The Hall of Heroes
Page 16
“Father, you must relax,” Tragg said from behind his desk as Korgh stormed in. “This thing will kill you.”
“I am not an old man, to be felled by a bit of bad news. This is a military operation. I want a status report!”
Tragg shrugged. “They’re still at warp. I do not know what more I can say.”
The task force had been hastily assembled. Commander Tengor had rounded up as many warships as could reasonably be spared from Ketorix, Narendra, and other House of Kruge systems. Even H’atoria and Ghora Janto, whose garrison commanders had understandably complained, given their past targeting by the Unsung. No one knew it was Korgh himself who had sent the cultists there. Korgh could not concern himself with the Unsung now. Shift and her blackguards had to be obliterated.
Tragg, in his new role as general of the ground forces, had contributed hundreds of warriors. They were hidden inside the two treasure ships that Korgh had dispatched along with Tengor’s task force. Baffles had been installed to block any life-sign readings. Tengor would allow Shift’s people to beam aboard the vessels, and then he would massacre them. The rest of his flotilla would find Blackstone and destroy it. It was so simple even Tengor could not foul it up.
“Our best warriors are with them,” Tragg said. “You can relax.” He peered across the desk at Korgh. “But I wish you would tell me more about these people we are going after.”
“In time,” Korgh said. “For now, know that all depends on their destruction.”
Tragg accepted that without further argument. “I am concerned about our orbital defenses,” he said. “Let me contact General Kersh. She could be recalled from the Unsung search for home defense.”
“Do not involve her,” Korgh snapped. He had no intention of allowing his rival to nose around wondering why he had sent his forces to Balduk. Korgh had no time for the irrational worries of Tragg, who just days before had no planetary security responsibilities at all. “Recall ships from our frontier outposts, if you feel you must.” He charged out into the hallway. “And keep trying to contact Tengor!”
KINSHAYA BATTLESPHERE FERVENT-ONE
APPROACHING NO’VAR OUTPOST, KLINGON SPACE
“’Aya, outsider-ally and Niamlar-sentinel,” the gray-faced cleric said. “The truth comes to you.”
Standing in the command well of the Fervent-class battlesphere—Kinshaya loved their decorations but had little use for chairs—Thot Roje watched the many-bangled quadruped approach. While he had already adjusted his helmet to respond in the Kinshaya language, making proper respect to a bishop of the Episcopate was more complicated than he had time for. “What news?”
“Our crusaders are restless in their quarters,” Bishop Labarya reported. “They know we have crossed the threshold into Klingon space and long to harrow the evil pit.”
“Tell them their patience will soon be rewarded.”
Roje’s certainly had been. Years building the fleet, staring at the possibility that the vessels might never be used. Countless hours seeing that the interiors of the ships were designed exactly to the tastes of the Kinshaya; the Breen had gone all in, building the ornate domed cathedral-like bridges they preferred. Millions of Kinshaya noreg spent in secret support for Ykredna’s hardliners, all of which would have come to naught if she never retook power from the apostates.
And then, suddenly, success. He owed it all to Shift. Who could have guessed that all it took to prod the Kinshaya back to war was a scheme concocted nearly a century earlier by interstellar grifters who fancied themselves magicians? Only Shift had. She and Chot Dayn remained in the Janalwa system, Dayn looking on in bewilderment as she coordinated planetary affairs in the guise of a god. Ykredna had been restored to power, but the true coup was Shift’s. For the moment, Niamlar ruled for the Breen.
What had followed, Thot Roje believed, was one of the fastest offensives ever assembled and launched in the history of interstellar warfare. Roje had transferred his flag from Blackstone to Fervent-One, where the Spetzkar troops working the bridge’s operations pits made room for Ykredna’s military loyalists. The plan they executed was off-the-shelf, concocted for the Fervent fleet by Breen strategists should there ever be another Klingon civil war. Less than twenty-four hours after the Breen guided the battlespheres into the skies over Rashtag, the fleet was on its way. The Kinshaya were calling the offensive the Rebuke, a term Shift’s Niamlar character had coined.
