“Not for much longer, Threl.” Leaning forward, Valdore punched a button, opening up a comm channel.
“Colonel T’Luadh here, Admiral,” said the voice on the channel’s other end.
“Your charge has just proved himself a thoroughgoing traitor, T’Laudh,” Valdore said in a quiet growl. “Kill him.”
There was a pause on the comm, and he wondered if that, too, might be attributable to Cunaehr’s cursed tampering.
“But he has not yet completed his work bringing the new ships up to full speed,” T’Luadh replied.
Had Cunaehr ever had any intention of making the Ejhoi Ormiin’s seven high-warp prototype ships fully operational? Valdore bared his teeth as he decided that this no longer mattered to him.
“No one is indispensable, Colonel. Cunaehr tried to communicate with our enemies, and he will pay the price for that crime. Do you understand?”
“It will be done, Admiral. At once. T’Luadh out.”
Valdore rose and faced Threl, meeting his gaze squarely. “Back to the business at hand. We will grind En’ter’priz, Starfleet, and their ragtag allies beneath our heels. By the time our reinforcements arrive, we will be ready to sweep across the Coalition and lay waste to the hevam homeworld itself.
“Advise me the moment you are ready to renew the attack.”
TWENTY-NINE
Enterprise NX-01
ARCHER WATCHED THE FIGURES that Hoshi Sato and Donna O’Neill were running through their paces across the many monitor screens that festooned the situation room. “It’s definitely software,” Hoshi said as she worked. “An executable computer program.”
“I’m not sure that was ever seriously in doubt,” O’Neill said. “What I’d like to know is this: If this…program really did come to us from a secret ally aboard the Romulan flagship, and if it really is capable of sabotaging their fleet, then why didn’t this mysterious ‘Lazarus’ simply put it to use himself instead of handing it off to us?”
Archer spread his hands. “There could be any number of reasons. Maybe he can’t do it without rousing suspicion. Sending a quick burst transmission to us—and trusting us to figure out the rest—might have been his only real option.”
“Or maybe this ‘Lazarus’ isn’t actually the friendly we’re assuming him to be,” O’Neill said. “Sir.”
“So far, I’m satisfied that Lazarus is playing on the same team we are,” Archer said. “I’m much more interested at the moment in figuring out exactly what all this code is supposed to do.”
“That question might be even tougher to answer,” O’Neill said. “The software didn’t come with a user’s manual. And with Commander T’Pol injured…” She trailed off, looking embarrassed.
“It’s all right, D.O.,” Archer said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “T’Pol would be up here with us if she could. But I have faith that you two will have this mystery cracked before she wakes up and Phlox declares her fit.”
O’Neill’s lamentation about T’Pol’s absence was more trenchant than she knew. If T’Pol were conscious and working with the team on the current problem, then the mind-link she shared with Trip probably already would have restored any data that Enterprise’s security protocols had deleted from the transmission. And it doubtless also would have provided Trip’s own expert technical guidance in putting the information to its best and highest use.
Until T’Pol was back among them, they were on their own.
“Is it possible that this is a Romulan security key?” Archer asked, addressing nobody in particular. “Maybe it’s their equivalent to our new prefix-code system.”
“Makes sense to me,” O’Neill said. “After all, burglars always buy the best locks.”
“I’ve been thinking along the same lines,” Hoshi said, her eyes never leaving the fast-moving parade of machine code on the large monitor before her.
Archer found a ray of hope in that. “We already have a piece of Romulan-compatible command-and-control technology at our disposal, thanks to our run-ins with their drone ships before the war. As far as I know, it’s still hooked into the communications grid. Maybe we can use that in conjunction with this software.”
Hoshi paused the data and looked over her shoulder at him. “You mean to send our own commands to their ships’ control consoles?”
“Why not?” Archer said with a grin. “It would serve them right if they got bitten by their own snake.”
“It’s a great idea,” O’Neill said. “But I’ll be damned if I can think of a way to test it.”
