Three winged Kranaals appeared on the screen, coming in from the plains.
Kromm rose and stood in the center of the bridge, hands on hips. “Here they are.” These Kranaals did not have a passenger cabin like most flying vessels. Instead, they had a large recess in their hull that would hold exactly one standard container. With precise steering maneuvers, the pilots brought their vessels above the three lined-up containers, before landing. The flapping of the wings slowed down when they switched the engines to neutral.
Cockpit doors opened, and some Renao climbed up. With well-practiced movements of men and women who weren’t doing this work for the first time, the thieves strapped the containers into the mounting frame of their Kranaals. When they were done, they climbed back aboard, and the three flying vehicles took off into the night. Each one of them had a stolen container under their belly.
“Raspin, stay with them!” Kromm said.
“Yes, Captain,” the ops officer said. The image section enlarged slightly. Tactical red symbols were placed over the Kranaals so it would be easier to follow them visually in the darkness.
“And now, we have to wait again.” Rozhenko folded his arms in front of his chest.
“You need not remain on the bridge, Ambassador,” said Kromm. “The flight might take several hours. Go back to your cabin. I’ll call you as soon as something happens.” If I remember to.
Doubtful, the young Klingon looked at the viewscreen. The Kranaals flew in convoy formation over the dark, rocky wasteland.
“You’re right,” Rozhenko said. “I also have other things to do. I’ll be in my quarters.” He walked past Kromm and disappeared through the door at starboard.
Satisfied, Kromm watched him leave. One person less he didn’t want present on his bridge. He had an idea and looked at his first officer and security chief.
“L’emka, Rooth, I have a task for you. Look at General Akbas’s record of battle regarding the capture of a solar-jumper in the Theris system. Sift through everything and come up with a plan to capture one of these jumpers ourselves, without the entire crew committing suicide. We need their crew alive to be interrogated—which means we must be faster and better than Commander Koxx’s people. You should also assemble an attack team for me to lead. Only the best warriors.”
L’emka grimaced, then nodded. “Yes, Captain. Let’s go, Rooth.” Together, they left the bridge.
With a comfortable sigh, Kromm returned to his command chair, settling down. “Finally, we’re among true warriors again.”
Chumarr growled approvingly, and Mobok grinned at him with two rows of crooked teeth.
“What about him?” Klarn asked, scowling at Raspin.
Kromm looked at the Rantal who had his back turned towards him while working at his console. “Yes, what about you, Raspin?”
The white-skinned bekk turned around. His face was quiet, the expression in his large black eyes inscrutable. Unless Kromm was mistaken, the Raspin seemed more confident since the incident above Iad.
“I live to serve the Empire,” the Rantal said.
“Don’t we all?” Kromm barked a laugh, and then leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me, Raspin—if I stood in front of you, gave you my d’k tahg, and said ‘stab,’ whom would you kill? Me or you?”
After a moment, Raspin said, “Neither. I would never dare to kill my captain. And I would never dare to deprive him of his best ops officer.”
His words made Kromm laugh boomingly. If he hurt the Rantal with that laughter, he didn’t show it. On the other hand, Kromm could never really tell what Raspin was thinking. This androgynous white face sometimes seemed to be as stiff as a Vulcan—if he wasn’t squirming like a Ferengi in fear.
“Captain,” Chumarr said, “the Kranaals are landing.”
Instantly, Kromm put the banter with Raspin out of his head and focused back on the mission. “That happened quickly.” Curiously, he watched what was happening on the surface below.
In a valley between two mountain ridges, the flying vessels landed. When Raspin adjusted the image they saw that a box-shaped ship was hiding between the rocks.
“That looks like a carrier of sorts,” said Chumarr. “I’m not picking up any antimatter or traces of a singularity drive, or any other indications of faster-than-light travel. Merely standard impulse-engine emissions.”
Kromm nodded. “They must be meeting up with either a solar-jumper or a warp ship within the system somewhere.”
“Or the shipyard is somewhere in this system,” Chumarr said.
