But anger came soon enough, from General K’Vagh as he arrived in response to the disruption. K’Vagh grabbed Lokog by the front of his leather vest and yanked him upright. “Filthy marauder! You think to use my finest soldier as though she were a common whore? I should tear you limb from limb.”
Lokog found the strength to laugh. “No doubt you should, General. But then who would sell you more drones so that you could score victories like this?” He gestured around at the captured station with his one good arm.
The burly general growled and let him go. “Curse your drones—and the pirates who direct them. The Imperial forces have caught on that they need to take out the command ships. And your men lack the strategic skills to guard those ships. I just heard from Kor: his forces have lost a major engagement near the Ghahak system.”
Lokog waved it off. “Ghahak is minor. We mined it out decades ago.”
“It is not Ghahak that matters. What matters is that the man you had controlling that contingent of drones allowed himself to be taken alive! Now the Imperials have a prisoner they can interrogate! They will learn of the Ware and its source.”
“Well, then,” Lokog replied, “you need me to get you more Ware. For the agreed-upon price, of course.”
A low rumble sounded in K’Vagh’s throat. “Fine. Your payment will be arranged.” He loomed over Lokog. “But I recommend you return to the source of the Ware and prepare the new shipment personally. In fact, you should remain there to oversee further deliveries.”
“Just so long as the money keeps coming,” Lokog replied. “And so long as I still get my title once you control the High Council.”
Laneth looked him over pityingly. “You may buy your way into a title . . . but do not imagine that anything could make you noble.”
September 19, 2165
Qam-Chee, the First City, Qo’noS
At last, Ja’rod had achieved his ambition to stand within the High Council Chamber. True, he was here merely as a visitor, not yet a councillor. But the achievement that had brought him here today might well ensure his ascension to a Council seat in the near future.
For weeks now, the QuchHa’ had been using their infernal robot fleets to strike against Imperial forces and installations. The cowards kept their distance from battle, like the humans whose taint they carried, while allowing the boxy gray drones to do the killing for them. The robots lacked the fire and imagination of true warriors, but their sheer numbers, their great maneuverability, and their ability to repair themselves made them a formidable threat nonetheless. Many true Klingons had lost their lives, and several colonies and strategic locations had fallen under QuchHa’ control, including the Mempa, Da’Kel, Qu’Vat, and Beta Lankal systems. The supply lines to the farming and mining colonies in the Pheben and Narendra systems had been interrupted, costing the core worlds wealth and tribute.
The one benefit of this scourge was that it had dulled the conflict between the various HemQuch factions vying for the chancellorship, as they stood together against their common foe. Even so, arguments raged between those who wished to see the QuchHa’ exterminated once and for all, with Councillor B’orel as their leader, and those who argued that the flat-headed ones had proven their will to fight and should be accepted once again as true Klingons, as Councillor Alejdar advocated. One would not expect a female’s weak ideas to be given consideration, but Alejdar had the favor of Councillor Khorkal—the oldest contender for the chancellorship, but the one who had cultivated the greatest number of political allies and supporters, and thus not an easy foe to overcome. And the tediously intellectual Arbiter Deqan had dragged out the ja’chuq for a jar and a half now, insisting that all eligible contenders must proclaim their deeds before the council—even those whose duties on the battlefield kept them from reporting in. Thus, the Empire remained divided, the Imperial fleet held back from decisive action. Ja’rod hoped his accomplishment would change that.
It was his patron, Councillor Ramnok, who had brought him here to present his prisoner to the High Council. Ramnok was a fierce warrior who had earned his seat through multiple successful conquests and victory in several duels. The glory to be won in combat meant everything to him, as it did to Ja’rod. But he did not lack for rhetorical fervor either. “This is the key to our victory,” the tall, bright-eyed Ramnok intoned before the Council now. “At last, Captain Ja’rod has done what no other has managed to do. He broke through the lines of the mindless drone ships at Ghahak, tracked down the renegade vessel that controlled them, and captured its master for interrogation. You see what remains of that one here.”
That was Ja’rod’s cue. He strode forth proudly, dragging the chained QuchHa’ privateer alongside him, then shoving the man to the hard stone floor of the smoky chamber. “My councillors,” he said. “This . . . creature . . . calls himself Klorek. He is a pirate and a coward. He broke easily under my interrogation.”
Khorkal stepped forward to study the man. “This privateer is one of those who provided the technology to the insurrectionists?” the stately, gray-haired councillor asked.
Ja’rod kicked his prisoner. “Answer him.”
Klorek winced and spoke in fearful tones. “The machines are called the Ware,” he said. “They come from unconquered space, beyond the Kromnoth sector. They are widespread there. Many worlds use them.”
“How did you obtain them?” asked Khorkal.
“We were approached . . . by an alien named Vabion. He is a merchant and an engineer, and he learned some of the Ware’s secrets . . . with help from Starfleet.”
Clamor rang through the high-roofed, echoing hall as the councillors reacted. Councillor B’orel’s voice rose above the others. “Starfleet? Do you say the Federation is behind these abominations?”
