Star Trek®: Excelsior: Forged in Fire

by Michael A. Martin

  Of course, Dax thought. All the better for a pirate ship to hide in.

  The deck suddenly rocked beneath his feet, heaving him violently into a nearby unoccupied console; he clutched at its edge to avoid toppling all the way to the deck.

  “Meteoroids, Captain,” said the hulking young officer who manned the tactical station. Dax was relieved to hear that they hadn’t fallen victim to yet another sneak attack.

  “Reinforce the shields!” Kor shouted.

  “Shields are failing, Captain,” the tactical officer replied in a rumbling voice. “The more closely we approach Qul Tuq, the more such difficulties we will experience.”

  Dax didn’t need to be told that without the constant protection of the shield generators, the magnetar’s intense magnetic field could very quickly and efficiently fry every system aboard the ship, including life support.

  Kor slammed his clenched fist onto the arm of his command chair. “Q’Lujj! All emergency power to shields and weapons systems!”

  The chief engineer’s voice came over the intercom, already sounding weary. “Understood, Captain. But life support may become compromised.”

  “Maintaining life support means nothing if we fail to maintain honor,” Kor said before snapping the channel closed.

  Dax wondered how long two lungsful of honor would sustain him once the magnetar out there finished immolating the ship’s electronic guts.

  “Keep the enemy in your sights,” Kor said to the tactical officer, who nodded stoically.

  “The albino’s vessel is headed for the second planet in the system,” Kang said, looking up from one of the scanners adjacent to the main tactical console.

  “The reason for that should be no mystery,” Koloth said.

  Kor raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “The planet is a dense, metal-rich world with a circumference several times that of Qo’noS. Consequently it produces an appreciable magnetic field of its own, which cancels out much of the influence of Qul Tuq, at least locally.”

  “The surface gravity would have to make such a place uninhabitable,” Kang said.

  “No doubt,” Kor agreed. “So the albino will probably seek refuge on one of the planet’s moons rather than on its surface.”

  “Closing to weapons range, Captain,” the tactical officer said.

  Kor nodded. “Very good. Lock on with main disruptor banks. Fire when ready.”

  “At once, Captain.”

  Dax grabbed the console, bracing himself. A moment later, the deck shook and rumbled again as the Klothos expended enough energy to vaporize a small city in the space of a few too-swift heartbeats.

  On the viewer, the enemy vessel continued serenely dropping toward the rapidly growing gray-brown, aurora-spangled world that now lay beneath it. The image on the screen rippled and wavered intermittently, creating numerous reflections and double images as streams of magnetically accelerated ions interfered randomly with the sensor returns and the Klothos’s other systems.

  “Nothing happened,” Koloth said, neatly underscoring the obvious.

  “Weapons lock is nonfunctional,” said the tactical officer, looking scandalized at having missed such an apparently easy target.

  A bright crimson beam lanced out from the aft section of the fugitive ship. Though it must have been intended as a counterattack, it missed its mark by an even wider margin than had the salvo from the Klothos.

  “Qul Tuq appears to have made blind men of us both, my esteemed cousin,” Kor said quietly and dangerously.

  Dax felt the vibrations in the deck shift subtly yet again. Before he could determine the reason, the helm officer said, “We’ve dropped out of warp, Captain.”

  Turning toward the tactical officer, Kor said, “Systems status report.”

  “Qul Tuq’s magnetic field will no longer allow us to sustain a warp field at this proximity to the star,” the tactical officer replied sheepishly, as though expecting to be ordered to fall on his d’k tahg in shame at any moment. “It has even cut into our impulse power by more than two thirds.”

  Kor appeared to take the news philosophically. “If it has happened to us, then it has also no doubt happened to him as well,” he said, gesturing toward the static-laced image of the other vessel displayed on the bridge’s central screen.

  Just past the dark limb of the planet, the deceptively small and dim disk of Qul Tuq flashed, strobing faster than the eye could see as it made its thousands of revolutions every second, its churning metal innards forming a colossal cosmic dynamo that spread the magnetar’s innumerable grasping electromagnetic fingers throughout the system.

