Night of the Wolves

“What the kosst?” said a man’s voice from somewhere back the way she had come. Someone else was here. Someone Bajoran, apparently, for the curse was not one that a Cardassian would ever use. Ro Laren drew her phaser, more excited than afraid.

“Who are you?” she shouted.

“Who am I?” the voice answered. “Who are you? This heap is mine—we claimed it over a week ago.”

A man emerged in the corridor then, a gray-haired Bajoran that Laren didn’t recognize.

She lifted her phaser. “Don’t make me ask again,” she said coolly.

He slitted his eyes at her, his heavily lined face crinkling with the expression. He looked worried for an instant, but then smiled. “My name is Darrah Mace,” he told her. “I’ve come here from Valo II. Now, how about you tell me who you are?”

“My cell found this ship two days ago,” she told him, her phaser still trained on the stranger. “I was here first.”

The man laughed. “Just how old are you? Twelve? You still haven’t told me your name, by the way.”

“I’m Ro,” she said firmly, hearing the sound of the airlock starting to open. “And that will be Bram, the leader of my cell. It’s two against one now, so you’d better shove off. This ship is ours.” Laren stood her ground, her phaser still pointed directly at Mace’s head.

“And just what do you propose to do with that?” The man smirked, folding his arms in a self-satisfied expression that infuriated her.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said shove off.” She indicated her phaser. “This thing’s stun setting is broken, but the rest of it works just fine.”

Twelve!She’d been fourteen for better than two months.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

™, ® and © 2008 by CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved. STAR TREK and related marks are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc.

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ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-9177-1

ISBN-10: 1-4165-9177-X

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For Thad

Sorry I was such a jerk during rewrites

—B. D.

For Myk and the boys

—S. D. P.

Acknowledgments

Britta De

Thad De

For their emotional support:

My husband, Thad; my parents, Ben Burdett and Barbara Burdett; my sibs, Brooke Minas, Barbi Buresh, and Brady Burdett; the in-laws and baby-sitters extraordinaire, Judy De

Extra super special thanks goes out to my BFF S. D. Perry, who has been a valuable mentor and invaluable friend.

S. D. Perry also thanks Paula Block and Marco Palmieri, James Swallow, and all the Trek writers, past and present; her marvelous husband, two perfect kids, and the lovely ladies at the School of Autism who keep the faith. Oh, and Britta, who’s way, way cooler than she thinks she is, and also came up with all the really interesting parts.

OCCUPATION YEAR EIGHTEEN 2345 (Terran Calendar)

Prologue

The Bajoran vessel fled into the Denorios Belt, chasing salvation it would never find.

Malyn Ocett fought the involuntary curling of her lips as the tiny ship tried to evade her; there was opportunity here, but also peril. As a newly minted dalin assigned to captain the Cardassian scoutship Kevaluon her first patrol of the B’hava’el system, this was exactly the chance she needed to prove herself worthy of the command that had been only grudgingly entrusted to her. But failure to stop the errant Bajoran craft would validate those who had opposed her assignment—and Ocett knew she had no shortage of detractors in the military—effectively ending her career before it could even begin.

And that I will not allow.

“Close the distance, helm,” she said aloud. “Communications, open a cha

“Target is receiving us, Dalin.”

“Bajoran vessel. This is the Union scoutship Kevalu. You are in breach of travel restrictions. I give you opportunity to turn back and surrender to Cardassian authority or I will be forced to take action.”

Silence answered her.

“They’re increasing speed,” her pilot said.

“Stay with them.” The Kevaluvibrated as it pierced the Denorios Belt, a tempestuous ring of charged plasma that encircled Bajor’s star between the orbits of the seventh and eighth planets. Normally avoided by spacecraft as a navigation hazard, the Belt had in recent years become the obvious first destination for Bajorans foolish enough to attempt illicit travel out of their home system.

“Bajoran vessel. This insolence will not be tolerated. Power down immediately or I will open fire.”

The alarming rise in terrorism since the start of the a

Still no answer from the Bajoran ship. The gil ma

Ocett tended to believe the Bajorans were nowhere near as organized as Central Command seemed to think. The randomness and utter lack of sophistication exhibited by the insurgents spoke to scattered and unaffiliated groups, not a network. But orders were orders.

“Tactical, power up disruptors and target their stardrive,” she said. “Send them a warning shot—I want them disabled, not destroyed.”

“Target acquired. Firing disruptors.”

Ocett watched in satisfaction as light blossomed on the engine case of the oblong vessel’s aft hull. “Direct hit,” the tac officer reported u