Part 1

Errand of War

Prologue

PALAIS DE LA CONCORDE

PARIS, EARTH

IT WAS ONLY the second time that Lieutenant West had entered the Federation president’s office, yet there was something different in the air that he was sure wasn’t normal. Last time he’d met with President Wescott, the atmosphere had been tense. People were scared, with good reason. However, that fear had prompted action. Tension and worry signaled that people feared the worst might happen, but the key word was might. The worry contained a glimmer of hope.

Now, there was only resignation on the somber faces of the others in the large room overlooking Paris. Only a few weeks had passed, but the change was palpable. If these people had lost hope, then things were as bad as they could be.

No, that’s not true, he told himself. Things can get worse, and they likely will, very soon.

His own mind resisted the thought. His Starfleet training was part of that. There were always options, always choices. Like most graduates of Starfleet Academy, West had taken the Kobayashi Maru simulation test. It was designed to be a no-win scenario, and like almost all the others who took it, he had failed and lost his ship and crew. The only person who’d ever beaten the test was a cadet named James T. Kirk, who was now captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise. He was either a genius or a cheater, depending on how you looked at it. Kirk had broken into the Starfleet computer banks and reprogrammed the game so it was possible to win. West’s father had been of the former opinion. Patrick West Sr.-a Starfleet legend in his own right after the Battle of Axanar-had been impressed by Kirk’s ingenuity.

Unfortunately, the parameters of this game with the Klingons were vast, bigger than any one person, or organization, could change. Events had their own momentum now. The best Starfleet could do would be to try to alter their trajectory so that the Federation survived the war.

West had seen too much battle in his short time as a commissioned officer. He had seen death and known losses that had hurt. But none of it would compare to what he knew was coming.

This part of the galaxy hadn’t seen an all-out war between two major powers since the Romulan War over a hundred years ago. Then, the devastation had been terrible, though the United Federation of Planets did rise phoenix-like from that conflict’s ashes. However, the effects had been limited by the technology of the time. In the hundred years since then, both the Federation and its enemies had refined their tools of destruction.

Even if the Federation won (which West’s tactical mind knew was by no means certain), the destruction would be on a scale that human beings and the other races of the Federation had never known before. And if they lost…

The end of everything. Loss of life on a planetary scale, with surviving humans and Federation member worlds forced to work for the greater glory of the Klingon Empire-an empire that would only become bigger and more aggressive after victory. Human life would become nasty, brutish, and short as human beings themselves became fuel for the Klingon war machine that would reach out and, as the Klingon High Council had stated in a recent message to the Klingon people, “conquer half the galaxy…and that is just the beginning.”

The silence was thick in the president’s office on the top floor of the Palais de la Concorde as West and Admiral Solow entered. The first and last time West had made this trip was only two weeks before, but it felt like a lifetime ago. The situation then had been almost as dire, but West had still felt a bit of excitement at meeting the president in person and seeing the president’s office for himself. This time, he felt nothing but dread.

President Wescott himself looked as if he’d aged ten years in the last two weeks. There were more lines on his face, and his salt-and-pepper hair looked decidedly grayer.

He looked as if he had the weight of the galaxy resting on his shoulders, and the thing of it was, he actually did.

“Admiral,” Wescott said, shaking Solow’s hand. Then he took West’s hand and said, “Lieutenant.”

The office offered a panoramic view of Paris, a city that was one of the jewels of both the Earth and the Federation. Now, however, all West saw was how dangerous Earth would soon be for anyone living in a large population center, particularly one that housed Federation offices. And the Palais was likely to be the ultimate prize target for the Klingons. The fact was that very soon, Paris would become the most dangerous place to live in the known galaxy.

“Status report,” Wescott said.

“We’ve used the additional time to shore up planetary defenses in key systems, deploy some new long-range sensors near the Klingon border, and draw up some new tactical plans,” Solow said.

Captain Kirk and the crew of the Enterprise had cut off the Klingons from an important supply of dilithium at System 7348, and Starfleet had managed to deny them another supply by fighting off a Klingon attack at the Battle of Starbase 42. West knew about the battle of Starbase 42 firsthand. He’d watched Admiral Justman die there. He also had no doubt that he’d left the last shreds of his youth and innocence on the decks of that base.

Then, as if he were reading West’s mind, Wescott said, “Your people bought us this time and I know they paid dearly. Their sacrifice may just make the difference for all of us.”

The sadness and sincerity in the president’s eyes surprised West. Until a few weeks ago, he had dismissed the man as a smooth and accomplished politician and not much else. West had no doubt that the president was still a consummate politician, but West had seen that Wescott also had more depth and genuine intelligence than West once would have given him credit for.

“We will do our best to see that no one’s sacrifice is in vain,” Solow said.

“You’ve seen Ambassador Fox’s report,” the president said, making it a statement, not a question. Solow and West both nodded. “Then you know that even the pretense of diplomatic communication is about to be over. For all intents and purposes, we are at war. All that remains is to see where and when the first shots of the war are fired.”

Again, the two officers nodded.

“Whatever happens, we will not fire that first shot. We may be facing extinction, gentlemen, but whatever happens, we will not sacrifice who we are, not now.”

Solow said, “We are in agreement on that, Mister President. At the moment, a first strike would give us no real tactical advantage, and, frankly, our intelligence suggests that we have benefited more from the additional time than the Klingons have. They seem to be struggling to secure resources, including dilithium, for the war effort.”

The president nodded. West was glad that both the Federation leadership and Starfleet were on the same page on this issue, but he knew that might change. The key phrase in Solow’s statement was at the moment. If circumstances changed, and Solow saw a value in a first strike, he would lobby to do it. West didn’t think the president would accept that course, though. A few months ago, West would have been appalled by the idea and seen it as an example of everything that was wrong with Starfleet. But he wasn’t the person he was a few months ago, and in any case, back then the Federation wasn’t facing extinction. They had the luxury of their finer principles.

The president hesitated for just a moment before he spoke next. “I won’t start this war, but I want to hurt them if we can.” West felt a twinge of surprise. He hadn’t expected anything like this from the president. The admiral, on the other hand, was impassive, but-West was sure-no less surprised. “I need some options that will give us an advantage and make it harder for the Klingons when the inevitable comes.”

“We have some proposals on the table that take advantage of the fact that the Federation-Klingon border is neither a straight line nor even a curve. There are a number of disputed systems, and more than twenty percent of the border is either covered by nonbinding trade agreements or no agreement at all. In other cases, Klingons have a legitimate claim to some systems but must travel through Federation or disputed space to move supplies. We can make things harder for them, a lot harder. And we’ve had some recent field reports and analysis from Lieutenant West’s group that suggests the disruption of supplies of native Klingon foods to their warships has a measurable effect on morale and performance.”

“What do you need to begin putting the pressure on?” Wescott asked.

“We have a number of initiatives that would require your approval,” Solow said.

“Draw up a broad proposal and get it to me within the hour. I’ll grant you whatever authority you need,” the president said.

Solow lifted up his data slate. “Lieutenant West’s group has written up a number of specific proposals, and I drafted a broad authorization. You can take a look and we will begin as soon as you sign.” West was impressed, but no longer surprised by the admiral’s apparent ability to see the future. Either he prepared for every possible contingency or he simply knew what would happen in advance. Either way, the result was the same: the admiral was never caught off guard or unprepared.

The president gestured for Solow and West to sit on the couch near a low table. “In that case, I’ll read the general agreement now and ask you to wait,” the president said, heading for his own desk. “Which of your plans can we enact the most quickly?” he asked as he took his seat.

“Actually, Mister President, the Enterprise is very close right now to an important possible strategic asset for the Klingons,” Solow said.

Chapter One

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

NEAR THE KLINGON BORDER

“THOSE ARE THE broad strokes,” Captain Kirk said to the department heads assembled around the briefing room table. “With the diplomatic option off the table, our mission is to make the waging of war as difficult as possible for the Klingons. This directive comes straight from President Wescott. We may not be able to stop the war from happening, but we can make it as hard as possible for the Klingons to wage it. Anything we can do here to hamstring their efforts will give the Federation an advantage. I don’t have to tell you all how many times this ship has seen the effort of a single individual turn a major conflict in our favor.”

The group was silent for a moment. They had seen plenty of individual effort recently. And too much of it had involved personal sacrifice. When the war came, Kirk and everyone in the room knew they would be seeing sacrifice on a scale that would dwarf anything they had ever seen before.

“What can we do, sir?” Security Chief Giotto said. Giotto had been injured in the Battle of Starbase 42, on the surface of the planet that the base orbited. Though it had been a tough fight, he had managed to close the dilithium mines on the planet, making sure that the Klingons didn’t get hold of the precious crystals.

He’d been injured badly, but he’d survived. Now, after six weeks of recovery and limited duty, he had just returned to full duty status. Too many members of the crew and too many Starfleet officers stationed on the starbase had not been as lucky.

“Mister Spock,” Kirk said.

The half-Vulcan first officer manipulated the computer terminal at the end of the briefing room table, and the viewscreen lit up with a graphic that everyone immediately recognized: the Klingon-Federation border.

“Our objective is a system called Chandra,” Kirk said, nodding to Spock, who called up a diagram of a four-planet solar system.

“Chandra IV is a Class-M planet, which supports humanoid life. Technically, the Chandra system is not in either Federation or Klingon space. The Chandrans are a highly intelligent pre-warp culture. Though the system was first charted ninety years ago, the Prime Directive has kept the Federation from making contact. However, we have learned that the Klingons occupied the planet eight months ago.”

“Isn’t Chandra IV too far from the center of the Federation to make a good staging area for an attack?” Giotto asked.

Spock nodded. “Correct. Starfleet analysis shows that the Chandra system is of very limited strategic value. However, though it is pre-warp, the Chandra IV society is heavily industrialized. The Klingons have occupied the planet and turned all of that industrial capacity toward the making of weapons.”

“Slaves?” Doctor McCoy said, an edge to his voice. “They turned a whole planet full of people into slaves to make weapons?”

“Quite correct, Doctor,” the Vulcan said.

There was a moment of silence while the people assembled around the table assimilated that knowledge.

“It is quite common for the Klingons to subjugate conquered worlds in this way. Conditions on such worlds are harsh,” Spock said.

“Then this is what we have to look forward to if the Federation loses this war,” McCoy said.

“That’s why it’s up to us to make sure we don’t lose,” Kirk said. “And the Enterprise’s first step will be Chandra IV. Starfleet Intelligence has learned that the Klingon installations on the planet are not well supplied or defended. And there are currently no Klingon military ships in the area. And most important, they haven’t shipped out significant numbers of weapons, partly because of Starfleet’s efforts to cut off Klingon trade routes. Our orders are to neutralize the Klingon facilities and destroy whatever weapons they have stockpiled before they can be shipped.”

“Do we know what we’ll find?” Chief Engineer Scott asked.

“We have current data, Mister Scott,” Spock said. “However, Starfleet analysis suggests that the Chandran industrial base may have been captured almost intact. According to the first cultural survey, the Chandrans have over four hundred different words for friendship, and very few words for conflict. The Klingons, on the other hand, have hundreds of words for conflicts of all kinds. We presume that the battle was over very quickly for the Chandrans, but lacking hard sensor data, all we have now is conjecture.”

“Are we going to be able to help these people?” Uhura asked.

“We will do what we can,” Kirk said. “Our mission includes a directive to free them from the Klingons if possible, but we will not be able to stay and protect them.”

“But if they are as peaceful as Starfleet believes…” Uhura said.

“They’ll be sitting ducks when the Klingons return,” McCoy added.

“If the Klingons return,” Kirk said. “And if we’re successful in our mission, we’ll have severely reduced the value of the planet to the Klingons.” Then he turned to his first officer and said, “Time to the planet?”

“One point eight five days,” Spock said.

“Mister Scott, please ready a shuttlecraft for a reconnaissance team with phasers as well as sensors optimized for long-range study,” Kirk said.

“All shuttlecraft have already been fitted with phaser upgrades. The sensors will cost you shield power,” Scotty said.

“The optimized sensors are necessary for this mission. The shuttle will have to take out subspace relay and transmission stations. We’ll have to make do with the shields we have,” Kirk said.

“Aye,” Scott said, but Kirk could see that the engineer was not pleased.

Sulu leaned forward. “Sir, you’ll need a pilot for the shuttle. I’d like to volunteer.”

“No thank you, Mister Sulu. I have a pilot in mind,” Kirk said.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Giotto spoke. “I volunteer to lead the mission.”

“No. Again, I have someone in mind,” Kirk said.

“Sir, you’re not thinking-” Scotty began.

“Yes, Mister Scott, I will be leading this mission as command pilot. Mister Giotto, I will need four additional security personnel to accompany me,” Kirk said.

“Jim…” McCoy said.

Kirk waved the doctor off before he could finish. Looking around the table, he could see the same expression of worry and concern on the faces of the other department heads, except, of course, for Spock, whose face remained impassive.

“My decision is final. The Enterprise is unlikely to come under attack. This mission comes as an order from the Federation president himself, and I am taking responsibility for its success. Dismissed.”

Kirk knew that no one in the room was happy about his decision, but the fact was, the mission was important. It would probably be the first engagement of this new phase of the conflict. For now, making sure it succeeded was the only way that Kirk and the Enterprise could make a contribution to a successful outcome of the war.

And yet, as the officers filed out of the briefing room, Kirk knew that there had been many sacrifices so far in this undeclared conflict. Admiral Justman, Sam Fuller, and too many of his crew, as well as too many of the crew of Starbase 42. And though the Enterprise herself had seen her share of danger, the fact was that the men and women on the missions themselves had done the brunt of the fighting.

Very soon, this war was going to get personal for every single person in Starfleet. Kirk wasn’t going to let anyone else take on risks that he knew belonged to him.

Chapter Two

I.K.S D’K TAHG

NEAR THE FEDERATION BORDER

“WE HAVE A SEAL,” the D’k Tahg airlock officer said.

Karel nodded and hit the intercom outside the airlock door. “This is First Officer Karel. Send the warriors through.”

The station airlock officer grunted a reply through the intercom. Karel looked into the window of the airlock door. He could see down the corridor that had extended from the Klingon Defense Force space station. The airlock door on the station side slid open, and he watched the twenty new recruits file into the space.

Shifting his eyes to the airlock control panel, Karel saw that the status was still normal. The airlock officer next to him kept still, making no move. On some vessels where Klingons had become lax, airlock officers would open both sides of the airlock simultaneously. It was faster and usually safe when a vessel was docked with a station.

Mechanical failures were vanishingly rare, and both the ship’s and the station’s long-range sensors would give them plenty of warning of any approaching threats. And yet, the ship was vulnerable when connected to another vessel or a station. A hull breach in the station or the connecting tube could put the ship at risk. And even if the risk was small, it was very real.

Captain Koloth met all challenges and all threats head on, but he would not tolerate unnecessary risks. Other captains on other ships took such chances, even during times of conflict. But Koloth wasn’t other captains, and the D’k Tahg wasn’t other ships. By any measure, the D’k Tahg was the most efficient and most dangerous ship in the fleet. Captain Koloth set a high standard.

Like Karel, Koloth was a follower of Kahless the Unforgettable. He put honor and duty above personal gain. The crew responded to that and did not waste their time and energy plotting and scheming to make challenges to his command. And with the inevitable war with the Federation coming, the crew knew that the empire’s best chance of victory lay with great warriors doing great deeds. The D’k Tahg was a place where a Klingon warrior could make a difference.

Enough of a difference to ensure victory in a massive conflict like the one that would come in weeks or days with the Federation? A few months ago, Karel would not have thought so, but he was not the same Klingon he was a few months ago.

Those months represented a lifetime. It was a time before Karel had taken his own brother’s life in battle. It was a time before his brother, Kell, had been swallowed by a program to hide Klingon warriors inside Starfleet to strike at it from within. The Blade of the Bat’leth was a program conceived by a bloodless coward named Duras, who had been a member of the High Council.

Duras had deceived Kell about Earthers, convinced him and others that the only way to deal with human treachery was to answer it with treachery. Ultimately, Kell had learned a few things about Earthers. They were certainly alien to Klingons, but they had their own kind of honor-and courage to match a Klingon’s.

Kell had fought with them against the Klingons attacking Starbase 42. It was inside that station that Karel had taken his brother’s life. Yet before Kell had died, he had given Karel a disc that contained a message, one that told his tale. Somehow, Kell had done the impossible and walked a path of honor on a mission of lies and deceit.

Could a single warship or even a single Klingon warrior turn the tide of a battle as large as the one that was coming? Given what his brother had accomplished, Karel knew the answer was yes.

And yet, that might not be enough. Any foe, even the Federation, could be defeated. But Karel had to admit that there was an even greater threat to the Klingon Empire than defeat at the hands of the Federation. Karel had taken the life of the bloodless and cowardly Duras who had sent Kell on his mission.

Yet, in many ways Duras was a symptom of the disease that was robbing the Klingon Empire of its honor, rotting it from within. Even if the empire survived the war, what might be left of the empire forged by Kahless if it was led by Klingons who had forgotten his teachings and left their honor behind long ago?

It was a good question, and one that Karel knew he could not answer now, because he had twenty new recruits to train and prepare for service on the D’k Tahg. He might not be able to save the empire, at least not today, but he could do his duty to his captain and his ship.

Karel watched as the last of the twenty entered the corridor. Before the door on the station side shut, an alarm rang throughout the D’k Tahg and a recorded voice said, “Battle stations. Proximity alert. Hostile force approaching.”

Then the captain’s voice came from the intercom. “Disengage from station and raise shields.”

The rules and procedures were clear here. Immediately break the seal on the airlock and get the ship away from the station so it could enter battle with what were probably Federation starships.

The sacrifice of twenty officers was unfortunate, but worth it if it meant saving the ship and winning the battle. It was what any Klingon would be expected to do, but it was not what a human would do. And Karel suspected that it was not what his brother would do. Humans fought to preserve life as hard as Klingons fought to win battles.

Perhaps Karel had been infected by this thinking as his brother Kell had been. “No,” Karel said to the airlock officer as the Klingon reached for his control panel.

“But our orders-” the Klingon began.

“On my authority! Can you shut the door on the station side?” Karel said.

“I can use a manual override, but the commander would-“

“Do it now!” Karel shouted.

To his credit, the Klingon didn’t hesitate. His hands few over his console and the door shut. A moment later, the inside door of the corridor closed and the Klingons were sealed inside. Karel did quick mental calculations, figuring the range of the ship and station’s sensors and the speed of approaching starships traveling at maximum warp.

They barely had seconds to accomplish this and get into the fight…unless this is a drill, a voice inside his head said. It was a real possibility, in which case Karel would be vindicated for what he was doing.

If it wasn’t, well, the captain might not let him live long enough to regret his actions. In any case, it was too late now.

There was a flash on the station side and the corridor drifted free. The station staff, at least, were following procedure. Now the D’k Tahg and the section of corridor were drifting free of the station. If Karel and his airlock officer had not sealed the new recruits inside they would now be dead. Of course, they were not out of danger yet, and there was no time to get them inside the ship.

“Captain to airlock,” Koloth’s voice said through the intercom.

For a moment, Karel ignored his captain and said to the Klingon in front of him, “Make sure they have a good seal and eject the corridor.”

The officer didn’t even nod, and his hands were moving over the console before Karel had finished giving the order.

While the Klingon worked, Karel hit the intercom and said, “Karel here. We’re disengaging now.” He finished just as the magnetic seal outside the airlock door flashed and the corridor fell away from the ship. It went immediately dark, and Karel knew its gravity had failed as well.

But the Klingons would live, for at least as long as the oxygen and emergency battery power lasted in their makeshift lifeboat. If the D’k Tahg or the station could not pick them up before that happened, then they were doomed from the start. But at least this way they had a chance. As things were in the empire today, a chance was all a Klingon could hope for.

There was a flash of light outside the airlock as the ship’s shields snapped into place. Then the D’k Tahg turned. Karel could feel the ship readying itself for battle, the way a warrior did when his blood began to run hot.

“First Officer Karel,” Koloth said through the intercom. “If you are quite finished, perhaps you could join us on the bridge as we are about to enter battle.”

“Yes, Captain,” Karel said. Then he headed for the bridge at a run.

West had hoped to talk to his parents in person, and Admiral Solow had offered him the use of his personal transporter. The visit would have taken not much more time than a transmission, but West didn’t want to leave his office until the latest tactical recommendations came in. He had to take a look at them, make any final changes, and distribute them immediately.

And what he had to say to his mother and father could not wait. He flipped a switch, and his father’s face appeared on the viewscreen on West’s desk.

“Father, how are you?” West said, with what he realized was an absurd sense of formality. He and his father had mended most of their fences, though things were far from normal and natural between them now. Under normal circumstances, time would take care of that. As it was, time was something they would not likely have.

A year ago, as an arrogant Starfleet cadet, West had written a paper that was strongly critical of Starfleet in general and his father in particular in the handling of the lead-up to the Axanar crisis and the subsequent battle. The paper had gotten noticed by a number of parties, including the Academy administration and Admiral Robert Justman, who had hired him as a staff xenoanalyst. At that time, West had been naive enough to believe that the proper use of xeno studies would reduce and eventually even eliminate armed conflict. For him, understanding was the key to ending war as the galaxy had known it.

In the months since then, the Federation and the Klingon Empire had started an inevitable march toward war. And during this period, West had become one of Starfleet’s ranking experts on Klingons. He understood them as well as any human could, and that understanding didn’t comfort him. In fact, the more he understood Klingons, the more they scared him.

Admiral Justman had faced them twenty-five years ago at the Battle of Donatu V. Then, just a few weeks ago, the admiral had died fighting Klingons again at the Battle of Starbase 42.

And now, to West’s embarrassment, the paper he had written on Axanar had been embraced and distributed extensively by the Anti-Federation League, which had become louder and more active as the war drew nearer.

“How am I?” West’s father said with a grim smile. “Terrible. In fact, I feel like you look.” There was humor in his father’s voice. And yet, he was simply being honest.

“I wanted to talk to you about some arrangements I made. There’s a transport-” West began.

“We’re not leaving the system,” his father said. His voice was warm, but absolutely firm.

“Father, there’s nothing you-“

“You know I’m consulting with Nogura and Solow.”

“Which you can do from anywhere.”

“Son, I’m not leaving Earth, or San Francisco.”

West’s parents had lived in San Francisco their entire adult lives, ever since his father had joined Starfleet more than forty years ago. For the first ten years, his father had spent most of his time on ships. Then he had begun to split his time between assignments at Starfleet Command and various special missions.

One of those missions had been at Axanar fifteen years ago. There, Admiral West and Fleet Captain Garth had done nothing less than save the Federation-save it so that ignorant cadets could snipe at them years in the future and second-guess their every decision.

“Father, you’ve done your part. It’s time to take care of yourself and let us do our jobs here,” West said.

The grim smile left his father’s face. “I won’t let the Klingons or anyone else drive us from our home. If we do that, then they’ve already won.”

“It’s just not safe here. This isn’t about principle.”

“Everything is about principle,” the senior West said. Then the smile was back and he said, “Perhaps you’ll just have to work a little harder to keep us civilians safe.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that, Dad,” West said.

His father’s expression became grim. “Yes, I know exactly how it works. Now, I’m sure you have work to do. You’re welcome to call again later when your mother is home. You can try to talk sense into her.” Then he paused and said, “Or you could come by. It would be good to see you.”

“I’ll try, Father,” West said. They signed off, and West sensed someone behind him. He turned and saw Lieutenant Katherine Lei standing nearby and holding a padd. “The report?” he asked. She nodded and handed him the padd.

Katherine had been the first member of his staff. She had joined him just weeks ago, and there had been four others since. In addition, West had access to virtually any resource or expert in Starfleet Command, and numerous civilian contractors. Admiral Solow had opened many doors for him and his work.

But the work had changed. He was not promoting understanding and peace. He was using his considerable resources to provide strategic tactical assessments based on his and his team’s understanding of Klingon culture and history.

West, his knowledge, and his experience had become weapons of war. In the past, that would have horrified him. Now, his only concern was that those weapons seemed so inadequate to ensure Federation survival in the coming conflict.

As usual, Katherine’s work was excellent. She had a xeno-studies background and a real feeling for tactical and strategic thinking. West made a few changes, which were mostly cosmetic. Then they discussed a few points, making some clarifications on the spot, and transmitted the material.

When it was finished, West closed his eyes. He thought for a moment about actually visiting his parents to try to talk them into taking a trip to one of the outer systems, but it was too late in the evening. He realized that he was tired and the day was weighing heavily on him. He and Lei were the last ones in the office. Even the admiral had gone home.

“When was the last time you ate?” Lei asked him.

“The last time I…” West began.

“Ate. You know, food,” Lei said. West thought for a moment, and she frowned. “If you have to think about it, it’s been too long. Come on, let’s get some dinner.”

West shook his head. “I’ve just got-“

Lei took his arm gently but firmly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist. Consider it self-interest. Frankly, I’ve noticed your work isn’t as good when you don’t sleep or eat. We all need you at your best.” She spoke with a smile, but he knew she was serious. And she was right, of course.

When West got up, he noticed something strange about Lei. Perfume. He didn’t remember her wearing any before. Now he realized that she smelled good, wonderful actually. As they headed out the door, he said, “Is anything even open?”

“I know a place,” she said as they entered the turbolift.

Katherine Lei was attractive. West had noticed that much as soon as she had been hired. She was part Hawaiian, part Filipino, and part Scotch-Irish. She had straight dark hair, large dark eyes, and high, delicate cheekbones. Her beauty was exotic and remarkable enough that she tried to minimize it by keeping her hair straight and pulled back in a simple ponytail. Usually she didn’t wear makeup, but tonight West saw that she had some on.

When had she started wearing it? Days ago? Weeks? West had been too preoccupied to notice a lot of things. Taking a deep breath, West enjoyed her perfume. He knew he was being ridiculous. He was her commanding officer, though he knew the distinction was technical. In all important ways she was his peer, and in some areas his superior.

Of course, in Starfleet such technicalities mattered. And he would not take advantage of his position, no matter how interesting a person she was, or how attractive….

West noticed she was looking at him and felt his face flush, embarrassed by his thoughts and hoping she couldn’t somehow sense them. He was relieved when the turbolift door opened on the ground floor.

“Do we need transportation?” he asked.

“Not if you don’t mind a short walk,” she said.

The night air was cool and comfortable. “Your report was really quite good. I thought you showed a firm grasp of Klingon psychology and cultural bias as they relate to prolonged conflicts.”

“Thank you,” she said, followed by…nothing. “Look, would it be okay if we didn’t talk about work tonight?”

“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t know how they would accomplish that. The war was all anyone thought or talked about, whether or not they were in Starfleet.

“I just want to get away from it for a little while. For the next few hours at least, there’s nothing we can do about the Klingons.”

She led the way to a small bar/restaurant, and they sat at an empty table. The food was pretty good, and hot. West realized that it was the first meal he’d eaten that didn’t come from a Starfleet food slot in more days than he could remember.

And despite his doubts, they had little trouble talking about things other than the war. Lei asked about his family, and she was particularly interested in his Starfleet legend father. She talked about her family, who were from a small province in Australia. They had always been civilians, but they had been very supportive when she entered Starfleet Academy and very proud when she had received her commission.

“I used to feel like I was from the sticks, but I’m glad they live somewhere so remote now,” she said.

“I know what you mean. My parents refuse to leave San Francisco,” West said.

Lei nodded, and West was glad that he had come. It was actually nice to just talk to someone. It had been years since he’d done that. Even at the Academy, discussions were always about exams or assignments or politics.

“We’re closing up,” the bartender said, and West looked around and realized they were the last ones in the place. It had been a long time since he had closed a bar.

As they got up, West said, “Thank you. You were right, I needed to get out of the office.” For a moment, she just nodded and looked at him. West realized that he was sorry that he had not met her at a different time, at a time when the Federation was not in danger of crumbling around them, at a time when there might have been a chance for something personal.

They stepped outside, and as the bar door closed behind them, Lei faced him and took his arm gently. He realized that something was wrong with her, something he had never seen before: Lei was nervous.

“Lieutenant,” he said.

“It’s Katherine,” she said.

Suddenly West understood everything. It was impossible, no matter how tempted he might be. He didn’t have the time, or even the right, to become involved with anyone now-not with the way things were and with what was likely to happen in weeks or days.

“Patrick,” she said, looking up at him expectantly. It was the first time he had heard her use his first name, and he realized that he liked the way it sounded on her lips.

West felt himself teetering. The logical thing to do would be for him to gently but firmly explain things to her. The problem was that it was the last thing he wanted to do. And he sensed that if he did, no matter what happened with the Klingons, he would lose something of himself. Something basic and human-something, he suspected, he could not afford to lose.

Coming to a decision, he realized that Katherine had come to one faster. She leaned forward, turning her head up slightly, and kissed him tenderly. West had been many things in his life. He’d been arrogant, and he’d been a fool more than once, but he wasn’t stupid. He kissed her back.

When they finally pulled away from each other, she said, “My apartment isn’t far if we take a taxi.”

“Mine’s closer, we can walk,” he said.

Katherine smiled broadly and West did too. They headed for his place at nearly a run.

Chapter Three

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

NEAR THE KLINGON BORDER

“MISTER SPOCK,” Kirk said as he entered the briefing room.

“Captain,” Spock said. Behind the captain, Giotto and the security team started filing in.

“Welcome,” Kirk said. “I want to thank each of you for volunteering for this mission. Mister Spock has briefed you on the situation, and you know what we are up against.”

Giotto was the first to speak. “Captain, before we begin. I have discussed the mission parameters with the squad and Chief Fuller. We believe they can effectively carry out the mission on their own.”

Kirk was not surprised. “Thank you, Mister Giotto. As you know, I have complete faith in the abilities of this squad and Chief Fuller, but this mission requires command-level discretion.”

“Yes, of course, and as you know, Mister Fuller has-“

The captain raised his hand. “Thank you, I know Mister Fuller’s record very well.” Michael Fuller had been a security section chief on the U.S.S. Republic, Kirk’s first posting out of the Academy. “I thank you for your concern for my safety, but this mission will likely be the formal beginning of the war with the Klingons. The responsibility for any decisions made in the system will be mine.”

Kirk didn’t have the hubris to think that anything he did could prevent the war. No large conflict was won by the efforts of a single individual, but there was an opportunity here to hand the Klingons a real setback, especially if the Enterprise was able to destroy the weapon stockpiles before the Klingons could ship them offworld. This mission had to succeed, and Kirk would make sure that he did everything possible to ensure it did.

And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind was…what? Hope? A dim thought that maybe there was another way, that it was possible to avoid the wholesale destruction that the rational part of his mind knew was inevitable. Perhaps hope was too strong a word. It was probably just his Starfleet training or his own belief that there was always another way.

And yet…

If there was another way, or an opportunity to plant the seeds for some other option, then Kirk was determined to find it. Of course, there was always the possibility, however remote, that if the Enterprise crew handed the Klingon Empire another surprise-as they had done in Systems 1324 and 7348 and helped to do at Starbase 42-then the Klingons might reconsider their determination to fight. Again, it was unlikely, but Kirk had seen the near impossible too many times to discount anything.

“Mister Scott, is the shuttle ready?” Kirk asked.

“Yes, sir. You’ll have excellent tactical sensors and shields. And I think you’ll be pleased by the power to the phasers. You’ll also have long-range sensors when you need them, but they will cost you shield power. We’ve reduced the power-up cycle for each system so that you will be able to shunt power to the shields quickly in an emergency. The recent refit package included some new shuttle components, and we’ve made some further improvements.”

That was an understatement, Kirk knew. After a recent mission, in which a shuttlecraft had performed a rescue of civilians held on a Klingon cargo ship, Scott had made major improvements in all of the Enterprise’s major systems. And the change in the power-sharing system between long-range sensors and shields must have been designed and executed in just the last few hours.

“I’m sure you have done an excellent job, Mister Scott, and I’m confident that all of your improvements will come in very handy. Mister Fuller, have you chosen your team?”

“Yes, sir,” Fuller said. “You know Ensign Jawer,” he said, pointing to the impossibly young ensign seated next to him.

“Captain,” Jawer said, with a nervous nod. Jawer was less than six months out of the Academy and was still a bit nervous around senior command officers. He was also one of the most decorated members of the crew, having served at the incidents at Systems 1324 and 7348, as well as at the Battle of Starbase 42 and their recent rescue of the misguided human crew of a civilian vessel that had entered Klingon space. In any sane galaxy, Jawer would still be getting his feet wet, putting in time doing entry-level tasks on board ship.

Of course, recently the galaxy had gone quite mad and in a few hours Jawer would be going on a mission to a Klingon-held system while they were on the brink of interstellar war. Jawer was a good choice for the mission because-in addition to his experience fighting Klingons-he had technical and computer skills. In fact, he had put in for a transfer to engineering, which normally would have been accomplished weeks ago, but most transfers in the fleet were on hold for the duration of the crisis.

“You also know Ensigns McCalmon and Quatrocchi,” Fuller said, and Kirk nodded to each. McCalmon was a good tactical officer, and Quatrocchi was a qualified pilot. Again, all good choices. If something happened to Kirk, Quatrocchi would serve as a backup pilot to get the team back to the Enterprise. Redundancy was very important on a mission as unpredictable as this one.

The intercom whistled, and Uhura’s voice came through the speaker. “Bridge to captain.”

Kirk tapped the intercom next to his chair. “Kirk here.”

“The Antares is in transporter range, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Hail the ship and get Captain Bastielli for me.” Then Kirk looked over the assembled officers and said, “Dismissed.”

A moment later he was alone. He hit a button on the computer terminal and a familiar face appeared on the screen.

“Hello, Jim,” Bastielli said.

“Hello, Richard,” Kirk replied.

“How long has it been?” Richard said.

“Ten years.”

“Too long.” The last time Kirk had seen Bastielli, the man had been a newly minted lieutenant on the U.S.S. Republic. Bastielli had left the ship and the service shortly after that. He had stayed in space, however, and was now the captain of a cargo ship.

“I was sorry to hear about Mitchell,” Bastielli said. “And I heard about Finney.” He hesitated for a moment. “That’s not the man I knew.”

“Of course not,” Kirk said. The Ben Finney who had tried to frame Kirk for murder on his own ship was light-years removed from the man they had served with on the Republic.

Bastielli made a thin smile. “And I heard that Michael Fuller is serving on the Enterprise.”

“He is,” Kirk said.

“I’ll bet there’s a story there.”

“When this is all over, I’ll tell it to you.”

“I was sorry to hear about Fuller’s son.”

“Sam was a good man,” Kirk said. “A lot like his father.”

“I’m sorry I never met him,” Bastielli said.

“Richard…” Kirk began.

“I know, I know, we don’t have much time. It’s just good to see you. Maybe when this is all over…” Richard didn’t finish. They both knew that it was foolish to talk much about the future.

“Of course,” Kirk said.

“Is your lieutenant ready?”

“She is. I’ll have her beam over immediately.”

“I’ll get her to Earth, Jim. We’re pretty fast for a cargo hauler, and we’re armed,” Richard said.

Kirk trusted Richard as much as he could trust anyone, or any civilian at any rate. However, travel near the border was dangerous these days. Even if the Antares didn’t get caught in the first wave of a full-scale invasion, there was still danger from Klingon raiding parties. Kirk didn’t know what the Antares was carrying, but it must have been important, since it was no doubt the last cargo ship given clearance to travel to Earth from the border area.

“Thank you, Richard. I owe you one. Kirk out.”

Lieutenant Leslie Parrish looked at Kirk and McCoy. “Captain, Doctor, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant,” Kirk said.

The doctor held out a data solid and said, “Give these records to Doctor Van Kalmthout, and have him signal me if he has any questions.”

“I will,” Parrish said, though she knew there was a great chance that the Enterprise would be unreachable for some time. Once the fighting started, only encrypted messages to and from Starfleet Command would be allowed.

As they reached the transporter room, they stopped and Kirk extended his hand. “Good luck, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Parrish said, returning the handshake. She felt that she should say more. She wanted to thank him for giving her this chance. Getting her on a cargo ship this close to the border on the eve of war was a minor miracle. He must have pulled strings in a dozen different Starfleet and civilian jurisdictions. And he’d done this even though he knew that her baby was half Klingon, the child of a Klingon agent who had served on the Enterprise.

“Captain, I…well, I don’t know how to…” Parrish started.

Kirk held up a hand. “No thanks are necessary. You are a highly decorated member of this crew. It is I and Starfleet who owe you thanks.”

Parrish nodded, but didn’t say a word, not trusting her own voice. Instead, she turned to the doctor and hugged him quickly, mumbling a thank you.

The transporter room door opened to reveal a small crowd gathered in the transporter room. “Some of the crew came to see you off,” Kirk said as he gestured inside, where her squad was waiting. Then the captain and the doctor continued down the corridor, leaving Parrish alone in the transporter room with the squad.

Her squad.

Technically it wasn’t true, but she knew she would never think of these people any other way, even if they were led by Michael Fuller now. Last night they had had a small dinner and she had said her good-byes then. Nevertheless, she was glad to see them once more before she left.

“I wish I could stay with you and see this through to the end, but you’re in good hands with Lieutenant Fuller,” she said.

Fuller said, “We wish you could stay as well, but you have a mission that most of us, certainly I, could not fulfill even if we wanted to.”

Parrish’s hands went immediately to her stomach and she smiled. It was true, not all missions required a phaser and great personal danger. Carrying her child to term would be plenty dangerous enough, as Doctor McCoy had explained to her.

Parrish looked over her squad. They were in good hands; Fuller was among the best section chiefs that Starfleet had ever produced. And yet, he had seen his share of losses over the years. When the all-out fighting came, her friends would also see their share of losses. It was inevitable; it simply came with the job. And yet that certainty made the knowledge no easier to accept.

She said good-bye to each of the squad in turn. Last was Ensign Jawer, whom she had known the longest. It had been only months, but in security service that often felt like a lifetime. They had both served under Michael Fuller’s son Sam, who had fought his last battle on the decks of Starbase 42.

When Sam had died at the hands of Klingons, Parrish had been promoted to squad leader. Now Sam’s father had inherited her squad and she was going home carrying a half-Klingon child. Yet it was impossible for her to connect the Klingons who had killed Sam Fuller with Jon, the Klingon who she had thought was a human. Jon, whom she had fought with and nearly died with. Jon, who had finally battled his own biological people to protect her and his adopted people.

Like Sam Fuller, he had given his life in the battle of Starbase 42. She did not know how the Klingon Empire could produce brave, decent people like Jon and the near animals who had taken the lives of so many of the crew and who now threatened the whole Federation.

Yet, she would have to figure it out, she would have to learn enough about Klingons to reconcile the two, if she was going to raise Jon’s and her child. But that would only happen if she survived the pregnancy…

If the Federation survived the coming war…

And if Earth survived even a Federation victory….

True, there were many dangers, but she had faced difficult missions before. And Sam Fuller had taught her not to try to complete all phases of a complex mission at once. She would take this one a single step at a time and do the most difficult task first.

Jawer threw his arms around her and gave her a tight squeeze and held it. Two weeks ago, she had been his superior officer and she still was, technically at least. Nevertheless, she returned the hug and when she felt Jawer’s sharp intake of breath, she felt tears running freely down her cheeks. She would never have allowed such a display before, but she no longer needed to be infallible for her squad.

Finally, she and Jawer released each other. Looking around, she saw that her eyes weren’t the only ones filled with tears. The most difficult task first, she heard Sam Fuller’s voice say inside her head.

Leslie Parrish stepped onto the transporter pad.

Chapter Four

I.K.S. D’K TAHG

NEAR THE FEDERATION BORDER

“I HAVE THREE SHIPS on extreme sensor range,” the tactical officer said.

“Identify,” Koloth said. “Are they starships?”

Karel waited for the reply. It was impossible, wasn’t it? Starfleet could not have penetrated this deeply into Klingon space. He knew too much to discount human courage, as most Klingons would have done, but that knowledge told him that such a move would be far too aggressive for the Federation. They would wait to be attacked and then strike.

Of course, it was possible that the empire had already struck the Federation and this was retaliation. During a major conflict, communications relays were often the first targets.

Had the war already begun? Was the D’k Tahg the last to enter the fight? And though he understood the coming conflict was a mistake, he had always thought that his ship would be among the first to enter battle.

Were they the last? And if Starfleet was already here, what did that mean for the empire?

“All power to sensors,” Karel barked.

The tactical officer’s hands flew over the controls. Karel leaned down to watch the Klingon work. He was very good. For that, Karel felt some pride; he had overseen the retraining of all the bridge crew to meet Koloth’s standards. Of course, if this battle went badly, that pride wouldn’t be worth a targ’s leavings.

“Sensors still cannot identify the vessels,” the tactical officer said.

“Tie in to the station’s sensor array,” Koloth said.

“We’re locked out. The station must have activated its security protocols-“

“Damn the protocols,” Koloth said.

“Override them!” Karel said. The officer nodded, and Karel barked, “Do it now!”

The Klingon was working before the order was fully out of Karel’s lips. “Station command won’t like it,” the tactical officer said.

“Good, I look forward to discussing it with them after our victory,” Karel said.

“I’m into the station’s sensor system,” the officer said. “Compiling sensor logs now…” There was a tense moment while the bridge crew waited for the tactical officer’s answer.

“Three Klingon battle cruisers,” he said evenly.

“Are you certain?” Koloth asked.

“Yes,” the officer said.

That was it. This was a war game. Was command insane? The time for drills was long past. This was the time for battle. Yet highly placed warriors were wasting the Defense Force’s readiness. Though these encounters used low-powered weapons, there was always a risk of damage, and the empire would need every vessel in peak condition for the coming battle.

Even as he despaired over the frivolousness of what was happening, Karel knew his duty. The procedures for drills were standard; disrupters at minimum power while the ship fired torpedoes without warheads.

“Drill protocols!” he shouted. Hands flew across consoles in the bridge. That would be the last mention of the fact that this was a drill. Once the fail-safes were in place, as far as the crew was concerned, this was a real battle.

As the crew made preparations, Koloth issued his first order of the battle. “Helm, get us into open space. Draw fire away from the station.”

The helm responded immediately and the view changed. “Tactical analysis,” Koloth barked.

“Standard pincer formation, the command ship is at the apex,” Karel replied immediately. The pincer formation went far back into Klingon history, to the earliest targ hunts and perhaps before. The ships made a V shape, the lead ships slowing down the prey, while the killing blow was made by the ship at the apex. It was a common battle formation for Klingon ships, but it was not one that the Federation used. Once again, Karel found himself questioning the judgment of whoever had planned this exercise.

“I have visual,” the gunner said. A moment later, the three battle cruisers appeared on-screen. Karel felt a flicker of automatic relief at seeing they were indeed Klingon ships.

