by David Mack
One look at the nightmarish spectacle on the Titan’s main viewscreen made Vale blanch. She had seen her share of lopsided battles, but this was by far the most egregious mismatch she had ever personally faced. The Husnock fleet station looked like a dandelion ready to release its downy tendrils—except the entire thing was plated with a substance so black that it nearly disappeared into the spaces between the stars. And berthed around the rings at the end of every spoke in that obscene dark flower were Husnock warships, all of them flickering to life.
Vale’s throat constricted tighter the longer she looked at the alien armada. “Number One, do we know yet exactly how many of those ships there are?”
Sarai checked the tactical display beside her seat. “Two hundred eighty-six Husnock ships,” she said. “Varying sizes and configurations.”
From the tactical console, Tuvok added, “None of them appear to be carrying any heavy ordnance, Captain. For the moment, they appear to be restricted to particle-beam arrays.”
“Just one of which easily beat the hell out of us,” Vale reminded him. “Are we reading Breen life signs inside all those ships?”
Tuvok checked his readings. “Negative. Most show no life signs. However, I am reading a cluster of life signs that match known Breen member species, inside the starport’s central hub.”
Brow creased, Sarai asked Vale, “Could they be piloting that many ships remotely?”
“Maybe.” On the viewscreen, dozens of the Husnock starships began detaching from the station. A few were already maneuvering away to make room for other ships’ departures. Vale thought back to her Academy training. “Remote piloting even one starship is hard as hell, Number One. How are the Breen mastering so many vessels at once?”
“Maybe they’ve accessed the ships’ autopilot functions.” Sarai pointed out some of the vessels. “None of them are venturing far, or moving quickly. At least, not yet.”
That, Vale realized, might yet be cause for hope. “If all those ships are on autopilot, they might not be up to the challenge of combat.”
Tuvok interjected, “We don’t know that, Captain. The Husnock were reputed to have been wily and ruthless tacticians. If that skill set extended to their preparation of autopiloting software, their ships might in fact be capable of fairly robust defenses and counterattacks.”
Sarai nodded. “He makes a good point, Captain. We shouldn’t assume that the Husnock vessels are easy marks just because they’re on autopilot—if that’s even what’s happening.”
The vagueness of Sarai’s warning attracted Vale’s curiosity. “Meaning what?”
The first officer lowered her voice and leaned toward Vale. “When the Breen made their attempt to assassinate President Bacco—”
“I thought that was never proved.”
“Trust me,” Sarai whispered, “it was them. For assassins they used androids based on the designs of Doctor Noonien Soong, and they controlled them remotely using telepresence systems based on Tholian thoughtwave transmitters. If—”
“How do you know all that?” Vale asked. The Efrosian woman arched an eyebrow at her, and half a second later Vale answered it for herself. “Your work for Starfleet Intelligence. Forget I asked. Continue.”
“If the Breen came here with some way of making that telepresence tech work with the Husnock ships, they might have brought a huge number of extra pilots and weapons specialists. Which means each ship’s navigation and tactical response might be under conscious control.”
Vale felt her pulse quicken. “If that’s the case, the Breen would be able to sacrifice a handful of smaller Husnock vessels just to make a point, without losing any of their people.”
A somber nod from Sarai. “Unfortunately, yes.” She turned an anxious look toward Vale. “I know that if I were them, that’s exactly what I would do. And I’d hit us hard, and quickly.”
“This is not shaping up to be our day,” Vale said.
She tried to imagine some way out of this crisis. A diplomatic solution. A bluff. Anything to preclude taking the Titan and its two escort ships into a battle where they would be outnumbered nearly a hundred to one. But no matter what perspective from which she tried to consider the matter, she arrived at the same conclusion: the Titan, the Wasp, and the Canterbury were all that stood between the Breen with their hijacked armada and thousands of vulnerable worlds populated by nearly a trillion innocent sentient beings.
