The Art of the Impossible

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  The captain rose from his desk and stood over Narrk, wanting once again to remind the first officer of his lesser height.

  “The site is surrounded by force fields of various kinds,” Narrk said quietly. “We cannot penetrate them with scanners, transporters, weapons—nothing is working. We know only that it is the Ch’gran wreckage by looking at it.” He held out a padd, which included the visual record that the landing party had taken of their attempt to inspect the relic. The trefoil symbol of the Empire on the hull fragments was in a style that had not been favored since before the Empire’s second, more successful, foray into space. It had to be Ch’gran.

  And yet, even as Qaolin was fulfilling his dream, the dream of every warrior who served the Empire, he felt it slipping through his fingers. Damn those Cardassian animals for soiling our sacred past!

  “We’ve done everything we can,” Narrk said almost petulantly. “The force field cannot be penetrated by any means at our disposal.”

  “Try harder.” Qaolin handed the padd back to Narrk. “Return to the surface. I am holding you personally responsible for allowing us access to the Ch’gran remains, Commander. The next time I see you will be either your informing me that you have succeeded or my informing you of your imminent death.”

  Narrk smoldered, but said nothing. He simply grabbed the padd from Qaolin’s hands and departed.

  For two days, Narrk supervised the work of engineers from all three Birds-of-Prey, a number that increased once repairs to the vessels damaged by the Sontok were complete. However, nothing could get through. The only solution that presented itself was to destroy the inhibitors and force field generators, but that could not be accomplished without damaging the Ch’gran remains, and that Qaolin would not authorize. Were it not for those remains, Qaolin would be more than happy to leave this rock to the Cardassians. This world had no mineral resources that the Empire could not obtain from worlds actually within their borders. This area of space was wholly undesirable, so much so that Qaolin found himself wondering how Ch’gran’s fleet wound up here.

  By the end of the second day, Qaolin assumed that the fleet had gathered in the Betreka Nebula. According to the orders he had received from Command shortly after the Sontok’s departure, they would assemble there and wait to see what actions the Cardassians would take. The Wo’bortas would remain on station with its two brother ships for the time being. If the Cardassians returned with superior forces, Qaolin’s orders were to lead them to the nebula, and then the battle would be joined.

  Then we shall truly learn how strong the Cardassian military is, Qaolin thought.

  Still, he was concerned. The fleet being sent consisted of only six Birok-class cruisers—not exactly the cream of the fleet. Again, this system’s location proved problematic. Command was not willing to commit a massive deployment to such a remote region.

  As he was about to go off-shift and get some dinner—the quartermaster had taken a crate of gagh out of stasis—Qaolin’s doorchime sounded. “Enter.”

  Narrk entered wearing a hideous smile on his face. “Success! We have penetrated the force field!”

  All thoughts of fresh gagh wriggling into his mouth fled, pleasant as they were. At last! Qaolin felt his heart singing with joy and glory. “How?”

  “Yovang was able to provide—”

  Qaolin’s heart stopped singing. “Yovang? I gave the entire crew strict orders on the subject of Yovang, Commander. Did you think they did not apply to you?”

  Narrk scowled. “He had a method of overloading the force field. You wanted us to get the field down by any means necessary. In order to comply, I felt that it was worth listening to what Yovang had to say on the subject. And it worked.”

  “Yet you did not report to me that you were approaching Yovang. You did not request my permission.”

  “He approached me with—”

  Refusing to let Narrk attempt to talk his way out of his insubordination, Qaolin instead slapped him with the back of his hand, then unsheathed his d’k tahg from his belt. “You have flaunted my authority for the final time, Narrk, son of Mariq.”

  Then Narrk threw his head back and laughed. “You cannot challenge me, you ignorant petaQ.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Really.” Narrk’s sneer grew more pronounced. “I had every right to approach Yovang without your approval—after all, he is a fellow member of Imperial Intelligence.”

  The deck seemed to tilt under Qaolin’s feet. Another I.I. agent aboard? And it is him ? The captain refused to believe it.

