by Timothy Zahn
Or toward wherever it was Commander Ukuthi was sending them.
Meekan was apparently thinking along the same lines. “You think we can trust him, sir?” the aide asked.
“Ukuthi?” Barrington shook his head. “I don’t know. A cruiser like the Dorian would be a fine catch for one of the demesnes we’re fighting. On the other hand, those demesnes can’t possibly expect that we’d be any easier to take intact than any other Dominion warship they’ve tangled with.”
“Perhaps Ukuthi is trying to split our forces,” Meekan suggested. “Hoping to take us out one at a time instead of having to face the task force as a whole.”
“That one’s marginally more likely,” Barrington said. “But whatever Ukuthi’s game, we know there’s at least one other player involved. Someone thought it was worth the effort of chasing him all the way to the Hoibe’ryi’sarai home world and sitting on him, whether it was this Tua’lanek’zia or someone else. I think it more likely that Ukuthi’s looking at the possibilities of having a Dominion warship on his side in whatever tangled politics he’s mixed up in.”
“And is using Qasama’s location as a bargaining chip?” Meekan shrugged. “Yes, that makes sense. The next question is whether he’ll deliver that chip as promised or try to hang onto it against future bargaining.”
Barrington felt his throat tighten. “I wouldn’t put it past him,” he said. “On the other hand, stringing a client along carries its own set of risks. Especially when that client has the kind of firepower that we do.”
“True,” Meekan said. “And there’s something Ukuthi doesn’t know: it’s entirely possible that Commodore Santores will have gotten Qasama’s location from one of the Brooms by the time we reach the other end of this trip. If he has, Ukuthi’s bargaining power will be gone and we may be able to get some genuine information out of him.”
“Possibly,” Barrington agreed. “And either way, we’ll have Qasama.”
“We’ll have Qasama,” Meekan agreed, looking closely at his captain. “I confess I still don’t understand why the commodore is so adamant on finding it.”
“It’s very simple, Lieutenant,” Barrington said, his stomach tightening. In theory, a mere lieutenant shouldn’t be privy to such information. In actual practice, senior command aides were usually exempt from such barriers. “Qasama is Commodore Santores’s flying bridge.”
Meekan blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Do you know why Dominion warships still have flying bridges?” Barrington asked. “Or haven’t you ever wondered about that?”
“The latter, I suppose,” Meekan admitted. “I’ve assumed they were there because warships have always had them.”
Barrington shook his head. “That’s what I used to think, too. It wasn’t until after I graduated that I was able to track down the real reason.”
He gestured upward, toward the flying bridge riding the hull far above the CoNCH’s armored ceiling. “It’s a sucker trap, Lieutenant. It holds two men, has control and power circuits in and around it, and looks every bit like a control node or targeting station or something of intrinsic military value. The very fact that it’s so open and vulnerable makes it a tempting target for any enemy who manages to get that close.”
“Only there’s nothing really there,” Meekan murmured. “Just a repeater station with a water tank behind it.”
“Which, if the enemy’s shot gets through, will spew a ton of instant-freezing ice crystals straight at him,” Barrington said. “Which will in turn generate surprise, confusion, loss of clear targeting, and possible overload of his point defenses. Not a bad return for some wiring, some water, and two lives.”
“I see,” Meekan said, his voice sounding strange. “And you say Qasama is…?”
Barrington sighed. “Our orders are to lure the Trofts into a trap,” he said quietly. “The original plan was to use the Cobra Worlds as bait. Now that we know about Qasama, Commodore Santores feels it will work even better.”
Meekan seemed to digest that. “What if the Qasamans don’t feel like taking the brunt of another Troft incursion?”
“I don’t think the commodore was going to offer them a choice.”
“No, I suppose he wasn’t,” Meekan murmured. “May God have mercy on their souls.”
No,” Barrington said, a shiver running through him. Meekan hadn’t seen the full transcript of the Brooms’ testimony. Barrington had. “May God have mercy on ours.”
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
