After the call from Starfleet, Ross stepped from his ready room onto the bridge, nodding at communications.
“Anything?” he asked.
Ensign Weller shook his head, certainly knowing what the question was; Ross had asked more than once in the past day since the U.S.S. Cerberus, Prometheus-class, had led the Federation fleet to the rendezvous in the Gentariat system. “Negative, sir. Still no acknowledgment from Captain Picard.”
Damn. Lieutenant Faro had pointed out that the Badlands were notorious for garbling communications, and Ross hoped very much that he was right, that it was radiation interference keeping Jean-Luc from calling in—because the Enterprise-E had apparently fallen off the edge of the universe, and they couldn’t wait a moment longer. The Klingon and Romulan fleets had already departed.
The admiral moved to his chair and sat, wishing that things were different, feeling sick with irresolution and
dread. The nightmares from less than fifteen weeks before were still perfectly clear for him, haunting his every waking hour and many of his sleeping ones. Another war was unthinkable; the idea of new devastation raining down on societies still in ashes . . . the apocalyptic breadth of such a sin was enough to drive a man mad. Standing with Ben on Cardassia, he’d seen how easy it could be to lose one’s mind from horror.
Standing with Ben on Cardassia . . .
Ross had seen many terrible things, but the sheer magnitude of the destruction and loss of life on Cardassia had been brutal beyond words. Mangled bodies littering the streets, buildings burning, the oily, grim dusk of choking smoke and dust settling over it all like a fetid shroud. It was Cardassia that Ross saw in his dreams; Cardassia was the realization of war, and he didn’t know if he could bear for it to happen again.
Which is why this investigation is so very important, why it must be carried out immediately and forcefully. He could never let himself forget that the Dominion had been responsible for the holocaust he’d witnessed, and he would do everything in his power to stop them from creating another.
Violence begets violence. Peace at any cost. The two contradicted and confirmed one another, battling for higher ground, but Ross had his orders, however he felt about it; the Federation Council had spoken.
“We can’t wait,” Ross said, settling back into his chair, hoping beyond hope that they were doing the right thing. “Open a channel to the fleet; we’re moving out.”