by Dayton Ward
“You are suggesting that Toladal may be responsible,” Lorta said.
Spock’s eyebrow rose in response. “I am suggesting no such thing, Lieutenant.”
“You do not believe his arrival aboard your ship and the placement of the bomb is coincidence?” Lorta made no attempt to hide the incredulity in her voice. “The evidence points to Toladal’s involvement. Surely your Vulcan logic tells you that?”
Saying nothing immediately, Spock slowly walked around the upper bridge deck, making his way to an opening in the railing surrounding the command area to descend toward the captain’s chair. As he settled himself into it, he briefly wondered where its rightful owner might be. Had Captain Kirk succeeded in finding any survivors from the Gagarin? Would he be able to affect their rescue and return them home?
Had the entire affair been a ruse, a trap designed to incite an interstellar incident with the Federation appearing as the instigators? Logic told him that was unlikely, based on his analysis of the available information and his assessment of Koloth’s character.
Logic also told him something else.
“What I see,” he said, “is that you have postulated a theory that is somewhat consistent with the few facts available to us. However, what you have failed to take into consideration is that Toladal was with me at the time of the explosion on the Terthos, just as he was with me during the incident on the starbase.” Spock locked eyes with the Klingon security chief as he added, “Therefore, I find your theory faulty at the present time. Further investigation will, of course, provide additional information that will allow you to corroborate or discount your hypothesis, or perhaps even formulate a new one.”
After many years spent working and living in close proximity to beings who were much less in control of their emotions than Vulcans, he had learned how to gauge what he said in order to reduce the chances of his remarks being taken as insulting or hurtful. However, he knew that the Klingon would chafe at his comments even before he saw her body stiffen in controlled anger. To her credit, though, she said nothing.
Instead it was Chekov who said, “We’ll keep at it, sir.”
Nodding, Spock said, “That is wise, Mr. Chekov. I’m afraid that time has become an issue in this matter. We must find whoever is behind these attacks before they can launch another one and succeed in injuring or killing someone, to say nothing of the political ramifications if this peace conference fails. The task of preventing interstellar war may well be resting on our shoulders.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
STALKING THE CORRIDORS of the Terthos, Ag’hel received an odd sense of satisfaction from the way her booted heels echoed off the cold metal deck plating. Those members of the crew she passed must have understood the force behind her footsteps, for they made extra efforts to clear a path for her, saluting her as she walked past. That many of the gestures of respect probably weren’t genuine didn’t matter to her in the slightest. During the short duration of her assignment aboard the Terthos, she had forged a reputation as a first officer not to be trifled with. That status had been strengthened on more than one occasion with the blood of a foolhardy crew member seeking to challenge her authority. Most of the crew had accepted the outcomes of those duels and obeyed her as honor demanded, but she remained wary for those individuals who would still seek to fight her for her position. No one offered her such a challenge today.
Ag’hel found herself disappointed at that. Her mood at the moment would be perfectly suited to just such an exercise.
Reaching an intersection in the passageway, she turned a corner and proceeded into the section of the Terthos ’s living quarters reserved for the use of Ambassador Kaljagh and his party. Not breaking stride, she marched past the pair of guards stationed in the corridor without giving them a second glance.
Ordinarily the dark maroon doors at the end of the dimly lit hallway would not have opened without the authorization of the person occupying the room beyond. Ag’hel, however, had seen to it several days earlier that she was granted automatic access to the living quarters. This of course caused no small amount of furor from the room’s inhabitant.
It was another thing that didn’t matter to her.
The doors parted at her approach and Ag’hel stormed into the room to find Kaljagh slumped into the only chair his sitting room offered. As she brought herself to a stop just inside the doors, she took a moment to appraise the interior of the ambassador’s quarters. The chamber was not nearly as lavish in its appointments as likely characterized Kaljagh’s home on Qo’noS or even other, larger ships that had transported him in the past. She’d fought in bars that were better decorated. However, Kaljagh’s comfort was not her concern. He was a tool for her to use, nothing more.
Startled by her abrupt entrance, Kaljagh nearly fell out of the chair in his haste to regain his feet.
“Is it standard practice on this ship to barge into the quarters of diplomatic envoys?” he asked.
Ag’hel sneered at the ambassador. “I’m not interested in formalities. We are running out of time and so far our mission is a total failure.”
“You can thank Captain K’tran for that,” Kaljagh countered as he returned to the chair and reached across a nearby table to retrieve a large, ornately decorated wine goblet from a service tray. Ag’hel figured the ambassador had brought along his own personal assortment of dining implements on this voyage, as nothing so elaborate would ever be found in the Terthos ’s mess hall.
“Perhaps if your masters had seen fit to include him in this mission,” Kaljagh continued, “we would not have to worry about him interfering with our efforts.”
“Spoken like someone accustomed to evading responsibility,” Ag’hel spat, disgusted that this loathsome coward could take up valuable space on a combat vessel and share the same air as true warriors of the Empire. Were circumstances different, she might have killed him and been done with it.
