“So,” Kromm said, “what does the knowledge about this dark cloud do for us? It’s too far away to just drop by. In the meantime, fanatics of the Purifying Flame could devastate ten worlds.”
“Not quite,” said Jenna Kirk, leaning back in her chair with folded arms. “It’s too far away for the Bortas, but not for the Prometheus. We can cover that distance in one or two days with our slipstream technology.”
“Ah, the Federation’s mighty quantum slipstream drive.” Kromm laughed bitterly. “How could I forget this technology that everyone craves and you don’t share?”
Adams gave him a rebuking look. “Kromm, you know full well that the design of Klingon ships is not suitable for our slipstream technology.”
“Of course.” Kromm made no effort to conceal his doubts regarding the official statements of Federation scientists.
“Captain,” Rozhenko cautioned, “this is not helping.”
Before Kromm could upbraid the upstart ambassador, Rooth spoke up. “It’s useless honing your blades over this, anyway. Prometheus has a slipstream drive at her disposal, Bortas doesn’t. What does that mean for our mission?”
“I know my mission,” Kromm said firmly. “My orders are to find the location of the Purifying Flame. Nothing is mentioned of spending weeks trying to hunt this mythical White Guardian. Our work is here, inside the cluster.”
Quietly, Spock said, “I agree with Captain Kromm.”
The Klingon captain didn’t believe his ears. Had the geriatric pointed-eared diplomat just taken his side?
The ambassador continued: “Despite all the hope we may harbor to end this conflict peacefully, we must not lose sight of the task at hand. The White Guardian may be the key for victory against the Son of the Ancient Reds but the Prometheus and the Bortas are currently the key to ending the threat of the Purifying Flame.”
Adams nodded slowly and looked at everyone in turn. “We’ll split up. The Prometheus will use our slipstream to investigate the Taurus Dark Cloud in an attempt to find the White Guardian. Meanwhile, the Bortas will continue the search for the Purifying Flame.”
Kromm burst into laughter. “That, Captain Adams, is the best proposal I’ve heard from you this entire mission.” Let the people of Starfleet chase their myths with their heads in the clouds. That would give him free rein to solve the crisis in the Lembatta Cluster like a Klingon.
Rozhenko seemed to have read his thoughts because his face showed slight concern. “Shouldn’t a part of the Prometheus remain in the Lembatta Cluster in order to continue the search for the extremists together with the Bortas?”
Adams looked at Kirk and Mendon.
“I wouldn’t recommend it, sir,” said the former. “We needed the deflector dishes and the computing capabilities of all three sections of the Prometheus in order to penetrate the chaos zone around Iad. According to Memory Alpha, the radiation readings inside the Taurus Dark Cloud match those of the Souhla system, so we’ll need all three again.” She shook her head. “It’s all or nothing, Captain.”
“There’s your answer, Ambassador,” said Adams.
Kromm sneered at the son of Worf. “Don’t worry, Ambassador. We won’t start a war while our friends from the Federation chase phantoms at the edge of the galaxy.”
Rozhenko responded to Kromm’s sneer with a grim smile. “I’ll be here to make sure of that.”
“What?” asked Kromm. “Are you staying here in the cluster?”
“Yes,” the young Klingon said. “As Ambassador Spock would say, this decision is only logical. His telepathic abilities would be much more useful during the search for the White Guardian. My status as a member of the House of Martok will undoubtedly be of more use here.” He looked at Spock. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ambassador?”
Spock raised an eyebrow, nodding approvingly. “Indeed, a most logical decision.”
For his part, Kromm didn’t like the idea in the least. He also didn’t appreciate the little upstart throwing his status as a member of the chancellor’s House in his face.
“We could ask the Venture to take over from us in the cluster,” Roaas said. “Two crews can achieve more than just one—no offence, Captain Kromm.”
Kromm growled. Did they all think him a helpless fool? Adams, Rozhenko, L’emka, Roaas… they all seemed to believe that he required a ghojmoq to mind him. The thought infuriated him.
To his shock, it was Spock again who came to his rescue. “I’m afraid that it is not as simple as that. The negotiations with Onferin to obtain permission to enter the cluster were extremely complex. The Renao government will be reluctant to allow another ship into their space, particularly one as large as the Venture. In addition, I fear that Admiral Gepta’s diplomatic sensitivity would not be sufficient to the task of dealing with the Renao.”
Kromm snorted at the ambassador’s euphemism. For his part, Gepta sounded like someone he might actually like.
“This decision is not ours to make,” said Adams. “Starfleet Command needs to clear that with the government on Onferin.” He turned to Kromm. “You now have the command over operations within the cluster, Captain Kromm. Prove yourself worthy of this honor.”
“When you return from your excursion to nowhere with the Prometheus, I will welcome you in the government seat on Onferin with a celebratory drink for our victory,” Kromm said.
Adams tersely said, “We’ll see, won’t we?” He glanced around. “Any more comments?”
No one said anything.
Adams nodded, satisfied. “Which means we’ve got a plan. I will inform Admiral Akaar immediately. You, Kromm, should contact the High Council. Let’s get to work.” He rose from his seat, ending the meeting.
