Historian’s Note

The Blood-Dimmed Tide takes place in 2291, Stardate 9121.4-approximately eighteen months prior to Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country.

He who lives by the sword dies by the sword.

- human proverb

Live by the sword. Die by the sword. Capture eternal honor.

- Klingon Laws of Honor from the Scrolls of Kahless

Wield the sharpest blade with the greatest care.

- Vulcan scripture

Prologue

Seen from space, certain worlds-with wide blue oceans, emerald lands, and swirling veils of white clouds-whisper, Welcome.

This particular planet-with wind-scoured, cratered plains, rusty mountains, and one ragged, inadequate sea filling a basin left behind by some ancient cataclysm-this planet snarled, Go away. Only its location, in treacherous unclaimed space near the Klingon and Romulan Empires, made it worth the skirmish taking place there.

The lone, cloaked Klingon bird-of-prey in orbit was no match for two Romulan warships shedding their own cloaking fields as they opened fire. Several torpedoes found their target, confirming that no stealth technology was completely undetectable. A few explosive seconds later, all that remained of the Klingon ship was a bloom of shards glinting in the starlight as they hurtled away into space. Then the Romulan vessels turned their weapons on their primary target: a military outpost on the planet.

Hunkered in an equatorial valley, the Klingon base consisted of two structures linked by a tunnel-one a bunker housing a half-dozen soldiers and a bank of deep-space scanners, the other a turret capped by a pair of disruptor cannons. With only one big gun operational, and deflector shields failing fast, the Klingon troops were all too aware that they were overmatched by the warbirds pounding them from space. They expected to be marching into their honored afterlives in Sto-Vo-Kor shortly.

What the Romulan commanders didn’t expect, and did not detect in time, was the Klingon battle cruiser K’tanco sweeping in with its own weapons blazing. The element of surprise tipped the brief battle in favor of the Klingon cruiser. With precise fury, the Klingon ship routed the Romulans-one vessel destroyed, the other making a hasty retreat.

Lusty victory cheers filled the Klingon bridge. The weapons officer called for song, but their commander glowered, dark and angry. “No,” Captain Kang said, “not when we must prepare for war with the Romulans… and perhaps the Federation as well.”

Kang’s bridge officers roared their approval once again, since the prospect of battle in the name of honor was always welcome. But Kang didn’t share their enthusiasm. He knew what they did not-that the Klingon Empire was rotting from within, teetering on the edge of a forbidding abyss promising none of the eternal glory of Sto-Vo-Kor. Kang had shared these fears only with Mara, his wife and first officer, and his two oldest comrades, Kor and Koloth.

Since before he had the strength to pick up a bat’leth, Kang had dreamed of living and dying as a warrior. His ancestors created a culture that prized uncompromising power so the Klingon people would never be subjugated. He’d served his empire with all his heart and soul, always marched into battle willingly, ready to shed his last drop of blood if his sacrifice would preserve the Klingon way. Now Kang faced the unthinkable. I know no other life. If the empire ceases to exist, what will I be?

Chapter 1

Dressed in the comfort of her coziest robe and slippers, Raya elMora stood at the window of her bed-chamber and looked longingly out toward the placid S’rii Tuuliie meandering past the grounds of her official residence. The river’s ripples reflected the full light of Varnex, the larger of Mestiko’s paired moons, and the only one still orbiting the planet, presiding over the midnight sky. Back when she was a girl, this was just another provincial Larendan town, called Hur-tuuliie. She and her friends spent many a lazy summer day sailing with the river’s gentle currents, pretending to be explorers, collecting the sweet fruit which fell from the noggik groves along the marshy banks.

That hometown was long gone, ravaged like most of the world by the same disaster that had sent the planet’s second moon, Kifau, careening out of Mestiko’s orbit. A new cosmopolis stood in its place. Renamed vosTraal, it was Mestiko’s global capital city. Raya’s childhood home was home again, but it wasn’t the same. Then again, she thought, nothing is the same, and it never will be.

She padded across the carpet and sat at her simple desk made of noggik planks, which never lost their fragrance. Bathed in the soft glow of a lamp and her computer screen, she scrolled through a revised proposal for celebrations marking the upcoming twelveyear anniversary of her return to leadership of the planet’s ruling Zamestaad council. How could it be that long since the end of her exile on Kazar and her smashing election victory over the remnants of the corrupt, mar-Atyya regime? Raya sighed. She’d rejected the first ceremonial plans from her staff as too elaborate and self-congratulatory, and her chagrined aides had retreated to craft something more in keeping with their leader’s modesty.

Frankly, she’d have preferred that the occasion pass with no more notice than the turning of a calendar page. But there was no escaping the tendency of civilized beings to pay considerable attention-too much, maybe-to milestones marking time’s progress.

Bureaucracies possessed that same tendency, if only to justify their own existence. With the approach of the somber thirty-sixth anniversary of the devastation of their planet, government agencies worldwide spared no effort in preparing voluminous reports measuring Mestiko’s progress. When her staff offered summaries, Raya insisted on reading the full documents. So she knew as well as anyone that her people had indeed come a long way since the days after the radiation-ignited firestorms, whipped by violent winds and fueled by vast forests, had incinerated wilderness and cities alike. The boundless flooding storms that followed had quenched the holocaust but left behind a toxic, seared surface, nearly stripped of life.

Call it the Pulse, the Scourer, or simply the disaster… no one knew back then if Mestiko could survive, much less flourish. Yet, even in those literally dark days of crushing despair, with a billion dead and wretched survivors forced underground, development and trade of natural resources had rebounded steadily and stabilized the planet’s economy. Once freed from Klingon meddling, the miraculous satellite system created by the Federation’s Dr. Marat Lon had restored the atmosphere, settled the climate, and permitted accelerated terraforming. That enabled the Kazarites to work their brand of ecological magic and achieve enough environmental regeneration to make the planet increasingly habitable and arable.

Though it would take generations more for the population to even approach predisaster levels, people did what people do and the birth rate had begun to blossom. Many Zamestaad council members insisted on heralding those triumphs, and Raya could hardly dispute that her world had made an amazing recovery, considering the near-fatal blow dealt by the rogue pulsar.

It was the curse of politics that Raya’s public statements focused on success while her private thoughts dwelled on failures and frustrations. Food production and land reclamation still lagged behind predictions, which had been conservative to begin with. Ugly swaths of the planet remained barren, like wounds reluctant to heal. Will we ever truly recover? Or is this as good as it gets?

Raya sighed again, slouched back in her chair, and picked up her mug of herbal tea. Never mind the debatable measures of material progress-it was the social-services reports that most troubled her. Rates of suicide, depression, and crime were rising. The planet’s once-thriving arts communities had failed to reinvigorate themselves. It might have seemed trivial that few important new dramatic works, novels, or musical compositions had been created since the Pulse. But Raya knew that culture sustained the soul, and the Payav soul seemed as charred and barren as the noggik groves after the disaster.

Mestiko faced a looming spiritual crisis, one resistant to the calculus of charts and graphs, and nothing worried her more. Various studies attempted to quantify a rift in attitudes between generations born before and after the disaster. Those old enough to remember the good old days often found themselves drifting into nostalgic lethargy. Those just coming of age seethed with frustration, knowing they might never taste the halcyon existence whose loss their parents lamented. Lost souls flocked to the latest lunatic-fringe fundamentalist faction, this one preaching yet another new twist on the corrosive mar-Atyya belief that the Pulse was punishment for having abandoned the old religious ways, and warning of an even greater and final apocalypse to come. Just what this wounded world needs.

Things could certainly have been worse at this point. But they could also have been better. Even Raya’s closest aides were unaware she’d been considering stepping down from Zamestaad leadership before her term was up. Not that she wasn’t proud of her stewardship, but maybe it was time for fresh hearts and minds….

A frantic pounding on her apartment door disrupted her ruminations, and she immediately felt queasy. In all her life, Raya had never known a late-night knock to be a harbinger of good news. She swung the door open to find Jaarg etDalka, her young chief of staff, standing there, looking even more harried and pale than usual. “What’s wrong?”

“The Discovery Center.” Jaarg swallowed and tried to quell the shiver in his voice. “It’s been attacked.”

“What? Who- ?”

“We don’t know yet.”

Raya’s head sank. She rubbed her long, still-elegant neck with both hands. She forced herself to breathe slowly, fighting off that spark of panic she always felt at the onset of a crisis. It was a reflex she’d learned to live with, and she knew the antidote: action. “Does Blee know?”

Jaarg nodded. “I called her first.”

“Good boy.” Raya smiled despite the situation, knowing her old friend and chief adviser Blee elTorno was already organizing a response.

“She’s gathering all the information she can, and I’ve already summoned the security minister and the military chiefs. They’ll be at your office in ten minutes.”

“Good. Oh-one other thing. Contact Ambassador Settoon and tell him I’ll need to see him within the hour. Now, go.”

As Raya ducked into her closet and quickly threw on some casual clothes, she couldn’t even begin to guess why anyone would target the science institute on Varnex. It was no secret that some regional leaders still chafed at the surrender of sovereignty necessary for the Zamestaad to manage a generation-spanning global recovery. But even the naysayers generally saw the Discovery Center as a crowning achievement, built up from the ruins of Mestiko’s first lunar outpost, which had been severely damaged by the Pulse. To this day, almost a twelveyear after the center opened, it still infuriated Raya that anyone could object to an institution established not only to improve life on Mestiko but also to enhance the planet’s stature in the quadrant.

Yet, the sentient capacity for discord apparently knew no bounds. Some contrarian politicians and civic leaders considered it their veritable vocation to pick at the center’s annual budget, though never with a vehemence that suggested they would sanction a violent attack on the place. And while she knew for a fact that certain religious zealots hated the progressive symbolism of the lunar science colony, she doubted they had the ability or reach to do something like this-not on their own, anyway.

No, rooting out those responsible for this crime would entail poking under some altogether new rocks, and Raya dreaded what might come slithering out. As much as she did not want to drag the Federation into this, that might prove unavoidable.

Just when things seem to be going along smoothly, somebody has to blow something up….

Chapter 2

“So… what’s wrong, Bones?”

“What’s wrong?” Leonard McCoy sputtered over his coffee mug. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong.”

Seated alone at a private corner table in the Enterprise-A mess hall, McCoy looked up at Captain Kirk looming over him. Noting the anxious twitch of McCoy’s eyebrows, Kirk mulled the option of hasty withdrawal. But, after all these years, he knew McCoy was willing to blurt what others bottled up, protocol be damned, and that made his cantankerous chief medical officer a useful barometer of the crew’s general mood.

“Assuming that wasn’t a rhetorical question,” McCoy said, biting off each syllable, “the Klingons and Romulans are at each other’s throats, Spock’s gone, and there’s mayhem on Mestiko.”

