by David Mack
“It also might be a sign that he’s suffering a nervous collapse.”
Jackson chided her, “I thought you were an expert on Tholians.”
“I am,” she said. Then her bravado faltered. “Just not ones that are still alive.” She recoiled, hyperactive and defensive. “Well, I never had a chance to study a live one before!”
“Oh, that’s just great,” Xiong said. He turned off the intercom. “Rest assured, if he dies, you’ll be the first person I call.” He stepped away to a nearby companel on a wall, entered his security code, and then punched in the code for the Vault.
A soft beep over the comm and then, “Theriault.”
“Vanessa, it’s Ming. Shut down all experiments involving the array, take the interface off line, and route all available power to the containment system.”
“Roger that. But what if we get orders to continue?”
“Ignore them. I’ll explain why when I get back. Right now, I have to head up to command and tell the admiral why I pulled the plug. Xiong out.” He switched off the companel and walked back to Jackson and Knight. “If there’s any change in Ezthene’s status, raise me on my communicator immediately. And not a word of this to anybody else, understood?”
Jackson’s relaxed body language telegraphed his answer: “Whatever you say.”
Xiong nodded his thanks and ran for the turbolift.
As the doors closed and he grabbed the control handle to guide the lift to ops, he wondered who was about to have a worse day: him, Ezthene, or Admiral Nogura.
Pondering the worst-case scenario, he realized it would likely be a three-way tie.
They were all going to lose.
The dire implications of Xiong’s news dominated Nogura’s thoughts. His headache began a few seconds later, inflicting viselike pressure on his temples. “Are you sure about the timing of the two events? Is there any chance it was a coincidence?”
“It’s possible,” Xiong said, “but damned unlikely.” He pointed at the side-by-side time comparisons he’d routed to Nogura’s computer monitor. “At the exact second we triggered the pulse that vanished that planet, Ezthene suffered a violent seizure and collapsed, and he’s been getting worse ever since. Considering when we last saw this kind of correlation between Shedai-related activity and Tholian meltdowns, I don’t think we should be taking any chances.”
“Agreed.” Nogura didn’t need Xiong to elaborate. He’d read the full reports of Operation Vanguard when he’d assumed command, so he was aware of the widespread incidents three years earlier of Tholians suffering simultaneous violent seizures during a brief moment of unshielded emissions from the first Conduit that Starfleet had tinkered with. He also remembered well the subsequent consequences of that early misstep. “The last time the Tholians got worked up like this, they sterilized Ravanar IV and destroyed the Bombay,” he said. “So what I need to know, Ming, is whether the effects of our experiment were limited to our friend Ezthene—or if we’ve just taken a torch to a hornet’s nest.”
“Our best bet would be to check in with someone on Earth,” Xiong said. “Maybe the Starfleet liaison to the president, or someone at the Department of the Exterior. If the Tholian delegation to Paris just had a seizure, we’ll know we’re in trouble.”
It was worth a try, Nogura figured. He activated the intercom to his yeoman. “Lieutenant Greenfield, I need a real-time priority subspace channel to the secretary of the exterior.”
“Aye, sir. I’ll have Lieutenant Dunbar route it to you as soon as we make contact.”
“Thank you.” He switched off the intercom. “The one flaw in this plan is that the Tholians tend to sequester themselves inside their embassy except when they visit the Federation Council or the Palais on official business. Even if they have felt the effects of our array, unless they were out and about when it happened, there might be no way of confirming our hypothesis.”
Xiong’s brow creased as he considered their dilemma. “Well, it would take longer to get any answers, but if we had to, we could contact Ambassador Jetanien and ask him to look into it. He might have access to sources of information that we don’t.”
“Let’s hope better options present themselves,” Nogura said.
The intercom buzzed. “Admiral, they need you out here,” Greenfield said. “It’s urgent.” Nogura and Xiong traded stares of alarm, then they hurried out of his office.