“I do not question the decisions of my superiors,” she continued, “and it would be wise for you to avoid doing so as well. If you had properly carried out your first assignment, we would not have needed a second attempt.”
Frustration clouded Kaljagh’s features. “With so much riding on the outcome of this mission, why did you give me the task of planting the bomb in the conference hall?” He shook his head in disgust. “Komor and his schemes. It makes no sense to give me this type of responsibility. I am not a spy or commando. I am a politician, and I have no illusions about being anything else.”
“A diplomat would not immediately draw suspicion,” she said. It was simple, really. In the end, a diplomat caught conducting a terrorist act could well cause as much damage to the peace summit as an actual attack. Additionally, if it kept her from exposing herself, so much the better. While there had been an element of logic to that approach, it had left much to chance.
Too much, unfortunately.
Casting a look of contempt at the ambassador, Ag’hel began to pace the length of the living quarters. Though the room on its own lacked even the most basic of aesthetic features, Kaljagh had certainly attempted to make it more comfortable. One item in particular that interested her was the hide of a large animal she did not recognize, currently serving as a rug placed alongside Kaljagh’s bed. Two meters in length, the pelt was covered in thick white fur, and each of its four appendages were accentuated with a set of razor-sharp claws. The head of the animal sported large dark eyes and rows of long, jagged teeth. Ag’hel doubted that Kaljagh had killed the animal, finding it difficult to believe that the politician had even participated in a hunt since his childhood, if then.
Despite what she might think of him personally, however, Kaljagh had raised a valid point with regard to Captain K’tran. Why had she not been allowed to involve the Terthos ’s commander? During past missions while she was assigned to other vessels, it had been common for her to alert the captain, especially if her task required her to make use of the ship’s weapons or other equipment. Did the Council not trust K’tran?
If she had been permitted to confide in him, the captain would doubtless have handled the situation with the Enterprise much differently. Ag’hel didn’t fault the Terthos ’s commander’s actions, for as far as he knew he had been defending the interests of the Empire and the will of the Council by preserving the peace at the conference.
And then there was Komor’s insistence that Kaljagh be involved in the operation. It was not a decision Ag’hel had approved of, and her doubts had been proven correct with the mission suffering failure twice already. Even though using Kaljagh reduced her own risk of discovery, she also found herself having to deal with an extra sanitation effort to insure their trail was covered.
“I cannot believe we haven’t been exposed yet,” Kaljagh said before draining the contents of his goblet. The foul odor of whatever concoction he was drinking reached her nostrils and she grimaced in distaste. Once more she shook her head as she regarded the ambassador.
Had it not been for her, Kaljagh would surely have been caught before planting the first bomb. As it was, the plan had failed, with the ambassador squandering a timedelayed detonation by not taking into account something as simple as a fluctuating schedule in the conference hall. However, it was also her fault for not teaching him to be alert for such unforeseen eventualities. As he had readily admitted from the start, he had no experience with covert operations and the necessity to think independently while undertaking them.
She shook the thoughts of failure away. “We cannot allow ourselves to dwell on these missteps,” Ag’hel replied. “Instead we must refocus our energies to completing our mission.”
“If we’re to continue this course of insanity,” Kaljagh said as he rose from his chair, “then I want more involvement.”
“As you noted before,” Ag’hel replied, “you are not qualified for this type of work. It will only get more hazardous now, and we will have to take extra steps to insure suspicion is drawn away from us.”
The ambassador fixed Ag’hel with a steely gaze. “I am not so naive as to think that you or the Council cares one way or another if I am discovered. Therefore, I want steps taken to protect myself. This may be just another assignment for you, Lieutenant, but my stake is more personal. Komor forced me into this situation and I intend to see it to the end, whether we succeed or fail.”
Ag’hel didn’t know Komor’s reasons for tasking Kaljagh, and really didn’t care so long as her own exposure wasn’t threatened. As a deep-cover operative reporting directly to the High Council, she had been given assignments on many occasions where she had not known the primary or ultimate objective. For her current mission, she could only deduce that the Council had reason to distrust the Federation’s motives for participating in the peace conference. She had to trust that Chancellor Kesh was acting in the best interests of the Empire.
Now, though, she knew that to simply incite a confrontation between the Terthos and the Enterprise would not be sufficient. No, her next action would have to be catastrophic enough that it caused an immediate end to the summit and cast a suffocating shroud of doubt over the entire peace process.
In short, she would have to start a war.
Chapter Twenty-eight
STEPHEN GARROVICK wanted nothing but to sleep for about a hundred years. On top of the already exhausting workday, the prisoners had to deal with increased transit time from the compound to the area of the mine being worked. A new section of the vast underground cavern had been discovered to contain rich dilithium deposits, and Korax was anxious to exploit the find. In order to keep his already impressive level of productivity from faltering, the prisoners were now awakened earlier each day for transport into the mine and returned later in the evening following the completed work shift. Even using the automated railcar system that had been built for just such purposes, it still required nearly two hours to move the prisoners to and from the compound.