The vessels were deploying all along the Kinshaya border with the Klingon Empire—and beyond it, their cloaking devices enabling them to slip past opposition.
Not that there was much to bypass. The Klingons had allowed Breen ships to travel their space openly in the ostensible search for the Unsung. The fools never realized that the Breen were reporting back ship positions and defensive emplacements. So Roje knew that many of the patrol ships were off on the search, and many of the House of Kruge home guard ships, which administered this region, had departed.
It was not a civil war that denuded the frontier defenses, but another of Shift’s brainstorms. She had sent a message to Lord Korgh, diverting his attention to faraway Balduk. The door had been left open—and Roje owed it all to Shift.
She had saved him from the Orions, and now Shift was saving his career. Trust did not come easily for a Breen, particularly one who worked in intelligence. Roje’s disastrous experience on Cardassia at the conclusion of the Dominion War had soured him on ever depending on others. But it was nearly impossible for any Breen to make progress in the Confederacy without allies, and Shift had been both loyal and intrepid, a rare combination.
Chot Shift was a treasure. Roje swore that when his mission succeeded—when the Klingon Empire was both truncated and alienated from the Federation—he would see that she was rewarded. And his resources might be limitless, if their efforts resulted in the addition of a de facto Breen colony in the Beta Quadrant, populated and defended by Kinshaya but controlled by the Confederacy. They might even make him the new domo. That would serve Pran right for how things went at Cardassia. He wondered how Shift might like to have his job as intelligence chief. Roje was sure she would impress. From slave to thot in just a few years: What better example could there be of the opportunities the Confederacy offered sentient beings?
Roje looked up at the massive status screen, improbably situated between two stained-glass displays. Represented were six attack battlespheres of his squadron, all currently cloaked and advancing toward No’Var Outpost, one of the House of Kruge’s outermost holdings. He already knew from intel reports the Empire had an early warning communications station that was guarded by a debris field and the Klingon battle cruiser D’pach.
It would make an excellent first test for the Rebuke and its mixed crews of Breen and Kinshaya. It was fortunate for the Breen that the Fervent-class’s operations centers were designed for use by the bipedal Kreel as well as by the Kinshaya. Roje didn’t think it wise to let the Kinshaya run the mission all by themselves. He didn’t doubt their devotion; just their good sense.
“’Aya, and the demons speak their vile tongue via subspace,” a Kinshaya officer declared from one of the control interfaces. “Let us decloak and destroy them.”
“Hold,” Roje ordered. “We cannot lose surprise this soon. Intercept their transmission.”
One of his Breen officers activated a control, bringing up an audio feed from the D’pach. The broadcast was on one of the encrypted Klingon Defense Force channels; obtaining the decryption key had been one of the recent triumphs of Breen espionage. Kinshaya brayed and squealed in existential anguish as the words of an accursed Klingon rang through their flying temple of war.
“—don’t care what Lord Korgh says. I answer to General Kersh—and she’s off hunting the cultists. And I’m not leaving my post. Tell them Commander Thagon, at least, has sense!”
“Alert all vessels,” Roje said. “Forward three ships, assume position nearest the outpost. Everyone else, follow our lead. In approximately five minutes, I will give the si
gnal. Target communications arrays as soon as you decloak.”
Roje looked back at the bishop. “Do your people consider it a sin to kill the unwary?”
“Not demons,” Labarya said.
Thirty
PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ
APPROACHING NO’VAR OUTPOST
“—Commander Thagon, at least, has sense!”
In listening to the intercepted transmission, Worf made use of yet another feature on the Phantom Wing ships, presumably provided to the Unsung by their mysterious patrons. The official codes had already been entered into its comm system permitting those aboard to listen to Klingon Defense Force channels. Not to transmit, he noted; “Kruge” would not have wanted them to have that ability. Valandris’s people had relied upon information from the feed several times in scouting their targets.
