by David Mack
His second-in-command moved around the deck, doling out orders with quiet efficiency—first to the flight controller, Zaana; then to Bol at tactical, followed by Choy at operations; and, the last stop on Vang’s circuit, the communications officer, Sevv. When his preparations were completed, he faced Tren. “Ready on your command.”
“Execute,” Tren said.
All his officers acted in concert. Zaana guided the Kulak to a new position as Sevv alerted the Spetzkar inside the Husnock vessel. Choy monitored long-range sensors as Bol dispatched a coded signal from his console—then, on the viewscreen, two more Breen warships lowered their cloaks and rippled into view, one on either side of the Kulak. Off of the dreadnought’s port side, the heavy cruiser Sulica; to starboard, the battleship Tarcza.
Now we will see what my Starfleet counterpart is made of.
Tren asked Vang, “Any reaction from the incoming battle group?”
“Scanning,” Vang replied. He moved to stand beside Bol at the tactical station. “The three Starfleet ships are diverging.” Even before Vang finished his analysis, Tren saw the enemy’s tactics taking shape on the left viewscreen. “They’re moving to flanking positions.”
Not so spineless after all. Tren settled into his chair. “Sevv, get me the commanders of the Sulica and the Tarcza, on channel one.”
The communications officer acted with speed and efficiency. “Channel open.”
“Commander Kran. Commander Spara. This is Thot Tren. Are you tracking the three inbound Starfleet vessels?”
“Affirmative,” Spara answered over the audio channel.
“Confirmed,” Kran said.
“We need to split up, but stay close to the Husnock ship until it’s under our control. Each of you target one of the Starfleet ships and adjust your positions to intercept them.”
Both commanders acknowledged Tren’s orders, then signed off. Within seconds their hulking warships peeled off to assume more advantageous positions. From this point forward, Tren knew, the name of the game would be endurance. “Bol, raise shields, charge all weapons. Sevv, instruct Sulica and Tarcza to do the same. Vang, sound general quarters.”
All through the ship’s corridors and deepest compartments, the alert sounded over the ship’s internal comms. Even from his chair on the command deck, Tren imagined he could feel all his people scrambling to their duty stations and priming his ship for action. It was an electric sensation, and he felt it galvanize his ship and crew just like the surge of adrenaline in his blood.
Vang moved to stand at Tren’s side. “Any engagement with Starfleet risks compromising the mission,” he confided, the volume of his mask’s vocoder set to a confidential level. “If they destroy the Husnock vessel before Braz and his men finish—”
“They won’t.” Tren envisioned the conflict to come, and he felt assured of success. “No matter how bold these enemy commanders might be, they’ll be bound by Starfleet’s rules of engagement. And if there is one thing I learned well during the Dominion War, Vang . . . it’s how to use the Federation’s nobility against it.”
“Three of them? Are you serious?” Vale eyed the latest tactical update with frustration. “Does everyone out here except us have a cloaking device? Because this is starting to piss me off.”
In under two minutes, the Titan and its battle group had gone from chasing a single Orion merchant ship to hurtling into a showdown with three Breen heavy warships. Seeing the situation degrade in real time left Vale feeling deflated. The longer this mission goes on, the worse it gets.
Looking apprehensive, Sarai sidled up to Vale and said under her breath, “Time is of the essence, Captain. If the Breen have already boarded the Husnock vessel—”
“I’m aware of the problem, Number One.” Vale hoped Tuvok had better news for her. “Tactical, how’s the Breen’s combat posture?”
Tuvok barely suppressed a frown. “Imposing, Captain.” He routed fresh sensor data to Vale’s command monitor. “All three vessels are running with shields up and weapons hot.”
Vale pretended not to notice Sarai’s accusatory look. “All right, no one said they had to make it easy for us. Tactical, shields up, arm all weapons, and sound battle stations. Ops, alert the Wasp and the Canterbury to match our status and continue to seek flanking positions.”
