A Time to Kill

by David Mack

  “Prime Minister!” Bilok said. “Be reasonable! We can’t stand against both the Federation and the Klingon Empire!”

  “You’d rather I surrender, Bilok?” Kinchawn gestured toward Picard, Logaar, and Troi. “Put myself at their mercy?” Kinchawn stiffened his posture imperiously. “Not today…. Not ever.”

  “You must issue the state apology,” Bilok said. “It’s the only way to avert disaster—and you know it.”

  “What I know, Bilok, is that I don’t take orders from you.”

  Troi, sensing an imminent disaster, gripped Picard’s arm. Her voice was a frightened whisper. “Captain,” she said, “we have to get—” Another sharp crack of Kinchawn’s staff cut her off.

  “Seize them!” Kinchawn said. Armed Tezwan guards moved in from all directions, their long, slender limbs propelling them in large, swift strides. The four Starfleet security officers immediately closed ranks and assumed defensive postures around Picard, Troi, and Logaar.

  “Stand down!” Picard ordered. “Don’t resist.” The captain reached up to tap his combadge, but stopped as a Tezwan guard with gleaming black plumage aimed a compact-looking rifle at him. The Starfleet security team reluctantly allowed the Tezwan guards to restrain their hands with magnetic manacles.

  “After all your decades in the Assembly,” Kinchawn said to Bilok, “how ironic that it now falls to me to show you what it means to lead.” Kinchawn leveled his staff at Troi and the others. “Take them to the detention—”

  “You can’t declare war without a vote of the Assembly!” Bilok interrupted. “This is illegal! I demand—”

  “Silence! Don’t test me, Bilok! I control the majority vote, and if I say we’re at war, we’re at war!”

  Troi felt Logaar’s surging fury as a Tezwan guard reached to snap a pair of magnetic manacles onto the Klingon’s wrists. Just before the manacles closed, Logaar turned and struck the guard in the chest with his palm. The guard’s sternum and ribs broke with a sickening crack, and the tall, long-limbed Tezwan was hurled several meters through the air. The planet’s slightly lighter-than-Earth gravity clearly had made the Tezwans’ bones less resilient than those of other humanoids, and afforded the Klingon a distinct advantage in hand-to-hand combat.

  Which, Troi understood full well, was why three other Tezwan guards, who had been standing out of melee range, opened fire on Logaar and vaporized him. Not a single mote of dust remained to sully the floor of the Assembly Forum as his glowing silhouette faded and vanished. The Tezwan guard-in-charge gestured with his rifle at the Starfleet personnel. “Toss your combadges to me.”

  Troi and the security personnel all waited until Picard removed his combadge, then did likewise. Troi triple-tapped the back of her combadge to deactivate it—and, more important, to activate the hidden backup subspace transceiver concealed in the heel of her shoe. The precaution that she had called “paranoid” when Riker insisted upon it an hour ago now seemed prescient. She lobbed the metallic arrowhead-shaped combadge to the guard. As he collected them, the six officers were manacled and grouped together. Above them, Kinchawn chortled with satisfaction.

  “Take them to the detention center,” he said. Troi winced as a guard’s rifle poked her between her shoulder blades, prompting her forward. She walked toward the exit.

  As she neared the door, Kinchawn’s voice echoed from atop the Assembly Forum. “Ministers of the Assembly,” he declared, “prepare to behold the beginning of a new chapter in our history, as I demonstrate the true power now at our command.” Troi glanced sideways at Picard, whose stoic expression concealed the seething anger evoked by the prime minister’s next words: “Watch with me now, as we destroy the enemy fleet in orbit above our world.”

  Chapter 7

  U.S.S. Enterprise-E

  RIKER LOOKED AWAY from the image of Tezwa on the main viewer and activated his tactical console to study the Klingon fleet’s movements. As soon as the negotiating team had beamed down, the ten Klingon ships had gradually dispersed. Six were now positioned at roughly equal intervals around the equator of the planet, while the other four had split off into two pairs, one above each planetary pole. He could only speculate about the location of the cloaked vessels that he assumed must be reconnoitering from high orbit. The formation might look innocuous to an untrained observer, but Riker knew the Tezwans would recognize its purpose as clearly as he did. The Klingon fleet had deployed to optimize its surface attack.

