The value promptly appeared below the animation: 98.8 percent.
Glomp’s hands tingled. The result hardly gave any reason for complaints, but he was nervous. What if he made the one point two percent mistake? What if Thokal’s supercomputer was wrong?
And besides—what was the old analyst thinking, anyhow? Keval and Hararis were crooks of the lowest order—disillusioned ex-soldiers pining for the past. Therefore, they had decided to make a profit because the Star Empire had become too peace-oriented for their liking. With their supply of military equipment stolen from the Imperial Romulan State in its final days, as well as some new objects, combined with numerous contacts among old, secretive friends in Praetor Kamemor’s forces, they had developed a flourishing enterprise. They stole deftly from the Romulan military and sold to anyone who could raise the cash, right under the noses of the Senate. Some of the most infamous aggressors in the quadrant were among their clients.
What did Thokal have to do with these criminals? Why did he care about a few stolen Scorpions?
But Glomp knew that he didn’t really want to know the answers to these questions. The old analyst probably intended to put a stop to Keval’s and Hararis’s game. Put a stop to a prospering enterprise! No, Glomp decided, shuddering, I’d better not think about that.
The things you do for old friends…
“Computer,” he said, “execute program.” Then he closed his eyes, dreaming of yields with high interest. Not three seconds later, a noise of confirmation reached his sensitive ears. Glomp opened his eyes again. The safety energy field above the crater had indeed gone. Thokal’s supercomputer and his own calculations had sabotaged the Romulan technology successfully—just like the simulation had promised.
Expected restoration in 15… 14… 13…, Glomp watched the countdown on his main display and realized too late that he should have acted already. Gawking wouldn’t get him anywhere.
“Computer,” he shouted frantically, while the numbers decreased continually, “ahead quarter impulse.”
The shuttle lurched forward. It descended into the deep moon crater just in time. Had it been two seconds later, it would have been caught in the restored energy field.
Glomp touched down on the same landing pad that the Romulans had alighted upon earlier. He scanned for security measures on the inside of the cave that might make his life difficult. When he found some, he spent more than half an hour hacking into their systems and deactivating them, before finally climbing out of his shuttle and walking to the rear of the spacious complex, where the offices were located. There, he had sealed a deal with the Romulans as the arms dealer Mak.
The tricorder he had brought from his shuttle had been programmed to emit an interference signal for the deactivation of the office door, which it performed without a hitch.
After breaking in, he stood in front of Keval’s console. As expected, the computer was permanently running. Glomp crouched down, removed his little tracking device and placed it in one of the many pockets in his jacket, before beginning with his actual work.
Glomp’s knowledge about Romulan data systems was fairly limited but it still didn’t take long. Just like he had done with the security systems previously, he programmed a subroutine that would cover his tracks in the system, before deleting itself. He found his way around the central memory system, bringing up the desired information on the monitor.
Lo and behold—there were the Scorpion attack fighters that Thokal had been talking about. Four of them had been delivered to the Lembatta Cluster, according to Keval’s files. They had been sold to a Renao. Additionally, several tons of trilithium had been delivered—enough to blast entire colonies to smithereens.
Two heartbeats later, he heard the alarm.
Glomp ran. Disruptor beams hit the cave walls next to him, while more and more light sources in the dome-shaped ceiling were being switched on.
How could he have been so foolish? A supercomputer and a few tricks didn’t mean that secret weapon stashes weren’t guarded at night. He had assumed that he had been able to interrupt the energy field unnoticed—but what if he was wrong, and they had noticed it?
He who dives under the table today lives to profit tomorrow—that was the Twentieth Rule. Why had he ignored that wisdom? Why had he put himself in danger?
When Thokal called him next time looking for a fool to do his dirty work, Glomp would definitely not accept the call. Let him publish the images. Things could be worse… he could be killed.
Again, a beam missed him by only a few centimeters. Glomp could smell ozone, and he felt stone fragments hitting his sensitive earlobes. Whimpering, he ran on.
