by Diane Carey
Spock clasped his hands behind his back, a casual motion considering his condition. "My pleasure to serve, Captain. As always."
The flight deck was organized chaos. Well, havoc, to keep in the spirit of the occasion. The two newly returned shuttlecraft lay in the open rather than in their docking stalls, having just come in with their various acquired rescues and tows. Several Klingon lifepods littered the deck, in various conditions from pristine to burned and dented, unable even to sit on the deck without tilting.
Wounded Klingon soldiers, also in various conditions, sat or lay against every bulkhead. At first glance as he and McCoy entered, Kirk guessed there were over three hundred of them.
McCoy broke off immediately to collect reports from the dashing interns, nurses, and medics. Orderlies and ensigns moved about everywhere, passing out drinks and something to eat that made most of the Klingons sneer, but they were all eating whatever it was and trying to be polite.
Those who were conscious looked up at him suspiciously as he surveyed them and received reports from the shuttlecraft lieutenants. He saw in their eyes their fears, relying on rumors of the savagery inflicted by Starfleet on any prisoners of war. They didn't seem to have quite absorbed the fact that they were in fact allies for the moment and were in the care of their commodore.
"Lieutenant," Kirk greeted as the commander of the Galileo approached him with a manifest.
"Staaltenburg, sir."
"Yes, I remember. Eric."
"That's correct, sir."
"You're the one who reported picking up a pod from the big ship?"
"Yes, sir." Staaltenburg brushed his blond hair out of his eyes and led the way around to the other side of Galileo, where there lay a solid black pod without so much as a running light upon it. In the blackness of space, it would've been completely invisible if they hadn't been scanning for things about that size.
"We practically slammed into it, sir, before we realized it was there and wasn't an asteroid. I never heard of a lifepod that didn't want to be found. No life signs at all in there, by the way, sir. We've scanned it … no harmful rays or leaks, and there is an atmosphere in there, so it's properly pressurized. We can open it anytime you like."
"Do so."
Staaltenburg waved up two men who had been standing by, anticipating the order, who came in with phaser torches and went to work on the locking mechanism of the pod.
"Captain," Staaltenburg said then, and nodded toward the port side entryway.
Kirk turned.
General Kellen trundled toward him, flanked by two Starfleet Security guards.
"General," Kirk greeted, not particularly warmed up.
"Commodore. My men are being taken care of, I see," the wide Klingon said, glancing about at the rows of rescued soldiers. "I shall expect them to be completely cooperative."
"So far, so good," Kirk said.
Kellen faced him and looked over the tops of his glasses. "I congratulate you. You saved what is left of my fleet. You are the Kirk."
Unable to muster any mirth, the captain—commodore—bobbed his brows in response. He got a little jolt of satisfaction at being reinstalled as the resident buzzard of Starfleet.
"Thank you. You still have charges to face regarding the murder of a Starfleet serviceman and a guest of the Federation. Counsel will be provided if you require it."
Kellen made a small conciliatory bow. "I know. I shall face those charges boldly. I accept your offer of counsel, as it will go in my favor to have Federation lawyers speaking to a Federation court."
"Very wise, and probably true, General. There are considerable mitigating circumstances. Be forewarned that I take the death of my crewman very seriously and I intend to testify against you. However, I'll also testify that you stopped the assault on Capella Four and by doing that probably forestalled many other deaths. It'll be an interesting few months for us both, I think."
"I am ready. I confess that I do not understand what makes you humans fight. You did destroy them after all, but even though I told you what these people were, it took you a very long time to decide to act."
"On the contrary," Kirk pointed out, "I decided not to act rashly. That too is a decision. You were right about who they were, but you were wrong about what they were. No one is inherently evil. That comes only from the choices we make and the actions we take."
"Perhaps." Kellen's small eyes twinkled. "I wish you people would fight against us. What a grand war we could have!"
Kirk leered at him, now somewhat amused in spite of everything. He felt an unbidden grin pull at his cheeks. "Maybe someday, General."
"Sir!" Staaltenburg called. "It's open."
Kirk glanced around the vast, high-halled flight deck. "McCoy! Over here."
He waited for the doctor to join them, then nodded to Staaltenburg. "Go ahead, Lieutenant."
Together, Staaltenburg and the two other crewmen hauled open a very thick hatch on the black pod. There was no light inside, but only a slight gush of atmosphere as the pod equalized.
"Get a light," Staaltenburg ordered, and one of the crewmen passed him a handheld utility light.
The crewmen, the general, the doctor, and the commodore pressed into a half-circle and huddled up before the open hatch.
"Well, I'll be damned," McCoy spouted.
The light cast a bright blue-white glow inside the pod. There, with tiny faces in many shapes, their bodies stuffed with memories, lay carefully stacked what must have been over a thousand linen poppets.
Kirk looked at McCoy.
"Rag dolls?" Staaltenburg blurted. "They bothered to save a bunch of rag dolls?"
They stood back from the hatch, contemplating what they saw there.
"You want me to have these disposed of, sir?" the lieutenant offered, clearly aggravated that he'd gone to the trouble of capturing and towing in a pod that turned out to be stuffed with stuffed dolls.
Kirk gazed into the bubble of tiny sojourners and remembered a moment, a conversation, that might have flowered into something very good, had the past not thrown out its tripwire.
"No, Lieutenant. I want these carefully catalogued, then permanently stored in airtight containers. It's a trust I owe to a friend."
