Titan

by David Mack

  Sethe added with conviction, “Just give us that minute, sir.”

  Sarai checked her rifle’s charge, then moved up to the ready line. “All right, team. You heard the techsperts. Whatever it takes, let’s give them that minute.”

  The room and the corridor outside fell strangely quiet. That felt like a bad sign to Sarai. It meant someone was hatching a plan. “Den? Pava? Anything?” The security guards shook their heads. Was it possible her trap with the second photon grenade had thwarted the Breen’s pursuit? Or had neutralized the last of their personnel? Or was it more likely the Breen were using their armor’s shrouding ability to launch a stealth assault?

  “Fire,” Sarai whispered.

  Dennisar squinted in confusion. “But there’s nothing out—”

  “Light up that corridor,” Sarai insisted. “All of it. Now.”

  Phaser beams crisscrossed in the darkness, rebounded off the walls, and turned the narrow hallway outside the auxiliary control center into a three-dimensional lattice of deadly energy—that instantly fried two shrouded Spetzkar, wounded another, and sent five more scurrying back around the corner to cover. Then they started to return fire, flooding the corridor with disruptor pulses bouncing in all directions and coming damned close to slipping through the open doorway. With trial and error, Sarai knew her people could get a shot around that same corner to hit the Breen—but would the Spetzkar’s luck prove better?

  From the back of the room, Modan called out, “Commander! We’ve got it!”

  “Hold the line,” Sarai said to Kyzak, then she ran to confirm Sethe and Modan’s work. “Show me. What are we looking at?”

  “These are the Husnock High Command’s executive systems,” Sethe explained, walking Sarai through the interface on the screen. “Just as we hoped, the Husnock High Command had a protocol for preventing their fleet from being used against them.”

  “So can we shut them all down from here?”

  “Yes,” Modan said. “And we can do more that that.”

  At the doorway, a Breen disruptor pulse blasted through Dennisar’s shoulder and laid him out flat on the floor. Kyzak pivoted into Dennisar’s place and continued firing at the Breen.

  Sarai directed Modan’s fearful eyes back at the Husnock computer screen. “What else can you do? Tell me, now.”

  “We can self-destruct the entire Husnock armada,” she said. “Every ship, every munitions factory, every fleet station. All you need to do is give the order.”

  Sarai was about to do exactly that, and then she recalled the conflict in her mission agenda, the divided loyalty that had haunted her ever since she had come aboard the Titan.

  Admiral Batanides was very clear, she remembered. She wanted the Husnock fleet captured for study by Starfleet R and D. But my orders from Admiral Riker and Captain Vale are just as clear: they want this threat to galactic peace neutralized. If I destroy it all, Batanides will end me. But if I don’t destroy it while I have the chance—

  In a crimson blink, sh’Aqabaa was down, a smoking hole in her left ribs. Ithiok pulled the wounded shen away from the door, then moved up to take her place.

  All this bloodshed for nothing if I make the wrong choice.

  “Sethe, can you locate all vessels in the Husnock fleet with this system?”

  “Easily.”

  “Find a ship at the farthest rimward edge of space, as far from here and the Federation as possible. Isolate that one ship and shut it down cold except for a command code you set. Then arm the self-destruct packages on every other Husnock military asset in existence.” Out of the kindness of her sensitive Efrosian heart, she added, “Set a two-minute delay, and make them broadcast a warning to anyone who can hear to get to safe distance.”

  Modan and Sethe keyed in commands with lightning speed. Then Sethe entered the final command with a flourish and smiled at Sarai. “Countdown under way.”

  It was a moment that felt like triumph—until the barrage at the doorway intensified, and within seconds Ithiok and Kyzak were both struggling to hold their ground after taking two hits each. Sarai ran back to the doorway, pulled Kyzak out of the line of fire, and took over for him, filling the passageway outside with death. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kershul pull Ithiok back from the doorway, and then the Edosian medic was holding the line beside Sarai.

  This will be a good death, Sarai told herself. No shame dying in a stand-up fight.

  Then came multiple concussive blasts from around the corner, and the echoes of phasers not hers or Kershul’s. Reinforcements from the Titan had arrived.

