Dafydd ab Hugh - Fallen Heroes (Star Trek Deep Space Nine, No 5)

Dafydd (pronounced DAH-veth) ab Hugh seemed perfectly normal until one day in 1987 when, on his way to meet DA Jim Garrison with vital evidence on the Kennedy assassination, he was abducted by a long, cigar-shaped craft piloted by Men In Black (MIBs).

Since then, Mr. ab Hugh and his puppet friends have written both science fiction and fantasy, including the Arthur Warlord saga, about a British SAS agent pursuing an IRA operative back in time to the days of King Arthur (Times Fell Hand and Far Beyond the Wave), and the Jiana series (Heroing and Warriorwards). His novelette The Coon Rolled Down and Ruptured His Larinks, A Squeezed Novel by Mr. Skunk (Azimovs, August 1990) was nominated for both the Hugo and Nebula awards.

Mr. ab Hugh privately insists he is really Volteron from the planet Volteria.

M AJOR K IRA N ERYS W AS A MAZED that the unknown ship had made it through the wormhole at all.

Every instrument display in Ops maxedout, Kira felt a tingle creep along her flesh, and Lieutenant Jadzia Dax announced Ship coming through, all simultaneously.

Kira stared at the main viewscreen through bloodshot eyes. Ordinarily, she enjoyed watching the wormhole flower into existence, disgorge a ship, then disappear as if swallowing itself. At the moment, she cared only that whatever chose to happen did so quietly and did not increase the pounding in her head.

The day in Operations was slow, fitting Kiras mood. Dax sat at her science console, looking impeccable as usual. Every strand of hair pulled back into the omnipresent ponytail, face freshly scrubbed, uniform glittering, neck spots sharply defined.

In contrast, Kiras hair clung to her scalp oddly, despite her shower, and her reflection in the morning mirror had looked more glowering than usual, matching her morning-after mood. At her insistence, the lights were dimmer than usual.

Commander Benjamin Sisko had been in his office since Kira came on duty, and she had not seen him through the entire watch. From her vantage point, all she could see of Chief Miles OBrien was the top of his head as he rummaged in the systems core beneath the main viewer.

The peculiar ship that had just come through caught Kiras attention even through her haze as it limped out of the wormhole. Dax gracefully tapped at her console, increased the magnification before Kira even asked.

The ships hull was breached at a dozen points. One bubble-shaped warp pod was damaged, leaking a thin stream of coolant behind the ship; the other was sheared off entirely. In places, the metal hull was peeled away from the ship like the dangling skin of an accident victim.

Chief OBrien looked up from repairing the Ops air-recycling duct long enough to say Jesus; then he lost interest and returned his attention to the circuitry. His hair was more scruffy than usual, and sweat beaded his forehead: the interior of the duct was hot and humid.

Is anybody even alive on thatthing? asked Kira, standing behind the lieutenant. Quiet as she tried to make her voice, her head still pounded so hard she winced.

The major raged silently to herself. Damn that saucer-eared Quark and his Ferengi wine! She had gone into Quarks Place the night before for a few innocent drinks of synthehol; but the Ferengi, in a typically disgusting attempt to get her drunk enough to say yes, slipped some vile, Ferengi wine into her glass instead of synth.

Real wine... with real alcohol. Fortunately, Odo had noticed that Kira was sloshed and hauled her back to her quarters before she began dancing on tables or offering to fight any man in the joint.

The downside was that Odo (and apparently everybody else) refused to believe it was Quarks idea, not Kiras, for her to swill Ferengi wine all night... or at least, they all pretended not to believe her protests; she could not be sure.

You wouldnt think so, would you? Dax relied brightly. She seemed to Kira to take special delight in being even more cheery than usual, as if somehow sensing that Kira was hungover. But the pilot seems alive and unhurt. And no dead bodies aboard. Either he was alone or he threw them all out the airlock before passing through the wormhole. Hes hailing us.

Dax precisely stabbed the comm-link button with her fingernail. Kira jumped at the noise.

Lonatian freighter Square Deal, croaked the voice; come to dicker, eat a meal. Captain Square-Deal Djonreel; for docking rights I do appeal. Audio only; Dax was still trying to resolve the video.

The major stared at Dax, who could barely contain her smile. Kira turned back to the screen. Major Kira. Deep Space Nine. Her throat was raw, and her voice croaked almost as badly as the captains.

Docking here with us is fine, added Dax unnecessarily.

OBrien jumped into the act, not even looking up from the transporter circuitry. Long as you dont moan and whine.

Kira glared first at one, then the other. Would you two stay off this official line? Then she winced, silently swore a Bajoran blasphemy. She had meant to say official communication.

Doesnt scan, said Dax.

The voice replied, surprised. Such wit, such grace, from all of you. I just came through. What do I do?

Finally, Dax synched in the visual display. Square-Deal Djonreel, if that was in fact his name, looked like a Bajoran festival lamp with eyes: onion-shaped head so brightly lit by his interior lights that it hurt Kirato look at it; big, round hole at the top, probably his nose; mouth obscured by two flaps of onionskin flesh dangling from just below two bright pink target circles, which might have been eyes. Kira had never seen his race before.

Another damned Federation weirdo. Why cant everyone just look normal, like a Bajoran?

Kira spoke carefully, making sure none of her words rhymed. Take docking pylon five, Captain SqCaptain Djonreel. Just take youryour manipulating digits off the controls; Lieutenant Dax will tractor you to the pylon. It was the safest course of action; from the look of Square-Deal Djonreels ship, it could lurch out of control at any moment.

Should I disturb Sisko? Kira debated. Should I swallow my pride and ask Bashir to fix up my hangover? Should I run gleefully down the Promenade with a carving knife, killing every Ferengi I see? At last, she said Dax, keep an eye on the wormhole. Whoever shot him up might come after him.

Major Kira finished her stroll around the operations table, glancing at each station. Everything was working, amazingly enough. Then she returned her console, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples, dreaming up ingenious punishments for Quark and whoever invented doggerel.

The object of Kiras fury sat blissfully unaware that his life hung by the thread of Kiras civility. Quark, the Ferengi owner of the social hot spot on DS9, Quarks Place, stared into the ornate, antique Ferengi treasure chest that contained his hoard of gold-pressed latinum, carefully gathered over many years selling drinks andother things.

Since it was a slow business day, Quark had decided to take an uncharacteristic but much-needed three-hour holiday away from business. He initiated a very special program in one of the holosuites, a program to which only he knew the code key, and sat now in a dank, moldy dungeon that smelled of centuries, gloating over his latinum.

Quark felt safer opening his treasure chest in such an environment.

Unexpectedly, a crack of light appeared in the midst of the ancient, stone wall. Quark stared. The crack widened, opening into some sort of secret door.

Thats not in the program, Quark puzzled, then realized to his horror that someone was