Garrovick figured he was lucky if he was getting four decent hours of sleep each night, and that was without being awakened by any of Sydney’s nightmares, which were occurring with greater frequency. He wasn’t sure what might be causing the dreams, but he could guess. Khulr had been leaving her alone the past few days, perhaps on Korax’s orders. The Klingon wouldn’t allow her any kind of lasting peace, though, of that he was certain. Garrovick figured she was both anticipating and dreading her next encounter with the malicious head guard.
“You look like I feel,” Sydney offered as they shuffled alongside one another. Garrovick could see that the longer workdays and lack of sleep were beginning to take their toll on the former security chief. At least they were being fed decently, otherwise the problem would have been magnified.
As they emerged from the tunnel and into the prison courtyard, the first thing Garrovick noticed was that the sun had gone from the sky. Illumination was being provided by large lamps affixed to the top of the prison wall and spaced forty or so meters apart around the perimeter of the compound. Beyond the wall Garrovick could see the shadows of the tree line. The tops of the trees were moving in a gentle breeze that neither he nor anyone else inside the wall could feel because of the forcefield surrounding the prison. Though he couldn’t see it, Garrovick could still hear the faint hum that confirmed the energy shield was in operation. More so than even the wall itself, the field’s omnipresent droning hammered home the prisoners’ sense of isolation and helplessness.
“I wonder what sumptuous feast our hosts have prepared for us this evening,” Sydney asked, wiping her forearm across her brow and bringing it away covered with sweat and grime. The joke came out hollow and sarcastic, lacking her usual tone of levity. As it had everyone else, Kawaguchi’s death had hit her hard, harshly reminding them that their lives here were fragile and vulnerable every day, and not just from their captors.
“I’m not all that hungry, anyway,” he said. “I just want to sleep.”
Sydney scowled at him. “You’re the one who’s always telling me to eat and keep my strength up. Leadership is by example, Stephen. The others need to see you coping with this.”
She was right, he knew. He’d preached countless times to the remaining Gagarin crew about the need to take advantage of meals and water at every opportunity. He reminded himself that he couldn’t let any sadness he felt over the loss of Kawaguchi drive him to do something foolhardy, like depriving his body of needed nourishment. Not here, and definitely not now.
“mev!”
Like a squad of first-year Academy cadets, the columns of bone-weary prisoners halted their march at the barked command to stop. Just as it happened every night, they would soon be directed into the drab warehouse building where fellow prisoners prepared and served the meals for the entire inmate population. There they would be fed before being allowed the opportunity to take care of various personal-hygiene needs before being secured in their cells for the night. Within the tiny chambers, they would seek refuge and a few precious hours’ rest until they were awakened in the morning to start the entire mind-numbing routine all over again.
But then, the routine was blown completely to hell.
Deafening thunder and blinding light erupted outside the prison wall near the base of the mountain. Flames and sparks shot into the air, illuminating the jungle that lay a few dozen meters from the outside of the prison wall.
“What the hell was that?” Sydney shouted as chaos engulfed the scores of bedraggled prisoners. Alarms blared and guards shouted and motioned for the prisoners to move away from the cavern as another explosion shook the compound, this time on the opposite side of the prison.
The interior of the compound was deteriorating into total bedlam. Guards were ordering prisoners to evacuate the open area of the courtyard, but they were having little effect. The clamorous alarms only contributed to the confusion, drowning out the shouted orders of the guards and the cries of panic from the inmates.
Garrovick caught motion out of the corner of his eye and snapped his head around to see the telltale signature of a small vessel’s plas
ma trail streaking just above the tree line. Judging from the emissions, he didn’t think it could be anything bigger than a small personnel transport.
We’re under attack?
Even as the ludicrous notion began to take hold in his mind, another explosion rocked the ground beneath Garrovick. All around the prison wall, the energy field flared and flickered, as if the protective shroud were under its own assault.
“Somebody’s breaking through the shield!” Sydney called out, grabbing his arm and directing his attention to where a gap in the forcefield had formed outside the massive doors providing the only entrance into the prison. Garrovick knew that the shield surrounding the compound was created by a series of power generators installed within massive metal columns that formed a ring around the prison facility. The attacking shuttle had succeeded in disabling one of the generators, a feat that would have been impossible from the interior of the prison. After all, the energy shield was designed to keep people inside the compound.
Yet another thunderous roar washed over the courtyard, and Garrovick saw the metal doors disintegrate in a hellstorm of disruptor energy.
“Stephen!”
Sydney pulled Garrovick at a run toward the relative safety of a nearby cell-block building. All around them, prisoners sprinted for cover, racing for the cell blocks or the warehouses or anything that might provide concealment.
As he ran, the sound of racing engines caught Garrovick’s attention. He looked over his shoulder toward what remained of the giant doors in time to see a small ship streaking through the entrance and into the courtyard. The vessel’s design was easy enough to recognize.
“I don’t believe this!” he said as he and Sydney ran underneath the sheltered walkway of a cell block’s first level. “We’re being attacked by Klingons!”
The small shuttle moved incredibly fast despite the cramped confines of the prison courtyard and the umbrella of the still mostly functional forcefield. Garrovick had to admire the skill and utter audacity of the vessel’s pilot.
