"Computer," Westfall snapped. His dark eyes didn’t waver from Blake’s for a second. "Lower forcefield."

Nothing. No polite refusal or chirp of compliance – just a distorted buzz for a brief moment, then silence. Blake smiled sympathetically. "I’m sorry, Captain; you no longer have access to the computer."

"Commander Hart." The captain’s voice became harder. "Whatever the hell is going on, I want it stopped. Now. That’s an order."

She seemed genuinely apologetic, even a bit embarrassed. But she shook her head. "I can’t do that, sir."

The others at the table sat in mute amazement, too stunned to do anything. Bashir’s thoughts were reeling; he felt a shiver of nervous energy tense his muscles as he stood there, facing Blake’s phaser. He had to do something, had to… what? Try to reason with them? Rush the security officer, probably get shot for the effort?

Blake was watching him steadily. Calm, in control, Blake made a slight motion with the barrel of his weapon, never for an instant losing aim. "Have a seat, Doctor."

Finally, Bashir found his voice. "Listen. You don’t have to do this. We can – "

"I’m not interested," Blake snarled. Any pretense of benevolence fell away for a moment and he regarded Bashir with open contempt. "Sit down."

He wasn’t afraid to fire, on Bashir or the captain or anyone else who resisted, and Bashir knew it. Neither, he realized, was Emily Hart. The fight-or-flight reflex surrendered to a painful band of tension across his shoulders; slowly and deliberately, Bashir lowered himself back to his chair and clenched his hands in his lap to still their shaking.

Satisfied, Blake flicked a glance to his left. "Emily."

She acknowledged his gesture with almost eerie calm. "Computer." It chirped promptly. "Display media file ‘Cheiron’; authorization Hart 5306 Alpha." The computer terminal inset into the wall blinked to life, and silent images filled the screen.

The officers saw what must have been a city, as seen from above – an aerial shot of some planet just rugged and unfamiliar enough to be recognized as alien. But something was wrong – from this angle the buildings looked more like bone fragments scattered across the dusty ground. The perspective changed and abruptly they saw the city from ground level. And Bashir realized what they were looking at. Post-war footage. Bomb sites.

Buildings, undoubtedly of Federation design, rose up starkly against a blank, clear sky – destroyed. Wood splintered into piles of kindling, metal twisted and distorted as if frozen in a writhe of anguish, shattered plasticrete littering the road like eggshells. The scene switched and they saw a street, perhaps in a residential area – it was almost impossible to tell for sure. Rubble lined the road in irregular piles that could have once been houses, or schools, or stores. Smoke rose from those piles in ugly black columns; in the shadows of the rubble, live wires flickered dangerously, threatening fire.

Yet another image – perhaps the center of town? – where taller structures had sustained the heaviest damage. Some remained standing but with chunks ripped away and windows shattered – irregular, half-molded lumps of brown clay. One of them had been ripped in half from top to bottom and stood with its rooms exposed to the air, like an open dollhouse.

It was a cheap, careless imitation of a city, a child’s sloppy drawing with random scribbles and blotches. It didn’t seem real – but it was. Bashir had seen images like this far too often to doubt that now.

In the dead silence of the room, Hart cleared her throat. "This is one of the colonies on the Federation planet Cheiron IV," she explained matter-of-factly. "The planet originally served as a military outpost near the border of Breen space, but during the war it became an important surveillance center and base of operations. Soon after the Breen engaged the Federation at the front lines, a Cardassian attack force fortified with Breen weapons was sent to destroy these cities. The colonists evacuated as quickly as they could, but in the end more than two hundred people were killed and thousands left homeless."

Abruptly, she stopped. A shiver seemed to clench her thin frame for the briefest moment before she allowed herself to continue. "The U.S.S. Montana was the only ship available to provide assistance during the invasion. Her crew engaged an entire Cardassian fleet, buying the colonists a few precious minutes before the enemy attacked. But in the end, they failed to protect the colonies. The ship was destroyed with all hands lost. And then this happened." Fury flashed again in her eyes in spite of her best efforts, and she flung an arm toward the soundless images on the screen.

No one spoke. A few people shifted in their seats, miserably uncomfortable. Most just remained motionless, gazing at the pictures, at Emily, at their hands folded uselessly on the table. Aya was looking at him, Bashir – there were tears in her eyes. But she shook her head helplessly, and he felt her own pained thoughts echoing his, grieving and angry: You can’t condemn an entire civilization for the actions of one fleet!

The computer now showed footage of Federation civilians digging through the debris of what must have been their home. One form lay stretched out and still on the ground. The view blurred as the camera panned quickly right to where several grim adults were pulling small bodies out of what once must have been a school.

