by David Mack
“Thot Tren is hailing us, Captain.”
She pushed her multicolored hair off her brow and lifted her chin. “On-screen.”
The image of the Breen commander appeared on the viewscreen, albeit behind a hash of static and other interference. Behind the universal translator’s interpretation of his words, Riker could still hear the machine-noise of the Breen’s vocoder.
“Captain Vale . . . don’t you think this has gone on long enough?”
Vale projected cool defiance. “Maybe I think it’s not nearly done.”
“That would be a fatal mistake, Captain. I will grant you credit for a palpable hit with your hidden torpedoes, but now your ship stands defenseless before mine. Recall your team from the planet’s surface, and let my personnel complete their mission free of your interference, and I will leave you, your ship, and your crew intact to fight another day.”
The captain made a fist of her left hand and folded her right hand over it—a gesture that Riker recognized as Vale suppressing the urge to pummel someone who was in dire need of an ass-kicking. “I know you think you’re being generous, Thot Tren. But I’m afraid I’ll have to tell you to take that offer and choke on it.”
The Breen tilted his head, as if his perception of Vale had suddenly gone askew. “I admire your spirit, Captain.”
“But let me guess: You regret having to kill me?”
“No. That would be unprofessional. But I will speak well of your memory. Tren out.”
The channel closed, reverting the viewscreen to the image of the Kulak bearing down on the Titan, its weapons array ablaze with fearsome energies.
Riker moved to Vale’s side as he contemplated their imminent shared demise. “I don’t suppose you have another ace up your sleeve, do you?”
“How many times have I beaten you at poker?” A mischievous smirk as she tapped her combadge. “Vale to Tuvok: open fire.”
It was not a plan that Tuvok would himself ever have proposed, but over the course of a long career in Starfleet he had learned to trust the instincts of his commanding officers.
So it was that he had found himself in an environmental suit, standing beside computer engineering specialist Lieutenant Reyfin Omal, a Tyrakhean woman whose pale complexion was accentuated by her prominent and symmetrical black facial tattoos, on the exterior of an orbital defense platform high above the equator of Husnock Prime.
Omal had been working from Doctor Kilaris’s translation key for the Husnock language, filtered by Doctor Pek’s parsing matrix, and refined by Lieutenant Sethe’s Starfleet-standard interface and Modan’s intuitive improvements to the universal translator’s handling of Husnock syntax and grammar. She had patched a portable compsheet into the defense platform’s controls, and was transmitting to the holographic HUD in Tuvok’s faceplate an animated guide to operating the manual targeting console for the platform’s massive particle cannons.
Before restarting the platform’s primary power generator, he asked her, “You are certain these steps are correct? And that there is sufficient power to operate the system?”
“Positive,” she had said over the coded transceiver. “Punch it.”
Following the step-by-step guide she had programmed, he had awakened the platform’s long-dormant reactor core and begun charging its firing modules, while keeping its targeting systems offline. He had feared it might take several minutes or even an hour to bring the station’s systems to full power, but once roused, the weapons systems had charged to full power in under a minute. Tuvok regarded the Husnock’s technology with a grudging respect. As distasteful as he found their culture’s amorality, their achievements in engineering had been remarkable.
“Here they come,” Omal had said, at the first sign of the Titan’s latest pass.
Knowing time was running out, Tuvok had adjusted the platform’s IFF—identify friend or foe—circuits to treat the Titan as a nonhostile vessel. After that, all he had been able to do was wait and hope to hear Vale’s order, the one for which she had sent him here to prepare.
And then the order came.
“Vale to Tuvok: open fire.”
He locked the platform’s weapons onto the Kulak, targeted the central power coupling in its weapons array, adjusted the Husnock particle cannons’ power levels to just above the bare minimum needed to cripple that part of the Breen ship . . . and then he fired.
It felt like using a hammer of the gods to swat an insect.
