by Dayton Ward
Reyes suddenly noticed for the first time that Fisher was on the bridge. “The hell are you doing here, Zeke?” As Fisher opened his mouth to lie, Reyes cut him off. “Never mind. It’s just as well. You’re joining me in the landing party.”
Oh, great, Fisher thought. This is exactly what I needed. Why didn’t I just go to sickbay?
“Captain,” Sadler said. “You aren’t truly considering going down there yourself while there are Klingons still occupying the colony?”
“That wouldn’t be my first choice,” Reyes granted, “but I have no real expectation they’re going to leave anytime soon. The fact is, we aren’t going to find out what’s really going on from up here. Talking to the Arkenites is our best bet.”
“Assuming the Klingons allow it, you mean.”
“They’ll allow it,” Gannon said.
“How can you be sure of that?” Sadler asked.
“Denying the captain’s request would be the same as admitting they have something to hide. The fact that they were trying to goad us into firing the first shot means they’re concerned about justifying their actions here.”
Sadler folded his arms, his skepticism palpable. “Since when do Klingons have to justify anything beyond the need to expand their empire? It seems as if everything they do falls rather conveniently under that aegis.”
Gannon shook her head. “They’re governed by a code of honor, Lieutenant, even if we may not always recognize it as such. It’s complex and faceted, but make no mistake: there isn’t any action they take that isn’t guided by it.”
Fisher saw Reyes watching Gannon intently.
“Message from the Chech’Iw, sir,” Kendrick said. “They say our request has been granted, and they’ve provided transporter coordinates. But we have to limit the landing party to three individuals.”
Sadler spread his hands. “Sir . . .”
“Mister Kendrick,” Reyes said, “kindly acknowledge our receipt of the Chech’Iw’s message, and inform them our people will be beaming down shortly. Also, I want a coded report of what we know of the situation so far sent to Starfleet Command, including the Klingons’ claim regarding the Arkenites, and a request for instructions. Gannon, Zeke, you’re with me. Mister Sadler, you have the conn.”
“Captain, I want to go on record as advising against your leading this landing party,” said Sadler.
“Your objection is duly noted, Lieutenant. But I’m not passing on this opportunity, especially when we have the advantage.”
“What advantage?”
“We agree to the Klingons’ terms, and they’re more likely to think they have things under control. They’ll have their guard down. I intend to use that.”
Sadler remained skeptical. “Fine. Have it your way. But with the captain’s permission, I have a few suggestions. . . .”
As the transporter effect dissipated, Fisher found himself surrounded by Klingons.
Four of them were at the beam-down coordinates, a fairly antiquated-looking transporter room on Sublevel 1 of the colony, ten meters below the surface of the asteroid. To no one’s surprise, the Klingons met the landing party with weapons drawn. Their leader, a scowling lieutenant who identified himself as Dravak, required them to surrender their hand lasers before he would let them any farther into the settlement. He also scanned the team’s communicators and Fisher’s medical kit for explosives, and only when he was thoroughly satisfied with the results did Dravak authorize two of his subordinates, a male and a female, to escort the Dauntless officers inside.
No one was sure what to make of what they saw when they went through the door.
In dim corridors that had obviously suffered recent and extensive structural damage, Arkenites and Klingons worked side by side to effect repairs, shoring up load-bearing walls and compromised support columns. The Klingons were all military, but they wore bulky utility vests over their uniforms. Kits and crates containing tools too big to fit in the vests sat on the floor.
“This isn’t an occupation force,” Fisher heard Gannon say. “These are engineers.” Reyes could only nod mutely, frowning as he took it all in.
Fisher watched the Arkenites. The ones they passed all seemed healthy and in good spirits. None of them appeared to be in distress. This wasn’t forced labor. It was willing cooperation.
The Dauntless officers were eventually led to a door marked with a sign in both Arkenzu and Federation Standard: ADMINISTRATOR DUVADI. The Klingons ushered them through the door, then followed them inside.