  Data responded to a chirp from his ops console. “Commander, we just lost the away team’s com signals,” he said as he keyed in new commands. “I am scanning for their backup transceivers.”

  Lieutenant Vale tensed as she responded to an alert on her tactical console. “Sir, the Tezwans just activated an energy shield over the capital.”

  “Red alert,” Riker said. “Tell the Klingon fleet—”

  “Incoming!” Vale said, cutting him off.

  “Shields!” Riker said. “Helm, evasive!”

  The shallow curve of the planet on the main viewer rolled erratically between vertical and horizontal as Perim increased the ship’s speed and initiated defensive maneuvers. Riker watched the first volley of bluish white energy bolts race upward from the planet surface toward the orbiting fleet. One of the large Klingon battle cruisers, unable to raise its shields in time, exploded instantly. The other cruisers and all four visible birds-of-prey were hit as a shot struck the Enterprise.

  The blast force lifted several personnel into the air and tossed them forward toward the main viewer. The overhead lights blinked out as the main viewscreen flared white with painfully bright static. Caught in its disrupted flicker, the bodies seemed to tumble back to the deck in jerky slow motion. Sparks and smoke spewed from several overloaded consoles.

  Riker coughed and waved a veil of acrid smoke from his eyes. “Damage report!” In the hazy half-light of the wounded bridge he saw Vale and Perim clinging to their consoles.

  “Shields are down,” Vale said. “Torpedoes are offline.”

  “Helm damaged but functional,” Perim said.

  Riker coughed. “Vale, how are the Klingons doing?”

  “Not good,” Vale said. “The birds-of-prey are gone. The cruisers are firing at the planet.”

  Riker immediately pictured Captain Picard and Deanna in the Tezwan capital, on the receiving end of a Klingon torpedo barrage. Then he made an educated guess about what another hit from Tezwa’s planet-based artillery would do to the Enterprise.

  “Helm,” he said. “Set a course for the Tezwan capital. We’re going under their shield to get the captain.”

  “Aye, sir,” Perim said as she plotted the course and began the rapid dive toward the planet. “ETA, twenty-one seconds.”

  Data keyed in more commands at his station. “Rerouting shield power to navigational deflectors to protect the hull.”

  Vale tapped targeting orders into her console. “Standing by to neutralize the capital’s interceptor drones.”

  “Good work,” Riker said. “Riker to transporter room.”

  “Go ahead, sir,” Transporter Chief T’Bonz answered.

  “Start scanning for the away team’s backup signals. Energize as soon as you have a lock.”

  “Acknowledged. Transporter room out.”

  Riker watched the details of the planet’s surface sharpen on the still-staticky main viewer. Here’s where the fun begins, he mused cynically. As the Enterprise leveled out from its steep descent, he saw countless telltale flares of Klingon torpedo detonations beyond the horizon, on the nightside of Tezwa. Directly ahead and growing larger by the second was Keelee-Kee, the planet’s capital. Between the Enterprise and the city was a cluster of small, fast-moving attack drones racing toward them.

  “Helm, all ahead full,” Riker said.

  “Slipping under the city-shield in five seconds,” Perim said as the twelve drones grew larger on the main viewer.

  “Interceptors are locking weapons,” Vale said.

  “Fire at wil
l,” Riker ordered.

  Phaser beams from the Enterprise lashed out at the uncrewed attack ships, which crisscrossed to evade the starship’s preemptive volley. Two were sliced in half by the phaser attack, while the others swarmed around the large, Sovereign-class starship. A shuddering boom of impact resounded through the deck as muffled explosions peppered the outer hull.

  “Report!” Riker said.

  “A drone rammed our torpedo launcher,” Vale said. “Damage and casualties in engineering, decks twelve and thirteen.”

  “We’re under the shield,” Perim said. On the viewscreen, the cityscape rolled like a kaleidoscope of metal, stone, and glass as she piloted the ship sideways on its center axis over the city’s main boulevard. Riker was used to watching stars spin on the viewer, but this spectacle was vertigo-inducing.

