Isn’t that lucky, Adams thought, but he resisted the urge to speak out loud. “But… this type of spacecraft is definitely Romulan. The Scorpions have been manufactured since…”
Mendon waved his hand dismissively and interrupted the captain, something Adams might have taken offense to had he not been aware of the diligent and zealous nature of Benzites—especially this Benzite. “Be that as it may, look at the details on this monitor? At first glance everything seems to be in order. The hull’s alloy is the same as that of the Romulan model. The same applies to the design of the lateral fin, and to a piece of the cockpit pane we found. But if you look closer, everything collapses like a house of cards. The quality of the workmanship doesn’t meet the required Imperial standards. Electronic components are obviously of inferior quality. Just look at this and ask yourself: is this really a Scorpion spacecraft?”
Adams hesitated. Indeed, the longer he looked at the animation on the small display, the more differences he noticed. The ship’s shape, the size, the material composition—everything suggested “Scorpion”… the details, however, showed countless inconsistencies.
“This isn’t a Romulan attack fighter,” the captain said. “This is… a copy…”
“Precisely,” Mendon confirmed. “A modified and—if I may say so—fairly amateurishly modified copy of a Scorpion. This isn’t the real thing.”
Adams leaned forward as if he were able to make more sense of the data columns that way. But he had seen and heard enough. He didn’t like any of it.
“If this ship didn’t come from Romulan stock,” he said menacingly quiet, “then the Renao are top of our list of suspects again. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I wish I knew, sir,” the Benzite said. “I can tell you one thing though; the ship flying the attack against Starbase 91 was not built to last past its first mission. It was supposed to fulfill one purpose, and I’d wager that its destruction was part of the plan.”
Nodding, Adams sighed, dreading how Kromm would react to this information.
24
NOVEMBER 12, 2385
I.K.S. Bortas, en route to Onferin
Kromm realized that his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it quickly. Did he hear that correctly? Or did the bloodwine play tricks on him?
“Computer, repeat message,” he said in his silent ready room.
Councilor Grotek reappeared on the screen of his comm console. The gray-haired warrior with the long scar in his face stood in a room illuminated by torches. Behind him, Kromm spotted stone walls and a segment of a window with a view to the First City’s skyline. Grotek was calling from his home on Qo’noS.
“Qapla’, Captain Kromm,” the old man started. “I hope this message finds you well. Especially your livers.”
Kromm growled quietly. What did these council members take him for?
“You should be aware that the High Council does not expect miracles from you. They do not even expect you to act. Why should they? After all, the hero of the Ning’tao hardly needs to prove himself through actions.”
Furiously, Kromm hammered his fist on his chair’s armrest.
The old warrior finally came to the point. “But you should know that we wouldn’t reject any actions from you. Martok sometimes is his own worst enemy, and is often overly sympathetic to the Federation. There are members of the High Council who think that this is a time for action.”
He leaned forward, and Kromm felt as if Grotek’s eyes bored into his. There was no escape from this glare. “The Renao pose a threat to the Klingon Empire, and they are a disgrace for the galaxy. Qo’noS would be… quite satisfied if they were finally able to reap what they sowed.”
Again, the old man paused to emphasize the sincerity of his words.
“You are already in Renao space, captain of the Bortas. You have the Empire’s former flagship at your disposal. You…” Grotek grinned. “Well, I hope you’re hungry.”
Another pause. Kromm growled again, but this time it was not from annoyance, but rather because he felt the hunger the old warrior was talking about. It was the hunger for honor, for blood, for justice. And Grotek’s message only increased it.
“If that’s the case, Captain,” Grotek continued, “you should know that much of the High Council shares this hunger. Not Martok—and even if he did, he would probably not voice that opinion. The Federation’s leash can be appallingly short.” He snorted derisively. “But many of us also feel this hunger. As far as these dishonorable Renao are concerned, you can count on the Council supporting any solution for this problem, Kromm—even if it wasn’t quite suitable for the diplomatic mission you were originally assigned. Do you understand, Captain?”