Staaltenburg frowned, then shrugged. "As you wish, sir."
The lieutenant and his men moved off to follow their assignment, and McCoy was watching Kirk. He was the only one who understood the strange order, and Kirk found comfort in that.
"Very nice, Captain," the doctor offered. "I don't know what else we can do."
"If that door ever opens again," Kirk said, "we may need a peace offering. And their families will want to … have those."
McCoy nodded. "Zennor would be glad to know you picked them up, Jim. In spite of everything, I believe that."
"Captain," Staaltenburg called from the bulkhead, and motioned at the comm unit. "Mr. Spock, sir."
McCoy followed as Kirk headed over to the port side, both of them a little too aware of that pod back there.
"Kirk here."
"Spock, sir," the baritone voice came through. "I have translated the telemetry. The message was launched at nearly warp twenty-five. I had believed such speed impossible, but they have somehow overcome that. I remind you there is still no way to know whether or not the message went through the fissure or will travel on its own to the other side of the galaxy."
"Go ahead, Mr. Spock. I think I'm beyond surprises."
"I hope so, sir. The message is from Zennor himself. It states, 'The Battle of Garamanus is lost. We have not survived, but this is our rightful place. Try again."
The
Invasion
Continues
in
STAR TREK
THE NEXT GENERATION ®
Invasion!
BOOK TWO
The Soldiers of Fear
The message from Starfleet had been curt. Assemble the senior officers. Prepare for a Security One message at 0900. Picard hadn't heard a Security One mes
sage since the Borg were headed for Earth. The highest level code. Extreme emergency. Override all other protocols. Abandon all previous orders.
Something serious had happened.
He leaned over the replicator. He had only a moment until the senior officers arrived.
"Earl Grey, hot," he said, and the empty space on the replicator shimmered before a clear glass mug filled with steaming tea appeared. He gripped the mug by its warm body, slipping his thumb through the handle, and took a sip, allowing the liquid to calm him.
He had no clue what this might be about and that worried him. He always kept abreast of activity in the quadrant. He knew the subtlest changes in the political breeze. The Romulans had been quiet of late; the Cardassians had been cooperating with Bajor. No new ships had been sighted in any sector, and no small rebel groups were taking their rebellions into space. Maybe it was the Klingons?
He should have had an inkling.
His door hissed open and Beverly Crusher came in.
Geordi La Forge was beside her. Data followed. The doctor and Geordi looked worried. Data had his usual look of expectant curiosity.
The door hadn't even had a chance to close before Deanna Troi came in. She was in uniform, a habit she had started just recently. Worf saw her and left his post on the bridge, following her to his position in the meeting room.
Only Commander Riker was missing and he was needed. Picard waited anxiously.
It was 0859.
Then the door hissed a final time and Will Riker entered. His workout clothes were sweat streaked, his hair damp. Over his shoulder he had draped a towel, which he instantly took off and wadded in a ball in his hand.
"Sorry, sir," he said, "but from your voice, I figured I wouldn't have time to change."
"You were right, Will," Picard said. "We're about to get a message from Starfleet Command. They requested that all senior officers be in attendance—"
The viewer on the captain's desk snapped on with the Federation's symbol, indicating a scrambled communiqué.
"Message sent to Picard, Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise V," said the generic female computer voice. "Please confirm identity and status."
Picard placed a hand on the screen on his desk. "Picard, Jean-Luc, Captain, U.S.S. Enterprise. Security Code 1-B58A."
The computer beeped.
Picard's palms were damp. He grabbed his cup of tea, but the tea was growing cold. Still, he drank the rest, barely tasting the tea's bouquet.
When the security protocol ended, the Federation symbol disappeared from the screen, replaced by the battle-scarred face of Admiral Kirschbaum. His features had tightened in that emotionless yet urgent expression the oldest—and best—commanders had in times of emergency.
"Jean-Luc. We have no time for discussion. A sensor array at the Furies Point has been destroyed. Five ships of unknown origin are there now, along with what seems to be a small black hole. Two of the ships attacked the Brundage Station and we're awaiting word on the outcome. I'm ordering all available ships to the area at top speed."
The Furies Point. Picard needed no more explanation than that. From the serious expressions all around him, he could tell that his staff understood as well.
Picard's hand tightened on the empty glass mug. He set it down before he shattered it with his grip. "We're on our way, Admiral."
"Good." The admiral's mouth tightened. "I hope I don't have to explain—"
"I understand the urgency, Admiral."
"If those ships are what we believe them to be, we're at war, Jean-Luc."
How quickly it had happened. One moment he was on the bridge, preparing for the day's duties. The next, this.
"I will act accordingly, Admiral."
The admiral nodded. "You don't have much time, Jean-Luc. I will contact you in one hour with transmissions from the attack on the Brundage outpost. It will give you and your officers some idea of what you are facing."
"Thank you, Admiral," Picard said.
"Godspeed, Jean-Luc."
"And to you," Picard said, but by the time the words were out, the admiral's image had winked away.
Picard felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.
The Furies.
The rest of the staff looked as stunned as he felt.
Except for Data. When Picard met his gaze, Data said quietly, "It will take us two point three-eight hours at warp nine to reach Brundage Station."
"Then lay in a course, Mr. Data, and engage. We don't have time to waste."
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INVASION! Book Two
The Soldier of Fear
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