Well, Kirk thought with some consternation, that sums things up pretty accurately.

Alliances between predators were notoriously prickly, so Kirk had long believed the Klingon-Romulan connection would eventually fray. That inevitable final act had apparently begun, with reports of sporadic scuffles along the Klingon-Romulan border setting the entire quadrant on edge. Saber-rattling drowned out depleted attempts at diplomatic conciliation. The difficulty of getting reliable intelligence out of either insular empire made it impossible to know with certainty their relative strength or even the reasons behind the hostilities-which only made the situation more tense. Kirk had no love and little respect for either of the Federation’s brutal enemies, and in his rosiest personal scenario, a war between them might lead to the demise of one and the weakening of the other. But wars rarely worked out according to anyone’s optimistic prophecies, and Kirk preferred to avoid dwelling on the nightmarish alternatives. When the time was right, he intended to make his opinions clear to Starfleet Command.

He couldn’t help wondering if Spock’s sudden departure was related to the Klingon-Romulan nastiness. Not three days ago, with the Enterprise in Earth orbit, Spock had been summoned unexpectedly to a private meeting with Federation President Ra-ghoratreii at his office at the Palais de la Concorde in Paris. Then, without returning to the ship or providing any explanation to Kirk, Spock was dispatched on a mission so classified that Kirk could not extract a shred of information from any source on his whereabouts or when he’d be back from whatever the hell he was doing.

Without Spock aboard, Commander Chekov had added the role of first officer to his duties and Lieutenant Saavik had taken over as senior science officer. But even though it had been five years since Spock’s stunning death and resurrection during the Genesis incident, Kirk and McCoy retained a shared raw memory of the void they’d felt without him then. Both felt uneasy about his absence now.

As Kirk sat across the table from him, McCoy leaned over and muttered, “Don’t you ever tell Spock I said so, but he’s as close to indispensable as anybody on this ship.”

Once again, Kirk knew McCoy was right. “Maybe that’s why the president picked him for this assignment.”

“So meanwhile, we’ve got a mess on Mestiko, and we don’t even know what we’re dealing with.”

“Whatever it is, it’ll have to be handled minus one Vulcan.”

Kirk hadn’t been to Mestiko in more than a decade, when he had clandestinely tried-and failed-to extract Dr. Marat Lon. He’d been enjoying retirement on Earth when the Enterprise delivered Raya elMora home from exile three years later. Their relationship had certainly had its ups and downs since the rogue pulsar dispassionately designated PSR 418-D/1015.3 had devastated Raya’s world. But once Raya had realized Kirk’s role in subtly engineering events to assist her return to power, their friendship had mellowed to a level of supportive warmth that had remained unwavering over time.

Kirk always found Raya’s personal letters more satisfying to read than official reports. And although she often voiced her frustrations, Kirk believed the Payav were doing more than creating their own miracle-Mestiko was, in essence, an ongoing real-life restoration experiment, providing invaluable lessons that would likely save millions of lives on other planets facing future global disasters.

In fact, Kirk had been so upbeat about Mestiko’s rebirth that he’d allowed himself to believe Raya and her people would face only smooth sailing ahead. That was why this attack on their lunar science center was so troubling. He also knew how stubbornly independent his friend preferred to be. She was always conscious of the need to prove her recovering world didn’t need constant aid. Though he didn’t know all the details yet, the situation had to be pretty bad for Raya to call for help.

As the Enterprise approached Mestiko, Kirk contacted the Federation embassy in vosTraal, and Ambassador Settoon appeared on the viewscreen. Settoon was a burly being from Ana’siuol, a planet inhabited by humanoids whose general affability made them natural diplomats. The Ana’siuolo’s otherwise unexceptional facial features were defined by a single, startlingly large, multifaceted eye set just above the fleshy nose. Though Kirk had never met Settoon in person, they’d spoken often since the ambassador’s posting to Mestiko eight years earlier. Kirk recalled being mesmerized by that large central eye at first, but Settoon was even more jovial than most of his people; before long, the smile dominated the eye.

Today, however, that smile was a bit sad. “Captain, good to see you again.”

“Same here, Ambassador.”

“This is a most unfortunate incident. I was surprised that Raya came to me so quickly; that indicates the gravity. And I wanted you to know she specifically insisted that Starfleet send you and the Enterprise. She has a deep and abiding trust in you, Captain.”

“I appreciate that, sir. What’s your general impression of things on Mestiko these days?”

Settoon’s expression brightened, just a little. “Ahh! Quite good, actually. It’s all too easy for diplomats to get caught up in official events that keep us from truly knowing the planet and people we’re visiting. So I always like to put on comfy shoes and walk, walk, walk everywhere. I also love to cook, and I do not consider my job done until I’ve learned to cook local dishes like a native. When I first got to Mestiko, the atmosphere was still unfit for long exposure. And native ecosystems were so damaged there was almost nothing indigenous to cook. Now I am able to walk, walk, walk wherever I choose. And I’ve mastered enough native dishes to write my own Meals of Mestiko cookbook. So that’s all good. But now this…” His voice trailed off, but then his smile returned. “You will set things to right, Captain. I am at your service. And before you leave, allow me to cook a meal for you.”

Unable to help a smile at the ambassador’s enthusiasm, Kirk said, “I’d like that, Ambassador. Kirk out.”

As soon as the Enterprise entered Mestiko’s orbit, Raya beamed aboard. As she stepped off the transporter platform, Kirk greeted her with a boyish grin and the traditional Payav handshake, his arms outstretched with his left hand up and right hand down, Raya placing her palms on his. But Raya looked as grim as he’d ever seen her. “It’s bad, James, and the more we learn, the worse it gets.”

“The briefing room is this way,” Kirk said as he escorted her down the corridor. “You look good.”

The compliment caught her by surprise. “Oh! Thank you.” Her eyelids fluttered in embarrassment and a pearly blush darkened her pale gray cheeks. “You too.”

She really did look great, Kirk thought. The passage of time was fairly discernible in the deep furrows that had been etched in her face. How much of that was the stress of running the planet and how much was the result of her difficult years of exile on Kazar, Kirk couldn’t say for sure. However, her long, graceful neck showed none of the sagging skin so common to humans and Payav alike as they aged. And the delicate tattoo filigree running the full length of her neck seemed more vibrant than he remembered.

“Your tattoos,” he ventured, “they look… different.”

“Yes,” she said with a touch of satisfaction. “I had the colors brightened a bit. Payav men don’t usually notice such things, which is quite annoying. Are human men more observant?”

“Not according to human women.”

In the privacy of the turbolift, Raya’s fingers gently brushed the silver flecks feathering Kirk’s hair above his pointed sideburns. “You look… distinguished,” she said with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

Kirk chuckled. “One of the Payav advantages? Not having hair to turn white and betray the fact you’re not as young as you used to be.”

“Believe me, James, I don’t need hair to tell me that. Don’t some humans change their hair color?”

“Are you kidding? Those gray hairs?” Kirk said, pointing to his head. “I’ve earned every one of them.”

They arrived at the briefing room, where McCoy, Scott, Chekov, and Saavik were already seated around the table. Though Kirk gestured for her to sit, Raya remained standing and presented the facts in a soft, careworn voice, bolstered by charts, graphics, and images on the viewscreen.

“We started this science institute eight standard years ago. It was the idea of one of our most accomplished young scientists, my friend Dr. Theena elMadej. Like many of our young ones, she was tired of Mestiko’s being thought of around the galaxy as a tu-prait- a beggar-holding our hands out for charity.”

“We never thought of Mestiko that way,” McCoy said.

“But we thought of ourselves that way, Doctor. Theena wanted to create something brand-new to restore our self-respect. She wanted to recruit the best scientists from many fields and many worlds, and give them funding and a free hand to pursue pure research, with no pressure to produce commercial products. We hoped they would make discoveries and advances that would help Mestiko’s recovery, and help the rest of the galaxy, too. That’s why Theena named the colony something simple and obvious-the Discovery Center.”

Scott smiled. “Havin’ read your reports, I’d say you’ve achieved everything you set out to do.”

“Thank you, Captain Scott. Not everyone on Mestiko shares that sentiment. Funding has always been a battle. There’s been… disagreement… on priorities. On a world with as many problems as ours, it wasn’t easy to justify the expenditures.”

“Well,” McCoy said, “some people don’t see the value in setting out on a journey unless they know exactly where they’re going to end up.”

Raya shrugged. “And I can’t say they’re wrong. But I thought we were reaching the point where the center was finally recognized as a symbol of unity, and a beacon from Mestiko to the rest of the galaxy. And now this.” She keyed the computer to display a series of images of the facility, showing the damage, the injured and the dead. Kirk’s officers watched in silence as Raya narrated. “They attacked with grenades, toxic gas, and small-arms fire. Of the eighty-nine staff present at the time, we had twenty-three casualties, nineteen of whom were fatalities. Fortunately, most had the good sense to stay in their quarters when they heard the explosions.”

“What kind of security did you have?” Chekov asked.

“Not much, I’m afraid. The center was as open as we could make it without interfering with the work. We even had public tours. Theena wanted our school-children to see that there was a place for their dreams to become reality. It was on the moon, for stars’ sakes. It’s not like anyone could sneak up on it.”

“Not anyone from Mestiko, at least,” Kirk said.

“Yes,” Raya said with a solemn nod. “We never thought any Dinpayav would attack. But we now believe the attackers were alien terrorists.”

“Terrorists?” Kirk’s eye narrowed. “Why terrorists?”

“Because, as bad as the damage looks, it’s actually minor. Once they were inside, they put on a big diversionary show. Lots of smoke and explosions, gas that smelled more toxic than it really was-all designed to keep the residents hiding and out of the way. Very little of the colony was badly damaged. If they were trying to destroy the place, they didn’t do a very good job.”

“Madam Councillor,” Scotty said, “do you have any idea why it was attacked?”

“They apparently had a specific target.”

“And I’m betting,” McCoy said, “that it wasn’t a cure for the common cold.”

“No. It turned out to be a weapon. A subspace weapon. They took all the files, and the prototype. And they took Theena.”

Chapter 3

When the autopilot announced final approach to its programmed destination, Spock opened his eyes, instantly shook off the residual effects of his meditation period, and resumed manual control of the sleek courier craft with the cramped cabin and oversized warp nacelles. Though marginally Class-M, the arctic planet on the viewscreen looked deservedly uninhabited, so forlorn that it bore no name, just an astronomical designation. Spock banked the ship toward the surface and, with a rueful twitch of one eyebrow, glanced at the parka on the copilot seat. The more he aged, the more he found himself feeling an almost irrational desire for the accustomed warmth of Vulcan-and the more he found amusement in such occasional twinges of illogical emotion.