“I do not know,” Klorek said. “Lokog—our leader—helped Vabion escape from Starfleet. They were working with him, but then they betrayed him. Or he betrayed them. I do not know. But Starfleet is moving against worlds that use the Ware, shutting it down, leaving them defenseless. Vabion made a deal with a group of worlds there—they give us the drones in exchange for our protection against Starfleet.”
“So Starfleet is against the Ware,” said Councillor Alejdar. “This agrees with the reports from our spies in the Federation.”
“For, against, it does not matter!” Ramnok cried. “Once again, the humans meddle in affairs they do not understand. They assume they are wiser and better than the rest and entitled to tell others how to live! And the consequences once again descend upon us!” Other councillors in his faction cheered his words, emboldening him to speak further. “I say we have tolerated their interference long enough. They have grown too powerful, too bold, with this new union of theirs. Now they expand toward the Kromnoth sector, spreading their influence. We must not sit idly by and allow this!”
“Do you propose war?” Khorkal boomed.
“I do! A war we should have waged years ago! It was a black day for the Empire when the Federation formed, joining our Vulcan, Andorian, and human foes into one larger force.” Councillors muttered in agreement. “Now they grow ever stronger, taking Rigel and others, expanding in our direction! We must no longer tolerate this threat! It is time we subjugated them once and for all like the jeghpu’wI’ they are!” His supporters roared.
“This is nothing you have not said many times,” Khorkal replied. “But we already fight a war on two fronts. The insurrectionists undermine us from within, and now the privateers and their drones besiege us from without. We cannot afford to divide our focus with yet another war.”
Ja’rod dared to speak. “We cannot afford not to, my lord. Starfleet has an entire fleet in the region beyond Kromnoth! They expand into territory we had planned to conquer. They will take those worlds from us if we do not stop them!”
Ramnok came to his support. “Ja’rod is right! If the Federation succeeds there, they will have us in a pincer. So
on enough they will surround us if we do not stop them!”
“Choose your enemies well, Ramnok,” said Alejdar. “It is the first of Kahless’s precepts for a reason. Consider: We stand against the Ware, and so does the Federation. More, they appear to have the means to control or destroy it. Would it not be wiser to ally against a common enemy?”
B’orel replied with disgust, his voice trampling over her last few words. “Wisdom is an excuse for the cowardice of a female! These Ware are mere machines, a minor nuisance. The human poison that infects us is the real threat! Without the humans, there would be no QuchHa’, no insurrection, no privateer alliance with these Ware worlds.”
“Then let us plan against them wisely,” Khorkal advised. “Deal with the threat at hand so that we can then confront the Federation with all our strength.”
“And let them grow stronger while we wait!” Ramnok countered. “That is the strategy of a weakling. Warriors do not win honor by letting fights go unfought!”
“Nor do they win it by rushing recklessly into every fight that presents itself! Honorable war is that which benefits and enriches the Empire. Not that which benefits personal glory at the Empire’s expense!”
“You only fear this war because you know you are too weak to lead us to victory, old man! Step aside and let a true warrior lead!”
Khorkal took a heavy step forward. “If you think me a coward, step forth now and test my courage!”
“I will!” Ramnok advanced.
Ja’rod thrilled at the prospect of witnessing such a high-level duel, but Deqan spoiled it by stepping between the councillors. “This is out of order!” the arbiter declared. “There are still other oustanding contenders for the chancellorship. Not all have completed the ja’chuq and proven their case, and I have not yet selected the final two contenders. It is not your place to select yourselves!”
“Outrageous!” B’orel exclaimed. “You delay interminably with these arbitrary rulings.”
“Let me remind the esteemed councillor that his own accusations against General K’Vagh required the suspension of the ja’chuq during the investigation. In the wake of his disqualification, new contenders have come forth, and all are entitled to declare their—”
“To Gre’thor with your prattling excuses, scholar! You leave us without a leader at our time of greatest crisis! Stand aside and let true warriors resolve this!”
Ja’rod could see that many councillors sympathized with B’orel. Deqan was an unpopular choice for Arbiter of Succession, the last of Chancellor M’Rek’s many unpopular decisions. He was a relic of the old days, before the warrior caste had risen to its rightful place and seized control of the High Council. A scholar and diplomat by training, he had remained on the Council through some fluke of politics, and M’Rek had chosen the doddering fool as his arbiter on the basis of Deqan’s complete lack of ambition, seeing him as a neutral party who could not be swayed to favor one contender over the rest. But he had chosen too well in that regard, for Deqan seemed to favor no one at all.
Still, as little respect as the other councillors may have had for the lone non-warrior among them, they had no hate for him either; he had been a fixture of the High Council for decades and had forged many alliances and astonishingly few enmities in that time. Moreover, the councillors respected the traditions of succession, and challenging an arbiter was a reckless move. B’orel found that no other voices rose to his support. Sullenly, he stepped back and held his silence.
But Ja’rod saw his chance. “My councillors,” he began, kicking the prisoner Klorek. “I have interrogated this one not merely about the Ware, but about the Starfleet armada in the sector. It includes at least five Andorian warships—a significant portion of their fleet, weakening their core defenses. One of those warships has already been overpowered and captured by the privateers and mercenaries in service to the Ware worlds. Klorek has given us details on their weapons and tactics. We know they can be beaten, and we know how. Speaking for the commanders of the Fleet, my lords . . . we do not fear battle with the Federation. We welcome it.”