His pursuers—there had to be at least two, and he had probably woken them from their sleep—were only several steps and two or three enormous stacks of supplies behind him. His lead was hardly worth mentioning. Glomp tightened his grip around the isolinear rod where he had stored the purloined data and ran as fast as his short legs would carry him.
Finally, he reached his shuttle. The hatch was still open, just as he’d left it. Had the guards gone aboard? He didn’t know, and couldn’t waste time trying to find out before boarding. The shuttle was his only chance to escape.
Another shot. This time, the beam struck the shuttle’s hull. Wincing, Glomp sent a short prayer to the Divine Exchequer, and leaped into the small ship. It was empty.
“Close hatch!” he squealed in panic. “Close hatch!” The computer executed his order immediately. “Activate cloaking device.” With shaking hands Glomp pushed himself up from the cabin floor where he had landed and went to the helm. “Initiate escape maneuver. Protocol Glomp 2. Activate shields.”
The console acknowledged the orders. A fraction of a second later he heard the drive come to life. The shuttle took off from the cave floor. Again, disruptor beams hit, but they only struck the shields, which they couldn’t penetrate.
What if they have stronger weapons on the moon’s surface? The thought flashed through Glomp’s mind. What if their sensors find me despite Thokal’s cloaking device? What if Keval himself is waiting for me up there to shoot me down from orbit?
He didn’t have any answers to those questions. He only knew that he wanted to get off this rock as quickly as possible.
“Computer, disrupt energy field generator again. Method two.” During these panic-filled minutes Glomp just wished that he were back in his office on Ferenginar, looking out from his window onto the capital city that was wet from rain. If he made it back home, he promised the Divine Exchequer that he would never undertake another long journey again. Enough was enough.
Fortunately, the night watch in the hidden complex didn’t have any secret weapons on the moon’s surface—or if they did, they neglected to use them on his cloaked shuttle. They were probably stunned that their unwelcome guest had managed to deactivate their energy field yet again in order to leave the crater and go to warp.
“One thing is certain,” the Ferengi mumbled, settling into his cockpit chair as he left the Achernar system far behind him. “The real Mak just made some powerful enemies today. And he’s not even aware of it.”
He placed his isolinear rod—his little souvenir for Thokal—on the edge of the console and programmed a course for Romulus.
30
NOVEMBER 15, 2385
U.S.S. Prometheus
Richard Adams had barely left the turbolift and entered the bridge for the start of alpha shift when Ensign Winter looked up from his communications console with a look of significant apprehension on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Adams asked, stopping dead in his tracks halfway to his command chair.
Commander Roaas rose from the chair and walked toward Adams. “We were just about to inform you, sir. One of the away teams has not reported back as ordered. So far, all attempts to contact them have failed.”
“Which team?” Adams asked the tall Caitian.
“Kirk and zh’Thiin’s team, sir. They were out in the industrial estates of
Konuhbi with Mokbar and Grakk from the Bortas. They should have returned to the Prometheus at midnight ship’s time, which would have been early evening in Konuhbi. But the team hasn’t checked in.”
Adams looked at Winter, touching his combadge on his uniform. “Adams to Kirk.”
Nothing happened.
“We already tried that, sir,” Winter said. “Our signal won’t reach the recipient. But I can’t say whether it’s due to the atmosphere, or whether Commander Kirk’s combadge has been switched off.”
“Find out.” Adams touched his combadge again. “Prometheus to Commander zh’Thiin. Can you hear me, Commander?”
The silence remained.
“This is the captain, Lenissa. Respond.”
Everywhere on the bridge officers turned around or looked up to follow proceedings with growing concern. Adams also had a bad feeling about this.
Winter shook his head. “We’re not getting through. I can’t reach any of the combadges.”
“Sensor scans, Commander Carson,” the captain ordered. “Show me my people.”
