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Picard decided Hompaq’s epitaph was as good as any he could have come up with. Satisfied, he went on with his story.

The Tale

RED ABBY WAS saddened by the Orion’s death that much was clear. But she didn’t let it incapacitate her.

“What about the others?” she inquired.

“Some chose to leave in a shuttle while they could. Those you see elected to stay and effect a rescue.”

Red Abby spared them a glance. There was gratitude in it, spoken without words but sincere nonetheless.

Then she grabbed my arm. “We don’t have much time,” she said, and pulled me in the direction of the next room.

Through the open archway, I could see a shadowy pair of legs lying on the gray, carpeted floor. Unless I was mistaken, they belonged to Gul Ecor. Yet, the last I had seen of the gul, he was accompanied by a contingent of guards.

I turned to Red Abby. “What happened?”

“The lights,” she said, “couldn’t have gone out at a better time.”

She didn’t seem inclined to provide more of an explanation than that. But then, she didn’t have to. I had an imagination.

As I entered the room, I saw that Ecor wasn’t the only one lying there. Two of his guards were sprawled on the floor as well. I didn’t need a medical officer to tell me all three Cardassians were dead.

Red Abby led me across the room to the gul’s workstation, which stood in the starlight cast by an oval-shaped observation port. The workstation would give me access to the warship’s entire command network assuming, of course, that the system was still operational.

Some of the others entered behind us and moved the corpses over to a bulkhead. Perhaps pitched them would be more accurate.

Again, the deck bucked beneath us. Reminded that time was of the essence, I sat down at the chair in front of the workstation, propped my energy rifle against the bulkhead beside me, and got to work. A minute or so later, I found the entry point I was looking for.

It gave me access to not only the ship’s command logs, but its sensor logs as well. I took a moment to scan them, to assemble the pieces of the puzzle. What I learned caused me to exclaim in surprise.

“What is it?” asked Red Abby.

I looked at her. “We’ve been attacked all right and not just by anyone. It seems our adversary is a Romulan warbird C Class.”

Dunwoody cursed. Worf scowled at the mention of the Romulans, for whom he had no great love. After all, they had killed his parents in the now-infamous Khitomer Massacre.

I turned back to the monitor. “The Romulan commander, an individual who identifies himself as Tacanus, claims the Cardassians were trespassing in Romulan space.”

“A likely story,” Red Abby commented.

“They’re after the Hoard of Dujonian,” Worf observed.

“Like everyone else,” Assad noted.

“What do we do now?” asked Dunwoody.

Red Abby bit her lip. “This tub is no match for even a C Class warbird. It’s a wonder it’s held out this long.”

Our ship shuddered, as if for emphasis. Not that any was required, mind you. We were acutely aware of our disadvantage.

“If the Romulans win,” I said, “it won’t help to try to escape in a shuttlecraft. They’ll hunt us down like Gosalian hacklehawks descending on a field mouse.”

“Agreed,” said Red Abby. “Somehow, we’ve got to stand up to the Romulans and beat them.” She looked around. “Any ideas?”

No one seemed to have one, at first. Then it hit me, like a phaser beam on a heavy stun setting.

“If Worf’s right about the Romulans coveting the Hoard,” I said, “they won’t be content to just destroy the Cardassians. They’ll want to interrogate them as the Cardassians interrogated us.”

Corbis eyed me. “So?”

“What he’s saying,” Thadoc informed the Pandrilite, “is the Romulans will have to send boarding teams to take prisoners or at least, beam some Cardassians onto their vessel.”

“And they can’t do either of those things,” said Dunwoody, “unless they drop their shields for a moment.”

I nodded. “Precisely. And that’s when they’ll be vulnerable.”

Understanding dawned in Red Abby’s eyes. “Very clever. But we’ll need to get to a transporter room.”

“We will indeed,” I replied