The red-alert siren whooped twice from the ship’s PA system. After that, notice of the ship’s action status was maintained by the intermittent pulsing of crimson bulkhead panels.
Swelling to fill the main viewscreen was the image of a Breen dreadnought and, behind it, a Husnock warship nearly twice its mass. Its present magnification factor had pushed the other two Breen starships off-screen, but the tactical display beside Vale’s chair kept her aware of their positions and actions. “How long until we drop out of warp?”
Lavena answered from the helm, “Thirty seconds, sir.”
A variety of tactical possibilities raced through Vale’s imagination. “Okay. Let’s see if we can end this fight before it starts. Mister Tuvok, hail the lead Breen ship.”
Two taps on his console, and then Tuvok said, “Hailing frequencies open.”
Vale put on her best air of authority. “Attention, unidentified Breen vessel. This is Captain Christine Vale, commanding the Federation Starship Titan. Identify yourselves.”
She half expected to be stonewalled. Instead, the Breen’s response was prompt. Its masked visage filled the main viewscreen, larger than life and twice as ugly. The metallic screech of his vocoder was translated in real time by the Titan’s computer. “Captain Vale, this is Thot Tren, commanding the Breen dreadnought Kulak. How can we be of service?”
Perplexed stares passed among the bridge officers, all of them as if to ask, Since when are the Breen polite? It was an incident without precedent, and to Vale that was a portent of danger. She stood from her chair, to better project power. “Thot Tren, on behalf of the United Federation of Planets, I need to insist you and your escorts withdraw from this sector at once.”
“Captain, even if I or my government recognized the Federation’s jurisdiction in this sector—which we do not—our departure would not be possible at this time.”
Stepping forward to make her own countenance larger on Tren’s side of the conversation, Vale asked, “And why do you say that?”
“Because this is unclaimed space—a fact acknowledged by your government and by Starfleet—and we are here conducting perfectly legal exploration. I have a mission to complete, and I will not be taking orders from you or from your lackeys on the Wasp and the Canterbury.”
Now he’s just showing off, she fumed. Proving they know who we are. “You aren’t the only ones with orders, Thot Tren. And I’m just as committed to mine as you are to yours.” Without interrupting their conversation, new sensor data from Tuvok’s console scrolled across the lower edge of the main viewscreen, alerting Vale that Breen life signs had been detected inside the Husnock vessel. “I’ll give you one minute to get your people off that Husnock ship.”
“Again, Captain, that is not possible at this time. In accordance with interstellar law, my officers are aboard that ship conducting search-and-rescue operations, just in case there are any surviving crew or passengers in need of medical assistance.”
“That vessel is empty,” Vale said, though she had no proof to back her claim. “We’ve already cleared it, and it’s been marked for demolition, in the interest of interstellar security. Now pull your people off that ship, because in thirty seconds I’m gonna blast it into dust.”
Out of the corner of her eye Vale noticed Sarai tense at her threat. Odd.
The Breen tilted his head, as if Vale were nothing more than a curious specimen he was eyeing in a laboratory. “An idle threat, Captain. I know your Starfleet regulations as well as you do—perhaps better. And that is how I know it would be illegal for you to open fire on an unarmed, unshielded vessel when sentient life-forms are known to be aboard.”
I’m really learning to hate this guy.
More intel scrolled across the screen’s bottom edge. Extracts from Thot Tren’s dossier at Starfleet Intelligence. This Breen had been commanding starships for nearly two decades. His ship had been part of the Breen strike force that attacked Earth during the Dominion War, as well as a part of the Dominion fleet that had bombarded Cardassia Prime after it turned against the Dominion shortly before the war’s end. Tren was believed to have links to the Breen Intelligence Directorate and the Spetzkar—the Breen military’s elite special forces. He was the epitome of a battle-scarred veteran as well as a power player in Breen politics.
My day just keeps getting better and better, Vale groused to herself.
He had called her bluff. It was time to fold or double down.