If we fold now to save ourselves, Vale reasoned, we’d be condemning billions to die. But if we charge into a fight we can’t possibly win, the same thing will probably happen anyway. The only thing I’d be saving by taking on the Breen here would be me from my own conscience.
At her side, Sarai asked simply, “Orders, Captain?”
Duty and honor dictated Vale’s next command. “Battle stations, Number One.”
“Aye, sir.” Sarai left her seat and issued orders on the move, striding with purpose from one station to the next while making the Titan ready for combat, as insane an idea as that was.
In less than a minute the Titan crew made the transition from elevated alert to combat ready. Vale, ensconced in the command chair, felt the anxiety levels in the ship spike—not because she possessed any empathic gift, but because a good captain was attuned to such shifts in the tenor of the crew. As she noted the introverted somatic cues of her bridge officers, she could tell none of them harbored the illusion that the odds in this fight might favor them.
From tactical, Tuvok delivered more bad news. “The Husnock ships that have separated from the station are raising their shields and charging their beam weapons.” He looked up, his trademark Vulcan stoicism slightly disrupted by a shadow of alarm. “They are forming into battle groups and deploying into overlapping defensive formations.”
“Definitely not autopilot,” Vale muttered to Sarai. “Looks like you were right. The Breen have complete control over the Husnock fleet.” Watching the overwhelming display of military force on the main viewscreen, Vale admitted to herself that for the first time in her career, she might have bitten into a larger slice of danger than she could possibly swallow—and that it would be her crew, her allies, and her people who would soon pay for her mistake.
Victory was at hand, of that Thot Tren was certain. All the same, he knew not to celebrate before the battle was won.
Too many of his peers had made that misstep, especially in confrontations with Starfleet. The vast majority of the thotaru still considered Starfleet and the Federation to be weak and therefore easy targets. Tren did not share their delusion. Long ago, when he had been young, Starfleet had been an organization of scientists sometimes called upon to defend their culture. But these days Starfleet better resembled a professional military that also happened to be one of the galaxy’s preeminent scientific research and exploration agencies—a dynamic entity that only a fool would dare to underestimate. There was no doubt in Tren’s mind: even when outnumbered and outgunned, Starfleet was a dangerous opponent.
He did not intend to give them a chance to prove it in action.
On the Kulak’s main viewscreen, he watched Husnock ships detach and navigate away from the fleet station. Concerned he had missed a vital report, he looked around the command deck for his first officer. “Vang! The ships that are leaving the station—are they fully loaded?”
Vang moved closer and patched his helmet’s transceiver directly to Tren’s, to keep their conversation private from the rest of the crew. “There was a bit of bad news on that front, sir.”
It took great effort for Tren to resist the urge to disintegrate Vang. “Explain.”
“There were no munitions anywhere on the station, sir.”
“None?” He gazed at the huge station and was baffled. “How can that be?”
“It would seem,” Vang said, “that the Husnock made a practice of berthing their ships and storing their heavy munitions at separate facilities. We’re still not sure why, but some files Chot Braz found on the station’s computer suggest it
was a precaution against an accidental detonation wiping out their entire fleet in a single blast.”
Tren gave a moment’s consideration to that hypothesis, and he realized it was quite plausible that a station that housed so many starships could be destroyed by a munitions-handling error. Early accounts of Breen space exploration were replete with such cautionary tales. He nodded at Vang. “Very well. Do we have any leads on where those munitions were stored?”
“Yes, sir. Husnock records mention an automated munitions plant just a few hours from here at high warp. Long-range scans suggest the facility is still there and intact.”
“Good. Notify all flight controllers of those coordinates.” Another look at the armada on the viewscreen. “How long until we’re ready to go? Best estimate, please.”
“All ships will be clear of moorings in half an hour.” Vang faced the tactical screen tracking the incoming Starfleet attack group. “Permission to pose a question, sir?”
“Granted.”
“The Starfleet ships continue to follow us. Would it not be prudent to make our stand here? Even without heavy munitions, we could overpower them with ease.” He glanced at the main viewscreen. “If we leave here before coping with the Starfleet problem, we risk leading them to the munitions factory, which would compromise its value as a resource.”
