Seekers

by Dayton Ward

  “Moderate strike on port aft shields,” Stano reported. “Nothing too bad. This time, anyway.”

  Khatami asked, “Where’s the Voh’tahk?”

  “Still behind us, and closing fast,” Klisiewicz replied. “They’ve just entered the rings at full impulse. They’re firing in our general direction, but I think you were right, and the rings may be screwing with their targeting systems.” Lifting his head from the sensor viewer, he frowned. “They’re decreasing speed but maintaining their pursuit course.”

  “From what I know of Kang,” Stano said, “he won’t break off now.”

  “No,” Khatami agreed, “but he’s not a fool, either.” Her own knowledge of the Klingon captain was limited to what was recorded in official Starfleet intelligence files and the reports from other starship captains who had encountered him, most recently James Kirk of the Enterprise. By all accounts, Kang was an accomplished tactician and fierce warrior who had served his empire with distinction for ­longer than Khatami had been alive. He was a formidable ­adversary.

  But he doesn’t have your ship and your crew, she chided herself, so do your job.

  Dividing her attention between the muddled image on the viewscreen and the astrogator as she monitored the distance separating the Endeavour and the Voh’tahk, she checked the estimated time remaining until the starship cleared the rings. The battle cruiser would be on them within seconds of leaving the field.

  “Get us out of this, helm.”

  In front of her, Neelakanta was hunched over his console, fingers moving almost too fast to follow as he pushed the Endeavour through the planet’s rings. Seconds later the screen cleared as the ship returned to open space, and the helm officer rolled the ship to port. The astrogator readout showed Khatami what the lieutenant was doing, illustrating the starship’s position outside the rings relative to the advancing Voh’tahk, which was continuing to plunge through the field at full impulse. Neelakanta, using the ship’s maneuvering thrusters, had pivoted the Endeavour so that it now faced the rings and was pushing the starship forward once again. On the viewscreen, the image shifted to show the Voh’tahk punching through the rings, the forward torpedo launcher at the front of the cruiser’s bulbous primary hull glowing red as it prepared to fire. The aspect already was changing as the Arcturian pilot guided the ­Endeavour on a slanting attack run just as the Klingon ship fired a pair of torpedoes, the glowing spheres of crimson energy hurtling across the void.

  “Brace for impact!” was all Khatami had time to shout before the torpedoes slammed against the starship’s deflectors. The defensive fields absorbed the brunt of the impact, but Khatami still felt the ship shuddering around her, the Endeavour having again avoided a direct strike thanks to Neelakanta’s expert piloting.

  “Phasers and torpedoes,” Khatami ordered. “Concentrate on their forward shields as we pass. Full spread, fire!”

  Next to Neelakanta, McCormack jabbed at the firing controls, and the bridge’s overhead lighting flickered in response to the weapons systems’ power demands. The energy from the Endeavour’s massive phaser batteries pulsed through the deck plates beneath Khatami’s feet, and the image on the screen was tinted blue as twin streaks of focused energy lanced across open space, flanked by a quartet of photon torpedoes. The phaser beams hammered against the Voh’tahk’s forward shields, followed an instant later by the torpedoes, and the area immediately forward of the Klingon cruiser erupted in a brilliant yellow-­orange maelstrom as the conflicting energies clashed.

  “One torpedo made it through!” Klisiewicz shouted. “I’m picking up an impact on their primary hull. There’s damage to their forward torpedo launcher.”

  Neelakanta reported, “They’re coming about.” His hands were almost a blur as he worked the helm console. “Continuing evasive.”

  “They’re firing again!” McCormack warned.

  The ship trembled once more from the impact of another weapons strike even as the navigator fired another volley of phasers and torpedoes, and Khatami saw that McCormack was targeting the weakened area of the ­Klingon ship’s shields. On the screen, more impacts flared against the enemy vessel’s deflectors and Khatami thought she saw at least one strike against the Voh’tahk’s hull, but then the other ship had passed, continuing on its own course after emerging from the rings.

