Rooth next to him started hitting his armrest rhythmically. And then he began to sing with a guttural voice. “Qoy qeylIs puqloD. Qoy puqbe’pu’.”
Behind him, Nuk raised his voice, and Klarn also began to sing.
“YoHbogh matlhbogh je SuvwI’. Say’moHchu’ may’ ’Iw.”
The Bortas kept accelerating. The deckplates began to vibrate. The drive howled as it was overloading. The asteroid base came closer and closer.
“Raspin,” said Kromm, and the warmth inside of him was like home. “Open all communication frequencies, internal and external. I want everyone to hear us. And I mean everyone.”
He also started singing.
“Hear! Sons of Kahless.
“Hear! Daughters too.
“The blood of battle washes clean,
“The warrior brave and true.
“We fight, we love, and then we kill.
“Our lives burn short and bright,
“Then we die with honor and join our fathers in the Black Fleet,
“Where we battle forever, battling on through the eternal fight!”
* * *
U.S.S. Prometheus
The Prometheus’s three hulls dropped from warp in a bright flash. Adams had ordered a micro-jump to reach the asteroid belt within seconds, where the battle for the base raged with unabated intensity.
“Red alert,” Adams said. “All ship segments, break from formation. Upper and lower secondary hull, pursue the escaping Scorpions. No one must leave the system. We will help the Bortas.”
He looked straight ahead. The Vor’cha-class cruiser was visible in the center of the viewscreen. The ship was listing, and debris hovered around it. One of the warp nacelles had been half torn off, and plasma fires burned in numerous hull breaches. Kromm’s ship wasn’t firing any photon torpedoes or disruptor beams. Several fighters circled around it, firing at the battered Klingon ship from their turrets with deadly energy blasts.
“That doesn’t look good,” Adams said. “Commander Roaas, fire phasers and quantum torpedoes. Get rid of these fighters around the Bortas.”
“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer confirmed.
Amber beams and glistening blue projectiles cut through space toward the small fighters. One of the fighters was hit and blew up in a spectacular fireball.
“That was more intense than it should have been,” zh’Thiin said.
“The bombs!” Carson turned around in her seat. “Sir, we need to be careful. The fighters carry critical amounts of trilithium, tekasite, and protomatter.”
“Understood,” replied Adams. He chided himself a fool for forgetting this additional danger. “Take it into consideration from now on, Mr. Roaas. Only shoot if the fighters are far enough away from the Bortas. Mr. Winter, warn the secondary hulls.”
“Yes, sir.” The young comm officer quickly executed the order.
“I’m receiving a report from the U.S.S. Venture,” said Carson. “She will be with us in five minutes.”
Adams clenched his fists, frowning. “So we need to hang on a little while longer.”
“More fighters are launching from the shipyard,” Roaas said.
“Captain, what is the Bortas doing?” Ciarese asked.
Adams would have liked to know the answer to that as well. Kromm’s ship had accelerated. With its impulse engines glowing red, the battered ship was accelerating straight toward the asteroid base.
“Ensign, hail Kromm,” he said to Winter. “I don’t want him to do anything foolish.”
The German’s fingers danced over the keys. “No response, Captain.”
“His comm system might be damaged,” Chell said.
Tense, Adams leaned forward.
“Open all frequencies, Mr. Winter. Maybe we’ll reach the Bortas that way.”
“Frequencies open, sir.”
“ Prometheus calling Bortas. Kromm, can you hear me?”
“No answer, Captain.”
They watched the Bortas pick up speed. There was no doubt where she was heading.
“Kromm!” shouted Adams. “Wait! You don’t have to do that!”
“Captain,” Winter said, sounding confused, “I’m picking up—well, singing, sir.”
“Singing?” Adams asked. “What kind of singing?”
“On audio.”
“NaSuv manong ’ej maHoHchu’.”
“NI’be’ yInmaj ’ach wovqu’.”
They heard at least half a dozen voices. They were singing at the tops of their ragged lungs, death-defying and full of pride.
