Zog Gabrel

He hoped it would be enough. Zog Gabrel exhaled raggedly, finally letting his arm collapse. Lifting his head from the deck, he watched his tricorder clatter across the deck as it bounced away from him. The humming remained unbroken, confirming its continued emission of thermionic radiation. An empty biohazard container lay several meters away, its gelatinous contents spilled across the entire width of the deck. Blinking from the pain in his back and leg, he squinted, seeking the tell-tale glow of the radiation-activated biogel. He’d heard the station’s self-destruct countdown reach zero with no effect. He realized fatalistically, that this might very well be his planet’s only hope. Unleashing the weapon that had been used against the Cardassian and renegade ships seemed only appropriate. He only hoped the same horror would turn these unknown aliens aside as well, make them abandon the station and their invasion of his homeworld. They needed a demonstration of their resolve. He’d seen such actions on Quatal Prime, when the Maquis had poisoned the very air around him with cobalt diselenide, just to render the colony uninhabitable to Cardassians. Shadows moved behind him as he watched the morphogenic gel begin to bubble and grow. He hoped the captain had gotten those Midway doors closed. He hoped he’d made it far enough inside to affect the invader’s ship. From behind, large hands grabbed and vaulted him to his feet. The pain of his broken back made the world swoon and darken. He stared into the face of the enemy, then at the seething toxic beyond him. Despite himself, Gabrel couldn’t surpress a bitter chuckle at the irony. Zog Gabrel, noted scientist, proctor of planetary science, distainer of all things military, was about to go the way of a hero in the epic Never-Ending Sacrifice. He felt the life being crushed out of him, even as the activated biogel began ravaging all those around him. “Long live Aegis,” he managed from his labored lungs. “Cardassia forever.” And the rest, was silence.

Weapons fire erupted around the Midway’s egress to Pylon 1. Commander Nicholas Ayers waved other retreating officers past him, glancing over to the Ferengi security officer beside him. “We hold them as long as possible,” he called to Lieutenant Muon Quark. “If we give up ground, so be it. This is a delaying action.” As if to punctuate his order, Ayers fired into the Midway. An orange beam lanced out, connecting one end of his phaser with an approaching alien, stopping its charge in mid-stride. The massive form tottered, then slammed into the deck. * * * * * The lifeless body jarred Zog Gabrel, himself lying a mass of debris and fallen bodies in the Midway. The Cardassian science officer stirred, shaking his head, and was rewarded by a searing pain in his left shoulder. He inhaled suddenly, seeing the debris, and hearing the chaos of the weapons fire on both sides of him. Where was he? Still dazed, he felt someone approach behind him. Lieutenant (j.g.) Victor Images crawled alongside, keeping low from the weapons fire. “Are you alright, mate?” he asked. From even further behind, a voice shouted, “Images, get yourself and Gabral the hell out of there!” Even in his confused state, Gabrel noted the El-Aurian accent, which always mispronounced his name; clearly, the order had come from Commander Ayers. Images touched Gabrel’s wrist to feel a pulse. In response, the Cardassian rolled to one side, blinking to focus. “Doctor?” he asked, starting to remember where he was. He groaned at the phaser burn to his upper torso. What was he doing in the middle of a weapons fight? This was no place for a scientist of his caliber. “Zog,” Images prompted with some urgency, “can you walk?” Gabrel flinched at more weapons fire, ignoring both the doctor’s use of his familial name and the question itself. Instead, he was struck by the fact he was lying here without a weapon. Or was he? “How long was I out?” he asked, suddenly intent on searching for something around him. Images didn’t answer him either, instead reaching out to heft Zog over his shoulder. The Cardassian yanked his arms back and pushed away from the lieutenant. “Keep your hands off me, doctor,” he snarled. Where did it go? Gabrel began to search among the debris from a crouched position. Images’ voice was firm, “I was ordered to get you out of here, Mr. Gabrel, and I damn well intend on following that order.” Gabrel stood, oblivious to the shots passing over him. Images leaned forward to forcibly carry