  “Damage report.” Khatami turned her chair to see Estrada bent over his console, his right hand pressing the Feinberg receiver to his ear as he collected reports from the ship’s key departments.

  “So far, nothing critical, Captain,” replied the communications officer. “A few circuit overloads, but that’s about it.”

  Stano added, “Engineering reports we’re at eighty-six percent shield capacity.”

  “What about the Klingons?”

  “Another of our torpedoes punched through during that last pass,” Klisiewicz said, his attention fixed on his sensor viewer. “Possible damage to the secondary hull, near their engineering section. I’m picking up fluctuations in their main power plant.”

  McCormack called out, “They’re not done yet, Captain.” She gestured toward the astrogator, and Khatami saw the icon representing the Klingon cruiser changing course, back again toward the Endeavour.

  “Their forward torpedo launcher is out of it,” Klisiewicz said, “but their disruptors are still live.” Then, a moment later, he pulled himself away from the viewer. “Hang on. Something’s up.” Khatami waited while the lieutenant consulted his station’s various displays before turning to face her. “Their primary power systems just went off-line. Backup supplies are kicking in, but the power drop is huge.” Pausing to check another of the readouts, he added, “Weapons are down. Life support and other systems are still functioning, but everything’s drawing from their impulse engines.”

  “Captain,” Neelakanta said, “they’re changing course and moving off.” Without Khatami having to ask, the helm officer tapped a control to change the main viewscreen’s image, which now displayed the Voh’tahk’s stern as the battle cruiser arced away from Arethusa toward open space.

  Rising from her chair, Khatami stepped around the helm console, her attention on the screen. “Track their course. They can’t be going too far, not without warp drive, but I want an eye on them as long as they’re within sensor range.” Kang’s most logical strategy would be to withdraw to something resembling a safe harbor and attempt to make repairs. Were the circumstances reversed, Khatami would be worried about pursuit and her enemy attempting to capitalize on her ship’s compromised condition, and while the thought did cross her mind, at the moment she had other, more pressing concerns.

  “They look to be moving deeper into the system,” Klisiewicz reported. “From what I can tell, the damage to their warp drive isn’t too extensive. They may well be able to fix it without calling for help.”

  At communications, Estrada said, “Well, they’re calling somebody.” When Khatami turned toward him, the veteran lieutenant frowned. “I’m picking up an encrypted burst transmission, broadcasting on several of the frequencies we know the Klingons use.”

  “Are you able to translate it?” Stano asked, moving from the engineering station toward him.

  Estrada shook his head. “It’s not a code we’ve broken.” He shrugged. “At least, not yet. I’ve already got the computer crunching on it, and we should know at least something soon.”

  “It’s not hard to figure out what the message says.” Khatami leaned against the helm console and folded her arms. “Apprising higher command of their current situation and that they’ve been in a fight, and calling for re­inforcements.”

  “How close can help be?” Stano asked, reaching up to push aside a lock of light brown hair that had fallen across her left eye. “We’re out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  Khatami shrugged. “We got here easily enough. Besides, it’s obvious the Klingons are interested in this plane
t and the people living here, so it’s a safe bet Kang has some kind of support hiding somewhere within shouting distance. We’re not finished dealing with Klingons today, not by a long shot.” She cast a glance toward the viewscreen, which once again featured an image of the beautiful planet Arethusa. “I think it’s past time we found out why.” That she had fired on members of the world’s native population still weighed on her, and it would be up to the Sagittarius’s captain to ease her worries.

  After directing Stano to oversee and keep her updated on damage control efforts that already were under way throughout the ship—and giving silent thanks to whichever deities or other omniscient beings who may have observed the brief skirmish and seen fit to safeguard her vessel and crew—Khatami ordered Estrada to reestablish contact with Clark Terrell on the planet’s surface. With visual communications still not an option until his people had time to make those repairs, Khatami sat in her command chair and listened to the tired voice of her fellow ship commander.