  “You lie. And there is only one fate for liars.”

  With that, he thrust his d’k tahg into Narrk’s chest. The look of surprise that would be forever etched on Narrk’s face as his soul departed his body—for Gre’thor, if this were a just universe—gave Qaolin some small satisfaction.

  After Narrk fell to the deck, Qaolin did not bother to perform the death ritual. That was for worthy warriors who fell in battle, not lying yIntagh.

  Even as Qaolin summoned the quartermaster and his second officer to his office—the former to dispose of Narrk’s body, the latter to congratulate on his promotion—a voice in the back of his head asked, What if he wasn’t lying?

  When he was finished speaking to the quartermaster and his new first officer, Qaolin went to the cabin that had been assigned to Yovang on deck four. All the officers’ quarters were on that deck, including Qaolin’s own, as well as the one guest cabin. The captain wasn’t sure if he would get the truth out of the I.I. agent if he asked, but he certainly wouldn’t get it if he didn’t.

  The soldier assigned to guard the agent’s cabin nodded respectfully at the captain as the door rumbled open. Yovang lay on his bunk, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. At Qaolin’s entrance, the agent sat upright. Yovang did not, the captain noted, use his hands in any way to aid in making himself upright—he simply rose to the proper position. “Captain,” he said in his standard monotone.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Qaolin asked, “Was Narrk an I.I. agent?”

  “You speak of your first officer in the past tense.”

  “Answer my question, Yovang.”

  Yovang stood up. “Why do you ask the question?”

  Qaolin was not about to play Yovang’s game. “That is not your concern.”

  “Oh, but it is. You see, I must deduce from your phrasing that Narrk is dead, and before he died he gave you reason to think he might be an I.I. agent.”

  It seems I must play the game whether I want to or not. “The former first officer of this ship has been replaced. Quartermaster has just disposed of his body. He attempted to deny my challenge on the grounds that he was I.I. and therefore exempt. He also used that lie—if lie it truly was—to justify his insubordination, which was in going to you for a solution to penetrating the force field around the Ch’gran wreckage.”

  “In that case, Captain, Commander Narrk deserved his death.”

  Qaolin snarled and slammed his fist into the bulkhead of the small cabin. “I’m fully aware of the fact that Narrk deserved to die! If I were not, he would still draw breath! That is not my concern now, Yovang—my concern is, was he telling the truth?”

  “What does it matter?” Yovang asked with that small smile he’d used in the captain’s office two days ago. “If he was lying, he dishonored himself and died the death he deserved. If he was not, then he was using his position—and, I might add, violating his infiltration—in a craven act of self-preservation. Whatever one may think of I.I. and our methods, we are not cowards, nor are we totally without honor. No agent worthy of the name would ever stoop to what you claim Narrk has done.”

  The captain closed his eyes for a moment, restraining his temper. It would do no good to lose himself to anger with this one. The fact is, I will get no answers from him, and any answers he might provide are not ones I can trust. Though, thinking about it, he doubted that Yovang had ever actually lied; he simply was parsimonious with any useful information.
r />   When this was an I.I. mission of reconnaisance, Qaolin accepted that Yovang’s authority on this ship was highest, and he would obey the agent’s orders. Now, however, it was a military engagement, and purely the purview of the Defense Force. That meant that Qaolin’s authority was the highest.

  So the captain killed Yovang with his d’k tahg.

  The look of surprise on the I.I. agent’s face as Qaolin thrust the knife point into his heart was even more of a treat than the one on Narrk’s, mainly because Qaolin doubted that Yovang had ever been surprised before.

  However, Yovang did not go down without a fight. Even as the life’s blood drained from his chest, the I.I. agent wrapped his fingers around Qaolin’s neck in an attempt to take the captain to the afterlife with him. Qaolin found breaths suddenly difficult to come by. His vision clouded as Yovang’s fingers clenched his throat.

  Then the agent’s iron grip loosened. Qaolin was able to breathe freely again even as Yovang fell to the deck.