“Batlh maHeghbej ’ej yo’ qIjDaq.”
“Oh no.” Adams slumped back in his chair.
“Vavpu’ma’ DImuv.”
“Pa’ reH maSuvtaHqu’.”
The Bortas had almost reached the asteroid. The warp nacelles started glowing just like the impulse drives. The Renao hunters realized what was going on, and tried to withdraw. Too late.
“MamevQo’. MaSuvtaH. Ma’ov.”
29
DECEMBER 2, 2385
Iad, Souhla system
Jassat woke up.
At first, he didn’t know where he was or why he was there. I should be dead, he thought. Shouldn’t I? Chaotic bits of memories about a red cloud of fury that had descended on him flashed through his mind. He had felt anger, fear and desperation. Finally, he had let go, had given himself up and sacrificed himself in a massive eruption of white light. He had died—or at least that was what he believed.
But now, he was back. Or, more to the point—he was still here.
Squinting, he looked around. He lay sprawled in the crater that had once been the location of the first Renao city, and had later turned into the grave for the U.S.S. Valiant. Shattered columns, blocks of stone, and remains of walls were scattered like toys all over the slopes, and there were deep dips that the torpedoes of the Bortas and the Prometheus had ripped into the ground.
“I’m alive,” he muttered. He hesitated to say the words out loud, but once he had, he was overwhelmed by joy. He scrambled to his feet and threw his arms up. “I’m alive!” he shouted into the silent landscape.
Elated, he looked around again. He didn’t see the slightest trace of a red glittering life form. He didn’t feel anger, hatred, or the unbridled desire for violence. The pressure that had previously weighed down on him was gone. The white energy seemed to have dissipated completely also. When he looked up to the sky, he experienced another pleasant surprise: along with the Son of the Ancient Reds, the zone of chaotic radiation around Iad had also disappeared! Jassat saw nothing but a pale pink sky, which was typical for the worlds in the Lembatta Cluster.
The shuttle! I need to get back to the shuttle and call the Prometheus. I hope she’s still around somewhere.
As fast as the rough terrain permitted, Jassat hurried back to the edge of the crater landscape. He found the Charles Coryell near a destroyed forest. It looked exactly the same as when he had left it behind. Frantically, he entered the unlock code, opened the hatch, and went inside. He moved into the cockpit area and started up the systems.
The Coryell is capable of warp flight, he recalled. Even if the captain and the others are no longer within the system, I can get away from here. Still, he would prefer it if the Prometheus could pick him up as the flight from Iad to Lembatta Prime on the periphery of the cluster would take more than three weeks in a shuttle.
He established a connection on the Prometheus’s standard frequency. “ Charles Coryell to Prometheus, please come in.”
Nothing happened.
“ Prometheus, this is Lieutenant ak Namur on the Charles Coryell. Please come in.”
Static was the only response.
Jassat was just about to begin a pre-flight check to make his own way out of there, when a voice came from the cockpit’s loudspeaker.
“ Charles Coryell, this is the Prometheus.” It was Captain Adams, and he sounded more than just a little surprised. “Jassat, is that really you?”
“Yes, C
aptain. Switching to visual.” The Prometheus bridge appeared on the small monitor in the center of the dashboard. Jassat saw Adams standing in front of his command chair. Behind him were Roaas and Spock. Sarita Carson and Ensign Ciarese sat in front of him. An incredible feeling of relief and happiness washed over him. “Captain. It’s really good to see you.”
“The happiness is all ours, Mr. ak Namur. We didn’t dare hope that you might have survived.”
“But I did. I have just woken up among the ruins. Not a sign of the Son or the chaos zone is in sight.”
“Yes, we noticed that the chaos zone had dissolved. Just like all angry emotions have gone.” The captain smiled. “You did it, Jassat. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jassat grinned. “Now I’d just like to get out of here.”
“Understandable. Get into orbit. We will rendezvous with you in just a few minutes.”
“Yes, sir. Ak Namur, out.”