“I know one way,” Hoshi said. She returned to her figures, which resumed their quick scrolling in response to her ministrations over the console. “I’ll show you in five minutes.”
“All right,” Hoshi said, visibly crestfallen. “I guess that idea worked better on paper.”
Archer sat in silence, watching the image of what remained of the Romulan fleet—still a considerable force, roughly on par with the Starfleet-allied fleet that kept station near Cheron—as it hung in space, each vessel seeming to maintain a predator’s hungry vigil.
“Where’s the kaboom?” Travis asked. “Shouldn’t the Romulans be powering up their weapons and firing on each other by now?”
“That was the plan,” Archer said with a sigh.
“I was really looking forward to using the Romulans’ own tactical systems against them,” Malcolm said. “Have you noticed those seven ships they’ve kept to the rear throughout this entire engagement? They appear to be of an entirely new configuration, and the Romulans seem to be going to considerable cost to make certain none of them receives so much as a scratch.”
In fact, Archer had noticed that, almost right from the beginning.
Seven ships, he thought, pondering the strange numerical coincidence. He said, “I wonder if those are the seven ships Starfleet thinks have warp-seven engines.”
“I think we can’t afford to dismiss the possibility, Commodore,” Malcolm said. “I recommend we make them priority targets, preferably for capture.”
Archer nodded. “It doesn’t seem likely that we’re going to get our hands on them anytime soon.”
“Because we’ve evidently misinterpreted something about this software that Lazarus sent us,” Malcolm said. “Perhaps it isn’t designed to affect command-and-control systems at all. Perhaps it’s really an elaborate weapon aimed at us.”
“I don’t think so,” Hoshi said. “It’s still not showing any sign of trying to migrate into other systems aboard Enterprise. Maybe we just haven’t sent it the right commands yet.”
“We’ve ordered them to lower their deflector shields and open fire on one another,” Malcolm said. “Starting with their flagship.”
A vertical line on the main viewer split the image area into two large squares. On the left was the static image of the Romulan front line provided through subspace by the long-range sensors. On the right was an incomplete wireframe rendering of the fierce, horseshoe crab–shaped hull of the vessel Malcolm had identified as the central coordinator of the Romulans’ forces. Text callouts and lines pointed out the specific locations of the vessel’s various components—each datum acquired at tremendous cost to both Starfleet and the MACO.
Whatever advantage Archer had hoped would emerge from Lazarus’s unexpected gift seemed to evaporate before his eyes. Without a miracle, frankly, given the battered and depleted condition of his fleet and the long odds against Starfleet’s thinly spread forces arriving soon and in significant numbers, even the reinforcements that Shran and Kolos had provided were unlikely to make much difference in the coming battle.
“Long-range sensors show the Romulan fleet’s weapons heating up,” O’Neill reported from the science station.
“Maybe our little gambit is finally working,” Hoshi said. “Thank you, Mister Lazarus, whoever you are.”
“Perhaps the command codes needed a little time to work their magic,” Malcolm said.
O’Neill let out a whoop. “If we were right
about this, then we should see some lovely fireworks soon.” But the grin on her face collapsed only a few moments later. “Oh, crap.”
Like O’Neill, Malcolm’s expression abruptly turned grim. “They’re not firing. They’re accelerating. Going to warp.”
“Speed?” Archer said.
“A little better than warp two,” Malcolm said. “They’ll be on top of us in approximately eighty seconds. And their weapons will be hot when they arrive.”
“Alert the fleet, as well as Kolos and Shran,” Archer ordered as he turned from Hoshi. “Tactical Alert. Power up shields and polarize hull plating. Lock and load all batteries.”
As his crew and those on the other ships carried out his orders, Archer sat back in his command chair and continued studying the warbird’s schematic. As his eyes moved from system to system, finally coming to the antimatter-containment component, an idea occurred to him.
Leaning forward, Archer turned toward Malcolm. “So far we’ve been concentrating on ordering the Romulan systems to do things.”
“Well, that was the general idea, sir,” said the armory officer with a bemused frown. “What alternative is there?”