Kromm nodded. He was alone in his ready room as usual. Now he wished both his entire crew, and his family back on Qo’noS could see him. Him and his hunger.
Grotek tilted his gray-haired head. “If so, show us. Surprise us. With honor. Qapla’, son of Kaath!”
“Qapla’!” Kromm replied to the traditional salute of honor, before he realized that Grotek couldn’t even hear it.
The prerecorded message was finished, and the Empire’s emblem was back on the display. Kromm looked up.
“Kromm to bridge.”
“L’emka here, sir.”
“Commander, I’m on my way to you. Is Ambassador Rozhenko with you?”
“No. The ambassador has gone to bed in his quarters. We don’t expect him back for another four hours.”
“Very good,” Kromm mumbled, clenching his fist.
25
NOVEMBER 13, 2385
U.S.S. Prometheus, near Onferin
The orange-and-red-glowing primary star of star system LC-4—the inhabitants called it Aoul—greeted them with a thunderous roar. This noise was accompanied by a slow, rhythmic pulse, similar to a heartbeat. Lenissa felt as if the star was a living being, an awe-inspiring guardian who was asleep but might wake from its slumber at any time if the crews of the two tiny starships sneaking into its vicinity didn’t tread very carefully.
The sound came from a program that transformed a star’s spectral readings into an acoustic profile. This analyzing tool reached back to the early stages of astrophysics, but Lenissa had learned during a visit to the Starboard 8 that the so-called “star music” was high in demand on Benzar. So it wasn’t a surprise that Mendon used it when scanning the star as they approached. The Prometheus had just crossed the outer system borders.
Visually, the giant star was on the main viewer. Its evaporating outer gas layers, which formed a nebula in space, made it look even larger than its already considerable size. The star’s radiation caused disturbances that took the form of the occasional white flash, but their intensity and volume increased as they approached Aoul. Roaas had already given the order to activate the shields to prevent unnecessary exposure for the crew. Sickbay prepared to prime the away teams to ensure they wouldn’t suffer from radiation during their visits to Onferin.
Lenissa was certain that she wasn’t the only one who wondered how there could be life in a region of space as brutal as this.
“Mr. Mendon,” said Captain Adams, “please switch off that noise.”
“Yes, sir,” the Benzite science officer said, sounding somewhat disappointed.
The roar subsided and was replaced by the soothing and reassuring humming and beeping of the ship’s systems.
“Captain, two Renao patrol ships are approaching,” Sarita Carson at ops reported.
“Ah, the welcoming committee,” said Adams as Lenissa turned around just far enough to see the small crescent-shaped ships. With their broad propulsion section in the center of the ship they reminded her vaguely of the ancient Intrepid-class of the 2150s. The only difference was that they only had one warp nacelle. The ships were dark gray in color, and their propulsion glowed red like the central star of their home. Lenissa thought they looked more like space pirates rather than official government vessels.
“Open hailing frequencies,” the captai
n ordered, rising from his chair. “Patch in the Bortas as well. I want Kromm to listen in.” Ambassador Rozhenko had—somehow—gotten Kromm to agree that Adams would be their voice, and that the Klingons would remain in the background.
“Frequencies open,” Winter confirmed.
“This is Captain Richard Adams from the U.S.S. Prometheus. We’re here, along with the I.K.S. Bortas, on behalf of the United Federation of Planets and the Klingon Empire. Our presence has been authorized by the government of the Home Spheres. We are on course to Onferin.”
The image on the screen didn’t change but a moment later a crackling voice with a strong accent came from the comm system. “This is system patrol Aoul-5. Follow us, and don’t deviate from course. Any violation will be punished immediately.”
Silently, Adams gave Winter a sign to interrupt their connection. “Commander Roaas, is there anything aboard the Renao ships that we should be worried about?”
