Engage only those ships that fire upon us." Macen ordered, "There's been too much death already."

"How many do you expect to fight us?" Grace asked.

"Hopefully none." came Macen's hopeful reply.


Delaney had no intention of waiting around for Susan Haywright. Something was afoot and the SID team was right in the middle of it. Ten minutes after Hannah Grace had beamed out of the main restaurant and lounge, the Solstice had lifted. In the horizon, another ship could be seen lifting against the darkening sky.

Whatever it was, it had ruined the evening plans of Haywright and sent the Resort Security force scrambling in every direction. Delaney returned to his room, donned his uniform, comm badge and phaser and commed his runabout. He ordered the computer to update him as to local traffic and uploaded the results of his researches into the local Starfleet Security office.

The office's security was as lax as its officers. It had only taken thirty minutes for Delaney to trace back payments made in latinum to the unit by the Resort Security Force. It didn't do anything to prove Boromov's guilt but it was enough to warrant an arrest of the Starfleet personnel. Delaney left his room and began to head for the Security office.

Any Resort Security personnel could be arrested as well for bribery.

Delaney quietly made his way past the Resort Security guards setting up firing point positions. Macen, if he was returning, was headed for his own slaughter. Delaney vowed that he'd do something about that. First though, he had to deal with the corrupt Starfleet officers.


Zitter poked his head into Nevil's office, "We've got a problem."

Nevil sighed, "What kind of problem?"

"Pytor." Zitter replied, "He's holding on subspace secure channel two for you."

"Any idea what it's about?" Nevil rested her jaw on her fist.

"He's convinced the SID is finally going to arrest him."

Nevil snorted, "If he's gotten sloppier than usual, then they probably will. Harbouring the Maquis on that island was a dumb idea."

"He's threatening to name names if he's captured." Zitter informed her.

"So what?" Nevil laughed, "He's a donor and a political supporter. We can easily survive the scandal of him turning out to be a notorious gunrunner."

"We have never had a face to face with him." Zitter mused.

"Exactly!" Nevil snapped her fingers, "And if he is eliminated, that's one less competing view of how the Federation should look."

"What about his allies?" Zitter asked.

"They can rescue him if they can. Our hands are tied. Please inform him of such." Nevil proclaimed.

"As you wish, my Lady." Zitter half bowed and exited the room.

Pytor, you idiot! Nevil thought to herself, Why couldn't you have been patient enough to utilise the political process rather than support all these unstable dissident groups?

"Damned bitch!" Boromov muttered as the comm circuit with Zitter cut off, "After all I've done for her."

Taking a moment to reflect, he realised he'd never done that much for Nevil. He'd orchestrated her campaign on Risa but that had been all. As a highly affluent citizen of the planet, and a native Terran, he'd soon learned of Nevil's ultimate goals and her plans for achieving them. As he'd grown in her confidence, and she in his, he'd eventually divulged the facts concerning his own political manoeuvring.

Nevil had always been cool towards his overt acts of terror and violence to shape public opinion. She preferred subtler, and much slower, means of persuasion. They'd been headed for loggerheads for some time now. His only reason for maintaining contact for this long was at the insistence of his covert allies in his struggle. Their plans mirrored both Nevil's and Boromov's methodologies. They'd speak softly but would arm a neutron bomb at the talks as well, just to insure they had everyone's undivided attention.

Boromov moved quickly to establish a comm link through the cut out he had. Given Macen's reputation, he didn't give Tulley long to live, nor did he have any illusions regarding the good terrorist's loyalties. Tulley would sell him out in a moment, as one of any number of his "clients" would do if offered the chance. They were survivors first and ideologues second.

Boromov knew Macen would return to arrest him. While he didn't expect the good captain to survive the attempt, precautions had to be taken. He needed to arrange an avenue of escape.


The dust had settled and as predicted, only Deirdre's Skylark-class scout had even slowed to acknowledge them. The prisoner exchange had been swift and painless. Deirdre was now in Radil's tender care and being locked up in the ship's diminutive brig.

Macen rose from his chair, "Rab and T'Kir, you're with me. Kort you handle Tactical in our absence. Hannah, you're in command until I get back." Grace and Kort both beamed. Once they were in the lift, Macen ordered Dracas to the transporter room and Radil to the armoury.

T'Kir had donned her leather duster and was loading her spare utility belt pouches with powerpacks when Radil arrived. Macen had donned his flight jacket and was doing the same. Daggit had put on a Starfleet black field duty uniform shirt from the 2340s as well as a field vest that he was loading with grenades and powerpacks.

Not feeling particularly self-conscious, Radil entered, stripped and put on a set of M.A.C.O. fatigues. She ushered Daggit to her side to strap on her portable phaser cannon. When that was complete, they mounted a battery on her lower back and hooked it to the cannon. The spare battery was strapped level to her shoulder blades.

Macen and T'Kir stuck with their usual sidearms. Daggit wielded a phaser rifle, three phaser pistols, a grenade launcher and a knife. Radil carried the cannon and a back-up phaser pistol. Since the cannon was strapped to her right hip, Radil could only wear her left holster.