“Since we still have a few seconds before the Romulans get here,” Archer said. “Let’s send an order not to do something.”
Warbird Dabhae
Approximately a heartbeat after the Dabhae went to warp, an alarm klaxon began shrieking.
Valdore turned his command chair so that it faced the tactical station behind which Subcommander Threl was working frantically.
Threl had gone pale. But at least he’d managed to mute the klaxon before it awakened the dead.
“What’s wrong?” Valdore barked. This was a most inopportune time for alarm malfunctions, or for hysterics among the senior staff.
Threl looked up from his console, and Valdore saw a light of fear shining in his eyes. “Our antimatter containment system is failing, Admiral. Destruction is nearly upon us.”
“That’s not possible,” Valdore growled.
“Look for yourself, Admiral.” Threl gestured at the console before him.
Valdore approached the console and swore when he saw the displays.
“I want you to track down the source of the fault,” Valdore said. “Repair it.”
“Admiral!” Threl said, desperation coloring his tone. “We have very little time before the engine core breaches explosively. We should abandon ship.”
“Abandon ship? So that our enemies can swoop in and pick off our escape pods like so many lobe-finned in’hhui along the northern Apnex shore?”
Threl made a subtle adjustment to the small receiver that dangled from his right ear. “I have begun receiving calls from other ships in the fleet. We aren’t the only vessel to experience this…difficulty.”
Valdore realized that this could be no mere malfunction or accident. Someone was responsible. The culprit had to be Cunaehr. Or En’ter’priz. Or perhaps both.
“Drop us out of warp,” Valdore shouted. “Order the rest of the fleet to do likewise.”
And if we cannot resolve our engine trouble immediately thereafter, he thought, then I will make certain this vessel takes Archer with us on the voyage to cold Erebus.
The hefty disruptor pistol that T’Luadh was aiming at his head made it more than a little difficult for Trip to concentrate on what she was saying.
“Before you do anything I might regret,” Trip said, “don’t you think we ought to find out what that alarm was all about?”
“Forgive me,” she said, “but this will take only a moment. If I fail to carry out Valdore’s order, suspicion will fall upon me.”
“I get it. This is just business. Nothing personal. But—”
“I am deeply sorry for what I must do now,” she said, interrupting him as she raised the gray metal weapon higher and tightened her grip on its handle.
He raised his hands reflexively to remind her that he was no threat, especially here in what amounted to a glorified Romulan brig. “You’re sorry, T’Luadh? Why is that? Could it be because you’re actually a Vulcan operative working under deep cover?”
Her eyebrows both went aloft in surprise, but her gun hand never wavered. “Why would you say that?”
“Come on. Did you really think I didn’t notice that mind-meld you sneaked on me a few months back, when we were working together in the Carraya sector? I’ve never met a Romulan who knew that trick.”
She nodded. “I see.”
Oh, crap, he thought. I didn’t give her a reason to spare me. I gave her an entirely new reason to pull the trigger on that hog leg and incinerate me with it.
At that moment he felt a subtle change in the vibrations beneath his booted feet. A distant alarm blared.
“Wait a second,” he said.
She frowned, puzzled, or perhaps merely annoyed. “What?”
“You feel that? We’ve dropped back out of warp. And we only went to warp maybe a minute ago.”
She shrugged. “Valdore must have his reasons.”
“It’s an opportunity for you, T’Luadh. You don’t have to regret anything if you put me in an escape pod now. You can’t launch ’em at warp, you know.”
She shook her head sadly. “Valdore might discover the deception. In that event, my life would be less than worthless.”
“Trust me, Valdore has his hands full at the moment,” Trip said. Judging from the alarm klaxon, and the short duration of the Dabhae’s most recent warp flight, the admiral should be preoccupied trying to discover why every warp core in the fleet just went into an unexplained state of antimatter-containment failure, only just as mysteriously to return to normal after returning to subwarp speed.