The normally busy atmosphere of ops had become outright frantic. Yellow Alert panels flashed on the walls, and junior officers were scurrying from one duty station to the next, collecting reports and handing them off, each in turn, to Commander Cooper. Nogura cleaved a path through the Brownian chaos of moving bodies, bounded up the stairs to the supervisors’ deck, and caught up with the soft-spoken executive officer at the Hub. “Report.”
“Long-range sensor buoys have picked up major movement along the Tholian border,” Cooper said as he keyed commands into his panel on the octagonal command table. Star maps graphically annotated with fleet deployment information and the positions and headings of known threat vessels appeared on one of the level’s enormous, curved situation monitors. “It looks like the armada the Endeavour detected is on the move. They’ve left their space and are crossing the Taurus Reach at high warp—heading straight toward us.”
Nogura didn’t need to ask what time the armada had started moving; that much he could now guess. There was a more pressing question on his mind. “What’s their ETA?”
“Four days,” Cooper said. He lowered his voice, no doubt in the interest of preserving morale for as long as possible. “Admiral . . . Starfleet Command estimates the armada represents more than twenty percent of the Tholians’ active combat fleet. They’re coming in with more than five times’ enough firepower to wipe us off the map. . . . Orders, sir?”
“Show me every Starfleet vessel within four days’ travel at high warp,” Nogura said, doing his best to project confidence and calm authority. “We need every ship we can get.”
Cooper adjusted the deployment information on the large wall screen. It painted a grim picture: there were no reinforcements close enough to reach Vanguard before the Tholian armada arrived. Only two ships, both of which were already assigned to the station, were in range to join the station’s defense: the frigate Buenos Aires was three days away, and the cargo transport Panama was one day out. The Enterprise was just outside of response range, and it was also engaged on a high-priority assignment. That left only the Endeavour and the Sagittarius, both of which were still several days shy of finishing their repairs due to the late arrival of needed parts and equipment. It was an impossible situation, so Nogura had no choice but to start giving impossible orders and have faith in his crew to carry them out.
“Commander Cooper,” he said, “I want every engineer and mechanic who can push a tool working double shifts on the Endeavour and the Sagittarius, starting now. Those ships need to be combat-ready in four days. Recall the Buenos Aires and the Panama, and start running battle drills. Pull every warhead out of storage and have them in our torpedo bays by 0800 tomorrow. I want all phaser banks checked, rechecked, and ready to give the Tholians a warm welcome.”
“Aye, sir,” Cooper said.
Nogura held up a hand. “One more thing: I want every civilian ship within three days of Vanguard rerouted here on the double. We’ll need them to assist in the evacuation of all civilians and noncombatant personnel.” With a nod, he dismissed Cooper to begin preparing the station for battle. Then the admiral left the Hub and stepped over to the communications officer, who sat at her station, nervously twisting a curl of her brown hair around her index finger. “Lieutenant Dunbar.” He waited until she looked up at him, her eyes bright with the fear he knew would soon infect everyone on the station, and then he continued. “Work with Lieutenant Xiong to back up all data from the Vault to the main computer on the Endeavour. Make sure it stays encrypted every step of the way. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Dunbar replied. She shot a
look at Xiong, who stepped forward to lean over her shoulder and walk her through the process of accessing the Vault’s top-secret databanks.
Everyone around Nogura was swinging into action, moving with a purpose, and focusing on their jobs in a desperate bid not to think about the incoming Tholian armada. Nogura wished he had that luxury, but it was far too late for regrets. He hurried down the stairs to the main level and bladed through the frenzy of activity, back toward his office.
As he passed Lieutenant Greenfield, he caught her eye and issued an order on the move. “Tell Captains Khatami and Nassir I need to see them in my office right now.”
“Aye, sir,” Greenfield replied as the office door closed behind Nogura.
He went back to his desk, sank wearily into his chair, and checked the chrono. It was 1743 hours. By his best estimate, it would take Khatami and Nassir approximately five minutes to travel from their ships to his office. Which meant he had just less than five minutes to think up a dignified and confidence-inspiring way to convey the message, We are completely screwed.