Blake leaned close and dug his fingers into Bashir's shoulder. "That’s my sister's girl they just pulled out of the wreckage - my niece," he murmured with deceptive calm. "And there are countless families worse off than mine. Would you like to tell all those innocent people that the Cardies deserve the Federation's help more than they do?"

Leaving him to ponder the question, Blake moved to the forcefield-blocked door, phaser still trained on him.

"This war was a long and bloody one." The emotion in Emily's face was now sorrowful, pleading; around the table, other expressions were forming in resonance with her passion. Even the captain's anger was faltering. "Many worlds were destroyed or badly damaged, their resources gone. These supplies should have been sent to our fellow citizens on these colonies - but some faceless administrator in some office far from the war decided our own people weren't worth the effort." She looked straight at Bashir, her voice clouded and low. "These supplies were supposed to help my friends, your friends, left homeless and sick. This never should have been about political significance – this is about the people we love, the people dying for the cause of the Federation."

Abruptly, that moving voice strengthened into steel determination, and she walked swiftly to join Blake at the door. "I, for one, will not stand by and see the Cardassians rewarded for being the murderous animals they are. And neither will my friends on this ship."

Commander Blake nodded approval, his eyes blazing in triumph. "You heard her, everyone. If you understand, if you care about the innocent lives lost, we can work together to set things right. If not.…" He flicked his gaze toward Dr. Bashir and shrugged lightly. "Well, then, you're welcome to stay here. Who’s with us?"

Bashir closed his eyes. Don’t, he pleaded with them silently. Please, don’t do this….

"I am." Lieutenant Rudavich. She rose from the table, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her expression was hard and angry. "I’ll go."

Blake made a satisfied noise. "Anyone else?"

Rudavich sought out Ensign Milne with her gaze. "Mal," she urged her friend. "You lost your brother after the Cardassians betrayed us. You don’t have to let that go unanswered."

Milne seemed to struggle with uncertainty for only a moment. He flicked a half-guilty glance in Westfall’s direction before nodding resolutely. Without saying a word, he stood and walked away, leaving the rest of the table at gunpoint.

Hart glanced nervously over her shoulder. "We have to go," she murmured to Blake. "The others will be in place. Last chance," she indicated to the rest. "If you don’t want to be locked in here for the next few days, say something now."

Her eyes seemed to narrow questioningly at Lieutenant Kato, testing her loyalty. Aya’s expression was pained, but she shook her head. She didn’t move.

"I’ll go."

Bashir whipped toward that voice in disbelief. Jake Sisko was on his feet, his PADD clenched tightly in one hand. He kept his eyes locked on Bashir as he spoke. "I’ll go," he repeated, steadier this time. "I’m a reporter. I can help."

"Jake…."

"I have to." The younger man’s voice deepened urgently; it was a commanding tone that Bashir knew very well. "My father died for the Federation. I’ll never see him again. I know what Dad would want me to do."

Bashir didn’t answer. There was nothing he could have said, nothing he had to offer that could counter the intense determination in Jake’s eyes. I shouldn’t have let him come. Not with everything he’s been through, damn it, if I’d just been paying attention, I never would have let him come….

"All right," Blake declared. He gripped Jake's shoulder with a proud smile as the young man joined them, then keyed an access code into the door. It opened, and the forcefield dissolved just long enough to let them pass.

Just before the door slid back into place, the security officer glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Enjoy the trip."

Jake met Bashir’s gaze again. The same unwavering resolve, the same familiar command.

The door closed, the forcefield snapped into place. They were locked inside.

*****

Blake and Hart strode into Engineering with Jake, Milne, and Rudavich close on their heels. Just as it had in the ready room, a forcefield jumped into place as soon as they'd stepped inside. Blake stopped just inside the door to sweep his gaze over engineering, which now completely belonged to them. Just like the ship, he thought, quietly ecstatic. Emily continued forward without missing a beat, heading straight for the closest computer terminal. "Lieutenant Madison?" she called sharply.

"I'm here, Commander," the fair-skinned man replied breathlessly. Madison had been one of the only people they had trusted enough to enlist his help; he and Blake had both lived on Cheiron IV before the attack. It was heartening to see that he'd pulled through. "Everyone's secured in the crew quarters."

"We have four officers locked into the bridge, and three in the mess hall," Ensign Carter added as she darted through the entrance of Engineering, struggling to keep her ruddy hair pulled away from her round caramel face. "It all went as planned, sir."

"Good," Hart said. A crease had formed between her eyes as she frowned down at the console.