Sarita Carson’s fingers danced across the ops console, but she shook her head to let him know that she had already tried that while he had been absent. “Negative, Captain. I can’t locate any of their combadges.”
“Vital signs?” Roaas asked, stepping behind her to look over her shoulder.
“I’m picking up several humans and Klingons on the planet’s surface,” Carson answered. “That’s about all I can tell you due to the interferences from the atmosphere. However, I can’t find any humans or Klingons in Konuhbi—and not a single Andorian anywhere on Onferin.”
Roaas and Adams exchanged a silent glance. Adams hadn’t had a lot of sleep—the lengthy talks with Onferin’s government representatives as well as the stiff diplomatic function last night were taking their toll on him. But his fatigue had completely faded.
“The other teams?” Adams asked quietly.
Roaas nodded. “We were able to get in touch with all other team leaders on Onferin. They have been warned, and they’re on the lookout for the missing team. But Onferin is a large planet, and when technology doesn’t want to play along…”
Adams ground his teeth in an attempt to keep his frustration at bay. He was only able to help his people if he kept his calm.
“Should I have Councilor ak Mousal contacted?” asked his first officer.
Adams considered and rejected the suggestion. “Not yet. Get me Kromm first, Mr. Winter. Patch him through to my ready room as soon as you get in touch with him. And let Ambassador Spock know that I would appreciate his presence during that conversation.”
“Aye, sir,” Winter said.
“You’ve got the bridge, Commander,” Adams said.
“Captain.” Roaas leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. “We might also have another problem. Lieutenant ak Namur called the ship last night, asking for reinforcements to arrest two suspected sympathizers of the Purifying Flame. The arresting team was under Klingon command. The Renao never arrived on the Prometheus.”
Adams frowned. “They could be on the Bortas.”
Roaas tilted his head. “That’s what I’m worried about. You and I know the Klingons. Don’t you think it might lead to political complications if citizens from the Home Spheres disappear on Klingon ships?”
The captain’s face hardened. “I know what you mean. But we need to save our own people first. Afterward, we can take care of the Renao.” With these words, Adams turned and left the bridge.
Within moments, the door to the ready room hissed behind him and he stood at the desk in his ready room, staring at the monitor on his desk’s left corner. The flat screen displayed the seal of the United Federation of Planets above the Prometheus’s registry.
One and a half seemingly endless minutes went by. Adams eventually sat at his desk, but nothing changed on the display.
The doorbell chimed. “Come,” Adams said.
Ambassador Spock stood outside the doorway that hissed apart. Slowly, he entered the small ready room. The old Vulcan seemed alert and intent. He wore a dark robe, and Adams envied the calm he saw on the ambassador’s face. “Captain,” Spock said. “Mr. Roaas has briefed me.”
In that moment, Winter’s voice came from the intercom. “Bridge to Captain Adams. Sir, I’ve got Captain Kromm for you. Patching through.”
“Very good, Ensign,” Adams replied. He motioned for Spock to take a seat on one of the two visitor chairs in front of his desk.
Captain Kromm’s visibly sleep-deprived face came into view on the small screen. The Klingon commander wore the same uniform as on the previous day—and he was in the same foul mood.
“What do you want, Adams?”
Adams described the situation. Kromm’s scowl deepened.
He looked to one side, barking an order. Shortly after, he received a reply, which he obviously didn’t like very much. “We can’t reach our people, either. Something is definitely wrong. You know the way to ak Mousal’s office just as well as I do. I suggest you grab a phaser and we meet there.”
Adams shook his head. “Negative, Captain. Let me contact the Councilor and ask him for a statement.”
“A statement?” The Klingon laughed incredulously. “How often do you want him to lie to you before you stop trusting him? Do you think the Renao asked our mine workers on Tika IV-B for a statement before they terminated their lives? They are terrorists, Adams. The High Council doesn’t negotiate with terrorists!”
“And the Federation doesn’t jump to conclusions,” Adams retorted. “Give me fifteen minutes, Kromm. I’ll get back to you. Prometheus out.”