“Let’s end this quickly,” Koloth said. “Interception course, best speed. Transfer all power to forward shields. When we are at weapons range, I want a full disruptor and torpedo barrage on the command ship.”

It was a wise course; technically the other vessels outgunned the D’k Tahg three to one. However, no other commander would have ordered full forward shields on an attack run. Such a defensive posture was considered unseemly. However, Koloth was not concerned with winning or maintaining the respect of the crew-he had achieved that already-he was concerned only with victory in battle.

If the maneuver worked, it would grant them a quick victory so they could get back to the important business of ensuring the survival of the empire. On-screen, the ships loomed larger and larger.

“Lead ships almost in range,” the gunner said.

“Ignore them,” Koloth replied. “Target the command ship only.”

Karel watched the screen on his own console. “Lead ships preparing weapons.”

Koloth just nodded. The full shields would absorb anything the lead ships could throw at them, at least in the short term, which, if they were lucky, would be all they needed.

“Nearing range,” the gunner said.

What happened next would happen very quickly, Karel knew. “We are under fire-torpedoes.” Karel lost himself in the next operation. He watched the time to impact on the screen as he prepared to transfer some of the shield power to weapons.

“Impact,” he called out as the inert torpedoes hit the ship’s shields. Immediately, he transferred the necessary power to the disruptors as Koloth’s order came.

“Full barrage,” the captain said. The D’k Tahg’s forward torpedo tube as well as the right and left disruptor banks came alive at once. Warnings sounded as the other vessels’ torpedoes took their toll on the D’k Tahg’s shields. Karel ignored the warnings, waited until the barrage was finished, and then rerouted power to the shields.

“Maintain collision course with lead ship…until the last possible moment,” Koloth said. There was value in that: the other two ships would be less likely to fire if the D’k Tahg stayed close to the command ship. Also, the near collision would give the captain and crew of the command ship something to think about for the next few days.

“Command ship veering off,” Karel announced, pleasure in his voice.

“They have blinked. The captain’s blood does not run as hot when he does not hold a three-to-one advantage,” Koloth announced.

“Command ship has called a halt to simulation,” the communications officer announced.

“I am not surprised,” Koloth said. “Helm, bring us around.”

The crew around them started powering down their stations from battle status. “I have Captain Tagh, from the command ship.” Karel knew of Tagh only by reputation, and that reputation was…unexceptional.

“My dear Captain Tagh, I accept your surrender,” Koloth said to the image on the main viewscreen.

The other Klingon smiled, though the smile did not touch his eyes. Karel’s blood screamed out a warning and he acted immediately, a moment before the alarms started sounding. He hit the controls for the shields, just as his board lit up, showing a weapons lock on the D’k Tahg.

By the time the gunner announced incoming fire, the torpedo from the command ship was away. “Evasive action,” Koloth shouted, and to the pilot’s credit, the ship immediately turned. That was fortunate because the live torpedo hit only a glancing blow on the ship’s still deploying shields. It detonated on impact with the shields, but the D’k Tahg was spared the full force of the explosion. Nevertheless, even the glancing blow had a price.

“Port shields down, some hull damage, no decompression,” Karel reported. The live weapon had been a petty, foolish move on the part of the captain of the lead ship. Such actions were not uncommon in Klingon war games, but to risk real damage to another vessel this close to all-out war was far beyond foolish and into the realm of dangerously stupid.

“Bring us around, prepare to attack lead ship,” Koloth said. The captain’s voice was even, but Karel could hear the rage under the surface-though not very far under.

“Lead ship hailing us,” the communications officer said.

“Ignore the hails, and send a message warning the other ships. Tell them to stay out of it,” Koloth said.

“We are in firing position,” Karel announced.

“Power to forward shields only. Helm, collision course. Full barrage, torpedoes and disruptors. And make sure weapons are at full power,” he said. Captain Koloth waited just a moment and said, “Execute.” Immediately, the D’k Tahg started moving.

“Captain Tagh sends his regrets about his error,” the communications officer said.

“Tell him I graciously accept.” Then, with the next breath, Koloth said, “Fire now!”

Karel could see a torpedo as well as disruptor bolts fly toward the battle cruiser, which now dominated the main viewscreen. The other ship fired disruptors, but they went wide because the vessel immediately veered off, both to avoid the weapons and to get out of the way of the D’k Tahg. The effort did not save them from the almost point-blank barrage, but they did manage to save themselves from a collision.

Karel checked his monitor. “Their shields are down,” he said. Then he watched his captain’s face. Koloth was still furious, and certainly Tagh had invited the attack, but surely Koloth would not destroy or seriously damage a warship now?

For a moment, Karel wondered if his captain would do just that. And if a commander could destroy with his eyes, Tagh’s vessel would be space debris now.

“Helm, hold position. First Officer, watch them closely,” Koloth said.

“They are hailing us,” the communications officer said.

“On-screen,” Koloth said.

“Captain Koloth, I send you a gesture of respect, and you respond with this outrage.”

“Shut up, Tagh. One more word and I will blow you out of space,” Koloth said.

Tagh was silent. Evidently, he was not as stupid as it would seem. Or at least he had a rudimentary sense of self-preservation.

“I care nothing for your empty gestures after you have been soundly defeated in a war game. What I do care about is that you risk the empire’s future with your petty pride,” Koloth said.

“I think it is your pride that is the problem here,” Tagh said.

“Think what you like, but never again even aim your weapons at my vessel, you bloodless targ,” Koloth said. The captain made a hand gesture, and Tagh’s face disappeared from the screen.

“Status report?” Koloth said.

“Port shield will need repair. We’re evaluating damage to hull,” Karel said.

“Very well. Let’s go pick up our warriors. I presume they are still drifting in space where we left them,” Koloth said.

In the heat of battle, Karel had forgotten about the Klingons they had left stranded in the floating corridor. It occurred to him that if he had not broken protocols, the Klingons would be all dead now. And they would not have died honorable deaths, serving the empire, but pointless deaths because of a game.

Extracting the twenty warriors from the spinning section of corridor via transporter was frustrating and time-consuming, but they made it on board in reasonably good condition.

When the job was done, Karel approached his captain, who was sitting in his chair. “You have made an enemy today.”

“A Klingon is known by the enemies he keeps,” Koloth said, quoting Kahless. “I will be proud to count Tagh as my enemy.”

“The way you spoke to him in front of his crew, you have ensured that,” Karel said.

“Yes, and with any luck one of his crew-one who actually belongs in command of a warship of the empire-will see him for what he is and make the appropriate challenge.”

It was true: sooner or later, one of Tagh’s own crew would remove him. But would that end the problem? Would the new commander be any better? The fact was that there were far too few Klingons in the service who were anything like Koloth.

“Captain, the order for the simulation must have come from Command,” Karel said.

“Or the High Council itself,” Koloth said. “Councillor Duras died on a mission with this ship. He may have friends who hold the D’k Tahg responsible,” Koloth said.

If that was so, then the problems the ship just had were Karel’s fault, since Duras had died on Karel’s blade, in revenge for the dishonorable mission of deceit on which Duras had sent Karel’s brother Kell. Of course, Koloth had seen to it that the official report attributed Duras’s death to a skirmish with the native Klingons of System 7348, but Duras might have friends or family who didn’t believe the official report.

Koloth must have read Karel’s thoughts. “Do not give it another thought. The councillor was a bloodless coward and incompetent as well. You did the empire a great service. And there may be something else at work. It is no secret that the D’k Tahg holds the best performance and efficiency record in the fleet. There are those who are threatened by our success. They may fear that I have ambitions I will pursue when the fighting is over. This may have been an attempt to embarrass this ship.”

“But for your ambition to be an issue, the empire would have to survive the next few months,” Karel said.

“For some, it is never too early to jockey for position,” Koloth said.

“Madness.” Karel shook his head in disgust.

“Perhaps, but that is the empire as it stands now. For now, all we can do is defend it. And I have the orders for our next mission.”

“Something glorious?” Karel said.

Koloth snarled. “Not in the least. We are to supervise the transfer of munitions to cargo ships.”

Karel shook his head. They were being sidelined. It was nearly criminal. “What is the name of the system?”

“Chandra,” Koloth said.

Chandra must not have been very important or it must have been a recently conquered world, because it was not one that Karel had ever heard of before.

“There is one more thing we must discuss, Karel. You broke regulations at the airlock today. And more important, you know of my wishes in any situation that might put the ship at risk needlessly.”

Karel had had his answer prepared for some time now. “I do not consider preserving the lives of twenty highly trained warriors that you had chosen yourself needless.”

Koloth considered him for a moment. “If this had not been a drill, you would have put the ship at risk.”

“It was a drill; I suspected as much,” Karel said.

“And you have earned my faith in you, Karel. You were right and you saved twenty Klingon warriors that the D’k Tahg as well as the empire need now more than ever. But there is a lesson in command here.”

“What is that, Captain?” Karel said.

Smiling, Koloth said, “You can bend the rules as much as you like as long as you are always right.”

“I understand,” Karel said.

“If the empire survives the next year, I think you will make a good captain.” Then Koloth added, “Tell the station to make preparations for our repairs.”

Chapter Five

S.S. ANTARES

NEAR THE KLINGON BORDER

PARRISH MATERIALIZED on an actual transporter pad on the cargo ship. That was impressive; she knew that only a small percentage of cargo vessels had their own transporters rated for human travel. This one had two pads.

Immediately, a man stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’m Richard Bastielli, captain of the Antares, and this is my wife and first mate, Elana.”

Parrish shook her hand as well and said, “I’m Lieutenant Parrish.” Then she added as an afterthought, “Leslie Parrish.”

“Nice to meet you,” Elana said.

“I’m impressed that you have a transporter, Captain,” Parrish said.

“Thank you. It’s a recent upgrade. Come on, I’m afraid we have to be under way. The crew would have been here to meet you, but we’re about to enter warp.”

“Not necessary. I don’t want you to go to any special trouble for me.” Parrish meant it. She didn’t want to be rude, but she simply wanted to pass this trip quietly.

“Well, they’ll still want to meet you,” Bastielli said. “Captain Kirk spoke very highly of you.”

“I’m sure he speaks highly of everyone he works with,” she said quietly.

“Not to me,” Bastielli said. “At any rate, lunch is in three hours. I can give you a quick tour before that.”

“Fine,” Parrish said.

“Look, Lieutenant. I’ve been doing this long enough to recognize someone who just wants to be left alone. And you’ll have all the privacy you want on this trip. On the other hand, cargo haulers are tightly knit-it’s a necessity when you live and work so close together. Everyone just wants to meet the person who will be on the ship for the next few weeks. After that, you can spend the rest of the voyage doing whatever you want.”

Parrish gave him a tight smile. She was glad he was direct. “I will see you at lunch.”

They stopped next to a door, which opened to reveal a small stateroom. “Your quarters,” Bastielli said, gesturing inside. The room was less than half the size of double-occupancy ensign’s quarters on a starship. On the other hand, she wouldn’t be sharing it with anyone. And it had a small desk with its own computer terminal.

“See you in a couple of hours,” Captain Bastielli said. Then he turned and left her in the room.

Parrish unpacked her few things quickly and lay down on the bed. After a few minutes, the reality of her situation started to sink in. She had planned for most of her life to join Starfleet; then she had entered the Academy and started her training. Almost immediately after that, she had been posted to the Enterprise and had served on it ever since.

She had had weeks now to get used to her decision to have her baby on Earth. Intellectually, she knew it would mean the end of her ship-based duty. And though it was a life she had never planned, she was as mentally prepared for the change as she could be.

However, lying in her small quarters, there was one thing she was not prepared for: for the first time in her adult life she had nothing to do. A security officer had duty hours and training and organized social activities with her squad or the rest of the crew. A security chief had all of that and more, with rosters and schedules to prepare, training curricula to develop, and dozens of other tasks.

The fact was that she was good at those tasks. She did her best work when she was challenged…and busy. She had prepared to accomplish every possible mission, to operate in every conceivable situation, except for the one she found herself in now.

Parrish undertook the one task she had never shown a bit of aptitude for: she waited.

“Mister Spock, you have the conn,” Kirk said.

“Yes, sir,” Spock said. “And good luck.”

That was a surprise. Though he was half human, Spock considered himself primarily a Vulcan, and as a people, Vulcans did not believe in luck. Yet Spock knew that Kirk did. “Thank you, Mister Spock. And please try to see that the Enterprise is in the same good condition when I return.”

“Acknowledged,” Spock said as Kirk entered the turbolift.

The captain found Doctor McCoy waiting for him outside of the doors to the shuttlebay. “Come to see me off, Bones?”

“Actually, I came to talk you out of going. As your doctor, I advise against any undue risks to your health.”

“Thank you for the advice.”

“Have I convinced you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Didn’t think so. Will you at least promise to be careful?”

“That I will do,” Kirk replied, and stepped through the doors that opened to the floor of the shuttlebay. Fuller stepped forward.

“Shuttle inspection complete and team ready, Captain,” Fuller said.

“Thank you, Chief.” Kirk then turned to the four people lined up in front of the shuttle. “In dark days such as these, we often ask ourselves what we can do to make a difference. What can we do today, to fulfill our Starfleet oaths? Today, you have all answered that question by volunteering for a mission that, while dangerous, will help ensure the survival of the Federation. You have all answered the call. Thank you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fuller said. “And I will point out that it is still relatively early in the day.”

“That it is, Chief. That it is,” Kirk said.

Kirk entered the shuttle first and ran through the pre-flight check. All systems checked out, including the retrofitted phaser banks and augmented sensors. “Galileo to Enterprise. Request launch clearance.”

“Aye, clearance granted,” Scotty said. “And good luck, Captain.”

Kirk was pleased that Scott was overseeing shuttlebay controls himself. Like Spock wishing him luck, it was a small gesture that raised his spirits.

An alarm bell rang, and shuttle sensors showed that the shuttlebay was evacuating its atmosphere. A few seconds later, he read a vacuum outside the small ship, and then the large clamshell bay doors started to open.

Several seconds later, a green light on his console told him he had final launch clearance, and he engaged the shuttle’s antigravity system. The ship lifted smoothly off the deck. Magnetic repulsors pushed it toward the open doors, and the Galileo was out in open space.

“Transferring navigational data now,” Quatrocchi said from beside him in the copilot’s seat.

Kirk punched in the coordinates and headed for the Chandra system. He would have to stay sharp. The shuttle would skim the top layer of the system’s asteroid field, giving it the benefits of practical sensor invisibility while avoiding most of the actual asteroids in the belt. Nevertheless, there would likely be numerous obstructions in their path. Theoretically, the shuttle would constantly update trajectories and would give them warning before a collision, but even when the system worked, he would have to react quickly, particularly at the speeds they would be traveling.

“Tracking a five-ton mass,” Quatrocchi said.

Kirk saw it on his screen. He didn’t wait for the computer’s new course and adjusted the shuttle’s course manually.

“Screen shows clear for fifteen thousand kilometers,” Quatrocchi said.

The captain didn’t allow himself to relax. An asteroid field was the definition of a dynamic system. And like any such system, it was prone to the unexpected. Still, he felt a moment of relief. They had passed through the first hazard of the mission.

Kirk felt certain, however, that it wouldn’t be the last.

“Mister President, that is the best data we have at this time,” Admiral Solow said.

Wescott frowned. “You’re telling me that you have unlimited computer resources and teams of Vulcans, and the best projections you can give me only give us a forty-five percent chance of victory in an initial massive engagement?”

“Yes, sir, Mister President,” Solow said.

“What if we look at a series of smaller engagements, using smaller groups of ships?”

“Then the odds get slightly better: forty-seven percent.”

“Which means a fifty-three percent chance of losing.” Wescott didn’t even try to hide his frustration. Solow understood that frustration; he had been living with it for months now.

“These models are very complex,” Solow said, “with nearly too many variables to count, let alone calculate with any accuracy. And we know that no battle plan ever survives the first few moments of actual battle.”

“All true, but I don’t see how we can win this battle out there in space if we can’t win it on paper first,” Wescott said.

“Sir, we’ll win because we have to. We have the best people in the Federation out there serving on our starships.”

“Then they will have to make us a miracle, won’t they?” the president said.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll have to make that an order then.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Have you ever disobeyed a direct order from a superior?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I order you to find me that miracle.” The president paused for just a moment. “I won’t keep you, Admiral.”

“Thank you, Mister President.” Solow turned and headed for the exit from the president’s office.

Before he got three steps, the president’s intercom beeped, and the voice of one of his secretaries sounded over the speaker. “Mister President, I have Lieutenant West on the line-he says that it’s urgent that he speak to you and Admiral Solow immediately.”

Frowning, Wescott looked at Solow, who could only shrug. Then the president said, “Put him through, Olga.” After a moment: “Lieutenant, this is the president.”

“Thank you for agreeing to speak to me, sir,” West said. “Is Admiral Solow still with you?”

“I’m here, Lieutenant,” Solow said as he walked back to stand near the president’s desk.

“I’m here with Lieutenant Lei. We think we have something you both might be interested in. Permission to report to the Palais?”

Solow looked at Wescott, who nodded slowly. “Permission granted, Lieutenant.”

Well under a minute later, a harried West was standing in the office with Wescott and Solow, the former now sitting at his desk.

“What do you have, son?” the president asked without preamble.

“We caught a lucky break,” West said. The young man was clearly excited. “One of our new long-range tactical sensors came online right before a Klingon war game simulation involving four Klingon battle cruisers.”

“We must have scanned something like this before,” the president said.

“Yes, but never with this kind of detail. We have absolutely up-to-the-minute intelligence on weapons upgrades, tactics, and ship’s maneuvers. By themselves, they would be a gold mine of data that would allow us to give starship commanders a real edge in battle.”

“Excellent,” the president said.

“We also intercepted some coded transmissions that might be interesting,” West said.

“What level is the encryption on the transmissions, Lieutenant?” Solow asked.

“Like nothing we’ve ever seen,” West said.

Turning to Wescott, Solow said, “I can put Starfleet cryptography on the problem and allocate virtually all Starfleet computing resources to it, but if we had civilian computer resources at our disposal as well…”

“You’ve got them,” Wescott said. “I’ll make the calls personally. And I think Ambassador Fox will be able to get us the Federation diplomatic corps’s main computer.”

“Thank you, Mister President,” Solow said.

“What could this new data do for our chances, Admiral?” Wescott asked.

Solow hesitated. “I’ll put a team on those calculations. I think you’ll be pleased. Of course, we still have no guarantees. It will be a race to decode the transmissions before hostilities break out. We still don’t know what we’ll find.”

“I have full faith in you and your people,” the president said, nodding to West and then actually smiling. “You’ve given us the first piece of good news in too long. Thank you, Lieutenant. And thank you, Admiral. When I asked for a miracle, I didn’t expect one so soon.”

Parrish was waiting in a corridor on the Antares when Bastielli came for her. “Captain,” she said with a nod.

“You can call me Richard.” He watched her face in the awkward silence that followed, smiled, and said, “No need to reciprocate, Lieutenant. You have to be out of the service for a little while to get used to the sound of your own first name again.”

“You were Starfleet?” she asked.

“Yes, a long time ago.”

Suddenly, a few things made sense. “You served with Captain Kirk.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, but like I said, it was a long time ago. I’ve spent most of my time since on merchant vessels.”

Parrish nodded. She read in his tone that further questions about his time in Starfleet would not be welcome. Well, there was plenty she didn’t want to talk about either.

“How long have you had the Antares?” she asked.

“Been serving on her for ten years, running it for the last four. Have you ever been on a cargo ship?”

“Visited only,” she said. “I’ve never traveled on one. I grew up on a mining colony.”

Bastielli nodded and led her to a staircase. They took the stairs down to the bottom deck and he said, “Engines.”

The deck was empty of crew except for them, and much more cramped than the engine room on the Enterprise. As they stepped onto the deck, Parrish could see control panels on their right and left. Near the center of the room was a meter-wide dilithium reaction chamber than ran up through the deck above them-and to the top of the ship, she was sure. She could see large conduits running diagonally from the bottom of the reaction chamber into the floor, where she knew they would feed the warp nacelles.

“The Antares is nearly fifty years old. The last refit on the engines was about ten years ago. With a full load, she’ll run warp four-four point five in a pinch,” Bastielli added with a grin.

The next level up was storage and a special cargo area for low-mass, high-value shipments that could be carried inside the “cab” area of the ship. However, most of the regular cargo the Antares pulled would be attached via segmented containers pulled by the cab.

“Are you carrying a full load?” Parrish asked.

“Nearly, eight containers of ore needed on Earth,” Bastielli said.

“You’re just out of Janus IV?”

Bastielli expressed surprise. “How did you know that?”

“I grew up on a mining colony, and the mining world is a small community. Janus IV is the biggest news in the business in decades. In fact, I was posted to the Enterprise as a replacement for one of the losses in the Janus IV mine incident.”

The Enterprise had lost a few security people to the Horta on Janus IV before the crew had been able to make contact with the creature. Then, the rock-dwelling Horta and its offspring had become the best natural miners in history. They moved through rock with nearly the same ease that humans moved through air. They also had an intuitive sense of how to find precious metals.

A major new ore mine, even on a well-equipped colony, could take years to open and to begin producing significant amounts of material. The Horta had found many tons of ore from places on Janus IV that would never have been accessible before, even with unlimited time and resources.

In an astonishingly short time, the Horta had gone from dangerous nuisance to major asset, particularly now that the Federation was preparing for war. Parrish was sure that, given how much Janus IV was producing, cargo vessels from all sectors were shipping its ore to strategic industrial centers throughout the Federation.

And if the Federation survived the next few months, Parrish was sure that mining companies would have Horta opening new mines throughout Federation territory. The business, as Parrish had known it growing up, would change forever. Miners liked to think of themselves as the engine that drove progress. Certainly many of the wonders of modern technology were possible only because of the men and women living underground who provided the necessary raw materials.

What possibilities would the future bring? Parrish couldn’t imagine, but there was a future out there that she wanted to see, that she wanted her and Jon’s baby to see. The first order of business now would be survival-for herself, for her child, and for the Federation.

The next deck held crew quarters, the galley, a gym, and a small recreational room. The top deck held the bridge, some more storage, and the Bastiellis’ quarters.

When they entered the bridge, they were met by a worried look from the man in the pilot’s seat. “Richard, we have something on scanners.”

“What is it, George?” Bastielli said, leaning over the console.

“I think it’s a ship, but I’m not showing a transponder or any identity codes, and they won’t respond to hails,” George said.

“Could be another freighter, or a smuggler who doesn’t want to be identified.” Bastielli’s voice was even, but Parrish could tell that he was concerned.

Parris said, “Captain, I’d be amazed if that’s a cargo ship. You’re probably the last authorized trip in this sector, and that’s only because of the value of your cargo. And smugglers may break the law, but they rarely court death for a shipment.” She looked at the pilot. “What’s their course?”

“Intercept,” George said, tension clear in his voice.

“May I, Captain?” Parrish said, gesturing at the copilot’s seat. Bastielli nodded, and she sat down. It took her a moment to sort out the controls for the civilian sensor system, then she was able to bring up the sensor readings on a small viewscreen on the control panel in front of her.

She winced. “It’s a Klingon cargo vessel.”

“Are you sure?” Bastielli said.

“Absolutely. The Enterprise’s last mission was a rescue of civilians held hostage on board a Klingon freighter. This is either the same class vessel or a very similar one. And they’re traveling empty.”

“Raiders,” Bastielli said. “Trolling for cargo.”

“Have there been any incidents like that in this sector?” Parrish asked.

Bastielli shook his head. “Not in years. Several years ago the U.S.S. Exeter put an end to harassment of Federation shipping by merchant Klingon raiders. There’s been no trouble since.”

“Trouble’s back,” Parrish said grimly. “The Klingons no longer want to avoid interstellar incidents. War is inevitable now. I’m sure the Klingon High Council has encouraged freighter captains to do whatever they can to disrupt and harass shipping on the border. Our best chance now is to run. Captain, what’s your emergency speed under full load?”

“She’ll do warp four point two fully laden, four-point-seven empty.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Bastielli broke it. “I don’t want the Klingons to get the cargo. Earth needs it, we need it.”

“I’m not sure it makes a difference,” George said. “The Klingons have just increased speed, warp four point eight five.”

Bastielli paled. “I wish we’d upgraded the engines again last year when we had the chance. It just wasn’t cost effective, and war wasn’t an issue.”

Parrish nodded. “If we drop cargo, they might not pursue. They might just take the cargo and head home, but they might not. I wouldn’t want to bet on their good graces.”

“We’re not dropping cargo.” Bastielli sighed. “Which means we fight. This ship is armed. Starfleet provided some weapons upgrades to all cargo vessels operating near the border area a few weeks ago. We have forward and rear phasers.”

“We should fight only as a last resort,” Parrish said. “The Klingons have good disruptors, and at best we’ll be evenly matched. And even if we win, we can’t take the chance of being too damaged to get to Earth. If we lose warp drive, the Federation loses the cargo and we could be stuck out here in a war zone for months or longer.”

“So what’s left?” Bastielli asked.

“We need to disable or destroy the Klingon freighter without a full-scale engagement,” Parrish said.

Bastielli laughed, but it was wholly without mirth. “Is that all? Do you have a plan?”

“Not yet, but success is a given. Everything else is detail,” Parrish said.

Shaking his head, Bastielli said, “You really did serve with Jim Kirk.”

“Whatever you’re doing,” George said urgently, “do it faster. The Klingons will intercept in five hours, sixteen minutes.”

An idea started to form in Parrish’s mind. She manipulated the scanners.

“What are you doing?” Bastielli asked.

“Scanning them. I can’t get much beyond their speed and a rough power signature, which means they probably can’t see us very well either. Power down the transporter system-I don’t want the Klingons to see it when they get closer. And we’ll need someone who can create an overload in a noncritical system, something that will make a low-level interference field. Not much, but enough to make it impossible for the Klingons to use their own transporter. We want to force them to dock.”

Slowly, Bastielli said, “Your plan involves letting Klingons board my ship?”

Parrish let out a breath through her teeth. “Not exactly, and plan is a pretty strong word for what I’ve got, but let’s get started and see if we can fill in some of the details.”

Chapter Six

SHUTTLECRAFT GALILEO

CHANDRA SYSTEM

“APPROACHING ASTEROID BELT,” Chief Fuller said.

“Time to alignment?” Kirk asked

“Alignment on my mark,” Fuller said. He paused for a long moment and said, “Mark.”

“Thank you, Mister Fuller. Any sign that the Klingons know we’re here?” Kirk asked.

Fuller checked his console. “None. We have not been scanned. And they haven’t made any long-range transmissions.”

Kirk was pleased. The system’s large asteroid belt provided excellent sensor cover, making the Enterprise undetectable as long as it kept the iron-heavy asteroids between itself and the planet. Of course, the interference cut both ways, and the downside was that it had made it difficult to impossible for the Enterprise sensors to accurately map the Klingon sensor and subspace relays. Of course, Kirk knew that nothing about this mission was likely to be easy.

“Approaching outer boundary of the asteroid field now,” Quatrocchi said.

“See anything that suits our needs, Ensign?” Kirk asked.

Quatrocchi peered at his readings. “I’m showing a ten-ton mass, iron-nickel. Feeding coordinates now.”

Kirk found the mass on his scope and brought the shuttle in close. It looked like a large rock, maybe three-quarters the size of the shuttle. “Holding position. Anything in our way?”

“Nothing coming in our direction, Captain,” Quatrocchi said.

Kirk used the tactical scanners and found what he was looking for almost immediately. The new sensors were good, he noted. He would have to remember to thank Scotty.

“I have their long-range sensor and subspace communications relay,” Kirk said. “Approximately one-quarter AU above the orbital plane.” It was also almost directly above their position. That was not luck. Rather, it was Spock’s estimate of where the relays would be.

“Phasers show ready,” Quatrocchi said.

“Keep them ready, but we won’t need them just yet,” Kirk said.

The captain felt someone leaning over his shoulder. “Something we should know, sir?” Fuller asked.

Running his hands over the console in front of him, Kirk did some quick calculations. It would work, at least theoretically. Then he answered Fuller: “We have an opportunity for a bit of improvisation.”

Fuller looked down at the console and saw what Kirk had been doing. “Interesting choice of weapon, sir.”

“It might even work,” Kirk said.

“Even an automated relay station will have thrusters for evasive maneuvers,” Fuller said, “and the Klingons have probably armed this one.”

“With any luck, they’ll never know what hit them,” Kirk said. “Everyone take a seat and hold on.”

Kirk pulled the ship back a bit, keeping the asteroid in front of them. “Engaging tractor beam.”

“What’s going on, sir?” Parmet asked Fuller.

“We’re going outside the mission parameters,” Fuller said. “Watch this, everyone.”

When Kirk was sure the tractor beam had a solid hold on the mass, he said, “I need a collision course with the relay station.”

“Aye, sir,” Quatrocchi said.

A moment later, Kirk saw the coordinates on his screen. “Engaging thrusters.” The shuttle left the asteroid field and headed for open space. Once there, he engaged the sublight engines at maximum acceleration. He heard the inertial system hum as it struggled to compensate for both the acceleration and the additional mass of the asteroid.

He would have to trust the course and focus on releasing the asteroid.

“Collision course confirmed,” Quatrocchi said, reading his mind.

The captain watched his readouts as the shuttle accelerated. It took nearly a full minute to reach fifty percent of light speed. Kirk pushed the ship a bit harder. Every additional percent from this point forward would tax the shuttle, but it would also dramatically increase the asteroid’s force at impact.

After another minute of flight, Kirk cut off the acceleration. He confirmed the course himself and then cut the tractor beam. Then he slowed the shuttle a bit to put a few thousand kilometers between it and the asteroid. Finally, he cut the sublight engines. He preferred to keep the engines online, but the Klingon sensors would detect the power from the shuttle before they saw the few tons of iron and nickel coming.

It took less than a minute more before Quatrocchi said, “The Klingon sensor drone’s proximity alert just went off.”

Kirk nodded, watching the space in front of them carefully.

“The automated disruptors have armed themselves. Firing,” the ensign said. There was a flash of green in space in front of them. “Direct hit on the asteroid.”

A moment later there was an even larger flash of orange and red, then blue as the sensor relay and reactor that supported it vaporized. Satisfied, Kirk engaged the shuttle engines and turned the ship back toward the orbital plane.

“Sensor relay completely destroyed,” Quatrocchi said, frank amazement in his voice. “And I’ve reviewed the sensor logs. The disruptors hit the asteroid, nearly pulverized it.”

“At that speed the difference between a hundred smaller masses and a single large mass is negligible,” Kirk said. In fact, a hundred smaller masses would be more effective at breaching a deflector screen. “Do you have the location of the remaining relays?”

“Yes, sir,” Qautrocchi said, “there are three sensor stations and one subspace relay.”

“We’ll take the communications equipment first,” Kirk said. Above all, the mission depended on getting onto the planet before the Klingons got a message to their command. Destroying the main relay most likely took care of most of that, but Kirk had to be sure.

“Feeding in coordinates now,” Quatrocchi said.

Kirk felt the ship shudder and watched it accelerate much more quickly than it had before now that it had released the additional mass.

“We still may have surprise on our side,” Fuller said.

“With any luck, they’ll think the relay was just hit by an asteroid.” Kirk then added with a smile, “And they’d be right.”

“Mister Spock, I have something on scanners,” Lieutenant Mogavero said from his position at the science station. “I’m reading an explosion…” McCoy wanted to shout at the young man to finish but Spock simply waited patiently for the lieutenant to continue.

“Sir, interference from the asteroids, but I’m reading what looks like an asteroid collision with a vessel,” Mogavero said.

“Interesting,” Spock said. “Continue scanning.”

“That’s it? That could be the captain and the landing party, and all you can say is that it’s interesting?” McCoy said.

Spock tilted his head to look at McCoy. Though his expression was emotionless, the doctor felt maddening waves of condescension coming off the Vulcan. “Doctor, it is unlikely that the shuttle collided with anything. The captain is among the most qualified command pilots on the ship.”

“Still, it’s possible that something unexpected came up,” McCoy said. “Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Clearly, something unexpected did come up. However, I do not believe that the shuttle has been damaged,” Spock said.

“Blast it, Spock-” McCoy began, but he was interrupted by Mogavero.

“I’m showing another explosion, this time preceded by phaser fire. Readings consistent with a successful shuttle attack on a sensor or communications relay,” Mogavero said. Less than a minute later, he said, “There’s another…and another.”

“Doctor?” Spock said.

“Pleased with yourself, Spock?” McCoy said.

“Irrelevant. Are you disappointed to be wrong?” Spock asked.

For the half-breed Vulcan, that was pretty close to a joke. McCoy didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he decided on a new tactic. “Your faith in the captain borders on the illogical, don’t you think?”

Spock didn’t blink. “Not at all. It’s based on the facts, and a calculation of probability based on his previous performance.”

“Tomato-tomahto,” McCoy said, enjoying Spock’s expression of confusion at the expression. Then, the doctor softened and said, “I’m worried too.”

Surprisingly, Spock didn’t reply, didn’t deny his own concern, or explain away McCoy’s as irrational. That somehow made the doctor feel worse. The captain was flying right into a hornet’s nest-and the hornets were home and plenty angry already.

Now McCoy and the rest of the ship-hell, the rest of the Federation-were waiting for the axe to fall. They were waiting for the next spark to flare, igniting a flame that would start swallowing people they cared about quicker than anyone could comprehend.

“First Officer, report,” Koloth said.

“Repairs complete,” Karel said. “Engineering reports all systems ready. And all of the crew has returned from the base.”

“They are well?” asked Koloth.

“Minor injuries only,” Karel said.

“Did they damage any of the other crews?”

Karel smiled at that. “I instructed them not to permanently damage any of their brothers from any of the other vessels.”

Scuffles were inevitable after a war game in which vessels were damaged. They were even useful. The crews of the defeated ships were able to vent some of their frustration and regain some of their dignity. Since the D’k Tahg was the clear victor, the crew’s dignity was intact, but fights kept them sharp.

“Excellent. Departure procedures, First Officer Karel. Let’s try this again,” Koloth said.

Karel nodded and said, “Helm, clear all moorings.”

There were a series of clicks as the ship disengaged from the station airlock and the D’k Tahg released its various umbilicals. Karel checked his readouts and said, “The D’k Tahg is clear, Captain.”

“Ahead, thrusters only,” Koloth said.

Immediately, the station started to recede on the main viewer. Koloth stood up and Karel noted the bruise on his captain’s forehead. It had come from Koloth’s “discussion” with the station commander over the appropriateness of beginning a war game with warriors in an airlock. To his credit, the captain had spared the commander’s life.

“We are at ten thousand qelI’qams,” Karel said.

“Full impulse,” Koloth said. “When we have cleared the system, I want best speed to Chandra IV.”

“Yes, Captain,” Karel said.

As Karel watched his readouts, his mind kept going back to Koloth’s words in their last discussion: If the empire survives the next year, I think you will make a good captain. It was hard to deny that the thought of command over a ship of his own pleased him. It fulfilled the childish imaginings that he and his brother had shared many years ago.

Their own father had died in battle before he was able to rise higher than a junior weapons officer. Already, Karel had achieved a higher rank than he had thought possible. His blood welcomed the thought of a ship of his own.

But Koloth’s caveat came back to him: if the empire survived the next year.

There was much the empire could learn from humans, he knew, and he believed that the first thing they would learn about in the coming war was what Karel had learned about from his brother: human courage and ferocity in battle.

Better a strong ally than a strong enemy, Kahless had said. He might as well have been talking about the Federation instead of an ancient foe. But of course, Kahless’s wisdom was meant to be timeless. His path was for all Klingons for all time.

Yet there were far too few who remembered his teachings in these days of madness. Klingons at the highest level of the empire thought only of their own advancement, not of the glory or even the survival of all Klingons. These Klingons were planning the aftermath of the Klingon-Federation war before the conflict had been waged-let alone won. Such Klingons had engineered a foolish war game to embarrass Koloth and the D’k Tahg. Even though their simpleminded plot had failed and Koloth had raised his stature and that of his ship, the wastefulness and self-centeredness amazed Karel.

Well, soon enough, the war would touch all Klingons, even those engaged in such petty plotting, perhaps especially those.

Karel’s screen told him that it was time for the D’k Tahg to begin its next journey. “We are clear of the system and its gravity well,” he said.

“Maximum warp to the Chandra system,” Koloth said.

“Maximum warp,” the pilot repeated.

Chapter Seven

SHUTTLECRAFT GALILEO

NEAR CHANDRA IV

“ORBIT IN TWENTY MINUTES,” Quatrocchi said.

“Mister Fuller, begin scanning,” Kirk said.

“Aye, sir.” A minute later, Fuller said, “Ready, sir.”

“Take the helm,” Kirk said to Quatrocchi and got up to join Fuller at the computer command console in the rear. On the small viewscreen there was a computer graphic of the planet. Circling the planet were lines representing the orbital paths of several small satellites.

Pointing at the screen, Fuller said, “According to sensors, there are no large artificial bodies in orbit. No ships, no stations. Just some basic weather and communications satellites. There may be ships on the surface, but they don’t have anything large in space.”

Kirk nodded. “Fine, we’ll complete a few orbits to make sure we haven’t missed anything. I’ll also want a complete topographical analysis of the planet. Pinpoint all of their stores and industrial centers. The Enterprise will need those coordinates.”

Kirk thought about that for a moment. This mission looked simpler than he had expected. With no Klingon warships in the system, or even on long-range sensors, and no large automated weapons systems, it would be safe for the Enterprise to target Klingon centers from space.

But it wouldn’t be just the Klingons they would be targeting. There was a native population staffing the factories, living by the munitions storage facilities. Their planet had been overrun by the Klingons, then they had been forced to serve the Klingon war machine, and now many of them would die. And Kirk, who had never met a single one of them, would give the orders that would destroy them. The war wasn’t their war, but they would be the first civilian collateral damage.

No, not the first. There were the proto-Klingons on the planet in System 7348 who had been unlucky enough to be sitting on a large supply of dilithium. The empire had tried twice to destroy the entire planet and had nearly succeeded.

Kirk knew that the destruction of the Klingon facilities on the planet below them was a necessary move, one that would save lives-in fact, save entire worlds from the Klingon Empire. Yet that would be no comfort to those people caught in the range of the Enterprise’s phasers and torpedoes, and Kirk found it was no comfort to him either.

Nevertheless, Kirk knew his and the Enterprise’s duty. Both would do what was required of them. He turned to the team sitting in the shuttle. “We have established that there is no danger to the Enterprise in the system. We will orbit long enough to gather some data and then return to the ship. Thank you for volunteering for this mission, but it looks like we won’t be needing any of your services or special skills.”

For that, Kirk was relieved. The people in this squad had lost too many friends recently. And of course, Michael Fuller had lost his only child to the Klingons. Like his father, Sam Fuller had been Kirk’s friend, and the loss was among the bitterest of his career. At least today, his crew would face no more losses.

“Approaching orbit,” Quatrocchi said.

The captain took his seat and the helm. He had chosen a near orbit to give them the best possible sensor data, and the shuttle glided into position. He felt a moment of uneasiness as he scanned his readouts. There was no sign of danger, but he was uncomfortable being this close to a Klingon stronghold in the relatively lightly shielded and armed shuttle. He decided that they would perform a single equatorial orbit and then head back to the Enterprise.

Kirk watched the data as it came in. Though it was Class-M, most of the planet was uninhabited and uninhabitable. The world was eighty percent water, the polar regions were extremely cold, and most of the landmass was extreme desert. There was a single continent in the northern hemisphere where the world’s approximately two hundred and fifty million humanoids lived. The mass was about the size of Australia, with a temperate and, by human standards, comfortable climate.

There were eight major cities and a number of industrial centers. The Chandrans had a fairly advanced society. Or what must have been an advanced society until the Klingons came. Now they were simply slaves turning out weapons for the Klingon Empire. Even from space, the sensors could detect the signs of damage from a recent struggle. The Chandrans had fought for their world, bravely and obviously futilely, but they had fought.

An alarm went off on the console in front of Kirk. He saw what it was as Fuller said, “We’re being tracked…weapons lock.”

An instant later, the shuttle rocked as if it had been physically struck. “Disruptor fire, behind us.”

Kirk used the tactical sensors and identified their attacker. It was one of the Klingon communications satellites. Apparently, it had robust defenses. “Hang on,” Kirk said as he ran through evasive maneuvers. Sensors told him that the automated satellite had matched the maneuvers and fired three more times, striking one glancing blow on the shuttle’s shields, which flared brightly for a moment.

“Shields holding, but we won’t be able to shrug off many more of those,” Fuller said.

“We won’t have to,” Kirk said. Throwing the shuttle into a sharp bank, Kirk pushed the inertial controls to the limit.

Before he completed the maneuver, the shuttle shook under another direct hit. “Shields down to eighty-eight percent,” Fuller said.

The captain registered the information but remained focused on his task. Glancing at the targeting scanner, he noted the distance and saw that the satellite was maintaining a direct course. That didn’t surprise him; Klingons favored direct attacks in battle. They would no doubt program automated systems accordingly.

“Best guess is a twenty-second power-up for each disruptor burst,” Fuller said.

That was good. Kirk wouldn’t need all of that, he realized as he closed the distance between the shuttle and the Klingon satellite. He could have fired earlier, but he wanted to wait for optimum range. He needed a clean hit; a sustained burst would tax the shuttle’s power.

“Sensors show a spike on the Klingon system,” Fuller said, an edge in his voice. It would be close, Kirk realized. The targeting sensor beeped once, and Kirk lined up his shot. A blue phaser beam lanced out from the shuttle and made a direct hit, flaring against the satellite’s shields.

“I’m still showing a power spike,” Fuller said.

Good, Kirk thought. Maintaining shields and weapons would overload the drone’s power system more quickly. The captain maintained phaser fire.

“Disruptors firing,” Fuller said.

Kirk detected a momentary flash of green behind the flare of the shuttle’s phasers hitting the craft’s shields. However, whatever disruptor energy the satellite managed to fire was swallowed up by the explosion of the Klingon device. For a moment, space was filled with a white light and then returned to normal.

“Satellite is gone. We should have full power to shields in…” Fuller’s voice trailed off. “I show two automated drones closing.”

Kirk found them on his tactical scanners. They were moving fast. “Do they have atmospheric flight capability?”

“No, sir,” Fuller replied.

That settled it. They had probably lit up every Klingon alarm on the surface as it was. They had nothing to gain by taking on more drones. “Prepare for atmospheric entry.”

That was when the first disruptor bolt struck the shuttle’s shields. It was a relatively low-powered blast because of the range-a range that was getting shorter very quickly. For short bursts, Kirk suspected that the satellites could accelerate faster than the shuttle. Another blast, this one higher in power.