  The Breen’s barrage halted.

  Sarai’s combadge warbled. “Keru to Sarai. Please respond.”

  “I’m here, Keru.”

  “Mission status?”

  She looked to Modan for confirmation. The Selenean woman gave her a thumbs-up.

  “Accomplished. Do you want to tell the Breen, or shall I?”

  She imagined she could almost hear his grin. “I think you’ve earned it.”

  Leaning close to the doorway, she called out, “Attention, Breen personnel. Who currently has command of your unit?”

  After a short delay, a harshly translated voice replied, “Chot Vixx. I have command.”

  “Well, Vixx, I have bad news for you. The Kulak has left the system without you. And we’ve just destroyed the entire Husnock armada from auxiliary control. Your mission is a failure. It’s also over.”

  From beyond the smoke, Vixx asked, “And what will happen to me and my men?”

  “That’s up to you. You’ve got ten seconds to make up your mind. Call it.”

  It took only five seconds for Vixx to make his choice, but they felt to Sarai like the longest five seconds of her life.

  Then she heard the clatter of metal against the floor, and saw half a dozen Breen disruptor rifles sliding out of the smoke, to a stop near her doorway. To her great relief, none of them were emitting the telltale whine of a weapon on a buildup to an overload—and when she looked closer she saw that their power cells had been removed, rendering them inactive.

  “Hold your fire,” Vixx said. “We’ve laid down our weapons. We’re coming out.”

  Sarai could hardly believe what she had heard was real. In every engagement against the Breen’s elite special forces she had ever read about, the Spetzkar had died fighting to the last soldier rather than permit themselves to be taken as prisoners of war. She didn’t know what sort of changes were brewing in the Breen Confederacy to have made the commandos’ surrender possible, but whatever they were she was grateful for them.

  “Commander, hold your position,” Keru said to Sarai over her helmet’s transceiver. “My team’ll take it from here. Stand by for medical evac.”

  “Acknowledged.” Sarai slumped against a wall and sank to the floor, overcome by a wave of exhaustion and relief. She activated her subspace transceiver. “Sarai to Titan.”

  Vale answered, “Good to hear your voice, Number One.”

  “Good to be heard, Captain.”

  “So what’s the word, Commander?”

  “Mission accomplished, sir. And tell security to prep the brig: we’re bringing home some unexpected guests.”

  Thot Tren’s last hope for a victorious end to his mission had rested upon the capabilities of Chot Braz and his Spetzkar on the surface of Husnock Prime. Their mission had been one of simple demolition: destroy the command-and-control centers of the Husnock High Command before Starfleet found a way to exploit them against the captured armada.

  The Kulak had not yet passed the outer bounds of the Husnock Prime star system when Tren returned to its command deck after a brief visit to the ship’s medical bay. As he arrived, Sevv turned from his console to report, “Sir! Distress calls from the Sulica and the Tarcza.”

  That was all Tren needed to hear to know his mission had failed. “Split screen,” he said, “shared channel.” Now he and his subordinate commanders would be able to see one another.

  Kran appeared on the
left side of the viewscreen, Spara on the right, both talking over each other. Tren silenced them with a raised hand. “Kran, report.”

  “Automated warnings from the armada, sir. All ships to self-destruct in two minutes.”

  Spara added, “We’ve heard the same warning, from our support ships and the factory.”

  “Disengage all telepresence pilots and move your ships to safe distance.”

  “I have three dozen personnel inside the factory,” Spara said. “I can’t evacuate them in two minutes unless there’s a way to get a transporter beam through the station’s hull.”

  Tren knew that trying to beam through Husnock armor was a lost cause, and he had no intention of losing an entire ship for a futile effort. “Leave them behind,” he said. “Your first duty is to your ship. Both of you, move your vessels to safe distance, now. Then patch your screens through to mine.”

  The two commanders delegated Tren’s order to their seconds-in-command, and then the images on the Kulak’s viewscreen switched from the command decks of the Tarcza and the Sulica to their views, respectively, of the munitions factory and the Husnock armada. In the lower left corner of the Kulak’s screen a timer counted down the final moments to detonation.