30
“Tell me you aren’t serious,” Gorkon said.
“I most certainly am,” Jetanien insisted. He and Lugok stood shoulder to shoulder in the sitting room of the Klingon diplomat’s villa outside Paradise City, facing the enlarged image of Councillor Gorkon on the wall-mounted vid screen. “I would not have imposed upon your patience if the matter weren’t of the gravest import.”
Lugok struck an apologetic note as he interjected, “Forgive me, my lord, but my associate refused to take me at my word when I told him there was nothing we could do.”
“With good reason,” Jetanien countered. “The Klingon Defense Force has considerable military assets within two days’ travel of Vanguard. There is a great deal they could do to affect the outcome of the impending conflict. It is simply a matter of marshaling the will to act.”
Gorkon’s eyes narrowed. “Therein lies the impediment, Ambassador. The political climate as it presently exists does not permit such largesse on our part.”
“Yet you saw no such impediment when you sought a favor from me, nor did I shy away from expending political capital on your behalf.”
“And for that you have our gratitude,” Lugok said.
“But not your reciprocity.”
His criticism seemed to stoke Gorkon’s temper. “Do you really think the execution of a low-risk smear campaign on your part merits a costly military intervention on ours? I don’t wish to sound callous, Ambassador, but I think you would have to admit the favor you granted and the one for which you’ve petitioned are far from equivalent.”
The Chelon’s frustration mounted, and he struggled to maintain a civil timbre. “Councillor, if your desire to build a foundation for a future peace with the Federation is genuine, this would be an unparalleled opportunity to lay the cornerstone.”
The councillor’s reply was pregnant with regret. “It is not the Klingon way, Ambassador. Maybe someday, the Federation will be able to seize such a moment and win a debt of honor no Klingon could ignore. But this is not that day, for either of us.”
Jetanien switched tactics. “If you will not intervene for our benefit, do so for your own.”
Lugok and Gorkon exchanged baffled looks, and then the portly diplomat replied, “If the Tholians destroy your space station, that benefits us.”
“Are you certain of that? The Tholians have committed a significant percentage of their combat fleet to this attack. If they succeed in destroying Vanguard—”
“I believe you mean when they succeed.”
Glossing over Lugok’s interruption, Jetanien continued, “There will be nothing to stop them from continuing their rampage. The Tholian Ruling Conclave has made no secret of its desire to see the Taurus Reach expunged of all nonindigenous species. Without our starbase to stand against them, they will be able to lay waste more than five dozen colonies in that sector—many of them yours, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Gorkon seemed unmoved by Jetanien’s argument. “We stand ready to defend what’s ours, Ambassador. And we have every confidence that your station will inflict serious losses on the Tholian armada before they both go down in flames. Whatever remains of the bugs’ fleet after Vanguard is gone should pose little danger to our forces in the Gonmog Sector.”
It took tremendous effort for Jetanien not to grind his chitinous mandible in irritation at having his bluff called so quickly and thoroughly. “Then it’s decided: You won’t help us.”
“If Klingon interests were truly at risk, we would already be en route to the battle. But for me to press the High Council to authorize military aid to your station would put me in a most untenable position. While I am in your debt for helping me expose the Romulans’ corruption of Duras, there is no way I can muster support for defending Vanguard without betraying my own rather questionable ties to a foreign power.” A heavy frown deepened the shadows on his face. “I believe that one day, our nations will achieve a state of truce. Perhaps, in generations to come, our descendants might even stand together in battle, brothers and sisters in arms. But for now, the passions are still too high, and the grudges too fresh, on both sides. Just because we have a common enemy in Tholia, that is not yet enough to make us allies.” He added somberly, “May your friends die with honor, Jetanien.”
Gorkon terminated the transmission, and the screen briefly switched to the red-and-black Klingon trefoil emblem before it faded to black. Jetanien turned to Lugok. “Thank you.”
“For what? You’ve gained nothing.”