A single blast reduced the dreadnought’s tactical grid to a smoldering mess and left the Kulak rolling slowly to starboard. The wounded ship vented atmosphere in a cloud that quickly dispersed into the vacuum of space.
Omal looked at Tuvok, her silver eyes wide. “No wonder the Breen wanted to capture this tech. It hits like a torga beast!”
“I will have to take your word for that comparison,” Tuvok said. “As for the Breen . . . let us hope their instinct for self-preservation outweighs their desire for domination. Because I would prefer not to fire this weapon again—but if they force me to, I will.”
Flames ringed the command deck of the Kulak. Damage-control personnel scrambled to douse the flames, but one look at the blackened panels and slagged circuitry left behind by the blazes made it clear to Thot Tren that his ship had suffered a crippling blow. This fight was over.
He struggled to stand. If the spinning inside his head didn’t betray him, he feared his left leg would. He called up his medical scan on his helmet’s HUD. The injury in his leg was only a hairline fracture, not a break. He would soldier on until his ship was clear of danger.
The main viewscreen fritzed and failed repeatedly to hold a steady image. As it stuttered in and out of service, Tren saw the Titan still sitting dead ahead, its battle-ravaged hull looking at least as sorry as that of the Kulak. He was sure they hadn’t fired the shot that had hobbled his ship—so who had? He limped in a half circle until he saw his weapons officer was back at his post. “Bol, report. What hit us?”
“A Husnock defense platform, sir.” He checked his malfunctioning console before he added, “They’re still locked on to us, and they’re charged for another shot.”
Choy looked back from ops. “One more hit from that thing—”
“I know,” Tren said. Favoring his good leg, he moved to confront his first officer. “Vang, you told me those platforms were dormant.”
“Our scans said they were.”
“Scans? You didn’t send engineering recon teams to check?”
“There wasn’t time, sir. The Titan was already entering the system, and we needed to prioritize the strike against the command center on—”
Tren cut him off with a fast-draw snap shot from his disruptor. The pulse burned through the front of Vang’s mask and cooked his head to a cinder inside his helmet.
The body slumped to the deck at Tren’s feet. “Choy. You are first officer now. Assign a new operations chief, then get me damage and casualty reports.”
“As you command.” Choy left his post and beckoned a relief officer to take his place.
Tren was still considering his next move when Sevv said, “We’re being hailed.”
“Put her on-screen,” Tren said.
Just as he had expected, he was once again confronted by the face of Captain Vale. Her pale countenance resembled those of the Paclu, and her multihued hair reminded Tren of a Silgov’s colorful tresses. “Thot Tren. Reverse your course and leave this system immediately. If you fail to comply, I will give the order to have your ship destroyed. Choose now.”
“I need time to recover my personnel from the planet’s surface.”
Vale shook her head. “No. Their fate is up to me now. This is your last warning.”
Bol interjected via Tren’s private transceiver channel, “Engineer Taan confirms we have lost all shields and weapons. He will need at least a day to begin repairs.”
Tren nodded once, as much for Choy as for Vale. “Well played, Captain. Until we meet again, may darkness bring you fortun
e. Kulak out.” The channel closed, and Tren pivoted away from the viewscreen. “Helm, set course away from the Titan, then out of the system, best speed.”
Choy stepped into Tren’s path. “Sir, we can’t just abandon our Spetzkar on the planet.”
“We haven’t abandoned them, Choy. As of now they’re either prisoners or casualties. In either case, they are beyond our help.” He shouldered past his new XO. “I’m going down to medical.” He gestured at the still-smoking corpse of Vang. “Clean that up before I get back.”
Twenty-nine
* * *
Even as the Breen warship turned away and accelerated into retreat, Vale refused to let herself believe she had won. Too many times she had thought she had the Breen beaten, only to find they had lured her into a snare. Now her ship was a smoke-filled wreck barely able to maintain life-support. Watching the Kulak jump to warp, she clung to her skepticism. She would not fall victim to overconfidence again.