Kirk didn’t have to consult the computer for the only calculation that mattered now: they would not make the surface, or even the lower atmosphere, before the Klingon satellites had the shuttle in range for full-power blasts.

“We have to fight,” Kirk said. “Coming about.” The captain turned the shuttle to face the charging Klingon drones. Before he could lock onto the targets, they split. Kirk knew what would come next: they would try to keep the shuttle between them and pound it on each side. It was a classic maneuver for two against one, but Kirk couldn’t allow it to play out.

He gave up on evasive maneuvers. They would be a pointless exercise that would wear down the shuttle’s shields. And every second that passed increased the chances that the Klingons on the ground would be able to launch a shuttle or something even larger from the surface to join the fight.

The captain realized that he could very well lose this battle-would lose it unless he was very careful…and perhaps very lucky as well.

Kirk did the only thing he could do: he ignored one of the Klingon drones and kept the other in front of him and in the firing window of the shuttle. He poured on the acceleration and fired phasers at the drone. He saw the disruptor bolts racing from the Klingon device even as phaser beams tore into its shields. Kirk could feel the other disruptor hits that struck them from behind.

Fuller shouted out damage reports and shield status, but Kirk was committed to a course of action. The shuttle’s fate would be decided in the next few seconds. They would either win or be blown out of space. Kirk saw the final flash of shield failure on the Klingon drone and fired a single burst from the phasers.

He didn’t wait to watch the flash of the explosion. Instead, he brought the shuttle around to face the remaining attacker. “All power to forward shields.” His console told him that it was just as well. There had been a partial failure of the rear shield, as well as some damage to the hull of the shuttle itself.

However, there was no time to even assess the damage. There was still a deadly automated Klingon drone out there. “Ten seconds until the next burst,” Fuller said.

The captain wouldn’t let it fire. He couldn’t afford to, given the shuttle’s condition. He raced toward the satellite. He would have to hit it at close range, and hard. He waited until they were in range and fired a shot that tore through its shields.

Then he fired again. And nothing.

“I need phasers now,” Kirk said.

“Overload,” Fuller shouted, which was followed by some nonregulation language. “Rerouted, try again.”

Kirk fired; this time the phaser tore into the Klingon drone at extremely close range. Kirk had to turn away from the flash and then felt the shuttle shake as the energy from the blast, as well as debris from the ship, collided with the shuttle’s shields.

The flash lasted only for an instant, then space went dark-and so did the shuttle. He heard more muttering from Fuller and Jawer, and finally the red emergency lights came on, followed almost immediately by the cabin lights.

Kirk checked his tactical scanner that confirmed that the Klingon drones had been destroyed and there were no others in the area. Then he turned and saw Fuller leaning over a console that was shooting sparks intermittently. Jawer was leaning into the engine compartment in the rear.

“Status?” Kirk asked, knowing he would not like the answer.

“Bad, sir,” Fuller said.

“Very bad, actually,” Jawer said. “The reactor’s damaged. We’re bleeding power.”

“Can you fix it?” Kirk asked.

“Yes, but not in the time we have. We’ll be dead in space in less than five minutes,” Jawer said.

Kirk shook his head. “Not space, we’re in the upper atmosphere.” The others nodded. They knew what that meant. Without power, the planet’s gravity would claim them very quickly. “What can you give me?”

“Four to five minutes at maybe twenty percent power,” Jawer said.

“That will have to do,” Kirk said, taking the controls.

Kirk had two choices. First, he could try to land the shuttle on the power they had. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Second, he could boost the shuttle to a higher and safer orbit and send a message to the Enterprise. That would be the safest in the short term. But they probably didn’t have the power to transmit a message that distance, and they would be a sitting duck if the Klingons launched anything from the surface. And he had no doubt that the Klingons would launch something quickly, if they hadn’t already.

It was not even a choice, in the end. As a rule, Kirk wasn’t much for running, hiding, and hoping for the best. “Prepare for emergency landing,” Kirk called out, though the term landing was incredibly optimistic for what they were about to attempt.

As everyone else took his or her seat, Ensign Jawer said, “Request permission to stay at the console. I may be able to squeeze a bit more power out of her.”

“Permission granted. Thank you, Ensign,” Kirk said. “Mister Quatrocchi, optimize shields for atmospheric reentry and maximum aerodynamics.”

“Insufficient power, sir,” Quatrocchi replied.

“Mister Jawer, can you cut artificial gravity and inertial control?” Kirk asked.

“Yes, sir,” came his immediate reply.

“Do it, and hold on,” Kirk said.

A few seconds later, Kirk felt the gravity that held them down all but disappear. “Got it, sir. We’re at twenty-eight percent power now, and you probably bought us another two to three minutes.”

“Excellent,” Kirk said.

A few seconds after that, Quatrocchi said, “Shields configured for atmospheric flight.”

In an ideal world, Kirk would have had Quatrocchi calculate a trajectory based on the planet’s gravity and atmosphere, compensating for the fluctuations in the shield power, but in an ideal situation, they wouldn’t be crash-landing. Kirk found the coordinates for a remote landing site, near the largest city in the habitable zone of the planet. Using his best guess, the captain engaged the shuttle’s drive and aimed it downward.

The entire shuttle vibrated as the atmosphere thickened. Kirk knew that without inertial control, they had also lost their structural integrity control. If the stresses on the structure of the shuttle became too great, it would simply come apart. Kirk didn’t know what the structural tolerances were for the shuttle with the hull damage they’d already taken and whether or not it could survive an unpowered and uncontrolled descent into an atmosphere under these conditions.

But he was about to find out.

The captain used maneuvering thrusters to keep the shuttle steady. An uncontrolled spin would be fatal to the people inside the shuttle without inertial control to protect them. He was pleased that the shuttle was holding together. Shuttles had to operate in a number of complex and dangerous mission conditions, and because of their size they could not have a large number of redundant systems. Thus, they were among the most overengineered pieces of equipment in Starfleet.

The landing party was also performing well. There was no sign of panic, even though the odds were stacked heavily against them. The shuttle shook more violently as they entered the lower atmosphere. Kirk could also see flares of red outside.

“Sir, I’m getting fluctuations in the shield power,” Jawer said from the rear of the shuttle.

“Is there a danger of shield collapse?” Kirk asked.

“Yes, but I can reduce that if we reduce the power to the shields.”

“Do it.”

A few seconds later Kirk felt the vibrations in the shuttle increase, and he had to make more adjustments to keep it level. “It’s gonna get hot in here,” Jawer said.

With less shield protection, the temperature in the shuttle changed almost immediately. It rose to over a hundred degrees quickly. And then Kirk saw the red glow outside turn blue-white, which meant that the temperature outside had gone up considerably. It was now in the range of ten thousand degrees Fahrenheit, or hotter than the surface of the sun. They were getting some protection from the low-powered shields, but too much of the heat was hitting the shuttle’s hull directly. On the plus side, it wouldn’t get any hotter outside from this point forward.

“Internal temperature one hundred and twenty-five degrees,” Quatrocchi said.

“It won’t last long,” Kirk said as he watched their altitude. If he simply pointed the shuttle straight down, they would get down perhaps half a minute faster and, thus, reduce the risk of shield failure. However, that would subject the shuttle occupants to forces between sixty and ninety g’s, far beyond the limits of tolerance of the human body.

“How do the shields look?” Kirk said, wiping away the sweat from his brow.

“Holding for now,” Quatrocchi said.

“Everyone prepare for a rapid descent,” Kirk said as he tipped the shuttle downward another three degrees. He stopped when the monitor told him the internal forces were at six g’s. He felt the force of the descent try to yank him out of his seat as he made continual fine adjustments to the shuttle’s orientation.

All he could do was wait now. The shields would either keep working or they wouldn’t. The shuttle would either hold together or burn up in the planet’s atmosphere.

Finally, the glow outside dimmed and then disappeared. His airspeed indicators told him that they were now down to less than one thousand kilometers per hour. Residual heat still kept the shuttle warm, but Kirk judged that it was no longer dangerously hot.

Palming away sweat from his forehead, Kirk let the shuttle continue to fall, and they soon settled into terminal velocity for the planet’s lower atmosphere, about three hundred and fifty kilometers per hour. He was also pleased to see that they were still more or less on course above the landmass’s largest city.

Then an alarm went off on the console. “The computer says that the reactor will fail in three minutes,” Quatrocchi said.

“Time to surface?” Kirk asked.

“Nearly four minutes,” Quatrocchi said evenly.

“Ensign Jawer?” Kirk asked.

“The cooling system is down and there’s nothing we can do for it. The reactor will shut down automatically when it gets too hot. Even if we overrode the system and kept the reactor running we’d just blow up the ship. I’m sorry, sir.”

There was silence in the shuttle. Everyone knew what was about to happen. In less than three minutes now the shuttle would drop out of the sky like a stone. No matter how slowly it was traveling when the reactor went, it would reach terminal velocity in seconds. When it hit the surface a minute or two later, the ship and its crew would be in very small pieces.

One of the first rules of an atmospheric landing was that the most important part was the last kilometer. Unless they thought of something quick, they would travel that last kilometer at three hundred and fifty kilometers per hour, straight into the ground.

Not only would they die, but they would also fail in their mission and not even be able to report to the Enterprise, which would leave the system without engaging the Klingons on the planet. And that meant the Klingon weapons stockpiled there would be used against the Federation.

Kirk didn’t have to turn around to know that everyone in the shuttle was looking at him, waiting for the captain to produce a miracle. At the moment, he was fresh out of those. In fact, he would have settled for even one bad option.

“Reactor failure in two minutes ten seconds,” Quatrocchi said.

One bad option… Kirk thought. “Mister Jawer, bring the reactor up to full power. Direct all energy to emergency batteries.”

Kirk heard motion and turned to see that Jawer was working feverishly on the panel. A few seconds later, he announced that it was done.

The batteries were not rated to hold the kind of power the reactor was putting out and the kind of power they would need for what Kirk had in mind. It was the worst possible option-except for all of the others.

Kirk took a few seconds to check the shuttle’s position and trajectory. If his aim was good, they would come down in a clear area that was less than ten kilometers from the city. If they were very lucky, they might even come down in one piece.

“Route inertial control to my panel, then cut power to all systems except for thruster controls,” Kirk said.

The captain could feel the shields dissipate and the aerodynamic benefit they gave the shuttle disappear. At once, the shuttle started to shake much more violently than it had in the descent so far. It also dropped exactly like a stone. Because Kirk was able to keep it level with maneuvering thrusters, at least it fell like a flat stone.

“Sir, what are our chances of making a good landing?” Fuller asked. There was no fear in his voice, just curiosity and the concern an experienced officer had for completing his mission.

“I can absolutely guarantee that we will reach the ground. Beyond that, I make no promises,” Kirk said. The landing party actually laughed at that.

“One minute, twenty-seven seconds until…landing,” Quatrocchi said.

Kirk focused very hard on keeping the craft level. It would fall faster if it went nose first. And a faster speed meant greater stress on the inertial control system as it compensated for the final deceleration. Already, he was asking the inertial system to do more than it was designed for on battery power. All he could hope was that he wasn’t asking for much more than the design limit. With luck, the Starfleet engineers had built in enough of a safety factor that his plan would work, and work well enough that it would let them walk away from the landing.

“One minute…” Quatrocchi said.

“Thirty seconds…”

From that point there was only silence in the cabin. No doubt everyone counted the remaining few seconds in their heads.

If Spock were here, Kirk was sure that the science officer would be able to calculate the precise moment to activate the inertial system, compensating for their final velocity, wind resistance, and a host of other factors. All Kirk could do was guess and hope for the best.

He switched to battery power just as Jawer announced that the reactor was down. A few seconds later, the captain activated the emergency inertial control system when they reached that last kilometer of their flight. Immediately, he could hear a loud hum as the system struggled to stop their acceleration. Not surprisingly, the shaking subsided and the ride seemed to smooth out. However, a look outside the cabin told Kirk that they were still falling fast but doing it in fits and starts.

“Batteries bleeding power,” Jawer said.

Kirk watched the altitude now.

Five thousand meters, still falling.

Four thousand meters, slowing.

Three thousand meters, falling again at nearly terminal velocity.

Then they slowed again; in fact, they nearly stopped for a moment before they started falling again. They were still falling much too fast as they hit the one thousand meter mark.

Kirk ignored the altimeter and focused on keeping the ship level. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do, and he resisted the idea of leaving their survival completely to an automated system, no matter how good.

Long seconds passed and Kirk could see the ground coming up quickly. It would be very soon now.

An alarm rang out, indicating that battery power was failing. That was it: if the batteries failed and they were more than ten meters from the ground, they were finished. Scant seconds remained, and then not even that.

Bracing himself, Kirk focused on his instruments and waited for the crash. He was surprised when it didn’t come and even more surprised when his altimeter registered them at zero meters above the surface. Looking outside the window, Kirk saw that they were actually on the ground. A moment later, the control panel in front of him went dark as batteries lost power. The lights in the shuttle went out next and they were in darkness for a second before the red emergency lights that ran on independent batteries came on.

“Well done, Captain,” Fuller said.

Kirk smiled. The good news was that they had come down in one piece. The bad news was that they had come down in one piece in a Klingon stronghold.

Now came the hard part.

“There’s nothing else you can do. There’s nothing else we can do,” Katherine Lei said.

West just looked at her.

“Even Admiral Solow has gone home to sleep,” Katherine said. Technically, West was still her superior officer, but no one was left in the office, and when they were alone there was no point in pretense, so he thought of her by her first name. “I remind the senior officer on duty that he has a responsibility to consider the recommendations of the officers under his command.”

“I presume you have a recommendation,” West said.

“Yes, Patrick. I recommend that we let the cryptographers and computer specialists do their job. I further recommend that you get some sleep so that you are able to act on the information they provide at such time as they provide it.”

She was right, of course. The real job had not been getting approval from the president to free up computer resources but coordinating with civilian and diplomatic offices to put their computers to work. West, Katherine, and their staff had accomplished a great deal in a short time.

West smiled and said, “Well, if even the admiral is off duty, I guess there is no more we can do.”

They hurried back to West’s apartment, and West realized there was one more thing they could do. It might not do a single thing to thwart the Klingons, and it would almost certainly have no practical effect on the war effort, yet it did wonders for their morale.

A few hours later, West was woken by the computer and the excited voice of Ensign White from cryptography coming over the intercom. “We’ve cracked the code, sir,” the specialist said.

West flipped on the viewscreen on his desk. White’s face appeared on the screen.

“How long before we have useful data?” West asked.

“We have the data now. We’ve just sent it to you and other department heads for tactical analysis,” White said with an odd look on his face. There was something strange going on.

“What is it? What else have you found?” West asked.

When White told him, West found that he couldn’t breathe for long seconds. “Thank you,” he finally said, and broke the connection. The next call he made was to Solow, and fifteen minutes later, West, Solow, and Lei were standing on the top floor of the Palais de la Concorde once again.

Solow nodded to West, and he said, “Mister President, the decryption is complete.”

“Good, even faster than we had hoped,” President Wescott said. “Will your data help our chances?”

Solow nodded, and West explained. “Yes, sir, but there’s more. We think we caught the Klingon command codes for war game protocols.”

The president frowned. “As I understand it, those are the codes that reset a vessel’s weapons for simulation mode.”

“Yes, for us, that renders them inert,” West said. “Ships fire simulated phasers and torpedoes and a central computer calculates damage and evaluates performance.”

“But even if the Klingons had our codes, they wouldn’t do much good,” Wescott said.

“True, because manual override is very simple on a starship. It’s more complicated on a Klingon warship. For starters, Klingons use live but low-powered weapons. And, as we have observed, their simulations are somewhat more aggressive than ours. Because of that, the coordinating computer actually locks out full-power weapons to prevent Klingon vessels from blasting each other out of space in a heated competition. And the best part is that we think we caught a communication between a Klingon warship and the base that contained the Klingons’ manual override code. With the command code, we could shut down a Klingon fleet’s disruptors and possibly torpedoes for a minute or two. With an example of a manual override code, we might be able to make the dormancy period last even longer.”

“And we have this now?” Wescott said.

“Yes, Mister President,” Solow said.

“What does this do to our odds?”

“The Vulcan teams are still working, but early estimates put us at well over fifty percent in some scenarios,” Solow said.

“What scenarios are those?” Wescott said.

“A single, full-scale conflict involving both fleets,” Solow said. “The codes will only work for a short time. We can only use this trick once. And we can only do it until the Klingons change the code.”

“Your recommendation?” Wescott said.

Solow folded his arms. “We now have the fleet dispersed, as per our previous war plan. We need to have them close together and prepare for a decisive battle with the Klingon fleet.”

“And if something goes wrong and we lose that battle?” the president asked.

“Then we lose the war,” Solow said bluntly. “But it’s still our best chance.”

The president stood silent for a moment, and West realized that though Kenneth Wescott was the most powerful individual in the Federation and arguably the known galaxy, West would not have wanted to trade places with him at that moment under any circumstances. West was sure that Solow was right. It was their best chance, but once the decision was made and the battle begun, there was no going back.

The decision was the president’s alone and would likely mean the survival of the Federation or the end of what dozens of worlds had built. President Wescott made his choice surprisingly quickly.

“Admiral. Assemble the fleet.”

Chapter Eight

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

NEAR THE KLINGON BORDER

“ARE YOU REFUSING a direct order, Lieutenant Commander Spock?” Admiral Solow asked.

“No, sir. I am simply trying to find a logical alternative,” Spock said.

“Captain Kirk and his party are overdue. You have had no contact from them, and you have clear orders from Kirk to leave the system if his mission fails. Captain Kirk gave those orders because he recognized the danger of a trap. Now, we have new information that makes it imperative to redeploy the entire fleet. You know what we’re up against. Both the logic and your duty are clear.”

“As a strategic and tactical commander, Captain Kirk is an important resource, a vital one given the current situation,” Spock said.

“You’re right, and I hate to lose Kirk now, but the fact is that we’re locked in a battle for our very survival. Though it will hurt, we can afford to lose starship captains, but we cannot afford to lose starships, not now. And I cannot allow the Enterprise to take unnecessary risks.” Solow let those words hang in the air for a moment and said, “I’m sorry, Commander.”

“No apology necessary, Admiral. Your logic is impeccable,” Spock said.

“What!?” McCoy said, pounding the briefing room table.

“The Enterprise has been redeployed. The captain’s and Starfleet’s orders are clear,” Spock said.

“Blast it, Spock. Jim is still down there,” McCoy said.

“There is a very high likelihood that the captain and the landing party are dead,” Spock said.

The room went silent for a long moment. Even the sound of breathing made by the department heads around the table stopped.

Giotto broke the silence and said, “Sir, I could put together another team, take another shuttle-“

“No,” Spock said. “The captain’s orders were clear, as were Admiral Solow’s. If his team was overdue and there was no contact, no effort would be made at rescue. And the captain would be the first to agree that the tactical data provided by Starfleet and the new deployment create ever more compelling circumstances.”

“Spock, Jim wouldn’t leave you down there. You know he wouldn’t. He would find a way,” McCoy said.

“I have no doubt that you are correct, Doctor, but lacking Captain Kirk’s singular abilities, I will follow his orders.” Then he rose and said, “Dismissed.”

Kirk saw that they couldn’t waste any time. “Even though we destroyed the Klingon satellites, we have to assume that the Klingons tracked our descent. We need to get as far away from the shuttle as possible.”

Fortunately, no one was hurt, though the real miracle was that they had come down in one piece. In an emergency landing from orbit, generally either everyone survived or there was very little left of ship and crew.

“Is the self-destruct operational?” Kirk said.

“No,” Jawer said, “but there’s enough power in the batteries to create an overload in the phaser system. It’ll be almost as good.”

“Good, can you rig a remote?” Kirk said. Jawer nodded, and Kirk addressed the rest of the group. “Hand phasers, phaser rifles, communicators, and tricorders only. No rations, we’ll have to move quickly and find what we need on the way.”

“Okay, everyone, let’s move out,” Fuller said.

Most of the group left the shuttle, phaser rifles out, as Kirk stayed behind with Jawer. The rifles had been Fuller’s idea, and Kirk was glad they had brought them. Now that they were on the planet, they were facing superior Klingon forces, plus who knew what kind of heavy ground and airborne equipment.

“Ready, sir,” Jawer said.

“Mark,” Kirk said. A moment later, he and Jawer were on the ground with the others. One look at the shuttle told Kirk that no matter what happened, it would never fly again. One of the engine nacelles was missing its rear third and the other was badly burned. There were scorches in the stern where the ship had taken disruptor fire, and the hull on the bottom was pitted and burned in a number of places. They had clearly come very close to a catastrophic hull breach during atmospheric entry.

“Hurry, let’s put a healthy distance between us and the shuttle,” Kirk said. The terrain around them was a field, with wooded areas in the distance.

Fuller pointed in the direction of the world’s sun, which was getting low in the sky. “The city is that way.”

They covered the distance at a jog, reaching the cover of the trees in less than five minutes. From there, Kirk took a moment and waited, watching the shuttle. Fuller had his tricorder out and said, “A number of life-forms heading out from the city…humanoid, almost certainly Klingon.”

“Now, Mister Jawer,” Kirk said.

The ensign adjusted his tricorder and said, “It will take a few seconds for the overload to build, then, well…there won’t be much left.”

“Good. Command may not be happy about the destruction of Starfleet property, but if we’re lucky the Klingons will think we all perished on impact.”

A moment later, the shuttle disappeared in a loud boom and an orange mushroom cloud. A moment after that the ground shook under their feet for a few seconds and then went still.

“An impressive display, Mister Jawer,” Kirk said. Then he turned to the group. “We no longer have transportation back to the ship and we have no means of subspace communications. Even if we had access to the Klingon communications network, we destroyed the relays for the system. The same measures that have hopefully prevented the Klingons from calling for help will prevent us from doing the same. And the Enterprise is under orders not to enter the system without a message from us that it’s safe to do so. I have no doubt that Mister Spock will carry out those orders.” And that Bones will object when he does so, he thought but didn’t add out loud. This time he needed Spock’s devotion to duty more than McCoy’s devotion to his friend. “As you can see, our situation is serious and our options are limited, but we do still have a mission: to prevent the Klingons from ever getting to use the weapons they’ve created here against the Federation. Once we’ve completed that mission, we can worry about how to get home. Any questions?”

“Just one, sir,” McCalmon said. “When can we start?”

Kirk smiled. “Immediately. We’ll head for the city. With any luck the Klingons will think we were killed in the crash, but they can still scan for us. We need to get close to a population center. Once there, we’ll be able to hide among the native population and plan our next move.”

Kirk and Fuller led the way through the forest, and they made good time. “How long until sunset?” Kirk asked.

“Less than two hours,” Fuller said.

“Good,” Kirk responded. Light didn’t make a difference to scanners, but darkness would make it easier for Kirk and his crew to approach the city by making it harder for cameras and Klingon guards to see them and make them out as Starfleet.

Kirk and Fuller kept a few paces ahead of the others. “They’re young, Michael, and there’s very little chance we will make it back to the Enterprise. How will your squad perform?”

“As well as any squad you or I have ever seen,” Fuller said. It was a clear reference to their days together on the U.S.S. Republic. They’d both been much younger then. Hell, the galaxy had been much younger then. “They’ll do whatever you ask of them and then some.”

Kirk knew their records and he had served briefly with Jawer on previous missions, but Fuller knew the people intimately. If he said they would perform, then they would. In his fifties, Michael Fuller was both the oldest and the most experienced security section chief in the fleet.

“And, Captain, the crew believes that you will get us off this rock when the mission is through,” Fuller said.

“I appreciate their faith, but you and I know that even if we succeed, there’s little chance-“

“With all due respect, Captain, after that landing, I believe anything is possible.”

Kirk smiled at that. “Fair enough, but first things first. We need to overcome the massive Klingon force here and find a way to destroy their weapon stockpiles.”

Fuller looked down at his tricorder. “There’s something big in the air coming this way.”

“Are they tracking us?” Kirk asked.

“Probably-they’re coming right for us.”

“Options?”

“Stand and fight, in which case we have a chance, or run, in which case they will pick us off from the air.”

“What does your scan show?”

Fuller checked the tricorder again. “It’s at least as big as a shuttle, and if it’s Klingon, you can bet it’s pretty heavily armed.” He paused for a second and said, “The book says that the odds of success for an unprotected ground team in a battle against armed air power are pretty low.”

Kirk gave Fuller a grim smile. “Then let’s give them something new to consider for the next edition of the book.”

“Yes, sir,” Fuller said.

Kirk turned to address the team. “We have a Klingon craft coming this way. They’re most likely tracking us. Our best chance is to fight. Disperse so you’re at least one hundred meters apart and then fire at will when the Klingon craft comes into range. Keep moving and keep up fire. We need to overwhelm the ship’s shields to take it down.”

The captain didn’t have to say that they would have to accomplish that before the vessel, which outgunned their combined firepower considerably, killed them all. No doubt, there would be casualties. For Kirk’s team, this would be a battle of attrition. The only question was whether or not they could defeat the Klingon ship before they were all dead…or before there were too few of them left to complete the mission…

Or before more Klingon ships came.

There were times when the odds were so bad that it didn’t pay to think about them. Kirk checked his phaser rifle and took position behind a large tree. The tree wouldn’t protect him from a direct hit from a shipborne Klingon disruptor, but it would hide him from a visual scan.

Kirk scanned the surrounding area. The rest of the team was also behind cover and he couldn’t see most of them, though he knew Fuller was nearest to him-following his security section chief’s instincts to protect his captain. Fuller was the most capable security officer the captain had ever seen, but Kirk had no illusions about his personal chances. Still, he appreciated the effort.

“Prepare to fire on my order,” Kirk said. “Aim for the underbelly first and take as many shots as you can at the rear near the drive exhaust.”

Scanning overhead, Kirk caught his first glimpse of the Klingon craft. It was not a class he recognized-it must have been new. The ship was about twice the size of a shuttlecraft, and boxy, but with no nacelles. He immediately saw that it was an atmospheric craft only. Even if they could somehow overpower the crew without damaging the ship, it wouldn’t get them into orbit, let alone deep space.

Kirk saw two exterior disruptor cannons, one mounted in the front and one on the side he could see. He assumed there were identical ones in the rear and on the other side of the ship. The ship had heft; it was no doubt armored, and the captain could hear the loud hum of the antigravity repulsors. Kirk realized that it was probably an armored troop carrier, of the kind the Klingons would need for an occupation force like the one they had on Chandra IV.

Fuller looked over at him expectantly, and Kirk held his hand up in a waiting gesture. He had an idea. If it worked, it might give them a chance. He waited until the shuttle was almost directly over their heads. It was less than fifty meters above them and close enough that Kirk could make out the exterior hull plating. The captain shouted “Fire!” as his own phaser rifle came alive in his hands. He aimed at where he judged the disruptors were on the ship and watched as his orange beam flared brightly against the shields.

The others fired practically simultaneously, and the five beams all made direct hits on the bottom shield. For a moment Kirk was glad that Fuller had insisted on the phaser rifles: they were more powerful than type-2 phasers and could keep up continuous fire for longer.

For a few seconds, the Klingon ship didn’t respond, and when it did, the Klingons did something Kirk did not expect. The ship tilted down about twenty degrees and the forward disruptor cannon fired, not directly at them but at a spot perhaps three hundred yards in the distance. The sound was a loud roar, and three trees in the distance exploded at their bases. The tall trees fell to the ground, and the blast left a large crater where it had touched ground.

Then the ship started to rotate, taking occasional shots in the distance around their position. The roar of the cannons and the explosions were nearly deafening as the forest erupted in a ring around them. The captain immediately knew what the Klingons were doing and why. Still, he kept up fire on the ship; their only hope was to knock out the shield and disable those disruptors.

The shield started to turn red on the bottom. It was a promising sign, but not nearly enough. The Klingons completed their circuit, having created a ring of craters and felled trees around them. The craft stopped rotating and shifted on its axis so that its front cannon was now pointing almost directly downward. Kirk and the others could still hit the bottom of the shield, but they were no longer getting clear straight-on shots. They were hitting the shield at an angle, and their shots had much less impact.

Once the Klingons start firing, this will be over in seconds, Kirk realized. He kept moving and firing, even though he knew it would all be moot soon. To his surprise, the Klingons’ next move was not to fire their weapons, it was to speak. “Earthers, stop firing on us immediately or we will destroy you.”

It was not an empty threat. “Cease fire,” Kirk called out. Almost immediately, the phaser beams ceased and the forest was suddenly quiet. The noises from insects and small animals were gone, and the air smelled of ozone and burnt wood.

Kirk found Fuller and the others with his eyes. Everyone was accounted for. He saw the disappointment and frustration in their faces. He felt it himself, combined with the feeling that he had let them all down. He had brought the shuttle down safely only so they could fall into the Klingons’ hands without doing a thing to help the people on this planet-or to complete their mission and report back to the Enterprise.

“Earthers, you are now prisoners of the Klingon Empire. Walk into the clearing. When you are in the open, throw down your weapons.”

Kirk thought about it for a second. They had no other real options, and on this, Starfleet guidelines were clear: preserve yourself and your team to complete your mission. Where there was life, there was hope, though Kirk knew that their lives would be fairly short now. Klingon interrogation was one of the worst deaths Kirk could imagine, and he vowed that he would find another option-that leading them to torture and death would not be his final act for his team.

“We’re going out to meet them,” Kirk said. Though he knew how they felt, the team was too professional to complain. They approached Kirk, who simply nodded to Fuller. “Our chances are better inside their ship. Wait for my signal.” Immediately their eyes brightened at the thought of taking action, no matter how high the odds were stacked against them.

Kirk walked carefully toward the open field and the Klingons, every instinct he had screaming for him to find another way, to fight, to do anything other than deliver himself and his people into their enemy’s hands. Whatever happened, he vowed that he would not let his people die in Klingon interrogation chambers.

They would fight once they got into the Klingon ship. And while their chances would be better in close quarters than they were against the ship-mounted heavy disruptor cannons, they wouldn’t be very good-Kirk had no illusions about that. On the other hand, any chance held possibilities.

As he stepped into the clearing, he made sure to point his phaser rifle toward the ground, and he looked around him to make sure the others were doing the same. There were ten Klingons in the clearing holding disruptors. Kirk and his team were outnumbered; still, he would have fought if not for the troop carrier’s disruptor pointed at them. A single blast could kill them all.

“Earthers,” one of the Klingons called out. “Throw down your pitiful weapons now.”

Against all logic, Kirk was still tempted to raise his phaser rifle and start shooting. He resisted the urge and said loudly and clearly, “Please cooperate with the Klingon’s instructions.” He nodded to Fuller, added a subtle hand sign, and tossed his phaser rifle on the ground in front of him. A moment later, Fuller did the same, as did the others. Then Kirk threw down the hand phaser at his side, and he heard the others follow suit.

Technically, Starfleet had no special instructions regarding surrendering to Klingons. There were regulations regarding surrender to superior forces, but nothing that specifically covered Klingons. Before the Battle of Donatu V, it was still widely believed that Klingons never took prisoners. After that battle and other skirmishes, conventional wisdom had been amended. Starfleet now knew that Klingons would keep prisoners alive briefly to act as hostages or for interrogation, or both.

Recent cultural reports from Starfleet Command suggested that prisoners were put to death relatively quickly after interrogation to spare them the indignity of captivity. Kirk looked at the sneering faces of the Klingons who were just a few meters away now. He had no doubt the Klingons would kill them, but he had no illusions that it would have anything to do with the landing party’s dignity.

“Earthers, you are now prisoners of the Klingon Empire. Though your future will be short and painful, you will be pleased to know that as pitiful as your lives are, in the end they will serve the greater glory of the Klingon people.”

As the leader and one of the others held their disruptors on the Starfleet officers, the other Klingons collected their weapons. It was then that Kirk first detected movement behind the Klingon troop carrier. It was people moving about. They were humanoid, and even at a distance he could see that they were not Klingons. Natives, he realized. He also saw that though they were making an effort to be stealthy, they clearly lacked formal training.

They were most likely partisans, but what were they doing here? Kirk kept his eyes on the Klingon leader, watching three people shift position behind the Klingon vessel. He had no idea whether the Chandrans were any good at this sort of operation. On the other hand, the landing party’s situation could hardly get worse, so any help was welcome.

The captain prepared himself to move quickly. He resisted the temptation to look over at Fuller and the others, counting on them to have noticed what was going on behind the Klingons and to have made themselves ready.

“Who is in command here?” the Klingon leader said.

Kirk stepped forward. “I am.”

The Klingon looked Kirk over, saw the sleeves of his uniform, and registered surprise. Then an unpleasant smile formed on his face. “A Starfleet captain?” Then the Klingon laughed. “You may be slightly less worthless to the empire than most humans.”

“I’m Captain James T. Kirk. My people and I are here to remove the Klingon presence from this planet and restore control of this world to the Chandran people.”

The Klingon laughed again. “Are there any more of you?”

“No, just the five of us,” Kirk said.

Klingon pointed to the pile of weapons on the ground and said, “You must be very formidable.”

“We are,” Kirk said, smiling.

Then all hell broke loose.

Two of the partisans who had sneaked up on the Klingons opened fire with disruptors. The Klingon leader took a blast directly in the back. The weapons, which Kirk assumed had been appropriated by the Chandrans, must have been set for stun, because the leader did not disintegrate. His body stiffened, his face registered surprise, and then he fell.

One of the other Klingon guards fell immediately, but the other two threw themselves to the ground just as two of the Chandrans in the distance burst into the Klingon troop carrier.

As the Klingons on the ground turned to open fire on the partisans, Kirk reached behind him and grabbed the type-1 phaser that was tucked under his tunic. In a single motion, he swung it around and fired, stunning one of the Klingon guards. An instant later, another phaser beam struck the other guard. Kirk looked to his right and saw that Fuller had fired the other shot with his own backup phaser. The others were all standing and had their phasers out.

“Collect the weapons and secure the area,” Fuller said.

Kirk heard weapons fire from inside the Klingon ship and was on the move before his mind registered the bad feeling in his stomach. He raced for the ship, knowing that if the Chandrans inside failed, this mission and any hope for the planet might die along with them. Kirk ran faster, noting that Fuller and Parmet were right behind him.

The captain was less than twenty meters from the vehicle when he heard it power up. His instincts screamed that something was wrong. A moment later, the body of one of the two Chandrans who had entered the vehicle was thrown out of the shuttle. It fell to the ground and Kirk saw a Klingon pulling on a second body and pushing it toward the door.

“Take him out,” Kirk said to Fuller. With his peripheral vision, Kirk saw Fuller come to a stop. A moment later, a single phaser beam struck the Klingon by the door directly in the chest. The stunned Klingon fell forward, landing on the ground next to the partisan.

The ship shuddered, about to take to the air. Kirk saw that the pilot must have realized that something was wrong and was trying to get into the air, where he could use his high-powered weapons. Kirk could not let that happen.

Kirk was less than two meters from the vehicle’s open door when it lifted off the ground. He took another two steps and threw himself at the still-open door. He was hoping to land inside, but the shuttle lurched upward and Kirk hit the lower deck with his chest. He threw his arms forward and reached for any purchase he could find. His fingers grabbed the grating that passed for a floor and held firm.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the shuttle was now at least fifty meters off the ground. He needed to get inside and fast. That was when the door started to slide shut. Kirk had no choice but to hold on. The door caught him in the side, hard, but slid open again. Obviously, the Klingons had the same safety feature that Starfleet had built into its automatic doors, but the Klingon version was much less gentle. Kirk knew that if he survived the day, he’d have a good-sized bruise on his right side.

The captain didn’t wait for the door to close again. He pulled himself up and inside the shuttle, rolling onto the floor and then up into a standing position. His phaser was in his hand as his feet found the floor. Looking around, Kirk saw no Klingons in the single chamber that took up the bulk of the interior of the ship.

The cockpit was a different story. It was open to the back, just large enough for two chairs. Only one of them was occupied. Kirk assumed this was the pilot, and the copilot was the Klingon that Fuller had stunned and who had fallen out of the ship.

“Frall?” the pilot called back.

Kirk didn’t answer. Instead he took three steps forward and shot the pilot once while the Klingon was turning around. The ship lurched and Kirk struggled to keep his feet. He took three more steps and pulled the unconscious Klingon out of the pilot’s chair. The ship was drifting more than falling down, but even so, Kirk had to move quickly. Whatever chance they had of surviving this mission depended, he was sure, on keeping this ship.

The controls were not identical to Starfleet standard, but close enough that Kirk was able to orient himself quickly. He found the stabilizers and then took the simple joystick in his hands. A quick scan of the controls confirmed that the ship was for atmospheric flight only. It wouldn’t get them into space. On the other hand, it was heavily armored and had powerful disruptor cannons. Whatever happened, the craft would be useful.

Bringing the ship around, Kirk scanned for the landing party and saw them on the edge of the clearing. He reached for his communicator, flipped it open, and said, “Kirk to Fuller.”

“Fuller here,” came the immediate reply.

“I have the ship and I will be there shortly,” he said.

The captain got the hang of the Klingon ship quickly. He had flown a number of atmospheric craft during flight training at the Academy. The control and flight principles were fairly universal. And Kirk had piloted all of the small Klingon craft that were kept in a special hangar at the Academy, though they were of a much older vintage than this crate.

He brought the ship down in the clearing near the wooded area. He opened the door and immediately Fuller was inside shouting, “Captain, we have a problem.”

Kirk was on his feet and turned to see Jawer leading one of the partisans into the ship. “Transponder/locator,” Fuller said, and Kirk immediately understood.

“Ensign Jawer, how long will it take you to locate it?” Kirk asked.

“I know where it is,” the Chandran said. The man was tall and thin, wearing glasses. Balding, he looked like an accountant. Yet he was clearly in charge as he made his way into the rear of the ship with Jawer in tow.

Pulling a tool from his belt, the Chandran opened a panel. He worked quickly but methodically.

Kirk turned to Fuller and said, “Load everyone up. Landing party, the Chandrans, and the Klingons.” Fuller nodded and went outside. Already, McCalmon had her field medical kit out and was treating an unconscious Chandran woman who was lying inside the ship. A moment later, two Chandrans appeared, carrying the partisan that the Klingon copilot had thrown out of the shuttle. This man was also unconscious, and McCalmon made a space for him.

The remaining Chandran and the members of the landing party carried in the unconscious Klingons and placed them with the pilot in the rear of the ship. Fuller left Parmet and Quatrocchi to guard them and said, “Stun anyone that moves.”

“Everyone is on board, Captain,” Fuller said. “We’ve also confiscated a dozen disruptors, as well as a number of blades of different kinds.”

Kirk nodded and turned to Jawer and the Chandran in the cockpit. “We have it, sir,” Jawer said.

“We should leave, now,” said the Chandran leader.

Kirk took his seat, hit the control to shut the door, and said, “Hang on, everyone.” The ship was designed to hold maybe twenty-five Klingons. They had nearly that number inside now, and the unconscious Klingons lying on the floor in the back were taking up a lot of room. Well, they could worry about the cramped quarters after they had reached safety.

“Even without the transponder, they can track us from the air,” the Chandran leader said.

“Not anymore they can’t. We destroyed their surveillance satellites in orbit. They will have only line-of-sight sensors,” Kirk said.

The Chandran nodded. Then he raised his hand and pointed to the range of mountains a few kilometers away.

“Anyone tracking us?” Kirk asked.

From the copilot seat, Fuller studied his tactical tricorder and said, “There’s nothing in the air. And I can’t detect any alerts.”

“Good, that means the pilot didn’t get out a distress call,” Kirk said. Klingons, he knew, were reluctant to announce they were in distress, let alone call for help. That quirk of culture and psychology had worked in their favor this time-one of the few things that had gone right on this mission so far.

“Do you know how long before the Klingons realize they have lost a ship?” Kirk asked the Chandran.

“Not long, but they will not find us here,” the Chandran leader said. “The iron ore and other minerals in the mountains confuse their sensing devices.” Kirk nodded, impressed by what he had seen of the locals so far. They may not have been warriors by nature, but they clearly had some technical knowledge and knew something about fighting the Klingons.

They might be allies after all. If nothing else, they were providing the landing party with a safe haven. The Chandran guided him through two passes in the mountains, and pointed Kirk toward a level area a few hundred meters wide. Twice during the short trip, Kirk heard rustling in the back and the sound of phaser fire. He didn’t have to turn around to know that Fuller had stunned Klingons who had started to stir.

From the air the area looked empty, but when the shuttle landed, Kirk saw that there were a number of large tents camouflaged to look like the ground from the air. As soon as they landed, there were suddenly dozens of people in the formerly empty clearing. At least ten of them were armed.

“You are Starfleet?” the Chandran leader said.

“Yes,” Kirk said.

“Stay behind me and my people. You will not be harmed,” he said.

“I am Captain James T. Kirk. What can I call you?” Kirk asked.

The Chandran looked momentarily embarrassed, as if he had forgotten his manners. “My name is Minister Denn. It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain James T. Kirk.”

With a nod, Denn headed for the door of the personnel carrier. His people followed, and then Kirk led the landing party outside. The Chandrans then looked at the landing party with interest. Denn gave instructions to one of his people, who quickly disappeared into a tent and came out a few seconds later with more Chandrans carrying stretchers. The landing party had to step aside so the Chandrans could get into the Klingon craft. They quickly came out with the unconscious Chandrans and Klingons and carried them away on the stretchers.

Clearly, whatever the Chandrans lacked in tactical experience, they more than made up for in organization. Denn approached Kirk and said, “Come, we have much to discuss.”

He gestured to five other Chandrans and led them all toward a tent. Inside there was a table around which the six Chandrans and five Starfleet officers sat. What struck Kirk about the Chandrans was their unassuming appearance. The three men and three women who sat next to Denn each looked, as their leader did, like an accountant. Though they all wore Klingon disruptors at their sides, the weapons looked out of place on people who looked nothing like dedicated resistance fighters.

“You are from the Federation, from Starfleet?” Denn asked.

“Yes,” Kirk said. “How do you know about us?”

“The Klingons told us about the Federation and its Starfleet, though I always suspected that what they told us was mostly lies. We appropriated one of their machines and have been monitoring their long-distance communications. We have little doubt about what the Klingons are. And we know that the Federation and the Klingon Empire will soon be at war. A war for which we are making weapons, weapons that will be used to take other worlds like ours, to make other people serve the empire.”

“Yes,” Kirk said simply. “May I ask who you are? Are you in charge here?”

Denn smiled. “I was a minister in this region of Chandra. Our world has five autonomous regions, each one with its own leadership and ministries. I was Minister of Building, in charge of construction projects and so forth. Under the current circumstances, I’m afraid the title is honorary. I am, however, the highest ranking member of the region’s leadership still alive.”

“We are genuinely sorry for what happened to your world,” Kirk said.