  Down the line, Qaolin had no doubt that he would be made to pay for this action. But that was for later. Right now, Yovang’s presence on his ship was a liability he could not afford. Whether or not Yovang approached Narrk with the solution to the Cardassian security, whether or not Narrk was truly an I.I. agent, didn’t matter. With them both dead, the Wo’bortas was under Captain Qaolin’s control. If there were consequences, he would face them, but he would not be put in a position where he had to fight the Cardassians with one eye on his back to make sure that someone wasn’t about to stab him in it.

  Coughing in an attempt to clear his throat of its recent constriction, Qaolin cleaned the blade of his d’k tahg carefully, making sure there was no overt sign of Yovang’s blood remaining on it.

  When he departed the agent’s quarters, he said to the guard, “See to it that Yovang is not disturbed by anyone without face-to-face confirmation from me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bridge to Qaolin.”

  The captain looked up. “Qaolin.”

  “Sir, long-range scan is picking up a fleet of Cardassian vessels on direct approach for the Raknal system.”

  Qaolin smiled. And so the battle begins anew. “How many ships?”

  “Nine, sir.”

  At that, Qaolin reared his head back and laughed. It was perfect: they had sent as many ships as the Klingons had. Truly we shall test our enemy’s mettle.

  Chapter 6

  Central Command

  Vessel Sontok

  “The Eldrak and the Golnor have both lost their shields.”

  Monor pounded the arm of his command chair at Ekron’s report. The Sontok had combined with the Third Order to do considerable damage to the enemy ships, but despite being outnumbered three to one, the damned Foreheads still had put up a fine fight, critically damaging two of the Cardassian ships.

  “Set course—”

  “Sir, the Klingons are breaking formation!”

  That threw Monor off guard. “What?”

  Ekron looked up from his console. “They are setting course outside the system.”

  “Follow them!” The Klingons may not have had the neckbones to chase after a fleeing foe, but Monor did. “Pursuit course, top speed.”

  “They’re going to warp.”

  “Overtake them, dammit! We’ll show those damn Foreheads how to win a fight.”

  Ekron nodded. “Yes, sir. Course is 111 mark 47. Klingon ships are at warp seven.”

  “Increase to warp eight.”

  Shaking his head, Ekron said, “We can only achieve warp seven-point-three, sir—and the other ships can’t even break warp seven.”

  Monor stood up; the damn chair squeaking again. “Fine, then, warp seven-point-three. Inform the fleet to keep up as best they can.” He paced down the length of the bridge. “Project course ahead. Where are they leading us? Assuming they’re leading us anywhere and not just flying off like the cowards they are. They can brag about honor all they want, but give them a real foe and they show their true colors, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Heading for the Betreka Nebula.”

  Monor laughed. “Those idiot Foreheads think they can lose us in the nebula, do they?” He shook his head. “That trick is so old, my grandfather would be embarrassed to use it. Have I ever told you about my grandfather, Ekron?”

  “Many times, sir. We’ll reach the nebula in fifteen minutes—that’s before we’ll be able to intercept.”

  “Watch their course carefully, Ekron. Sensors’ll go out once we get inside that soup, so we’ll need to extrapolate their course.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Monor moved to sit in his chair again. “Damned Foreheads aren’t going to make a mockery of me. Can’t believe they’d pull this sort of trick, like we’re some kind of rank amateurs. That’s the sort of thing that’ll work against Kreel or Kinshaya or those other weaklings that the Foreheads pick on to make themselves look strong, but we Cardassians are made of sterner stuff. Ready a full spread of torpedoes, fire them the instant we’re in range.”

  “Sir,” Ekron said, “we won’t be in range until we reach the nebula.”

  Sighing, Monor said, “Then we’ll fire the damn things into the nebula! Their shields are low enough that we should be able to penetrate their hull—that’ll make going into the nebula all that much more dangerous for those idiots. Then we’ll show them what the difference is between a warrior and a soldier. Because that’s the important thing, you know. They go on and on about honor and being warriors and all that other muck, but what matters is obedience—following the chain of command to make a better life for your homeland. That’s what war’s all about, Ekron, not this nonsense about glory and honor—that’s just an excuse to kill people.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ekron looked up. “Sir, the Klingon ships are slowing to impulse.”