The first officer looked up from his tactical console. “Negative, sir. These ships are outdated. Their propulsion can probably muster warp five at best; their impulse drive seems to be considerably less efficient than ours. If I read their energy patterns correctly, their on-board weapons are similar to the phasers that Starfleet used approximately one hundred years ago. The ships also seem to have missile rockets at their disposal, but their projectiles are far too slow to reach us. Our phasers could intercept them with ease.”
“Very well, thank you. I thought so but wanted to be sure. Re-open frequency, Ensign.”
Winter nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Adams raised his voice. “System patrol Aoul-5. Understood. Lead the way; we’ll stay right behind you. Adams out.”
* * *
Two hours later, they reached the orbit around Onferin. The planet itself was a gray and purple globe surrounded by a dense atmosphere, which prevented them from actually seeing the surface. Mendon wasn’t able to bring geographical details on screen even with his sensors.
“Remarkable,” he stated from the science station at the back of the bridge. “The atmosphere is concentrated with highly reactive molecules. These probably prevent LC-4’s severe radiation from reaching the surface. Additionally, the magnetosphere is strong enough to divert the relatively weak stream of particles coming from the primary star. Solar winds of cooling stars such as red giants mainly consist of neutral atoms and molecules such as carbon monoxide, silicates and similar compounds, which are comparatively harmless. I never thought I’d say this, but the living conditions on Onferin shouldn’t be much worse than, say, in the desert around Las Vegas on Earth.”
Paul Winter glanced over his shoulder. “How do you know Las Vegas?”
“We did a survival training exercise there when I was at the Academy,” Mendon said.
“Maybe Mr. ak Namur should tell us something about his homeworld,” Adams said. “If anyone knows the conditions there, it’s him.”
Jassat ak Namur turned around after putting his station on standby. Since they had arrived at their standard orbit he could afford to let the computer handle things as long as that status remained. “I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t know what to tell you, Captain. There’s so much to say, but at the same time I know so little of what has happened there in recent years. It’s correct that Onferin is a harsh world. Huge oceans cover more than half of the planet, and they are brimming with various life forms. Purple-colored algae produce the majority of our oxygen. At the same time, they serve as food for the fish, which then become food for the larger creatures of the sea. The lands are dominated by stone deserts. Enormous canyons run through these deserts, and at their bottom, impenetrable jungles lie in eternal twilight. Most of Onferin’s flora and fauna will try to kill you given half the chance.”
“Sounds like a delightful holiday resort,” Carson commented dryly.
“For adventurers and game hunters, definitely,” ak Namur replied. “But you might like our cities. Captain, you saw the painting in ak Genos’s conference room in the embassy on Lembatta Prime?”
Adams nodded. “The Griklak hives on the legendary world Iad.”
“Exactly. Our architecture is based on those to the present day. I don’t want to spoil your first impression by saying too much, but the city spheres on Onferin are a most astounding view for anyone seeing them for the first time.”
“Captain,” Mendon said. “I’d like to visit these cities. Those excursions could be extremely informative.”
Adams raised a hand. “I really do appreciate your zeal, Commander, but for now we’re only sending diplomatic and investigatory away teams, not scientific ones. I’d like to get an overview of the situation before risking my crew’s lives.”
“I understand, Captain.” The Benzite seemed disappointed.
“Sir, we are being hailed from the planet.”
Nodding, Adams faced the main screen. “Open channel.”
The planet’s image was replaced by a red-skinned Renao with black hair. Judging by his striking golden facial jewelry and his noble-looking black and golden robe, he was a representative of the planetary government. He made a circular gesture with his right hand in front of his chest. “Greetings, Captain. I am Councilor Shamar ak Mousal. I preside over the ministers’ council of Onferin, and I’m president of Renao’s Home Spheres. As supreme representative of my people, I bid you welcome.”