Nothing like a little dying to change the way you live. How typical of McCoy to say something so illogically homespun, yet imbued with a nugget of irritating wisdom. Spock’s experience twenty years ago with the vast though ultimately barren machine intelligence of V’Ger had confirmed for him one of his innermost nagging concerns-that the pursuit of Kolinahr, the Vulcan spiritual state of perfect logic, was, paradoxically, not logical. Diverted permanently from that goal, he’d spent much of the past two decades searching for his highest and best purpose, without much apparent direction-until his premature death at the Genesis planet. In ways he did not fully understand, his fortuitous rebirth had set him on a course toward that purpose. With this mission, it was possible he had finally found it.

Spock landed his craft softly on a glacial plateau, and saw that a battle-scarred Klingon bird-of-prey was already there. Sensors confirmed that the climate and atmospheric conditions were adverse, but survivable. He zipped the parka over his civilian clothing, pulled the hood over his head, slipped his thermal respiration mask over nose and mouth, opened the hatch, and stepped outside. Under the bleak beauty of a twilight-violet sky, the air was oddly still, but so frigid it would have been painful to breathe without the mask’s protection. Spock trudged carefully across fresh snow toward a large humanoid wearing a hooded, fur-trimmed cloak, standing under the furled wing of the Klingon vessel. As Spock approached, the figure gestured up the gangway, and Spock followed him into the belly of the ship. The ramp closed behind them and they both lowered their hoods. Spock looked into the leathery face of a grizzled Klingon warrior.

“Welcome to my ship,” said the Klingon in an unexpectedly soft voice.

Spock spread the fingers of his right hand in salute. “Live long and prosper, General Navok.”

A second figure came out of the interior shadows. Spock recognized the dark-skinned human immediately and nodded in greeting. “Admiral Morrow. It is agreeable to see you again.”

“You too, Captain Spock. Let’s get something hot to drink and get down to business.”

Over tankards-bloodwine for Navok, coffee for Harry Morrow, and pungent herbal tea for Spock-they sat around the wardroom table. Now, in better light, Spock noticed a deep, slicing scar across Navok’s throat, the probable explanation for a voice which barely rose above a hoarse whisper, quite unlike the usual Klingon growl.

“When Curzon Dax arranged this meeting, he told me I could trust you two,” Navok said. “The Great Curzon is like a brother to me, but trust must be earned.”

“That’s a two-way street,” Morrow said.

“Ahh, but your government approves of your journey. If the High Council knew I was here drinking with two Starfleet officers, I would be executed for treason.”

“True enough,” said Spock. “But our immediate safety is entirely in your hands.”

Navok clapped Spock on the shoulder. “Haah! So we all risk much. But the greater risk is inaction. Martial forces in our quadrant are driving toward a collision which could destroy us all. Vulcan, do you speak for the Federation and Starfleet?”

“Unlike Admiral Morrow, I am on active duty. While my visit is tacitly sanctioned by the Federation president, my presence is covert. Therefore, I have no official authority to make decisions.”

Navok huffed in disgust. “Then this is a waste of my time! I need- “

“Shut up, Navok,” Morrow said, surprising Spock with his less than diplomatic choice of words-though toughness might actually be the preferred approach with a Klingon. “Captain Spock is what you need. I’m retired Starfleet, so I speak only for the influential private citizens who are so worried about the future that they sent me to talk to Klingons. Spock is one of Starfleet’s most respected senior officers, and Vulcans are renowned for their objectivity. That’s why the president sent him. He’s your link. Convince Spock you have the same goal as we do-to avoid a pointless, calamitous war-and he can convince the Federation Council and Starfleet. So make your best case, General. Why are we here, what do you want, and what’s in it for us?”

Navok chuckled. “I never knew humans could be so direct. I like it! We usually think of you as mincing creatures unwilling to bare your steel. Very well, then. There is an ascendant faction of madmen within the High Council that is boiling up plans for preemptive war-not only against the Romulans, but the Federation as well. They ignore the fact that we are no longer capable of defeating one enemy, let alone two at once.”

Spock’s eyebrow arched in muted surprise. “Indeed? While the Klingon character is typically bellicose, it is not known for self-destructive recklessness.”

“Times change,” Navok said sardonically. “Chancellor Kesh pursues the fantasy of military superiority, while the empire chokes on its own pride. No outsider has ever conquered us, but the cost of arming against two dangerous adversaries is bankrupting us. We are becoming a paper fortress, a hollow husk to be crushed by the Romulans if we engage them in war.”

“The Federation might welcome such an outcome,” Spock said. “With one less antagonist- “

“You would be the only obstacle to Romulan dominion. Without a strong Klingon Empire on their other flank, the Romulan HaDIbaHpu’ will be unleashed and it will devour you, too.”

“Who’s to say,” Morrow parried, “that the Federation wouldn’t win?”

“Oh, you might. But you might not. And even if you do, at what price? The Romulans are cunning savages who will fight to their last blood and bone. The destruction will be- ” Navok shook his head. “- unimaginable.”

Morrow narrowed his eyes at the Klingon. “And you have a way for us to avoid all that?”

“Yes. By preserving a three-way balance of power. As Kahless said, a warrior with two enemies cannot afford to turn his back on either.”

Spock nodded. “Logical. Multilateral equilibrium makes all-out war a less attractive option.” He leaned his elbows on the table and peered past his steepled fingers. “For whom do you speak, General?”

Navok sipped his wine. “A fair question. I speak for a growing, secret network of officers who believe that a military coup is the only way to save our empire from this mad course toward bloody oblivion. To succeed, we need Federation help.”

Morrow almost choked on a mouthful of coffee. “Whoa! Never mind the dubious tactical wisdom of a coup. We don’t have the moral right to assist in the overthrow of any government, even one we oppose.”

Navok smiled. “Whether by coup or by battle, defeat is defeat. You claim to value life more than we Klingons. Ask yourselves: If your goal is victory over a ruthless foe who plans to attack you, which path costs more dear lives?”

“A reasonable query,” Spock said. “But the question is moot until we gather definitive information about the condition of the Klingon Empire. Are you prepared to provide that?”

“It is risky business shuttling Federation spies around Klingon space. But our cause is just, and our deaths would be honorable.” Navok hoisted his drink. “So-to death with honor!”

As their tankards clanked together, Morrow muttered, “What is it with you Klingons and death? How about to life with honor?”

Navok downed the last of his bloodwine, slammed his tankard on the table, and wiped the dregs from his mustache. He gave Morrow a quizzical half-smile. “You humans. To life, then-however brief it may be.”

Chapter 4

With Raya’s permission, Kirk quickly transported teams led by Scott, Chekov, Saavik, and McCoy over to the Discovery Center to conduct speedy forensic investigations. To have any reasonable chance of pursuit, they needed to know as much about the attackers as possible. And if there was a trail to follow, they needed to sniff it out before it grew cold.

While awaiting their reports, Raya gave Kirk a tour of the less damaged portions of the facility. Though he knew his friend to be modest, she made no effort to hide her pride in what had risen from the wreckage on Varnex. The equipment was all top of the line, and from what Kirk could tell, the Discovery Center had certainly lived up to its name. Brilliant minds from a dozen worlds had created advances in disciplines from, quite literally, agriculture to zoology and virtually every theoretical and practical science in between. Kirk wryly noted that they’d even built a better mousetrap (an attempt at humor which got lost in translation once he had to explain its Earth origins).

For a world still recovering from a nightmare, this science colony had been a pristine dream come true. Kirk kept wondering: Who would attack a dream?

As they strolled through an atrium lobby lush with plant life from many planets, Raya said, “The day of the Pulse-do you remember it?”

“Like it was yesterday. If we’d gotten here a few minutes later…”

“Your ship saved everyone living in this colony. Otherwise, this would have been a tomb… and I don’t know if we could’ve ever come back here to rebuild. It was abandoned for years. But thanks to Theena, it became a symbol of hope… until now.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Maybe. But I’m a little afraid of what we’ll find. And Theena… if the people who did this hurt her…”

“At this point, we have no reason to think she’s anything but fine. If they are terrorists, she’s more valuable to them alive than dead.”

Raya gave him a quirky look. “I know I’m supposed to find that comforting.”

Comforting turned out to be the last word Kirk could apply to the reports delivered by his officers in the center’s conference lounge, with a view of Mestiko and space visible through the clear dome above it. Chekov confirmed Raya’s initial impression that the pattern of damage appeared to be more distractive than destructive, intended to draw attention away from the terrorists’ apparent target-Theena’s lab and the weapon they came to steal.

Scotty concluded that the attackers had pulled their punches, using munitions that packed more sound and fury than actual destructive force. McCoy determined that they used a gas formulation intended less to be lethal than to frighten residents into hiding. Chekov’s review of security-surveillance imagery revealed no visuals of the terrorists’ ship.

“How could that happen?” Kirk said.

“Their vessel could have been cloaked,” Chekov said, “or somehow screened from external scanners.”

“Or,” said Saavik, “they knew where the scanners were located and positioned their ship to avoid detection.”

“Or,” Scotty said, “the simplest possibility of all-someone inside either shut down those scanners at the right time or tampered with the records.”

Raya reacted defensively. “I can’t believe any of our people were part of this.”

“You do have offworlders working here,” Kirk said. “What about them?”

“Their backgrounds are thoroughly checked, James.”

“Background information can be faked.”

“Well, yes, but- “

“We have to look at every possible scenario,” Kirk insisted. “This attack was carefully planned. I’m betting it’s no accident that we have no visuals of that ship.”

There were no clues to the marauders’ origins or physical identity, either. All the interior security cameras showed were a pack of humanoids in generic protective gear which obscured their faces. And they were prepared to be ruthlessly efficient, killing anyone who attempted to interfere. Kirk’s jaw tightened and Raya gasped when they saw one attacker shoot down six scientists with a phaser-type sidearm, without any perceptible second thoughts.

But it was Saavik, accompanied by an elderly Payav woman, who brought in the most chilling information-on the stolen weapon itself. “Captain,” Saavik said, “this is Dr. Hovda elZana.”

The elfin Dr. elZana shuffled forward and gently shook Kirk’s hands. “Captain, I am the director emeritus of the center,” she said in a strong voice that belied her frail appearance.

“She refuses to retire,” Raya said in a stage whisper, “no matter how many honors we give her.” Despite the situation, Raya managed a warm smile as she placed an affectionate arm around the older woman’s stooped shoulders.

“Well, I’m smart, Raya. I figured out if I keep coming back to work after each retirement ceremony, someone will throw me another party the next time I announce it’s time to go. At my age, every party is a good party.”

“Hovda was Theena’s mentor and the center’s first director,” Raya said, “until Theena was ready to take over.”