  “Riker to transporter room. Let me know the second you’ve got them.”

  “Still scanning, sir.” Another explosion shook the ship. Half a second later came the screech of the ship’s phasers being discharged in an atmosphere.

  “Watch your targets, Lieutenant,” Riker said. “These are civilians down here.”

  “I’m aware, sir,” Vale said. Riker smiled grimly at Vale’s implicit rebuke.

  “Riker to engineering.”

  The chief engineer’s voice crackled over the com. “La Forge here.”

  “Geordi, get ready to give me warp power,” Riker said.

  “Ready when you are, Commander,” La Forge said.

  An exploding com panel to Riker’s left sent sparks and flames dancing across the bridge. Smoke stung his eyes as tongues of fire licked at his fingers.

  “Transporter room to bridge. Energizing now.”

  “Acknowledged,” Riker said. A security officer extinguished the fire at the first officer’s feet, then moved to squelch the blaze inside the ruined com panel. Another round of detonations rattled the ship. “Helm, initiate a point-nine-eight warp field and head for orbit, best possible speed.”

  “Aye, sir,” Perim said. “Hang on to something, folks,” she added, to no one in particular.

  “All hands,” Vale broadcast over the ship’s com. “Brace for impact.” Riker clutched the arms of the captain’s chair as the ship angled skyward and accelerated away from the city. The ship lurched and quaked as it punched through the city’s defensive screen. As Riker had hoped, the Enterprise’s near-warp subspace field had enabled it to pierce the capital’s shield and make a direct ascent to orbit, rather than spend precious seconds trying to maneuver clear of the energy barrier. Now all that remained was to escape the planet’s gravity and evade its lethal artillery long enough to go to warp speed.

  The cinnamon-colored sky thinned and faded to reveal the star-speckled curtain of space. Several smoldering clusters of wreckage drifted derelict in low orbit. Only one Klingon vessel, a cruiser, was still even partially intact. Riker concluded it had been part of the Klingons’ cloaked detachment. Its hull was riddled with damage, and it was venting charged plasma from its ruptured warp nacelles. Its maneuvering engines were dark.

  “Data,” Riker said. “Get a—”

  “Tractor beam locked,” Data said.

  “Warp field extended,” Perim said.

  “Incoming!” Vale said.

  “Get us out of here.”

  “Aye, sir,” Perim said as she engaged the warp drive, catapulting the Enterprise and the towed Klingon cruiser beyond the reach of Tezwa’s artillery.

  Chapter 8

  Tezwa

  AS KINCHAWN’S DECLARATION of war was belatedly approved by a narrow vote split precisely along partisan lines, Bilok could barely contain his anger. He had always known Kinchawn was a rabid nationalist, but until this moment he hadn’t realized how radical and dangerous the man truly was. How many Klingon lives had Kinchawn just snuffed out on those ships? Five thousand? More? How many hundreds of thousands of civilians had just perished in the Klingon counterstrike? Contemplating the scope of the atrocity he’d just witnessed made Bilok ill.

  “You imbecile,” he said to Kinchawn. Bilok tried to keep his voice down, tried to mask his rage, but even a whisper would have been audible in the stunned silence of the Assembly Forum. “You’ve no idea what you’ve just done.”

  The prime minister dismissed him with a haughty wave of his slender hand. “Spare me your alarmist pessimism,” he said. “I’ve guaranteed our independence with this victory.”

  “Victory?” Bilok said, his bitterness unconcealed. “The Klingons annihilated our defense forces!” He pointed to several blinking points on the holographic tactical display hovering over the Assembly. “Our bases, our starports—gone! It’ll take us weeks to count all our dead.” He lifted his arms in frustration. “This is your definition of victory?”

  “All irrelevant,” Kinchawn said. “Our fleet is intact, its crews are safe, our capital is undamaged—and our new network of defensive artillery has made us unassailable from space.”

  “Wrong,” Bilok said. “They’ll make an invasion costly, but they didn’t stop the Enterprise from buzzing our capital. And they certainly won’t stop the Klingons from landing an army.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Kinchawn said. “Even if they send twenty ships, we can pulverize them within minutes. Their troops would never reach the surface.”