The councillors in Ramnok’s and B’orel’s camps shouted in solidarity with his words. Ja’rod smiled as he realized that several of Khorkal’s supporters did the same. His speech had struck the target: though Khorkal and Alejdar still resisted the idea of war with the Federation, they did not wish to appear weak or cowardly in the eyes of their supporters, lest it weaken Khorkal’s bid for the chancellor’s throne.
The war was as good as begun.
September 20, 2165
U.S.S. Pioneer
“So you have lost Vabion’s ship?”
T’Pol stood with Travis Mayweather, Charles Tucker, and Reynaldo Sangupta around Pioneer’s situation table. So far, she had not had the opportunity to spend time alone with Tucker, so they had been unable to acknowledge each other with anything more than subtle glances while they maintained the pretense of being strangers. Tucker played his Philip Collier role with the ease of long practice, and without their mental bond, she could read nothing from him but what he showed on the surface. It was possible, she admitted, that her chastisement of Tucker had been harsher than was warranted.
Indeed, Tucker bristled, though how much of that came from him and how much from “Collier” was unclear. “Oh, we know exactly where his ship is, Captain T’Pol. The problem is, he isn’t on it. From what we can tell, he left his Ware command ship behind and took off in one of the Klingon privateers.”
Sangupta smiled. “But the good news, ma’am, is that we’re pretty sure we know where he’s going.”
T’Pol raised a brow. “Explain.”
“You see, I got to thinking,” the cocky young science officer continued. “The Partnership have searched for the Ware’s builders before, but never found them. Why is that? They’ve had centuries to look. So it occurred to me: What if it’s somewhere they couldn’t go? Somewhere they wouldn’t be allowed to get near?”
Mayweather picked up the thread. “The Partners have told us about the civilizations that have attacked them for using Ware. The Manochai, the Silver Armada, and so on. They’ve all either attacked the Partnership and been driven back to their own space, or have fought off attempts by the Partnership, or the Pebru, to expand into their space. That means there are territories the Partnership has never been to. Odds are, the Ware’s builders come from one of those.”
T’Pol frowned. “Logically, if these powers oppose the Ware so fiercely, they would not tolerate the Ware’s builders operating in their space.”
“They could be in between the Partnership and the builders,” Sangupta suggested. “Or maybe the builders are strong enough to hold them off, so they have to pick on weaker groups like the Partnership instead.”
Tucker added, “And past experience with the Ware could explain why they’re so hostile to it.”
“Logical,” T’Pol granted, holding Tucker’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary. “But there have been multiple attackers in the Partnership’s history. How does this tell us Vabion’s destination?”
“Process of elimination,” Sangupta said. “The Manochai were conquered by the Klingons. Not only does that mean we’d be out of luck if they were in the right direction, but they probably aren’t, because as far as we can tell, the Klingons have never heard of the Ware until recently.”
“True,” the captain agreed, reflecting on the intelligence reports Admiral Archer had sent her over the past few weeks.
“We can rule out the Guidon Pontificate,” Sangupta went on, “because they got their Ware from the Partnership in the first place, back before the Partners realized it preyed on living beings. Apparently it was the Guidons who discovered that and, um, filed some pretty aggressive customer complaints about it.” He gestured to the star chart on the situation table. “And there’s this other group called the Reehansa, or something like that, but they came from way over h
ere, near Romulan space, which is the wrong direction.” T’Pol glanced toward Tucker, but he showed no outward reaction to the Romulan connection.
“So that just leaves the Silver Armada.” The science officer zoomed the display in on the region of the map marked off with their approximate borders. “At least, that’s what they call their warfleet. The Partnership never really got their name beyond that. They’re absolutely fanatical in their hatred of the Ware. Reportedly they aren’t xenophobic as a rule, or even particularly territorial, so long as you’re flesh and blood. But try to bring even a single piece of Ware-made technology into their space, and the Armada will descend on you with a fiery vengeance. As the Partnership found out when they tried to make first contact two hundred and seventy years ago.”
“So this civilization was already well acquainted with the threat of the Ware,” T’Pol said. “Suggesting either that they discovered the threat promptly through happenstance, as we did on Enterprise, or—more likely—that they had a long enough prior acquaintance with the technology to accumulate evidence of its rapacious tendencies.”
“And,” Tucker added, “that they’d suffered enough damage from it to take it very personally.”
She turned to Sangupta. “But you say the Armada is not hostile otherwise.”
“As a rule, no.” He smiled. “Which means that if someone went into their space in, oh, a Klingon privateer ship, they could probably get in with no problem.”
“Vabion thinks he’s found something,” Mayweather said. “We need to find it too.”
“I concur with your analysis,” T’Pol said, “and your plan of action, Mister Mayweather. Endeavour and Pioneer will proceed to Silver Armada space together. Assuming the Armada grants us passage, we should be able to handle a single Klingon ship.”
Mayweather grinned. “It’s a pleasure to serve alongside you again, Captain.”
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