When Kromm returned to the transporter room with his people, he mulled over the meeting. Having Rozhenko back aboard was definitely a nuisance, but it was a small price to pay to get rid of Adams and the Prometheus.
Finally, my time has come, Kromm thought, and his mood lifted with every step. Now is the time for glory for Kromm, son of Kaath.
I.K.S. Bortas
Spock strolled leisurely through the dark corridors of the Bortas. He was dressed in dark gray clothes and carried a small bag tucked under his arm, where he had packed what few personal belongings he took with him during his journeys. A bekk had already taken the rest of his luggage to the Prometheus. Before he transferred back to the Federation ship, he wanted to pay one last visit to L’emka.
He stood outside the first officer’s cabin and touched the door alert, but there was no reply. Frowning, Spock wondered whether he had just missed her. Only a few minutes ago in his cabin, the ship’s computer had informed him that the young female officer was in her quarters.
Logically, either L’emka was absent or she was inside her quarters and didn’t want to see anyone. Spock dismissed the notion that she hadn’t heard the electronic chime. His exceptionally sharp ears didn’t pick up any audible noises behind the door—in contrast to Chief Engineer Nuk’s quarters, where he heard the blaring sound of a Klingon opera.
Spock’s thoughts were interrupted when the door opened abruptly. L’emka stared at him with widened eyes from the doorway, a curse obviously already on her lips. But when she realized who had been disturbing her—she was only half dressed—she winced and swallowed her unspoken words.
Blinking, she looked at Spock. “Ambassador, I was not expecting you.”
“Evidently,” Spock replied.
She looked down at herself, clearly realizing now that she wore little more than her underwear while standing in front of a living legend. “Forgive my attire.”
“No, it is I who should apologize,” the old half-Vulcan replied. “I quite clearly chose an inopportune time to visit. However, it is not possible for me to postpone, as I am on my way to transfer to the Prometheus.”
“In that case, come in. I was almost done, anyway.” Stepping aside, she let him pass.
Spock entered the room filled with curiosity. The first officer’s cabin was s
imilar to the other accommodations aboard the Bortas. It was only about a quarter of the size of senior officers’ berths on comparable Starfleet ships. A terminal was mounted beside the door, a metal QongDaq that served as a bed was in one corner, next to a door to the bathroom.
An unusual feature was an elaborate, obviously handmade tapestry depicting scenes of farm life on a Klingon world. Spock knew that L’emka came from a family of farmers. He assumed that the tapestry was there to remind her of her roots. Even more remarkable was the extensive collection of Klingon weapons adorning the walls. Spock counted at least twenty different knives and swords of Klingon origin. Some of them appeared to be museum exhibits, while others were more along the line of the current fashion of weapons within the Empire.
The only illumination came from several thick candles that L’emka had spread around the cabin, the artificial light completely dimmed. Spock noticed several drops of blood on the floor, and a stained d’k tahg on the chair.
“Please excuse me a minute,” L’emka said, heading toward the bathroom. When she turned her back to Spock, he saw an irregular stab wound on the back of her bare left thigh. A trace of blood ran down her leg.
“You’re hurt,” Spock said.
“I know,” replied L’emka without turning around. She disappeared into the small bathroom. Soon after, Spock heard the humming of a medical tissue regenerator. He wondered what exactly the Klingon woman had been doing when he had disturbed her.
The rustling of clothing was audible in the bathroom, followed by the sounds of the sonic shower. Spock clasped his hands behind his back and began inspecting the exhibited Klingon weapons.
Three minutes later L’emka emerged, freshly showered and clad in wide cloth pants and a comfortable brown tunic. Her hair, which had been tied up before, hung open over her shoulders like a dark waterfall framing her slender face.
“I apologize for making you wait, Ambassador.”
“There is no reason to apologize,” Spock said. “May I inquire as to the nature of your activities when I arrived?”
She smiled. “Not at all. I was busy with combat training.” The young Klingon woman went over to the chair, picking up the d’k tahg. With a cloth she wiped off the blood.
“But why did you injure yourself? I trust I am right in assuming that your wounds are self-inflicted.”
“Yes. That’s part of my personal training.” Carefully, L’emka placed the double-edged blade back in its rack on the wall, then turned back to face the ambassador. “Lust, fury, and pain—those are the three strongest emotions that a Klingon experiences during battle. The lust for fighting, the fury toward the enemy, and the pain of injuries. If you submit to them, you will fight like a wild animal. But if you learn to control these emotions, to push them aside and ignore them, you can defeat any enemy. So I’m not only practicing deftly wielding the bat’leth or the tajtIq, I also practice controlling lust, fury, and pain.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. Although our measures are far less drastic, the approach is similar to that taken by Vulcans while learning to control our emotions.”
L’emka laughed. “Don’t let the captain hear that. He’s looking for an excuse to remove me from the ship, and being like a Vulcan would be just the thing.”
“Indeed. I have observed that your relationship has altered within the past few days, and not in your favor. Since the events in orbit around Iad, Kromm has kept you at arm’s length.”