Kromm nodded. “That would be the first thing to go right since this mission began.”
Silently, they watched from orbit as the containers were loaded into the carrier. Shortly after, the Kranaals were on their way again. The ship fired up its engines and took off.
“And now things get interesting,” Kromm said. “Mobok, Raspin, stay close to the ship. Lose it, and I will personally throw you both out of the nearest airlock.”
“We’re right behind the thieves,” Mobok said.
Kromm touched the communications button on his command chair. “Kromm to Rooth.”
“Rooth.”
“We’re following the suspects across the system. Is the task force ready yet?”
“Yes, Captain. We also found the mistake that Commander Koxx’s warriors made.”
“What was it?”
“They didn’t set their disruptors to the lowest setting. That’s the only safe method to capture enemies alive who are willing to die.”
Kromm snarled. “That sounds as if we’re in Starfleet.”
“Do you want prisoners or not, Captain?”
Another snarl. “Do whatever is necessary for our success.” He terminated the link.
“The carrier is flying toward the sun,” Mobok said. “They must be meeting a solar-jumper.”
“Must be? I prefer surety. Raspin, is there a solar-jumper or not?”
Frantically, the ops officer worked his console. “Yes, Captain. There’s a ship hovering right in front of the sun. Difficult to pick up but I have detected it. The ship…” Surprised, the Rantal turned to face Kromm. “It’s the solar-jumper we’ve already encountered in the Onferin system. The one that escaped Adams and his people.”
Kromm rubbed his hands grimly. “ We will not let it escape. Once the carrier has docked, we shall strike.”
“Captain, I don’t think the carrier will dock,” Chumarr said. “The containers are too big to move without special loading gear from one ship to another, and I read no gear like that on either vessel.”
Kromm looked at him, confused, even as the door to the bridge slid loudly open. “So, how do they intend to bring their hull plates aboard the jumper?”
Rooth, L’emka, and four troops entered just then. Rooth answered the captain’s question: “The same way they got their people out on Onferin. They will beam them. And afterwards, they’ll jump. We will have to be swift.” He handed Kromm a disruptor. “On the lowest setting, Captain.”
Disgusted, Kromm stared at the weapon, tightened his grip, and got up. “That’s your team? Only one squad?”
“Another squad is standing by in the transporter room. We will strike in two places simultaneously. On the bridge and in the cargo room.”
“Send another squad to the carrier,” Kromm said. “The more prisoners the better.”
“Yes, Captain.” Rooth spoke into the communicator on his wrist and gave that order.
“The carrier has almost reached the solar-jumper,” Raspin said. “Transport in progress.”
“Commander L’emka, you have the bridge. Decloak for transport and then destroy the solar-jumper’s drive.”
“Right away, Captain.” L’emka went to the center of the bridge. “Disengage cloaking device.”
At least this time she’s doing as she’s told, Kromm thought. He spoke into the communicator on his wrist. “Kromm to transporter room. Beam all units to the hostile ships!”
A veil of flickering red light engulfed K
romm. When the light faded, he and the four troops were in a narrow chamber covered with consoles and displays. Two red-skinned men were working on them.
One of the Renao saw the transporter effect, and unholstered an energy weapon, firing it and taking down one of the warriors next to Kromm the second they materialized.
Without hesitation, Kromm fired back. The green disruptor charge hit the Renao in the center of his chest, hurtling him against his console. Without a sound, he collapsed. The other Renao launched himself at Rooth, but the old Klingon greeted him with a thunderous blow with the back of his hand, sending him whirling around his axis. Another troop stunned him as he fell.
“Rooth, Klakk, secure the bridge,” Kromm said. “You two are with me.” He waved at the other two warriors, darting out of the room. Further shots could be heard from the depths of the solar-jumper from the other squad.
At the same time, the hull shuddered from the disruptor strikes by the Bortas. Kromm’s heart hammered in his chest as he led his troops into glorious battle. This was what he lived for!