“Theena was ready when she was a child,” Hovda said with a deep sigh. “But everyone thought she was too young, so I warmed the chair until she achieved a proper age for leadership. Theena and I are the only survivors of the team working on the stolen weapon. The other three were killed.”

“Hovda,” Raya started to say, “Theena may also be- “

“She’s alive,” Hovda insisted fiercely. “The other three were hunted down. The only reason I’m alive is because I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. These people wanted the weapon, they wanted Theena, and they wanted to eliminate everyone else who knew about it.”

“Was this a secret weapon?” Kirk asked.

“No,” Hovda said.

Kirk turned to Raya. “Then you knew about it?”

“No,” Raya said.

McCoy squinted. “Then I’m confused.”

“The faculty here operated on their own,” Raya explained. “It wasn’t the government’s job to tell them what they could or couldn’t do.”

“And that’s only the tip of the noggik. The root of this evil grows deep,” said a harsh new voice, belonging to a portly woman marching in from the lounge entrance. Though Kirk hadn’t seen her in almost ten years, he immediately recognized Asal Janto. Once Raya’s close friend, Asal had spent many years as her political nemesis, and had led the opposition that had exiled Raya.

“Captain,” Raya said, “I’m sure you remember Councillor Janto- “

“Captain Kirk,” Asal interrupted, “you have stumbled into the meat of the matter-the total lack of supervision by any responsible agency over this so-called Discovery Center. And they trusted Dinpayav. There’s no telling how many alien spies could have been working here. This is a scandal! I have repeatedly warned the Zamestaad that precisely this sort of disaster might happen.”

“I’m sorry, Madam Councillor,” Kirk said, with exaggerated deference, “we’re only here to help the Zamestaad investigate this incident. As you know, it’s not the Federation’s intent to interfere with your government’s policies. Lieutenant, please continue your briefing.”

“Yes, sir,” Saavik said. “The weapon was developed for defensive use. But in the wrong offensive hands, it could have the potential to change the quadrant’s balance of power.”

McCoy bit his lip. “Oh, I sure don’t like the sound of that.”

“If it actually functions as designed,” Saavik added.

Kirk’s glance flicked from his science officer to Hovda and back again. “Are you telling me it doesn’t work?”

“The prototype had yet to be tested,” Hovda said. “But our computer models and simulations have removed all doubts. Our team was certain it would work as designed. It was ready for test-deployment.”

“All right, assuming it works,” Kirk said, “how does it work? What makes it such a threat?”

Saavik moved to a computer console adjacent to a large wall-mounted viewscreen and inserted a data card. As she spoke, everyone watched a sim-sequence showing exactly what the weapon could do. “It is a subspace disruption-distortion field. When deployed via a generated pulse beam, it creates a predetermined and specific pattern of torsions in the fabric of subspace itself. Power systems within that field, including but not limited to warp reactors, would be rendered immediately inoperative. Depending on the dispersion of the field, the weapon could neutralize a single ship or an entire fleet, without using traditional destructive force.”

Scotty’s eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant.”

Chekov found himself nodding in agreement. “It would be the perfect defense against all enemies, no matter what kinds of weapons they used.”

“If it’s so damned brilliant,” McCoy said, “how come we never invented it?”

Kirk allowed himself a grim half-smile. “Cutting right to the ‘meat’ of the matter, eh, Bones?”

“There are practical problems,” Saavik continued. “It requires prodigious energy output in order to maintain field integrity. If the energy supply drops below a certain level, the field matrix collapses, allowing inoperative power systems to reenergize after some interval.”

Scotty shook his head. “Not much good if you can’t maintain matrix stability for any length of time.”

Hovda looked insulted. “Problems have solutions. And we would have found them.”

“But what about the ship generating the distortion matrix?” Kirk asked. “Why doesn’t its warp drive shut down, too?”

“The source platform can be protected by specially tuned deflector frequencies,” Hovda said, “which, admittedly, also uses a great deal of power to stand up against incursion by the distortion matrix. This, too, is a surmountable obstacle.”

“It may have to be,” Kirk said tightly. “If we go after these terrorists, and they use it on us, we’ll need a defense.”

“We’ll work it out, sir,” Scott said with a confident nod. “No ship of mine goes into battle with her britches around her knees.”

“Saavik,” McCoy said, “why do I have a feeling it gets worse?”

Her upswept eyebrow elevated slightly. “Because, according to Captain Spock, you are an inveterate pessimist, Doctor. But, in fact, it does get worse.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “I have to be so damned smart.”

“How much worse?” Kirk prompted.

“As long as field integrity is maintained, the torsions remain within secure specifications. If power generation fluctuates beyond certain parameters, the oscillations within the matrix may become unstable, inducing tears in subspace, which are self-repairing once the matrix collapses. But while they exist, they may exert an attractive force on ships caught in the disruption field.”

“And if a ship gets sucked into one of those tears?” Kirk asked.

“It would be destroyed, sir.”

“Hnnh,” McCoy grunted. “So much for no destructive force.”

Saavik continued. “If the torsion oscillations accelerate at an uncontrolled rate and surpass what the development team referred to as a ‘breakaway threshold,’ then the subspace tears will enlarge into irreparable rifts, with greatly augmented gravimetric forces, which could theoretically pull in objects of considerable mass.”

McCoy’s eyes widened. “Like… planets?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Asal Janto stared goggle-eyed at Raya. “Jo’zamestaad, is this what your great Discovery Center was doing with funds that could have been used to reclaim land and grow food? Creating doomsday weapons? When the councillors find out about this scandal- “

“Councillor Janto! This not the Zamestaad hall. You are more than welcome to bring this up for debate in the proper time and place- “

“You can count on that, Raya.”

“- but now we need to get that weapon back. And that’s what Captain Kirk is here to help us do.”

“For all the good that’s done us before. You’re going to need more than Captain Kirk to save you from the investigation I’ll be launching immediately.” With that threat, Asal turned and stalked away from the briefing.

“Saavik,” Kirk said with a sigh, “anything else to add?”

“No, sir.”

Kirk blew out a breath. “Until we know otherwise, we have to assume the weapon will work as advertised. We also have to expect a worst-case scenario-that it’s destined for the aforementioned wrong hands.”

“Captain,” Chekov said, “there is some good news. The development team’s data-encryption protocols were extremely effective. Whoever tries to use the weapon will have a very hard time accessing information on how it works. At the very least, that should buy us some time.”

McCoy spread his hands. “Time for what?”

“To hunt down the terrorists,” Kirk said, “and get that weapon back before anybody figures out how to use the damned thing.”

“And how the hell do we do that?” McCoy growled.

“Commander Chekov,” Kirk said, “get everyone back to the Enterprise, coordinate everything we’ve got, and find us a trail.”

Raya huddled with Kirk. “James, if Commander Chekov is right about the data-encryption, and they have Theena, they’re going to interrogate her to get what they need.”

Kirk and Raya had been through too much together to even think of lying to her. There was only one truthful promise he could make. “We’ll do everything we can. I’ll keep a channel open at all times, so you’ll get real-time updates.”

“I won’t need them. I’m going with you.” Her tone made her determination clear. “But there’s one thing I need to do first, and I could use your help.”

Chapter 5

As elder-nurses went, there were none better than Sarli Preel. That sterling reputation was why Raya had hired Sarli to care for her ailing grandmother. Even after a broken hip, Elee had stubbornly rejected Raya’s appeals for her to move into a care-home. And since Raya knew all too well the frustration of feeling vulnerable and dependent, she’d decided to respect that choice and do what she could to preserve her elor’s dignity in the face of the myriad indignities of old age. Sarli Preel did not come cheaply, and she did come with her own set of demands. But she was worth the cost, and Raya loved how she bustled about, determined to stay one step ahead of her patient’s needs. Raya felt confident that Elee was always in good hands with this elder-nurse who seemed girded for any eventuality.

Any, that is, other than the unannounced materialization of Raya herself (courtesy of the Enterprise transporter) in the center of her grandmother’s apartment, two strides short of a head-on collision with the ever-industrious Sarli.

“Hoy’an-Atyya!” Sarli shrieked in heart-stopping surprise, literally jumping out of her sandals.

Just as flustered, Raya threw her hands up to protect herself from an impact that didn’t quite happen. Even in that split second, Raya thanked the stars that Sarli somehow managed to neither drop the teapot she was carrying nor splash its steaming contents on either of them. Raya reached out to steady the startled nurse by the shoulders. “Sarli, I am so sorry! There was no one in that spot when they started to transport me.”

“Sarli moves quickly,” Elee’s sturdy voice sang out through the double doors leading to her bedroom. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen in quite some time.”

“Well,” Sarli said, quickly resuming her unruffled demeanor, “no tea spilled, no harm done. Can I get you a cup?”

“Thank you, but I can’t stay long.” Raya’s voice dropped to a whisper. “How is she doing?”

“My hearing is excellent, dear,” Elee called.

Sarli shrugged and smiled, replying in a normal tone as they went into the bedroom. “As you can see, your elor’s spirits are annoyingly fine. If her legs worked as well as her sense of humor, she’d be taking care of me.”

Elee sat up straight and adjusted her pillows behind her back. “Legs, lungs, eyes… shall we make a list?” she asked her granddaughter with a twinkle. Then she pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed. “Something is bothering you…” A statement, not a question.

Raya squinted back, annoyed at her transparency. “How can you tell?”

“Because I’ve known that face since the minute you were born. I was right there, you know.”

“I know. It’s… I have to go away for a while. I don’t know when I’ll be back, so… I wanted to stop by and see you.”

Sarli backed out of the room. “I’ll be in the kitchen if anyone needs me.”

Grateful for the privacy, Raya sat on the edge of the bed and held the old woman’s hand. Elee’s face was deeply lined and dappled with age spots, but the skin on her hands was still soft, and her grip remained strong. “I guess I should have called ahead.”

“I don’t mind surprises, but you almost gave poor Sarli a heart attack.” Her laugh was musical and youthful. “Ahh, I would love to get beamed again. That was so much fun, all those years ago, visiting your friend’s starship.”

Raya shook her head. “It makes me queasy. Always did, always will. Getting my atoms all mixed up like that. Reminds me of the gravity-coasters at Chooloo Park. You always wanted to ride those.”

“And you never did.” Elee smiled at the memories.

“You always did like defying gravity. I had the only elor with a pilot’s license. I’m sorry I would never go on your annual balloon rides across Tuuliie Bay.”

“You’ve defied gravity in more important ways, Raya. I’m the only elor whose grandchild saved her world from doom.”

“I didn’t do it alone.”

“That’s not what I tell my friends,” Elee said, laughing. “When you come back, I want to go on one more balloon ride across the bay. Will you go with me?”

“You may have to blindfold me and get me drunk… but yes, I’ll do it.”

“So where are you going now?”

“You heard about the attack on the Discovery Center?”