"Any chance we'll make it out of this alive?" Radil asked as she powered up her cannon.

"There's always that possibility." Macen grinned.

"In other words, you don't know." Radil grumbled.

"Yeah, but won't it be fun finding out?" T'Kir asked.

Radil looked over at Daggit, "They're both nuts."

Daggit shrugged, "I must be crazy too. I'd follow them through the gates of hell."

Radil sighed, "Me too. What kind of jaded cynic have I turned out to be?"

"One with a family." Daggit replied.

"Ohhh no." Radil waved her hands across her face in a warding gesture, "You're not getting sentimental on me now, are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. I'd have to shoot you myself just to alleviate your pain."

"Are we done in here?" a smiling Macen asked.

"Or do you two need a moment alone?" T'Kir enquired.

"The final indignity!" Radil fumed, "They're finishing each other's sentences."

"Settle down, trooper." Daggit put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "This too shall pass."

"Not with these two." Radil grumped, "She's a telepath…"

"And he's an empath…" Daggit groaned.

"Which means your pain could last an eternity." T'Kir laughed evilly.

"Or at least until you die." Macen countered with a nasty smile, "Since we'll outlive you both."

"Prophets help us both." Radil whispered in prayer.

They can't help you, T'Kir's voice filled all of their minds, but maybe I will.

It was only at that moment that Daggit and Radil noticed that Macen had already left the room. Their vision refocused on the odd smile worn by T'Kir's tilted head. Wearing polite smiles, they excused themselves and slipped out of the armoury. Just before the doors sealed, peals of demented laughter could be heard escaping the room.

Daggit exchanged a worried look with Radil, "Is she still on her meds?"

Worried are we? T'Kir's voice echoed through his skull, You needn't be.

Seeing Daggit's stunned expression, Radil grabbed him by the arm and hustled him further down the deck until they reached the transporter room and entered it. Upon arriving, they were surprised by Macen's absence. Dracas merely shrugged.

"He said he'd be back in a minute. He had something else to do."


In the brig, Macen observed Deirdre's posture of abject misery, "You truly loved him, didn't you?"

"You're the empath, you tell me." Deirdre sniped.

"Deirdre, I did everything I could."

"His shields were down." she hissed, "You could've beamed him out of there."

"And abandon the rest of the crew?" Macen asked, "You know I wouldn't do that. Aric made his choice. One way or another, he was going to die by his own hand."

"Don't say that!" Deirdre snapped, "Aric was a fighter. He was stronger than the rest of us put together."

"He'd also seen the death of his dream, been betrayed by an ally, and hunted by a friend. There are limits to a man's strength." Macen tried to persuade her, "He'd simply reached his."

"So what about you?" Deirdre asked sharply, "You've lost a homeworld, loved ones, the original Maquis rebellion, and your precious Starfleet career. What keeps you going?"

"Do you really want to hear about the times I put a phaser to my head and visualised pulling the trigger? Of all the sleepless nights I've spent agonising over why I lived and so many others died? Or, how about the faces of my fellow Maquis and Starfleet officers I can't erase from my mind as they're getting cut down instead of me? Do you really want to hear about that?" Macen demanded and then took a calming breath, "I go on because I have faith."

"Faith?" Deirdre asked incredulously.

"Faith that the universe will unravel the way it was meant to. Faith that I'll reach the next plane of existence when I'm supposed to." Macen struggled to explain, "Faith that life is a reflection of the ideal and that we can reach that ideal."

"You're a fool." Deirdre spat.

Macen shrugged, "Maybe, but I'm a living fool at least."

That last barb brought a fresh round of tears to Deirdre's eyes and Macen sighed, "It all comes down to how we respond to defeat. When the Jem'Hadar crushed our ranks, we each faced a choice. Aric's choice led him here. My choice led me here just as yours did."

"At least we never served the Cardies as a frinxing mercenary." Deirdre argued.

"And maybe that was your first mistake." Macen said and began to walk away.

"I'll kill you." Deirdre vowed, "I swear to God above and Satan below that I will take your life."

Macen turned, "And now you have an article of faith to hold on to."

Macen exited the brig and made his way to the transporter room. There he found Daggit and Radil in a worried huddle, Dracas was looking concerned and T'Kir was nowhere to be found.

"Does anyone know where my wife is?" Macen asked.

"She's in the armoury." Daggit answered, "She's…not quite herself. Has she been taking her medications, sir?"

"Damn it!" Macen swore and slapped his comm badge, "Macen to Kort, meet me in the armoury and bring a booster dose of T'Kir's medication."

"I warned you this would happen!" Kort accused, "You two should never have started to vary the dosages on your own."

"Criticism duly noted, Doctor." Macen replied dryly, "Now just meet me at the armoury."

"What do you want us to do?" Radil asked.

"Stay in here, out of the way." Macen ordered, "She'll already have picked up that Kort and I are coming from your minds. The less you know, the better our chances are."

"Won't she be able to read Kort's mind?" Daggit enquired.

"Not if something Parva and I have been co-developing works." Dracas grinned.