“Captain Kirk,” Denn said. “Have you come with a ship to remove the Klingons from this planet?”

“No.” Kirk felt a moment of shame at the admission. “Our mission was reconnaissance. We had a small craft that crashed and was destroyed. Now we are cut off from our mother ship, a larger vessel capable of interstellar travel.” Kirk paused for a moment, debating with himself about how much to tell these people. “Our ship, the Enterprise, has orders to destroy the Klingon weapons stockpiles on your planet.”

“Not to help us?” Denn said.

Kirk hesitated. “Our primary orders are to deny the Klingons any of the weapons they have made here, then to eliminate the Klingon presence, if possible.”

Denn gave him a thin smile. “That is a mission we understand.” Before Kirk could speak again, Denn rose and raised his hand to silence him. “We must consider these developments. Please wait.”

He and the other Chandrans filed out of the tent, and Kirk turned to his people and said, “Thoughts?”

“We need to focus our efforts on getting back to the ship,” Fuller said.

“That may be impossible,” McCalmon said. “And fighting the Klingons here would still help defend the Federation against the Klingon Empire.”

Kirk turned his attention to the others. “Ensign Jawer?”

The young ensign thought for a second. “We can do more good in the fight on board the Enterprise.”

Quatrocchi shrugged. “I don’t like the idea of leaving these people to the Klingons. And we would have to fight our way through the Klingons to get offworld-if there even are warp-capable transports on the surface.”

The captain weighed the options. He had a great deal of faith in Fuller and his team, but the landing party was still only five people in total. Whatever path they chose, it would very likely be their last mission.

They could commit themselves to helping the resistance movement on the planet, but even if the Chandrans were successful, the process could take months, if not longer. By then the war would be over. And long before the process was finished, one or more Klingon warships would arrive to pick up the arms that had been made in Chandran factories.

Yet he had a good feeling about these people. They were capable and had already had some success. Perhaps with the landing party’s tactical experience and their own knowledge of the Klingon operation, the Chandrans could take back their world. Kirk felt a strong pull to help them.

When in doubt, remember your Starfleet oath, one of his early COs had told him on board the Republic.

Well, his oath required him to offer assistance to any and all sentient beings that requested it, and the Chandrans certainly qualified there. But then, of course, his oath also required him to protect and defend the Federation and its member worlds-and to do that he had to do his best to defeat the larger Klingon fleet.

Kirk had once asked that same CO what he should do if he had a conflict like the one he faced now. The answer had been simple, and one he had never forgotten: Then it’s your job to simply know what to do.

The captain did know what to do. The fact was that he had known all along, even though he didn’t feel completely comfortable with the course he knew he had to take.

“Even if the Chandrans manage to win their freedom and somehow escape annihilation when the next Klingon warship arrives, that freedom won’t last very long if the Klingons win the coming war,” Kirk said. “I know that none of you want to leave these people, but we can do them, and the Federation, the most good if we see that the Klingons are defeated, and quickly. And our best chance of doing that is on board the Enterprise.”

Kirk could see that some of the party, particularly McCalmon, wanted to make a stand here, but the security people were too well trained to question a command decision once it had been made.

“What now, Captain?” Fuller asked.

“We find a suitable transport and rendezvous with the Enterprise,” Kirk said flatly.

“Sir, we don’t even know if they have anything like that on the planet…” Jawer said.

“And, as per your orders, the Enterprise should no longer be in the area,” McCalmon said.

“Do you have a plan, Captain?” Fuller asked.

“Yes, I plan to succeed,” Kirk said. Then he smiled and added, “I will provide more details as they become available.” Every member of the landing party smiled back. They were ready, Kirk realized. He only hoped that when the time came he would be able to fill in those missing details.

Just a few minutes later, Denn and the other Chandrans returned. “Captain Kirk, we have considered your situation and we are prepared to offer you whatever help we can give you.”

For a moment, Kirk wasn’t sure he had heard the Chandran correctly. “You are prepared to help us…”

“Yes, but we will have to move quickly,” Denn said.

Kirk shot Fuller a look, and the older man flashed a rare smile. “What do you have in mind?” the captain asked.

Chapter Nine

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

NEAR THE KLINGON BORDER

THE FIRST THING that McCoy noticed when he walked into the briefing room was that Spock was not at Jim’s place at the head of the briefing table. That was unusual because it was protocol for the acting commander to sit in that chair. Instead, Spock was sitting at his usual place in front of the computer terminal.

Of course, the first officer’s face was unreadable as his hands flew over the terminal. McCoy realized that, as with everything else Spock did, he had a logical reason for breaking protocol. As the others entered the room, Spock called up an image on the three-sided screen in the center of the briefing room table. It was a computer display of a portion of the Federation-Klingon border with an image of the Enterprise on the far right and a graphic of a star marked CHANDRA on the other side.

McCoy was a doctor, not a cartographer, but even he could see that there were at least three sectors between the ship and its captain, if that captain was even still alive.

“Mister Scott, report,” Spock said.

“All systems nominal,” the chief engineer said, not taking his eyes off the viewscreen. “And we’ve finished the last of the shakedown tests on the upgraded systems. Weapons, shields, and scanners are performin’ above specifications. She’s ready, sir.”

“Excellent,” Spock said. McCoy imagined that he heard a hint of impatience in the first officer’s voice but dismissed the idea. It was all too easy to read human emotions into Spock’s behavior-of course, he was half human, something McCoy never tired of reminding him.

“Mister Giotto,” Spock said with a nod.

“The new sensors show no sign of incursion in our patrol area. And not just no incursion, but no sign of Klingon activity. No warships, not even merchant activity.”

“Analysis,” Spock said.

“They’re planning something,” Giotto said. “A massive strike, most likely.”

“I concur,” Spock said. Then he turned to the communications officer. “Lieutenant Uhura.”

There it was again, McCoy thought, that hint of impatience, this time harder for the doctor to dismiss.

If Uhura heard that undertone, she gave no sign. “Very little signal activity. Just the usual subspace chatter. If anything, there’s less activity than usual. I think the Klingons are trying very hard not to make us suspicious, which, of course, makes me very suspicious.”

“Any signals at all from the Chandra system, or the surrounding sectors?” Spock asked, and McCoy understood what was going on. Spock had been conducting the meeting in the proper order, but he had been waiting for Uhura’s report, to see if there was any sign of the captain.

“Nothing, sir-no subspace communications of any kind from the system. That tells me that the captain probably succeeded in destroying the communications relays.”

“If that’s true and the shuttle’s been damaged, how can the captain signal to us, even if he is all right?” McCoy asked.

“He cannot,” Spock said.

Sulu added, “And it’s just a matter of time before one or more Klingon warships and cargo vessels come to pick up supplies from the planet.”

“True,” Spock said. “It is likely that the landing party is in great danger.”

There was silence in the room. To McCoy’s surprise, it was Spock who broke it. “We have our orders, but we also have considerable resources on board this ship. Mister Scott, perhaps you could work with Lieutenant Uhura and Mister Giotto to further increase power to sensors and subspace receivers.” Then Spock did something he almost never did in conversation: he hesitated. “I ask all of you to assist in solving the problem of retrieving the landing party. In addition to input based on your individual expertise, I will accept suggestions based on intuition or other nontraditional modes of problem solving of the kind often employed by the captain himself.”

It took effort for McCoy to keep his mouth from dropping open. It also took him a moment to realize that the room had not just gone silent but still. Had Spock just admitted that logic wasn’t enough to save Jim and the others? Had he just made an appeal for an emotional solution to their problem?

That was as close to a desperate plea as McCoy had ever seen Spock make. In the past, the doctor would have enjoyed watching Spock squirm, but he found that it unnerved him.

“Dismissed,” Spock said, his face impassive.

The department heads made their exit, but McCoy lagged behind. He waited until everyone was gone and approached Spock, who was engrossed in the computer terminal. The doctor put a hand on Spock’s shoulder, and the Vulcan started as if he had received a mild jolt.

Pulling his hand away and forcing a smile, McCoy said, “Spock, you’ve done all you could, and they’ll do all they can. In the meantime, no one expects a miracle from you.”

Spock got up quickly and turned. “Doctor, you misunderstand me once again. I am merely bringing all assets to bear on a serious problem. Purely a logical move. As for your implied concern for my emotional state, I find it insulting. Now, I am required on the bridge, and I’m sure that you also have duties to attend to.”

Spock left the briefing room, and McCoy wondered how he was able to give the impression of storming out while he took his usual carefully measured steps.

Blasted Vulcan, the doctor thought, and headed for sickbay.

Denn was showing a map to Kirk. “We have five major population centers. The Klingons control each one, and this city houses their central command.”

“That’s good. The Klingons have a highly centralized command structure. If we can strike them hard here”-Kirk pointed to one section of the map-“the commands in the other cities will still fight, but their coordination will be virtually nonexistent.”

Denn nodded. “We’ve seen something of that from our few raids on smaller facilities. There seems to be some pride involved as well. They are reluctant to ask each other for help.”

Kirk smiled. “We’ve observed the same thing. You should also know that they probably don’t think very much of your people as a threat.”

“That much we’ve seen. What do they think of your Federation as a threat?” Denn asked.

“Not very much,” Kirk said. “In fact, we’re going to be counting on that and our ability to give them a surprise in the coming war.”

Denn nodded. “Then we shall have to do the same. Our plans were always for a single large strike.”

“Good. Our analysts would agree with you, but do you have the communications network required to do that over all five regions?”

“Yes. Our communications satellite systems are still in place. The Klingons monitor everything, so they don’t care if we talk to one another. In fact, now that you have apparently destroyed the Klingon satellites, we have a temporary communications advantage. We use obscure dialects and coded transmissions that, so far, have not sent up any alarms. Of course, we realize that that will not continue forever. From our point of view, the Klingons are brutish, but they are not stupid. Our chief advantage so far is that they have relatively few personnel on the planet.”

Kirk couldn’t help but be impressed. The Chandrans had not only offered their help, but they had done so knowing full well what they were up against; and they, at least, had a plan. At the moment, Kirk decided that he would not want to bet against them.

“Excuse me, but did you say you were an engineer before this?” Kirk asked.

Denn smiled and said, “Yes, but a mediocre one. I was, however, a very able administrator. Those skills have proven far more useful in these times.”

“I have to be honest with you, Minister Denn, even if your initial strike is successful and you shatter their command, each individual Klingon will fight until his or her own death. They will not surrender and will not allow themselves to be taken captive. You need to know that even a victory for your people will be costly.”

“Captain, we have learned something about the larger galaxy since the Klingons came here. They use our people to help with some of their computer systems and communications. We know of the Federation, even a bit of its history, at least from the Klingon perspective. Though we do not have star travel ourselves, we have imagined for years that it was possible-and we have imagined what other peoples might be like. But there are some things we were not prepared for. We did not have a word for slavery, Captain Kirk. We have never practiced it, even in our earliest history. And now that we know what it is, we will do what we have to do to free ourselves. We know there will be a price, but we will pay it.”

Kirk understood. “Then I thank you for diverting resources to help us.”

Denn smiled again. “We will not be diverting many resources, Kirk. And I well know that any victory we achieve here will mean nothing if the Federation loses the war. The Klingons will be back and will likely destroy us for resisting them, even temporarily. For now, it is in our best interests to get you back to your ship and to destroy the weapons built here so that they cannot be used against you.”

Parrish nodded, and Captain Bastielli hit a button on the copilot’s console and said, “This is Captain Richard Bastielli of the cargo vessel Antares. I would like to speak to someone in charge of the vessel that is pursuing us.” Bastielli paused and then said, “We know that you’re Klingon, and we know that you’ll overtake our position in less than one hour. I would like to speak with you to avoid an unpleasant confrontation.”

A Klingon face appeared on the small viewscreen on the copilot’s console. He sneered. “I am Qovad, captain of the Fang. We have nothing to discuss, Earther, and I intend to find our confrontation extremely pleasant-unless you would like to simply surrender to me now.”

“I am prepared to surrender my cargo, but I would like some assurances first.”

That got Qovad’s attention. It also fed into Klingon cultural prejudices against humans and the belief that they were cowardly by nature. “I am in a position to take what I want from you and am prepared to give you no assurances of any kind.”

“I have no doubt that your vessel could defeat mine,” Bastielli said, and Parrish could see that it pained him to say it, even if he didn’t believe it. “However, I am prepared to destroy my cargo to make sure that you never lay your hands on it.”

Qovad didn’t speak for a moment. He expected surrender from humans, but not this. That was good, because for their plan to work they would have to keep the Klingons off balance.

“What do you want?” the Klingon said.

“I have women and children on board. I want your guarantee that you will simply take my cargo and go, that you will not harm my ship or any of my crew.”

“I doubt you have the courage to destroy yourselves,” Qovad barked.

“Then I encourage you to find out,” Bastielli said.

Qovad gave a surprisingly human sigh. “Very well, I would have preferred to fight, but if you insist on surrendering without one, so be it. You have my assurance that your ship and crew will not be harmed.”

Parrish didn’t believe it for a second. Klingons had a particularly strong distaste for foes who surrendered themselves, and she knew they usually killed prisoners quickly, partly out of disgust and partly to spare the prisoners the “dishonor” of captivity.

“Come to a full stop and we will accept your cargo,” Qovad said. “And no tricks, Earther, or I will kill each and every one of you personally, and I will do it slowly.”

Qovad’s face disappeared as the Klingons broke the communication. “Full stop,” Bastielli said to the pilot, whose full name, Parrish had learned, was George Deeks.

Deeks worked the controls and a few seconds later said, “Coming out of warp now.” After a few more seconds, he said, “Decelerating from full impulse.” It took five minutes before he announced, “Full stop.”

Bastielli’s wife, Elana, checked the scanners and said, “The Fang’s right behind us.”

Parrish leaned down and said to Bastielli, “Be ready to fight if anything goes wrong.”

The captain nodded, and then the console beeped and Qovad reappeared on-screen. “We are showing energy interference. What are you doing, Earther?”

“We overloaded our control circuits running from you, Captain Qovad,” Bastielli said, sounding panicked. “We’re making repairs now. If it’s making transporter operation difficult, give us a little time.”

“I grant you nothing. Prepare to dock. I will transmit exact instructions. If you deviate in any way, I will blow you out of space.”

“We will follow your instructions,” Bastielli said.

“I have the data,” Deeks said. “It’ll take me a minute to get into position.”

Bastielli got up quickly and led Parrish to the transporter pads. Daniels, the ship’s technician, was waiting at the controls and said, “I’ve increased the interference, it will conceal the transporter power-up. At least partly.”

Parrish nodded. Their plan depended on the Fang not reading that the Antares had an operational transporter.

Otherwise, Qovad would never have been foolish enough to lower his shields and dock with the ship.

“I’ve got to get to the airlock,” Bastielli said. “Good luck, Lieutenant.”

“Good luck to you, Captain,” she said, watching him hurry away.

A few seconds later, his voice came through the intercom. “We’re in position. The Fang’s shields are down, and they’re extending their docking tube to our aft airlock.”

“Power up now,” Parrish said. Daniels nodded.

After several long seconds, Parrish said, “Well?”

“It’s taking longer than it should, but we haven’t done a power-up from a completely cold system since we installed the transporter,” Daniels said.

Parrish felt the plan and their chances dissolving around them. “Override the safeties. Flood the system.”

“We could overload,” Daniels said.

“In twenty more seconds, it won’t matter,” Parrish said.

“Done, we’re at full power, but I don’t know if-“

“Energize now!” Parrish said.

Bastielli’s voice came from the intercom. “The Klingons are inside the airlock. They’ve disabled the controls somehow and they’re trying to breach the door. I don’t know how long we can keep them out.”

That was it-there went the plan, which depended on Parrish getting onto the Klingon ship and disabling its weapons before the Klingon captain could either get on board the Antares or give the order to destroy it.

Before the thought was fully formed in her mind, the transporter beam took her. The Enterprise’s last mission before she left the ship was a rescue operation of Federation prisoners held on board a Klingon freighter. Her squad had performed a miracle; they had rescued all the prisoners without losing a single member of the team. However, Parrish herself had not been able to go. Following Starfleet regulations, Captain Kirk had judged that the mission was too dangerous for her while she was pregnant.

Though she had resisted, she knew now that Kirk had been right. There were others who could lead the mission. Michael Fuller had proven that by bringing everyone home safely. But that was on a starship where there were over four hundred fully trained officers on board.

On the Antares, she was the closest they had to an active Starfleet officer. And pregnant or not, she was the best qualified to do what had to be done next. On the Enterprise, she had had to wait in safety while others put their lives on the line. Now, with war looming and civilian skirmishes like this one beginning, there was no safe place-not in the Federation, and certainly not in the sectors near the Klingon border.

For Parrish and for her and Jon’s baby, the best chance of survival came from beaming into the belly of the beast even as the plan went all to hell. She waited as the Klingon ship took shape around her. She had beamed through with her phaser drawn. Actually, it wasn’t her phaser, it was Jon’s, given to her by Captain Kirk in sickbay while she was recovering from wounds sustained in the Battle of Starbase 42.

That and his communicator were the only things of Jon’s that she had been able to keep. And now, her life depended on what she did with that phaser in the next few seconds. Parrish had wanted to take no chances-she had ordered Daniels to put her right inside the bridge, right behind the pilot, who would be able to hear and see her materialization. It would have been safer to beam in just behind the door to the bridge, but if the pilot detected her and it took her even a few seconds to breach the door, the Klingon would have time to fire on the Antares.

As the Fang’s bridge formed around her, she watched the pilot get up from his seat and turn toward her. There was surprise on his face as he reached for his sidearm, a disruptor that he drew quickly. It was a race that played out in fractions of a second. Parrish willed her hand to fire the phaser, but the stasis effect of the transporter beam held her in place.

Keeping herself focused on the Klingon, she watched as he swung his disruptor up and aimed it. In an instant, Parrish saw that it would be very close.

Finally, she could move, immediately adjusting her aim and firing as she did so. The blue phaser beam took the Klingon directly in the chest. He flew backward, and Parrish struck him again with another heavy stun blast. Falling to the deck, the Klingon went limp.

The bridge was hers. And if the scanners were right, all of the other Klingons were on board the Antares. According to the plan, they were supposed to have been trapped in the airlock, but the freighter’s transporter had been slow and Bastielli had told her that he was about to let them inside. She could only hope that the captain, who had once been a Starfleet officer many years ago, had been able to improvise something.

She studied the control console and found the scanners quickly. After she had learned that Jon was in fact a Klingon in disguise, Parrish had begun studying the Klingon language and culture. She had picked up enough to read simple signage and found the sensors quickly. Scanning the Klingon vessel, she confirmed that there were no other Klingons on board.

Next, she found the communications controls, hit a switch, and said, “Parrish to Antares, come in.”

There was no reply. She waited a few seconds and said, “Parrish to Antares. Captain Bastielli? Mister Deeks?”

There was another pause and then a voice-a Klingon voice. “This is Qovad.”

Parrish felt her heart sink into her stomach.

“I want to talk to Captain Bastielli,” she said.

“You are in a position to demand nothing. In a moment, I will begin throwing Earthers out of this airlock, starting with the child.”

“You do that and I will destroy you, your crew, and the Antares cargo,” Parrish said.

“Go ahead. I wanted cargo, but I will settle for revenge, and you will watch your shipmates die.”

Qovad broke off the communication, and Parrish was left alone on the bridge, out of options and out of time. No, that wasn’t true, she still had options, but all of them were bad and none of them meant survival for the crew of the Antares.

Even if she couldn’t save the lives of Bastielli and the others, she would make sure that the Klingon Empire never benefited from the ore that the Antares carried. She would also make sure that the Klingons did not throw a single member of the crew into space.

Parrish found the airlock controls. It took her a few seconds, and then she was able to disengage the airlock, separating the Klingon ship from the Earth vessel.

Though she had basic piloting skills, Parrish didn’t have time to work out the helm controls, so she used thrusters to move the Klingon ship out and turn it to face the freighter.

The weapon controls were easy to find. She called up the targeting system and aimed the Fang’s disruptors at the Antares.

Chapter Ten

CHANDRA IV

WHEN KIRK WAS at the Academy, he had flown every type of ship he could get his hands on: atmospheric, sublight, and warp. The rule of thumb for any new vessel was fifty hours in a simulator followed by another fifty hours at live controls before a pilot would be certified for that vessel. Now, Kirk and Quatrocchi had had less than one hour at the controls of the Klingon armored personnel carriers, craft they were about to take into combat.

Of course, nothing about this mission had been ideal. And the fact was that there were three Chandran pilots who were at the controls of other Klingon atmospheric craft who had no flight experience on modern craft. The Chandrans had all been civilian pilots on a planet that had had no military aviation simply because it had no military. They had flown fixed-wing lift-based craft.

Now, they were at the controls of antigrav vessels with modern propulsion systems. Fortunately, basic piloting controls for pitch and yaw seemed to be universal. Kirk and Quatrocchi had given each of the Chandran pilots a quick orientation (with the power down, of course, to avoid detection). Now success depended on how well and how quickly the Chandran pilots got the feel of their ships. Of course, historically pilots of lift-based craft always had an easier time flying with antigrav systems than the other way around. Fixed-wing ships were far less forgiving of mistakes than more advanced ones.

And the Chandrans were fighting for their lives, the lives of their families, and the fate of their world.

“Two minutes until landing site,” Jawer said from the copilot’s seat.

“Acknowledged,” Kirk said. “Is your team ready, Mister Fuller?”

“Yes, sir,” Fuller said. Kirk could hear the smile in the section chief’s voice behind him. Fuller’s “team” consisted of just himself and Parmet. Yet, unless they succeeded in their mission, whatever else happened, the landing party would be trapped on the planet.

“Two thousand meters,” Jawer said.

“I have visual,” Kirk said, able to see the break in the trees up ahead.

“There’s nothing in the air around us,” Jawer said, checking his tricorder. The Klingon ship had sensors of a sort, but the tricorder was easier for the landing party to operate. Similarly, the team was staying off the Klingon comm channels and using their own communicators. Each of the two-person teams had kept one communicator, giving the others to Denn and other Chandran teams piloting the other stolen Klingon craft.

The Chandrans had an extensive wired communications system and limited wireless capabilities. However, there was no telling how long the system would hold up once the fighting started.

Because Kirk was skimming the tops of the trees, he could not see the clearing fully until he was almost on top of it. He reduced speed sharply and hovered for an instant before bringing the Klingon craft straight down for a landing in the small, grassy clearing.

When they were on the ground, he turned and locked eyes with Michael Fuller. “Mister Fuller, Mister Parmet, good luck.”

Fuller gave him a tight smile and said, “You too, Captain.” He hit a button next to the door and it swung open. Without an instant of hesitation, he leapt onto the ground, with Parmet quickly following him. Kirk hit a button on his control panel that closed the door.

“They’re clear,” Jawer said, and Kirk got the ship airborne. He felt a moment of regret, knowing that he had almost certainly sent Michael Fuller to his death, just as he had sent Michael’s son Sam to his death.

Kirk’s only consolation was that his own chances were at least as bad as Fuller’s and Parmet’s. Maybe that was the difference, the idea that he was not asking any of his crew to take risks greater than those he was taking himself.

Back on the Enterprise, Kirk had told Spock, McCoy, and the others that he was leading the landing party because the mission required command-level decision-making and responsibilities-because Chandra IV might end up being the flashpoint for all-out war.

That was all true, but he knew that there was something else at work as well: his frustration at sending too many good people on missions from which they never returned, leaving too many grieving parents like Michael Fuller to pick up the pieces.

Kirk heard Jawer on his communicator, coordinating with the other vessels. A few seconds later, the ensign said, “One minute to contact.”

The captain found their destination on the scope. “Ready weapons,” Kirk said. For a troop carrier, the Klingon ship had good tactical scanners and weapons. And given the odds they were facing, Kirk knew they would need every advantage they could get.

Kirk could see the field less than half a kilometer away. He could also see the other ships now on his scope, which meant they must be lighting up every early warning system the Klingons had.

“I’m showing twenty targets on the ground, and another several in the hangars,” Jawer said, looking into his tricorder.

Kirk had visual of the Klingon shuttles, transports, and other vehicles on the ground. He also had a visual on the main hangar, which he recognized from the images Denn had showed him.

“And the Klingons don’t seem to have anything in the air,” Jawer said, which Kirk confirmed on his own tactical scope. Allowing himself a moment of hope, the captain saw that they just might succeed in taking out the Klingon vessels on the ground.

It was in that instant that an alarm sounded on the board in front of him. A light flashed, and Jawer worked his hands over the panel, trying to figure out what it was. Without thinking, Kirk threw the craft into evasive maneuvers.

A fraction of a second later, Kirk saw the flash of disruptor fire portside. “Someone has a weapons lock on us,” Jawer said.

So much for their luck holding out, Kirk thought.

When Fuller hit the ground, he felt the rush of cool air on his face. As usual on a mission like this, Fuller was acutely aware of the world around him. The green of the grass, the smell of the air, the sound of the birds. Every sense was heightened.

The feeling was familiar, good even. In fact, the extra alertness and awareness had saved his life on many missions, missions on which others had not been so lucky. This time, the feeling was mixed with something else, something that surprised him.

Michael Fuller did not want to die.

Since his son Sam’s death, Fuller had taken his own death for granted. He had been prepared to die trying to stop the Klingons, though he knew now that what he really wanted was revenge.

And when he had an opportunity to take revenge against Klingons from the same ship whose crew had killed Sam, he had resisted because it would have meant killing a planet full of primitive, innocent Klingons-as well as some of his own crew members.

Fuller was horrified at how close he had come to doing the unthinkable. In the end he believed that his son had saved him from doing so. Somehow, Sam had given him the strength to resist his own worst impulses. Of course, Sam had been dead for months by then, so it was impossible, yet Fuller believed-no, knew-it to be true.

It was not the first impossible but true thing he’d seen in his career, and he wasn’t sure, even now, that it would be the last.

As Fuller and Parmet headed for the building ahead of them, Fuller realized that his own desire to live was a remarkable development, perhaps as remarkable as his own son helping him even after death.

Of course, Fuller had known a lot of officers over the years who had wanted to live and had not gotten what they wanted. And on a very deep level, Fuller knew that he had been living on borrowed time for the last twenty-five years, since the Battle of Donatu V.

Still, where there is life there is hope, as his own training had taught him decades before. He had instilled the same lesson in each of the officers who had passed through his squads over the years. Some of those officers-too few, but some-had lived to pass along that lesson to others.

“Do you have a plan, sir?” Parmet asked when they came to the edge of the trees and stopped to survey the building. It was not like the Chandran hangars the Klingons were using in the nearby field. This was clearly prefabricated Klingon construction. The Klingons were wise to keep this particular ship away from the others. As the only warp-capable shuttle in the city, and possibly on the planet, it was very valuable.

It would be the only escape for the Klingon commanders on this world in the event of a successful uprising. And now it was the landing party’s only hope of returning to the Enterprise.

“My plan?” Fuller said, looking at the earnest anticipation on Parmet’s face. The young ensign had actually studied Fuller’s career. He’d mistakenly assumed that because of the success of some of Fuller’s missions over the years-more than one of which was still taught at the Academy-Fuller had been more smart and brave than lucky.

Parmet’s feelings arose from the fact that he had been a child on Lynwood IV and it was Fuller’s team that had stormed a fortified position to rescue him and other settlers-though not enough of the settlers, as it turned out. Parmet’s parents had both been killed in the raid.

Fuller simply smiled and said, “My plan is that we are going to improvise and succeed in our mission.”

Parmet nodded as if Fuller had just outlined a clear strategy for meeting a reasonable objective. “Understood.”

The look of trust on the ensign’s face pulled at Fuller’s heart. He knew that Parmet would follow him anywhere-and only partly out of the young man’s own strong sense of duty.

Fuller only wished he could be worthy of that trust and could offer the ensign something better than the likely outcome of this mission.

“Give me a reading,” Fuller said.

Parmet studied his tricorder. “I show twenty life signs inside, almost certainly all Klingon. No guards outside.”

“Good. First, we take out the security sensors.” Fuller pointed at the two twelve-meter-high posts on either side of the building. Gesturing for Parmet to follow, Fuller lay down on his stomach and aimed his phaser rifle at the meter-wide ball at the top of a post on their right. He adjusted the rifle for the lowest possible setting and said, “Aim for the one on the left. Start at low power and slowly increase the strength of the beam until the sensor blows. Begin a few seconds after I do.”

Parmet nodded. “So it looks like an overload, cascading from one to the other?”

“Exactly,” Fuller replied, lining up the target, and firing his own phaser. He made a direct hit and kept the beam focused on the sensor. Slowly, he began to increase the power.

A few seconds later, he heard Parmet’s rifle fire. His peripheral vision told him that the ensign had scored an immediate hit as well. Fuller was pleased with how Parmet had come along. The young man had done fine in his Starfleet training, but he had been in the bottom half of his class in physical training and marksmanship. Yet, in the few weeks since his arrival on the Enterprise, Parmet had improved tremendously in hand-to-hand skills, in marksmanship, and in his overall physical condition.

Fuller had seen it before. Most often, the people who excelled in active duty were the ones who had excelled at the Academy-as Sam had done. But sometimes, officers flourished on the job. And other times, men and women who had graduated at the top of their classes fell apart on active-duty missions.

When they had first met, Fuller had wondered if Parmet was cut out for security work. Now he was concerned that Parmet’s career would be cut short before he had had a chance to reach his full potential.

After about a minute, Fuller saw his sensor array begin to smoke. He gave it another few seconds of direct fire, and then it flashed in a nearly perfect imitation of an overload. Releasing the firing button on his rifle, Fuller looked over at Parmet, whose target was just beginning to smoke. A short time later, the sensor ball flared and the Klingons inside the facility were blind on this side, at least electronically.

“Stay low and move fast,” Fuller said, leading the way to the nearest corner of the building. They reached it without drawing any immediate attention.

Parmet had his tricorder out and was scanning. “Still just twenty inside, and they’re spread out. Looks like there’s some cover in there as well.”

Nodding, Fuller said, “Good, we can separate and pick them off. With some luck, we can keep moving and keep them off balance until they are all down.”

“That sounds like a plan, sir,” Parmet said.

Fuller smiled, and in the very next instant everything changed. He heard the sound of distant disruptor fire, almost immediately followed by a loud siren. It’s begun, he realized. Well, no one’s luck lasted forever. And no one understood that better than Starfleet security.

“They’re moving, converging on the shuttle,” Parmet said, looking at his tricorder.

“Change of plan. We make a direct assault, now, while they’re still figuring out what is going on.”

It would give the two officers their best chance of succeeding in their mission, if not surviving. The Klingons would be confused for a short time at least and would probably assume the alarm was a drill. They would not expect an uprising from the Chandrans, and they would definitely not be expecting the locals to be assisted by Starfleet. It would be a very slight advantage, and it would not last long.

“Yes, sir,” Parmet said immediately. Then his tricorder chirped and he glanced at it. “Another dozen life signs headed this way on foot. They’ll be here in two minutes.”

That settled it. “We need to move now. Our primary objective is to secure the shuttle. If we can’t do that, we have to make sure that it doesn’t enter into the fight.” Unlike their Starfleet counterparts, Klingon warp-capable shuttles were heavily armed, even more so than the atmospheric craft that the captain had commandeered.

“I know what we’re up against, but you’ve faced worse odds, haven’t you, sir?” the young man said. His look of simple confidence broke Fuller’s heart. The ensign was putting all of his faith in his section chief.

Too many times that faith in a superior was all that an officer had, even when it wasn’t enough-especially when it wasn’t enough.

Fuller did the only thing he could do, the thing he had done too many times in the past for young men and women who were about to die: he lied through his teeth. “Much worse. Let’s show them how we do things in Starfleet. The captain’s waiting for us.”

Parmet nodded.

“Let’s hit them from the loading dock,” Fuller said, leading the way. They followed the outer wall to the docks. Fuller saw a single Klingon standing on the dock, scanning the area. Before he’d fully registered the Klingon, Fuller’s rifle was up and firing. The Klingon fell, stunned, and Fuller was surprised when there was no return fire from anywhere else.

Nineteen left, he counted off in his head. At least several too many, he realized. Years ago, there had been a rumor that Klingons didn’t even have a stun setting on their disruptors. Fuller had learned that they did, but he had no illusions that they would be using it today. Any hit would be fatal, and the Klingons would have nineteen chances to stop them.

Fuller wanted to leave Parmet with a few words, but there was no time.

No time.

Instead, all he said was, “Forget the rifle,” as he put his own down. He took his hand phaser from his side. Then he took his extra type-1 phaser from under his tunic. More than two decades before, he had known a young ensign named Andrews who had always maintained, “Too much firepower is never enough.”

Fuller had never forgotten the lesson, even if all the firepower on the U.S.S. Endeavour had not been enough to save Andrews. Fuller had made sure that all of his people had the extra hand phaser. Parmet took out his own two phasers and smiled.

“Don’t spend much time picking your shots, just take as many as you can and keep moving. Don’t give them a stationary target. When you get in close, their first instinct will be to go for a blade if they have one. Use the time to take a shot and keep out of striking distance. And once the shooting starts, scream at the top of your lungs.”

“Sir?” Parmet said.

“Trust me, it will confuse them,” Fuller said. Klingons used the battle cries themselves. They wouldn’t expect it from a so-called lesser species. For a few seconds, it might shake their confidence and make them worry that they were facing a worthy foe and not the domesticated Chandrans or the cowardly Starfleet.

Fuller peered out from behind the opening in the loading dock. He saw the Klingons taking position, forming a rough circle around the shuttle. The craft was big, at least three times the size of a Starfleet shuttlecraft. Though bulky, it had forward-swept nacelles that gave it a predatory look.

There was no more time to waste. In a few minutes or less, the pilot and command crew of the shuttle would be here.

Fuller simply stepped out into the open and Parmet immediately took position next to him. He raised both phasers and fired, scoring two hits. Immediately, he broke to the right as Parmet broke left, firing all the while.

The Klingons looked around in confusion for a split second, giving Fuller and Parmet a chance for another shot.

When another two Klingons fell, the others realized what was going on and reached for their sidearms. An instant later, disruptor fire filled the air around Fuller.

Let them know they’ve been in a fight, said a voice from his past. Fuller didn’t hesitate; he fired his own weapons, gave a yell, and charged the Klingons.

Chapter Eleven

KLINGON CARGO VESSEL FANG

FEDERATION SPACE

THERE HAS TO BE another way, Parrish thought. There had to be more that she could do besides simply destroying the Antares to keep the Klingons from getting its cargo. There had to be more that she could do for its crew, who had delayed their trip to Earth to rendezvous with the Enterprise and pick her up.

If they had not done that, they would be deeper into Federation space now, and safe. Safe from the Klingon raiders who were about to throw them out of an airlock.

When Parrish had enlisted she had sworn an oath to protect and defend both the Federation and its citizens. Now, she would have to sacrifice some of the Federation’s citizens to protect the Federation itself. It was the logical course, if not the right one. The best of a bad set of options, yet she resisted it with all of her being.

She knew she had only seconds now before the Klingons began tossing the Antares crew into space. Would Qovad murder them all at once, or one at a time in order to draw out her punishment for taking his ship? The Klingons at the Battle of Donatu V had thrown groups of Starfleet officers into space as part of a tactic designed to force the U.S.S. Yorkshire to lower its shields to attempt rescue.

Before she realized that she had made a decision, Parrish stepped away from the weapons controls and headed for the Klingon transporter pad, which was just behind the bridge. It was a cargo transporter, but safe for human use.

It took Parrish a few seconds to determine that the transporter was useless to her. If she was an expert operator using state-of-the-art equipment, she might be able to pluck people from the vacuum of space before they died. But she was no expert on Starfleet equipment, and couldn’t even get the Klingon system to power up.

Cursing her own deficiencies, Parrish was about to head back for the weapons console when she had an idea. She may not have been an expert, but she knew one, or at least someone who was close enough for her.

“Parrish to Daniels,” she said into the device.

“Daniels here,” came the reply.

“Are you safe?” she asked.

“Yes. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Daniels said.

Parrish said a quick thanks to the Great Bird of the Galaxy that the Klingons hadn’t gotten to Daniels’s position yet. “Yes, something’s wrong and we don’t have much time. Klingons have the rest of the crew. They’re about to throw Captain Bastielli and the others out of the airlock, and then they will come for you.”

“Oh my God,” Daniels said.

“You can save them,” Parrish said. “I’m stuck on the Fang, but you can save them all if you act immediately.”

“What do I do?” Daniels asked, his voice shaky.

“Lock onto the Klingons. If you can’t zero in on their biosigns, lock in on their communicators. Beam them over here now!”

“I can’t, it’s not safe. It’ll kill them….” Daniels said.

There were a dozen good reasons that even starships didn’t attempt intraship beaming-transport from a transporter pad to another point in the same ship, or from a point inside a ship other than a transporter pad. There was simply too much interference within the ship, and the placement of the transporter emitters-which were optimized for transport on and off the ship-worked against it.

Intraship beaming virtually always ended tragically, scrambling the subjects, who-if they were lucky-died quickly.

“If you don’t do this, every member of your crew will die at the hands of the Klingons. Then you will die.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but we have no choice and no time.”

It might already be too late, Parrish realized as she headed back over to the pilot’s station and activated the scanners.

“Okay…” Daniels said through the communicator, his voice pained.

It was too much to ask. As a Starfleet officer, Parrish was trained to give her life when necessary and to take lives when necessary. She had taken a number of lives in the course of her duties, more than one of them Klingon. It was the hardest part of the job, and the one that cost her the most. Daniels was a civilian. Freighter crews faced their share of danger in space and were brave by nature. But this was something else.

“I’ve got the first two, transporting them to a storage area below you. It’s the biggest space I could find,” Daniels reported. A few seconds later he said, “I’ve got the next two. I’m transporting them to the same location.” A few more seconds went by and then Daniels said, “I can’t get a lock on the last Klingon. He’s too close to the others.”

The waiting was nearly unbearable, and then she heard a new voice coming from her communicator. “Bastielli here, we’ve subdued Qovad.”

Somehow, Parrish thought, it figured that the Klingon captain was the one they couldn’t simply transport. “Are you all right?” Parrish asked, unable to keep the tension out of her voice.

“We’re all okay, but another few seconds and we wouldn’t have been.”

“Understood, I’m going to try to get this ship into docking position,” Parrish said.

“Lieutenant Parrish,” Daniels’s voice broke in, “could you check on the Klingons, please?”

“Of course,” Parrish said. The pain in Daniels’s voice was clear. The Klingons were about to kill him and his entire crew, yet he was afraid that he had killed them. “Hold position until I check.”

As Parrish got up, she realized that she hadn’t thought to check because she had no illusions that the Klingons survived transport on a civilian transporter operating under those conditions. However, she chided herself for her laxity. If any of the Klingons survived, they could still be a threat. And if they required medical attention, she was required to give it.

She took the stairs down one level, thinking that it would take some time to find the Klingons. In the end, that wasn’t necessary. She merely followed the sound.

Drawing her phaser, she stepped in front of the door. It opened and she immediately saw four bodies. No, not four. Three bodies and one living Klingon. She remembered thinking that people killed instantly during transporter failures or accidents were the lucky ones. One of the Klingons had not been lucky.

The others were still humanoid in only the broadest definition of the term. They had literally been scrambled by the transporter; internal organs and external features were transposed, with weapons and clothing merged with their physical form. One Klingon had a knife, which Parrish knew as a d’k tahg, embedded straight through the top of a featureless skull.

The one who was still alive had an intact torso but no arms, and legs that had merged into one. He was also bleeding heavily from somewhere. Moans and grunts came from his crooked mouth and a single eye looked up at her, revealing pain, desperation, and a clear sense of intelligence. The sounds he made were unintelligible as he crawled forward, using his body and his chin.

After moving less than a foot, he stopped and looked up at her. There was a request in his eye that was almost a plea. She knew enough about Klingons to know or at least to guess what he wanted. He was dying, nothing could stop that now, but Klingons placed a high value on death during battle.

Even as she lifted her phaser, she did not know if she could do it. In the end, she could not kill a defenseless man, or a Klingon. However, she could stop his pain. Checking her phaser, she fired a blast of heavy stun straight at his torso. Immediately, his raised head fell to the deck.

His body also released a gush of blood, as if he had been literally holding himself together by force of will. Parrish could not believe he could still be alive, but she had to be certain. She felt on his neck for a pulse and could find none. Satisfied that the Klingons were all dead, she turned and left the room.

Back on the ship’s small bridge, she opened her communicator and said, “Parrish to Antares.”

“Bastielli here,” a voice replied.

“I’ve examined the Klingons. They’re dead. You can tell Mr. Daniels that they all died during transport. I’m going to hold position. Please have Mister Deeks commence docking procedure.”

“Ground-based disruptors,” Jawer announced as Kirk threw the Klingon craft into a series of evasive maneuvers. The ground-based fire kept up with the shuttle’s movement, but Kirk was able to keep a fraction of an instant ahead of the disruptors.

“They’re automated,” Kirk said, knowing that it was probably the reason they were still alive.

“I’m feeding their coordinates into your tactical scope,” Jawer said.

The young ensign muttered under his breath and hit a few controls on the panel, and then the tactical readout appeared on Kirk’s screen. It was a good effort; operating alien systems with no training under battle conditions should have been impossible, yet Jawer was managing.

Kirk hoped that Quatrocchi and McCalmon were faring as well. “Contact the others. Have Quatrocchi concentrate on the ground-based batteries to the east, while the Chandrans focus on the craft on the ground.”

“Acknowledged,” Jawer said, and then he was on his communicator.

Kirk didn’t waste any time. He kept his ship moving and began firing on the western disruptors’ positions. The same maneuvers that kept the Klingon weapons from hitting the craft made it very difficult for Kirk to strike back at the weapons. He simply could not afford to linger on a single course long enough to line up the targets properly.

Even if Kirk could operate the Klingon targeting computer, he knew it would never be able to hit the targets-he and Quatrocchi would have to do it manually, or this battle would be over before it had begun. To punctuate that thought, Kirk felt the ship shudder as if it had been struck with a giant baseball bat.

Depending on instinct rather than visuals, he aimed the ship at the source of the shot and fired. There was a satisfying explosion as one of the batteries disintegrated.

“We’ve lost shields,” Jawer said, then Kirk heard rather than saw the ensign take the controls of the secondary weapons turrets that were on each side of the transport.

A moment later, there was another flash from the ground as a second battery disintegrated. Bringing the transport around, Kirk gave Jawer a clear shot at the third battery, and the young man made another direct hit.

There was only one battery left. Kirk aimed his craft directly at it and kept moving right and left while closing the distance quickly. Disruptor bolts flew past the transport as Kirk found his target and fired.