“Yes. Terrible… unbelievable.”

“I’m going with the Enterprise. We’re going to track down the terrorists responsible and get back the weapon they stole… and rescue Theena.”

“You do what you have to, Raya.”

“I’ll come see you as soon as I get back. And we’ll go on that balloon adventure.” Raya enveloped her grandmother in a gentle hug. Then she started toward the door.

“Wait. Let me watch you beam out.”

Raya laughed. “Why, so you can see me suffer?” With a shake of her head, she flipped open the communicator Kirk had loaned to her. “Enterprise, this is Raya elMora. One to transport.”

Three seconds after Uhura’s acknowledgment, Raya felt that alarming tingle which indicated the transporter device had her caught in its mysterious aura. “Good-bye, Elee!” she said quickly, never sure of when she was no longer where she started, or where she thought she was… or something like that. I will never get used to this….

As the bedroom faded from view, Raya was isolated with the loneliest of thoughts. With each visit and departure, she had to fight the fear that it would be the last time she’d see Elee. One day, soon, it would happen; she had no way of knowing when, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. For the most powerful person on Mestiko, such fundamental impotence was unnerving. Inevitably, Raya would soon be the last surviving member of her entire family, once teeming with uncles, aunts, and cousins. Just the premonition of that certainty emptied the light from her soul and left behind an aching, hollow darkness.

When it came to issuing orders, the center seat on the bridge of the Enterprise was the starship’s symbolic and literal locus of authority. At times, however, it was merely the place where Captain Kirk had to sit and wait (not always patiently) for his crew to do whatever it took to fulfill those orders. As was often the case, McCoy hovered at the railing behind him. This time, with Chekov and Saavik working on the bridge, and Scotty and Dr. elZana making preparations down in engineering, he expected the wait would not be long. The whistle of the intercom confirmed that expectation.

“Scott to bridge.”

Kirk keyed the switch on the arm of his chair. “Kirk here.”

“Captain, we’re all set down here. We’ve got the new deflector-modulation protocols programmed, and we’ve added an extra blanket of magnetic-containment insulation. But…”

“But what?”

“It’ll take almost all warp-engine output to maintain the deflector intensity needed to protect us against that beastie. As long as we’ve got warp power, then the shields’ll stay up. But if the shields fail, the warp core shuts down. And without warp power, we’ve got nothin’ for the shields. So we’ve got ourselves a wee bit of a chicken-and-egg situation, sir.”

Kirk frowned. “I see. If this works, you’ll have earned your pay for the week, Scotty.”

“More like the year-plus a bonus,” said Scott. “Dr. elZana’s installed a shielded ‘black box’ for the sensors. If we are attacked, it’ll keep recordin’ no matter what, so at least we’ll have data on how the weapon works-assumin’ we survive.”

“Let’s be optimists. Thank you both. Kirk out.”

Chekov looked up from his old seat at the navigation console. “Captain, we have isolated the intruder’s warp trail. If they stay on course, their projected heading appears to be taking them toward the Neutral Zone… and into Klingon territory.”

Kirk’s jaw clenched. “You’re sure?”

“Captain,” Saavik said from Spock’s usual post at the science console, “we cannot confirm whether or not the ion trail is from a Klingon vessel, but direction is confirmed.”

Kirk opened the intraship comm channel. His voiced echoed throughout the Enterprise. “All hands, this is the captain. Our heading will take us toward the Klingon Neutral Zone. With a little luck, we’ll complete this mission without firing a shot. Maintain yellow alert. Kirk out.” Kirk stood and stepped up to the bridge’s outer ring. “Commander Chekov, lay in that course. Break us out of orbit and go to warp seven. I’m going to brief Councillor elMora.”

McCoy followed the captain into the privacy of the turbolift. Kirk shook his head. “I knew the Klingons had something to do with this.”

“Now, we don’t know that for sure,” McCoy said. “You and the Klingons- “

“This isn’t about David,” Kirk snapped.

McCoy regarded Kirk with probing blue eyes. “You said it, Jim, not me.”

“Bones, I know you well enough.”

“And I know you. Can you honestly say it’s not about David?”

“The Klingons murdered my son. That’s with me as long as I live. But it’s irrelevant to this mission.”

“Is it?”

“Whoever took this weapon,” Kirk said, dodging the question, “whatever they plan to do with it, we have to find them, and stop them… and soon.”

“So we keep going.”

“We do.”

“And if we violate the Neutral Zone, we could trigger a war.”

“And if we don’t go where we have to… do what we have to… we could lose a war.”

Chapter 6

Down on the floor of a small, dim cabin in the ship that took her from the Discovery Center, Theena elMadej contorted her body into the most difficult stretching pose known to practitioners of the ancient Payav discipline of tor’kaat. Roughly translated, tor’kaat meant “defying pain.”

When she’d first tried it during her second university year, it was mostly because she felt fat and ugly, and needed a structured physical regimen to challenge and tone her body, much as her advanced science classes challenged what Raya had playfully dubbed her “big brain.” By the day after her first lesson, with agonizing aches in muscles she wasn’t even aware she had, she knew that “defying pain” didn’t mean avoiding pain.

She could still picture her idiot boyfriend Straik shaking his head reproachfully when she’d insisted on going back for more (and that superior attitude of his definitely contributed to the hasty cessation of their romance). The trick, she eventually learned, was persisting past the pain, using the energy of the pain to fuel the work. She recalled with a smile how her next boyfriend appreciated the benefits of her enhanced flexibility, strength, and stamina. Oh, well… Straik’s loss.

Persisting through pain was something all the people of Mestiko had been forced to do after the Pulse. But Theena believed the time had come to transcend that, and that was why she was on this ship. As she lowered her body to rest from a position most people presumed impossible to attain, she opened her eyes. The view of the stars through the window confirmed that they had slowed down from warp speed. Despite the tor’kaat workout, she still felt a knot in her stomach over the uncertainty of the path she’d chosen.

The door to her cabin slid open, and Terli, a young Payav woman dressed in a crew jumpsuit, stood outside. “Vykul wants to see you.”

Theena nodded, slipped her bare feet into her shoes, and followed Terli down a short cramped corridor, up a ladder to the next deck, through a hatch onto the bridge. Two Payav men and two women sat at the chevron-shaped control console in front of a large viewscreen.

Vykul Marto swiveled the command chair to face Theena. He was compact and muscular, with flashing eyes and a bold, handsome face framed by unusually vivid tattoos-particularly for the Tazokkans, who generally favored very traditional, austere tattoos. Vykul’s, though, covered so much of his neck and bald head that many would have dismissed it as a garish affront to good taste. They drew stares, which, Theena figured, was exactly what Vykul wanted. Even sitting still, he radiated the presence of a person accustomed to being in charge. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Theena angrily cut him off.

“The Torye are supposed to be liberators, not killers! Vykul, you swore to me none of my colleagues would die when you attacked the center.” When Vykul tried to stand up so he could be eye to eye with her, Theena shoved him back into his chair. “I counted at least ten bodies. Those were our people!”

Vykul waited for her to take a breath, then spoke with a stoic serenity in sharp contrast to her roaring temper. “Were some our people? Sure. Were some Dinpayav? Yes. Did you agree it was acceptable to sacrifice some lives to advance our cause? You did.”

“I meant our lives-the lives of people who volunteered to be Torye. We pledged our defiance to free our world from its cycle of dependence, even if that meant dying in the process. But those scientists? They were minding their own business, doing work to help Mestiko. They didn’t deserve to die. They were innocents!”

“When a world is subjugated, there are no innocents,” he murmured.

Theena rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Okay, the next person who spouts a political slogan gets a kick in the neck.” For effect, she glared around at the rest of the bridge crew, all of whom tried rather intently to focus on something-anything- other than the verbal jousting between their two leaders. Theena couldn’t blame them. Somehow, every disagreement with Vykul ended up this way, with her (the ostensible voice of nonviolent scientific reason) snarling, while he (the trained warrior from the Tazokka, the nation with the longest, most militaristic history on the planet) purred in response. Even in mid-argument, she found this behavioral irony maddening, which further fueled her fury at the barrel-chested man now lounging casually in his seat.

“Are you losing sight of the goal, Theena? Maybe. We’ll be sharing your weapon with allies who are also fed up with a government too feeble to seize control over its own destiny. In alliance, we create power. I’m sorry, I hope that’s not another political slogan,” he said with a charming grin.

Although Theena often found herself loathing the magnetism Vykul could wield like a pheromone, she knew that the first and most loyal Torye members he’d recruited were firmly under his spell. Mostly, they came from among the many Tazokkans sick of their world’s dependence on the mercy of outsiders. It was odd, she thought, how such self-styled rebels could be so passively content to follow the man who’d cooked up the Torye out of their dis content. But Vykul was the bolt of energy that ignited this defiance movement-not so different from her own role as the catalyst behind the Discovery Center. Even though he’d created the Torye, and she’d had to join secretly so her career would not be jeopardized, she regarded herself as an equal in leading this mission. If she had to spar with him every step of the way, so be it.

The Torye themselves were anything but secret on Mestiko, where their disapproval of Zamestaad policies was well-known- personified by Vykul in his frequent appearances on news and debate programs. He’d often reiterate how strongly he had been influenced by the life of Traal, the Norbb warlord turned Zamestaad councillor who had been among the most outspoken leaders of the Mestiko-First movement in the years just after the disaster. Vykul portrayed the Torye as the natural and sophisticated evolution of those early dissenters. Where the Payavist and religious fundamentalist parties advocated turning inward and shunning outsiders, the Torye aggressively advocated pushing ever outward in search of more and better alliances and markets-with the specific goal of breaking what they saw as Mestiko’s sickly reliance on the Federation. For years now, Vykul had been a gleeful critic of Raya’s government, ridiculing the Zamestaad for its failure to enhance Mestiko’s stature and independence.

Though Theena knew all of that when Vykul had invited her to a clandestine meeting a year ago, his proposal of a partnership with a purpose came as a surprise. But Theena could no longer deny her reluctant conclusion that her beloved friend and mentor Raya elMora was growing too cautious with age, and too beholden to her subservient association with James Kirk. Raya had served Mestiko admirably, and she would be forever revered by her people. But her time had passed. Mestiko needed bold new leadership, and Theena had to step out of her mentor’s shadow. When Vykul reminded her of the religious opposition’s visceral distrust of science, and warned that the fundamentalists would shut down the Discovery Center if they came to power, she had to listen.

Theena had grown up believing that science and religion were simply different paths toward the same purpose-enlightened understanding. While they might not embrace, they could coexist. But in recent years, it seemed that zealots were bent on hijacking all of Mestiko’s many religions. One by one, they twisted each faith until it was drained of spirituality. Even without Vykul’s prompting, Theena was genuinely afraid of what might happen if the religious fundamentalists once again gained influence.