As Jake Sisko and the other two hesitated awkwardly nearby, Blake stood akimbo, basking in his victory. This was much easier than I thought it would be, he mused. His heart still raced from the adrenaline rush. Taking a satisfied breath, he savored the moment, then briskly scanned the room again to take a head count of those who had chosen to join the rebellion. The other officers stood watching him, watching Emily, many with wide eyes and restless hands at their own boldness. "We have eleven total, including Jake," he said, moving toward Emily, who was working diligently with the computer. Enthusiasm was vibrant in his tone. "What next?"

"Have Madison shut down power to all consoles outside of Engineering and tell Milne to organize security teams to scout the ship," Emily replied, almost curtly; her eyes remained fixed on the computer screen in intense concentration.

He was a bit taken aback by her tone, but after a moment he shrugged it off. "You heard her," he snapped, seeing the two officers were still glued to their spots, unsure of what to do. When he saw them take action he moved over to the console Emily was working on and peered over her shoulder. "Ah, I see. You’ve taken the transporters offline, good thinking," he smiled.

Emily twitched away slightly, irritated by his inspection. Then she sighed and made an effort to relax. "Every bit of extra power for the warp engines helps…"

"…And this way if anyone breaks out, they won't be able to get around as easily and cause havoc."

She nodded shortly. "Besides, I don't want those not with us to have an opportunity to hack into any power sources, so I'm shutting down nonessential systems and diverting all control here to Engineering."

She glanced over her handiwork with a bated breath, then let out a small sigh of relief when the computer complied to her commands without flaw. She tried to reflect some of the self-assuredness he always tried to show as she turned to face her small crew. "This is it, everyone. The ship's locked down – everyone's contained. I doubt anyone will be able to escape, and even if they do, I've made sure that Engineering is secure."

"They could still break in here, if they possessed a death wish," Blake retorted, suddenly uneasy.

Hart took his skepticism in stride. She flicked a stern glance at him, then swept her gaze to the two officers that had helped her. "That's why I'm changing all the codes, locking everyone out but you, Madison, Carter, and me." She turned back to the computer, and her fingers danced across the console.

The euphoria of triumph was beginning to wear off. Blake was a bit edgy. "What if they grab Madison or Carter?"

"They could grab you, it wouldn't make a difference." Emily forced her hand to stop shaking as she continued her programming. Blake winced a bit in sympathy. Poor gal, she could use a break. If only I knew more about computers, she'd have more time for that. "I just finished setting course to Cheiron IV at warp eight, and no one can stop this ship but me," she said, taking in a deep breath to calm her nerves. "Only my codes will allow access to navigation, so this way no matter what they may or may not do, they can't stop us from reaching our destination."

There was a slight rustle of movement to Blake's left. "Um…How long till we get there?" Jake asked softly.

Emily met the young man's restless gaze with an appreciative smile. Blake could tell that Jake's unexpected support soothed her apprehension a little. "At this rate we should be there in fifty-three hours," she replied. Jake took this in, then nodded slightly and busied himself to unloading the PADDs and equipment in his arms.

"Well, it’s done." Emily rapped her nails nervously against the edge of her console. "There’s no turning back now." She must have meant this statement as bravado, but to Blake, it sounded more like surrender.

He frowned. They'd been friends for three long, brutal years, the two of them; he knew her, perhaps better than anyone else since her husband had died. Emily was used to dealing with concrete problems of a mechanical nature. Through all her years of service, the lives under her care could be kept safe if she only did her job. But now there was no quick fix, no switch to flip or hole to seal, that would make everything all right again. This victory would be only the first of many they would have to win, and the strain was already taking its toll, especially on her. If she only knew how indebted he felt to her, for working her technical magic, and holding them all together. Damn stoicism. This was no time to keep up appearances. He needed her at her best. Reaching over, he drew her hand into his, held it in the air between their two bodies. "Thank you, Emily."

She met his eyes, surprised. In all the years they had worked together, he didn’t think he had ever once thanked her for anything, in so many words. Blake clasped her hand harder, fiercely willing strength back into her. "I couldn’t have done this without you. Because of your courage, I have hope for my people again." He smiled then, seeing gratitude fill her eyes. "I'll stand by you. We all will."

Her face remained grim, but she stood straighter, no longer shaking. "Thank you, Ted." She squeezed his hand once and let it go. "I already knew that, but it's good to hear you say it."

She looked around at their busy crew, drawing in confidence with every breath. Eventually, she leaned back over her console, and Blake laid a supportive hand on her back. Hart splayed her fingers out across the flickering calculations of the computer monitor, and breathed, barely audible: "We’re on our way, Robert. We're on our way."