“Yes, Captain.” He was just about to enter the necessary commands when the ops console alerted them to an incoming message. Quickly, he called up more information. “Captain, the Bougainville is hailing us. Audio only. The message is urgent.”
Henderson briefly glanced at Gepta, but the admiral merely folded his arms in front of his chest. “Your ship, Captain. Do your job.”
Nodding tersely, Henderson said, “Let’s hear it.”
A brief crackle came from the hidden loudspeakers of the intercom before a female voice spoke. “This is the U.S.S. Bougainville, on patrol in mission sector seven-four. We are in the Theris system close to the Klingon Empire and have encountered three Klingon battleships illegally crossing the border: a Vor’cha-class battle cruiser and two B’rel-class Birds-of-Prey. Demands to withdraw have been ignored. We’re requesting reinforcements. I repeat: we’re requesting reinforcements.”
“Ha!” Gepta said. “That was bound to happen sooner or later. The Klingons have kept calm for far too long.” He rubbed his gloved hands. “Very well. I guess we’ll have to chase them back behind the border. This is still Federation space, and if anyone will conduct patrols here, it’ll be Starfleet.” He turned to Loos. “Lieutenant, what’s your name?”
“Loos, sir.”
“Which ship is closest to be of assistance to the Bougainville?”
“One moment, sir.” Loos checked his console. “We are, sir. At maximum warp, we’re sixteen minutes away from the Theris system.”
Snapping his jaws, Gepta then said, “Reply to the Bougainville, and let her know that the Venture is on her way. Have them keep an eye on the Klingons, but they mustn’t let themselves be provoked. If memory serves we diverted the Bougainville from a cartography mission, which means that she’s probably flying with a sensor-pod configuration. She won’t be a viable opponent for three Klingon battleships.” He briefly tilted his head to one side, apparently reconsidering his last words. “Come to think of it, she wouldn’t be anyway. Nebula-class ships are no battleships. Unlike a fully fledged Galaxy-class. Captain?”
Henderson straightened in spite of himself. “Admiral?”
“Head for the Theris system. Maximum warp.” Gepta marched to the command chair in the center of the bridge, and sat down.
“Yes, sir.”
Henderson forlornly relayed the order to Makzia, amazed and appalled at how quickly he had lost command of his own ship.
6
NOVEMBER 26, 2385
U.S.S. Venture, Theris system
The Theris system consisted of an extraordinary seventeen planets orbiting a most ordinary white dwarf of the main sequence. Those planets were either too close or too far from the star to support any life beyond a few single-cell organisms, and were unsuitable for colonization.
It wasn’t completely empty, however. Several years ago, an industrial consortium under Tellarite leadership had discovered that the higher atmospheric layers of the system’s largest gas giant contained rare isotopes. They installed a mining platform into orbit around in order to collect and refine those gases.
The crew consisted predominantly of Tellarites and several humans, as well as a Pakled chef. They were ill-tempered men and women, doing their jobs with as little effort as possible, and they didn’t care about the rest of the galaxy. During their spare time, they enjoyed playing Kera & Phinda—a card game owing its name to two Tellarite moons—or they would sit by one of the panoramic windows, staring silently out into space with Theris XI in the foreground and the glowing nebulae of the Lembatta Cluster in the distance.
Galactic political affairs were of little interest. Who cared about the problems of people who lived light years away when a gas-phase separator got stuck, or one of the super-isolated transfer conduits leaked? Due to this severe lack of interest, the screens in the three staffrooms hardly ever showed newscasts from the Tellarite news agency or the Federation News Service that the mine operator had dutifully subscribed to. So when a full shift of tired workers ascended on their atmosphere lifts from the lower collector platforms to the living area of the complex and saw four starships—three Klingon and one Starfleet—circling each other in close proximity, they were completely taken by surprise.
“Are we at war with the Klingons?” one of the foremen asked his neighbor, scratching his beard in confusion.
“Nonsense. The Klingons and the Federation are allies,” his neighbor replied.