Then Keru announced, “They’ve set a course to rendezvous with their fleet and are retreating at warp eight point six.” The bridge crew greeted the news with a modest cheer and a smattering of applause, while Vale was happy just to be able to exhale.
Riker clasped her shoulder. “You won.”
“I know what winning feels like,” she said. “This isn’t it.” She slipped free of Riker’s hand. “Keru, hail Sarai. Find out what the hell’s going on down there.”
Her throat tightened while she waited for the channel; if the Breen had succeeded in destroying the command center before Vale and her team could use it to neutralize the Husnock armada, then all of this pain, suffering, and death had been for nothing.
“Channel open,” Keru said.
“Number One, what’s your status?”
Over the banshee screeches of weapons fire, Sarai replied, “Busy! What’s yours?”
“All secure in orbit. Have you neutralized the Husnock fleet?”
“Negative! The main control center’s toast!”
Vale felt the bridge crew’s anxiety rising. “Do you need backup?”
“Yes!” More high-pitched noise was followed by incoherent shouts and a rumble of detonation. “We’re falling—” Another interruption of phaser fire. “Falling back to auxiliary control on sublevel eight.”
“Do whatever you have to, but don’t let the Breen take aux control. Reinforcements are on the way. Titan out.” Vale turned to Keru, who was already handing off his console to a junior officer. “Get down there, and take everyone we’ve got! Move!” As he dashed into the turbolift, she faced Rager. “Strike teams to all transporter rooms, beam them to the bunker entrance.”
“Sending the coordinates to all transporter consoles now,” Rager said.
Her crew swung into action without doubt or delay, but while Vale wanted to feel pride, all she could sense was a twisting knot of dread deep in her gut. This was why she had known not to celebrate the Kulak’s retreat. The battle with the ship had only ever been a diversion, an obstacle to halting the Breen’s real mission on the surface.
Not so long ago, I’d have been down there leading the fight, Vale brooded. Now my place is here. She pushed back against her guilt at being expected to stand apart from the fray while waiting to learn the fates of all those she had just ordered into danger.
Then Riker was once more at her side. He said nothing—but he rested his hand on her shoulder in a firm but gentle manner that conveyed a simple comfort: I know how you feel.
She acknowledged his silent encouragement with a nod, then faced the viewscreen with a stoic expression while she awaited the resolution of a crisis that was now out of her hands.
Give ’em hell, Number One.
Whatever substance the walls inside the Husnock bunker were made of, it had the perilous quality of deflecting energy blasts rather than absorbing them—a fact Sarai and her team had discovered only after the shooting had started inside the main control center.
Each shot that had missed its intended target, and failed to blow holes in one of the tiered banks of workstations, had caromed around the room in a working definition of reflective optics until it slammed into a person, a computer, or the floor. For one fleeting instant Sarai had thought she and the away team might turn this quirk of Husnock architecture to their advantage. After all, how often would one get to fire a beam weapon around corners?
Unfortunately, whether by accident or preparation, the Breen had hit upon the idea first. All it had taken was a single shot to either side of the open doorway, and the area where Sarai and the others had hunkered down had become a frenzy of unpredictable ricochets. And it didn’t help that there were so many Breen commandos. They had filled the control center with a storm of disruptor pulses bouncing every which way.
That was when Sarai had given the order to fall back.
She and her five shipmates had fallen over one another while searing blasts grazed their arms and legs. They had been lucky to get out the door with their lives, even though every one of them had emerged from the control center wounded.
Not that retreating did any good.
The walls in the corridors were composed of the same reflective compound, which meant the passageways were nothing more than glorified kill boxes. Every shot that slipped through the doorway at even a slight angle volleyed back and forth, giving it two or sometimes even three extra chances to hit one of them before it careened down the corridor into the shadows. The away team crawled on their bellies, with wild shots blurring past only centimeters above them.
Sarai stopped and reached out to grab Ithiok’s arm. “If Modan stops blocking the Breen’s remote detonators, can you trigger them with your tricorder?”