“Thank you, Councilor,” Adams replied. “I assume Ambassador ak Genos has informed you about the purpose of our visit.”
“He did indeed. And the council has agreed to authorize your being on Onferin. Right now, it is night in the city sphere Auroun, but tomorrow morning—in seven hours of your time—we will be glad to welcome you in the council to talk about the next steps. Please refrain from sending members of your crew down to the planet’s surface before that time. I would also like to advise you not to use your transporter technology. Ionized particles in Onferin’s atmosphere will disrupt your transporter focus. You will probably have information to that effect in your database from the time when the Federation and the Home Spheres still had commercial relations, but I’d like to point that issue out nonetheless. You would be well advised to use your shuttlecraft. Of course, I can always send a transfer ship to pick you up.”
Adams shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, but that won’t be necessary. We will use our own shuttles.”
“As you wish. I will send you the coordinates for the landing platforms at the minister’s council. I will see you tomorrow.”
Again, ak Mousal performed the circular gesture but this time counterclockwise. Then the connection was terminated.
Adams nodded, looking at Lenissa and the others. “All right, we’ve got seven hours to find out as much as possible about Onferin and the Renao. Mr. Winter, inform Ambassador Spock that I’d like to meet him in the conference room in thirty minutes. Invite the Klingons as well. All others—get to work. I’ll be in my ready room.”
Adams turned toward his ready room and added, “Mr. ak Namur, come with me please? I have a special assignment for you.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The young Renao rose from his console.
Curiously, Lenissa watched him and the captain leave, wondering what special mission was in store for Jassat.
26
NOVEMBER 14, 2385
Onferin
Six people headed to the planet’s surface the next morning in one of the Prometheus’s shuttles: two from Prometheus, Adams and a security guard, Ensign Elisa Flores; the two ambassadors, Spock and Rozhenko; and from the Bortas, Commander L’emka and her bodyguard, a huge Klingon called Grakk.
Captain Kromm had refused to join the talks. “I’ve lost all interest in standing next to you silently, while you negotiate with these red-skins,” he’d snarled. “Besides, someone with command authority needs to stay with the ships if this turns out to be some kind of ambush. So you take Commander L’emka—she’s used to standing around silently.”
Kromm’s decision ha
d come to Adams as something of a relief. The ill-tempered Klingon was more than likely to make their talks more difficult. His second in command on the other hand was an extremely competent officer and remarkably moderate character, based on her service record and his brief interactions so far. Adams wondered how much of a future she truly had in the Klingon Defense Force. Intelligent women were something the patriarchal Klingon society didn’t always take well to. Maybe I could talk her into signing up on the Prometheus once this is over, he thought with amusement. Even Jean-Luc Picard might be envious if I had a Klingon woman of her caliber among my crew. The commander of the U.S.S. Enterprise-E still was one of the very few captains within Starfleet to have a Klingon among their staff, that being his first officer, Commander Worf—who was also Ambassador Rozhenko’s father.
The shuttle entered the lower layers of the atmosphere, the shields protecting them from the considerable turbulence.
Several minutes later they emerged from the dense clouds, and the travelers were greeted with an unusual view. Right in front of and below them on the rocky coastline that bordered on the purple shimmering ocean rose a city. The outskirts were characterized by hydroponic gardens that were cultivated under large glass domes. At the shoreline were extensive port facilities, and offshore, they saw countless little trawlers. All this was testament to the fact that the Renao made their living from capturing sea-animals and cultivating the oceans. To the east they spotted an industrial estate with high warehouses that were connected by a suspended transport monorail system.
The city center was a vast complex consisting of three connected arcologies. Three egg-shaped buildings reached to the sky. Their tops were sloping as if someone had cracked the eggs open with their knife. Inside, they revealed gigantic light shafts. Hundreds of small flying vessels swarmed around the impressive trio of buildings like insects did with their home hive, which this city very much resembled.
Star Trek Prometheus -Fire with Fire Page 20