“Presumably because we’ve already made two attempts to kill each other. Computer, increase brightness fifty percent.” While the cabin was bathed in golden ambient light, L’emka walked through the room, blowing out all the candles and collecting them.
“I regret that your status aboard the Bortas is so precarious,” Spock said. “You are a fine officer.”
L’emka stopped, looking at Spock. A shadow darted across her face. “Perhaps. Perhaps too fine an officer for the Bortas. My recent actions have turned not only Kromm but many other officers against me. I spoke out in favor of jeghpu’wI’ and alien prisoners. I have been called weak, and I have been called a traitor. But what should I do? I live for the glory and the protection of the Empire. Wherever they send me, I will serve.”
“There are many ways to serve your empire,” Spock said. “I have come to remind you of that. I have observed you closely during my time aboard this ship. In that time, I have observed a woman of great strength, sharp wit, and a keen sense of honor. While some on board may beg to differ, it is my considered opinion that you are what a Klingon should be: a fearless fighter with a sense of compassion for the weak.”
For a brief moment, L’emka stared at Spock with widened eyes, before a smile slowly appeared on her face. “I thank you, Ambassador. That is high praise from anyone, least of all someone of your accomplishments.”
“Captain Adams and Ambassador Rozhenko also hold you in high regard,” Spock said. “I therefore urge you not to be deterred, and not to allow your talents to wither away on a ship with a captain who does not appreciate what he has. I am confident that a post that is more suited to you will present itself in due course. And if you need an advocate in the Empire, I have no doubt that Ambassador Rozhenko would provide support if you requested it. And should you follow in the footsteps of another very remarkable Klingon by working within the Federation, you would have my support as well.”
L’emka tilted her head humbly. “You are very generous, Ambassador. I know not how I may express my gratitude.”
Spock permitted himself to display the faintest hint of a smile. “There is no need to thank me, Commander. My Vulcan forebears would say that it is only logical to support your abilities, but I believe it is more appropriate to speak as my human forebears would, and simply say: my pleasure.”
14
NOVEMBER 27, 2385
Secret shipyard of the Purifying Flame Somewhere in the Lembatta Cluster
Deep within the Lembatta Cluster, a dead planetoid drifted in space. It measured only a few kilometers in diameter, and it was surrounded by thousands of other similar celestial bodies. These conditions made it the ideal hiding place for the secret shipyard of the Purifying Flame. This was the location where they converted old freighter models into solar-jumpers, and here where they churned out an increasing number of Scorpion attack fighters to fill them with highly explosive cargos consisting of trilithium, tekasite, and protomatter.
At least that had been the plan of the Inner Circle and their leader, the Honorable Commander Hamash ak Bhedal. It was a plan that had become increasingly difficult to put into action.
“What do you mean you can’t deliver any more protomatter?” Furious, ak Bhedal glared at Kluzh, the alien standing across from him.
“Is your universal translator malfunctioning?” Kluzh snarled. “What’s there not to understand? Our sources have dried up.”
Kluzh was a very large alien, and his face looked like a half-melted skull, framed by a wild shaggy mane of black hair. The smuggler wore heavy leather clothing, with a nasty-looking energy weapon holstered at his side. Ak Bhedal had no idea what species he belonged to, not that it mattered.
What did matter was Kluzh had been supplying them with resources and stolen weapons technology from the space of the sphere defilers. But now that the Purifying Flame’s fight was gaining momentum, the smuggler had become increasingly unreliable.
Ak Bhedal exchanged a quick glance with his right hand, ak Joulid, who looked just as unhappy at Kluzh’s words as he was.
“If this is an attempt to renegotiate prices, you’re playing a dangerous game,” ak Bhedal said as he turned back to the smuggler.
The pirate’s companion, a stocky Orion man, growled threateningly, placing his hand on the rifle that was dangling in front of his stomach from a belt. The light from the ceiling lamps reflected off his bald head as he jutted his chin belligerently.
Kluzh stopped him with a wave of his hand. “What you’re paying is fine, it’s not the issue. Our s
upplier of protomatter within the Romulan Star Empire has completely dried up. The rumor is that the Federation gave the Praetor a subtle hint. And believe me, my friend, I’m just as furious about that as you are. That was one of my best sources, not just for protomatter.”
Pressing his lips tightly together, ak Bhedal remained silent for a moment. They needed the protomatter. Without this highly volatile and reactive element, the bombs in the cloaked fighters wouldn’t discharge enough explosive energy to devastate their targets. “Can’t you find another source?”
Kluzh spread his arms. “I’m searching for one, but it’ll take time. We’re not talking about a crate labeled ‘Medical Supplies’ that you can then fill with disruptors. Protomatter is difficult to find and is handled with extreme care due to its volatility.”
“Which is why we need it,” ak Bhedal replied. “It’s dangerous. And we pay you royally for the acquisition.”
Kluzh grunted. “I know that.” He looked from one Renao to the other. “I’m doing my best to find a new supplier. As soon as I have one, I’ll be in touch through the usual channels.”
“You do that,” ak Bhedal said with a frown.
The smuggler nodded at ak Bhedal one last time, before he and his Orion companion turned and walked through the cave hangar back to his sickle-shaped abomination of a ship.
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