Baffled, the Tarkalean woman asked, “Yeah, but why would I do that?”
“Trust me,” Sarai said. She tapped her combadge. “Sarai to Modan! Do you copy?”
“Go ahead, sir.”
“Stop blocking the Breen’s detonators.”
“But—”
“That’s an order! Do it!” She looked back at Sortollo, who was closest to the open doorway. “Photon grenade, minimum yield, now!” As he prepped the munition, she told the others, “Get ready to run!” Another swarm of disruptor blasts filled the corridor, forcing them all to plant their faces against the floor. “Sortollo! Now!”
The security officer lobbed the photon grenade through the doorway without looking to see where it would land. Set for minimum yield, it would at best deliver a mild stun to the armored Spetzkar commandos—but more importantly, it would buy the away team a few seconds to escape.
A blue-white flash and a bone-rattling boom inside the control center shook the bunker. “Move!” Sarai shouted as she sprang to her feet and sprinted for the accessway that led down to the bunker’s deeper sublevels. The others followed close behind her, with Sortollo acting as the rear guard to discourage the Breen from pursuing too closely.
As they raced down the spiral ramp, disruptor blasts screamed down from above and peppered the floor between them. Sarai hollered over her shoulder, “Ithiok! Trigger their detonators!” The combat engineer lifted her tricorder and pressed one button.
The blast felt like an earthquake, as if Ithiok had just unleashed a synthetic apocalypse. Smoke, dust, and flames poured into the accessway from the command level above the away team, and rained tiny bits of debris—including pieces of Breen armor—upon their heads.
Then more crimson disruptor bolts tore out of the smoke and ricocheted down the silo-like space around the spiral ramp, hectoring the away team with a chaotic barrage.
In the midst of that bedlam, Sarai’s transceiver warbled inside her helmet to indicate an incoming signal from the Titan: “Number One, what’s your status?”
Sarai dodged another shot from above. “Busy! What’s yours!”
“All secure in orbit. Have you neutralized the Husnock fleet?”
“Negative! The main control center’s toast!” She thought it wise to omit from her report that she had just be
en the one who had destroyed it.
A wild shot took a crazy bounce and burned a hole through Sortollo’s right knee as Vale asked, “Do you need backup?”
“Yes!” She stopped and returned fire upward at the handful of Breen who had escaped the main control center and were still hounding them into the bowels of the bunker. “We’re falling—” A near-miss showered her head and shoulders with shrapnel from part of the metal walkway above. “Falling back to auxiliary control on sublevel eight.” She waited until sh’Aqabaa and Kershul carried Sortollo past her and Ithiok, then she directed Kyzak to take up the rear guard as they continued their descent.
“Do whatever you have to,” Vale said over the comm, “but don’t let the Breen take aux control. Reinforcements are on the way. Titan out.”
The channel closed as Sarai followed her teammates onto sublevel eight. She plucked their second photon grenade off of Sortollo’s utility belt, then motioned for the team to keep moving. “Ithiok, take point. Get them to aux control. I’ll buy us a few more seconds.” As the team hurried onward, she adjusted the settings on the photon grenade. Medium yield. Proximity trigger, five-second delay. She set it on the ramp beside the open doorway and armed it.
Then she ran like hell.
She scrambled through the door into auxiliary control just before she heard the blast, which put a crack through the ceiling and rained dust on her and everything else in sight. “This is it,” she told the team. “Last stand. We can’t let them get a shot through this doorway. Dennisar, take point with sh’Aqabaa. Anything moves out there, light it up. Kyzak, you and I have their backs. If one of them goes down, we take over. Kershul, patch up Sortollo. Ithiok, do whatever you have to, but make sure the Breen can’t trigger any demolitions on this level.” At last she turned toward Sethe and Modan, who were hunched over a Husnock command terminal they had coaxed into service. “As for you two, I don’t mean to rush you, but—”
“We just need another minute or two,” Modan said.
“A minute we can give you,” Sarai said. “More than that—”