him, but the Cardassian shoved him again, roughly. “Then I’m afraid you're about to disappoint your superiors.” He turned, still standing, and surveyed the deck around them. * * * * * Back at the Midway entrance, Ayers saw the two officers step into his line of sight. “Mr. Gabral, finish what you were doing and be quick about it!” he barked. “We're not going to be staying here forever!” Nicholas paused, recognizing the irony in his remark. With some surprise, he saw the Cardassian shoot a look back at him. “Then go!” Gabrel shouted, stumbling toward one of the walls. Ayers watched as Images used the distraction to pull a hypo. The doctor flipped it in one hand and reached out for the Cardassian’s prodigious neck. But Gabrel had already spun around. With surprising force, the scientist drove his fist into Image’s face, sending him backward. Taking aim, Ayers growled “I'm going to kill those two myself.” Instead, he picked off two aliens approaching their position. * * * * * Jarred by the impact, Victor Images grabbed his face as he hit the deck. “Bloody hell!” he blurted. He craned his neck back toward the Commander and Lieutenant Quark, “Sir, he’s not coming!” * * * * * Undeterred, Gabrel knew what he was looking for – the reason he’d walked into the middle of this mayhem. At last, he saw it. An arm-length medical cannister leaned against a chunk of charred duriform. Gabrel darted toward it, scrambling over debris and another fallen alien to reach it. * * * * * Images could see the invaders getting closer to their position as more debris rained down on him. Cautiously, he rolled into a crouch. “Get back here, doc!” called Ayer. Despite the order, Images shouted toward his errant quarry. “Mr. Gabrel, come with me, now!” He saw the Cardassian lifting up some sort of cannister, like the ones they kept in sickbay. “I’m pulling rank,” he demanded, “You’re a civilian. Now, move!” * * * * * Gabrel could hear the doctor, but pulling rank was most certainly not the way to get his attention. Besides, he’d been committed to this action since he’d decided to steal the cannister from their sickbay. He knew he couldn’t let the Starfleet people just fall back. They had to drive the invaders from the station, from the system – with fear, if necessary – or Cardassia was lost, again. With nervous energy, he finished tapping in the combination to the cannister. He pried open the lid, revealing the morphogenic gel they’d collected. * * * * * Ayers glanced back from the captain, who was working fervently on the computer relays, to the few people who remained in the Midway. He fired off three quick pulses, downing the aliens closest to Gabrel in quick succession. “Doctor Images, get your… tail back here now!” he shouted again. “We'll cover Gabral as best we can!” * * * * * For his part, Victor stood up, nodded, and barreled back toward their position. He glanced toward Muon as he reached them. Her face told him the perimeter was falling. He could see others taking what shots they could; there were wounded to tend to. From among them, Captain Meve’s clear command voice announced, “Seal the hatch!” * * * * * His goal achieved, Gabrel looked up to see the invaders were nearly upon him. He glanced back towards the others. He’d hoped to be much further away from them; he’d hoped he could spread the contagion without exposing himself. But it was too late. If they killed him now… He plunged his hand into the container, feeling the biomimetic ooze in his hand. He pulled back his arm, scooping the gel, and heaved it. Pain pierced his wrist and fingers and he watched the greenish goo impact on the closest cluster of aliens. “Gabral,” Ayers bellowed, “we could have shot the canister!” Gabrel registered the El-Aurian’s comment, but knew that he and Dr. Jones had chosen the L-647-X-7 container specifically because of its resistance to directed energy. The combination of its extruded duranium casing and magnetic suspension system made it ideal for encasing volatile and biohazardous substances, for which it was designed. If only the toxin had been a liquid or gas , he thought with detachment as he plunged his hand in again. I might have been spared being such a crude delivery system. He charged toward the remaining aliens, flinging biogel in his wake. * * * * * Ayers felt the bulkhead behind him starting to move, closing. Still watching Gabrel running further into the Midway, he stepped back, placing himself behind the line where it would soon be sealed off from Pylon 1. Overhead, the