This time, their purpose in listening was different. No’Var Outpost was still hundreds of thousands of kilometers ahead, floating in an asteroid field. Worf could just make out the battle cruiser beyond on the magnified screen. He knew from the intercepted audio that it was D’pach, and he knew the outpost. He had visited it scant months earlier during the Takedown Incident. Worf considered that only one ship was garrisoned here to be a stroke of luck. A smaller welcoming party would be less likely to try to wipe out the exiles.
The four remaining ships of the Phantom Wing had traced a course dipping into and out of Klingon space; ironically, partially along the free-flight corridor Admiral Riker had wanted to establish at the H’atorian Conference. The thought had been to minimize chances of detection before they could surrender, as planned, on Ketorix.
While the ships’ reinvigorated dilithium crystals had worked fine, Cob’lat’s antimatter storage system had thrown off alarms several times, forcing the entire squadron to stop while still cloaked. The Unsung would not leave any of the birds-of-prey behind. While Cob’lat’s engineering team was still working on the issue, Worf and Valandris met to discuss turning the Phantom Wing over to Klingon forces somewhere else.
“General Kersh administers this station,” Worf said. The Unsung all knew of her; the fake Kruge had made a villain of Kersh, and they had faced her at Spirits’ Forge. “She is tough, but fair. Yielding to her would be honorable.”
Valandris and her companions barely concealed their disappointment at the small distant bodies on the screen. “It is not Ketorix,” she said. “We would not be speaking to the lord of the house.”
“Kersh is a member of the house—granddaughter of J’borr, whom you slew. It would be appropriate to make restitution to her.” He glanced over at Kahless, who watched with curiosity. “And she is more likely to let the children live. You know from the other transmissions that most commanders would shoot on sight.”
“You heard what Thagon said,” Valandris argued. “Kersh isn’t even here. What do we do, sit and wait for her?”
Worf looked back at the comm system. He had not heard any reports detailing exactly where Kersh was—but he was reluctant to give the exiles the chance to change their minds. “If you decloak with shields down and hail them, Thagon will call Kersh to the station.”
“Will there be anyone left alive when she arrives?” Dublak asked.
Discussions broke out between members of Chu’charq’s bridge crew over what to do. Exasperated, Worf listened to the Defense Force transmissions, hoping some indication of Kersh would magically appear. It did not.
Amid the hubbub, Kahless stepped over to Worf and spoke confidentially. “You seek to end this sooner.”
“You have done wonders with them,” Worf said, looking at the others. “But with delay, things could unravel. I trust Kersh to do right. Korgh lied about his identity for years, claiming to be Galdor to remain close to his house. However noble his intentions, I question his choice of means.”
Kahless watched the exiles. “I will support—”
“Look!” Raneer cried. In the distance, black orbs materialized around D’pach and the floating outpost. They were spherical starships, which spat disruptor fire at the targets they surrounded.
For a sickening moment, Worf—not registering what he was looking at—worried that the other Unsung birds-of-prey had decloaked and struck. But the other vessels were alongside, according to the stealth positioning system, right where they should be.
The strikes on D’pach had another impact on Chu’charq’s bridge. They could see, but they could also hear the crash of static replacing the carrier signal from Thagon’s still-open channel. The decloaked spheres’ surprise was apparently absolute; the outpost commander had never said anything. His battle cruiser exploded under a repeated fusillade—while only a few moments later, No’Var Outpost was shattered by repeated barrages.
Then the attack ended, almost as soon as it started. The spheres vanished, two by two.
“What was that?” Valandris said, gawking at the main screen.
Worf was as stunned as anyone. They were too far from the scene to act—but they were still under cloak and could investigate without danger. He pointed to Raneer. “Take us there. There may be survivors!”
Valandris looked at him—and then nodded to her young friend. “Do it.” Raneer touched a control, and Chu’charq lurched. “Tell Klongat and Krencha to follow,” Valandris added. “And remain cloaked!”