One minute later, the small shuttle took off into the clear skies above Iad. Jassat ak Namur didn’t look back once.
DECEMBER 5, 2385
Paris, Earth
A hurricane of applause began when President Kellessar zh’Tarash entered the council chamber of the United Federation of Planets. Delegates, diplomats, and other dignitaries of various member worlds rose all over the galleries. While she walked past them toward the dais, zh’Tarash glanced at the faces of the assembly. She saw Admiral Nechayev here and Councilor Kyll there. The Deltan delegation cheered on one side, the Klingon K’mtok nodded at her from the other side. Even Lwaxana Troi, whose selfless effort had been invaluable during recent months, had remained in the city until the crisis was over. The Betazoid also stood on her feet to honor zh’Tarash, smiling cordially.
The president didn’t smile. When zh’Tarash reached the dais, Admiral Leonard James Akaar came to his feet as well. The huge Capellan had waited for her, sitting in one of the shell-type seats next to the lectern. Now, he walked toward his president.
“We’ve got Qo’noS standing by, Zha President,” he whispered to her while the assembly’s cheers still echoed from the high walls. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Zh’Tarash just nodded. Silently, she took Akaar’s hand, walking with him to the lectern where he stood by her side.
She raised her hands to silence her audience, looking at the dignitaries before her. One after the other fell silent and sat down, but joy and enthusiasm remained on their faces.
“This is not a good day for the Federation,” zh’Tarash began, just as soon as silence had fallen over the council chamber. Her tone of voice was harsh and didn’t sound the way the assembly had expected. “We don’t have a reason to celebrate. We haven’t done anything.”
Incredulity, everywhere. Looks were exchanged, whispering began.
“What happened in the Lembatta Cluster three days ago was no victory,” zh’Tarash continued. “Not for reason and not for ethics. It was a rescue operation—one in the nick of time, no less.”
“The Renao are free, aren’t they?” someone from the stands shouted. Zh’Tarash recognized the voice immediately—the Tellarite Kyll of all people felt the need to object. “The Purifying Flame no longer poses a danger. Why shouldn’t we be happy about it?”
It was inappropriate to interrupt the head of the Federation with comments. In this case, no one really seemed to mind, not even zh’Tarash. Quite the contrary.
“We’re not happy, because it was we who allowed the Flame to get this far,” she said quietly and firmly. “You’re absolutely right, Councilor, if you consider the outcome in the Lembatta Cluster as lucky. It is. But make no mistake—I can assure you, I won’t—this problem only ever arose because we weren’t vigilant. Because we were distracted by other problems. Because we looked away.” She paused briefly, waiting for more objections, but none came. “When the U.S.S. Valiant disappeared a hundred and twenty years ago near Iad, we believed to know the reason—technical failure. We didn’t ask any questions, we simply mourned our dead and carried on with our daily business. When the Renao closed their borders and severed the thin bonds of cooperation that we had tied with them, we didn’t ask many questions, either. We were surprised, yes, and we were sad about losing a prospective partner, but we didn’t ask enough questions.”
Heads nodded in agreement. Zh’Tarash looked at Nechayev, Troi, Zoona—so many faces, so much regret. Almost all those present had been here four weeks ago when the crisis had begun. Some of them had voiced completely different views from today. Now, they remained silent, and that filled zh’Tarash with confidence.
There’s hope for us after all, she thought, and suddenly, she knew that a break in Federation history was possible; the return to peace and research that they all needed and longed for. There’s always hope.
“Did we have reasons for our ignorance?” she asked her audience. “Of course we did. There were other emergencies, other front lines that demanded our attention. The Borg, the Dominion, the Typhon Pact—you know the list as well as I do. And yes, we can make excuses for our ignorance if we want to. There are enough reasons.” She shook her head. “But I don’t want to do that. I will not do it, ever. The Renao were a people in distress, and we—the Federation of all organizations, which has been devoted to nobility and altruism since its founding days—were too blind to recognize this distress. Too blind to help. We reacted when we were immediately involved. And that, honorable council members, was far too late!”