  Bilok couldn’t suppress an angry chortle. “What makes you think they’ll send only twenty ships?” he said. He turned to face the Assembly. “They will commit as many ships, sacrifice as many troops as are necessary, to crush us for this.”

  Several members of Kinchawn’s elininae-dominated Lacaam Coalition jeered Bilok. “Coward,” one recently elected minister shouted. “Leave the wars to us, grayfeather,” another slightly more experienced Lacaam’i heckled. Bilok knew better than to expect verbal support from his own trinae-controlled Gatni Party, which for several years now had been harshly cowed by the almost irrational aggression of the Lacaam’i plurality.

  He glowered back up at Kinchawn, who gloated over his faction’s unrepentant, if narrowly held, dominance of the Assembly. “If you don’t think the Klingons will retaliate,” Bilok said, “then you don’t understand them at all.”

  “I think we understand the Klingons better than you do,” Kinchawn said, sweeping his arm toward the bloc of Lacaam’i ministers on his left. “We know they respect strength.”

  “Wrong again,” Bilok said, his voice dark with anger. “You’ve confused your values with theirs. They don’t respect strength, they respect honor. And I guarantee you they’ll consider your sneak attack on their fleet to be both dishonorable and cowardly.”

  “You should choose your words with care, Bilok,” Kinchawn said, his tone laced with menace. “You wouldn’t want to invite charges of treason during a time of war.” Kinchawn rapped the bottom of his staff on his dais. The sharp noise hurt Bilok’s ears. “Minister Xelas, keep the artillery on full alert. Order all starship personnel to report for duty, and deploy the fleet to repel any Klingon or Federation counterstrike.” Kinchawn struck his staff twice more in quick succession. “This session of the Assembly is now closed. All ministers are to remain in the capital until further notice. Aleem no’cha.” Ending the session with the quasi-religious benediction was a Lacaam’i affectation that had rankled Bilok since its first utterance.

  The Lacaam’i ministers returned the traditional response of Aleem neel’ko and shuffled out of the chamber. Kinchawn turned and stepped toward his private portal, which slid open without a sound and closed behind him after he stepped through.

  Bilok remained motionless on the second dais, staring down into the Assembly Forum. A trio of Gatni-aligned senior ministers looked up and met his gaze. With a curt tilt of his head, he summoned them to reconvene in his office.

  Several minutes later, Bilok waited on his private balcony and watched the sun set. The horizon was aglow with the fires of far-off devastation wrought by the Klingons. He heard the three Gatni ministers enter his office behind him. H
e turned and greeted them. “Thank you for coming,” he said. It was an empty pleasantry; Bilok was the head of the Gatni Party, so they had little choice but to comply with his invitation.

  “Of course, Deputy Prime Minister,” said Elazol, the most senior of the three, and Bilok’s oldest friend in the Assembly. Before Kinchawn had assumed power seven years ago, Elazol had been the minister of intelligence. Now, at Kinchawn’s behest, he supervised the largely ineffectual Ministry of Agriculture.

  Accompanying him were Neelo and Dasana, the ministers of trade and education, respectively. Like Elazol, they had been removed from more prestigious posts during Kinchawn’s wholly unprecedented reorganization of the government, during which he had placed members of his Lacaam Coalition into all the most influential military, economic, and diplomatic offices. Neelo had been coerced into resigning her office as minister of the army, and Dasana had been ousted without explanation or apology after she had served as Tezwa’s foreign minister for more than eight years. To say that the three veteran politicians remained bitter over the blatantly political usurpation of their offices would have been a gross understatement.

  “Please join me on the balcony,” Bilok said. Neelo and Dasana followed Elazol onto the open-air terrace that overlooked much of the capital city. The skyline was abuzz with hovercraft traffic. “Close the door,” Bilok said. Dasana slid the transparent portal shut. Bilok rested his weight on the sturdy metal railing. “We need a plan of action right now,” he said.

  “We don’t have enough votes to push him out,” Dasana said.

  “What about a coup?” Bilok said to Neelo. “Do you have any pull left with the officer corps?”

  “Not really,” Neelo said. “He demoted or cashiered almost every trinae officer.”