They came upon a turbolift, but Kromm moved past it. You could hardly be in a more disadvantageous position during a fight than standing inside a lift. Instead, he yanked open a maintenance hatch, taking the service crawlway leading downward.
With a kick, he opened the hatch one deck down. Three standard containers almost filled the cargo hold behind it. With a quick glance, Kromm assessed the situation. One of his people was leaning against the bulkhead, clutching his abdomen, in pain but alive. Two Renao in simple coveralls lay motionless on the deck. In the back between the containers, the whine of energy blasts was still audible.
The deck shuddered briefly, and the lights flickered. A strained howl came from the engine section and then the constant background droning of the ship’s systems—which you only realized was there when it stopped—died down.
“The engines are down—the Bortas has destroyed their drive! Victory is ours!” Kromm gestured with his disruptor. “You two go left, while I walk around the containers to the right. Shoot at everything with red skin.”
Even as he said those words, a Renao ran out of the gap between the containers at the back. He screamed like mad, firing two energy weapons in his hands.
One of Kromm’s warriors was hit in the shoulder and grunted in pain. We have enough prisoners, the captain decided, furious. With his thumb he adjusted the disruptor to the highest setting and fired.
The Renao disintegrated into a red cloud of atoms that dispersed in the cargo hold’s artificial atmosphere, a sight that gave Kromm great satisfaction.
Lieutenant B’Tarka appeared from behind one of the containers. He looked around in confusion for a moment.
“I shot the Renao,” Kromm said.
B’Tarka lowered his disruptor and nodded. “That was the last one, Captain. Another is lying between the containers back there. The ship should be secure.”
“Make sure it is secure, Lieutenant. Take all warriors who are fit for battle, and comb this vessel from front to back.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Kromm put his wrist to his lips. “Commander Rooth.”
“Rooth.”
“Send another squad to the solar-jumper to salvage everything useful. We will beam back to the Bortas with all our prisoners. The interrogation will begin immediately.”
“Understood.”
Kromm permitted himself a grim smile. They had captured another solar-jumper and taken at least five prisoners. One of them would talk! He would make sure of it.
24
DECEMBER 1, 2385
Somewhere
The cell was tiny, and there was no furniture except a metal bed and a retractable toilet. The light came from a small panel behind a grid in the ceiling, and from the reddish glimmer of the energy field that kept occupants from leaving the cell.
Samooh ak Lahal squatted at the bottom end of the extremely uncomfortable bed, staring into the distance. It was all over. The sphere defilers had imprisoned him, his holy mission could not be continued, and his life had also come to an end. His ship had probably been destroyed, and he didn’t know where his fellow members of the Purifying Flame—Musaan, Shaomi, and the others—were being held. He had called for them, but had received no reply. Desperation and pain were his only companions in this dark hour.
The Klingons had said they wouldn’t kill Samooh and his companions. They wanted to know where the Purifying Flame’s secret shipyard was, where the fighters for the Harmony of Spheres built their lethal cloaked attack ships. In order to get this information out of Samooh, they had beaten him, burned his skin, and tortured him with painstiks. He had screamed until his throat felt like raw flesh—but he hadn’t given anything away.
Never would he surrender to these monsters. Never would he betray the holy mission.
That was why Kromm, the leader of these butchers, kept him alive and denied him a painless death and freedom. They had offered both those things if he were to talk. But Samooh would elude them; he would choose a long, painful death over betrayal, like all the brothers and sisters who had already sacrificed themselves for the spheres. The Klingons didn’t know the Renao physiology very well. They didn’t know how much a Renao could bear before his body capitulated. And Samooh was determined to mislead them until it was too late. If he died under the torture of his enemies, he had won, because they would continue their search for the location of the Purifying Flame’s base from where they were waging their war against the depraved empires of the galaxy for all eternity. It was well hidden in the depths of the Lembatta Cluster.
He could only pray that his companions were able to muster the same strength as him.
Samooh’s gaze fell on the narrow corridor outside of his cell. It lay quiet, bathed in dim red light. Samooh had no idea where he was. Had he been imprisoned aboard the large Klingon battle ship that had been flying across the cluster for weeks? Or had other defilers penetrated the home spheres, and he had been taken to one of their ships?