  “Reduce speed.” After standing in front of it for several minutes, Monor finally sat in his chair. Amazingly enough, it didn’t squeak. Monor decided to take that as a good sign. “Let’s show these Foreheads that we mean business.”

  “Coming out of warp.”

  “Fire torpedoes!”

  Ekron passed on the order to weapons control, then added, “Sir, the Third Order will be coming out of warp in six minutes.”

  “Damn.” Monor shook his head. If only they’d been able to keep up. “Well, we ought to be able to hold them off for six minutes. Let’s try to get them before they enter the nebula.”

  However, Ekron seemed vexed by something on his console. “Sir, the Klingon ships aren’t heading for the nebula.”

  It took a moment for Monor to realize what his second-in-command had just said. “What?”

  “They’re holding position approximately two hundred thousand kilometers from the nebula’s perimeter.”

  Shrugging, Monor said, “Fine, if they want to make it easy on us. Target the lead ship and fire with full phasers and torpedoes. Then—”

  “Sir, now picking up multiple energy signatures from the nebula. Charged particles are increasing by fifty percent at the perimeter.” Then Ekron looked up in shock at Monor. “Sir, six Klingon ships are emerging from the nebula!”

  “A trap.” Monor shook his head. “Damn me, here I thought they were pulling the oldest trick in the book, and I fell for an older one. Should’ve given the Foreheads more credit.” He sighed. Suddenly the six minutes that it would take the Third Order to catch up were an eternity. “Evasive maneuvers.”

  Chapter 7

  I.K.S. Wo’bortas

  The bridge was coming to pieces around Captain Qaolin. His new first officer was dead, their stock of torpedoes were almost gone, and their shields were down to fourteen percent.

  “Those Cardassians fight better than I thought.”

  His gunner, an old grishnar cat named Tolkor, said, “They still die like dogs when facing true warriors.”

  Qaolin wished that that were more true than it was. He and the fleet managed to destroy three of their ships, but they i
n turn crippled six of the Defense Force vessels—including the Wo’bortas. The shields had taken the brunt of the impact, but they were now down to almost nothing. One more shot, and we will be defenseless—and they still have superior firepower.

  “Sir,” Tolkor reported, “the Kazin is coming around and firing on three of the Cardassian ships—it’s heading straight for them at ramming speed!”

  Qaolin stood and said, “Is G’Zar insane? On screen!”

  Sure enough, Captain G’Zar was taking the I.K.S. Kazin, one of the Birok-class strike ships, right at three of the ships. According to the tactical data on the screen, their shields and communications systems were down and their weapons were spent. Their warp power was also nonexistent.

  Tolkor then laughed. “Oh, he’s insane, all right, sir—insane like a Romulan. The Kazin’s warp core is about to breach. He’s maneuvering into position to take as many of those petaQ as he can when it goes.”

  The captain grinned. No doubt G’Zar thought that, if he was going to die anyhow, he would take the enemy with him. “Set course for the nebula, full impulse—warn the rest of the fleet of what G’Zar is planning.”

  As what remained of the bridge crew carried out his orders, Qaolin saw that the Sontok—the ship they’d been spying on—was following them into the nebula. Good, Qaolin thought.

  The Sontok then fired on the Wo’bortas. “Damage to the secondary hull and port wing,” Tolkor said. “We’re venting plasma. Sir, if we enter the nebula—”

  But Qaolin had already thought of what plasma interacting with the particulate matter of the nebula would do. “Set course 111 mark 22, full impulse. Is the Sontok pursuing?”

  “Yes, sir,” the pilot said.

  “Excellent. When I give the word, reverse course and eject the containment unit in the port wing.”

  Tolkor spoke up again. “Sir, we have a hull breach on deck four—all the cabins on the port side have been exposed to space, sir.”