So, here she was, allied with Vykul, heading for a rendezvous at which they would voluntarily share an overwhelming weapon with a new, unfamiliar partner. If she harbored any lingering doubts about the wisdom of their choices, the time had come to set them aside. There could be no turning back.

“Vykul,” said Fiota, the older of the two women at the central console, “incoming message.”

“Anything on sensors?”

Fiota shook her head. “Nothing, other than a shimmer of interference.”

“All right, then,” Vykul said as he stood and turned toward the viewscreen. “It must be them. Put it through.”

The starfield on the big screen winked out, to be replaced by the image of a warship’s dark, smoky bridge. The swarthy commander sat on his throne, biceps bulging as his arms folded across the chest of his sleeveless body armor. He nodded in greeting. “Vykul, it is good that we meet.”

“Captain Klaa, it is our pleasure to meet a representative of the new Klingon Empire.”

“Together,” Klaa said, looking quite pleased with himself, “we are the future!”

Chapter 7

As Navok’s bird-of-prey crossed carefully back into Klingon territory, keeping a deliberately low profile, Spock and Morrow reviewed what they’d known before, what they knew now, and what they still needed to find out. Morrow had been sent on what his influential private Federation patrons had hoped would be the beginning of a process reducing tensions, bolstering galactic stability, and promoting peace. If there were indeed Klingons who grasped the limits of conquest as a foreign policy, Spock’s presence was intended to signal them that the Federation Council and Starfleet were amenable to such a process-and that it would be in the empire’s best interest to accept the offer.

But neither man had expected that they were being invited to dance at a Klingon coup d’etat.

According to Starfleet’s unfortunately sketchy intelligence, revealed to both Spock and Morrow at the outset of their mission, the new Klingon mining colony on Tiranax was purportedly a state-of-the-art mechanized operation. Liberated from the archaic and inefficient need for slave labor, Tiranax would soon be producing vast amounts of strategic resources needed to meet the surging appetites of an expanding empire.

The woeful inaccuracy of those reports became instantly clear when General Navok took them to see the facility for themselves. Shortly after his ship landed, they hiked over a hill to a towering industrial building which turned out to be little more than a hollow shell. Navok guided them through a gaping entrance. Shafts of daylight pierced through jagged holes in the walls and roof, illuminating a jumble of abandoned processing equipment-conveyors, giant vats, pipes, catwalks, ore tumbrels, tracks to nowhere, cobwebs everywhere. Spock scanned it all with his tricorder for the official mission log.

Navok spread his arms wide. “Behold! The mighty forge of the empire!” A flock of batlike creatures reacted to the unaccustomed sound of voices in their domain, stirred from their perches in the rafters, and flittered in a mild panic above the heads of their unwelcome visitors.

“Looks like this place hasn’t been used in years,” Morrow said.

“Used? It was never even completed. This is the true condition of the Klingon Empire… decay. Do you need to see more?”

“Not if those records you showed us are accurate,” Morrow said.

“I wish they weren’t.”

“And the High Council is aware that Tiranax and other colonies are not productive?” Spock asked as Navok led them back toward his ship.

“They are.”

“Most irrational. Planning expansive military ventures without the industrial capacity to support them is tantamount to suicide.”

Navok nodded vigorously. “Yes! That is why we must take action, before it’s too late.” He looked at his companions. Morrow chewed on his lower lip, while Spock’s face revealed nothing of his thoughts. “This facility may be a piece of trigak droppings, but Tiranax itself is a treasury of resources. If the Romulans take hold of such planets…”

“That,” Spock said, “would be undesirable. How prevalent among the Klingon officer corps is knowledge of the empire’s infirmity?”

“It is spreading, quietly and deliberately. The idea is to create a unified force, not panic. There are command-rank officers of high repute in all sectors who are carefully recruiting dissidents among their troops. When there are enough of us, and we remove our support, the imperial fleet will collapse like a tent with the poles chopped down.”

“Then what do you need us for?” said Morrow. “Sounds like you’ll be able to incapacitate the Klingon fleet all on your own. And without it, the High Council falls.”

“Unless we have the force to establish a viable new military hierarchy immediately, the Romulans will gut us like a bloated targ. And they will not stop with us. Only a reborn Klingon Empire stands between you and war with the Romulans. Only with Federation backing can we stop the High Council’s march toward a war we will lose. We are trying to rescue our empire, not kill it-and a stable Klingon Empire is good for the Federation. Either you help us, or you throw us to the Romulan jackals. And once they’ve tasted blood, they will tear out your throats, or die trying.”

“Colorful commentary aside, General,” Spock said, “your scenario is not without strategic logic.”

“Spock,” Morrow said, “this is insane. Blowing up the Klingon Empire to save it, and us?”

“Admiral, the current iteration of Klingon leadership is apparently proceeding on a path to self-immolation, with or without us. If Federation involvement enhances the likelihood that a stable alternative will succeed it, then that is beneficial, is it not?”

“So you’re in favor of this?”

“I merely state that General Navok’s case is worth presenting to the Federation and Starfleet Command.”

“Well, that’s your prerogative, Captain. But I came out here to craft a peace, not fire up a war. Navok, you’ve got to understand, the Klingons aren’t going to find a lot of sympathy in the halls of Federation power.”

“I am not counting on their sympathy,” Navok said. “But their enlightened self-interest? Now, that is another bowl of gagh.”

Morrow’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how a Klingon defeat will make the Romulans an even deadlier foe to the Federation. I will show you.”

Once they were back aboard the bird-of-prey and under way, Navok summoned Spock and Morrow to the bridge science station and called up a classified file. On the screen above the console, he showed them a three-sixty fly-around of an object unlike anything they’d ever seen before. It was an enormous, free-flying delta shape, bristling with oddly juxtaposed angular and geometric surfaces. With no identifiable engines, command or personnel modules, or weapons, it bore no resemblance to any known ship or space station design. Even Spock was stumped.

“What the hell is that?” Morrow said.

“Our newest weapon system, a self-supporting mobile battle base… as big as ten battle cruisers, with the power of fifty. Armored to withstand an attack by a fleet of opponents. One has already been deployed, at the edge of this sector. It was to be the first of a dozen. It would allow us to project Klingon power into new territories without need of outposts on planets or moons.”

Morrow nodded. “Like nautical aircraft carriers on Earth back in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.”

“Exactly,” Navok said. “I believe the development of this weapon is what tipped the balance in favor of preemptive war. The majority of the High Council thinks that more of these battle bases will be ready soon. I know differently.”

“How?” Morrow asked.

“Because I worked on the development and testing of the first one. Oh, it is potentially as formidable as we hoped. It represents an advance in the technology of warfare you would do well to fear. But we do not have the resources to complete the others.”

Morrow took a deep breath. “But if the Romulans capture this one, and finish the rest…”

“Ahh,” Navok nodded. “That would not be good for the Federation, would it, Morrow?”

“No.”

Chapter 8

As the Torye and Klingon vessels hung motionless in space, Vykul and Klaa faced each other on their respective bridge viewscreens, each seated comfortably in his ship’s command chair. Theena, however, was anything but comfortable as she listened to them haggle. While the Klingon ship wasn’t a battle cruiser, it was larger and considerably better armed and armored than the comparatively primitive Torye vessel. The only advantage her ship had was its stolen subspace disruption weapon, and even Theena couldn’t be completely sure it would work. But that untested weapon was why the Klingons were here.

The understanding which led to this fateful meeting had been predicated on mutual self-interest. Klaa’s Klingon faction would be gaining access to a weapon system that would enable them to take over an as-yetunrevealed but coveted target-which, in turn, would give them the might they needed to set their misguided empire back on a course to glory and conquest. Vykul and his Torye band approached this partnership believing that they would retain control over their unique weapon, which would establish them as a force to be reckoned with throughout the quadrant. But Theena recalled a human axiom mentioned by Raya, who had learned it from Kirk: The devil is in the details. And the details of this deal were proving troublesome.

Klaa wanted the weapon transferred to his ship. Vykul explained that it was already integrated into his ship’s systems. Even if it could be removed, they had no guarantee that Klingon systems would be compatible; it could take days to work through the engineering problems-with no assurance of success. But Theena knew Vykul had no intention of giving up control of their weapon, to anyone.

Vykul pressed the Klingons for a full description and the location of the planned target. Klaa huffily refused to give up that information without getting the weapon in exchange. They were at a classic impasse, and neither seemed willing to bend. But Theena, who prided herself on her observational skills, noted with amusement that the more tense and argumentative Klaa got, the more relaxed Vykul became. As their verbal sparring continued, body language told the tale. Vykul remained slouched in his seat, his relaxed elbows resting on the chair arms, hands folded across his stomach-while Klaa hunched his shoulders, then popped up and strutted in front of his command throne, flexing his muscles like a frustrated gamecock belatedly realizing that his potential mates were flying to other nests.

“Captain Klaa,” Vykul finally said, “why don’t we take a short break from our talks? Can we come at this from a fresh angle? I think so. Will we be able to get on with the mission in a way that satisfies both our needs? I have no doubts.” He reached for the switch to end the transmission.

“Wait!” Klaa blurted. “What if some of my crew boarded your ship so they could participate in deployment?”

“I’ll think on that, Captain,” Vykul said-and then cut the signal. He turned toward his crew, looking rather pleased, murmuring almost to himself, “I handled that quite well.”

“You did, actually,” Theena agreed. “But it’s obvious we can’t trust these Klingons any more than the ones we’ve encountered before. This partnership was a mistake.”

“You may be right.”

“Then let’s end this and go back home. When we tell our people that Klingons were forced to treat us with respect, they’ll understand why we did what we did, and they’ll join us. The Torye will become a mainstream movement and we’ll have the influence to change our government’s foreign policy and bring a new day to all of Mestiko. That’s what we’ve wanted, and we don’t need the Klingons for that.”

“No, we don’t, really. In fact, we don’t need anyone.”

“Then we agree.”

“Mmm… not exactly. Can we intimidate Klingons? So it appears. Do we have to settle for merely becoming yet another mainstream movement? Not when we can rule.”

“Vykul, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about using our assets.” Brimming with enthusiasm, Vykul stood and prowled the bridge as he spoke. “Why share this weapon of ours with anyone? Why not keep it for the Torye? Use it to take over the Zamestaad and replace their weakness with our strength! Our world takes its place as a feared and respected power instead of a charity case. We’ve risen from the ashes, but now it’s time for us to tower over the quadrant.”

Theena stared at him. “You’re talking about overthrowing our government?!”

“Overthrow… such a harsh word. Isn’t it time for a new generation with new ideas and new power? It’s our time. Will the old guard simply stand aside? Nobody gives up power willingly. It’s time for our revolution.”

“I can’t allow it,” Theena said with a stern shake of her head.