The last thing he remembered clearly was the sudden appearance of his enemies on the bridge of the solar-jumper. Musaan and he had just taken the latest shipment of hull plates for the construction of more cloaked attack fighters on board, when the Klingons had appeared. Samooh had struck down one of the intruders with a quick shot. Afterward, he had been hit, and blackness had engulfed him from one second to the next. When he awoke, he was already in the torture chamber of his tormentors.
Somewhere to his left, a massive metal door opened noisily. Someone walked in with heavy footsteps. “Food!” a bestial voice boomed. Samooh wasn’t at all surprised that he was able to understand them. He knew that the sphere defilers had automatic translating devices in order to talk to him and other Renao.
A moment later, a huge Klingon came into view on the other side of the red force field. His dark clothing made of leathers and metals, the crooked teeth, the shaggy hair, the bony brow—everything about him disgusted Samooh. The warrior, who carried a weapon in his right hand, was accompanied by a strange being, walking in a crouch and carrying a tray with a bowl full of greenish-brown glop. The being was very slender, didn’t have a hair on its body, and probably used to have white skin. Now it was so dirty that it seemed gray, and the shabby clothing looked as if it hadn’t been washed for weeks. Another prisoner? A Klingon slave?
“Go on, jeghpu’wI’, give this maggot its food,” the Klingon said. “We don’t want him to die from hunger. We’ve got plans for him.” Laughing, the Klingon touched a control next to the cell, and the energy field collapsed. The white-skinned being trotted forward. Silently, he placed the tray on the floor. Sad black eyes looked at Samooh. And then, the being did something unexpected. When the guard, who was still out in the corridor, couldn’t see his face, he looked at Samooh conspiratorially, blinking suggestively with both eyes. A second later, with the deep resignation back on his face, he turned around and left the cell. The guard put the energy field back in place and both disa
ppeared.
Samooh was confused. What was the meaning of that look on the slave’s face? Was he trying to tell Samooh something? He had no idea what—aliens were so incomprehensible. It was why they should have stayed in their home spheres.
Grunting and in severe pain, he pushed himself off the bed, dragging his bruised body to the tray. He lifted it. The food smelled of mashed and boiled entrails.
Samooh didn’t want to know what these monsters were serving him. Reluctantly, he took the spoon, stirring the mash.
A piece of paper surfaced. It had been completely soaked but the letters seemed to be water-resistant because they were still legible. The writing was Renao. For a moment, Samooh wondered how the slave would know his language, but then he realized that the sphere defilers probably had enough information about his people by now to have saved their language in their computers.
Take me with you, the notice read, and I will help you escape.
Samooh shuddered. Could his situation be much less desperate than he thought? Would the Klingons’ brutal attitude and their malicious greed to conquer turn against them now? Something one of the preachers had said ran through his head: If all those who have suffered injustice stood up together, they would be able to shake off the shackles of servitude.
Maybe he had found an unexpected ally in the pale, hunched slave.
Samooh stuffed the note into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it. He also forced himself to eat at least a few spoonfuls of that glop in the bowl. Although it didn’t taste any better than it smelled, it would hopefully restore some of the strength he would need to escape.
Not much later, the guard and his companion reappeared. When the Klingon saw how little Samooh had eaten, he laughed. “What? Didn’t you like it?”
Samooh spat on the floor without saying anything.
His enemy’s laughter increased in volume. “You still have some spirit. Good, very good. That means there’s something left to break when we continue the interrogation tomorrow.” He deactivated the force field, gesturing for the pale man to pick up the tray again. He did as he was told, but the gaze from his black eyes searched for Samooh’s eyes. With a barely perceptible nod, the Renao confirmed to his fellow sufferer that they were on the same side. The white-skinned man answered with a quick double blink of both eyes, before withdrawing with the tray. Both men walked down the corridor, and the metal door shut with a loud clang behind them. Samooh was alone again.
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