“I don’t really give a damn what Starfleet regulations say. But as a courtesy, from one starship commander to another, I’m going to spell this out for you. And I’ll use small words to help you understand. On behalf of the United Federation of Planets, I planted our flag on that ship. I’ve claimed it as sovereign Federation soil and Starfleet property. And my orders are to make sure it remains our property at all costs. Or, failing that, to keep it from becoming anyone else’s—at all costs. And if that means I have to vaporize your boarding party, so be it.”
Tren lowered the snout of his mask. Vale imagined fearsome eyes staring back at her from behind the narrow band of green shining inside Tren’s visor. “I admire your refusal to surrender your lie in the face of bloodshed. But my forces have been tracking your movements for some time, Captain. We know for a fact that no vessel in your battle group has ever been to this star system before. Not to plant a flag, or to do anything else. So now I will explain the terms of this encounter to you—and I will also do you the service of using small words. If any Starfleet vessel fires upon any ship under my command, or upon that Husnock vessel while my search-and-rescue team are still aboard, I will construe such violence as an act of war—and I will retaliate with appropriate force.”
He turned away, reacting to someone off-screen.
At the same moment, multiple alerts chimed on consoles all around the bridge. Vale stood like a statue while her officers scrambled into action. Sarai darted from one station to the next, collecting information on the move. Meanwhile, on the viewscreen, Thot Tren said nothing as he turned his attention once more toward Vale, as if he wanted to see what she would do next.
Sarai hurried to Vale’s side and whispered in her ear. “Sir, the Husnock ship’s power core just came online, and the ship has charged its beam weapons.” A fearful glance at Thot Tren. “He has us outgunned, and he knows it.”
Titan’s two most senior officers turned as one to face Tren.
“I trust your officers have informed you of the change in circumstances.” Another birdlike tilt of the Breen’s head gave Vale the impression he was mocking her. “Let me extend to you and yours the invitation you so graciously sought to impose upon me and mine: withdraw from this sector at once, Captain, or else my forces will turn your ships to scrap.”
Vale’s jaw tensed, and her hands reflexively balled into fists.
Yup, this day is definitely starting to piss me off.
There was a fine distinction between a provocation and an act of war, and Thot Tren knew all too well he was close to committing the latter. On his ship’s viewscreen was the face of Captain Vale, threatening escalation; through the transceiver in his helmet came reports from Chot Braz, his Spetzkar commander aboard the Husnock starship.
“This is your last warning,” Vale said. “We can’t let you take that ship.”
“My crew and I have laid claim to a derelict vessel in accordance with accepted interstellar laws of salvage. You have no legal jurisdiction to interfere.”
In his ear, Braz’s voice: “We have flight control and warp capability, but no shields.”
Tren isolated his response to the transceiver channel: “Well done. Stand by.” He was loath to order a first strike on the Starfleet ships. As desperate as the Breen Confederacy was for the various advantages Husnock technology might bring them, Domo Pran and the Confederate Congress had no wish to spark an all-out war with the Federation and its allies, especially now that there were rumblings within the Typhon Pact that the Romulan Star Empire and the Gorn Hegemony might not support the Breen in any conflict they were perceived to have instigated.
All the same, Tren had his orders. He was not to return empty-handed.
At tactical, Choy tensed in reaction to new intel on his panel. “The Titan is charging its main phaser batteries. We’re being targeted.”
“Hold for my order,” Tren said, for Bol as well as the rest of his officers.
Bol replied, “They’re firing!”
Brilliant orange beams slashed across the main viewscreen. The Kulak’s hull juddered from the glancing blow to its shields, which flared as they were nicked by the phaser barrage. When the shaking ceased, Bol added, “No damage to shields.”
Vale reappeared on the viewscreen. “That was a warning shot. The next won’t be.”
It had been a careful, measured response. Tren suspected Captain Vale had no more desire to turn this confrontation into a shooting battle than he did—perhaps less. And he grasped the urgency of her predicament. No doubt her superiors were pressuring her to contain Husnock technology for their use with just as much fervor as his masters had shown to him. We are two cogs in history’s relentless gears, you and I. Would that I could show you mercy.