He suppressed a triumphant grin as he digested another implication of the emergency warp shutdown. It meant that he and Captain Archer were on the same page. His subspace burst to Enterprise had been received and understood.
“You would say anything to stay alive, Mister Tucker,” she said, still aiming the weapon squarely at his head. Only a meter or so separated them, but there was no question that she would get off a fatal shot if he made any aggressive moves.
“Damned straight I would,” he said. “But the fact remains: You don’t have to do this. You can tell Valdore that you vaporized me. Hell, you don’t even have to admit that I was right about your Vulcan pedigree. You can chalk the whole thing up to some sealed, secret Tal Shiar order that you’re not authorized to discuss, even with Valdore.”
Her eyes narrowed into a squint. Trip kept his hands up but closed his eyes tightly; if he’d misjudged her, he didn’t want the last thing he saw to be the disruptor beam that cooked him alive.
“All right,” he heard her say. He opened his eyes and dropped his hands when he saw that she had lowered her weapon. “Come with me, Mister Tucker. Quickly.”
“I wish you’d stop using that name,” he stage whispered as he followed her out into the corridor.
Enterprise NX-01
“The Romulan fleet is coming out of warp,” Malcolm said, looking up from behind his tactical displays. “All thirty-eight vessels have dropped back into normal space, approximately two light-minutes from our current position. They’re still closing, but only at one-quarter impulse. They’ll enter weapons range in about eight minutes.”
Archer stared appraisingly at the central viewer, which at the moment was using wireframe icons to show the relative positions of both fleets with respect to Cheron.
“Something tells me they put on the brakes a little ahead of schedule,” Travis said.
“Based on the Romulans’ usual tactics,” Malcolm said, “I’d bet real money on that.”
But Archer knew from experience never to underestimate a Romulan commander.
“Look sharp, everybody,” he said. “It looks like we’ve just gained some time before the fireworks start up again. But I’m sure the Romulans are busy right now looking for ways to use that time against us. You never know what tricks they might still have up t
heir sleeves.”
As if on cue, three of the incoming Romulan warbird icons on the viewer began flashing rapidly, creating a strobing effect reminiscent of a pulsar.
“What the hell?” Archer wanted to know. “Show me what’s going on out there.”
The tactical wireframes wavered and vanished, replaced a split second later by real-time imagery received via the subspace band by the long-range sensors. The image settled down just in time for Archer to see a Romulan warbird explode. Two of its adjacent sister ships did likewise almost immediately, bringing to mind strings of firecrackers going off, each detonation setting off the next. All three vessels had evidently just finished launching large numbers of escape pods, which were spreading out in a cone-shaped pattern, like seeds blown from a dandelion. A pair of battlescarred but apparently still intact warbirds broke from the rest of the fleet to begin the doubtless time-consuming task of using tractor beams to gather up the pods, one by one.
“Let’s hope they pull a few more tricks like that one out of their sleeves,” Travis said, gesturing toward the screen. Three clouds of metal fragments and flash-frozen atmosphere slowly expanded as inertia carried them forward with the rest of the Romulan fleet, forcing its formation to loosen for safety’s sake.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Malcolm said. “My guess is that the ships that just exploded were among the most damaged in their fleet. The Lazarus protocols we transmitted did them in, but only indirectly.”
“Meaning that their antimatter-containment systems weren’t up to standing down from ‘imminent warp-core breach’ status,” said Travis.
“Which begs the question: How many more of their ships are in nearly as bad shape as those three?” Malcolm said.
O’Neill spoke up a moment later. “And that question begs another one: Should we launch an immediate all-out attack? We do have about a twenty percent edge over them now, sir.”
Archer continued staring at the menacing phalanx of horseshoe crab–shaped vessels and considered his options.
“It might look as though we have a numerical advantage at the moment, D.O.,” he said at length, “but that’s only in terms of raw numbers of ships. The Romulans probably still have us outgunned, Shran’s irregulars and Kolos’s freebooters notwithstanding.
Star Trek: Enterprise: The Romulan War Page 27