It was a valid argument. If the munitions plant became known to Starfleet, they might seek to destroy it, blockade it, or seize it for themselves—any of which would constitute a negative outcome for Tren’s mission. And without the benefit of the factory’s output, the Husnock ships, as formidable as their beam weapons were, would not be enough to transform the Breen Confederacy into the dominant military force among the Typhon Pact powers.
But as Tren considered the ludicrous advantage in numbers and sheer firepower that his fleet—soon to be an armada—possessed over Captain Vale and her three starships, he discovered he felt almost ashamed to exploit it. Honor had never been a primary concern in greater Breen culture, but among Tren’s native people, the Fenrisal, part of being an alpha resided in not wasting one’s strength fighting those who had no hope of winning. Alphas were measured by the magnitude of the risks they overcame, and judged by the strength of the enemies they defeated. Not only would Tren find no glory among his kin for winning this fight, he would be ridiculed for it. Laughed at for not finding a battle worthy of the power entrusted to his paws.
He doubted he could explain that rationale to Vang. Though he didn’t know his first officer’s true species—or those of any of his personnel—nothing Vang had ever said or done had given Tren reason to think him a fellow Fenrisal. For all I know, he isn’t even a he.
After waiting what felt like too long to respond to Vang’s observation, Tren said, “I see no reason to risk losing any of our new Husnock ships in a pointless battle with Starfleet. We’ll depart as soon as all Husnock vessels are free and clear to navigate.”
Instead of backing away to deliver Tren’s orders, Vang lingered, his body language conveying fear and suspicion. “And if our shadows tell Starfleet about the munitions plant . . . ?”
“Use the Husnock armada’s transceivers to jam the Starfleet ships’ transmissions,” Tren said. “If they follow us, they won’t be able to tell anyone where we go next.”
“And if they chase us all the way to the factory?”
“In that case, Vang, we shall arm one of our Husnock dreadnoughts and make Starfleet see the grave error of its ways.”
Twenty-two
* * *
“We’re losing them,” Vale said, her tone turning the observation into an accusation.
At the helm, Lavena seemed to share her captain’s frustration. “There’s nothing we can do, sir. Warp power is fluctuating, and our speed with it. We can’t maintain maximum warp for more than a few minutes at a time before dropping back to warp six.”
“For what it’s worth,” Sarai said, “we’re still tracking that warp shadow we think is Brunt’s starhopper. Even if we lose our lock on the Breen and their Husnock ghost fleet, it seems Brunt remains intent on leading us to them.”
Vale frowned. “Let’s all be grateful then for small mercies.” She looked upward as she addressed the ship’s ever-listening computer. “Bridge to Commander Ra-Havreii.”
The chief engineer replied over a din of clanging and hissing, “Yes, Captain?”
“I need you to lock in our warp power, Xin. We keep losing speed.”
“Captain, we shouldn’t even be moving at warp, never mind holding top speed for any length of time.” Ra-Havreii’s irritation and exhaustion were evident in his voice. “To be honest, I can’t explain why the warp core hasn’t completely imploded already.”
“Be sure to note that in your log. Just so you know, Doctor, we’re on the cusp of another showdown with the Breen. How long until you can restore shields and weapons?”
“Best guess?” One could almost hear Ra-Havreii shrugging. “An hour, maybe two. As soon as Doctor Ree discharges me from sickbay, I’ll get you more precise numbers.”
Vale trained a withering look upon Sarai, who averted her gaze, no doubt inferring the meaning behind her captain’s angry stare: My chief engineer is in sickbay and no one told me? In her best approximation of a calm voice, Vale said, “Keep me posted, Doctor. Bridge out.”
“Something’s happening,” Keru said. The Trill chief of security had set himself up at a tertiary console to serve as a backup tactical officer for Tuvok. “The enemy fleet is slowing, Captain.”