The final disruptor station exploded, and the fire around his ship stopped immediately. Kirk glanced over at Jawer. “Good work, Ensign.”

The ensign checked his tricorder. “One eastern battery remaining…. Wait, it’s gone now. All ground-based disruptors destroyed.” Then Jawer was on his communicator. “Quatrocchi reports that he and McCalmon are fine.” The young man paused and said, “Chandrans reporting some losses, but it looks like they have destroyed all Klingon shuttles and other craft on the ground.”

Kirk smiled. The battle was far from over, and the ground battle would be far from easy for the Chandrans-there were still a number of committed Klingon warriors on the surface. Nevertheless, keeping the Klingons out of the air meant that the Chandrans had a chance, maybe even a good one.

“Has Mister Fuller reported in?” Kirk asked.

“No, sir,” Jawer said, an edge to his voice. Jawer had served with both Michael Fuller and his son Sam. In fact, Sam had been Jawer’s first section chief.

“Instruct Quatrocchi to meet at the-“

“I have something,” Jawer said.

“The warp shuttle?” Kirk asked.

“Negative, multiple small vessels.”

“Small vessels?”

“I don’t know what they are, sir,” Jawer said, and then his communicator chirped. After a moment, Jawer reported, “One of the Chandran vessels is under attack, unidentified craft. I’m feeding coordinates to your tactical readout.”

Kirk noted the position and sped for the scene.

“The Chandran ship is gone, sir. Ensign Quatrocchi reports that his vessel is under attack now,” Jawer said.

The captain found Quatrocchi and McCalmon’s ship on his scope, then he made visual contact. The vessel was less than a thousand meters out now. Kirk could see the individual attack craft, ten of them. They were small, personal weapons platforms, of the kind the Enterprise crew had faced in recent months on Systems 7348 and 1324. They were discs perhaps a meter and a half in diameter. The pilot stood on the platform and manipulated a set of controls attached to the front of the platform. Shielded and heavily armed, the platforms had taken a toll on the Enterprise crew and the local populations in those previous missions.

They had just destroyed one of the ships carrying a Chandran crew and were now engaged in a fight with Quatrocchi’s ship. The ensign was a good pilot, but Kirk saw that his battle would be lost soon. The platforms were fast and very maneuverable, and could literally run rings around the relatively bulky personnel transports, which were good for fighting against fixed positions on the ground, but simply not suited for that sort of air combat.

While the larger ship outgunned the platforms, the powerful weapons didn’t do any good if they couldn’t make contact. Watching the platforms work, Kirk was reminded of a pack of wolves bringing down a much larger animal by wearing it down.

Kirk was vaguely aware of Jawer working furiously next to him while he tried to target the small craft that were dancing around the personnel carrier, scoring hit after hit against the larger craft. Just as Kirk thought his people didn’t have long, he saw the unmistakable flare of a shield giving way.

“Damn,” Kirk muttered and fired his own disruptors. Not surprisingly, the salvo didn’t even come close to hitting the weapons platforms, but it did get their attention. Five of them broke off the attack on Quatrocchi’s ship and headed directly for Kirk’s. The captain began firing immediately. A hit on the small craft would have been an enormous stroke of luck, but he decided that they were due for some luck.

“I have shields back up,” Jawer said, as he started firing the turrets.

The Klingon craft broke formation and buzzed past the personnel carrier on twisting trajectories, firing all the while. Kirk lost count of the hits they took.

“I’m open to suggestions, Ensign. Unless something changes, we won’t last long out here.”

Jawer didn’t reply and simply kept up his own fire for several seconds. Then their own shield flared again and disappeared-this time, Kirk was sure, for good. The ship shuddered with each new hit now as the disruptors made contact with bare hull. It wouldn’t be long before the Klingons hit something critical.

Kirk would have tried to protect his craft’s engines, but the weapons platforms were all around him.

“Captain,” Jawer said, “I’m showing a large ship behind us.”

Immediately, Kirk turned his craft and saw what could only be the Klingon warp shuttle. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance that’s a friendly,” he said, hoping for a moment that Fuller had somehow managed the impossible.

To answer his question, the weapons lock alarms went wild. Kirk stared into the vessel’s large disruptor cannons on the ends of the forward-swept nacelles and thought that he was staring into the eyes of death itself.

In an instant, those eyes came alive with disruptor fire, fire that was pointed directly at Kirk and Jawer’s unshielded ship. The ship shook, and Kirk felt a wave of nausea pass through him.

It took him a moment to realize that he was still alive, that the troop carrier was still intact around him. The Klingon shuttle had scored a direct hit on them with powerful disruptor cannons, and they were still there. Incredibly, the shuttle kept up the fire, now aiming at the air all around Kirk and Jawer’s ship.

There was something odd about the disruptor beams, he realized. They were too wide-much too wide. Checking his tactical scope, Kirk saw that five weapons platforms that had surrounded his ship had gone still. He looked out the window and confirmed that the two he could see were simply hanging in space, the pilots slumped over the controls.

A moment later, they began a slow descent to the surface.

“Captain, what happened?” Jawer said, as the shuttle moved past them to head for Quatrocchi’s ship, its disruptor cannons flashing.

“Fuller and Parmet must be in there,” Kirk said. “Or at least one of them. They set the disruptors for low-power, wide dispersal-for stun. We were protected by the hull of this ship. The pilots on the platforms weren’t so lucky.”

Kirk brought his ship around to see the Klingon shuttle stop the other five platforms in midair as well. Letting out a breath, the captain realized that the battle in the air, at least, was over and they had won.

Taking the communicator from Parmet, Kirk flicked it open and said, “Kirk to Fuller.”

After less than a second, the captain heard a familiar voice. “Fuller here.” And then before Kirk could ask, he added, “Ensign Parmet is with me.”

“I’m very pleased to hear from you, Michael,” Kirk said.

“Sorry we took so long, sir,” Fuller replied.

“I presume you had a good reason. I look forward to hearing it. Kirk out.”

Chapter Twelve

CHANDRA IV

SECONDS INTO THEIR CHARGE, Fuller was surprised to find himself and Parmet still alive. At least six Klingons had fallen, creating two breaks in their line and allowing the hooting, hollering security officers to actually reach the ship.

Both men kept up their fire, using two phasers each, and a moment later another two Klingons were on the ground. That still left a dozen armed Klingon warriors who had them more or less surrounded with their backs to the Klingon shuttle.

For a moment, Fuller didn’t understand why they had not all immediately used their disruptors and ended the fight at once. Fuller’s confusion, of course, didn’t stop him from doing his job. Another Klingon fell, then another. He saw some of the remaining Klingons going for blades, and then he understood.

Fuller shouted, “Stay close to the shuttle, keep your back to it.”

The ones that had gone for their blades fell first as Fuller realized that they had not wanted to fire their weapons at the Starfleet officers while they were standing in front of the shuttle. A high-powered disruptor blast could easily punch a hole in the hull of the ship. And even a small hole in the wrong place could destroy the ship or keep it-the only long-range craft the Klingons had on the planet-out of space for a long time.

Only five left, Fuller realized. But these five were not going to make the same mistake that the others had. They ignored their blades and reached for their disruptors.

Fuller knew the Klingons would pick their shots very carefully to avoid hitting the shuttle. At this range that wouldn’t be difficult. “Charge them,” he said to Parmet.

At the same time, he and the young ensign both gave shouts and charged, Fuller at the two Klingons nearest to him and Parmet at the three nearest him. For an instant, he saw the surprise in the Klingon faces. They simply had not expected such an aggressive attack from humans, whom the empire took great pains to characterize as sniveling cowards.

That moment was all he needed. Fuller brought down both Klingons with a single shot from each of his weapons. Just as they fell, he heard the report of disruptor fire. He felt a stab of fear for Parmet and turned to see the last Klingon fall, disruptor in his hand. The ensign was smiling, still all in one piece.

“Come on, let’s get on board before the others arrive,” Fuller said.

Fuller knew he needed to get the ship in the air before that happened. He stepped into the ship and ran forward. “Get the door,” he shouted behind him.

Fuller found the cockpit easily and settled into the pilot’s seat. He could fly a Starfleet shuttle, but this was light-years from that. He stared at the controls as Parmet announced, “They’re just outside, five Klingons. I think the shuttle command crew is here.”

“They’ll have to wait for the next ride,” Fuller said, scanning the controls.

“They won’t be happy,” Parmet replied.

“I need repulsor controls,” Fuller said.

Without hesitating, Parmet reached over and hit a switch, and the shuttle lifted two meters off the ground. The joystick controls were simple now. Fuller could steer; the only problem was that they were still indoors.

“Controls for the hangar doors are probably outside,” Parmet said.

“And so are the Klingons,” Fuller said. “Get me shields!”

Again, without hesitating, Parmet hit a few controls, and shields flared into existence around the ship-just as the Klingons in the hangar opened fire with hand disruptors.

The bolts flared harmlessly off the shields, but Fuller felt the weight of the battle outside. He had the feeling that the captain and the others needed them. “We’ve got to get out there.”

“We could blast our way out,” Parmet said.

“I don’t think we need to.” Fuller pushed the stick forward, taking them straight toward the doors. He tried to do the math quickly in his head-shield strength of a long-range Klingon shuttle versus the tensile strength of prefabricated Klingon construction. In the end he didn’t have the necessary data, and at any rate, his calculations were cut short by the collision of the shuttle’s shields against the doors, which exploded outward.

They were outside.

“Can you get me tactical on the captain and the others?” Fuller asked.

“Yes, sir,” Parmet said, manipulating the controls and pointing to the scope in front of Fuller. It showed the personnel carriers and a number of small craft buzzing around them like flies. He immediately knew what the smaller craft were; he had read his son’s reports from System 1324.

“Take the controls, I have an idea,” Fuller said, getting up and letting Parmet sit in the pilot’s seat. Fuller took the copilot’s seat and weapons controls. He found what he needed and got to work adjusting the disruptors, perhaps the only systems on the whole ship that he understood completely.

“Excellent work, all of you,” Kirk said to the landing party assembled in the Klingon shuttle. “Mister Quatrocchi, get us into orbit. Mister Fuller, we need access to all systems, particularly warp drive.”

Fuller nodded and started handing out assignments. Kirk settled into the copilot’s seat and opened his communicator. “Kirk to Minister Denn.”

“This is Denn,” came the reply.

“I’m glad to hear your voice, Minister.”

“And I yours, Captain. Your people?”

“Fine, thank you. I know that you’ve suffered some losses. For that, I’m truly sorry.”

“Far fewer losses than we might have, thanks to your help. We appreciate your assistance, Captain.”

“I only wish we could do more,” Kirk said. “I know your fight is not quite over.”

“There are ongoing battles with groups of Klingons, but we are regaining our world, and I know you are needed elsewhere.”

“What about the operations in other cities?”

“Nearly complete. In all cases we were able to catch the Klingons by surprise. As you suggested, eliminating their aircraft on the ground significantly decreased their advantage. And they had little or no coordination among their forces. Though there is much to do, we are truly regaining our world, Captain.”

“I hope we can meet again under better circumstances,” Kirk said.

“I look forward to it. In the meantime, I have duties. And you have a battle of your own.”

“Good-bye, Minister.”

“Good-bye, Captain.”

Kirk closed his communicator and hoped that he would have an opportunity to visit Chandra IV again when the cloud of the Klingon threat was removed from over the head of the Federation.

“Systems status?” Kirk asked.

“Weapons are online and ready,” McCalmon said from behind a console.

“Sensors available,” Parmet said from his own position.

The captain saw Fuller and Jawer poring over a console in the rear of the ship. Finally, Jawer turned around and said, “Warp engines nearly at full power. We’ll be ready by the time we get out of orbit.”

Allowing himself a smile, Kirk knew that he would be filing for quite a few citations when he got back to the Enterprise. The fact that they were alive was amazing. The fact that they were actually on their way back to the ship was nothing short of a miracle.

“Captain, something’s happening on the surface,” Parmet said.

Kirk heard the ensign’s tone and quickly looked over the young man’s shoulder at the sensor readout. He saw the power spike immediately.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The Klingon warp reactor near their command center. It’s going critical,” Jawer said.

“Revenge,” Fuller said.

The Klingons had done the same thing before, setting their reactor to go critical in the deep-core mine on System 7348. Had the Enterprise not stopped the explosion, the planet would have been destroyed.

“How bad?” Kirk asked.

“They’ll lose the city…and some of the surrounding area. The reactor core is very close to the largest munitions dump on the planet,” Jawer said.

“Do the Chandrans have time to evacuate the blast zone?” Kirk asked.

Jawer took a look at the readout and said, “Five minutes, maybe less.”

Barely enough time to warn the minister, Kirk thought. Damn.

“To get the reactor to go critical, the Klingons had to have cut out the fail-safes. If we hit the core from the air, we could get the reactor to fizzle rather than explode. There would be damage, but the city would be safe,” Jawer said.

“Would there be a safety factor for the shuttle?” Kirk said.

Jawer winced. “Probably not. We’d have to get pretty close to the core and the munitions dump. And we don’t know what they have in there.”

There it was. The shuttle could escape now and almost certainly reach the Enterprise. Or, they could stay and help the Chandrans and risk destruction-or damage to the shuttle-which would mean sitting out the larger war.

Serve the Federation at its time of greatest need, or offer aid to a desperate people. The landing party was looking to him. The captain knew they would follow him either way; there was no wrong decision here.

But there was only one right one.

“Mister Quatrocchi, turn us around. Ensign McCalmon, get the warp reactor on tactical display. Mister Jawer, advise her on power and targeting. Try not to singe us too badly. Mister Parmet, contact Minister Denn, tell him what’s happening and to get everyone he can away from the command center. Tell him he has-” Kirk looked over at Jawer.

“Three minutes at most,” Jawer said.

Kirk saw Quatrocchi push the shuttle to its limit for speed in an atmosphere. It would be very close. Marking off the time, Kirk watched his people do their jobs. After what he had seen in the last day, he didn’t think another minor miracle was out of the question.

Two and a half minutes later, Kirk had a visual of the Klingon command center. It was a large Klingon structure grafted onto what looked like a Chandran office building, perhaps five stories high. He saw the nearby munitions dump, which the shuttle would have to cross to get the best shot at the reactor.

Jawer instructed McCalmon on where to strike to hit the reactor directly. She nodded.

“Ten seconds to weapons range,” Fuller said.

Kirk counted off the time in his head and then watched as McCalmon fired off a burst from the disruptor.

A direct hit. The explosion was immediate and impressive. Even a reactor fizzle released a large amount of energy. Fortunately, it vented the energy straight up. Kirk saw that whatever else happened, they had averted disaster.

Quatrocchi didn’t have to be told what to do next. He aimed the shuttle straight up and poured on the speed.

And then the world exploded around them.

The ship shook violently and the air was filled with bright bursts of plasma-probably from plasma grenades stored at the munitions dump. A lot of plasma grenades. That much energy would have to strain the shuttle shields, Kirk thought as he struggled to keep his seat.

Suddenly, the ship was tossed sideways and then Kirk felt it fall straight down. Quatrocchi steadied the descent and quickly brought them to a stop. Then, once again they were ascending.

Alarms rang throughout the ship. But they were still in the air and still in one piece. That was something.

“Damage report,” Kirk said.

“Hard to say,” Fuller said.

“I still have control,” Quatrocchi said.

“Then get us into space,” Kirk said.

“Aye, sir.”

Kirk helped check the forward systems. Sensor, helm, and weapons all checked out by the time they reached orbit. The Klingon vessel was obviously well built.

“Captain, I found a problem,” Jawer said. “I’m sorry, sir, but we have an overload in the main energizer. We have less than six hours of warp power.”

Not again, Kirk thought.

“Any Federation systems in range?” he asked.

“No, Captain,” Parmet said from the sensor station.

“Do we have enough power for a subspace communication?” Kirk asked.

“We have the power, but the transmitter is down and even if we get it working, it just doesn’t have the range,” Fuller said.

There it was. Had they succeeded in their mission on Chandra IV, only to remain trapped on the planet? It was impossible.

Heading to sensor control, Kirk said, “Can you bring up a view of the sector?”

Parmet nodded and brought up a chart of this sector of space. Kirk recognized the area; there were simply no habitable worlds or staffed bases.

No staffed bases.

“Is that one of the new Federation sensor stations?” Kirk said, pointing to a blip on the screen.

“Yes, sir, I think so,” Parmet said.

“Is it in range, Mister Jawer?” the captain asked.

“Well within range, we’ll have full power for most of the next six hours,” Jawer said.

“There are no guarantees that we’ll get picked up if we go,” Kirk said to the group.

“And even less chance if we return to Chandra IV,” Fuller said. “We’re with you, sir.”

“Mister Quatrocchi, lay in a course, maximum speed,” Kirk said.

Four hours later, they arrived at the automated sensor station, one of the new ones designed to watch the Federation-Klingon border. It was a large, hexagonal array set in an uninhabited star system, reflecting light from the system’s sun.

“Any progress on the transmitter?” Kirk asked.

“No, sir. I think it’s fried,” Jawer said, getting up from the communications console that he, Parmet, and Fuller had been working on for the last four hours.

That was too bad. They were at a sensor station. They might have been able to get a message through to Starfleet using the station’s own systems.

“Apparently the Klingons didn’t engineer their communications systems as well as their weapons,” Fuller said.

That didn’t surprise Kirk. The problem was that they had less than two hours of power and the system on the shuttle that was working the best was the weapons, the most useless to them now.

Unless…

Of course, Kirk was angry that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. He quickly explained what he wanted to Fuller.

“The sequence has to be precise, and we need to keep it up as long as we have the power,” he said.

“Acknowledged. Just give me a minute to program it in,” Fuller said, his hands dancing across the controls. Less than a minute later, he said, “Ready, sir.”

“Fire,” Kirk said.

Fuller fired the disruptors and green energy shot out in regular intervals, striking the sensor station’s shields directly. They flared brightly on contact, not enough to damage the station but maybe just enough to send a message.

“We now have ninety-one minutes of power,” Jawer said. “Less if we keep up the fire.”

It would have to be enough.

“We have an incursion,” Lieutenant West said, rushing into Admiral Solow’s office.

“I’ve seen the report,” Solow said.

“We have a positive identification on a small Klingon warship,” West said.

“Do you think they are testing us, prodding our defenses?” Solow asked.

“Probably, but this meets the president’s rules of engagement parameters,” West replied. “It’s a clear incursion into Federation space and an attack on a Federation facility.”

“What’s our nearest starship?” Solow asked.

“The Constellation,” West said.

“Give Commodore Decker his orders. I’ll call the president,” Solow said.

When she was back on board the Antares, Parrish’s first question was, “Where’s Qovad?”

Bastielli said, “We’ve rigged a makeshift brig in an empty storage unit. It’s not much, but we didn’t know what else to do with him. He shook off the stun blast pretty quickly. He’s been banging on the walls ever since.”

Parrish nodded. “We have to get him off the ship. He’ll be a constant threat unless we do.”

“I won’t throw him out an airlock, no matter how much he deserves it,” Bastielli said.

“No, I was thinking of disabling the Fang, or at least his warp drive. He can limp home on sublight. Do you have someone who can do the work?”

Bastielli hesitated. “Daniels is the most qualified technician, but he’s…well, he’s not up to it now. I wouldn’t ask him to board the Klingon vessel.”

“You and I will have to do it,” Parrish said. Like her, Bastielli had Starfleet’s basic technical training and a cargo ship captain had to be a tinkerer to keep his ship going. “We can always just flush the antimatter.”

“Not good enough,” Bastielli said.

“It’ll take him months, or longer, to get anywhere near transmission range to the empire,” Parrish said, “let alone anywhere near the border. The war will likely be over before he’s rescued.”

“You’re probably right, but probably isn’t good enough for me,” Bastielli said tightly. “I’ll leave him alive, but I want the ship disabled permanently. I don’t want him or any other Klingon to use it again to threaten another of our cargo vessels.”

“Fair enough. How?” she asked.

“I have some ideas. My son will be able to help us,” Bastielli said.

The work took less than two hours. They flushed the antimatter and rigged overloads running on simple timers to permanently damage both the warp engines and the impulse system. The Klingon ship would have enough time to get to near light-speed before the major drive systems were permanently ruined.

“You know,” Bastielli said, “we’ve already spent more time trying to figure out how to save this one Klingon than he would have spent murdering my family and crew. Do you think he’ll appreciate it?”

“Not a bit,” Parrish said. “But we’re not doing this to make friends, we’re doing it so we can sleep at night.”

“I want him off my ship as soon as possible,” Bastielli said.

Parrish nodded. “I’ll handle it. Let me talk to him, then supervise the transfer.”

Bastielli agreed and accompanied her to the brig. She said to him, “Keep the door open and keep your weapon on him at all times. If he moves, shoot him. If he gets his hands on me, shoot us both, but under no circumstances let him loose on your ship.” The precautions were probably overkill. He was only a single Klingon, but the stakes were the lives of everyone on board the Antares.

“Agreed,” Bastielli said, checking his own sidearm. It was an old-style Federation laser pistol. It was a good weapon, almost as powerful as a modern phaser, but made less efficient use of power and its batteries didn’t have anywhere near the capacity of a type-2 phaser weapon like the one Parrish had carried. The lasers would have been in use when Bastielli served with Kirk, which she guessed was ten or twelve years ago.

The captain checked the viewscreen outside the door.

“He’s sitting on the cot at the far side of the room, about three meters away.”

“Open it,” Parrish said.

Bastielli hit a switch and the door slid open. Qovad got immediately to his feet as Parrish stepped inside, her phaser drawn.

“Take one step toward me and I’ll shoot you where you stand,” Parrish said.

“What do you want?” Qovad said.

“I want you off this ship,” Parrish replied.

“Where is my crew?” he asked.

“Dead. You picked the wrong ship to attack,” Parrish said.

“You killed them with a transporter,” he said, clear distaste in his voice.

“We won,” Parrish said.

“With a cowardly and bloodless Earther trick.” Qovad sized her up, taking note of her uniform, and said, “You’re Starfleet. Is this scow one of your prized starships?”

Parrish heard Bastielli’s sharp intake of breath at that.

“You’re leaving now,” Parrish said, gesturing toward the door with her phaser.

“Why not kill me here?” he asked.

“We’re not going to kill you-though you deserve it for trying to kill Captain Bastielli’s family and crew.”

“You would rather force me to endure the dishonor of captivity in the hands of Earthers,” he said, making the word a curse. “Do you hate Klingons that much? Kill me instead. I would give even an Earther that much consideration.”

The request took Parrish aback. She had read the cultural reports about the Klingon people’s feelings about captivity, but this surprised her.

“You’re not a captive. You’re free to go. In fact, we insist.” She took a step back into the hallway and gestured with her phaser.

The Klingon looked at her with distrust, but stepped into the hallway. “The airlock is straight ahead. Go to the end of the hallway and turn to your right.”

“You’ll recognize it,” Bastielli added. “That’s the place where you wanted to throw us all into space.”

Qovad sneered. “If our positions were reversed, I would not hesitate to kill you if you had done the same to me and my crew.” He hesitated for a moment and added, “You Earthers are as strange as they say, and nothing like Klingons.”

“We pride ourselves on that,” Bastielli said.

They reached the end of the hallway and made the turn to the airlock. Parrish said, “We may be different, but don’t mistake that for weakness. We beat you with a fifty-year-old cargo ship, and captured your ship with no casualties or damage on our side. Think about that, and consider it a message from the Federation to your empire. We don’t like to fight and we don’t like to kill. You can call it cowardice if you like, but understand this: just because we don’t like to fight doesn’t mean we don’t fight to win. And we usually do win.”

Bastielli hit the switch for the airlock door and it opened. Qovad stepped inside and turned to Parrish. “Good-bye, Starfleet. You have been interesting.”

She didn’t know what to make of that. Bastielli hit the switch to close the airlock. Qovad disappeared inside his own ship and closed his own airlock door.

“Disengage immediately,” Parrish said, and Bastielli hit the switch to break the magnetic seals that held the ships together.

“Bastielli to bridge. Get us out of here,” he said into the intercom. Without delay, the Antares moved away from the Fang. Parrish was glad. Given the chance, she was certain that Qovad would try to hurt them. Even without weapons, he could still ram the Antares, but in seconds they were far enough away that any residual danger was gone.

“I’m going up to the bridge,” Bastielli said. Then he hesitated. “Lieutenant, are you all right?”

“Of course,” she said, more tersely than she intended. “Why?”

“Well, you look…angry,” he said, and then he looked at the phaser that she was still holding in her hand, still pointed at the airlock door.

It took a force of will for her to relax and lower the laser pistol.

Chapter Thirteen

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

NEAR THE KLINGON BORDER

“LIEUTENANT UHURA, do you concur?” Spock said.

“It could be a message, but it isn’t clear,” Uhura said. “All we can be certain of is the sensor station’s transmission. And even there, the station’s transmission was for Starfleet. Since we’re not the intended receiver, there could be issues with the decryption.”

Spock nodded. He had ordered Uhura and the communications department to monitor all frequencies in Chandra IV’s sector of space, assuming that since the captain had clearly faced difficulties in his mission, he might have to resort to whatever communications options he could find.

This, of course, could hardly even be counted as a nontraditional communications method. And yet, it fit the captain’s personal style of improvisation.

“Mister Giotto, analysis,” Spock said.

“If it is a Klingon attack, it’s an odd one. It’s too small. Klingons favor large-scale, all-out assaults.”

“They could be trying to provoke us,” Scott added.

“If that is the case, then they have succeeded. We are not privy to the communications, but we do know that Starfleet sent a message to the Constellation and that the Constellation is now on its way to the sensor station,” Spock said.

McCoy asked, “Spock, can’t you simply transmit to Starfleet Command? Given what you suspect, if anything is worth breaking communications silence, it’s these circumstances.”

“It is exactly these sorts of circumstances that communications silence is designed for. Starship deployment would be critical intelligence for the Klingon Empire. We cannot risk giving away our position by contacting Starfleet needlessly, nor can we risk giving away both the Enterprise’s and the Constellation’s positions by contacting Commodore Decker.”

“Even if you have a feeling that it’s Jim out there?” McCoy said.

“Doctor, I assure you, my conclusions have nothing to do with feelings. They are simply an explanation that fits all available facts according to a logical, though complex, set of principles that I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain.”

There was silence on the bridge for a moment, and then McCoy said, “So we do nothing?”

Spock ignored the comment and looked at the engineering console to his left. “Mister Scott, can you get us there before the Constellation arrives?”

“They’re closer and travelin’ at warp six,” Scott said. “I could give you warp eight, maybe a little more. It’ll be hard to sustain, and even so, it’ll be mighty close.”

Spock did not hesitate. “Mister Sulu, best speed to the sensor station. Lieutenant Uhura, continue your analysis. Mister Giotto, monitor the tactical situation for any danger.”

Everyone went about their tasks. McCoy moved to stand next to the command chair. Spock understood the entire crew had been frustrated by their inability to do anything for the captain. Now that they had tasks to perform, their emotional state would allow them to perform beyond their usual parameters. It was not logical, but Spock saw that in this situation it would be useful.

McCoy, however, was still hovering, as was his wont. “Do you require anything, Doctor?”

The doctor smiled and said, “I’m just savoring this moment, Spock. Maybe the only time in your life you’ve ever played a hunch.”

Spock did not dignify that insult with a reply.

Parrish pressed the button on the door to Daniels’s quarters and waited. Then she pressed it again. After the third try, she said into the closed door, “Daniels, open the door.” She waited and repeated, “Daniels, open-“

The door slid open, and Daniels’s haggard face appeared in front of her.

“You can’t stay inside the whole voyage,” she said.

“Actually, I can,” Daniels said.

“Then, can I come in?” she asked.

For a moment, Daniels was taken aback, then he nodded and stepped aside. The room was in disarray, the small bed unmade, and Parrish had the feeling that was not the normal state of affairs for Daniels.

Parrish didn’t waste any time. She had never been any good at small talk and saw no reason to even try now. “The rest of the crew is concerned about you. You haven’t been out of this room in two days.”

“I don’t feel much like socializing,” Daniels said in a flat, uninflected tone. There were dark rings around his eyes, which looked haunted more than anything else.

“You saved the entire ship, the entire crew, myself included. You have no reason to beat yourself up over what happened,” Parrish said.

“What happened? You mean what I did,” he said, his voice rising and color starting to come to his cheeks. “You mean when I murdered four people!”

“You killed four Klingons who were about to throw your captain, his wife, their son, Deeks, and you out of an airlock,” Parrish said.

“That makes it okay then? Because they see us as animals or worse, I should act the same?”

Standing up, Parrish felt color coming into her own cheeks and was surprised to hear the harshness of her own tone. “No, it’s not okay. It’s never okay, but sometimes it’s necessary. I’m sorry I asked you to do it. I’m sorry there was no choice, but make no mistake about it: there was no choice. It was them or us. Life is rarely that clear, but this time it was.”

“So it’s okay to become like them,” Daniels said, his voice starting to break.

“You’re nothing like them, nothing like the Klingons who would throw innocent people into space.”

“We both kill,” Daniels said. “It amounts to the same thing.”

Parrish found that that comment just made her angrier. “You want to think that? You want to believe it? That you’re the same? That’s your right. You can sit here and feel sorry for yourself, but I want you to remember that the Klingons wouldn’t have given killing you a second thought. They wouldn’t be sitting in their quarters worrying they had become like their enemy.”

“That’s such a big difference? We both-“

“That difference is everything! Most of the security officers I served with on the Enterprise, myself included, have taken lives. We all know the price that you pay for doing it, but no one doubts for a second that they have done what was necessary. And I can tell you now that the only ones not paying the price for what they were forced to do are the ones that are dead, and there are plenty of those.”

Parrish took a deep breath, a bit surprised at herself. She was usually much more controlled, at least around civilians.

“All easy for you to say, but what am I supposed to do?” Daniels said, more than a hint of desperation in his voice.

“You’re supposed to clean yourself up and go have dinner with your crew,” she said.

“Well, fortunately this isn’t a Starfleet ship, so your rank means nothing here and you can’t order me or anyone else to do a damn thing,” Daniels said.

“Don’t do it because I tell you to. Do it because you have to. That’s what duty is. You got the short end of this one, but what happened didn’t just happen to you. Everyone out there almost died, a woman almost lost her husband and son and a man almost lost his whole family. They’re stupid enough to be grateful to you, but now on top of everything else you’ve given them something new to worry about. Well, it’s selfish. If you can’t live with it in the end, quit the ship when we reach Earth. But until then, you’re part of a crew, part of a group of people who depend on you. Act like it. Fake it if you have to, but do it.”

Daniels’s face was a mixture of shock, anger, and grief.

Parrish turned and walked out of the room. How many times would scenes like this play out in the months to come? Starfleet officers…civilians…

Millions would die, maybe billions. And even in victory, what cost would the survivors pay? What cost was Daniels paying?

She got no answers to those questions that day, but Daniels did come out for a half hour to have dinner with the rest of the crew. It wasn’t much, but to Parrish it felt like a great victory.

“The Constellation is coming out of warp just outside the star system,” Giotto said from the security station.

Spock nodded; they were still light-years away.

“Can’t you contact them now, Spock?” McCoy said, not even bothering to hide the nervousness in his voice.

“We cannot contact the Constellation by subspace, and any other signal would take years to reach them,” Spock said. Before the doctor could reply, Spock hit the intercom on the command chair. “Mister Scott, I require more speed.”

“Oh, is that all?” the chief engineer’s voice replied.

“Yes, for about twenty minutes. We need to come out of warp very close to the station,” Spock said.

“You’ve nearly burned out my engines now,” Scott said.

“Nevertheless, we need the speed immediately.”

There was an audible sigh, and then Scott said, “You’ve got it.”

“Mister Sulu,” Spock said.

“Aye, sir, increasing speed,” Sulu said.

Nine point zero eight four minutes to go, Spock calculated as he got up and took the science station. He immediately set to work; his calculations needed to be precise. Coming out of warp within a star system was always difficult. And now he needed to make sure that the Enterprise reentered normal space close enough to the Klingon vessel to prevent the Constellation from carrying out what Spock had no doubt were orders to destroy it.

Spock factored in the mass of the star, as well as the mass and location of each of the planets, even allowing for the mass of the station itself. He fed the final coordinates to Sulu and said, “Prepare for impulse power on my mark.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu replied.

“Prepare to raise shields as soon as we reach sublight speed, Mister Giotto,” Spock added.

The first officer was certain of his calculations on the physics of their maneuver. Now he performed additional calculations to allow for Sulu’s reaction time, and compensating for the fact that the helmsman, like the rest of the bridge crew, was particularly alert.

“Mark,” Spock said.

The lieutenant executed the maneuver flawlessly, and the Enterprise was in normal space, within 7.74 light-seconds of their intended position.

“Shields on full,” Giotto said.

“Full impulse to Klingon vessel,” Spock said.

“Full impulse,” Sulu replied.

“Lieutenant Uhura, hail Constellation on EM band, ask them to halt,” Spock said. It was unlikely that Commodore Decker would comply. When faced with unusual circumstances under high-alert conditions, commanders were trained to complete their primary objective first.

The Constellation was still closer to the Klingon vessel, but they were at less than half impulse-proceeding with caution.

The Klingon vessel was now between the two starships, and the Enterprise was closing the distance fast. No doubt Decker was assessing the situation.

“Constellation increasing speed, approaching weapons range,” Giotto said.

It would be close, Spock realized, but he saw that the Enterprise would make it. The only question now was what they would do when they got there. As it turned out, there was only one logical alternative.

“Mister Sulu, put us between the Constellation and the Klingon ship and hold position,” Spock said.

“Constellation locking phasers and photon torpedoes on Klingon vessel,” Giotto said.

Spock turned from his station to look at the main viewer, where the Klingon shuttle was now visible. Sulu executed the final maneuver, and the Constellation appeared when the Enterprise moved past the Klingon ship.

“Constellation in weapons range,” Giotto said.

Spock braced himself, waiting for the volley of weapons fire that would inevitably come. Logic and training would force Decker to carry out his primary objective, assuming that everything else was a Klingon trick of some sort.

The blast did not come.

“Mister Spock, I have Commodore Decker on EM band,” Uhura said.

“Enterprise, please move aside. I have orders to destroy this vessel,” Decker said.

“We may have additional information,” Spock replied.

“Sir, I…have Captain Kirk,” Uhura said.

A cheer went up on the bridge.

“Ask Commodore Decker to bear with us and patch the captain into this channel,” Spock said.

“Kirk to Enterprise,” the captain’s voice said.

“Enterprise here,” Spock replied.

“Decker here. Jim, is that you?” Decker said.

“Yes, Commodore,” Kirk said.

“In that case, I’ve got a few questions,” Decker said.

“It’ll be my pleasure to answer them all, Matt. But first, Mister Spock? Five to beam aboard.”

“Acknowledged,” Spock said.

Kirk briefed Decker quickly. Neither man wanted to leave his ship, and they both had new deployment orders. Though it had been a short meeting via viewscreen, it had been good to see Matt Decker again. And the fact was that the situation could have been much worse had Matt followed the book.

With the Enterprise under way, Kirk spent a few minutes with the landing party. They were all exhausted, but Quatrocchi had insisted on piloting the Klingon shuttle into the shuttlebay himself. It had fit, barely.

Kirk then spent a few minutes briefing his senior crew. They had done a remarkable job, particularly Spock, whose leap of-what? Logic? Faith?-had been nothing short of remarkable.

Another minor miracle to add to the list. Kirk realized that he was beginning to lose count. As the briefing room emptied out, Kirk said, “I have to thank you, Mister Spock.”

“No thanks are necessary,” Spock said.

“Still, you took a considerable risk,” Kirk said.

“The lives of five highly trained members of the crew were at stake,” Spock said, without a hint of irony or humor.

“I’m impressed by the fact that you received and recognized my SOS. Bones mentioned something-you used a complex, logical set of principles to draw your conclusions. I’d like to know more.”

“They were fairly complex, and I know that the doctor prescribed at least one night’s rest for you and the landing party.”

“Of course. And tomorrow, we’ll have to see if you can apply the same thinking to our current problem. Admiral Solow expects an incursion any time now. He wants best estimates from all of us.”

“I shall endeavor to do my best, sir.”

Kirk smiled. “I’m sure that will be more than adequate.”

Spock left the briefing room, and Kirk called out one more time, “Thank you again, Spock.”

“You are welcome, Captain,” Spock said, without breaking stride.

A moment later the intercom beeped. It was McCoy. “I need to see you in sickbay, Captain.”

“On my way, Bones,” Kirk said.

When Kirk arrived, the lights were down in sickbay and the doctor had already poured the Saurian brandy.

McCoy was seated at his desk, and Kirk took a seat across from him. They lifted their glasses. “To friends brought safely home, and to quiet drinks,” the doctor said.

Kirk savored the warmth of the brandy in his throat. Sleep would come soon enough, and he knew that quiet moments like this would be in short supply in the coming weeks.

Part 2

Errand of Mercy

Chapter Fourteen

KLINGON BATTLE CRUISER I.K.S. MEK’LETH

NEAR THE FEDERATION BORDER

“DO WE HAVE our new orders, Captain?” First Officer Faren asked.

“Yes, we have them,” Captain Krann said, his tone thoughtful.

“Well?” Faren asked, barely able to contain himself.

“It is begun. We are to rendezvous with the fleet to coordinate the attack. The Organian system will be the launching point,” the captain said.

“Captain, there is just a single Federation starship in that sector,” Faren said, smiling. Klingon command had been successful; they had moved the fleet time and time again to confuse the Earthers. The border between the empire and the Federation was large, and Starfleet had only twelve of their prized starships and a larger number of lesser ships for protection.

“Yes, that is true, but we have our orders,” Krann said.

“But we have the opportunity for battle now! We could strike first, draw first blood, and then bring home the carcass of one of their pitiful vessels to the fleet.”

“A wise warrior seeks victory, not just battle,” Krann said with the air of condescending patience that drove Faren mad. What made it doubly infuriating was that he was also quoting the “wisdom” of Kahless. Like too many Klingons today, the captain was taken with Kahless’s teachings, forgetting that the only reason that anyone listened to the long dead Klingon was that he knew victory.

History was written by the victors. Honor and wisdom were assigned to them as well. If only their bloodless captain would allow the Mek’leth this chance, the ship and crew would know a place of importance in the empire after the Federation was crushed.

Faren decided to give his captain one more chance to show that he had warrior’s blood in his veins after all. “It is only a single Earther ship. Those pitiful cowards would be no match for the pride of the empire’s fleet.”

The captain sighed, actually sighed, as if Faren’s eagerness for battle was the problem, not his own cowardice. “Do not believe everything you have heard about Earthers and Starfleet. If they were actually as weak and bloodless as many in the empire say, then we would have crushed them years ago-we would have crushed them at Donatu V.”

Suddenly, Faren saw the reason that the empire had let the stain on its honor of the inconclusive Battle of Donatu V stand for so long. It was Krann and other Klingons like him-timid, unable to take individual initiative. Too complacent to take risks, the kind of risks that brought real glory.

Well, Faren was anything but timid.

Krann said, “First Officer, you will have your battle soon enough, and there will be plenty of fight for every Klingon in the fleet.”

Faren was glad to see the captain’s condescending smile on his face. It made it that much easier to do what he had to do next. With a lightning-fast movement, he drew a small blade that he had hidden in his tunic. Without hesitation, he plunged the blade into his captain’s chest.

“There will be plenty of battle for all of us, and plenty of glory,” Faren said, enjoying the look of surprise on Krann’s face. “But not for you.” He twisted the knife while the blade was inside the captain’s chest cavity.

Remarkably, Krann remained alert. He grabbed Faren’s hand with a surprisingly strong grip. There was blood in his mouth, and fire in the dying man’s eyes. With a smile, Faren angled the knife up and twisted it again.

The captain went limp almost immediately. Faren knew that though he had taken an important first step, his position was far from secure. What he did next was of great importance.

He pushed Krann out of the chair and scanned the bridge crew for any sign of challenge. When he saw none, he took the center seat, hit the comm, and said, “This is Faren. I have challenged Captain Krann and won. We have orders to rendezvous with the fleet in preparation for a large assault on Starfleet forces. This ship will follow those orders, but first we will travel to Federation space to destroy one of the Earther starships. We will strike the first blow of this conflict and signal the beginning of the end for the pitiful Federation. If anyone thinks this ship is not up to the challenge, then speak now.” That, of course, was for the benefit of the bridge crew, some of whom had been loyal to Krann. Now, to challenge Faren or this mission would be an act of cowardice.

None challenged him.

To make sure there would be no trouble, he locked eyes with every Klingon on the bridge. He saw no danger in any of them.

“Orders, Captain?” the pilot said after a short silence.

Faren smiled. “Two orders for now. First, have maintenance clean up this mess on the bridge. And second, I want maximum warp to intercept the Federation starship.”

The warrior at the engineering console said, “We can have maximum warp for the duration of the trip, but there will be a power cost. We will not arrive at full strength.”

“Will we have torpedoes?” Faren asked.

“Yes, Captain,” the gunner said, “though disruptors and shields will not be at full power.”

“We will need neither. We will have the element of surprise. The Earthers will not see us coming; our torpedoes will be more than enough.” Faren paused for a moment. “Does anyone think otherwise?”

No one did.

Faren smiled. This would be a good day for the empire. “Prepare for glory, Klingon warriors.”

Admiral Solow was waiting in his office for West and Lei when they arrived. “You’ve seen Ambassador Fox’s reports,” Solow said, making it a statement, not a question.

“Yes, Admiral,” West said.

“Clearly, you are not surprised that the talks are breaking down, or by the Klingons’ ultimatum?” Solow said.

“No, sir,” West said. “As per our reports, these new talks were even less serious than the last round or the round before that. The fact that they were via subspace only proves that the Klingons not only didn’t take them seriously, but that they didn’t even bother to pretend.”

“They why initiate them and make the pretense?” Solow said.

“We have two theories for that, Admiral,” Lei said. “And the two theories aren’t mutually exclusive.” When West had first begun working for Admiral Justman, he had spent the first few weeks amazed to be at Command headquarters. Lei, on the other hand, seemed to adjust immediately. Part of it was that she was working for West, and he had the admiral’s respect, but that was only part of it. The fact was that she was simply confident in her abilities and had a strong sense of herself. “Theory number one is that the Klingons have been testing us to see how much humiliation we would endure.”

“Humiliation?” the admiral asked.

“Klingons put a high value on face-to-face meetings, in everything from battle to business negotiations. The fact that we accepted anything less in something as important as this shows them that we are weak in spirit.”

Solow nodded. “Which is a net plus for us because it means the Klingons will be more likely to underestimate us.”

“Exactly,” Lei said.

“What’s the other theory?”

West took that one. “That the loss of their weapons plant at Chandra IV set their plans back and they needed to regroup and redeploy.”