“Doesn’t look like it if you ask me. This seems more like…”
* * *
“…two brothers picking a fight.” Admiral Gepta snapped his ocher-colored jaws twice, which was a gesture of affirmation and self-assurance, as Henderson had figured by now.
Unless he’s got nervous twitches, the captain thought sarcastically.
The red alert klaxon was sounding, the Venture’s shields had been raised, and weapons had been readied.
Long-range sensors put the Bougainville and the three Klingon vessels close to a gas giant. But the Venture was approaching at maximum speed, and it was only a matter of seconds before she would arrive at the eleventh planet of the Theris system.
“Computer, identify Klingon ships,” Henderson said. Along with Gepta, he stared at the main screen on the bridge, where a tactical view of the four ships and the gas giant was being displayed.
“The I.K.S. Drovana, the I.K.S. Chong’pogh and the I.K.S. Nukmay.” The ships’ names appeared next to the symbols of the attack cruiser and both Birds-of-Prey.
“The Nukmay?” Gepta leaned forward in the command chair. “Commander Koxx. Which means the Fifth Fleet under General Klag has arrived at the border. And I thought they were going to get there tomorrow.”
Clearing his throat, Loos turned around to face him. “Begging the admiral’s pardon, but the Nukmay is currently serving in the Seventh Fleet under General Akbas.”
Slowly, Gepta rose from his seat. His large, gloved hands stroked his chest plate, while he stared at Loos as if he wanted to devour him.
Henderson saw the young officer go pale and snap to attention in his chair.
“Sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant, for correcting me,” the Chelon grumbled. Henderson really didn’t want to be in the shoes of the staff member who had transferred the erroneous data to the admiral’s padd.
“Leaving warp,” Makzia said. “Distance to our destination: five hundred thousand kilometers.”
“We’re within visual range,” Loos added.
Gepta nodded grimly. “On screen.”
Four ships came into view, moving through the space over a giant orange and brown planet. The Bougainville was in the center of the quartet, desperately trying to avoid any angle where the main disruptor of the Vor’cha-class cruiser could fire at her. Both B’rels circled around the larger ships like vultures waiting for carrion.
“Open a channel to the Bougainville and the Klingons.”
“Aye, sir.” Loos quickly attended to his console.
“The Klingons have spotted us,” Kraalbat said. He stood by the curved tactical console at the back of the bridge. “The Drovana is on an intercept course.”
“Let them.” Gepta put his hands on his plated hips. “Lieutenant Loos?”
“Link established, sir.”
“This is Admiral Gepta from the U.S.S. Venture. Klingon vessels, you are trespassing in Federation territory. I demand you withdraw immediately to your side of the border.”
“No response, Admiral,” Loos said.
“The Klingon weapon systems are hot,” Kraalbat said, “but they haven’t targeted us or the Bougainville as yet.”
“Keep us in motion, Commander Makzia,” said Henderson. “We don’t want to give the Drovana’s crew any opportunity to aim at us with their main disruptor.”
“Disregard,” Gepta snarled. “We’re not going to prance about like an Antedian pond skater. We’re boasting twice their mass, and we’re much bigger than the Drovana. Klingons only respect strength—and stren
gth we will display. Head straight for the attack cruiser. Load phaser banks and torpedo launchers.”
“Admiral—” Henderson wanted to object but Gepta cut him short.
“Trust me, Captain. I know what I’m doing.”
Henderson swallowed. He fervently hoped this to be true. The Venture might be bigger than the Drovana, but the Vor’cha class was a battleship and, as such, much more heavily armed. On the other hand, Klingons are not very apt poker players, the captain mused.
“I repeat, this is Admiral Gepta from the U.S.S. Venture. Klingon vessels, you are trespassing on Federation territory. I demand you withdraw immediately to your side of the border. Otherwise, I have been authorized by the Federation president and the Federation Council to destroy you.”
“The Bougainville is assuming a flanking position to the Drovana. The Birds-of-Prey are pursuing her.” Was it just Henderson’s imagination, or did Kraalbat sound less grumpy than usual thanks to the prospect of battle? He made a mental note to have a chat with the tactical officer later.