  “Everybody okay up there?”

  Khatami could not hold back a small smile. “We’re fine, Clark. Now that the excitement’s over for a little while, we’re getting ready to send you some help.” She already had instructed Stano to notify the engineering and medical teams originally detailed to the landing party to finalize their preparations and stand by for transport to the planet’s surface.

  “We’ve got the welcome mat out. Tell your people to take off their boots before coming inside. We just had the floors done.”

  Happy to hear her friend’s calm, composed demeanor returning, Khatami directed the conversation to more serious matters. “Okay, Clark, I need to know what’s going on. What’s the story with these Tomol? Are they . . . ?” She cut herself off before she could ask whether this planet’s inhabitants might be members of the Shedai race, or some other species that had benefited from that supposedly defunct race’s advanced technology. Some things were still prohibited from being discussed on an open communications channel, after all.

  “They’re not related to our old friends,” Terrell replied, picking up on the unasked question. “This is something different. Whatever you do, don’t beam up any of them. The Klingons did that, and, well . . . you saw how that worked out for them.” In clipped, abbreviated fashion, the Sagittarius’s captain gave Khatami and her bridge crew a summary of his people’s findings during their survey of Arethusa, during which Khatami, Stano, and Estrada shared more than a few looks of amazement and incredulity. Klisiewicz, who had listened to most of Terrell’s report, at one point returned to his station and immersed himself in his instruments, pausing to cast troubled glances toward his captain as he worked. Then, just as Khatami was about to ask what she was sure would be an ever-growing number of questions, Klisiewicz turned from his console.

  “Captain, that transponder the Klingons used to tag one of the Tomol? It’s still active.” He frowned, shaking his head. “It took me a few minutes to separate it from the background radiation and other residual energy readings at the bird-of-prey crash site, but it’s there.”

  “What was that?” Terrell asked over the open communications link. “The transponder?”

  Klisiewicz nodded. “It’s still transmitting a signal, and I’m picking up at least a half dozen life signs in the vicinity of the crash site, but they’re moving away from that location.”

  “That’s impossible,” Stano said, making no attempt to mask her disbelief. “We leveled that whole area.”

  “You haven’t seen what these things can do,” Terrell snapped. “The longer we stay here, the more danger we’re in, and like I already told you, we can’t afford to let even a single one off this planet.”

  5

  His heavy footfalls echoing on the duranium deck plates, Kang made his way down the narrow service corridor leading to the Voh’tahk’s engineering spaces. Crowding the passageway were engineers and other technicians, each engrossed in whatever repair task he or she had been assigned. One of the subordinates noted his approach and rose to his feet, assuming a position of rigid attention and offering a formal salute.

  “Captain,” the junior officer said, all but shouting as his voice reverberated off the corridor’s slanted metal bulkheads. The other members of the crew abandoned their work, coming to attention in deference to their commanding officer.

  “Return to your duties,” Kang snapped, not breaking stride as he continued down the hallway. He had little interest in protocol and other useless points of military etiquette while real tasks waited to be accomplished. “Where is Konvraq?” he asked. The Voh’tahk’s engineering officer had to be scurrying about somewhere down here.

  “Lieutenant Konvraq is in the main compartment, Captain,” replied another subordinate, one whose name Kang did not recall. “He is overseeing repairs on the main propulsion control systems.”

  Without acknowledging the report, Kang arrived at a reinforced pressure hatch at the end of the corridor, which slid aside at his approach. No sooner did the portal begin to open than he heard the sounds of activity from the chamber beyond. He stepped into the ship’s main engineering room, observing members of his crew working alone or in small groups all around the compartment. Several conversations were under way, overlapping one another to the point that Kang could not make out more than a few words from any one exchange. In one corner, two Klingons were employing a laser welder to make repairs to one of the conduits supplying coolant to the ship’s mammoth propulsion system.