  In near-perfect synchronicity, the armada and the munitions factory erupted in supernova blasts, explosions a billion times brighter than the average star but gone in less than a second. When the flash was gone the images from the Sulica and the Tarcza both crackled with interference from faster-than-light pulses of subspace disruption unleashed by the antistellar munitions that had been destroyed in the conflagration.

  Choy stepped into view by Tren’s side. “The domo won’t be pleased with us, will he?”

  “I wouldn’t be concerned about that,” Tren told his new first officer.

  “After what he did to Thot Keer? And Thot Trom?”

  “I promised we would not return empty-handed,” Tren said, “and we haven’t. We have extensive sensor data from our field test of an antistellar munition, and we have schematics downloaded from the automated factory.”

  “A fleet ready for war would have been a far more valuable prize,” Choy said.

  “True. But even if it takes our scientists decades to unravel the secrets in the Husnock’s designs, this mission will have been more than justified. Consider, Choy: What have we really lost? Fewer than a hundred lives, for a start. And how can we say we lost the armada or the factory when we never really had them? Starfleet, on the other hand . . . they’ve lost two starships with hundreds of personnel each. A score of prominent scientists. And by sacrificing the Husnock military arsenal, they’ve deprived themselves of the opportunity to learn its secrets.” Tren regarded the warp-stretched stars on the viewscreen, and he felt no anxiety whatsoever about the homecoming he and his battle group would receive. “Have no fear, Choy. Our mission has been a success, and we will be welcomed home as heroes, blessed by the fortune of war.”

  October 2386

  * * *

  Thirty

  * * *

  Hammers broke Cherbegrod’s dream of creamy food and endless foot rubs. He startled awake in his bunk. Banging echoed in his quarters, shook his ship. Not hammers—explosions. Then the alarm on the wall started to cry, whooping up and down, and orange lights flashed as he pulled on his coverall. The noise chased him as he left his cabin and waddle-jogged through the corridors of the Gomjar to reach his chair on the top deck.

  Haripog and Eberleg were behind him as he plodded down the last stretch. More banging hits made the lights go on and off. Sparks and smoke jumped from wall panels and stung Cherbegrod’s face. He swatted the hot bits from his face and arms and kept moving.

  The three Pakleds were almost to the top deck’s main hatch when a bright light filled the corridor in front of them. Too bright to look at. Cherbegrod squinted his bleary eyes, lifted his hand, and turned his face away. Then came the pretty sound, like music. When the droning and the light faded, Cherbegrod lowered his hand to see who had beamed aboard his ship.

  Gaila pointed a disruptor pistol at Cherbegrod, and the skinny man next to him pointed his weapon at Haripog and Eberleg. The Ferengi bared his fangs in a grin that even Cherbegrod knew wasn’t friendly. “Hello, Cherbegrod, you sneaky little tube grub.” An upward jerk of his weapon. “Hands up, you backstabber.”

  Cherbegrod raised his hands over his head, and so did his men. “Why you here?”

  “Why do you think, moron? I know it was you who sold me out to the Breen.” He took a step forward. “You undercut my price and gave them some kind of backdoor code you and your lazy pals snuck into the security system.”

  “Not lazy. Smart. Do more work with—”

  “Shut up!” Gaila thrust the muzzle of his weapon closer to Cherbegrod’s face. “I know the Breen must have paid you a fortune for that station. Which I’m betting makes you the richest junk hauler in the quadrant. But that station wasn’t yours to sell. So whatever the Breen gave you? You’re going to hand it over to me. Right now.”

  Anger made Cherbegrod’s face warm. He narrowed his eyes and stood taller so that he towered over the Ferengi. “Sold codes to Breen. Codes ours to sell. What Breen did with codes? Not our business.” He was done being afraid of bullies. He leaned forward and put his own head against the end of Gaila’s pistol. “Not paying you.”

  “Then you’re in for a long and very painful ordeal, my chubby friend. I will make you and your crew pay for every mind-numbing conversation I’ve ever had with your dull-witted species; for every time your kind shortchanged me on a deal; for every time your ilk has tried to double-cross me. Then I will kill you and revive you as many times as it takes to break you. And when I’m done, and you’ve handed over the money that was rightfully mine, Zinos and I will sell you and every last one of your idiot underlings into hard-labor slavery.”