The admiral rubbed his chin, and then asked the most important question. “How long?”

“We have no firm data or intelligence,” West said hesitantly.

“Give me your best estimate,” Solow said.

West looked at Lei, then finally said, “Not long. Days, no more.”

Lei nodded in agreement.

Solow let out a long breath, and West knew that he had come to the same conclusion. West liked to think that his xeno-studies department brought a new perspective to the war planning, but he had long ago stopped kidding himself that he would ever be ahead of the admiral.

“Have you seen the analysis from the Enterprise?” Solow asked.

West nodded. He and Lei had pored over the report last night-at her place.

“What do you think?” Solow asked.

“It’s logical,” West said. “The Organian system would make an attractive platform for invasion. It’s Class-M, with a small humanoid population, low on the technology scale. They wouldn’t be much of a threat.” Of course, the Chandrans had been a pre-warp culture and had given the Klingons a surprise, with some help from the crew of the Enterprise.

As if the admiral had been reading West’s mind, he said, “I want the Enterprise in that system.” Then, before West could ask, the admiral added, “Captain Kirk has the devil’s own luck. If it’s going to begin with Organia, I want him there.”

“The Exeter is there now, but I can arrange the redeployment,” West said. The admiral’s decision made a lot of sense. Given the events of the last few months, the Klingons had good reason to respect Captain Kirk and the Enterprise. There might be a small but real psychological advantage if the Klingon advance force met the Enterprise first.

“After the deployment orders have been transmitted, I want you both to consider yourselves off duty for the night,” Solow said.

“Sir?” West said.

“It’s a waiting game now. I want you both fresh and your department at peak efficiency. Dismissed.”

West knew better than to even try to argue. And he found that he wanted the night off. A few weeks ago, it would have been unthinkable, but that was before he and Lei had changed the nature of their relationship. Back then, he had slept on the couch in his office as often as not simply because there was little or no difference between spending the night there or in his apartment.

Not anymore. Now, he had something to go home to each night, though home was sometimes her place and sometimes his.

Technically, of course, their relationship violated regulations since he was her superior officer. But these days, when everyone was half expecting the end to come at any moment, no one worried about that sort of breach.

Caught up in his own thoughts, West realized that Lei was closing her communicator. “I’ve ordered in for us. The food will be there in about an hour.”

West smiled. One hour would be just enough time for them to arrange the new deployment and get to her apartment. Though they could do it faster, of course, if they hurried.

Seeing the twinkle in Lei’s eye, West decided to hurry.

When Kirk stepped out of the turbolift, Spock already had the data disc in his hand. The first officer quickly got up and handed it to him.

“Captain, we’ve reached the designated position for scanning the coded directive,” Spock said.

“Good,” Kirk replied, heading over to Yeoman Francis near the navigation console. She handed him a data reader. Placing the data disc into the device, Kirk entered his command code into the reader and unsealed the ship’s orders. They were brief, amazingly so, considering the magnitude of what they contained.

His first officer looked at him expectantly, though, of course, not impatiently. “We’ve both guessed right. Negotiations with the Klingon Empire are on the verge of breaking down.” That was perhaps the least surprising news in the Starfleet communication. The latest round of negotiations has been a sham from the beginning. Perhaps all of the talks had been, though the Federation had little choice but to take them seriously. They had to take any chance, no matter how small, that talks might avoid all-out war.

Kirk continued. “Starfleet Command anticipates a surprise attack. We are to proceed to Organia and take whatever steps necessary to prevent the Klingons from using it as a base.”

“Strategically sound,” Spock said. “Organia is the only Class-M planet in this disputed area. It’s ideally located for use by either side.”

Since they had arrived in the sector, Spock had been using long-range scanners to study Organia. Kirk knew that he had also been searching Federation databases for information on the planet.

Kirk looked thoughtfully at his science officer. “Organia’s description, Mister Spock.”

“Inhabited by humanoids: very peaceful, friendly people, living on a primitive level. Little of intrinsic value. Approximately Class D-minus on Richter’s scale of culture.”

Why did that sound familiar? “Another Armenia, Belgium…”

“Sir?” Spock asked.

“The weak innocents who always seem to be located on the natural invasion routes.” Stepping in front of the navigation console, Kirk glanced at the viewscreen. The space in front of them was deceptively peaceful-as if the stars were unaware of the chaos and destruction that would soon be wrought on this area of space.

“Captain, the automatic deflector screen just popped on,” Sulu said. “Body approaching.”

Starfleet was prepared for a surprise attack, and Kirk and Spock’s own analysis suggested that it would come near this point on the border, but this was earlier than expected. In fact, it was earlier than should have been possible. Starfleet sensor stations should have shown a massive force concentration before any attack.

“Configuration, M-” Before Kirk could finish his request, the ship shook around him and Kirk was thrown forward. He grabbed the railing just past the navigator’s seat and kept his feet. He saw Spock doing the same next to him.

Kirk felt the next hit on his ship, and the next. He counted six strikes in all. The viewscreen flared brightly when whatever it was hit their shields. Given the appearance and strength of the blast, Kirk was sure they had just been hit by six Klingon torpedoes.

The good news was that they were still in one piece. Kirk said a silent thanks to the engineers at Starfleet Command who had designed the upgrades to the ship’s shields. The Klingons would be surprised that the Enterprise had not been immediately destroyed.

In a moment, he hoped to give them another surprise.

“Phaser banks, lock on-return fire!”

Kirk watched on the viewscreen as the individual bolts of phaser power shot out from the Enterprise and into the darkness of space. There were four blasts, and then he caught a glimpse on the viewscreen of the Klingon heavy cruiser as it fired another torpedo.

Kirk was on his way to the command chair and Spock nearly at his station when the blast from another Klingon torpedo struck the ship. Grabbing for the railing just below Spock’s station, Kirk realized that he needed to end this now. The Klingons had made too many direct hits. If the Enterprise lost forward shields and a single torpedo got through…

“Maintain firing rate,” Kirk said. “One hundred percent dispersal pattern.” Firing phasers at maximum dispersal reduced their energy but increased the chance of a direct hit. Kirk only hoped the upgraded phasers worked as well in actual battle as the upgraded shields.

“We hit him, Captain. He’s hurt,” Spock said.

Kirk hit the comm button on his chair and said, “Damage control, report to the first officer.” Then, for the first time since the battle began, Kirk took his seat.

Sulu was staring down at his console. “Captain, the other ship doesn’t register-only drifting debris. We got him.”

The debris field appeared on the main viewer. It could only mean one thing: the Klingon fleet was short one heavy cruiser. It was a considerable loss, and Kirk knew that it meant the Federation’s chances of surviving the war had just improved.

Hitting the comm button again, Kirk said, “All hands, maintain General Alert. Hold battle stations.” Turning to Spock he said, “Damage report.”

Spock took a final look at his console and got to his feet. “Minor, Captain. We were most fortunate. Blast damage on decks ten and eleven, minor buckling in the antimatter pods. Casualties are light.”

“Maintain surveillance, Mister Sulu,” Kirk said.

“No contact, Captain,” Sulu said. “He blew up, all right.”

And the fact that there were no other ships in the area told Kirk that the Klingon vessel was alone. It didn’t quite make sense, but it was good news.

The captain turned to Spock, who was now next to his chair, and said, “Well, we’ve been anticipating an attack. I’d say that what we’ve just experienced very nearly qualifies.”

“Yes, it would seem to be an unfriendly act,” Spock replied.

Uhura interjected: “Automatic all-points relay from Starfleet Command, Captain. Code one.”

Taking a moment to digest it, Kirk met Spock’s eyes. The Vulcan raised a single eyebrow, which in this case for him was the equivalent of an extravagant display of concern.

“Well, there it is,” Kirk said quietly. “War. We didn’t want it, but we’ve got it.”

“Curious how often you humans manage to obtain that which you do not want,” the Vulcan said.

“War or not, we’ve still got a job to do: denying Organia to the Klingons.” It was, in fact, essential. If the Klingons had been depending on Organia as a launching site for their invasion, then anything the Enterprise could do to upset those plans would only increase Starfleet’s chances.

The Klingons depended on a strong central command, which used overwhelming force to achieve quick victory. It was a strategy that had won them many worlds and much new territory, causing the Klingon High Council to brag that they would “take over half the galaxy.”

And that was just for starters.

Well, that task would be that much more difficult with one less warship. And it would be even more difficult without Organia as a platform.

“With the outbreak of hostilities, that might not be easy,” Spock said.

Nothing had been easy on the Enterprise for months now, but Kirk didn’t bother saying so out loud. Instead, he looked ahead at the navigation console. “Lay in a course for Organia, Mister Sulu.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Negotiating with the Organians will be time consuming, Captain,” Spock said. “And time is the one thing we will have the least of.”

He was right, of course. Now that outright hostilities had begun, time was short. First contact and negotiations with a new people were tricky under the best of circumstances. And interstellar war was as far as you could get from the best of circumstances. The Klingons, of course, wouldn’t ask the Organians anything. They wouldn’t make an impassioned case based on the best interests of Organia and the galaxy at large. They would simply take the world and its resources as they had done on Chandra IV and countless other worlds.

But the Klingons had gotten a surprise on Chandra IV. It was the Enterprise’s job to make sure they received another surprise on Organia. Kirk had no choice but to succeed.

“We’ll never do it by talking about it, Mister Spock. The trigger has been pulled. We’ve got to get there before the hammer falls.” He turned back to Sulu. “Ahead warp factor seven.”

Chapter Fifteen

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

ORGANIA

Captain’s Log, Stardate 3198.4.

We have reached Organia and have established standard orbit. No signs of hostile activities in this area, but I am greatly concerned. Organia lies near a number of Klingon outposts. I must negotiate a treaty by which the Federation can construct a base on the world. At all costs, Organia must be denied to the Klingons.

Kirk ended his log and closed his tricorder. At all costs, he thought. How high would that price be? And who would pay it? The crew of the Enterprise? Almost certainly. And what about the Organians? Their only crime was to happen to live simple lives in an area of space where a great battle that they could scarcely understand was about to take place.

If you want fair, become a lawyer, or better yet, an accountant, one of his early teachers has once told him.

Uhura broke the thoughtful silence on the bridge. “Captain, Unit XY-75847 reports a fleet of Klingon ships in their sector, sir.”

“What bearing?” Kirk asked.

“Unable to ascertain, sir.” Well, if the Klingon fleet was on the move, that could mean immediate invasion, or a trick of some kind. Starfleet wouldn’t commit its own ships until command was sure that the Klingons were really massed for an attack. It was a large border, and Starfleet had to have ships in position at a number of strategic points.

Kirk got up and walked to the navigation console. “Mister Sulu, have all phaser crews stand by their positions. Full-power deflector screens.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mister Spock and I are going down to the planet’s surface. You will be in command. Your responsibility is to the Enterprise, not to us, is that clear?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“The Klingon fleet is in this sector. We know that Organia will be a target. If they should emerge-“

“We’ll handle them, sir,” Sulu replied quickly. There it was: the look of anticipation, eagerness, confidence. It was the same look that Sulu had had a few moments ago when Kirk had first informed the lieutenant that he would be in command. Kirk knew that eagerness well and remembered very vividly that moment when Captain Garrovick had first left him in command of the Farragut. The feeling would help Sulu stay sharp, but Kirk needed to make the parameters of the assignment very clear-the ship was too important to lose. And while Sulu was an excellent tactical officer, the Enterprise would not be a match for the Klingon fleet.

“You will evaluate the situation,” he said harshly. “If there is a fleet of them, you’ll get out of here, Mister Sulu.”

“But…Captain…”

“No buts. You’ll get to safety and alert the fleet. You will not attack alone. Mister Spock and I will be all right,” Kirk said.

Sulu nodded, and Kirk was confident that the young man would carry out his orders.

Turning to the science station, Kirk said, “Mister Spock, let’s you and me pay the Organians a visit.”

They headed into the turbolift, and Kirk asked, “The beam-down site?”

“I have selected the largest town on the world and pinpointed the area of greatest activity, which should be the seat of government.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

“I am not, Captain. From scans, it is not clear what sort of government the Organians employ, if any at all. The scans raised other questions. Organian civilization is immensely old, the planet is rich in resources and mineral deposits, but the people have not developed past agriculture and the use of simple hand tools.”

“Unusual.”

“Unheard of, sir,” Spock replied as they stepped out of the turbolift.

When they stepped into the transporter room, the captain was only mildly surprised to find Mister Scott instead of Kyle behind the console.

“Mister Scott,” Kirk said as he and Spock took their positions on the transporter pads.

“Captain, Mister Spock, good luck to you,” Scotty said.

“Thank you, Scotty. Energize,” Kirk said.

First Officer Karel looked out at the main viewscreen in wonder. There it was, the Klingon fleet. The real power of the empire. Nearly a dozen D-7 warships, virtually identical to the D’k Tahg on which he served. Never had so much power been assembled in a single place in the history of the Klingon people-and quite likely in the history of the galaxy.

For all of his concerns about the future of the empire and the dishonor and corruption that infected it, he was moved by the sight of its sheer might. Even sick, the empire had great power. That power was all it had to save it from the coming conflict with the Federation.

Karel had learned some things about Earthers-no, humans-from his brother Kell, and in an ideal galaxy he knew that the empire and the Federation would be allies. But this was far from an ideal galaxy. The two powers were enemies, and only one of them would survive intact after the coming fighting.

And yet, already his blood started to run hot in anticipation of battle.

“First Officer, coordinate with Command on our position and final coordinates,” Koloth said.

“Yes, Captain,” Karel said. Just seconds later, the D’k Tahg was in position and preparing to go to war with the rest of the fleet.

“Did you check long-range sensor logs?” Koloth asked when it was done.

“Yes,” Karel replied.

“What did they show?”

“That the Mek’leth was not destroyed by an unprovoked Federation attack in Klingon territory. It disobeyed orders to join us here with the fleet, entered Federation space on its own, and apparently was destroyed.”

That last detail was the only one that jibed with the official report. According to High Command, the Mek’leth was destroyed in a sneak attack after a Federation starship crossed the border into Klingon space. Now, vengeance for the Mek’leth was a battle cry throughout the fleet.

Though the lie was dishonorable, Karel had to admit that it was effective in increasing aggressiveness and battle readiness.

As if the captain had been reading Karel’s mind-which the first officer never ruled out-Koloth said, “I hope that someday we get an opportunity to save the Klingon Empire from itself. For now, we must save it from the Federation.”

“Of course,” Karel said. “We shall make this a day long remembered in Klingon history.” One way or the other, Karel felt certain that was true.

Kirk and Spock materialized in the center of a town-or more accurately, a rural village that might have been right out of thirteenth-century England. Behind them were stone walls and nearby were small shops and cottages with thatched roofs.

And there were people, humanoids, in simple, homespun clothing, walking, carrying baskets, or leading animals. One Organian led a hay wagon pulled by an animal about the size of an ox.

Though Kirk and Spock had beamed down in their uniforms, none of the Organians gave them a second look. They simply went about their business.

“You’d think they had people beaming down every day,” Kirk muttered.

“Yes. A curious lack of interest,” Spock replied. Then he pointed off in the distance to a massive building that looked as if it had long ago fallen into decay. “Notice the ruins in the distance, Captain. Quite large.”

Kirk followed Spock’s gaze. “Yes. A fortress, perhaps-a castle.”

“Whatever it is, it would seem to be inconsistent with the reports we’ve been given on this culture,” Spock said.

“True, but we know that the civilization is very old.”

“Yes. Perhaps there is more in their history than their current state would suggest.”

“If we’re lucky, we’ll get to study this world,” Kirk said, then added with a sigh, “provided we can save it from the Klingon Empire.”

An older man in a simple purple robe appeared and looked directly at them. It was the first person they had seen who was genuinely interested in them. He wore a goatee and a warm expression. He held out his hands in a friendly gesture and said, “Welcome.”

There was something odd about the Organian-and something strange about this place. Kirk had to remind himself that just because a people looked humanoid and resembled something out of Earth’s own past, that didn’t mean they were human. The fact was that they were alien.

“Reception committee?” Kirk said.

“It would seem so,” Spock replied.

Kirk and Spock approached the man, who smiled warmly at them and bowed again twice, with his hands out. “You are our visitors. Welcome, welcome. I am Ayelborne.”

Kirk made a quick attempt to return the gesture and said, “I am Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, representing the United Federation of Planets. This is my first officer, Mister Spock.”

“You’re most welcome, my friend,” Ayelborne said, bowing again. The captain saw that Spock did a better job of returning the greeting.

Working to hide his impatience, Kirk said, “I would like to speak to someone in authority.”

Though their sudden appearance in his village, their strange clothes, and even Spock’s alien countenance did not seem to faze the Organian, Kirk’s request clearly perplexed him. “We don’t have anybody in authority, but I am the chairman of the Council of Elders. Perhaps I would do.”

There was no time to mince words. “You people are in great danger. Is there someplace we can go and talk?”

“Oh, yes. Our council chambers are nearby. Please…” Ayelborne said, leading them through the arch from which he had come. After they passed a large iron door, Spock paused.

“Captain, if you don’t mind, I should like to wander about the village and make some studies.”

“Of course, my friend,” Ayelborne said. “Our village is yours.” Then he turned to Kirk and said, “Captain,” and led him farther on. As they walked, Kirk could hear Spock’s tricorder scanning. The planet and its people were strange-he only hoped they survived long enough for the Federation to get to know them.

Chapter Sixteen

KLINGON BATTLE CRUISER I.K.S. CHARGH

FLEET CAPTAIN KANG watched the main viewer carefully. He knew that the ship’s sensors would detect their enemy long before his eyes did, but they were mere machines. A warrior fought not only with his body and his senses, but also with his spirit and with his blood.

And Kang trusted his blood more than any machine, no matter how sophisticated or powerful. He trusted it more than even any member of his crew. No, that was not true. There was one…

“Science Officer, report,” Kang said.

“We are approaching scanning range now, fleet is in perfect formation,” Mara said. She paused for a few moments, then added, “Scanning Organian system now. I’m reading one Federation starship.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else. No other vessels and no heavy equipment or defenses on the planet.”

That was good. Kang would be pleased to make the first kill. That honor should have been given to Krann, but his ship, the I.K.S. Mek’leth, had been destroyed in Federation space. Kang had seen the report-it had provided little information, and Kang had been able to guess the rest. The captain listed on the report was a warrior named Faren, presumably the Mek’leth’s first officer until recently-very recently.

Kang thought he knew what had happened. In their early days together, Krann had trusted the warriors beside him implicitly-it had been a necessity in many battles when Klingons like Krann, Kang, Koloth, and Kor had won hard victories by the strength of their blood.

Those days were gone, but Kang knew that Krann continued to trust too readily-dangerous in an empire that had changed around them. And too many in the empire these days did not deserve trust. Faren had been one such Klingon, Kang was sure. A fool who had put his own ambition above the good of his ship or his empire. No doubt Faren had died a fool’s death at the hands of a Federation starship. Unfortunately, he had taken an entire crew of warriors and a K’tinga-class warship with him.

Still, Kang had his orders and a job to do. And even fools could be avenged.

“Any sign that the humans see us?” Kang asked.

“No, Captain,” Mara said. “At high warp, we are invisible to their long-range sensors.”

That was good, a gift from the science division of the Klingon Defense Force. Eventually, it might be possible to cloak warships entirely. Such a capability could be useful, but the thought of it made Kang uncomfortable.

For now, he was satisfied with the idea that they would approach the Earthers undetected and then show their faces on the enemy’s short-range sensors before they made their kill. The Earthers would know who had destroyed them.

“We will reach the edge of the Organian system in four minutes,” Mara reported.

“Excellent,” Kang said. His blood roared with the nearness of the enemy and the kill. Yet, his blood called out a warning as well. No enemy was boring, and no good victory was easy. Kang suspected there was a Klingon called Faren on the Barge of the Dead to Gre’thor who had thought he would find an easy victory and found death instead.

“Entering system now,” Mara said.

“Pilot, bring us out of warp,” Kang said. “Full impulse to Organia.”

Kang felt a slight shudder as the ship dropped into normal space. “We are inside the Organian system,” the pilot said.

“I want weapons armed and locked onto the Starfleet vessel,” Kang barked, and his gunner complied.

“Entering weapons range…now,” Mara said. Immediately the Federation starship appeared on the main viewer.

Kang stood as he said, “Full barrage, now! All disruptors!”

Green disruptor energy flared across the screen, making direct hits on the ship, whose shields flared white hot…and held.

“No damage to Starfleet vessel,” Mara reported.

“Other vessels are offering to assist us,” the communications officer said.

“Not yet,” Kang replied. It looked like this would be no easy kill after all.

“Enemy returning fire,” Mara reported. A moment later, the viewscreen lit up again, but this time from the impact of a full-power Starfleet phaser blast hitting their own shields. “Shields…holding,” she reported. The hesitation in her voice told him that their shields would not hold forever, and perhaps not even for long.

Kahless was right: no enemy was boring. Even flann had teeth, and apparently so did Earthers. “Weapons, lock on torpedoes.”

“Report,” Sulu said, from the command chair. It wasn’t his first time in command of the Enterprise, and he truly hoped it wouldn’t be the last. The previous time the captain had trusted him with command of the ship was at Cestus III, when the Enterprise had unexpectedly gone into battle with a Gorn ship. Sulu had apparently performed well enough that the captain trusted him again when combat was actually expected.

As with Cestus, though, all Sulu could think about was the fact that the captain and Spock were alone on the planet, undefended. And worse yet, if the Klingons arrived, Sulu was under orders to get the ship to safety. He might be forced to strand his own captain and first officer on a planet about to be overrun by Klingons in a time of war. Sulu had dreamed of his own command many times, but his dreams had never begun like that.

“Sensor report,” Sulu said, nervously gripping the edge of the command chair.

“No power readings or other disturbances on the surface. And no vessels on long-range sensors,” Mogavero said from the science station.

The relative quiet didn’t comfort Sulu at all. There were a dozen ways for the Klingons to slip a small ship past the Enterprise’s sensors to get to the surface and threaten the captain. It would also be difficult to see ships on long-range sensors if they were at high warp.

Sulu looked over his shoulder at Uhura, who didn’t even need to be asked. “No signals from the captain.”

“Mister Giotto?” Sulu asked.

“All weapons armed and ready,” the chief of security said from his console.

All Sulu or any of the bridge crew could do was wait.

As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait long.

“Something on sensors…” Lieutenant Mogavero’s voice said from the science station. There was tension in his voice, but he was remarkably calm for such a young officer. “Five ships.”

“I have them on tactical sensors,” Giotto said. “They’re Klingon. Shields are up.”

What happened next, happened quickly.

“I’m showing power to the weapons of the lead ship,” Mogavero said.

A moment later, Sulu saw a white flare shoot out from the nose of the Klingon ship. It almost immediately made contact with the Enterprise’s shields, which flashed white at the point of contact.

“Damage report,” Sulu called out.

“Direct hit, shields holding,” Mogavero said.

Sulu’s mind raced. There were three different ways he could think of to evade the Klingon fire and drop shields long enough to beam up the captain and Spock. They would be dangerous, but he was sure it could be done.

It took every ounce of discipline Sulu had not to give the order to execute one of them.

“Hold position,” Sulu said. Then he did the only thing he could under the circumstances. “Uhura, signal the captain.”

Kirk followed Ayelborne through a small courtyard into a simple, nondescript building. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking into Earth’s own past. These clearly were a simple people, and if Ayelborne and the people Kirk saw on the street were any indication, a very content people as well.

Whatever happened, that would all change very soon. The life the Organians had known up until now was about to end, but if Kirk was successful and the Federation won the coming conflict, they would at least survive.

The Chandrans had faced change as well and they had survived. Soon, the Organians would have a chance to not only save themselves, but to help save the Chandrans and the rest of the galaxy from the Klingon threat.

Two older gray-haired men were waiting for them outside two large wooden doors. Ayelborne nodded to them, and the three Organians led Kirk through the doors into a small chamber that contained a rectangular table. Two more men were waiting inside, and all five men headed for the table.

Kirk was certain that he was in the company of the Council of Elders. Now they were getting somewhere. Each of the five men wore the same placid smile that Ayelborne had worn when he had met Kirk and Spock. Well, the captain knew that those smiles were about to disappear. He could waste no more time; he once again had to be blunt.

As the council took their seats, Kirk said, “Gentlemen, my government has informed me that the Klingons are expected to move against your planet, with the objective of making it a base of operations against the Federation. My mission, frankly, is to keep them from doing this.”

Ayelborne spoke first. Clearly, he was the leader, or the closest thing to a leader these people had. “What you are saying, Captain, is that we seem to have a choice between dealing with you or your enemies.”

“No, sir. With the Federation you have a choice. You have none with the Klingons. The Klingons are a military dictatorship. War is their way of life. Life under Klingon rule would be very unpleasant.” Kirk thought about adding that it would also be short, but he didn’t want to frighten the Organians any more than necessary. “We offer you protection.”

The elder on Ayelborne’s right spoke next. “We thank you for your altruistic offer, Captain, but we really do not need your protection.”

Ayelborne nodded. “We are a simple people, Captain. We have nothing that anybody could want.”

Clearly, the Organian didn’t understand what was going on, and Kirk realized he could not afford to pull any punches. “You have this planet, and its strategic location. I assure you that if you don’t take action to prevent it, the Klingons will move against you, just as surely as your sun rises. We will help you with your defenses, build facilities…”

“We have no defenses, Captain, nor are any needed,” Ayelborne said.

Thinking about Chandra IV, Kirk started pacing back and forth in front of the elders. “Gentlemen, I have seen what the Klingons do to planets like yours. They are organized into vast slave-labor camps. No freedoms whatsoever. Your goods will be confiscated. Hostages taken and killed. Your leaders confined. You’d be better off on a penal planet…infinitely better off.”

Ayelborne glanced around at the other councilmen. Something unspoken passed between them. Kirk felt his frustration growing. He couldn’t help them unless they accepted the danger they faced and allowed him to help.

Finally, Ayelborne spoke. “Captain, we see that your concern is genuine. We are moved. But again we assure you that we are in absolutely no danger. If anybody is in danger, you are…and that concerns us greatly. It would be better if you returned to your ship as soon as possible.”

Kirk didn’t even try to keep the frustration out of his voice. “You keep insisting that there’s no danger. I keep assuring you that there is. Would you mind telling me-“

“It is our way of life, Captain,” Ayelborne said, as if that explained anything.

“That’s the first thing that would be lost!” Kirk said, raising his voice. Realizing he was letting his temper fray, he forcibly modified his tone. “Excuse me. I’m a soldier, not a diplomat. I can only tell you the truth.”

Ayelborne shared another look with the other elders and said, “If you will excuse us, Captain, we will discuss your kind offer.”

“Yes, certainly,” Kirk said as the council leaned together to confer. Turning to give them privacy, Kirk saw the doors open and Spock appear from the other side. He realized that there was something odd about the doors-it was strange that in a world that looked like thirteenth-century England, the doors appeared to open by themselves.

For a simple people, the Organians were increasingly mysterious.

“Captain,” Spock said as he approached Kirk, “our information on these people and their culture is not correct. This is not a primitive society making progress toward mechanization. They are totally stagnant. There is no evidence of any progress as far back as my tricorder can register.”

Even for the Organians, that seemed strange. “That doesn’t seem likely,” Kirk said.

“Nevertheless it is true. For tens of thousands of years there has been absolutely no advancement, no significant change in their physical environment. It is a laboratory specimen of an arrested culture.”

That would explain a few things. Perhaps the Organians didn’t think their lives could change because, until now, they never really had. “Thank you, Mister Spock, that might be useful,” Kirk said. Turning back to the council, Kirk saw that they were finished conferring and once again wearing those blasted smiles.

Ayelborne was still speaking in the same benevolent tone he’d been using all along. “We have discussed your offer, Captain, and our opinion is unchanged. We are in no danger. We thank you for your kind offer of assistance, although we must decline it. And we strongly recommend that you leave Organia before you yourselves are endangered.”

Though the man’s tone was even, Kirk saw an air of finality in his face. Still, Kirk’s mission depended on making these people see reason.

“Gentlemen, I must get you to reconsider. We can be of immense help. In addition to military aid, we can send you specialists, technicians. We can show you how to feed a thousand people where one was fed before. We can help you build schools, educate your young in the latest technological and scientific skills. Your public facilities are almost nonexistent. We can help you remake your world…end disease, hunger, hardship…and all we ask in return is that you let us help you now!”

Ayelborne was unmoved, and when he spoke it was with the voice of a parent showing patience to an unreasonable child. “Captain, I can see that you do not understand us. Perhaps-“

Kirk’s communicator beeped. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Ayelborne and flipped it open. “Kirk here.”

“Captain…a large number of Klingon vessels have just arrived. They’re opening fire.” Sulu’s voice was tense but steady. In the background, Kirk could hear the Red Alert klaxon.

“Positive identification?” Kirk asked, but in the background, he could hear the sound of Klingon torpedoes striking the ship’s shields. The good news, and the only good news here, was that the ship was still in one piece.

But it wouldn’t be for long, not if the starship was outnumbered.

“Yes, sir. My screens are up. I can’t drop them to beam you aboard.” There was concern in Sulu’s voice, but Kirk had no doubt that Sulu would do his duty to the ship, no matter what his personal feelings.

“Mister Sulu, follow your orders. Get out of here. Contact the fleet, return if the odds are more equal. Kirk out.” He snapped his communicator shut before Sulu could object and turned toward the Council of Elders. “Gentlemen, you kept insisting that there was no danger. I hope this proves-“

“That is correct, Captain. There is no danger,” Ayelborne said.

That was absurd, but before Kirk could reply, the white-haired man on Ayelborne’s left said, “Ayelborne…eight space vehicles have assumed orbit around our planet. They are activating their material transmission units.”

It was impossible for the man in front of him to know that, but Kirk was certain that he was correct. Ayelborne simply nodded and said, “Thank you, Trefayne.”

“Can you verify that, Spock?” Kirk asked.

Spock already had his tricorder out and was scanning. “Negative, Captain. But it seems a logical development.”

Suddenly, the calm smile was gone from Ayelborne’s face, replaced with a new expression: concern. “Captain, since it is too late for you to escape, perhaps we could do something about protecting you.”

“If you had listened to me…” Kirk muttered.

“We must be sure that you are not harmed,” the elder on Ayelborne’s right said.

“Ayelborne…several hundred armed men have appeared near the citadel. They bring many weapons,” Trefayne said.

There it was again. Trefayne could not possibly have known that, yet Kirk had a strong feeling that he was right. This had gone far enough. “How does he know that?” Kirk asked.

“Oh, our friend Trefayne is quite intuitive. You can rest assured that what he says is absolutely correct,” Ayelborne said.

It was strange, but whatever was going on with the Organians was far less important than their immediate problem. As he and Spock stepped away from the council table, Kirk said, “So we’re stranded here in the middle of a Klingon occupation army.”

“So it would seem. Not a very pleasant prospect,” Spock said.

“You have a gift for understatement, Mister Spock. It’s not a very pleasant prospect at all.”

Chapter Seventeen

I.K.S. KLOTHOS

ORGANIA

COMMANDER KOR was an able administrator. He wasn’t proud of it, but a true warrior had to confront his weaknesses as he would his enemies. And he knew that his talents as a planner of these operations served the empire, just as his skills as a warrior served it.

There were benefits to his current assignment. The Chandrans had proved interesting. True, they had had little means to fight when Kor and his forces arrived to occupy their planet and turn it from a worthless rock full of artists, poets, and musicians into a productive servant of the empire, turning out weapons and munitions.

Nevertheless, the Chandrans had fought, sometimes with no weapons other than their own bodies. It was futile, of course, but Kor had found it refreshing. Still, when the job was done and the planet conquered, Kor had handed control of the world to a real administrator, the kind of soft Klingon who relished easy duty. Though Kor had nothing but contempt for such Klingons, he was glad to have them. Better they get stuck babysitting slaves.

“I have Captain Kang,” his communications officer reported.

“On-screen,” Kor said. His old friend’s face appeared. “What do you want?” Kor said by way of greeting.

“The Organian system is clear. The Federation starship has retreated.” Kang looked disappointed for a moment, then he brightened. “They will be back, of course, when their numbers are greater.”

“We will be ready for them, whatever their numbers,” Kor said. If Kor did his job, the Federation ships would get a surprise. And Kor always did his job.

“The ship was the Enterprise,” Kang said.

Kor raised an eyebrow. Now he truly understood Kang’s disappointment. Their comrade Koloth had encountered the Enterprise recently. The ship might have been an interesting foe-had it not run.

Of course, a strategic retreat when outnumbered five-to-one was not necessarily cowardice. Kor was not fool enough to think so. And he did not believe most of what was said about humans. Even if he did not have friends who had fought them recently, the simple fact of the empire’s massive preparation for this war told him that the Federation was not as weak and cowardly as many said.

“Organia is yours, my friend. Do with it what you will,” Kang said, and broke the line.

Kor stood over his first officer’s console, where a dozen cargo vessels stood waiting. “Move us into orbit and have the fleet follow,” Kor said.

A few minutes later, the ship was in orbit and the other vessels in position. “I want the orbital resources in place first,” Kor said.

“Yes, sir,” his first officer replied, and issued the proper orders. Almost immediately, the communications relays would deploy, giving them a strong subspace signal to Klingon High Command. Next, the orbital refueling and repair stations would be positioned. It would all be finished in hours. Klingons had been doing this for many years, and Kor had drawn the plan up well in advance.

“Next, I want the consumables team on the surface. I want their report by midday.” Unfortunately, for reasons Kor did not completely understand, the supply of gagh and other native Klingon foods had been disrupted. His Klingons would have to make do with whatever they could acquire on the planet, at least until they could cultivate some proper Klingon food.

When all the orders had been issued, Kor said, “Have my troops standing by on transporters. We’re going to meet the Organians.”

Kor transferred command to his first officer and headed for his ship’s transporter room with his personal guards. Together they formed the leading edge of a blade, a blade the Organians would soon feel at their throats. When they arrived, Kor gave the order and felt the familiar effect of a transporter take him.

Trefayne led them into a small room in the back, where he opened a wardrobe and handed Kirk and Spock native clothing. For Kirk there was a simple gold tunic. For Spock there was a blue tunic with a brown cape that seemed vaguely familiar to Kirk. Then he realized why: it looked like a type of Vulcan civilian clothing.

As they changed, Kirk said, “The Organians are difficult to understand. They refused to cooperate with us when we tried to help them, but now they’re running considerable risk in trying to hide us.”

Spock nodded and turned to where they had piled their uniforms. He quickly rummaged through the clothing and raised an eyebrow-for him, a look of great alarm.

“Captain, our phasers are gone,” he said matter-of-factly.

Kirk left the room and reentered the council chamber, where Ayelborne was waiting for him. “Did you take our phasers?”

“Yes, Captain. I took them,” he said placidly.

Kirk couldn’t afford to waste any more time. He had to be firm with Ayelborne. “I must ask you to return them.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, I cannot do that. Were you armed, you might be tempted to use violence, and that we cannot permit.” He paused, looked Kirk over, and said, “You, Captain, will pass as an Organian. And Mister Spock…” he began, then looked over at the rest of the council. “Mister Spock presents a problem. He does not look like an Organian.”

Claymare, the third councilman, said, “A Vulcan trader perhaps…a dealer in kevas and trillium. Harmless to the Klingons.”

How could Claymare know that? Had the Organians met Vulcans? It seemed impossible that there would be no record of the contact, but no more impossible than half a dozen things Kirk had seen so far on this mission. “They know that Vulcan is a member of the Federation.”

Spock nodded. “But Vulcan merchants are not uncommon, Captain. It is a practical approach.”

“What about the rest of you?” Kirk asked. Whoever they were, Kirk still had a responsibility to at least try to protect the Organians.

“We shall continue as before. We have nothing to fear,” Ayelborne said as he moved back to sit at the council’s table.

Kirk could only shake his head. They would learn the meaning of fear soon enough, at the hands of masters. “I’m afraid you’ve got a lot to learn, sir, and if I know the Klingons, you’ll be learning it the hard way.”

The transporter deposited Kor and his guards on the ground of the latest conquest for the Klingon people, the latest addition to the great empire forged by Kahless the Unforgettable.

It was a depressing sight.

Other than the ruined fortress nearby, it was nothing but uncultivated fields, short and crude stone structures, and natives who looked like soft Earthers-perhaps even softer than Earthers themselves. The Organians he saw barely looked up at him and his four guards as they continued on their way, leading farm animals or simply walking, apparently without any purpose whatsoever.

This world had absolutely nothing of value that he could see. No industry, not even basic flight capability. The Chandrans had had both of those and had used them to fight the Klingon conquest. In the end, Chandran industry had served the empire. With luck, Chandran-made weapons were already in the hands of Klingons preparing for battle with the Federation.

Kor allowed himself a sigh as he looked out on the worthless rock that was now his. He saw an Organian leading a large four-legged animal and shouted, “You there, halt.”

Obediently, the man halted. He looked up with a vacant smile on his face when Kor approached him. The man motioned with his hands and said, “I bid you welcome.”

Kor ignored the sentiment. “Where is your leadership? Tell me now if you value your life.”

The man’s smile never faltered. He simply pointed to a small group of buildings a short distance away. “There, at the end of the courtyard, you will find the Council of Elders.”

The Organian made the same stupid gesture with his hands, and Kor turned away in disgust. This was going to be a long occupation-best to get it started quickly so it could be ended as soon as possible. He and his warriors strode toward the council chamber, on the way encountering more Organians with their foolish hand gestures that signified what? Friendship? Submission? Idiocy? Probably all three.

Another Organian helpfully pointed them to the council chamber doors, and Kor stepped through them. Five old men sat around a wooden table, and two younger ones stood by the door.

“This is the ruling council?” Kor demanded.

One of the old men spoke. “I am Ayelborne, temporary head of the council. I bid you welcome.” He made the foolish hand gesture.

“No doubt you do. I am Kor, military governor of Organia.”

His supremacy established, Kor turned to the Organian standing next to him. He was younger than the members of the council. He wore a simple gold tunic and a grim expression.

“Who are you?” Kor demanded.

Ayelborne spoke for him. “He is Baroner…one of our leading citizens.”

Kor was immediately suspicious. “And he has no tongue?”

“I have a tongue,” Baroner said.

“Good. You will be taught how to use it. Where is your smile?”

“My what?” the Organian said, and Kor saw something in the man’s eye-a flash of rebellion. This one might be interesting, Kor reasoned. Of course, he’d have to kill Baroner as an example to the others, but there was plenty of time for that.

“The stupid, idiotic smile everyone else seems to be wearing,” Kor said. Then he noticed the other, younger Organian standing nearby. No, not an Organian. Rather, he was something that Kor recognized. “A Vulcan. Do you also have a tongue?”

“I am Spock, a dealer in kevas and trillium,” the Vulcan said.

That figured, worthless trinkets for a frivolous people. Still, there was something about the Vulcan that did not fit here. “You do not look like a storekeeper.” Kor turned to his guards and said, “Take this man. Vulcans are members of the Federation. He may be a spy.”

As the Klingons took hold of the Vulcan, the Organian named Baroner spoke up. “He’s no spy!”

That genuinely surprised Kor. An insolent look was one thing, but this…”Well, have we a ram among the sheep? You object to us taking him?”

“He’s done nothing, nothing at all,” Baroner said.

“Coming from an Organian, yours is practically an act of rebellion. Very good.” Kor turned to the council and said, “So you welcome me.” They nodded, smiling. Then he turned back to Baroner. “Do you also welcome me?”

“You’re here. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Good honest hatred. Very refreshing.” Perhaps Kor could use this Baroner. At least the Organian wore his feelings clearly on his face. There was a saying, a human one that Koloth had relayed to Kor-and where Koloth had heard it, he couldn’t even guess. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Kor thought he would keep Baroner very close to him.

Turning his attention back to the council, Kor said, “However, it makes no difference whether you welcome me or not. I am here and I will stay. You are now subjects of the Klingon Empire. You will find there are many rules and regulations. They will be posted. Violation of the smallest of them will be punished by death.”

“We shall obey your regulations, Commander,” Ayelborne said.

Kor saw Baroner throw an angry glace at Ayelborne. “You disapprove, Baroner?” he said.

“Do you need my approval?” the Organian replied.

“I need your obedience, nothing more.” Kor then lowered his voice. “Will I have it?”

“You seem to be in command,” Baroner said. Kor had been a warrior too long to miss the look of an enemy who wanted to kill him and would do so if given the chance. Baroner had that look. Perhaps there was someone worthwhile on this miserable planet.

“Yes, I am in command. I shall need a representative from among you, a liaison between the forces of the occupation and the civil population.” Kor studied the Council of Elders. They would never do. “Smile and smile. I don’t trust men who smile too much.” He turned to the one Organian he thought he could begin to understand. “You, Baroner. You’re the man.”

The Organian was genuinely surprised. Good. He would have many more surprises in his future. “Me? I don’t want the job.”

“Have I asked whether or not you wanted it?” Then Kor turned back to the council and said, “We Klingons have a reputation for ruthlessness. You will find that it is deserved. Should one Klingon soldier be killed, a thousand Organians will die. I will have order, is that clear?”

“Commander, I assure you our people want nothing but peace. We shall cause you no trouble,” Ayelborne said.

Kor could only shake his head in disappointment. “I am sure you will not.” To his guards he said, “Take the Vulcan to the examination room.” Then he turned to Baroner and said, “You. Come with me. I will familiarize you with your new duties.”

“What about Mister Spock?” Baroner asked.

“You are concerned?” Kor asked.

“He is my friend,” Baroner replied. That was good. Attachments would make the Organians easier to control.

“You have a poor choice of friends. He will be examined. If he is lying, he will die. If he is telling the truth…” Kor shrugged. “He will find that business has taken a turn for the worse. Take him.”

The guards moved for Spock, covering him with their hand disruptors. Immediately, Baroner turned toward his friend, but Kor shoved him back. Kor appreciated the gesture, but another movement like that and Kor would have to kill the Organian immediately as an example to the others.

“You do not like to be pushed. Good. You may be a man I can deal with, Baroner. Come with me.”

Ayelborne watched as the Klingons and Captain Kirk left.

Claymare was the first to speak. “Fascinating.”

“To see such things in the flesh…” Trefayne added.

There was something interesting about the dynamic at work here, but Ayelborne saw something far more serious going on as well. “But they could harm one another.”

Claymare nodded. “It is not necessary.”

“What should we do?” Ayelborne asked.

“I would like to watch. Such opportunities are rare,” Claymare said.

Trefayne nodded in agreement.

Ayelborne understood the desire, but they had to be careful. “We can, of course, make certain.”

“But should we interfere?” Claymare asked.

