Part 4 (1/2)
”What do you mean?”
”Housman,” Picard explained, ”never met a Jem'Hadar.”
Chapter Four.
J EM' H ADAR EVERYWHERE.
On a rocky ledge above the Loneel Valley, Lwaxana Troi lay on her stomach and studied the deep forest below through powered binoculars. Concealed by a hooded cloak of striated grays and browns that matched the surrounding stones, she counted the soldiers of the scouting party cras.h.i.+ng through the underbrush below.
Eighteen!
Not only had the number of patrols doubled, their size had doubled as well. If the increase continued at the current rate, the occupation force would soon swell to more than fifty thousand, not counting the d.a.m.ned Vorta bureaucrats who controlled the Jem'Hadar on behalf of the Founders. It was only a matter of time until the soldiers came for the resistance, who were hanging on by a thread in their mountain stronghold and praying help would arrive before the final ma.s.sacre.
Enaren, where are you?
Her thought snapped petulantly into the darkness. Her cousin was no longer as agile as he'd been in his youth, and it didn't seem possible that he could slip undetected through the enemy troops that ringed the mountain stronghold of the Betazed resistance. For all she knew, the Jem'Hadar had already killed him.
I'm here, Lwaxana, behind you, but don't move. Wait until the Jem'Hadar have pa.s.sed.
She sighed with relief before her temper kicked in.
You've had me worried out of my mind! she scolded, then for interminable minutes remained motionless until the last of the soldiers disappeared into the thick trees of the coniferous forest. Leaping to her feet, she whirled to face Cort Enaren. Did you get it?
She needed no reply. The disappointment in his tired eyes and the defeated slant of his shoulders communicated his failure.
He shook his head.
Hurry, she ordered him. They'll return soon. We have to take cover.
With a grace and swiftness that belied her age, Lwaxana traversed the ledge and slid into a nearby creva.s.se. The opening, invisible unless one knew of its existence, was one of only two portals into the mountains where the Betazoids' resistance fighters and government in exile had established their headquarters. The craggy peaks ringed the caldera of an ancient volcano and were honeycombed with tunnels and caves formed millions of years earlier by bubbles of volcanic gas as the lava cooled around it.
High concentrations of fistrium in the surrounding rock and the depth of the underground caverns protected the colony of fifteen hundred from detection by Dominion sensors. Here the leaders of Betazed had established their temporary homes and would make their stand until the Jem'Hadar were driven from their planet.
Or die trying, Lwaxana thought. That grim possibility became more likely with each pa.s.sing day. If the Jem'Hadar didn't kill them first, they might all succ.u.mb to disease without proper medical supplies.
Shaking off her gloomy introspection, she followed the narrow, winding path among the boulders, trailing behind Enaren and wondering how much more heartache the poor man must endure. His son and heir, Sark, had failed to return from his mission to contact Starfleet, and Enaren did not know whether Sark had been successful, or even if he'd survived. To make matters worse, two days ago Cort's infant grandson and namesake had contracted Rigelian fever, a horrible illness similar to the infamous bubonic plague on Earth.
Over a century ago, s.p.a.cefaring Betazoids had brought the Rigelian fever home from one of their voyages. In the intervening years, to augment the antidote, ryetalyn, her homeworld physicians had developed a vaccine, but the prophylactic was too powerful for the physiology of any child younger than six. Thanks to the vaccine's effectiveness, however, the fever had all but disappeared from the planet. The illness survived only in insects infesting vermin of the inaccessible wilds, like the tunnel rats that inhabited the caves of the Loneel Mountains.
Yesterday, Damira, Enaren's daughter-in-law, had noted the tiny fleabite on her son's thigh. Within hours, his temperature had spiked. The doctor had administered ryetalyn, but his supplies were limited, and more doses would be needed to insure the child's recovery-and to treat other children who might become infected. Enaren had volunteered to venture out of hiding to secure more of the precious medicine.
I can't believe a hospital so close to the wilderness had no ryetalyn, Lwaxana complained.
Enaren stopped and turned to her, his emotions pounding her mind like fists. Rage. Sadness. Overwhelming fear. There's no hospital.
But the village - The Dominion warned that anyone involved in the resistance movement would be punished.
Lwaxana shook her head impatiently. What does their warning have to do with the hospital?
Enaren trembled with anger. The Jem'Hadar caught a resistance cell meeting there. They took the members prisoner and burned the building to the ground-and the drugs with it-as a warning.
His face ruddy with outrage and despair, he pivoted on his heel and continued toward the tunnel that led to the caverns, a vortex of emotions swirling in his wake. Lwaxana followed, fuming with anger. In all their long history, although they'd maintained a regulatory force, her people had seldom needed the military. With their telepathic abilities, they had cultivated more peaceful pursuits. The perpetuation of peace had led to Lwaxana's interest in diplomacy, to promoting the resolution of conflict through negotiation and understanding. But diplomacy was useless against the Dominion. While the Vorta seemed well versed in giving the appearance of reasonability, all their courteous overtures of friends.h.i.+p and apologetic explanations for each outrage committed against the Betazoid people came down to a single message: Cooperate or die.