“I was afraid you would say that.” Vykul slipped his sidearm from its holster and pointed it directly at her.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Confining you to quarters.” Vykul turned to the young woman who had brought Theena to the bridge. “Terli, take her and lock her in her cabin.”

Without question, Terli drew her own weapon and gestured toward the hatch. Theena took three steps, then hesitated. “Vykul, what are you going to do about the Klingons?”

“I’m going to use our leverage. Would you like to watch, and maybe learn?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Theena turned and left the bridge, with Terli behind her.

Come on, Theena… use that big brain of yours! Confined to her cabin, Theena ricocheted between pondering how she got into this mess and trying to think of a way out. She paced, she swore, she argued out loud with herself, and she lost track of time. Then the lights flickered, the ship shook momentarily, and she assumed that Vykul had engaged the subspace weapon and turned it on the Klingons. On one hand, she was furious with Vykul and his disciples. But on the other hand, she desperately wanted to know how her weapon was working-and she got her chance a few minutes later, when the lights dimmed and stayed that way, and the shuddering resumed, with increased intensity. As the deck-plates quivered under her feet, the cabin door opened and she saw Terli standing there, looking scared. “Vykul needs you-now!”

They rushed up to the bridge to find Vykul and two technicians huddled around the separate console dedicated to the subspace weapon. Theena allowed herself a fast, curiosity-satisfying look at the viewscreen-though the disruption field itself consisted of an energy stream invisible to the eye, ionized atoms caught in its path created a glowing, translucent torrent washing over the Klingon ship. Vykul and the flummoxed technicians stepped aside, and Theena slid behind the controls. It took her only a moment to determine that the weapon had indeed rendered the Klingon ship helpless, but matrix instability was accelerating at an alarming rate.

“We have to shut it down, now,” she said, expecting an argument from Vykul.

Instead, he simply replied, “Okay. Shut it down.”

Caught off-guard by his lack of resistance, Theena gave him a quizzical glance, wondering just what had gone on while she’d been locked in her quarters. Then she initiated the programmed disengagement sequence, monitoring closely, ready for manual override at the first hint of anomaly or malfunction. Happily, there was none. Once the field generator was off, the ship stopped shaking, and only then did Theena notice the cold sweat under her arms. She called up a summary report of the deployment period.

“Well?” said Vykul, looking over her shoulder.

She was so pleased at this first operational test that, for the moment, she forgot how angry she was at Vykul. “It worked. And even that destabilization was within predicted parameters. I need to take a closer look at the specific data, and then I can make some adjustments.”

Vykul patted her on the shoulder. “I had faith in you, Theena. Since it worked, how long will it take their power systems to recover?”

“At least an hour for minimal power restoration. Warp core recovery could take hours longer. Or, their circuits could be so fried they’ll never get warp drive restarted.”

“Good, good. That buys us plenty of time to put some distance between here and there.”

“Between here and where?”

“Fiota, you’ve got the coordinates. Set our course, and go to warp speed.”

With a nod, Fiota followed orders. A moment later, they were in motion, wheeling away from the disabled Klingon ship, and then jumping to light speed.

Theena’s eyes narrowed at Vykul. “What coordinates?” She swiveled her seat around as Vykul settled back into the command chair.

“The location of what was supposed to be our shared target.”

“Klaa just gave you the coordinates?”

“Well, not right away. Did we dance for a while? Sure. I had to make him believe we were willing to take our weapon and go home. Showing him all the data from your simulations again, that helped a great deal. Reminding him what this thing could do… it was almost cruel, the way he drooled over it.”

“How did you get the coordinates without giving him what he wanted?”

“Did I make a concession? In a manner of speaking. I promised to allow three of his crew aboard our ship as part of the weapon deployment.”

“Which you never intended to do.”

“He had his crewmembers all ready to transport over. That’s when I asked for the target coordinates, as a show of good faith.”

Theena shook her head at Vykul’s apparent audacity. “What made you think they’d fall for that?”

“Because they needed us more than we needed them. Just as he was about to engage his transporter, we engaged the weapon. Now we’ll go and take their target.”

“Do we even know what it is?”

Vykul chuckled. “I have no idea. But was it important enough for them to let their guard down? Yes. Will it be worth our while? I think so.”

Theena turned away from him, toward the viewscreen where the stars streaked by. In case her expression betrayed even the slightest hint of admiration for his ability to swindle the Klingons, she didn’t want him to see it. She was still smarting over his imperious treatment of her, and had serious disagreements with him about the wisdom of his intended path. But, for the moment, that conflict was tempered by her satisfaction with the weapon’s performance-and by her curiosity about their impending target.

What had Klaa been so eager to seize that he’d allowed Vykul to make a total fool out of him? There would be time to debate strategy later-and she intended to, since overthrowing Raya’s government was never in her plans. For now, though, while she vowed not to let Vykul get the best of her again, maybe he was right about one thing.

Maybe it was time to think big.

Chapter 9

The automated distress signal was a complication General Navok could easily have done without. The transmission was so weak, it was barely readable when his bird-of-prey picked it up less than an hour from their destination-the battle base he planned to show to Spock and Morrow.

The signal originated from a Klingon vessel without authorization to be where it was. And its location put it directly between Navok’s ship and the battle base, so he could hardly ignore it. Was it commanded by a fellow dissident? If so, had they been attacked by a ship loyal to the mad targ s running the High Council? That would be unfortunate, since it might mean the mutinous conspiracy had been exposed. But if the damaged ship carried a crew still loyal to the High Council, then Navok could not allow himself to be caught with Federation representatives aboard his ship. Either way, the ramifications could be unpleasant. He would have to play the encounter with deliberate caution.

As they approached the damaged ship, Navok hid Morrow and Spock in his cabin. Scans of the other ship showed minimal power output, with life support barely operational. When its commander appeared on Navok’s viewscreen, the signal quality was oddly degraded by local interference despite their close proximity.

“General Navok, I am Captain Klaa.”

“What happened to your ship, Captain?”

“We were attacked.”

“By what? I see no battle damage.”

“It was an unknown weapon, capable of neutralizing a warp reactor without warning. And there are no known countermeasures.”

“Who wielded this super-weapon?”

Klaa hesitated for a heartbeat, and Navok knew he was being lied to. “An unknown invader, General. But they pose a grave threat to the empire.”

“So it would seem. How many casualties do you have?”

“None, sir.”

Navok’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “None? They overwhelmed a shipful of warriors with a weapon that made you helpless, yet they didn’t destroy your ship and harmed not a whisker on your pretty head? Can you explain this?” As Klaa squirmed under questioning, Navok couldn’t help but enjoy it, just a little bit.

“No, sir, I cannot. But consider this-had they left nothing but debris, there’d be no one to report what happened to us. If it’s their goal to strike fear in Klingon hearts, our destruction would not suit their needs.”

“And did they strike fear in your Klingon heart, Klaa?”

“No!” Klaa snarled with a jolt of rage. “They will pay with their blood!”

“Yes, blood… always blood,” said Navok distractedly. “Your ship’s status.”

Klaa shook his head. “Our warp drive is inoperable. My engineer says it cannot be repaired in space.”

“Well, I don’t have time to tow you to a maintenance facility. Prepare to abandon ship.”

“General-no! We want to hunt these invaders and punish their arrogance!”

“Not without a warp core, you won’t. I’ll drop you and your crew off at the nearest fleet base and you can take it up with the commandant.”

It was obvious Klaa wanted to argue, but thought better of it and followed orders-which only fortified Navok’s suspicions that Klaa was hiding some major secrets. When Klaa and his crew of fourteen materialized on the cargo-transporter platform, they found themselves facing the general, his security squad, and an intimidating array of disruptor rifles. Klaa took a bold step ahead of his officers, then reconsidered when three disruptors aimed at his chest.

“General, what is the meaning of this?”

“The meaning?” Navok glared. “What were you doing here in the first place, Captain? Your ship had no authorization to be in this sector.”

“We… we were on a classified mission.” Despite the defiant jut of his chin, Klaa’s eyes betrayed a flash of panic.

“I am a senior general, Klaa. I have access to all classified orders, and you are on no covert mission.”

“We are on a classified assignment, General,” Klaa insisted, without much assurance. “If you allow me to return to my ship, I can prove it.”

Navok turned to the massive officer at his side. “There are too many for the brig. Strip them of all weapons and communicators, and confine them here in the cargo bay. If they cause any trouble at all, kill them.” Then he marched out.

Spock and Morrow heard the whirring of the lock keeping them in Navok’s cabin, and the door opened. Navok entered and quickly updated them on the situation. “I’m afraid you’ll have to accept my word on the existence and capabilities of our battle base. The longer our little tour of Klingon space, the more likely you will be discovered. And that suits neither my needs nor yours.”

Morrow agreed. “It does seem to be getting a little too crowded for comfort in these parts. Spock?”

“Since we cannot know if Klaa’s distress call was picked up by other Klingon vessels, we cannot calculate the odds of encountering further interference. Therefore, expedited withdrawal does seem logical.”

Spock, Morrow, and Navok returned to the bridge-where they were greeted with the next piece of bad news. In apparent response to Klaa’s signal, a Klingon battle cruiser had already detected their presence and was closing fast, leaving no time for cloaking or escape.

Navok cursed, and pounded his fist into the bulkhead, leaving a noticeable dent. Then he strode to his female weapons officer. “Vijak, target Klaa’s ship with disruptors. Destroy both engines.”

Vijak’s long fingers danced across her console. “Targets locked.”

“Fire.”

Spock and Morrow watched on the viewscreen as Navok’s disruptors blew a gaping hole in one nacelle of Klaa’s vessel and sheered off the other entirely. Then Navok turned toward the male officer at the communications station. “Mox, open a channel to the approaching battle cruiser-audio only.”

“Channel open, sir.”

Navok stepped up to the command throne and eased back into his seat. “This is General Navok. You have no authorization to be in this sector. Identify yourself and your mission.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Spock heard a familiar rumbling voice from the speakers. “This is Kang. We are responding to a distress signal from your coordinates. Report your status, General.”

“We also responded to the same distress call,” Navok said. “We found the damaged bird-of-prey under attack by an unidentified intruder. Our intervention forced the intruder to retreat. As you can see, the ship commanded by Captain Klaa was severely damaged. We sustained only minor damage to our communications system.”

“And the status of Klaa’s crew,” Kang said.

“Multiple casualties, several dead or dying.”

“Yet you did not pursue the intruder.”

“They fled at high speed. We will analyze all sensor logs of the encounter and make a full report to the High Council. Your assistance is not needed, Kang. Return to your assigned patrol.”

At that moment, it appeared to Spock that Navok had successfully bluffed his way out of their current entanglement. Then, after a deliberate pause, they heard Kang’s voice again. “Our sensors detect little evidence of weapon use consistent with a firefight between three ships.”