The office was more spacious than Fisher expected for a mining colony, but he quickly saw why: it doubled as a conference room. The center was dominated by a table big enough to seat ten, with a desk at the far end of the room.
From behind the desk came a shout: “My God, you’re Starfleet!” To Fisher’s surprise, the speaker was not an Arkenite, but a human—an auburn-headed man of average height, though to Fisher’s eyes he seemed pale and a little gaunt. As the Klingons took watchful positions in adjacent corners at the opposite end of the room, the man came out from behind the desk, unmistakably overjoyed. “They told me they wanted me to meet with someone, but they didn’t say who it would be. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you!”
Reyes moved toward him and shook his hand, clearly wanting to keep their conversation as far from the guards as possible. “We’re glad to see you, too, Mister . . . ?”
“Doctor Philippe Latour,” the man said. “I’m the deputy administrator of Azha-R7a.”
“Captain Reyes of the Starship Dauntless. My first officer, Commander Gannon, and my chief medical officer, Doctor Fisher. We came in answer to your distress call.”
“Better late than never, I suppose,” Latour said with a nervous laugh as he glanced at the guards across the room. “Dare I hope you’re here to relieve our current benefactors?”
“We’re working on it,” Reyes said, and then gestured toward the conference table. “All right if we sit down? There’s a lot we don’t understand about what’s going on here, and it was our hope you could shed some light on it.”
“Please,” Latour said, taking the seat at the head of the table while Reyes sat down on his left. Gannon remained standing, situating herself where she could watch them as well as the Klingons.
Fisher set down his medkit and opened his tricorder. “Mind if I run a scan on you while you chat with the captain, Doctor?”
“I guess not. So, uh, where would you like me to start, Captain?”
“What prompted the distress call?”
“There was an explosion near our energy reactor, at one of the power distribution nodes. A majority of the colonists were trapped in a sealed sector of the facility with a toxic coolant leak. Our transporter was out, and we had only hours before the coolant would reach lethal levels. The Klingons arrived just in time, but they offered their assistance on the condition that the colonists swear loyalty to the Empire.”
Fisher glanced at Gannon. The commander frowned, not in anger but in confusion.
“The Klingons gave assurances that we’d be well treated and see little change in our day-to-day lives,” Latour went on. “Doctor Duvadi—she’s our chief administrator—she didn’t take long to agree to the Klingons’ terms on behalf of the entire colony. There were children at risk during the crisis, entire families, and there was no way Duvadi would let them die. The Klingons sent work crews in, sealed the leak, freed the people who were trapped, and coordinated with our miners and engineers to repair the damaged areas. So far, they’ve been true to their word.”
Reyes’s eyes smoldered as he listened. “True to their word or not, Doctor, I can assure you that no agreement your people made under duress will be allowed to stand. I’m not about to permit Federation citizens to be blackmailed into becoming subjects of the Empire.”
“Captain, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that,” Latour said, “but I have to warn you, it isn’t going to be that simple.”
“Doctor Latour, are you
aware you’re anemic?” Fisher asked as he closed his tricorder.
“What? I am?”
Fisher tsked and opened his medkit to prepare a hypospray. “I can just imagine what the dietary deficiencies are in a place like this. I’m going to give you an iron supplement, if you have no objection.”
Latour shrugged and nodded his assent.
“Doctor Latour,” Reyes said, “what exactly did you mean when you said it wouldn’t be that simple?”
As Fisher’s hypo hissed against the deputy administrator’s shoulder, Latour said, “I don’t know how much experience you have with Arkenites, Captain, but they have very strict ideas about the repayment of debt. It’s a cultural thing, deeply ingrained. None of them wanted to leave the Federation or cooperate with the Klingons, but their code of ethics doesn’t permit them to do otherwise. Every Arkenite here feels an obligation to repay the Klingons for their assistance, in spite of the way it was offered. I’m sorry to say it, but your biggest problem in this mess may not be the Klingons.”
Fisher reopened his tricorder and ran another scan of Latour.