Nechayev started the second round of applause. The seasoned female admiral clapped her hands emphatically. One by one the rest of the council members joined her. But this time, the praise was not for the events of the past few days but for zh’Tarash’s admonishing words. This time, the praise was subdued, pensive, and clearly more valuable, and the president smiled weakly.
Hope.
“We need to be vigilant, whatever happens,” she said when the applause died down. “A wise man once said that the three most important words of his language were, ‘Let me help.’ The Federation and Starfleet have been committed to these words since day one. That is our most important role—as league of worlds and as individuals. We respect the peaceful interests of our neighbors, celebrate cultural differences, and benefit from the strength and the diversity of society. We help wherever it is necessary and where we’re allowed to do so. If the destiny of the Renao and the mission of the Prometheus and the Bortas that lies behind us should teach us one thing, it’s this: ‘Let me help.’”
“Hear, hear,” Akaar whispered at her shoulder. He sounded very pleased—and very relieved.
“Admiral Akaar told me earlier that Chancellor Martok is waiting to join us via subspace communication. We shouldn’t let him wait any longer. I’m sure he has a lot to say about today.”
“Not anymore, Zha President,” a familiar voice came from the loudspeakers in the chamber. Surprised, zh’Tarash turned around, just as Martok appeared on the holoscreen at the wall behind the dais. “You’ve already said all there is to say, and I for one can only agree with each and every word.”
Zh’Tarash was speechless. “Chancellor?”
Martok grinned wickedly. He sat on a throne within the High Council, and a mischievous glint stood in his remaining eye. “Admiral Akaar patched me through during your speech. Apparently, he thought I should hear your words. And I am grateful. I would not have wanted to miss such profound eloquence.”
The president glanced at the commander-in-chief of Starfleet with mock annoyance. “It would seem that I need to have a serious word with him.”
Akaar lowered his eyes ruefully, but smiled.
“Not too serious, I hope,” Martok said, laughing.
“No,” she replied, still glaring at Akaar. But then she also smiled. “Not too serious.” She looked back at Martok. “In any case, I’m glad to have spoken in your name as well, Chancellor. Let me assure you that the Federation is by your side in this hour. Captain Kromm and the Bortas have met a very honorable end. We wi
ll not forget their sacrifice.”
The old Klingon nodded. “Nor will we. I did not believe that Kromm had such honor in him. It would seem I was wrong. Sto-Vo-Kor is well populated with heroes today.”
“And the Alpha Quadrant has won another friend, I hope,” she said. “I heard from the cluster that the Son of the Ancient Reds’ mental influence is rapidly decreasing. According to Admiral Gepta, the medical staff from the Venture and the Bougainville reckon that all afflicted personnel should make a full recovery. We will help the Renao as best we can during this process, and we would also like to extend our neighborly hand to them once more, should they wish to accept it.”
“The Empire will be by your side in that, Zha President,” said Martok. “Let us hope that it will be to all our benefit. Martok out.”
I’m convinced it will be, thought zh’Tarash as his face faded from the holoscreen, and the Federation’s star seal with the laurel reappeared.
30
DECEMBER 5, 2385
Auroun, Onferin Lembatta Cluster
Never before had Evvyk ak Busal seen so many spaceships. There had to have been at least half a dozen in orbit. The sight was majestic and awe-inspiring.
Much more important to her, though, was the world at her feet: Onferin, her home.
She turned away from the large window in the remarkably comfortable lounge in the belly of one of the huge Federation starships, the Venture.
“Can we go home now?” she asked the Starfleet man by her side. She had found out that he was the captain of this ship, and his name was Henderson.
“Soon,” he promised. “Just this small reception to celebrate the end of the crisis, and we will beam you and your companion back down to your home city.” He smiled at Moadas, who stood next to Evvyk.
Moadas smiled back, if somewhat strained. “We don’t really feel like celebrating.”
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