That was the unspoken question that had been on all of their minds. Finally, Ayelborne said, “When it becomes necessary. It would be for the best.”

“We will watch. Good,” Trefayne said.

There was a risk, and Trefayne felt obligated to point it out. “They are violent. It will be painful.”

“But the experience would be worth it,” Claymare said.

“Very well. We will watch. But…” Ayelborne didn’t have to finish the thought. On this point, all were in agreement.

“Yes. We shall. At the right time,” Trefayne said.

Chapter Eighteen

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

FEDERATION SPACE

“WE’RE APPROACHING the fleet now,” Mogavero said.

“On-screen, full magnification,” Sulu said from the command chair.

There were small gasps from throughout the bridge. One of those gasps, Sulu realized, came from himself.

It was the fleet, all of it. Or virtually all of it. He could see at least eight Constitution-class starships, as well as two Miranda-class ships and a number of cargo, fuel, and support vessels. He even recognized a few Icarus-class ships-the last of which he thought had been decommissioned a few years ago.

It was an impressive concentration of might. In fact, Sulu realized, it was probably the greatest concentration of power in the history of the Federation. “Receiving coordinates now,” Uhura said.

“Relay to helm. Helm, get us into position,” Sulu said.

“We’re being hailed from the Lexington. They are requesting we comply with narrow-beam, line-of-sight transmission protocols,” Uhura said.

“Comply,” Sulu said. That was serious. Those communications protocols were designed for the transmission of the most sensitive of information. Ships aligned and used radio-frequency transmissions that were heavily encrypted and too low-powered to travel very far.

A short time later, Uhura said, “I have Commodore Wesley.”

“On-screen,” Sulu said, and stood. He immediately recognized the man on the main viewscreen. Though Sulu had never met him, Bob Wesley was something of a legend, someone Sulu knew that Captain Kirk knew personally and respected greatly.

“Commodore Wesley, I’m Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, in temporary command of the Enterprise.”

“Captain Kirk?” Wesley said.

“He and Mister Spock are completing a mission on Organia.”

“That doesn’t seem quite fair.” Wesley smiled. “The Klingon occupation force will be badly outnumbered.”

“Yes, sir,” Sulu said, returning the smile.

“Lieutenant, what I am about to tell you is highly classified, but I am granting every member of your crew clearance to hear it. We are now in possession of Klingon command codes for war game protocols.”

Sulu heard another series of gasps on the bridge.

Wesley continued. “They have been verified, and we fully expect the codes to work. As you may know, Klingon war games sometimes get out of hand. These codes allow the Klingon in charge of the games to make sure that weapons are powered down and the empire doesn’t lose any ships. When we engage the Klingon fleet, every one of our vessels will transmit the code. At that time, the Klingon ships will only be able to fire low-powered disruptors and will have limited, if any, torpedoes available. This will give us, at best, a few minutes to engage the ships before they can override the code.”

Wesley paused while Sulu and the bridge crew absorbed this information. “Is your security chief on the bridge?” Wesley asked, checking a data slate in front of him. “Security Chief Giotto,” he added, reading off the slate.

“Here, sir,” Giotto said from the tactical station.

“We’ll be transmitting some simulation protocols. You won’t have much time, but try to familiarize your teams with them. The key is to hit the Klingons as hard as we can, as fast as we can. We’re risking quite a bit on this single confrontation. We have no choice but to succeed.”

“You can count on the Enterprise, sir,” Sulu said.

“I know I can, and I know who you are, Lieutenant Sulu. You have Jim Kirk’s faith, so you have mine. Wesley out.” The commodore’s face disappeared, replaced by the view of the fleet. Somehow that view looked different than it had just a moment before because the fleet didn’t just represent power, it represented hope-hope for the Enterprise, hope for Starfleet, and hope for the entire Federation.

They would still be fighting for their lives and the lives of everyone they knew, but they had a chance.

Maybe even a good one.

The bridge exploded in activity. Uhura’s hand flew over her console. Giotto received and relayed Wesley’s data to the phaser and torpedo rooms. Then he was on his feet. “Sir, permission to-“

“Go,” Sulu said, and Giotto raced into the turbolift.

Sulu leaned over the tactical station to review the fleet recommendations. He saw immediately what Wesley was suggesting. In the first minutes of the conflict, traditional evasive maneuvers were unnecessary. The key for each crew was to provide support for tactical systems and to present phasers and torpedoes with good shots at close range.

It was a new kind of fighting, and they had very little time to master it. Sulu got to work.

From what Spock knew of Klingon interrogation methods, they were quite harsh. The pain did not concern him. After all, pain was of the mind and the mind could be controlled. In fact, he welcomed the opportunity to use and possibly strengthen his mental disciplines. Logic dictated that he derive some benefit from the experience. His only concern was that the Klingons might damage him in a way that would impair his ability to complete his mission.

The captain would require assistance very shortly. Looking at the two guards escorting him, Spock considered escape. He was reasonably confident that he could overpower or otherwise neutralize these two guards, but there were at least several hundred Klingons on the planet. And Organia did not have many native resources that he could use to effect a change in that situation. The odds against a successful outcome if he acted now and alone were simply too high.

His escorts led him to what the Organians called the citadel. It was a large castle-like structure, and though it was clearly very old, the Klingons had made immediate use of it. Given the number of Klingons and equipment moving in and about the building, Spock surmised that it was the new Klingon command center. Besides the fact that the citadel was practical, the symbolism of occupying the lone fortress in the area on an otherwise placid world would be appealing to the Klingons.

Having entered through the large doors, the Klingons led him through a series of passages. On the way Spock saw Klingons hard at work, installing equipment and repairing walls. Clearly, they intended to stay, at least for the duration of the war, possibly longer.

Finally, they led Spock into a room and put him into a chair that was unmistakably Klingon. Spock knew of some of the equipment that the Klingons used in their interrogations, but this room contained none of it. However, he looked up at the far wall and saw a piece of equipment that he recognized: the emitter from a device he had seen before, a device called a neural neutralizer. It was a psychiatric machine the Enterprise had encountered on Tantalus V, one that had been misused.

Spock made the immediate connection to the Klingon program that placed agents into numerous levels of Starfleet service. At least one of those agents had served on the Enterprise. Spock presumed that this was one technology a Klingon agent had no doubt successfully transmitted to Klingon command.

Vulcans had better natural and learned defenses against mental attacks than humans did. Part of those defenses came from a number of mental disciplines, and part of them came from the planet’s own warlike past when Vulcans had used their abilities against one another.

Despite being only half-Vulcan, Spock had confidence in his own abilities, but it helped to know exactly what he was defending against. Fortunately, he had mind-melded with one of the victims of the Tantalus V unit, and had studied the design in detail later.

He was confident that he could preserve his mental integrity at any but the highest settings. Without preamble, his escorts strapped him into the chair and left the room. Immediately, a Klingon lieutenant whom Spock presumed was his interrogator arrived.

“What is your name, where are you from, and why are you here?” the Klingon asked.

“I am Spock of Vulcan. I am a dealer in kevas and trillium,” Spock said.

“We shall see, Spock of Vulcan, we shall see.” The Klingon bared his teeth and stepped over to the control panel, which, Spock noted with some surprise, was in the same room. On Tantalus V, the operator had remained in a shielded room behind transparent aluminum. Spock realized that either the Klingons were utilizing technology they did not fully understand, or they had found a way to neutralize the negative effects of the technology on those not sitting in the chair. Spock considered the former more likely.

The Klingon turned a dial and Spock saw the emitter light up. He immediately felt the neutralizer working on his neural pathways and synapses. He compensated.

“You are in great pain,” the Klingon said.

Spock indeed felt the tickle of pain in his body, but shut it out. It was a simple matter. Nevertheless, the interrogator was watching him expectantly, so Spock grimaced and strained against his straps.

“That was level one, Spock of Vulcan. There are several more levels. Let us explore them together.”

The Klingon asked a series of questions. Who are you? Where are you from? Are you a member of Starfleet? Are you a Federation spy?

Over and over again, at different intensities and in different combinations. Spock made sure that all his answers were ones that would come from a merchant rather than a Starfleet officer.

The experience was fascinating and at the higher settings somewhat painful, actually remarkably so. The neural neutralizer was clearly a very powerful device that the Klingons were using for a crude purpose.

However, that might be useful for him. In the latest round of questions, Spock stumbled on his answers, hesitated.

“Are you being truthful?” his interrogator asked.

“Of course,” Spock said.

“That was level three. Let me show you level four,” the Klingon said, and turned the dial. Spock didn’t bother to fake physical distress, though the pain was remarkable.

Instead, he turned to the operator and said as clearly as he could, “I am what I claim to be.”

The Klingon nodded. “So it would seem, Spock of Vulcan, but you would be wise to warn the Organians that disobedience and deceit will not be tolerated. As you can see, our mind-sifter is a very effective tool for us and a very unpleasant one for you.”

“Clearly,” Spock said.

With that, the interrogator released his bonds. “Come with me. Commander Kor wishes to see you.”

The citadel was remarkably intact inside, despite its outward appearance, Kirk thought as he was ushered into Kor’s office. The room was spare, with a desk and some computer and communications equipment. The trefoil emblem of the Klingon Empire had been placed on one wall.

Kor walked to his desk, picked up a printout, and said, “From this day on, no public assemblages of more than three people. All publications to be cleared through this office. Neighborhood controls will be established, hostages selected, a somewhat lengthy list of crimes against the state.”

Kirk glanced at the list, and Kor immediately saw something on his face.

“You do not like them?” Kor asked.

Before Kirk could give that question the answer it deserved, the door opened and a Klingon officer escorted his first officer inside. Kirk was glad to see that Spock seemed fit. In fact, he seemed fine, though with Spock, outward appearance did not mean as much as it did with others.

“Well?” Kor said.

“He is what he claims to be, Commander,” the Klingon lieutenant said. “A Vulcanian merchant named Spock. His main concern seems to be how he will carry out his business under our occupation.”

“Nothing else?” Kor said, suspicion in his voice-or was that simply the way his voice naturally sounded?

“The usual. A certain amount of apprehension regarding us. His mind is remarkably disciplined,” the Klingon said.

“You are sure?” Kor asked.

The Klingon nodded. “I used force four, which is sufficient to break down any pretense.”

“Very well, Lieutenant,” Kor said, then he turned to Kirk. “Would you like to try our little truth finder?”

“I don’t understand,” Kirk said.

“It’s a mind-sifter-or mind-ripper, depending on how much force is used. We can record every thought, every bit of knowledge, in a man’s mind. Of course, when that much force is used, the mind is emptied…permanently, I’m afraid. What’s left is more vegetable than human.” Kor ended with one of his unpleasant smiles.

Kirk once had had an experience with such a device. He had sat in a chair on Tantalus V. He remembered how the machine had penetrated his mind, emptying it of thought, of himself. That device had been operated by a monster, a monster that the Enterprise had stopped. This one was routinely employed as part of a system, a system that the Klingons wanted to impose on the galaxy. “And you’re proud of it?” Kirk replied, trying not to sound as disgusted as he felt.

Kor shrugged. “It is a tool. A weapon. Somewhat drastic, but very efficient.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Kirk said to Spock.

“Perfectly, Baroner,” Spock said. “But it was an interesting experience.”

Kor stared at Spock. “All right, Vulcan, you may go. But you are an enemy alien. You will be under our scrutiny at all times. If I have to warn you…” he said, letting the threat go unsaid.

“Not necessary, Commander. I understand you very well.”

Eyeing Spock carefully, Kor seemed both disgusted and suspicious. Again, Kirk was unable to tell if that was something to worry about or simply the commander’s usual expression.

Kor then turned to Kirk. “Return to your council, Baroner. You will receive our official notifications as soon as they are published. In the meantime, keep the people in order. It is your responsibility.”

“Or I will be killed,” Kirk said.

Kor nodded. “That is exactly right. You will be killed.”

The captain knew there would be quite a bit of disorder in the future for the Klingons on Organia-at least, if he had anything to do with it.

After Kor had dismissed him, Kirk left the citadel and found Spock waiting for him outside. Together, they headed back for the Organian council chamber. Klingons were everywhere, walking the streets and sitting at outdoor cafes. They looked as if they were making themselves comfortable-as if they were indeed planning to stay for some time.

“Are you really all right, Spock?” Kirk asked when they were out of earshot of any Klingons.

“Yes, Captain. I have suffered no permanent ill effects,” the Vulcan replied.

They passed two more Klingons before Kirk went on. “That mind-sifter can’t be all the terror they think it is.”

“It should not be underestimated, Captain. It reaches directly into the mind. We Vulcans have certain mental-” He paused as another Klingon walked by. “Certain disciplines which enabled me to maintain a shield. Without those disciplines, there would be no protection.”

Kirk regarded him seriously. “I’ll try and avoid it.”

While Kirk was turned toward Spock, a Klingon stepped from behind a pillar and bumped into him. Immediately, the Klingon pushed the captain into the pillar. “Out of the way, Organian.”

As a matter of reflex, Kirk recovered and prepared to launch himself at the soldier-only to be stopped by Spock, who had put himself between them.

“I am sorry, sir. We did not notice you,” Spock said quickly.

“Next time keep your eyes open or I’ll shut them permanently,” the Klingon said. Then he shoved Spock backward. The Vulcan bumped into Kirk, who collided with a table behind him.

Kirk lunged for the Klingon, but Spock’s hand stayed him. “Captain, I strongly suggest we direct our energies toward the immediate problem: accomplishing our mission here.”

Of course, Spock was right. A confrontation with an armed Klingon, with dozens of others in the immediate area and hundreds more nearby, would bring their mission to a speedy conclusion. And yet, Kirk found he wanted nothing more than to strike back at the Klingon.

The Organians may have lacked the will to stand up for themselves, but that only made what the Klingons were doing even worse. It was bullying of the worst order.

“You didn’t really think I was going to beat his head in, did you?” Kirk said.

“I thought you might,” Spock said coolly.

“You’re right,” the captain replied dryly. Kirk decided to try harder to play his part. He even gave two Klingons an Organian bow.

As they continued onward, Kirk said, “But as you say, we still have a job to do.” An idea was already forming in his mind.

“We’ll receive no help from the Organians,” Spock said.

“Maybe, but sooner or later they’ll start resenting how the Klingons run things. If we could prove to them they could do something to strike back…to keep the Klingons off balance…”

“Verbal persuasion seems to be ineffective. Perhaps a more direct approach,” Spock said.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind. Mister Spock, did I or did I not see something that looks like a munitions dump outside of Kor’s headquarters?”

“You did.”

“I think it’s time we did a little simple and plain communicating, tonight.”

Spock nodded. “A very meritorious idea, Captain.”

Of course, there were a number of immediate problems. “We’re short of tools,” Kirk said.

“I am certain the Klingons will provide whatever is necessary.”

Of course, Spock was right. Because of their nature, the Klingons would have many weapons with them. And because of the Organians’ passive nature, the Klingons would not be on their guard. Or course, that would change if Kirk and Spock were successful in whatever they did next. Therefore, they would have to make their first operation against the occupation count.

Placing a hand on his first officer’s shoulder, Kirk said, “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Spock.”

Chapter Nineteen

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

“THE CONSTITUTION has just come out of warp,” Lieutenant Mogavero said from the science station.

Without thinking, Sulu was on his feet. “On-screen.”

“Aye, sir,” Mogavero said. “I have it.”

A moment later, Sulu saw a barely recognizable blip on the far edge of the fleet. A few seconds later, the blip became the silhouette of a Constitution-class starship.

There was silence on the bridge as everyone took in the ship. The first of its kind and in its way, an ancestor or at least an older sister of the Enterprise. “She’s beautiful,” someone said.

“She is,” Sulu replied.

Now, literally and metaphorically, the fleet was complete. The Constitution had been the first ship built, but not the first ship to have an official launch. That was because the ship had been damaged in the Battle of Donatu V. Still unfinished, the Constitution and a badly damaged Icarus-class ship had fought the Klingons in the Donatu system to a draw.

In many ways, the Battle of Donatu V had never ended. Certainly, as they had learned from Starfleet reports, it had never ended for the Klingons. Because of their own sense of honor, even a defeat would have been better than the inconclusive battle.

Whatever happened, Sulu was certain that the battle would be concluded once and for all very shortly. In less than a day, the two largest and most powerful fleets ever assembled would meet, and in all likelihood, only one of them would emerge anywhere near intact.

“Lepanto…” Sulu whispered.

“Excuse me?” Uhura said from behind him, and Sulu realized that he had spoken the word aloud.

He saw an opportunity here. Before a battle, or any great challenge, the captain would find a few words to motivate or inspire the crew. Sulu didn’t have Captain Kirk’s skill with words, but he realized that he did have something to say and he did know a thing or two about history.

“Lieutenant Uhura, shipwide please.” Sulu sat back down in the command chair, took a deep breath, and spoke. “In 1571 on the old Earth calendar, the largest naval battle in Earth’s history took place in the Mediterranean Sea. Hundreds of ships and over two hundred thousand men faced each other in a battle that pitched the strength of just three small nations against the might of one of the most powerful empires in Earth’s history. And though they were badly outnumbered in both ships and men, the men from those three nations won the day. It was a costly victory, with many dead on both sides, but it put an end to a slave trade in that part of the world that had terrorized people of many lands for many years. It was a victory of a force of free people from different nations who faced a greater power built on slavery and oppression. Today, we are a force of free people from different lands and different worlds who face a great power that would either destroy us or see us all serve its will. Today is our Lepanto. Whatever happens, I know that this ship and this crew will acquit themselves with honor and courage. Sulu out.”

There was a moment of silence on the bridge, and then something Sulu had rarely heard on a starship: applause. It was not for him, he knew. It was for the challenge the entire fleet was about to face and for what they were about to do. Yet, he knew that he had, to some degree, inspired them in a way that he had seen Captain Kirk do again and again with ease.

And that inspiration was infectious. And it gave him the most precious of all commodities these days: hope.

Kirk and Spock spent the day simply walking the streets. They noted each Klingon facility, counting heads and equipment. The Klingons had moved very little heavy equipment into the town, and for that Kirk was disappointed. They could accomplish a lot more with a small craft.

And because Spock did not have his tricorder, they had to depend on visual inspection only. And that inspection was enough to tell them that they had a long and dangerous road ahead of them. They paid particular attention to guard movements, and Spock calculated that the current shift would end a little less than an hour after dusk.

That was when they would strike, when the guards-who were already complacent around the Organians-were tired and ending their day. It wasn’t much of an advantage, but given the circumstances, they had to take what they could get.

At nightfall, they slowly made their way to the citadel. It was a tall, imposing structure. Obviously a stronghold, it was a fortress that sat on high ground, making it ideal for defense in the kind of ancient battles for which it had been built. In the days of swords, spears, and arrows, it would allow defenders to hurl weapons at attackers from relative safety.

Even though it was very old-obviously much older than any other structures he had seen-it still radiated strength and pride. Kirk wondered that the Organians could be the descendants of the builders of that fortress. What could have happened in the intervening years to change a people so much that they not only forgot how to defend themselves and their way of life, but they lost even the will to do so?

The munitions dump sat in the extended courtyard within the fortress walls, just behind the main structure. It was behind an iron gate that was open now since the Klingons could not imagine that the Organians would be a threat. The captain knew that the Klingons also had armed guards at the entrance to the dump. Fortunately, though there were hundreds of Klingons in the area, there was a lot to cover and they were spread relatively thinly.

The two Starfleet officers watched from a distance as one of the guards headed into the dump to make his rounds. A moment later, a guard from inside headed out to take his place just outside the iron gate. As he walked back toward the iron gate, Kirk slipped up into a narrow staircase that led up to the top of the stone wall, just out of the new guard’s sight.

As soon as the Klingon passed by, Kirk leapt down on him. There was nothing subtle about the captain’s approach. He simply pulled the Klingon to the ground and struck him hard and fast. As they struggled, Spock raced past him and through the iron gate. In a moment, the Klingon was unconscious and Kirk was on his feet, racing after Spock.

They had less than two minutes before the first guard returned. Kirk was determined to make it count. He found Spock standing next to about a dozen crates of various sizes. There would be a higher concentration of munitions deeper inside the facility, but there would also be more guards, and they didn’t even have a hand phaser with them. But with luck, they might be able to start a chain reaction that would destroy all of the munitions in the area.

When Kirk caught up with Spock, the first officer was holding a small rounded object. “Okay so far,” Kirk said, as Spock adjusted the device. “Sonic grenade?”

“With a delayed action fuse.”

“Good.”

Spock stepped toward the crates and said, “These crates contain chemical explosives, they should make a most satisfactory display.” Then, without preamble, Spock took the grenade and tossed it into one of the smaller crates.

“Six,” Spock said as he turned to run. “Five…four.” By then Kirk and Spock were several steps away.

He stopped counting, and the two men simply ran all out, reaching a stone wall as the explosion sounded behind them. The shock wave tossed Kirk into the wall, though not strongly enough to hurt him. The ground hadn’t finished shaking when there was a second blast, and then a third. Each explosion sounded farther away, telling Kirk that they had gotten their chain reaction and reached the munitions deepest inside the compound.

For a moment, he thought they might have been too successful and he wondered if the stone around them would come down, but the walls held. There was a great deal of smoke, but no dangerous debris.

Kirk and Spock sat on the ground watching the explosion die out and the ground settle. As they got up, Kirk said, “You were right, Mister Spock-a most satisfactory display.”

Heading back to the council chamber, Kirk was pleased. They had not only struck an important symbolic blow against the Klingons, they had clearly destroyed valuable resources. It had begun.

The explosions rocked Kor’s office. The noise was thunderous and the shaking nearly threw him to the floor. He checked his viewer, but he already knew what had happened: the munitions dump less than a qelI’qam away from his office had been destroyed.

His first thought was that it must have been an accident. Surely the Organians wouldn’t have done such a thing-couldn’t have done such a thing. Yes, an accident made the most sense. The only problem was that he was certain this wasn’t an accident.

And either way, it was not good news.

Activating a communicator, Kor said, “Lieutenant Kress, report.”

Kress’s voice said, “We don’t know yet what happened. There were some gaps in the security cameras.”

Fools, Kor cursed to himself. And he was the biggest of them.

“I want to know what happened and who is responsible,” Kor said.

“Yes, Commander,” Kress said.

The occupation force had been lax. The Organians were such sheep that no one considered them a threat. Part of the blame belonged on his own shoulders, he knew, but discipline had to be maintained. He would have to make an example of one or more of the guards.

But the Organians first. As a warrior who had overcome many enemies on many worlds as well as numerous challenges from his own people, Kor prided himself on his ability to look into a man’s eyes and tell if that man was a threat to him.

The Organians, he was sure, were not a threat to him or his people-at least, most of them were not. There was that one ram among the sheep. Baroner had looked at him with naked hate, as if he would kill Kor with his bare hands if he could.

Kor did not believe in accidents, or coincidences. Baroner was involved, he was sure of it. The area’s security system was not fully in place yet, but Kor had an idea of where the man might go. On his desk computer, he found the channel for the surveillance system in the Council of Elders’ chamber.

There was silence for a few moments. That was odd. The council was in the chamber and they had just lost control of their world, yet they were not speaking at all. Then he heard the doors open and the sound of footsteps.

“Captain, I have to ask you if you had anything to do with the disturbance,” Ayelborne said. There was real concern in the Organian’s voice, the first emotion Kor had heard from these people. “Did you blow up the Klingon munitions store?”

“Of course we blew it up. Deliberately!” Baroner replied. Kor noted that the Organian had called him “Captain.” That was odd-a people without a military of any kind using a military title.

“But that was violence,” Ayelborne said, real pain in his voice.

“We did it to show that you could fight back! That you don’t have to be sheep, you can be wolves!” Baroner said.

“Terrible. To destroy…” one of the other elders said.

“History is full of examples of civil populations fighting back successfully against a military dictatorship. We may not be able to destroy the Klingons, but we can tie them up! Blow up their installations! Disrupt their communications! Make Organia useless to them!”

The Vulcan then spoke with considerably more calm than Baroner. “Our fleet will eventually arrive. In the meantime, the battle is ours. It can be a successful one.”

“Captain. Our fleet.” Kor smiled. Baroner was no Organian. He was indeed a Federation spy, as was the merchant, who had somehow beaten the mind scanner.

Ayelborne said, “Captain, I implore you never to do such a thing again.”

“Why?” the spy asked. “Are you afraid of retribution? Does your personal freedom mean so little to you?”

“How little you understand us, Captain,” Ayelborne said.

Kor shared that lack of understanding.

“All I understand is that you apparently don’t have the backbone to stand up and fight and protect the ones you love. I speak of courage, gentlemen. Does courage mean so little to you?”

That, to Kor, was the final proof that Baroner was not of this planet. He doubted that the Organians even had a conception of what courage was. He rose to his feet and called for his guards.

Kirk could hear the unmistakable sound of boots on the floor. He turned to see Kor and four other Klingons come through the door, their disruptors out.

The Klingon commander approached him and said, “You speak of courage. Obviously you do not know the difference between courage and foolhardiness.” Then the Klingon turned to the council. “Always it is the brave ones who die, the soldiers. I hope you will continue to savor the sweetness of your life. You disgust me!”

Ayelborne ignored the insult and said, “What are you going to do with him, Commander?”

Kor looked at Kirk with an expression that made the captain feel as if he were a meal about to be savored. “What is always done with spies and saboteurs. He will be killed, after he has had firsthand experience of our mind scanner.”

Ayelborne said, “There’s no need to use your machine on him, Commander. I can tell you his name. It is Captain James T. Kirk.”

The Klingon started in surprise as Kirk said, “Ayelborne!” But the Organian was impassive and Kirk realized they were truly caught now. Kor backed away, a look of surprise and wonder on his face.

“Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise, a starship commander.” Kor looked at Spock. “And his first officer.” Then he flashed his unpleasant smile at Kirk and said, “I had hoped to meet you in battle, but…”

“For some reason he feels that he must destroy you, Commander, just as you feel you must destroy him,” Ayelborne said.

“That’s going to be rather difficult now, isn’t it, Captain?” Kor turned his attention to the council. “What an admirable people. Do you always betray your friends?”

“I didn’t want you to harm him,” Ayelborne said. Then he turned to Kirk and said, “I’m sorry, Captain, it was for the best. No harm will come of it.”

“I’m used to the idea of dying…but I have no desire to die for the likes of you,” Kirk said. He realized something that he would have thought impossible a week ago: he understood the Klingon Kor better than he understood these people.

“I don’t blame you, Captain,” Kor said. Then he called back to his guards, “Lock up the Vulcan. Take the captain to my office. We’ll have a talk, before I do what must be done.”

Kor left, two of his guards escorting Spock and two of them escorting Kirk. It was a short, silent walk back to the citadel, and Kirk was sitting in Kor’s office several minutes later.

“You’ll have a drink with me, Captain?” Kor asked.

“No, thank you.”

“I assure you it isn’t drugged. With our mind scanner, we have no need for such crude methods.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Oh, a very great deal,” Kor said. “But first I want to talk. Just talk.”

“Do you think I’m going to sit here and ‘just talk’ with the enemy?”

There it was, Kor’s unpleasant smile. “You’ll talk. Either here, now, voluntarily, or under our mind scanner.” Kor took a seat close to him and said, “The fact is, Captain, I have a great admiration for your Starfleet. A remarkable instrument. And I must confess to a certain admiration for you. I know, of course, that it was you who destroyed our supplies last night.”

Kirk smiled. “Something was destroyed? Nothing inconsequential, I hope.”

Kor actually laughed at that. “Hardly. They were quite important to us, but they can be replaced. You of the Federation, you are much like us.”

That thought disgusted Kirk. “We’re nothing like you. We’re a democratic body.”

“Come now, Captain. I am not referring to minor ideological differences. I mean that we are similar as a species. Here we are, on a planet of sheep. Two tigers, predators, hunters…killers. And it is precisely that which makes us great. And there is a universe to be taken!”

“It’s a very large universe, Commander, full of people who don’t like the Klingons,” Kirk said.

“Excellent. Then it shall be a matter of testing each other’s wills, and power. Survival must be earned, Captain.” Kor paused for a moment. His smile faded, the pretense of comradeship gone. “Tell me about the dispersal of your Starfleet.”

“Go climb a tree,” Kirk said pleasantly.

“I can get what I want through our mind scanner…but there would be very little of your mind left, Captain. I have no desire to see you become a vegetable.”

Kirk had no doubt that the Klingon was offering him mercy. However, for Klingons, mercy was a mixed blessing and usually meant a quick death to avoid the humiliation of captivity.

Kor went on. “This friend of yours, the Vulcan…he seems to have the ability to block our scanner. I think perhaps I will find out why. I will have him dissected.”

Kirk felt a chill. He had no doubt that the Klingon-for all of his talk about respect-would not hesitate to do just that. When Kor spoke next, it was without even the pretext of friendliness. “Your friend killed…you a mental vegetable. Not a pleasant prospect, Captain. But it lies ahead for you…unless you tell me everything I want to know.” Kor hit a button on his desk console. “Twelve hours, Captain.”

For all that Kor’s terms were unpleasant, Kirk had faced worse these last weeks and survived. More to the point, he’d faced all that while expecting the worst. If he and Spock had to sacrifice themselves to save the Federation, so be it. He stood up. “It will take a lot longer than that, Commander.”

“Longer than that I will not wait. I respect you, Captain, but this is war-a game we Klingons play to win.”

Two guards appeared. Kor pointed to Kirk and said, “Take him to the cell with his friend…and watch him closely.”

They walked him down a few levels until Kirk sensed they were underground. As they walked a short hallway, Kirk immediately saw that he was in a dungeon, one that looked like something right out of medieval Europe. Taking his arms, the guards half dragged him down another short staircase and to a large door. One guard opened the door and the other threw the captain inside. Kirk went flying and hit the stone floor hard, but he was on his feet in a second, automatically lunging for the guards who had already disappeared behind the closing door.

Spock caught him with one hand and said, “No use, Jim. No way out.”

The cell was solidly built. Three of the walls were stone and one was solid iron bars. The door had a small barred opening through which he could see two Klingon guards pacing outside.

Torches lit the room, giving Kirk the feeling that he was inside a medieval nightmare. His mission couldn’t end here. Trapped and helpless, Kirk shook the bars. Twelve hours of this?

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Twenty

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

FULLER LOOKED OUT at the hangar deck full of security personnel. Space was tighter than usual. Secured against one wall was the large Klingon shuttle they had used to escape from Chandra IV.

In an ideal galaxy, the shuttle would be turned over to Starfleet Command for study. But this was far from an ideal galaxy.

There was a good chance that the shuttle would never see Earth, or that even if the Enterprise survived the battle, in a few months there would be no Starfleet to return to, no Federation…no anything.

It was an unworthy thought, true though it might be. The people in front of him deserved better than his melancholy. They needed something to believe in right now. They needed a hero.

That, of course, wasn’t him, but he had known more than one real hero in his career. He would have to fake it.

“You’ve all seen the record of the Battle of Donatu V,” Fuller said. Of course they had. It was required study at Starfleet. “You know the facts, how the U.S.S. Endeavour was attacked by three Klingon ships. How the Yorkshire gave aid and was nearly destroyed. And how the Constitution, half finished, arrived and managed to help fight a larger Klingon force to a draw. These are the facts, but let me tell you something you don’t know, something that never makes it into the history or into the report. The battle wasn’t won by great deeds-though there were plenty of those. It was won by battles for control over a meter of deck space here, a few seconds of advantage there. It was won by an endless series of small victories, by engineers who did the impossible, by untrained technicians who did more than should ever have been possible. By people who stayed at their posts, sacrificing all, to give those left behind another small chance.”

Fuller paused, looking at the faces in front of him. They were remarkably similar to the faces that he had seen throughout his career in moments of crisis. They wanted the same thing all those faces had wanted: hope. Not just for themselves, but for their shipmates, their vessel, their mission.

“A lot will be asked of you in the next few hours and days. I have no doubt that there will be plenty of great deeds from you, and plenty of sacrifices. I want you to understand that those sacrifices will matter, just as the sacrifices of everyone at the Battle of Donatu V mattered. Their victory over despair, over impossible odds, and every victory and every sacrifice since then has brought us to this point, so that we may pick up their mantle and do our part. As many of you know, my own son Sam died on a mission that, had it failed, might have meant we would never have this chance. In the battles to come, each of you will face a hundred moments when you have the same chance. And out of these thousands of personal struggles will come the great deeds and the great opportunities. And we will succeed because we have to, because we owe it to ourselves and to all of those who came before.”

Fuller considered the crowd, who stood in silence. The moment of silence wasn’t planned, but he understood that it was for those who were gone. In another branch of the service there might have been applause, but these people were security. They had seen too much and known too much loss to meet it with anything but solemn respect.

After a long moment, Lieutenant Commander Giotto stepped forward. “Return to your posts and prepare to ship out.”

Instantly, the crowd went from stillness and silence to a burst of activity, rushing every which way to get to their posts…to do their jobs. Fuller joined them.

“Mister Sulu, I have Commodore Wesley,” Uhura said.

“On-screen,” Sulu said, and immediately Wesley’s face appeared.

“This is Commodore Wesley. We have a positive confirmation that the Klingon fleet has assembled and is on its way to Organia, which will be the platform system for their invasion of the Federation. To all commanders, lay in a course for the rendezvous site in the Organian system’s Oort cloud. Keep to your formations and prepare for maximum warp. Good luck. Wesley out.”

The commodore’s face disappeared, to be replaced with a starfield.

Mogavero counted down for them from the ten-second mark, and Sulu gave what seemed to be the most important order of his career. “Helm, maximum warp, now.”

There was a subtle vibration in the ship as it transitioned into warp space at high acceleration. It wouldn’t be long now.

Kirk looked through the barred opening in the door. He could see down the hallway. There were Klingons, well, everywhere. Clearly, Kor’s people followed orders. He and Spock were being watched closely. And the guards were all armed with disruptors. They also looked extremely alert. Whatever happened, he and Spock would not catch the Klingons napping again.

“How much of the twelve hours have we left?” Kirk asked.

“Six hours, forty-three minutes-if the Klingons are punctual,” Spock replied as Kirk crouched near the first officer, who was sitting on the floor.

“I think we can count on their being punctual. Blowing that munitions dump was not enough. If we get out of here, we’ve got to carry the attack directly to Kor,” Kirk said. Then he added, “These Organians…”

“They do not seem to understand. Most peculiar,” Spock replied.

“Nevertheless, our orders still stand. We’ve got to make some attempt to neutralize the Klingon occupation.”

“We may not get the chance, Captain. These walls are very thick.”

“And there are guards every few feet down the hall.”

Spock started at a noise and a moment later, Kirk heard it as well: strange footsteps outside. Someone pulled the deadbolt on the door outside. Immediately, Kirk and Spock took a partly concealed position to the side of the door as it opened. Kirk knew that they might not get another chance on this mission or in this lifetime. He was determined to make this one count.

He grasped the open door and prepared to strike. Pulling it open a bit more, he saw…

Ayelborne walking calmly into the cell.

For a moment, Kirk was too stunned to move. Then his mind raced. The door was open and, guards or not, they had a chance to get out of there.

The Organian smiled his placid smile, and the captain realized that there was at least one thing he and Kor could agree on: that smile was disturbing. “Oh, there you are, gentlemen. I trust you are in good health? Shall we go?”

“Go?” Kirk said, still wary.

“Yes, your captors plan to do violence to you. That we cannot permit. I came to take you away.”

Kirk’s mind was still processing this. “You turned us over to them. You expect us to trust you now?”

“Is there really a choice, Captain? I offer you safety,” Ayelborne said.

Kirk had to admit that the man was right. Certainly, their situation could not get any worse. He shared a look with Spock and followed the Organian out the door.

Unbelievably, the halls were clear of Klingons. Kirk stood, stunned again, until Ayelborne said, “Please, do come along, gentlemen.”

They came along, but at any moment Kirk expected Klingons to come racing down the hall or out of a door. “There is no danger, Captain, do not worry,” Ayelborne said.

The Organian led them through a hidden door and into a long tunnel, which deposited them inside a building very close to the council chamber.

There were no Klingons in the short distance between the building and the front entrance to the chamber, but Kirk knew the danger was far from past. The Klingons obviously watched the chamber, using electronic means. They had to get their weapons and get out of there as soon as possible.

Looking inside the room, Kirk saw only the council. “We can’t stay here. This is the first place they’ll look.”

“They’ll not come here, Captain,” Ayelborne said, heading for the council table.

“First you turn us in…then you get us out…. What are you doing now, waiting for the Klingons to post a reward, so you can turn us in again and collect it?” Kirk said.

“How little you understand us, Captain,” Ayelborne said.

“Nor do we understand what happened to the guards at the citadel,” Spock said.

“Please do not concern yourself about them,” the Organian replied.

There was something going on here. Had the Organians taken action? Had they struck the Klingons somehow?

“What happened to them?” Kirk asked.

“Why, nothing happened to them, Captain…nothing at all,” Ayelborne said.

Once again, Kirk had the feeling that the Organian was telling the truth, as absurd as it sounded. Still, there was one thing he did understand. The Klingons were here and it was his job to stop them.

Reports. Reports. Reports.

They were the bane of warriors in the Klingon Empire. Kor had won his share of battles-more than his share-and this was how the empire repaid him. Promotion. Rank. An entire world to conquer and to rule.

The problem with conquering and ruling was that there was not nearly enough conquering and altogether too much ruling. Even the most challenging enemies, once subdued, had to be administered.

And that meant reports…created, reviewed, altered, and reviewed again.

Usually, at least, there was the initial battle, the glow of which could sustain a warrior for some time. But the Organians had surrendered their world without a complaint, let alone a fight, thus denying him the sweetness that even a short, successful campaign provided.

Now, the Federation with its Starfleet-there was a foe. They promised a great battle, one that held a real possibility of defeat for the empire. It would be dangerous to say such a thing to Command, but it was true. In fact, that very possibility made the war worth fighting.

A strong enemy showed a people more about themselves than bloodless cowards like the Organians. A strong enemy challenged you, burned away all that was weak and frivolous.

There was too much that was weak and frivolous in the empire these days. In many ways, the war with the Federation was the empire’s best hope for the future…for purity, for strength.

For now, though, that conflict required that a warrior like Kor review reports.

He heard the door open and recognized Kress by his footsteps before he even looked up. “Commander,” Kress said.

“Don’t you see I’m busy?” Kor said, making his irritation a warning: This had better be important.

“The two Federation prisoners…they’re gone!”

For a moment, Kor could not believe it was true. Clearly, it was impossible. The two Starfleeters were unarmed in a strong cell, with his best Klingons guarding that cell and the immediate area.

“You mean they’ve escaped?” Kor said.

“I swear, no one was at fault. The guards-ten of them-were constantly on duty, watching the cell. Then when they opened it, to give the prisoners food, they simply weren’t there! And there is no way out!”

“If you’re lying to me…” Kor said.

“I swear!” Kress said.

Kor searched the Klingon’s eyes, seeing the truth there-as well as the confusion. “All right, Lieutenant.” It was impossible, but it was obviously also true, and Kor would have to take immediate action. “Implement special occupation order number four, immediately!”

“Sir,” Kress said, saluting and leaving quickly.

Well, it was said that when the stars wanted to punish a warrior, they granted his wish. Kor had wanted an interesting enemy. Certainly, this Captain Kirk and his Vulcan were that.

Kor smiled. The reports would have to wait.

“Is that all you can do, smile?” Kirk asked as he circled the Council of Elders seated at their table.

“You are free, Captain,” Ayelborne said, as if that meant anything, explained anything about what was going on here.

“I want to know how I’m free-and why,” Kirk replied.

“Indeed, there are several questions I would like to ask as well,” Spock said.

“This idiotic placidity of yours, this refusal to do anything to protect yourselves…” Kirk said.

Pleasantly, Ayelborne said, “We have already answered that question. To us, violence is unthinkable.”

“Attention! Attention, all Organians! Attention!” a booming voice split the air in the council chamber. The captain recognized it immediately. “This is Commander Kor. The two Federation prisoners have escaped, obviously with outside aid. They will be returned immediately. So that you will know we mean what we say…listen.”

Suddenly, through the air, came a loud, earsplitting whine. Kirk knew the sound very well and his blood ran cold.

“Those are Klingon disruptors,” he said, knowing what that meant. The captain even saw Spock flinch.

Gesturing to Spock, Kirk said, “Get the door.” Then he crouched down and said, “Get down, gentlemen.” The Organians, of course, didn’t move.

“In the courtyard of my headquarters, two hundred Organians have just been killed,” Kor’s voice said.

Kirk got up and put his hands on the council’s desk. “Two hundred of them,” he said, the weight of that hitting him.

“In two hours, two hundred more will die, and two hundred more after that…until the two Federation spies are turned over to us. This is the order of Kor!”

Kirk glanced at Spock and saw that even he was visibly appalled. Then he turned to the Organians and saw the council still wearing their absurd smiles. In that moment, he felt rage bubble up inside him. He didn’t know who he was more angry at, the Klingons or the Organians.

Chapter Twenty-one

ORGANIA

“DID YOU HEAR them?” Kirk said, wanting in that moment to do nothing more than wipe the smiles from the council’s faces.

“Yes, of course, Captain. Nothing has changed.”

Kirk gave up. He could expect neither help nor even reason from the Organians. “Well, Mister Spock, it seems it’s up to you and me.”

“It would appear so, Captain.”

“The Federation has invested a great deal of money in our training. They’re about due for a small return. We have two hours to do it in.”

“But only two,” Spock said. “More Organians will die.”

“No, Mister Spock. No more will die…no more will die on account of us.” Kirk turned to the council. “Where are those phasers?”

“I cannot tell you,” Ayelborne said.

That was it. Kirk had had it with this man, this council, this people. He circled around the table and roughly pulled Ayelborne’s chair away from the table, putting his own face close to the Organian’s.

“You’ve told us a great deal about how you hate violence. Unless you tell me where those phasers are, you’re going to have more violence than you know what to do with!”

Ayelborne drew back, clearly appalled-only the second emotion Kirk had seen the Organians show, and this disgust was far stronger than the concern they’d shown before.

“You mean…you would actually use force?” Ayelborne asked.

It was Kirk’s turn to smile. “That is entirely up to you.”

The Organian named Trefayne leaned in and said, “Ayelborne…it is of no matter. Perhaps you’d better let him have what he wants.”

Ayelborne nodded. “Very well, but they will do you no good.” The Organian got up and pointed across the room. “They are in that cabinet.”

Spock retrieved the equipment as Kirk realized there was one more thing he had to say to the council. In all likelihood, the last thing he would ever say to them. “Gentlemen, I have no great love for you, your planet, your culture. Despite that, Mister Spock and I are going out there, and will quite probably die-” He paused for a moment to take his phaser and communicator from Spock. “-in an attempt to show you that there are some things worth dying for.”