Again he isolated his transceiver channel so he could speak privately to his Spetzkar commander. “Braz, target the Husnock ship’s particle beam array on the Titan. Hit them just hard enough to make a point, but no harder. Is that understood?”
“As you command, Thot Tren.”
The order was carried out in a matter of seconds. Searing white beams lanced from the captured Husnock vessel and pummeled the Titan. The Starfleet vessel bobbled beneath the assault, and as the fourth beam struck home the crackling cocoon of their shields fizzled and popped like a soap bubble. Just as Tren had hoped, Braz and his Spetzkar ceased fire the moment the Titan’s shields fell. Now the ship was left defenseless but not critically damaged.
Don’t be foolhardy, Captain, Tren mused, hoping Vale could hear his thoughts. We both know I have the advantage. Don’t make me prove it again.
He saw Choy collating sensor data at the operations console. “Choy, report.”
“Cascade failures throughout the Titan,” Choy said. “Engineering, life-support, tactical, all failing. The Husnock weapons must have packed more of a punch than we expected.”
That was not the outcome Tren had hoped for. A benign show of strength might have persuaded the enemy to stand down. But a crippling blow was almost certain to invite a reprisal.
Bol confirmed his suspicions. “Titan’s escort vessels are flanking her and extending their shields around her. . . . And they’re both charging all weapons and targeting the Husnock ship.”
Tren felt this crisis was about to pass a point of no return. “Braz, you’re being targeted! Do you have shields up yet?”
“Negative. Half the emitters aren’t engaging. They’ll take hours to fix.”
“Target the particle beam array on Titan’s escorts and—”
“Negative. Our first shot used a residual charge. We can’t fire it again for five minutes.”
Vang moved to Tren’s side. “We can’t let them destroy the Husnock ship!”
“We don’t have time to break both their shields,” Tren said. “Braz, do you have any other weapons ready to fire?”
“Negative. Someone raided this ship of all its munitions except one.”
Bol interjected, “The escort ships are locking on to the Husnock vessel!”
“Suppressing fire!” Tren ordered. “All ships, maneuver to block their firing solution on the Husnock vessel!” Then, just to Braz: “Whatever you’ve got, fire it! Now!”
“Sir, the Husnock weapon is a missile, and it’s tagge
d as ‘antistellar munitions.’ ”
The horror of that classification froze Tren for half a breath, until his ship rocked and thundered in the wake of a brutal volley of phaser blasts and quantum torpedoes erupting against its shields. Then, hanging on to his command chair for dear life, he knew what he had to do—and he hoped this time Vale would make the sensible decision instead of the honorable one.
“Braz, arm that missile—and target it exactly the way I’m about to describe.”
Seventeen
* * *
Everyone’s got a plan until they get hit. That classic bit of Terran boxing wisdom echoed in Vale’s thoughts as she waved away thick clouds of noxious smoke wafting across her bridge.
Everything was failing at once; the ship felt as if it were going to pieces under Vale’s feet. Burning motes geysered from blackened companels along the bridge’s starboard bulkhead. Scratchy comm chatter filtered from the overhead speakers, a stream of overlapping updates from the captains of the Wasp and the Canterbury, which had rallied to defend the Titan after its shields collapsed. Vale helped Sarai up off the deck, then she turned toward Tuvok. “Tactical, what do we have left that’s actually working?”
“Not much, Captain.” The Vulcan struggled to extract useful intel from his smoking console. “Engineering and ops are coordinating to reroute essential systems and bring backups online, but command-and-control systems have been damaged. If not for the Wasp and the Canterbury, we would be completely defenseless right now.”
Torvig coaxed his companel back to life, then looked over his shoulder to tell Vale, “Doctor Ra-Havreii has declared an emergency on all engineering decks. Antimatter containment is destabilizing. If we can’t restore full containment in the next five minutes—”