computer intoned, in some nameless male voice: “Self destruct sequence has been activated. Two minutes and ten seconds remaining.” Captain Meve had finally moved away from the console, shouting directly into the Midway, “Everyone get back here now!” Ayers kept watching, seeing that several of the aliens had stopped firing and, although standing, were starting to stagger. Stooping to help an injured crewman under the half-closed bulkhead, he saw Gabrel look back and pause. Then he was gone, running further into the Midway toward the docking array, until a new column of arriving aliens obscured him from sight. Ayers fired off more shots for good measure, then ducked again and grabbed Muon by the uniform. He yanked her under the bulkhead. The Ferengi kept firing even as she slid under the narrow clearance. She watched the door settle into place, sealing itself with a slow hiss. “Um, thank you, sir,” she offered. “Everyone get through?” She glanced around, trying to get a head count. Ayers glanced through the transparent aluminum in the direction the Cardassian scientist had gone. “No, Lieutenant,” he replied, “everyone did not get through.”'

The privacy seal of his office on Deck 36 had been invoked. Inside, Gabrel ran a finger along the ridge of his right eye, an idiosyncrasy he adopted when thinking. He read through the proposal he’d prepared for Ambassador Drankum, gauging the tone: Ambassador, With your ears on the financial situation of our sector, you are no doubt aware of the discovery of extremely valuable ores in the Okrand Gorge on Cardassia IV. I believe the Aegis project can play a vital role than can change the future of post-war recovery. Let me be blunt. The presence of your space station has become a source of tension for my government. Our people no longer see Aegis as a center of reconstruction but as the Federation’s eye in the sky. This has undoubtedly motivated the recent direction to move into an independent position in the system. But there is a place where Aegis can do more good. You may know that vendarite, while valuable, is an ore whose structure requires a complex and expensive extraction process, both technically and labor-intensive. The reality is, however, that Cardassia cannot afford to divert resources away from rebuilding our infrastructure and feeding the people. We lack the means to exploit this new source of wealth – the very thing that could speed recovery. What we need is help getting out these resources. What we need is capital. Under your leadership, the Aegis project has helped reconstruct our homeworld, strengthened our relationship with the Federation, and offered the Ferengi Alliance financial in-roads that should profitable for decades. This new opportunity can only expand these goals. I propose that the Ferengi Alliance fund and spearhead the mining of vendarite on Cardassia IV, moving Aegis into geostationary orbit as a support facility. I have recently been assigned as scientific liaison to the space station; I can represent this proposal before my government. I believe the Federation can be convinced to provide technical oversight – it would give them a non-military reason to remain in our system. In the last century, Cardassia IV was pillaged by our military. It was home to the infamous Hutet labor camp, where troublesome Bajorans were relocated during our occupation of their world. We have a chance to change the planet’s legacy and provide a peaceful means to build a new Cardassia. I beg you, please consider this proposition. Zog Gabrel Proctor, Planetary Science Lakat Imperial Institute He strummed his fingers on the desk, weighing his options. Gabrel had not cleared his proposal with either his own government or with the command staff of the station. The politicians might bristle at increasing the Ferengi presence. The whole thing was risky. Despite the captain’s assurance, Gabrel had seen recent evidence of the difficulties Starfleet still had dealing with “the stench of Cardassia." For their part, they were making a good show of "disciplining" their officer - not that it mattered to Gabrel. One didn't rise to skill in academic circles without developing thick skin. He smirked at the pun. At any rate, Captain Meve might not rally to his suggestion, which could cause it's own problems. Then again, he hadn’t asked for this assignment. He pushed the Send command. He leaned back in the warm darkness into the unnecessarily soft chair. Let them see what they were getting in a chief science officer.