Ayelborne shook his head. “There are only two of your against an army. Don’t you realize that what you intend will be hopeless?”

Kirk stared at Ayelborne, who still did not understand. Well, perhaps Kirk’s actions would speak louder than his words. “Come on, Mister Spock. Let’s get out of here.” He turned to go, with Spock at his side. As they left, the ancient wooden doors to the chamber opened on their own. Kirk ignored them; he found that he was very happy to leave the Organians and their confounding mysteries behind him.

Ayelborne stood and moved toward the door, then took up a stance in front of it as the others took their places behind him.

“Brave men,” Claymare said.

It was true, but also irrelevant. “Yes, but so foolish.”

“Interesting, however,” Claymare said. Of all of them, Claymare kept the closest ties to beings of Captain Kirk and Mister Spock’s sort. Well, that was forgivable. He was the youngest among them. And he often spoke truths the others would not.

“Of course we cannot allow it. To stop them is…very bad,” Ayelborne said. Though they could do it easily, Ayelborne knew they would pay a price-a high one-for a direct intercession.

“It is necessary. They may harm one another,” Claymare said. Of course, it was true. And then the Organian people would have an even higher price to pay. As a matter of policy, they did not get involved in such things. Generally, it was best for the outsiders as well. However, this was a time when, though it would be painful, the path was clear.

“Trefayne?” Ayelborne asked.

“They will wait until darkness,” Trefayne said.

“Then?” Ayelborne inquired.

“Terrible. Inconceivable. Savage.” From the tone of Trefayne’s voice, Ayelborne could tell that because of Trefayne’s gifts he was already paying a price for the vision of what might come.

“We will wait,” Ayelborne said.

Kirk knew they had to move fast. They were vastly outnumbered and outgunned. The Klingons were firmly established and had sentries and surveillance everywhere.

Well, at least Kor wouldn’t be expecting them to strike. Klingon cultural prejudices against humans would lead them to expect Kirk to try to escape and contact the Enterprise, which from a tactical point of view was their best option. At least, it was their best option if they were looking for some kind of victory.

But success in this mission wouldn’t mean victory against the Klingons on Organia. The best he and Spock could hope for would be to set the Klingons back before they were killed or captured. Then, there would be the possibility, however slim, that the Organians would learn something and begin to fight back themselves.

The captain and Spock made their way carefully through the streets, taking cover wherever they could. Finally, they reached the base of the citadel. As they hid in some low brush, Kirk could see two guards with their weapons out, pacing on the stone steps. There had been more guards earlier, Kirk was sure. But no doubt they were searching the city and the outlying areas for two people on the run.

Kirk judged the distance to the guards to be about three hundred meters. “Mister Spock, can we get those two guards?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Spock merely nodded.

“What would you say the odds are on our getting out of here?”

“Difficult to be precise, Captain. I should say approximately seven thousand eight hundred and twenty-four point seven to one.”

Kirk smiled at that. “Difficult to be precise? Seven thousand eight hundred and twenty-four to one?”

“Seven thousand eight hundred and twenty-four point seven to one,” Spock said archly.

“That’s a pretty close approximation.”

“I endeavor to be accurate.”

“You do quite well.” Kirk took out his hand phaser. As he adjusted it, he said, “Set your phaser on stun. We’re after the top dog, not the members of the pack.”

“Very good.”

“But if the situation calls for it, we kill. Is that clear?”

“Clear, Captain.”

“I’ll take the one on the left. Fire!”

Kirk aimed and fired in one smooth motion. He saw immediately that he had made a direct hit as his target went down quickly, falling off a low wall. A glance to the right told him that Spock had also succeeded.

A quick visual scan told Kirk there were no other guards around. Keeping down, the captain and Spock raced into the open, headed for the steps. He saw one of the Klingons they had stunned lying on the ground. He hesitated as they passed by, then stopped himself.

“Take the disruptor,” Kirk said, gesturing to the second Klingon. Kirk picked up the hand weapon the Klingon had carried. It was heavier than it looked, and he knew from personal experience that it could be extremely deadly.

Turning back the way they had come, he reared back and threw the weapon into the brush. He nodded at his first officer, who did the same with the other disruptor.

“No sense in making it any easier than it has to be for the Klingons,” Kirk whispered.

“Of course,” Spock said.

They headed up the stairs and a moment later they were inside the building, in a large vestibule. So far, their assault had been surprisingly easy, but Kirk knew that there were still a hundred different things that could go wrong before they reached Kor’s office. And even if they reached Kor, there were still the commander’s personal guards to contend with.

Nevertheless, every moment they stayed alive was another chance to finish the job-and Kirk knew the job was important. Because of their highly centralized command structure, Klingons had trouble adjusting to the loss of strong leaders. Losing Kor would no doubt set back the operation on Organia.

Certainly, the Klingon Defense Force would replace Kor in time, but that was time Starfleet could use to its advantage. If Organia was to be the launching point for the invasion, then anything they could do to disrupt the operation here would help.

The first order of business was getting out of the open. Kirk headed for a corridor to the right and then up a set of ancient stone stairs.

Ayelborne and the council meditated. It made the waiting more bearable-at least, slightly more bearable.

Finally, Trefayne stirred. “It has begun,” he said, and then they all felt it.

“Very well,” Ayelborne said.

“It will be hard,” Claymare said.

Ayelborne nodded. “Prepare yourselves.”

The others nodded back. They would do what was required of them.

At the top of the stairs, Kirk and Spock found a long, dark corridor that the captain remembered. Before he could move forward, Spock put a hand out to restrain him and whispered, “One guard, coming toward us.” The Vulcan pointed straight ahead, and the two men immediately ducked into the cover of a recessed doorway.

A moment later Kirk could hear the Klingon’s boot-steps. He said a silent thanks for Spock’s Vulcan hearing and waited until the Klingon was practically on top of them.

When he judged the moment to be right, he jumped out and caught the guard by surprise. As part of his Starfleet training, Kirk had studied a number of hand-to-hand fighting styles. But for this kind of close-quarters fighting, the simplest approach was best.

He struck a quick blow to the Klingon’s head and then his neck. The guard turned, and Kirk’s fist made solid contact with his face. The Klingon’s head snapped back and hit the wall behind him, and he fell to the floor. The disruptor he’d been carrying fell to the ground. Spock had to grab it quickly to stop the clanging.

At a nod from Kirk, Spock opened the door behind them, and the captain dragged the unconscious Klingon into a dark and empty room. There was no time to dispose of the disruptor, but it looked as if the Klingon would be out for some time.

That done, the captain and Spock headed back into the corridor and toward Kor’s office. Several steps later, Kirk could see the intersection with the corridor that would take them almost all the way to Kor’s office.

Several steps before the turn, there was a sudden noise and a door opened next to them. Kirk and Spock turned to see two Klingon guards coming out of a room. One of them shouted and they both raised their weapons, but they never finished the job.

Kirk and Spock were on them immediately, pushing them back into the room. It was small and dimly lit. Fortunately, it was too small for the Klingons to raise and use their weapons.

Focusing on one of the guards, Kirk knocked the disruptor out of his hand. The Klingon reacted quickly and struck him first, making solid contact with his mouth. The captain could taste blood almost immediately.

Throwing himself forward, he forced the Klingon against the back wall and hit him with a series of body blows until the captain saw an opening and struck him in the face. Even in the dim light, Kirk could see the surprise on the Klingon’s face. Regular Klingon soldiers didn’t think much of humans and even less, he was sure, of Organians. Whichever the Klingon thought Kirk was, that moment of surprise cost him the battle.

Within seconds, the Klingon was on the floor unconscious. Kirk looked up to see the other Klingon fall to a nerve pinch from Spock. Quickly, the captain and Spock tossed the Klingons’ disruptors out the small window and headed for the door. A quick glance told Kirk that the way was clear, and then they were in the hallway again.

One more turn and there would be nothing between them and Kor’s personal guards. Then, Kor would be theirs.

Kor heard Kress approach as he came around the corner. “No results, Commander,” the lieutenant said as Kor strode past him.

“Nothing?” Kor demanded, as the lieutenant hurried to keep up with him.

“I cannot understand these people,” Kress said.

“They know what death is, don’t they?” Kor snapped as he turned into his office.

“They do not seem to be worried about anything.”

Kor stopped outside his door and turned to his subordinate. “Bad enough to be a military governor, but to govern a population of sheep!” Kor made a decision, the only one he could make now. Truly, the Organians had left him with no option. “Very well, Lieutenant. Round up two hundred more.” Then he raised his hands in frustration and strode into his office. “Fools! Will I have to kill them all?”

Kirk didn’t need Spock’s hearing to know that the Klingon was coming. He hid behind a corner and waited a few seconds. When he judged the Klingon was close, he quickly handed Spock his phaser and removed the small cord from around the waist of his tunic. When the Klingon passed by, Kirk jumped out and threw the cord around his neck.

As he pulled the Klingon back around the corner, Kirk realized that he recognized the guard. It was the lieutenant that he’d seen in Kor’s office, the one who had put Spock through the mind-sifter.

As the lieutenant struggled for breath, Kirk said, “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll kill you here and now. Is that clear?”

“Yes…yes,” the Klingon gasped, pulling at the cord around his throat.

“Is Kor in his office down there?” Kirk demanded.

Nodding his head, the Klingon sputtered, “Yes.”

“What about the hostages?” Kirk said. When the Klingon hesitated, he pulled harder on the cord and said, “Talk-talk!”

“I am to gather two hundred more,” the Klingon said.

“To be killed,” Kirk said.

The lieutenant nodded. The captain felt his anger rising. Kirk was no fan of the Organians, but they were a placid people, obviously fundamentally incapable of defending themselves. To murder that many…it was monstrous.

Forcing himself to loosen his grip, Kirk looked over at his first officer and said, “Spock.”

The Vulcan stepped forward and applied his nerve pinch. The Klingon immediately fell to the floor. The captain took back his phaser and said, “Well, what are the odds now?”

“Less than seven thousand to one, Captain. It’s remarkable we’ve gotten this far.”

“Less than seven thousand to one, well, getting better…getting better.”

Back in the corridor, Kirk stopped at the final corner. Carefully he peered out and saw four Klingons, Kor’s personal guards. Kirk didn’t wait. “Come quickly, the prisoners,” he called out and ducked back around the corner.

The Klingons came running. As soon as they cleared the corner, he and Spock each fired two quick blasts and the Klingons fell to the floor. Stepping over them, the two men headed for Kor’s office.

“It looks like we will be paying Commander Kor a visit,” Kirk said as he led the way. He and Spock might not be able to win this, but Kirk was determined to make sure that the Klingons on Organia knew they had been in a fight.

Chapter Twenty-two

STARFLEET COMMAND HEADQUARTERS

SAN FRANCISCO, EARTH

PRESIDENT WESCOTT’S IMAGE appeared on the viewscreen in Admiral Solow’s office. Once again, West was struck by how much older the president looked. The last few months had taken their toll on everyone, but Wescott seemed to age by the week.

“The fleet is in position and prepared to enter the Organian system, where the Klingon fleet is waiting,” Solow said.

“How many of the Klingon Empire’s warships are there?” Wescott asked.

“As near as we can tell, all of them, or close enough, Mr. President,” Solow said.

“I see.”

“Mister President, we’ve prepared for this. We’ve trained for this. The fleet has never been stronger, and with our new intelligence, there will never be a better time.”

“I have no doubt that your people will do their jobs well. Thank you for all you have done, Admiral. Whatever future we have, I have no doubt we will owe it to Starfleet. And you, Lieutenant West, I thank you for your service. We’ve gained more useful insight about the Klingons from your department’s reports in the last four months than we learned in the previous few decades. I am sure your father is very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mister President,” West said. “And, Mister President, I’d like to say that…well, I have to admit that I did not vote for you in the last election.”

“Really?” Wescott said, his eyes flashing with amusement.

“But it will be my honor to remedy that next year,” West said.

Then West saw something he had not seen in weeks, perhaps months: the president smiled. It was a ghost of his famous grin, but a smile nonetheless.

“Thank you,” Wescott said. “Let’s hope we survive until next year. Admiral, I know the Klingons have already fired on the Enterprise, but…”

“We will not fire first,” Solow said firmly. “I’m sure we can count on the Klingons to do that.”

“And when they do, I want you not only to win, but I want you to make sure it is the last time they dare any such action again,” the president said.

“Is that an order, sir?”

“It is,” Wescott said. “Good luck and Godspeed, gentlemen. Wescott out.”

“Thank you, Mister President.”

The president’s face disappeared from the screen, replaced by the Federation seal.

The very atmosphere in the room seemed to thicken, to take on weight-a weight that, at the moment, seemed to be nearly crushing. It wouldn’t be long now. Hours at most, minutes more likely.

“Have the fleet move into the system,” Solow said.

“Yes, sir.” West headed to the comm panel to relay the order.

“The Federation fleet is entering the system,” Karel reported.

“So it begins,” Koloth said. His voice was a mixture of regret and anticipation. Karel knew how his captain felt.

In a moment, the Klingon Empire would find out just how strong their enemy had become. And despite everything, the anticipation of battle was strong, as his blood began to run hot.

It was something, he knew, that few if any humans would understand. They fought when they needed to and fought well, with courage and honor. But they didn’t feel the same heat, the same drive to battle, the same need warriors had to prove themselves-to forge a new self in a fight to the death.

Perhaps this war would do that for the empire. More and more, Karel feared it was the Klingon people’s only hope. Something had to burn away the dishonor, corruption, and self-interest that had driven the empire to this precipice.

“Get me the fleet captain,” Koloth barked. A moment later, Captain Kang’s image appeared on the viewscreen.

“I request the honor of engaging the Enterprise,” Koloth said.

Kang nodded. “You have faced that ship and crew before. Revenge?”

“They have been worthy. I seek to give them a good death,” Koloth said. Kang smiled at that and Koloth added, “But a death.”

“You do know that Captain Kirk is not on board.”

“I do,” Koloth said. “For now he is Kor’s challenge-and Kor’s problem.”

Kang nodded. “The Enterprise is yours. Good hunting, old friend.”

“And to you,” Koloth said.

A view of space replaced Kang’s face. Immediately, Karel began shouting orders. The battle was moments away, and the Enterprise would not go easily.

Kirk and Spock pulled open the doors and raced into the room. Immediately, Kor, who had been seated at his desk, got to his feet and leaned forward.

“Just stay where you are,” Kirk said, his phaser out.

Kor seemed remarkably calm. “You have done well to get this far through my guards.”

Spock reached around and pulled the disruptor from Kor’s side. “I believe you will find that several of them are no longer in perfect operating condition.”

“So, you are here,” Kor said, his voice almost amused as he sat back down. “You will be interested in knowing that a Federation fleet is on its way here at the moment. Our fleet is preparing to meet them.” Kor smiled, more broadly this time. And there it was again, the sense of amusement on Kor’s face and in his voice. The galaxy was about to tear itself apart, Kor was in his enemy’s hands, and this was his response? It was as bewildering to Kirk as the Organians’ simpleminded placidity.

“Checkmate, Commander,” Kirk said. Then he pointed toward the grating on the back wall behind Kor. Spock investigated. A nod from the first officer told Kirk that there was no one there.

“Shouldn’t you wait and see the results before you kill me?” Kor asked pleasantly.

“I don’t intend to kill you unless I have to,” Kirk said.

This seemed to amuse Kor further. “Ahh, sentimentality, mercy-the emotions of peace. Your weakness, Captain Kirk. The Klingon Empire shall win. Think of it. As we sit here, in space above us the destiny of the galaxy will be decided for the next ten thousand years.” Kor leaned forward, gesturing to glasses and a carafe of amber liquid on his desk. “Can I offer you a drink? We can toast the victory of the Klingon fleet.”

“You may be premature,” Spock said. “There are many possibilities.”

“Today we conquer. Oh, if someday we are defeated…well, war has its fortunes-good and bad.”

Kirk had heard enough. He walked around the desk and pulled Kor up and out of his seat by the arm. The commander continued speaking, his tone conversational. “Do you know why we are so strong? Because we are a unit. Each of us is part of the greater whole. Always under surveillance…even a commander like myself.”

Kirk realized what that meant a moment before Kor repeated, “Always under surveillance, Captain.” Then he pointed at the wall across from them. “If you will note.”

The captain saw the small device on the wall with the single, illuminated electronic eye and realized his mistake. From its position, it could scan the entire room.

“Cover, Spock!” Kirk shouted as he wheeled around to face the door. Keeping a hand on Kor, he aimed his phaser and prepared to fire. A fraction of a second later, four Klingon guards appeared, their own disruptors drawn.

They were outnumbered, but Kirk intended to go down fighting.

And then as Kirk aimed his phaser, it suddenly went white hot. An overload, was his first thought. We’re finished, was his second, as the phaser dropped from his hand.

But before Kirk felt any disruptor beams strike him, he saw the weapons in the hands of the Klingon guards drop to the floor as well-as did Spock’s own phaser.

“Shoot! Shoot!” Kor shouted as the guards held out their hands in pain.

Then Spock was launching himself at the guards and Kirk reached around for Kor. Whatever had happened to the weapons, they could still win this if they struck hard and struck first.

But as soon as Kirk touched Kor’s arm, he felt the same burning heat. Turning away, he charged two of the guards, only to find them white hot as well.

It didn’t make any sense.

“What is it, Spock?” Kirk asked.

“Inexplicable, Captain. Extreme heat-not only the weapons, but the bodies as well.”

Kirk saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to watch as Kor tried to pick up a dagger on his desk. As soon as the Klingon touched it, he had to pull his hand away.

It was impossible, but true. Yet Kirk had to do something. Kor walked toward him, and the two men circled each other. There had to be a way, some way to win this fight….

Kirk’s thoughts were interrupted by footsteps outside, and he looked through the open doors to see Ayelborne and Claymare heading toward them. The Organians looked relaxed as they entered the room, but there was one thing different about them-they weren’t wearing their placid smiles.

Ayelborne spoke. “We are terribly sorry to be forced to interfere, gentlemen. But we could not permit you to harm yourselves.”

“What are you talking about?” Kor demanded before Kirk got a chance to ask the same thing.

“We have put a stop to your violence,” Claymare said.

For a moment, Kirk could not believe what he had just heard. “You are stopping this? You?”

Claymare said, “All instruments of violence on this planet now radiate a temperature of three hundred and fifty degrees. They are inoperative.”

“My fleet,” Kor said.

“The same conditions exist on both star fleets. There will be no battle,” Ayelborne said.

“Ridiculous,” Kor said.

“I suggest you contact them,” Ayelborne said to the commander. “You too, Captain. Your ship is now within range of your communications device.”

Even as Kirk reached for his communicator, he understood that-as impossible as it was-the Organians were telling the truth. Somehow, they had put a stop to what for the last several months had seemed inevitable.

“Kirk to Enterprise, come in,” he said.

“Captain,” Sulu’s voice replied. “I can’t explain it. We were just closing in on the Klingon fleet when every control on our ship became…too hot to handle.” Then the captain could hear the unmistakable sound of major systems on the ship powering down. “Our power is gone. Our phaser banks are dead.”

“Stand by, Sulu,” Kirk said, and then he closed his communicator.

Across the room, Kirk heard Kor say, “Understood, Kang. I will report shortly.” He deactivated his own communicator. “My fleet, it’s helpless.”

Kirk strode over to the Organians. “What have you done?”

Ayelborne said, “As I stand here, I also stand upon the home planet of the Klingon Empire and the home planet of your Federation, Captain. I am going to put a stop to this insane war.” In that moment, Ayelborne’s eyes flashed with more emotion than Kirk would have thought possible for the man.

“You’re what?” Kor said, indignation in his voice.

“You’re talking nonsense,” Kirk said.

“It is being done,” Ayelborne replied calmly.

Then Kirk felt his own indignation rising up. “You can’t just stop the fleet. What gives you the right?”

“You can’t interfere,” Kor added. “What happens in space is not your business.”

Ayelborne appeared unmoved. “Unless both sides agree to an immediate cessation of hostilities, all your armed forces, wherever they may be, will be immediately immobilized.”

Kirk felt anger rising up at the Organians, and not for the first time. “We have legitimate grievances against the Klingons! They’ve invaded our territory, killed our citizens. They’re openly aggressive-they’ve boasted that they’ll take over half the galaxy!”

“And why not?” Kor snarled. “We’re the stronger! You’ve tried to hem us in, cut off vital supplies, strangle our trade! You’ve been asking for war!”

Kirk leaned in and shouted back, “You’re the ones who issued the ultimatum to withdraw from the disputed areas!”

“They’re not disputed, they’re clearly ours!” Kor turned to the Organians. “And now you step in with some kind of trick!”

“It is no trick, Commander,” Ayelborne said. “We have simply put an end to your war. All your military forces, wherever they are, are now completely paralyzed.”

Claymare added, “We find interference in other people’s affairs…most disgusting, but you gentlemen have given us no choice.”

Clearly, the Organians had the power to do what they claimed, but even so, this didn’t make sense. “You should be the first to be on our side.” Kirk gestured toward Kor. “Two hundred hostages killed.”

Ayelborne shook his head. “No one has been killed, Captain.”

“No one has died here in uncounted thousands of years,” Claymare said.

“You’re liars!” Kor said. “You’re meddling in things that are none of your business!”

Kor was right, at least partly, Kirk realized. “Even if you have some power that we don’t understand, you have no right to dictate to our Federation-“

“Or our empire!” Kor added.

“-how to handle their interstellar relations! We have the right-“

“To wage war, Captain?” Ayelborne said in a tone that was both gentle and amused. “To kill millions of innocent people? To destroy life on a planetary scale? Is that what you’re defending?”

For a long moment, Kirk was speechless. He felt a wave of shame. Ayelborne was right, absolutely and completely right. Just a few days ago, he had told his crew that the only thing that could stop this war was a miracle. Well, if this wasn’t a miracle, it was close enough for him-and Kirk had found himself arguing against it, agreeing with Kor at the injustice of it.

“Well, no one wants war,” he said finally, weakly. He glanced at Kor and added, “But there are proper channels. People have a right to handle their own affairs. Eventually, we would have-“

“Oh, eventually you would have peace but only after millions of people had died. It is true that in the future, you and the Klingons will become fast friends. You will work together.”

“Never!” Kor said.

Kirk, though, remembered a man who called himself Jon Anderson but who was really a Klingon named Kell, and wondered if that was so far-fetched a notion.

Claymare, Kirk noticed, seemed almost to be in pain.

“Your emotions are most discordant. We do not wish to seem inhospitable, but, gentlemen, you must leave.”

“Yes, please leave us,” Ayelborne said. “The mere presence of beings like yourselves is intensely painful to us.”

Kirk frowned. “What do you mean, ‘beings like yourselves’?”

“Millions of years ago, Captain, we were humanoid like yourselves. But we have developed beyond the need of physical bodies. That of us which you see is mere appearance, for your sake.”

Suddenly, Kirk understood everything, from the doors that opened by themselves, to the Organians’ inhuman placidity, to their lack of concern about their own safety.

Kor stepped forward. “Captain, it’s a trick. We can handle them, I have an army.”

Kirk put a hand out to hold the commander back. The Organians smiled at them, and the air in the room changed. It seemed to get thicker, and then he noticed the ambient sounds had disappeared.

The Organians continued to smile, and then somehow they brightened, as if they were being illuminated from within at several points. A piercing hum filled the room as well, a sound that Kirk could feel deep in his own chest.

The light brightened and Kirk had to squint as it completely bathed the two Organians. It became brighter and brighter as the sound grew louder and higher in pitch.

Finally, Kirk had to close his eyes, but it seemed as if he could actually feel the light filling the room. Remarkably, it gave off no heat that he could detect.

That which you see is mere appearance… Ayelborne had said.

Finally the sound started to recede, and Kirk opened his eyes. Looking through his open hands, Kirk saw the Organians fading to balls of light. Those balls grew smaller and dimmer until they, and the sound, were gone.

Spock approached the spot where the Organians had stood, but it was now empty. More than empty, Kirk thought. Ayelborne and Claymare had left more than just the room, he realized. They had gone to whatever place they occupied when they weren’t enduring the pain of being in the presence of beings like him…and Spock…and the Klingons.

Everyone in the room was silent for a moment. Even the Klingons seemed to understand that something important had just happened.

Finally, Spock broke the silence. “Fascinating. Pure energy. Pure thought. Totally incorporeal. Not life as we know it at all.”

“But what about this planet? The fields? The buildings? This citadel?” Kirk asked.

“Conventionalizations, I should say. Useless to the Organians. Created so that visitors such as ourselves could have conventional points of reference,” Spock said.

“But is all this possible?” Kor asked.

“We have seen it with our own eyes,” Spock said bluntly. “I should say the Organians are as far above us on the evolutionary scale as we are above the amoeba.”

It was a disquieting thought, Kirk realized. He smiled when he saw that it was more than just disquieting for the Klingons. Kor looked decidedly uncomfortable. His was a warrior people and he had been denied not only victory but battle itself by a people who were both somehow totally meek and incredibly powerful.

“Well, Commander, I guess that takes care of the war. Obviously the Organians aren’t going to let us fight,” Kirk said.

Kor nodded his head sadly. “A shame, Captain. It would have been glorious…”

Chapter Twenty-three

STARFLEET COMMAND HEADQUARTERS

SAN FRANCISCO, EARTH

PATRICK WEST REACHED FOR Katherine Lei’s hand and grasped it. They were in one of the meeting rooms, which was filling with people, but West didn’t care. It wasn’t every day he saw a miracle. He grasped her hand tighter.

West immediately recognized the room on the viewscreen-virtually everyone in the Federation recognized that room. It was the Federation president’s office on the top floor of the Palais de la Concorde. The president was working at his desk, alone in the office, when the robed figure of an older man with mostly gray hair and a goatee appeared in front of the desk. There was no transporter effect, no burst of energy. One moment he wasn’t there, and the next moment he was.

The man wore a placid smile and said, “Mister President.”

President Wescott started and immediately got to his feet. “Who…?” Then Wescott looked toward the door.

“You will not need your security people. You are in no danger from me. I am Ayelborne of Organia.”

“I see,” Wescott said. He was alert but calm, keeping the door in his peripheral vision. “How can I help you?”

“I have come to inform you that I and my people have put a stop to your conflict with the Klingon Empire. There will be no war.”

“Have you?” the president said. “If you don’t mind, I will confirm that.”

Ayelborne nodded. “Of course.”

The president hit the intercom on his desk. There was a quick conversation, and a hundred different emotions played out on the president’s face in a span of seconds. Wescott closed the channel and looked up at Ayelborne. “How…?”

“We prefer not to get involved in the affairs of others, but we could not allow such destruction near our home. We apologize, but we can simply not allow you to fight. You will find that all military vessels on both sides are immobilized. This will continue until forces on both sides are withdrawn and plans are made for a peaceful resolution of your differences.”

“Who are you? How have you done this?” Wescott said, his voice nearly breaking.

“Be satisfied that it is so,” Ayelborne said.

Then the image froze on the president’s face, as a single tear fell from his eye.

Not just the president’s eye, West saw as he looked at Katherine-and every other person in the room.

They had each seen the moment play out before, most of them several times, yet it hadn’t lost any of its power in the last forty-eight hours. In fact, as more and more reports came in, it seemed to affect them more because people started to believe that it was somehow real.

It seemed to be impossible, of course, but it was clearly true. Already, the Klingons and the Federation had begun slowly withdrawing their fleets. The process would take some time, but time was what everyone seemed to have now. Time to accept that war would not come. Time to believe that the peace would last.

And time to start planning for a future.

For too long people had been unable to think past the war. West glanced at Katherine and realized that in the last two days he had begun to think about the future himself. A future that included her.

She caught him staring and shot him a quizzical look. He only had time to smile before his communicator beeped. Pulling it out, he said, “West here.”

“Lieutenant, I need you in my office,” Admiral Solow said.

“Right away, sir,” West said.

“I presume Lieutenant Lei is with you,” Solow said, a hint of…what? Was that humor in the admiral’s voice?

“She is,” West said. He didn’t think they had really fooled the admiral anyway. Of course, if things went the way West now planned, they would have to make some adjustments. Regulations wouldn’t allow West and Lei to continue to work together directly. Well, that was fine. They would have plenty of time to work that out.

Plenty of time now, he mused.

When they reached the admiral’s office, he had half a dozen people inside, whom he shooed out. West noticed another difference at Headquarters. Noise. After weeks of solemn silence, there was noise everywhere…talking, shouting, even laughing.

West knew it was the sound of hope.

“Lieutenants,” Solow said, nodding for them to sit.

They took their places at the small oval conference table near the admiral’s window overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. The admiral’s face was serious, but it had lost the grim cast that Solow had worn since the death of Admiral Justman a few months before.

West asked, “Sir, have you read my report? I have high hopes for the xeno-studies department now. I think we can accomplish quite a bit.” He had originally been brought on by Justman to start a xeno-studies department to prevent the kind of conflict that had almost occurred with the Klingons.

As the tension with the empire had increased, his job and the job of his growing department had been directed more to tactical and strategic support. West was no longer naive enough to believe that understanding alone would prevent conflict, but he still believed xeno-studies could help in reducing the tensions that led to war. Failing that, he felt certain that xeno-studies could help the Federation win wars that became inevitable.

Solow nodded. “I have, and you make an interesting case. But I’d like to table further discussion until you return.”

“Return?” West asked.

“I need you both for a special field mission,” Solow said. “I apologize that it has to be so sudden. I know that neither of you have had time to see your families since we received the…visit from Ayelborne. The problem is that President Wescott is dispatching Ambassador Fox and a small group to negotiate the terms of the peace agreement between the Federation and Klingon Empire. The negotiations will be under the supervision of the Organians themselves, and you and Lieutenant Lei will be advising the ambassador.”

West was almost too stunned to speak, but he immediately saw a problem. The admiral seemed to read his thoughts. “The ambassador requested you, Lieutenant-insisted, in fact. And the president feels strongly about this,” Solow said.

“Of course, Admiral,” West said. He was surprised. He and Fox had had their share of disagreements in the past, though they had come to an understanding.

“We need you both now. The galaxy almost just tore itself apart because of a twenty-five-year-old grudge. We need to make sure that this problem between the Federation and the Klingon Empire ends now, once and for all.”

“Yes, sir,” Lei and West said together.

“We won’t need long to prepare, just-” West began.

“Four hours,” Solow interrupted him. “Your transport leaves in four hours.”

West smiled. “Four hours, sir.”

Solow stood up. West and Lei recognized their cue and got up to leave. At the door, Solow shook West’s hand. “I want to thank you, Patrick. For what you’ve done for Starfleet, and for what you are about to do for the Federation.” Then the admiral did something that West had never seen him do: he smiled-broadly and warmly.

“Thank you, sir,” West replied.

“Good luck to you both,” Solow said.

In the outer office, West saw the image of the president with the single tear on his face on one of the viewscreens. West knew that the Federation would be seeing a lot of that image in the next few days and weeks. Somehow, it seemed to sum up the way they all were feeling.

“The president asked for you,” Lei said, sounding impressed.

West smiled. “He rarely makes a move without me.” Katherine smiled back and West said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about this. The key is to frame the conflict for the Klingons as a defeat for both parties by the Organians. That way-“

When he saw the exasperated expression on Katherine’s face, West stopped talking. “What?”

“We only have four hours,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “We won’t need much-” There it was again, that look. “What…?”

“We only have four hours before we take a long trip on a transport where we will have no privacy.”

Then West understood. “Perhaps we can discuss this on the transport,” he said, and smiled. “You can pack what you need from my place.”

“It would be more efficient,” Katherine said.

“And save us some time,” he said.

West took her hand, and they practically ran for the turbolift.

When the buzzer rang, Fuller said, “Come.”

The doors opened, and James Kirk walked into the quarters that Fuller shared with Parmet. The ensign nearly dropped the tricorder he was holding and said, “Captain!”

“At ease, Ensign,” Kirk said. “If you would give Mister Fuller and me a moment?”

“Of course,” Parmet said, and headed out the door.

Kirk held out a data slate and said, “You caught me by surprise. I had hoped you would stay on the Enterprise for the duration of her mission.”

“I have some unfinished business back on Earth,” Fuller said.

“Important?”

“A standing lunch invitation from a woman in my building.”

“I understand,” Kirk said with a grin. “In that case…” He took the stylus and signed the transfer order.

“Thank you, sir,” Fuller said.

“Felt that the galaxy was finally safe?”

Fuller shook his head. “We both know that’s not true, but I did see there were plenty of good people to do the job. I’ve resisted teaching until now, but I thought it might be time to try something new.”

To his own surprise, Fuller found himself looking forward to returning to Starfleet Academy. He hadn’t spent more than a few hours there at a time since he finished his own training twenty-five years before, and he realized that most of those trips had been to visit his son Sam. The last one was for Sam’s graduation.

“The diplomatic team arrives tomorrow, and I expect things to get pretty busy. So if you have a few minutes, I thought we could grab a quiet drink now. It may be our only chance before you go,” Kirk said.

“Saurian brandy?” Fuller asked, and Kirk nodded. “Of course, I’d like that, Captain,” Fuller said as the two men headed down the corridor.

“All crew to the bridge,” Captain Bastielli said over shipwide intercom. Parrish nearly ran there, making sure she had her phaser. Since the attack by the Fang, the crew had been on edge. If there was a serious problem, the captain would have called an emergency, but Parrish wasn’t about to take any chances.

Particularly now, when they were so close to Earth, which everyone knew would be one of the first targets of the Klingon fleet.

When they got to the bridge, Bastielli’s face was serious. He told them all to wait and then hit a button on the comm panel. Parrish immediately recognized the president and his office, and they watched the appearance of the strange man. At the end, the video held on an image of President Wescott with a single tear running down his face.

The crew stood in silence for several long seconds.

“Is this…real?” Parrish asked.

Now Bastielli smiled. “We’ve gotten confirmation from Starfleet. All hostilities have ceased, and both sides are withdrawing forces.”

Daniels looked baffled, as did everyone else. “Organians…who are they? How could they have…?”

“No one knows,” Bastielli said, “but clearly they have the power, because they’ve done it.”

“So it’s peace then?” Parrish said, almost not believing it was possible.

“Yes, apparently diplomatic teams have already been dispatched. Leslie, it looks like Earth will be safe after all.”

Parrish’s hands went automatically to her growing stomach. She had known that the Starfleet doctors on Earth would give her and Jon’s baby the best chance of survival-even though she had also known that Earth would be in danger from the Klingons.

In some ways, it had felt like Earth would be no safer for her and her baby than the Enterprise. But now…

“Do we have any details?” Parrish asked.

“We don’t know much, except that the Enterprise was in the Organian system when this all happened,” Bastielli said.

“The Enterprise? Any casualty reports?” she asked.

Bastielli smiled. “Initial reports say no casualties, at least on our side.”

Parrish relaxed. No casualties in the culmination of what everyone assumed would be a devastating conflict. She smiled. It looked like she had really missed something.

“I’ve made a transmission to Captain Kirk. I hope to know more soon,” Bastielli said.

Two days later, they received a reply from the Enterprise, with personal messages from both the captain and Doctor McCoy to Parrish. She’d also received a message from Michael Fuller in which he had assured her that her squad was fine, and adding that he would visit her at the Academy, where he had accepted a teaching post.

Two days later, they arrived in the Sol system. In that time, more information had come in. The first sign that something was going on was the huge amount of traffic within the solar system. Ships full of cargo and passengers, both official and private, were buzzing throughout the system. And the communications chatter between them was almost giddy.

The Antares had to wait a full day for an orbital position. As soon as they were in orbit, Parrish got a call from Doctor Van Kalmthout, who insisted that she come see him immediately.

“I’ll be transporting down shortly,” she said.

“You will not,” the doctor said. “You’re pregnant. You will take a shuttle. I’ve sent one up to rendezvous with your ship.”

“Doctor, as I understand it, transporters are perfectly safe for-“

Van Kalmthout waved her silent and said, “So you’re making medical assessments now?”

Parrish smiled and said, “Apparently not. I look forward to the shuttle.” As the doctor broke the connection, she remembered that he was a friend of McCoy’s and realized that made her trust him implicitly. Besides, a few extra precautions would not hurt.

It did not take her long to pack her few things and say her good-byes.

“If you ever consider the merchant service…” Captain Bastielli had said.

She smiled. “I think I’ll give teaching at the Academy a try, at least for a while.” A shuttle crew of two full lieutenants-instead of ensigns-greeted her. When she had asked why, they had shrugged and said, “Orders from Command.”

Getting on the shuttle, she made a mental note to thank Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy. The shuttle made a slow descent, and as the Golden Gate Bridge and Starfleet Command came into view, she felt a mixture of emotions that was hard to identify. She seemed to be feeling everything: all of the last six months, all of her feelings for Jon, all of her hopes and fears for the future-and feeling them all at once.

She wiped a single tear from her face and smiled as the shuttle touched down on the surface.

“Did you fire on the Enterprise?” Koloth asked as Karel entered his captain’s quarters.

“We…tried, Captain,” Karel said.

“The Organians?” Koloth said.

“Yes, the weapons panels became hot. The gunner tried to fire anyway. He is in the medical bay having his burns treated.”

“Did you explain to the Organians that it is a gesture of respect?” Koloth asked.

“Yes,” Karel said. “They were…unmoved.”

Koloth shook his head. “Barbarians,” he muttered. “Is the Enterprise preparing for departure?”

“Yes. I have arranged with their first officer for us to depart at the same time,” Karel said. It was necessary. The Klingon High Council had insisted that a Klingon warship be the last to leave the planet. To everyone’s surprise, the Federation had refused. Instead, the diplomats had argued passionately and finally agreed to the joint departure of the D’k Tahg and the Enterprise.

Klingon custom held that the victor be the last to leave the field of battle. At first it had seemed odd to worry about that kind of protocol, given the fact that there had been no battle. Yet, after the diplomatic teams had had their initial discussions, the fleet had begun to talk about the Battle of Organia as a defeat for both the Federation and the Klingon Empire.

He was not sure that it was a defeat, but the Klingon Empire’s plans had been thwarted, so it made sense on one level. Karel sensed politics in there, and wisdom as well. The empire, of course, preferred victory, but it understood defeat.

Better an honorable defeat than a dishonorable victory, Kahless had said.

Certainly, the Organians had proved themselves more powerful than both the empire and the Federation. They had imposed their terms on both sides, which was close enough to a victory-from a Klingon point of view.

And now that the Organians had bested both governments, the Federation was something like an ally-the kind that had shared a common enemy. It was an interesting beginning, one that might have even more interesting developments in the future. Of course, like many worthwhile things, the situation was fragile, but with luck and honor, who knew?

It was good to think about the empire’s future. There were still a great many problems within the empire, some of them wide and deep. But the Klingon people now had a future. There would be time to restore honor and glory to the empire that Kahless had forged.

Karel realized that he wanted to be part of that future. In some ways, his brother Kell’s spirit demanded it. And in another way, he realized it was what he wanted himself. He also saw that he had something to offer the empire, something the empire needed. There was strength in his family’s blood.

But there was something Karel had to do before he could even consider the future. “Captain, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”

Koloth saw something in Karel’s eyes and immediately stood. “What is it, First Officer Karel?”

“I have been thinking about the future, both mine and the empire’s,” Karel said.

“I see,” Koloth responded.

“I have begun looking into other…opportunities.”

“I have seen your messages to Qo’noS.”

“So you know I seek a position with the High Council,” Karel said. Koloth nodded. “A friend of my father’s is on the High Council, and has offered me a position on his staff.”

“Are you asking to be released from your duties on the D’k Tahg?” Koloth asked.

“I am.”

“A junior position, even in the Council, will not be the same as a senior bridge position on a warship-where you are one battle or successful challenge away from a command.”

Karel nodded. “I feel I must go where I am needed.”

“The High Council certainly needs Klingons of honor, and you are that. I look forward to seeing what you have made of the empire when you are finished, Karel of the House of Gorkon.”

“Until then,” Karel said, “I presume that you and the D’k Tahg will keep the empire safe.”

“We will,” Koloth said. “Good luck to you, Karel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As Karel turned and left the room, he realized that for the first time since his brother’s death, Kell’s spirit was quiet.

“The D’k Tahg is preparing to break orbit,” Spock said.

“Helm, break orbit on Spock’s mark,” Kirk said.

Spock counted down from ten and then said, “Mark.”

“Breaking orbit now, Captain,” Sulu said.

“Full impulse,” Kirk said.

“Aye aye, sir,” Sulu said.

“Ambassador Fox and the diplomatic team send their regards,” Uhura said.

“Reply in kind, Lieutenant. Tell them that the crew of the Enterprise wishes them luck.”

They would need some luck. The war was over before it had begun in earnest. Now, they had to forge an agreement that would last. The Organians were powerful enough to stop the large-scale conflict, but they couldn’t be counted on to prevent or mediate every petty dispute in trade, expansion, travel, and the thousand other details and nuances of interstellar relations.

“We are at the edge of the system,” Sulu said.

“Warp factor eight, Mister Sulu,” Kirk said.

Suddenly, after months of preparation for war, the fleet had been redeployed quickly to handle half a year’s worth of scientific surveys, relief operations, and other missions. Starship crews would be harried for a while, but that was infinitely preferable to rebuilding from a war-even a war that the Federation had won.

A war that Kirk, for a moment, had almost wanted….

Well, perhaps not wanted, but one that he had come to accept as inevitable, and then had been unable to let go of.

He heard Spock approach from behind him and take his customary position to Kirk’s right. As Kirk looked up, Spock said, “You’ve been most restrained since we left Organia.”

“I’m embarrassed,” Kirk admitted. “I was furious at the Organians for stopping a war I didn’t want. We think of ourselves as the most powerful beings in the universe. It’s unsettling to discover that we’re wrong.”

“Captain, it took millions of years for the Organians to evolve into what they are. Even the gods did not spring into being overnight. You and I have no reason to be embarrassed. We did, after all, beat the odds.”

“Oh, no, no, no, Mister Spock. We didn’t beat the odds; we didn’t have a chance. The Organians raided the game.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and Kirk smiled-his first smile in a few days, he realized. Getting up, he walked to the main viewscreen. Their next mission would be a scientific survey, an investigation of some interesting time and space anomalies. Spock was certainly excited-at least, as excited as he ever allowed himself to get-and perhaps that was exactly the kind of quiet mission the ship and crew needed.

At any rate, it was their next mission, and the ship and crew were ready for it, whatever it would bring.

About the Author

Kevin Ryan is the author of ten books, including the bestselling Star Trek: Errand of Vengeance trilogy. He wrote the USA Today bestselling novelization of Van Helsing, as well as two books for the Roswell series. In addition, Ryan has published a number of comic books and written for television. He lives in New York and can be reached at Kryan1964@aol.com.