  “Qul Tuq has greatly slowed this chase, then, for both hunter and hunted,” Koloth said, his words dripping with frustration. “It could take a whole day for either of us to actually make it all the way to the second planet.”

  “Longer, I would venture,” Kang said.

  “The star’s radiations have also compromised all major shipboard systems to some extent, Captain,” the tactical officer continued. “Chief Engineer Q’Lujj reports that he can keep the shields up using emergency power for perhaps another three days, assuming we sustain no serious additional damage in the meantime. But we cannot trust our weapons locks, long-range sensors, or transporters as long as we remain this deep inside the star’s magnetic field.”

  “So either we get away from here very soon on what little remains of our impulse power,” Dax said, addressing no one in particular, “or else we close in for the kill over the next couple of days and hope we can bring down the albino with a lucky shot or two.”

  Kor favored him with an ugly scowl, but the tactical officer interrupted before he could attach any words to it. “The other vessel is now on a precise heading for the planet’s innermost moon.”

  “Are you certain?” Kor said.

  “I’ve compensated for the sensor ghosts, reflections, and double images, Captain. I have no doubt as to his heading.”

  Koloth nodded sagely. “Where better to seek a respite from the never-ending storms of Qul Tuq? He must believe he can hide from us there.”

  “Well, we probably won’t be able to find him from orbit if he makes it all the way down to the moon’s surface before we intercept him,” Kang said. “Even with the second planet’s magnetic field calming some of Qul Tuq’s rage.”

  “We can’t use the transporter, in any case, with all the magnetic interference,” Kor said. That the Klothos couldn’t land on any planetary surface, of course, went without saying. “We’ll have to board his ship the way the warriors of old did such things.”

  “Assuming we can catch up to him before he makes a landing,” Dax said.

  Kor stroked his beard as he considered his ever-narrowing gamut of choices. “In that event, we would still have the option of chasing him down to the surface in one of our shuttles.”

  “That would certainly neutralize whatever tactical advantage we might still have over the albino’s ship right now,” Dax said, not sanguine about the idea of exchanging the relative safety of a Klingon warship for the cold comfort of a much smaller—and far more vulnerable—auxiliary craft.

  “Bah,” the tactical officer said dismissively. “The tantrums of Qul Tuq have done that already.”

  All three Klingon captains then turned as one to gaze upon Dax, looks of stern expectation—and, perhaps, of incipient disappointment?—etched onto their hard, careworn faces.

  “Do you fear to continue, Curzon Dax?” Kang said.

  Dax swallowed hard. Of course I do. What sane man wouldn’t?

  But he knew that every second’s delay would give the albino a substantially increased chance of getting away. And if the pirate escaped, he might actually succeed in creating and deploying a truly horrendous biogenic weapon.

  If he or one of his people hasn’t managed to do it already, he thought, recalling the launch of the still-unaccounted-for shuttle from the albino’s ship.

  None of those possibilities boded very well for the prospect
s of Federation-Klingon détente.

  Mustering every iota of bravado he possessed, Dax grinned. “Don’t underestimate my enthusiasm, my fine trio of warriors. We might not be able to run fast enough to catch this targ before he goes to ground.

  “But we can’t just let him get away without finishing the chase.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Stardate 9025.2 (Early 2290)

  U.S.S. Excelsior

  “I can’t keep the channel open much longer, Captain,” Rand said as she frantically made adjustments to her console’s frequency and modulation settings.

  The Trill ambassador’s image wavered and danced on the bridge’s central viewer, tugged and torn at the edges and stretched in the middle into taffy-pull distortions by the magnetic interference generated by the Qul Tuq magnetar.