  He ended his rant by shooting Cherbegrod in the foot.

  Cherbegrod wailed in pain. It hurt so much, like fire creeping in his bones. He fell down and wanted to clutch his smoking foot, but it was agony to touch it. Tears streamed down his face as he spat at Gaila. “Not paying you!”

  The Ferengi shook his head. “I didn’t think it was possible, but apparently you really are dumber than you look. I’m going to enjoy—” He shut up as his man Zinos fell dead beside him, his eyes wide and his throat gushing blood from a fresh slice.

  Gaila started to turn around, then stopped when someone else’s disruptor was pressed to the back of his head, just behind his left lobe. A figure stepped out of the shadows behind him—another Ferengi by the name of Brunt, a strangely polite member of his species who had come aboard the Gomjar a day earlier as a paying guest, for reasons Cherbegrod hadn’t understood.

  Brunt gestured with the bloody knife in his other hand for Gaila to put down his pistol. “Set it on the deck, nice and slow, or I’ll fry your skull from lobe to lobe.” Gaila did as Brunt said. Then Brunt added, “Now kick it over to the Pakleds.”

  A tap of Gaila’s foot sent the weapon across the deck to Eberleg, who picked it up and pointed it at Gaila. Haripog helped Cherbegrod stand up, and he supported him so Cherbegrod could keep his wounded foot off the deck.

  Gaila glared as Brunt searched his pockets and relieved him of various small devices. “You’re making a mistake, Brunt. Join me and we can split the take off these Pakled chumps.”

  “Split it, eh? Fifty-fifty?”

  “I was thinking more seventy-thirty, seeing as—”

  “Shut up.” He clubbed Gaila on the back of his head with the grip of his disruptor. Gaila crumpled to the deck, and Brunt stood over him, like a Balduk cage fighter taunting his beaten foe. “No more deals, Gaila. I’m taking you back to Urwyzden.”

  “For what? Some measly bounty?”

  “That’s right,” Brunt said.

  “But I’m offering you a thousand times that bounty! A world of profit!”

  Brunt put his knee into Gaila’s back and pinned him to the deck as he sla
pped a pair of magnetic manacles around the gunrunner’s wrists. “Profit isn’t everything.”

  Hearing that put a look of horror on Gaila’s face. “What kind of a Ferengi are you?”

  Brunt the bounty hunter pulled Gaila to his feet and prodded him down the corridor, toward the transporter bay. “The kind who’s taking you back to jail.”

  Sequestered behind the locked door of her quarters on the Titan, Sarai faced the grave visage of Admiral Batanides via her clandestine subspace channel. The flag officer’s simmering anger was so vivid and palpable that it seemed to transcend the boundaries of the holographic transmission.

  “So, as I noted earlier,” Sarai said, “the Titan is scheduled to remain here at Starbase Mainzer for at least another week while we arrange transports for the remains of our dead and finish repairs. One reason the work is proceeding slowly is that I’ve granted Commander Ra-Havreii a temporary leave of absence while he receives needed therapy.” She deliberately omitted the detail that his therapy was psychiatric in nature, in the hope that Batanides would assume the chief engineer was receiving medical attention for the wounds he had suffered in action. “Fortunately, before he left he appointed Lieutenant Commander Dalkaya as the new deputy chief of engineering, and that transition has been effected without incident.”

  “That’s not the intel I’m expecting from you, Dalit, and you know that.” Batanides didn’t try to disguise the suspicion in her eyes or her voice. “Get on with it.”

  Sarai paused to let Batanides feel her resentment in kind. “If you’re referring to Captain Vale and Admiral Riker, you should be pleased to learn that they’re both settling into their respective roles in accordance with established Starfleet protocols.”

  The admiral did not seem convinced. “Is that so?”

  “In fact it is. Throughout the operation in Husnock space, the admiral exercised great restraint and impeccable discretion with regard to the chain of command. He set strategic objectives but delegated tactical command of the fleet to Captain Vale, as per regulations. He also refrained from spending an inordinate amount of time on the bridge, and he gave no indication of second-guessing Captain Vale’s tactics or command prerogatives.”