At first she'd been certain Starfleet would force the Dominion back, just as they'd once forced back the Romulans, the Klingons, the Borg. But as the early days of the occupation stretched into weeks, it became clear to Lwaxana that Betazed's hopes for salvation rested as much with itself as they did with Starfleet. The Federation was fighting a war for its very survival on too many fronts, against a foe that never let up. Horror had filled her when the resistance got word that the Twelfth Fleet had been destroyed, leaving the people of Betazed to face the Dominion alone.
She refused to give up hope, however. She would not have it said that a daughter of the Fifth House had failed in her duty to keep her world free for her children. Her daughter Deanna, at least, was safe, or as safe as one could be aboard a stars.h.i.+p fighting the Dominion. If dear Jean-Luc couldn't protect the Enterprise and her daughter from the Jem'Hadar, then the G.o.ds help them all.
She worried most about Barin, her two-year-old son. She had to protect him not only from alien soldiers but from the deadly fever that threatened all the young children of their mountain stronghold. Even though the men had set traps to clear the tunnels of vermin that might carry disease, more outbreaks of the fever were expected. She hoped Chaxaza, another of her cousins, who tended Barin while Lwaxana stood watch outside, had checked the boy for fleabites.
The thought of her small, rugged toddler made her smile and quicken her steps. Deanna, although a mature woman in her own right, would always be her ”little one,” so Lwaxana had adopted the Tavnian diminutive Barin for her younger child. In his father's language, Barin was her ”little one,” too.
Descending deeper into the caverns, Lwaxana picked up the scents of habitation: smoke from cooking fires, spices from foods roasting for dinner, and the tang of herbs intended to cover the stench of too many unwashed bodies packed too tightly together. Because water had to be carried in backpacks from the wilderness rivers, bathing and laundering were luxuries most had learned to live without.
Physical proximity was not the worst hards.h.i.+p for the residents of the stronghold. In a telepathic society, complete privacy was practically an impossibility, but at least before the war, all had lived in houses or farms set s.p.a.ciously apart to allow some psionic elbow room. Here, true privacy was even more rare than water now, and as a result, tempers often flared.
Especially that of Sorana Xerix, daughter of the Third House. Her protests reached Lwaxana even before she entered the cavernous common area where women gathered during the day.
My best robe, Sorana whined, and it's ruined with soup stains.
Be thankful the stains are food and not blood, Lwaxana shot back, drawing herself to her full height and fixing Sorana with a withering stare. With so many of our people dead and dying, my dear, your complaints are becoming a royal pain in the a.s.s.
Sorana's blast of offended pride and righteous indignation washed over Enaren and Lwaxana at the entrance to the chamber, and its other occupants glanced up in expectation. Damira, her ailing baby clasped against her breast, cried out in anguish when she realized Enaren's failure to obtain more ryetalyn.
Don't despair, he rea.s.sured her. I'll try another village tomorrow. The doctor has enough to keep the boy comfortable until then.
Barin broke from Chaxaza and raced across the room toward his mother, his chubby legs pumping, his arms spread wide, his delicious giggle balm for her aching heart. She scooped him up in her arms and hugged him tight.
”No bug bites?” she asked.
He shook his head, brown eyes s.h.i.+ning, and patted her cheeks with his plump hands. ”Cha'za looked.”
Sorana glared at Lwaxana across the room, but Lwaxana for once was in no mood for an extended confrontation. After another fierce hug, she handed Barin back to his caretaker. ”Call the resistance leaders together in the meeting room,” she instructed in a voice ringing with authority. ”We have decisions to make.”
She spoke aloud, recognizing that not all inhabitants of the stronghold possessed the same degree of telepathic abilities. Some projected and read thoughts with more ease than others. When matters of communal concern were discussed, Lwaxana insisted on the spoken word. ”The better informed, the less likely people were to panic” had always been her maxim. Today she wasn't so sure. All the news pending before the council was bad.
At the chiming of the sacred bell that signaled a meeting, people streamed in from other common rooms and private alcoves, where a blanket or quilt hung across the opening afforded the only privacy available. Most of the tiny cubicles were furnished with only the barest of necessities, items the occupants had grabbed in haste and carried on their backs as they fled the Jem'Hadar.
In spite of efforts at s.h.i.+elding, a mult.i.tude of thoughts and emotions jammed the air in the great chamber that served as the council hall. From her place on the dais at the end of the room, Lwaxana watched the others arrive, sensing fear and despair in some, renewed hope and determination in others, and a guarded watchfulness in a few.
Their backgrounds were as varied as their emotions. Many of the leaders came from the cities, where they'd previously held high government office or venerable professors.h.i.+ps at the universities.
Just as numerous were farmers and craftspeople and their families from Betazed's outlying villages. Diverse in profession, wealth, and knowledge, they shared one common goal-to drive the Jem'Hadar from Betazed soil, even if each of them must sacrifice her life to do it.
When the group had first fled the Dominion invasion and entered the stronghold, they had elected Enaren as their leader. Eleven other members of the ruling body, including Lwaxana, joined him on the dais, and he stood to address the other leaders and the crowd, which had a.s.sembled to observe the deliberations.