“Where is Doctor Duvadi?” asked Reyes.
Latour shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since she was summoned to the laboratory wing thirty hours ago. The Klingons set up their command post there and locked it off right after Duvadi agreed to their terms. That’s when they put me in her office.”
“The lab wing,” Reyes said. “Where is it, exactly?”
“On this level. Not that far. I could show you, but it wouldn’t do any good. It’s off limits.”
Reyes nodded to Fisher, who touched a specific control on his tricorder—one that Lieutenant Sadler had reprogrammed before they’d beamed down. A prolonged hiss from Fisher’s Sadler-modified medkit was the only obvious sign that anything had changed. The Klingon guards reacted to the sound, drawing their distruptors as they started toward the humans, but both fell unconscious before they could go three steps.
While Gannon moved to recover the guards’ weapons, Reyes stood and flipped open his communicator. “Reyes to Dauntless.”
“Sadler here,” came the response. “Orders, Captain?”
“Send in the troops, Mister Sadler. Mine level sixteen, zone yellow.”
“Acknowledged. . . . Troops away. Shall I beam you up?”
“Negative. Restore shields and stand by for further instructions. Reyes out.”
Gannon returned and handed a disruptor to Reyes, then offered one to Fisher.
“Don’t you need one?” the doctor asked.
She held up her other hand, revealing a third disruptor. “One of the guards had a spare.”
“Swell,” Fisher said as he reluctantly took the Klingon weapon, hoping he’d be able to find its stun setting.
Latour looked at the Dauntless officers in abject confusion. “I don’t understand. What’s going on? Why did the guards—?”
“Anesthetic gas,” Fisher explained quickly. “Packed in liquid form among the medicinal vials of my medkit, and triggered from my tricorder to be released as an aerosol.”
“But why weren’t we—?”
“The three of us were immunized before we left the ship,” said Fisher, and then gave Latour a friendly pat on the shoulder where he’d applied the hypo. “You were immunized a few minutes ago.”
“But what good is that going to do?” Latour asked as he turned to Reyes. “This level is still full of Klingons, and you had your ship send troops to a level that’s currently empty of—”
“Shhh,” said Reyes, his eyes scanning the ceiling. “Wait for it.”
Moments later, an alert Klaxon blared over the colony’s comm system. Klingon shouts and rapid footfalls began to sound outside the office.
Reyes moved immediately to a position near the door. Gannon took the opposite side. Fisher grabbed Latour’s arm and led him against the wall next to Gannon.
Then they heard the bleat of a Klingon communicator. It was coming from one of the unconscious guards.
“Damn,” Reyes whispered.
Gannon blurred past him, skidding to a crouch next to the female Klingon. She found the device and raised it to her mouth.
“nuq DaneH?” she barked. “. . . HISlaH. net Sov! . . . jIyaj. latlh De’ wIloSneS.” She closed the connection and hurried back to her place at the door. “They think we’re secure,” she told Reyes. “I bought us a few extra minutes.”
“You’re full of surprises today, Commander.”
“Just doing my job, sir.”
“And then some,” Reyes acknowledged. “Keep it up, Hallie.” The noise outside the door had lessened considerably, reduced to the deep drone of the Klaxon. “Zeke, can you give me a reading?”
Fisher handed his disruptor to Latour and ran a new scan with his medical tricorder, setting the biosign range to maximum. “Corridor’s clear. No Klingons within a hundred meters.”
“What about the civilians?”
“Looks like they went for cover.” He looked up at Reyes as he closed the device. “I think this is our window, Diego.”
“All right,” Reyes said, his hand hovering over the door’s manual control. “On my mark.”
Fisher looked at Latour and nodded at the disruptor. “You want to hang on to that?” he asked hopefully.
Latour looked horrified. “I don’t know how to use one!”
“Terrific,” Fisher said, and unstrapped his tricorder. “Switch with me. Keep an eye on the screen for Klingon life signs.”
“And . . . now,” Reyes said, slapping the button. The captain went out first, verified the absence of enemy combatants, and gave the others the all-clear. “Doctor Latour, you’re with me. Which way?”