  “Captain,” a voice called, shouting to be heard above the commotion permeating the room, and Kang turned to see an older Klingon, Konvraq, walking toward him. Unlike nearly everyone else aboard the ship, the chief engineer wore that time-honored badge of age and wisdom: gray hair, which was clipped close to his scalp. The top of his head was smooth, save for the very narrow ridges that began at the bridge of his nose and proceeded up and over his skull and down his neck. Unlike Kang, Mara, and most of the Voh’tahk’s crew, Konvraq along with a handful of other officers was HemQuch, Klingons who had retained their cranial ridges over the years since the virus that had swept through the empire more than a century earlier. Kang’s parents had been so afflicted, as had Mara’s, resulting in their status within Klingon society as members of the QuchHa’ caste. Unlike many HemQuch, Konvraq never seemed to care about such distinctions, and it was but one of the many qualities Kang had always liked about the veteran officer.

  “What brings you to my lair?” the engineer asked, ­offering a wry grin. “Surely the commander of this, the ­empire’s finest warship, has better things with which to occupy his time?”

  Despite his overall foul disposition, Kang could not help but smile at the other man’s attempt at whimsical discourse. “You always seem to know how best to elevate my mood, my friend. It is perhaps this reason above all others that I haven’t killed you before now.”

  “That, and my skills as an engineer.” Konvraq punctuated the reply with a bout of raucous laughter that bounced off the bulkheads and made his subordinates all pause in their work to regard him. A sharp gaze from Kang made them see the merit of returning to their respective tasks.

  “Speaking of your vaunted expertise,” the captain asked, “what is the status of your repairs?”

  Konvraq motioned for Kang to follow him across the expansive chamber. “Well, all is not lost. I am happy to report that the damage to the propulsion system can be repaired without requiring the ship to be towed to a maintenance facility.”

  “That’s fortunate,” Kang replied, “as there are no such facilities in this sector.” If circumstances forced him to do so, he would order the Voh’tahk’s destruction rather than risk its capture by the Starfleet vessel. With reinforcements already en route to the Nereus system, he and his crew would simply take their chances on the planet’s surface until a rescue ship arrived. Faced with that dishonor, Kang would see to it that the Endeavour and its captain paid for the dis
grace he soon would have to endure. “Do you have a revised repair estimate?”

  Konvraq nodded. “The work will require most of the day. I have a crew outside the hull, attempting to repair damage to the forward torpedo launcher, and another team inside the launch system itself. It suffered a direct hit from one of the Starfleet vessel’s torpedoes. It’s a miracle the entire forward hull section was not destroyed by exploding munitions.”

  “What about our shields?” Kang asked. “We experienced several lapses in protection during the battle.”

  “The generators suffered an overload,” replied the engineer, “but damage was not extensive. I expect those will be among the first repairs we complete.”

  In truth, Kang was prepared to resume the fight without the shields as long as the ship’s weapons were at his disposal, though he knew that emotion rather than reason guided that line of thinking. Facing off once more against the Starfleet cruiser would require his own vessel to be at its peak operating condition. Even without shields, the power from their generators could still be of use to other, more vital areas of the ship.

  “Your eyes betray what is in your heart,” Konvraq said, and Kang saw a small, knowing grin lightening the other Klingon’s features. “You would charge headlong into battle at a moment’s notice. Do your years of experience offer nothing of counsel to you?”

  Aside from his wife, there was no one aboard the Voh’tahk who would dare speak to him in this manner, and Kang likely would have killed anyone else who did so. Konvraq, however, had long ago earned the right to offer his unvarnished thoughts to his captain. The engineer had been a trusted friend and ally, whom Kang had known since his first shipboard assignment as a freshly minted officer from the military academy. Though their career paths had separated them for a time, fate and circumstance had seen to it that Konvraq was available for duties as a chief engineer when Kang was assigned command of this battle cruiser. Kang had always appreciated his friend’s forthright, direct manner, never hesitating to offer his honest opinions whenever asked, and often without being so prompted.