Tuvok checked the readouts at the primary tactical station. “Confirmed, Captain. The Breen and their ghost fleet appear to be approaching another large Husnock deep-space facility.”
“Another fleet yard?” she asked. To her chagrin, the Titan and its escorts had been unable to approach the starport from which the Breen had hijacked more than two hundred eighty Husnock warships. Though the Breen and all the Husnock vessels had already departed, the station’s defenses had locked on to the three Starfleet ships without hesitation, precluding any hope of investigating the derelict facility. Which had left them no other course of action besides continuing to shadow the Breen and their ghost fleet.
At tactical, Tuvok shook his head. “Not a shipyard. But it appears to be industrial.”
Rager swiveled her chair away from the ops console. “Captain, we’re reading dense concentrations of heavy machinery inside the station, all of it apparently of Husnock design. Only a few life signs, however—all of them humanoid.”
“That’s not all,” Torvig said, the delicate digits of his bionic hands keying new commands into the engineering console. “Several telltale molecular residues suggest the facility houses a vast supply of Husnock heavy ordnance similar to that which destroyed the red giant.”
Sarai leaned forward from the edge of her chair. “It’s a munitions dump. Or a factory. Or maybe both.” She turned toward Vale. “Captain, the Breen brought their hijacked armada here to load them up with heavy ordnance. Letting them return home with those ships would have been a disaster in itself. But if they go back to known space carrying antistellar munitions—”
“I’m aware of the danger, Number One.”
“Captain,” Sarai said, “this might be our last opportunity to attack.”
Before Vale could answer Sarai, Tuvok interjected, “That would be most unwise. Our group remains outnumbered ninety-six point six-seven to one, and the vast majority of the threat vessels are each individually capable of outgunning us.” He tapped his console, and an image of the Husnock industrial facility appeared on the main viewscreen. “It is also worth noting that the munitions plant itself possesses significant defensive capabilities. I suspect we and our allied ships would receive a most hostile welcome there, just as we did at the Husnock starport.”
The turbolift doors opened. Riker strode onto the bridge and moved to Vale’s side. With one hand on the back of her chair, he leaned down to ask, “How goes the hunt, Captain?”
“We have the monsters in our sights, but that’s about it.”
She saw the muscles in Riker’s jaw tense. He eyed the image of the munitions plant on the main viewscreen. “What are we thinking that is?”
“Ammo dump,” Vale said. “Best guess is the Breen mean to load up their new fleet with all of the Husnock’s deadliest toys as a gift for Domo Pran.”
Riker cocked one eyebrow. “Do we have a plan to stop them?”
“We’re working on it,” Vale lied.
Then Pazlar, bless her, chimed in. “Captain, I might have an idea for how to disrupt the Breen’s remote command of the Husnock armada.”
Vale, Riker, and Sarai moved to surround Pazlar at the sciences console. Eager to latch on to anything resembling hope, Vale asked, “What’s your idea?”
“After considering something Commander Sarai said earlier, about the Breen using telepresence systems, I pulled up all the documentation we had on their research into that technology. And it turns out that teams at Starfleet R and D have identified a bandwidth of ultralow-frequency subspace oscillations that serve as the medium for Tholian thoughtwave radio, which is the basis for Breen telepresence. With enough time, I might be able to scrub through that range of frequencies and isolate whichever ones the Breen are using to drive those ships.”
Riker asked, “How long would you need?”
“I’m not sure, but anything we can do to buy ourselves time would help.”
Just then Keru declared, “The Breen-Husnock armada has come to a stop a few thousand kilometers from the munitions factory. None of them are approaching the facility.”
Sarai and Vale moved together back to the center of the bridge. Intrigued, Vale asked Keru, “What’s going on? Do they not have the codes for that station?”
The answer came from Tuvok. “We are detecting encrypted comm traffic between the lead Breen vessel and the station. Irregular pauses; transmissions of varying duration from each side.” He furrowed his brow at some detail, then keyed a command into his console.