  All Sulu was able to gather before the already tenuous subspace connection broke up entirely was that Kor’s ship was continuing to pursue the albino, bringing the chase dangerously close to the powerful magnetar, which was already playing hob with every system aboard the Klothos. The ships of both pursuer and pursued could be rendered all but blind, or even disabled entirely. The albino might even find a way to use these extreme circumstances to turn the tables, thereby escaping from—or perhaps even destroying—the vessel that continued so doggedly to close in on him. The Klothos might lose its life-support capabilities, along with all life aboard her, either to the magnetar or to the albino.

  And neither Starfleet Command nor the Klingon High Council would authorize Sulu to take any direct action to help, even now. Sulu bristled at the notion that the bogeyman of his childhood nightmares might very well get away, while all he was permitted to do was sit light-years away and let it happen.

  Cutler stepped directly behind the aft starboard communications console at which Rand sat. “Reestablish signal,” said the acting exec.

  Rand turned her head and fixed Cutler with a momentary but nevertheless hard glare. “The comm system can’t find any signal to lock onto,” she said, then turned her chair toward Sulu. “Sorry, Captain.”

  Sulu acknowledged Rand’s report with a silent nod. Captain, he thought, mentally repeating the title Rand had used as he stared forward into the vast ocean of night that separated Excelsior from Dax, the Klingons, and their quarry. The enforced sitting and waiting made him feel less like a captain and more like a glorified caretaker, someone whose only function was to keep the big chair warm until Starfleet Command finally got around to selecting somebody—somebody other than him—for the job.

  Sulu wondered how long even a CO as risk-averse as Captain Styles would have put up with this.

  Turning his chair back toward Rand, he said, “Has the High Council sent us any further word yet about my request to enter Klingon space?”

  “Not so much as a peep, Captain,” Rand said as she quietly shook her head.

  Captain, Sulu thought yet again. A captain, even an acting captain, has to make hard command decisions from time to time. Even decisions that might toss a whole career straight into the recycler.

  He made one of those decisions, right then and there. “Mister Lojur, plot a course to Qul Tuq.”

  “Aye, sir,” said the Halkan, apparently both surprised and pleased.

  Sulu noticed that the helm officer was watching him expectantly as well, her long-fingered hands spread across her console like Talarian hook spiders waiting to pounce. Cutler hovered silently nearby, watching with a neutral expression, neither protesting nor making any overt sign of approval. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded toward him.

  They all want to go after the captain’s killer, he thought. Even if that means violating orders.

  “Lieutenant Keith,” Sulu said, and discovered that he had no difficulty sounding resolute while he violated Starfleet orders. “Engage the helm as soon as the course is laid in. Maximum warp.”

  Early 2290 (the Year of Kahless 915, late in the month of

  Doqath; Gregorian date: January 12, 2290)

  I.K.S. Klothos

  Dax experienced real, heartfelt delight when he realized that his Klingon hosts had largely stopped babying him; they had all apparently shared so much mutual danger already that Kang, Koloth, and Kor no longer tried very hard to talk him out of exposing himself to the same front-line perils that they themselves were willing to face in the course of pursuing the albino.

  Of course, Dax recognized that this heady feeling of newfound acceptance had its drawbacks. As the Klothos drew steadily nearer to the albino’s fleeing vessel—the Qul Tuq magnetar’s energetic, particle-rich fields rendering the sensors, shields, and transporters of both vessels essentially useless all the while—the amount of danger that lay ahead seemed to be increasing at a nearly geometric rate.

  And as Dax stood with the three Klingon captains in the ventral launch bay of the Klothos, examining the pair of bulbous, cramped-looking, barrel-shaped craft that Kor was planning to use for the next phase of the chase, the Trill diplomat found himself almost beginning to regret his easy bonhomie with the Klingons. On the other hand, it gave him the discretion to freely voice his doubts and confusion; even with the benefit of the memories of Tobin and Torias, Dax found the new strategy Kor was about to employ obscure.

  “These things look suspiciously like escape pods,” he said uneasily as he paced between the two stubby craft that had been brought to the center of the launch bay in preparation for deployment. “Are you already making plans to abandon ship?”