Latour pointed.
“Stay behind me,” Reyes told the civilian. “Gannon, watch our stern.” He sprinted down to the end of the corridor and peered around it as the others caught up. Once again, no one stood in their way.
The next few corridors were as deserted as the first two, albeit riddled with abandoned tools and cases. Unfinished repair jobs marred the walls and ceiling.
“Talk to me, Latour,” Reyes whispered as they approached another bend. “Are we clear?”
Latour swallowed as he panned the tricorder. “Um . . .”
“Don’t wave it around so fast,” Fisher advised. “Give it a chance to work.”
“I think we’re—”
“bIH vISam!”
—so screwed, Fisher thought as he pulled Latour into cover behind a support column. Disruptor fire burned the air. A few steps ahead of them, Reyes found shelter behind a tool crate, while several meters behind, Gannon returned fire from a recessed doorway along the corridor, shooting past her fellow officers.
Their attackers, firing rifles from behind a thick cross brace at the next T-junction, were two of the biggest Klingons Fisher had ever seen.
“What are you doing?” Latour yelled as Fisher fumbled to reset the disruptor. “Start firing back!”
“Son,” Fisher grated as enemy fire seared the wall between them, “I’ve gotten this far in my Starfleet career without taking another sentient life, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna start now.”
“Are you crazy?” cried Latour. “They’re going to kill us!”
“Zeke!” Reyes shouted, trying to get off a shot from behind the crate and failing. The Klingons kept him pinned. He nodded in their direction. “The ceiling!”
Fisher looked, saw what Reyes meant, and stared back at his friend in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I can’t make the shot!” Reyes snarled. “Gannon’s at the wrong angle! It’s gotta be you!”
Another blast tore into the column. Fragments flew. “I’m getting too old for this!” Fisher yelled at Reyes, blinking sweat from his eyes as he tried to take aim.
“Oh, really?” Reyes yelled back, ducking lower to escape more suppression fire. “I seem to recall you saying the same thing ten years ago back on the Artemis! Exactly when the hell were you young eno
ugh for this, Zeke?”
“Will you just shut up?!” Fisher shouted, and pressed the trigger.
The beam struck true, blasting through a severely compromised section of the rock ceiling supported by the cross brace. Chunks of rock broke free, descending on the Klingons in a cloud of dust. Fisher waited for the inevitable cave-in, or for the burly Klingons to shrug off the debris, madder than ever. But after nearly a minute of silence and slowly dissipating cloud, neither of his expectations was met.
Reyes, covered in fine gray dust, cautiously picked himself up off the floor. Fisher squinted down the corridor. The brace was still there, as was the thick rock roof that protected them from hard vacuum. The Klingons could be heard groaning under the pile of rubble.
Reyes nodded in approval. “That was nice work.”
“I want a transfer,” Fisher said.
Reyes scoffed. “No, you don’t.”
“You’re gonna get me killed!”
“You’re too ornery to die.”
“Are you gentlemen finished?” Gannon asked as she made her way past them. “We haven’t reached our objective yet.”
“Fine, you take point this time,” Reyes said. “I’ll bring up the rear.”
Fisher sighed and went to coax Doctor Latour to his feet. The poor fellow had gone fetal at some point during the firefight, and needed reassurance that the immediate danger was past.
They picked their way past the fallen Klingons and finally reached the entrance to the facility’s laboratory wing, but the door was sealed. Gannon pried open a nearby maintenance panel, started making adjustments to the hardware within, and was just about to force the door when it suddenly opened.
Standing just beyond the threshold was Gorkon.
Tall and imposing as ever, the Klingon looked as if he were cut from stone. His elaborate baldric was emblazoned with the symbols of his rank and House, and his personal dagger—his d’k tagh, Fisher remembered—showed prominently at his hip. A pair of armed guards stood just behind each of his broad shoulders, and an all too familiar hint of derision tugged at the corners of his mouth.