“Far from it,” Jetanien said. “True, my generosity has yielded no immediate boon, and for that I am disappointed—but I am not disheartened, because your Councillor Gorkon has, at least, offered me something else in exchange.” He noted Lugok’s dubious stare and added, “Hope for the future. I have heard few people speak as passionately for peace as does your lord.”
“Let us drink, then, old friend.” Lugok walked to his liquor cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of warnog. He filled two steins and carried them back to Jetanien. Handing one of the metal mugs to the Chelon, he raised his own, and Jetanien joined him in clinking the steins together in a toast. “To peace: May we find it somewhere other than the grave.”
Gorkon descended the granite spiral staircase at the front of his manor, taking a moment as he neared the bottom to straighten his steel-studded red leather jerkin on his lean frame. He stepped off into the main foyer and looked around until he saw Captain Chang loitering in the entryway to the main dining room, admiring the mounted heads of game Gorkon had felled on various worlds throughout the Empire. “Welcome, Captain! Make yourself at home!”
The captain turned and smiled at Gorkon’s approach. “I’m honored to be your guest, my lord. I hope you don’t mind that I came early. Your servant let me in.”
“I’d have met you myself, but I was quelling Azetbur’s latest tantrum,” Gorkon said. “I’ve seen Targhee moonbeasts that were easier to calm. She’s become quite the spitfire of late.”
Chang grinned. “Teenagers. It happens to all of them when they reach that age. Or so my brothers tell me.” They clasped each other’s forearms in a fraternal greeting. “Wait until you taste the bloodwine I brought. It’s a rare Kriosian bottling from an exceptional vintage.”
Gorkon released Chang’s arm and clasped his shoulder. “Will it go with gagh?”
“I’m sure it will.”
“Then we’re both in for a treat,” Gorkon said, leading his loyal thane down a lavishly appointed hallway toward his private library. “My chef is preparing the most succulent gagh in the Empire. This will be a meal worthy of heroes.” As they drifted past marble busts of warriors of renown and famed Heroes of the Empire, he added, “I have other good news, as well.”
A sly look from Chang. “As do I. But I won’t presume to speak out of turn.”
Acknowledging the captain’s deference, Gorkon said, “I’ve interceded on your behalf with Chancello
r Sturka and General Korok at the High Command. Your name has been placed on the short list for promotion to colonel. I expect it will become official within the year.” He landed a congratulatory slap on Chang’s back. “We’ll make you a general in no time.”
Chang stopped and turned to face Gorkon, who mirrored him. “You honor me, my lord. I pledge that my service shall bring glory to your name.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Gorkon said, ushering the captain to follow him inside his library. On the left side of the room as they entered, a long table built from thick, heavy pieces of Ty’Gokor redwood was strewn with loose papers, open tomes, and hand-annotated star maps. “Now, tell me, Captain: What news do you bring me?”
The captain was ecstatic. “The Gonmog Sector will soon be rid of Starfleet’s bloated starbase. Even as we speak, a Tholian armada bears down upon it. In two days’ time, there’ll be nothing left of it but wreckage and memories.”
Gorkon said nothing and withheld all emotion from his face. News travels quickly, he realized. Chang’s attitude troubled him. Knowing he could not risk asking questions too pointed in their nature, he chose to feign ignorance of the Tholian attack on Vanguard. “What finally prodded the Tholians into action?”
“No one knows, and I for one don’t care. All that matters is that they’ve come loaded for siege, and it promises to be a glorious battle. If not for the risk of being caught unnecessarily in the crossfire, I’d love to be there so I could savor the carnage from my bridge.”
Staring out a window twice his height at the deepening purple twilight descending on the distant outline of the First City, Gorkon folded his hands behind his back. “I imagine the Battle of Vanguard will be quite a spectacle. It’s rather a shame my old nemesis Diego Reyes no longer commands the station. He would have made the Tholians pay dearly to win the day.”
“It would make no difference,” Chang said. “Either way, Starfleet and the bugs will pummel each other into blood and scrap, and then the Gonmog Sector will be wide open for us. If we move now, we could dominate that region in a matter of months.”