  Neither of the little modules appeared spacious enough to hold more than perhaps two or three people. And the impressive array of grapples, hooks, and coils of high-tensile-strength cable mounted on their hulls made them appear better suited for mountain-climbing expeditions than for escaping imminent doom.

  “They are no longer mere escape pods,” Kor said in tolerant tones as he began checking the cache of disruptor weapons that lay on a nearby table. “At least not since Q’Lujj retrofitted them so that they may serve as breach pods as well.”

  Dax frowned, understanding now the nature of Q’Lujj’s hasty modifications, which, coupled with the unfamiliar terminology, dredged up a few pertinent memories from the career of Tobin Dax, who had worked as an engineer more than a century and a half earlier—well before the time when hostile vessels could be boarded using the neat and tidy expedient of transporter technology. Although Dax was impressed by the ingenuity of Kor’s chief engineer, he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the whole breach pod concept—not even after two more days of agonizingly slow searching and pursuit revealed the location of the albino’s freighter.

  Nor after the dimly illuminated, claustrophobically small breach pod he shared with Kang announced with a jarring lurch and a hollow, resounding clang that it had dug its duranium claws into that vessel’s radiation-pocked outer hull.

  “Magnetic grapples engaged,” Kang said, crouching as he examined one of the small backlit readouts mounted on the pod’s gray, tightly curving interior surface. “Contact torches have already begun cutting into the outer hull of the albino’s vessel.”

  “Any signs that they’ve seen our approach?” Dax asked, trying to force the nervousness out of his voice without entirely succeeding.

  Studying his displays, Kang did not appear to notice Dax’s jitters. “None yet. Ready your weapon.” Kang raised his bat’leth, aiming one of its razor-sharp points toward the pod’s single narrow hatchway, beyond which lay the interior of the albino’s ship. Had the Qul Tuq magnetar not interfered with the operations of both shields and transporters, such a brazen entrance—a tactic reminiscent of those employed millennia ago by the pirates who plundered Trill’s wooden, oceangoing ships—would not have been possible. Under the current circumstances, however, this was the only workable means of boarding available.

  “Ready,” Dax said, raising his own bat’leth, wishing all the while that Qul Tuq had seen fit to spare their hand disruptors while it was crippling or compromising most of their other systems. Since the
magnetar was also interfering with communications, he could only hope that the breach pod that carried Kor and Koloth had also succeeded in reaching its destination.

  The pod rocked brutally a few tense moments later as the little vehicle’s small cargo of shaped, directed explosive charges detonated, slamming Dax’s jaws together with an intensity that made him fear for his teeth. But as the pod’s exit fell open before him—creating, in effect, a fully atmosphere-sealed airlock-and-hatch assembly where no entrance had existed before—Dax decided that his dental worries could wait until after the pirate’s ship had been taken and secured. He felt a small breeze, his ears popping as the small pressure differential between the pod’s interior and that of the ship equalized.

  Kang wasted no time stepping into the narrow corridor that snaked past and beyond the now-sealed wound that the breach pod had gouged into the pirate vessel’s innards. Taking care not to catch his blade on any of the ductwork, conduits, or other low-hanging protrusions that extended downward from the corridor’s low ceiling, Dax hastened after the Klingon captain.

  “Mevyap!” cried a deeply guttural voice some distance behind Dax, who recognized the Klingon imperative word for “halt.”

  Dax did indeed stop moving forward, as did Kang; instead, both men turned in almost perfect synchronization toward the source of the command.

  The slender form of the albino, armored in a leather-like, formfitting combat suit—and armed with a bat’leth that looked incongruously heavy juxtaposed against his slight frame—stood a dozen or so meters away, between a branching passageway and the gash in the hull created by the breach pod. Beside and slightly behind him stood the elderly Klingon scientist who had been at the albino’s side during their previous up-close encounter.

  As the scientist fairly cowered behind him, the albino regarded the intruders while sighing and shaking his head. “What must I do to finally be rid of you?” he said, as though he perceived an armed boarding party as more of an annoyance than a threat.