“Warning shot across the bow, Mr. Kraalbat,” Gepta said.
Kraalbat obliged. Silently, a golden beam cut through space, crossing the Drovana’s path.
“They’re hailing us,” Loos said. His tone of voice betrayed a broad, knowing smirk.
“On screen.”
The image of the maneuvering spaceships disappeared, and an agitated Klingon commander came into view. “How dare you fire on us! We fight the same enemy! You would attack us just because we entered your space?”
Gepta planted himself in the center of the bridge with spread legs, his fingers interlaced in front of his barrel chest. “If you don’t cooperate, I absolutely will. You’ve no business here right now, Commander… Koxx, I presume?”
“How do you know my name?”
“I’m a great admirer of your former superior, General Klag.” Gepta stressed the word admirer in an odd way, and Henderson wondered whether there was some kind of hidden irony behind the Chelon’s words. “So I made it my business to familiarize myself with the commanders of the Fifth Fleet as well. I know, for example, that you used to command the Nukmay. Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. When did you take over the Drovana? A month ago? Two?”
“What does that matter, Chelon?”
“Oh, I’m merely trying to point out to you that you have virtually no experience fighting aboard large and sluggish vessels. And a Vor’cha is more sluggish than a Chelon egg keeper. I, on the other hand, am extremely familiar with ships of the Galaxy class. So you should probably think twice before challenging me.” To emphasize his words, he made his jaws snap.
The view seemed to vex the Klingon, and he made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “We do not wish to fight our—our honorable allies. We’re here to assist in patrolling the systems that might be future targets for these Renao fanatics.”
“Yes, you already told the Bougainville that… and her captain informed you that we don’t require your help. Stick to patrolling along your own border. I’m sure there will be ample endangered systems within reach of a—”
“Captain, Admiral, the Bougainville is hailing us!” gasped Loos.
“Excuse us a minute, Commander.” Without further ado, Gepta had the channel muted. “Patch the Bougainville through. Audio only.” The admiral faced away from the screen just like Henderson would have done, so Koxx wasn’t able to draw any conclusions as to the nature of the message from his reaction.
“This is the Bougainville,” the familiar female voice spoke again. “Venture, we have located a ship at the magnetic north pole of the sun. It just appeared, and it’s attempting to hide behind the sun now.”
“What kind of ship, Bougainville?” Gepta asked.
The woman’s voice sounded nervous. “According to the configuration it’s one of the Renao’s so-called solar-jumpers.”
The Chelon’s jaws snapped several times, an indication of his surprise. Suddenly, his eyes showed that he was burning for action. Henderson wagered that Gepta would have grinned grimly if he had been physically able to do so.
“Intercept course, Bougainville. We’re going to capture the ship. No, wait. Disregard. I have a better idea. Mr. Loos, give me Koxx, pronto.”
“Yes, sir.”
The channel to the Klingon commander was reopened.
“Listen, Koxx,” said Gepta before his counterpart could even open his mouth. “We have located a Renao solar-jumper. It’s hiding around the magnetic north pole of the sun. Clever, but not clever enough to escape our sensors. We will capture it—and as you’re already here with your people, you might want to participate in the operation.”
“Absolutely.” Koxx bared his teeth.
“Excellent. I have a plan.” Clasping his hands behind his back, Gepta began pacing up and down in front of the monitor. “If we have been correctly informed, the Renao need at least a day to recharge their drive. Which means we have all the time in the world. But we should refrain from making them nervous by heading straight toward them. So, what we’re going to do is this…”
Solar-jumper Coumatha
“Did they spot us?” Manouk ak Lovaal ran from one sensor console to the next. The young Renao felt his blood rush through his veins in anticipation. A voice inside his head screamed at him to confront these wretched strangers, these sphere defilers! He wanted to release the Coumatha’s lethal cargo in order to destroy these five enemy ships.
But he restrained himself. They had a more important target: a place that was forced to endure millions of reprehensible souls—colonists who had left their ancestral home sphere to conquer space. The thought was enough to make Manouk’s stomach turn.