KINSHAYA BATTLESPHERE FERVENT-ONE
The Kinshaya continued to cheer, shrieking in that irritating way of theirs. Thot Roje had already decreased the volume on his helmet speakers once. He had long contended the Kinshaya were constitutionally unworthy to be members of the Breen Confederacy; they were barely functional as allies. The genius of Shift’s idea, he felt, was turning them into true puppets. They deserved no better, just based on their behavior on the bridge now.
“Silence your followers,” he told the bishop.
“We have purged this place of evil,” Labarya said, her useless wings flapping in excitement. “Why do you not sing, Breen?”
“Because this is a single military outpost. We are after greater game.” He looked to one of his officers for some competence. “Did they send any warning signal?”
“No, Thot Roje,” the Spetzkar officer said. “We struck perfectly. Should we scour the remnants for recording devices that might have seen us?”
“Unnecessary. By the time anyone comes to investigate, the whole Empire will know where we are.” He crossed his arms and looked to the strategic map. “Onward.”
PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ
Chu’charq and its flanking vessels had required little time to reach the site of the attack. As soon as they were in range and scanned for life signs on both targets, hope vanished just as quickly.
“Who were they?” Kahless asked, stomping about in a growing rage. “Who would strike in this manner?”
“There should be a way to review the sensor feed,” Hemtara said. A few moments later, she found the control she was looking for—and the events repeated on the main viewscreen, with further magnification.
“Freeze image.” Worf studied the orbs. “Kinshaya warships.” He had not seen that particular class before, but the profile fit nothing else. The hull color and size might be new, but the weapons were mounted in typical Kinshaya fashion.
“Are they at war?” Valandris asked. “I saw them at that conference of yours.”
“There has been no mention of it.” Worf had been monitoring the comms for hours for information on how the Unsung would be received. “This is a sneak attack.”
Kahless walked amid the exiles, who stood staring first at the motionless image—and then at the destruction outside. The scene changed to a live view. Klingon corpses could clearly be seen amid the wreckage. The Empire had towed rocks to the outpost’s orbital neighborhood to better protect it; this new debris field was just as artificial, but far more chilling to behold.
“You see,” Kahless said, “this is what it is to witness an ambush. You heard no announcement from the Kinshaya. This was no victory, bu
t the act of cowards.”
Valandris breathed heavy as she looked out. “We—we have to do something.”
“They’re cloaked just like us,” Hemtara said.
Valandris headed for one of the control interfaces. “We’ll flush them out,” she said, touching a control. “Decloaking.”
“No, wait!” Worf said, hurrying to her position. But she had already raised shields by then—and after a few moments, it appeared no one had noticed them. “They must have left.”
Reluctantly, Valandris asked, “What do we do? The Empire will think we did this.”
“You seek to avoid blame?” Kahless asked, an eyebrow tilted.
“I seek to warn them. But they will never listen—not to us. Not after what we have done.” She looked to the Emperor. “You could warn them, though. You and Worf.”
Worf looked at the comm system, whose limitations he had recently come to better understand. “We can receive on the Defense Force bands, but it appears we are only able to transmit locally. There is no one left to hail.”
Valandris rubbed her bony forehead. “I forgot. We were only ever able to call back to Thane while we were on operations for the imposter. I never considered calling anyone else.”
Worf remembered the network of repeater stations, now destroyed, leading to the Briar Patch and the Unsung’s erstwhile master. It was another way of controlling what they could and couldn’t do. While Buxtus Cross was dead, the checks he imposed still thwarted them.
Frustration setting in, Worf listened to the feed from the Klingon Defense Force, mentioning ship movements. One in particular caught his attention.
“What are you doing?” Valandris asked as he sat and pulled up the star map on another screen.
“Finish Cob’lat’s repairs. There is someone we can reach—who will listen.”
Thirty-one
U.S.S. ENTERPRISE
DEEP SPACE
Alone in the void. It was a natural state for starships; their function was traversing vast distances populated by nothing whatsoever. Enterprise and Houdini had arrived first at their rendezvous point with Aventine—an unexpected prospect given the other vessel’s immense speed—and sat motionless in a patch of Klingon space far from any star.