Twenty minutes later, Kort arrived. Dracas met him in the corridor and fitted him with a device that closely resembled a medieval crown. It was a circular band of metal with tangs protruding from it every two centimetres. Kort complained because it too closely resembled the headgear worn by Klingon brides.

"Shut up and wear it you big lug." Dracas retorted as he activated the diadem's power source, "This psionic scrambler should keep her out of your skull long enough for you to dose her."

"And if it doesn't?" Kort asked sceptically.

Dracas held up a second, bulkier circlet, "Slap this on her head and throw the switch. It should render her unable to form a coherent thought for at least ninety seconds. Could save your life."

"Save my life?" Kort was indignant.

"She can kill with her mind, remember?" Macen reminded him, "Besides the fact she's sitting in the armoury."

"Has she moved?" Kort asked.

"No." Macen shook his head, "She's just sitting…and crying. She feels overwhelmed."

"Will your telepathic rapport with her make you vulnerable?" Dracas wondered.

"It shouldn't." Macen replied, "Even with the rapport, she can't access my thoughts unless I allow her to. The same principle seems to be in effect here. I can perceive her dilemma without getting overwhelmed myself."

"I still don't know what you two were playing at lowering her doses all these years." Kort snarled.

"T'Kir wanted to try and develop her own natural defences and rely less on the herbal remedy. She knew if the replicator ever broke down or lost its memory, she'd be in a bind." Macen explained through clenched teeth, "I supported this idea as long as it was done in incremental steps. I supervised the process and for the last three years it's worked. It's just obvious that with the action this afternoon we've reached a saturation point. It's time to pull back and start over."

"How far back are we pulling?" Kort wondered.

"A full dose now, to stabilise her and back a year ago, before she started having trouble, for the duration." Macen answered.

"A year ago?" Kort shouted, "She's been having trouble for a year now and you haven't thought to warn anyone?"

Macen held a finger to his lips, "Shh! Even if she can't read your mind she still has those wicked ears of hers."

Kort's anger was blunted but it simmered. Macen keyed the armoury's door and its slid aside. T'Kir was beside the door, seated on the floor with her arms wrapped around her body and head. She sobbed uncontrollably. Macen knelt beside her.

"It's okay now." he assured her, "We're here to drive the demons back."

She released her grip on herself and threw her arms around him. Kort readied the hypo and placed it against her neck without resistance. It hissed as he depressed the activation stud. Kort checked his wrist chrono.

"She should start coming out of it in twenty minutes or so."

"Tell the others the mission's scrubbed for an hour."

"You can't honestly expect her to function after this event in a mere hour?"

Macen's gaze was heavy as it met Kort's, "We've been through worse."

Knowing something of T'Kir's turbulent years with the Maquis, Kort nodded, "I'll alert the others. You do realise this eliminates the element of surprise?"

"There is no surprise." Macen laughed harshly, "He knows we're coming. This'll give his troops some time to stew."

"I see." Kort replied and slipped off the psionic scrambler, "Is there anything else I can do for you, either of you?"

T'Kir's sobs had mellowed to mere crying now and Macen shook his head, "Some privacy would be appreciated."

"Of course." Kort nodded stiffly and left the armoury.

Macen kissed T'Kir's forehead and held her closer, "Hang on, Honey. We'll get through this too."


Delaney strode into the Security office. All six of the assigned Starfleet personnel were there as well as one of the Resort officers. Delaney's phaser set off of the alarm and he went to draw it. He'd stunned four of the six before the others even reached for their weapons. The last two were caught in mid-draw. Only the Resort officer actually fired on Delaney. The shot was hurried and wild.

Delaney tucked his phaser under his arm and fired across his chest at the Resort Security officer. The stun blast caught her in the chest and knocked her out. She slumped down into the terminal chair she'd been working from. Delaney contacted his runabout and beamed back aboard. Next, he beamed aboard the Starfleet Security team two people at a time.

He disarmed each officer and removed their comm badges and then drug them into the brig cell modules his runabout carried. Once he had three in each cell, he activated the forcefields. It was a tight fit but not as tight as the noose Boromov would put on their necks for having been discovered. Grabbing a pulse rifle out of the ship's weapon's locker, Delaney beamed back to the Security office.

He disarmed the unconscious young lady and carried her into a holding cell. He removed her wrist communicator and stepped out of the cell with her phaser in his other hand. He activated the cell and returned to her station. She'd been monitoring communications.

The Resort people, having set their trap, were observing subspace radio silence. Delaney decided to help facilitate this by jamming all the Resort communicators. Starfleet badges would still work. Although Macen's comm badges wore a generic appearance, they were manufactured for Starfleet and would therefore work.

Delaney assumed Macen would try for the direct approach: a quick snatch of Boromov and withdraw. Haywright didn't have Delaney's advantage of having studied the man and had to deploy her forces to cover every contingency. The audacity of a head on confrontation wouldn't occur to her. Delaney had just seen to it that she wouldn't be able to rapidly respond once she'd realised her error. On top of that, they'd be facing Delaney as well as Macen's crew. This threw yet another variable into the mix.

Hopefully, Delaney thought, there are enough variables to insure survival.