“No, the sphere defilers are still circling each other at the gas giant.” Jalal ak Nourmi pointed at the display. “They didn’t notice our appearance.” He cackled almost hysterically. “They are so busy with each other that they don’t even see their own doom coming.”
“I say we attack them,” Houma ak Nourmi said urgently. She was the third person in their confined bridge and Jalal’s sister. She clenched a red hand into a fist, and her yellow eyes glowed like stoked firewood.
Manouk gave her a stern look. “No, remember our task. This isn’t about a mere few ships.”
“They are not just ships! Two of them are capital ships with thousands of sphere defilers on board! And they are threatening to attack our home spheres. They’ve said so on several occasions.”
Houma’s passion had always been attractive to Manouk, albeit in secret. He admired her zeal and shared her desires, but they needed to stay on their mission. “You don’t eliminate weeds on the fields by picking off some leaves. You need to pull out the roots. That’s our sacred mission. Our enemies mustn’t see us here. We need to hide. Otherwise, they will stop us before we can take our brethren to their destination.”
He was referring to the pilots aboard the Coumatha with them—fearless fighters for the cause of the Purifying Flame. They were waiting in the cargo hold that had been converted into a hangar. Ten young men who each had been assigned to one of the small black and lethal Scorpion attack fighters stowed there. All of them had been stuffed with a highly explosive mixture of blasting agents, and they were waiting for their deployment.
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that.” Jalal gesticulated like a madman at the sensor console. “Look, the Klingons and the Federation are fighting each other. They’re shooting at each other and chasing each other through space.”
Incredulously, Manouk moved to stand next to him. It’s true, he realized in amazement. The larger of the three Klingon ships fired at the larger Federation ship. The smaller one appeared to escape to the other side of the gas giant, followed by the two smaller bumphead ships.
During the Coumatha’s jump from its secret base deep inside the Lembatta Cluster to this position, he had feared the worst. They had come upon five hostile ships, and they would have found it difficult to deal with a fleet of that siz
e, even if they had successfully launched the ten Scorpions at short notice.
Fortunately, the Son of the Ancient Reds watched over them and their sacred mission for the restoration of harmony to the galaxy’s sphere order.
“They are blind,” Houma realized. “The Son has struck them with folly. These fools surely think they’re fighting us, when in truth they are killing each other. Serves them right. He who wears a weapon in our home spheres must die by that weapon.”
Her words sounded like a quote from one of the scripts about the sphere harmony, although they were unusually aggressive. Manouk wasn’t familiar with them.
“We’re losing the three smaller ships from sight,” Jalal said. “They’re behind the gas giant now.”
“And the large ones?” Manouk asked.
“Are still firing. By the stars, I wish I could command their weapons. Our righteous battle would be over swiftly.”
“We have all the weapons we need for a victory,” said Manouk. “And the Son is with us. His fire can’t be doused.”
Although he said it to convince Jalal, Manouk knew it to be the truth. The fire burning within all of them was hotter than a thousand suns. Nothing would be able to stop them… ever. Victory was merely a question of time.
“Jalal, keep an eye on the sphere defilers,” he said. “Houma, activate the antimatter converter to recharge the jump drive. We should see to it that we get out of here as soon as possible.”
“On it, Manouk,” she replied, sitting back down at the engine control.
He marched past her to the massive hatch separating the cockpit from the rest of the ship. “I’ll be in the hangar,” he said. “I want to see how our pilots are doing after the jump.” Some people felt very nauseous during their first solar jump. Manouk, who had completed almost two dozen journeys aboard the ship, had gotten used to it by now.
The Renao went down a short corridor, and then took a lift down into the belly of the box-like solar-jumper. Soon after, he arrived at the ship’s former cargo hold. The small black attack fighters had been lined up in two rows of five spacecrafts. They didn’t have any tractor beams or docking clamps at their disposal so they had secured them with steel nets. With their elongated windshields and curved stabilizing fins they looked pleasantly aggressive. Unfortunately the enemy usually didn’t get to see them, as they darted toward their target cloaked and at maximum speed.
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