Before the Klingon got a chance to protest, Adams cut the link. Then he looked at Spock.
The Vulcan ambassador nodded. “You made the correct decision, Captain. The means of diplomacy outweigh spontaneous overreactions.”
Adams snorted quietly. “With all due respect, Ambassador, but there are situations when I couldn’t care less about your diplomacy.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. Did Adams imagine things or did he detect a faint amused glint in the eyes of the older man?
“What?” Adams asked brusquely.
The corners of Spock’s mouth twitched. “You reminded me of someone whom I used to know a long time ago. He also cared little for diplomatic ways when he didn’t deem them expedient.”
“And what became of him?” Sighing, Adams clenched his fists. He hated feeling helpless like this; standing by idly while the mills of diplomacy and protocol ground slowly.
“He would reach his goal every time.”
Both men fell silent for a short while. Then Adams tapped the combadge on his chest. “Adams to Roaas. Commander, I’m ready for ak Mousal now.”
“Understood, sir,” the Caitian replied. “We will patch him through as soon as possible.”
The conversation with the highest councilor of Onferin ended as quickly as it had begun. Ak Mousal appeared to be horrified by the news Adams relayed to him. He assured them that he knew nothing about this matter, vouching for his people once again. He also promised to set the law enforcement officers on Onferin onto the case of the missing visitors.
Adams wasn’t satisfied when he terminated the conversation. On the contrary, his frustration had risen with every word from ak Mousal. “I’m recalling the away teams. If this is a kidnapping—or worse—the risk is too big.”
The Vulcan nodded, pensively. “With your permission, may I put forward a counterproposal?”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“Dispatch someone else to the surface,” Spock said. “Someone who is already your eyes and ears among the population. Your away teams are more alert than ever. If you call them back now, you will dig trenches to start a war where your intent is simply to protect rather than fight.”
Adams tilted his head slightly, weighing his options. “Captain to Lieutenant ak Namur.”
The Renao responded immediately. “Ak Namur here, sir.”
>
“I need you in my ready room.”
Spock nodded approvingly.
“Understood, sir. I’m on my way.”
Less than a minute later, the lieutenant arrived. He was a little surprised to find Ambassador Spock with his captain.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” he faced his commander.
Adams briefly described the situation. “Help us, Jassat. We need your insight more than ever. Explain your people to us. Where might our officers and the two Klingons be?”
Ak Namur threw his hands up. Adams had never seen him using this gesture of cluelessness that was typical for his species, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it.
“I’m afraid I can’t explain them to you, sir,” the young Renao began. “I… I can hardly understand them myself anymore. Least of all this xenophobia that has gripped my people. The Renao are not naturally aggressive, Captain, you know that. They are isolationist. That’s how I used to know them, anyway. Kidnapping visitors from other worlds? No, sir. The thought itself would be absurd to me, if not for all the experiences from the previous days.”
“Absurd or not,” Adams said, “we need to do something. I want you down there, Jassat. The other teams are already looking around, but most of all I need someone inconspicuous. I need you—and I’m willing to place a security detail at your side.”
Ak Namur raised his hand defensively. “No, sir. Commander Roaas suggested the same thing when I entered the bridge. If I’m supposed to be inconspicuous, I need to be ordinary. Alone.”
“The situation could be dangerous,” Spock said.
“I’m aware of that, Ambassador,” ak Namur replied firmly. “But being afraid is not a disgrace.”
The half-Vulcan nodded. “Indeed.”
“And there’s a lot at stake here, sir.” Ak Namur glanced from him to Adams and back. “This is not just about Kirk and zh’Thiin and the two Klingons, but also about my people. It’s about answers to questions that concern me more than you might imagine.”
Adams mulled it over before nodding tersely. But the bad feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. “You go, son,” he said quietly. “Bring them back.”
Star Trek Prometheus -Fire with Fire Page 25