“The enemy used a weapon we’ve never encountered before. That’s why it is so urgent that we report to the High Council at the earliest possible time. Your interrogation is delaying that, Kang.”

“We will escort you- ” Kang started to say, but Navok cut him off.

“Your assistance is not needed, Captain. I gave you a direct order to return to your assignment. Or do you not consider the Romulan threat to be worthy of your attention?”

“I merely wished to be sure this incident did not involve Romulans, General.”

“It did not. The security of the empire- “

But before Navok could finish his thought, they heard sounds of a clash within his ship-disruptor blasts, shouts, the crash of bodies against walls and deck, the brutal bedlam of large warriors fighting to the death in the corridor leading to the bridge. There could be no doubt that Klaa’s troops had somehow overpowered their captors and escaped from the makeshift brig. Navok’s surviving security officers were quite literally fighting for their lives in those close quarters, trying to keep the insurgents at bay.

Navok’s bridge crew tensed, unsure if they should stay at their posts or join the battle. Seconds later, the fight came to them, as a brawling jumble of flailing fists and flashing blades burst through the bridge hatch. Two of Navok’s crew whirled and started to draw their sidearms-but both were killed by disruptor fire before their weapons cleared their holsters. Two others charged into the fray and had their throats slashed. Two of the intruders grabbed Spock and Morrow at knifepoint, and Klaa’s voice bellowed over all else: “Mev!”

His single word froze combatants on both sides, leaving no doubt that Klaa’s crew had commandeered Navok’s bridge. Klaa stepped over the dead and swaggered up to Navok at the command throne, clenched his fist as if readying a sweeping backhand-and then simply grinned and gave the defeated general a hard poke in the chest. “Your ship is mine.” He gestured to two of his crew and they grabbed Navok, pinioned his arms behind his back, and dragged him down the steps. “The human and the Vulcan, with him.”

Klaa’s men shoved Spock and Morrow over toward Navok, while their commander stood with hands on hips, looking quite pleased with his conquest. “Two spies and a traitor. The High Council will be happy with the catch of the day.”

“They’re not spies,” Navok said, “they’re diplomats. And since we are not at war with the Federation, their safety is now your responsibility. If you kill them in the absence of any evidence of espionage, you will be committing an act of war against the Federation.”

“War with the Federation… would be glorious,” Klaa said, “unless you are a bIHnuch as well as a traitor.”

“General,” Kang’s voice boomed from the speaker, “what is going on over there?”

Klaa looked toward the viewscreen image of Kang’s battle cruiser. “Put us on visual.”

A moment later, Kang’s face appeared on the viewer. He frowned as he took in the scene on Navok’s bridge, then centered his gaze on Klaa. “And who are you, petaQ ?”

Klaa squared his broad shoulders. “Before you call me petaQ, know that I have captured the traitor Navok and his two Federation spies. And I know of a weapon which will help the empire conquer all its enemies.”

“Ahh, the invincible weapon wielded by the mysterious enemy.”

“It is real,” Klaa insisted. “I know all about it. I can prove it.”

“And how do you happen to know so much about an enemy weapon?”

“I… I can’t tell you that now.”

Kang’s temper began to simmer. “General,” he barked, “do you have an explanation for all this?”

Not one that he may share, Spock thought.

“What I do,” said Navok, “I have done for the good of the empire.”

“Ghuy’cha’!” Kang thundered. “You both speak like guilty taHqeq with something to hide. Prepare to be boarded. If there is any resistance, I will destroy that ship and everyone on it. Both crews will be transported to my brig, and that is where you shall remain until I can discover who is the greater liar. Your fates are now bound up as one. If anyone from either crew attempts escape, all of you will be executed on the spot.” Kang turned to his wife at her exec station. “Mara, see to it.”

“With pleasure.”

Chapter 10

Just as Kang poured himself some bloodwine, the door to his cabin opened. Mara entered, accompanied by two burly guards and Klaa, his hands and feet securely bound by sturdy manacles. Kang, whose hair had started to turn gray, studied the younger officer for several moments. “You asked to see me.”

Klaa nodded eagerly. “Yes, Kang. I was not lying about this alien weapon. I was engaged in negotiations to gain possession of it, for the glory of the empire.”

“Negotiations? With whom?”

“A group of renegades from Mestiko called the Torye. They stole the weapon from their own people, and made it look like a terrorist attack. They were supposed to share it with us.”

“And what happened?”

“They are without honor. They used it on us, and then they fled.”

Mara eyed Klaa suspiciously. “Fled where?”

“I do not know. But I can help you track them down.”

“You don’t seem smart enough to think of this plan on your own,” Mara said with a smirk.

Klaa’s eyes flashed at the insult and he jerked his shackled hands toward Mara, trying to hit her. She deftly sidestepped the attempt, landed a crushing kick behind his knee, and clubbed him on the back of the head as he crumpled to the deck, grunting at the searing pain from his buckled leg.

Kang used his foot to roll Klaa onto his back, then looked down at him. “If your foolish defiance was intended to impress us with your courage, it served only to reinforce my wife’s appraisal of your intelligence. And even without those shackles, Mara would have little trouble beating the baktag out of you.”

“I did not work alone,” Klaa offered. “I am part of an alliance of brother officers, most of us young.”

“And impatient,” Kang intoned.

“Yes! We are impatient with the old women of the High Council who cower at the thought of crossing swords with the Federation. Their inaction forced us to create this conspiracy. The Torye weapon would give us all the advantage we need to crush the Federation and the Romulans. Our empire would once again be invincible.”

Kang pressed his boot on Klaa’s ribs. “I have seen no weapon.”

Now Mara leaned over him as well. “And if you are telling the truth,” she said softly, “the Torye seem to have changed their minds about sharing it with you. When you’re ready to tell us the whole truth, we’ll listen. Take him back.”

The guards hauled Klaa up and out.

Alone with Mara, Kang retrieved his wine and took a pensive sip. “So… what do we make of our prisoners?”

“The general is guarding a secret he’s willing to take to his grave. No one of his stature would risk being caught with Federation spies unless he was playing for very high stakes. We need to know his secret before he is executed.”

“Agreed. And Klaa?”

Mara shook her head in contempt. “He is a pitiful liar. And he doesn’t have the brains to make up what he’s already told us.”

“So you think this weapon exists?”

“I do. And whatever it is, it apparently made short work of Klaa’s defenses. Whatever his mental deficiencies, he doesn’t seem the sort to go down without a fight. QI’yaH! How in the name of Kahless do idiots like him get to be commanders?”

Kang frowned. “The decline of the empire. Perhaps it is the natural order.”

Mara stepped close to him, took the heavy metal wine tankard from his hand, and set it down on the desk. Then she scraped her talonlike nails along his neck and nuzzled him so he could feel her hot breath in his ear as she whispered, “I have told you to banish these dark moods. Warriors like you will save the empire from itself. And if you keep the faith of your fathers long enough, worthy young warriors will stand by your side.”

Kang bowed his head. “How do you know this?”

“What have you always wanted?”

A moment of doubt flickered across Kang’s eyes. Was this a trick question? “A kyamo-looking personal aerobatic flyer…?”

Mara rolled her eyes. “How about someone you can teach to fly it with you?” Then she took her husband’s hand and moved it down to her stomach. “Say hello to your firstborn son.”

After a stunned, blank-faced moment, Kang reacted with a blink of disbelief. Then his eyes met her unwavering gaze. “Our son? How long have you known?”

“I suspected. The test confirmed it this morning.” She took a step back. With a smile of wonderment, Kang placed both his hands on her belly. “You know how swiftly time passes. Before you know it, he’ll be a great warrior like his father.”

“And his mother.” Kang chuckled, recalling the way she’d leveled Klaa.

She smiled back at him. “He will fight by our sides for many years. He will help us redeem the empire’s honor, and together we’ll drink the steaming blood of our enemies. We should start thinking of a name worthy of the son of Kang and Mara.”

They were interrupted by the shrill blast of the ship’s alarm klaxon. A gravelly voice from the bridge shouted, “Battle alert!”

Kang punched the intercom switch and the tense face of his tactical officer Darog appeared on the screen. “This is Kang. Report, Darog.”

“Long-range sensors have detected a Federation starship. It has crossed the Neutral Zone into our space.”

“Continue tracking. I’ll be right there.”

By the time Kang and Mara rushed up to the bridge, Darog met them with an update: “The intruder has been identified, sir. It is the Enterprise, heading this way.”

Kang exchanged a knowing look with his wife. “Kirk’s ship. Our son will witness his first victory today, and over a worthy opponent.” Then the captain took his seat and Mara returned to her science station. “Weapons, stand ready. Tactical, prepare for cloaking.”

Kang’s ship banked into a majestic turn, leaving the two derelict birds-of-prey in its wake, then faded from view under cover of its cloaking device.

On the Enterprise bridge, Saavik peered into the science viewer. “Confirmed, Captain,” she said. “Two Klingon birds-of-prey, one with severe damage and no power output… the other with no apparent damage. No life forms on either ship.”

Trying to ignore McCoy pacing along the rail behind him, Kirk leaned forward in the command seat, focusing on the viewscreen image of the drifting ships in the distance.

“Abandoned? Now, that’s damned strange.”

“Maybe not so strange, sir,” Scott said from the engineering station. “Sensors have confirmed residual spatial distortion consistent with deployment of the subspace weapon. The ship with the conventional battle damage has a dead warp core, so it’s lookin’ like the weapon worked the way it was designed.”

Raya spoke up from the auxiliary console near Uhura, where she’d parked herself in order to stay out of everyone’s way. “At least we know we’re on the right trail.”

“Right,” McCoy muttered to no one in particular. “If we get our damned fool heads blown off by Klingons, it’ll be a great comfort knowing we weren’t on a wild-goose chase.”

Kirk flashed him a look of annoyance. “So, we can guess what happened to one Klingon ship. But that doesn’t explain why there’s a second one out here, deserted but intact. And it doesn’t explain what happened to two Klingon crews.”

“Captain, there are only two logical possibilities,” Saavik said. “Either the terrorists took the Klingons captive, or there was another ship involved.”

“Do sensors detect evidence of a third ship?”

“Nothing definitive, sir,” Saavik said. “But residual interference from the subspace weapon is making it difficult to differentiate warp signatures.”

“Scotty, are we still picking up the trail from the terrorist ship?”

“Aye, sir.”

Kirk swiveled toward Saavik. “Lieutenant, do a full sensor sweep on both those ships, as well as the surrounding area. Make it fast. The less time we spend loitering in Klingon space, the better.”

“Amen to that,” McCoy said.

“As soon as that’s done,” Kirk said, “we get back on the hunt.”

“Captain,” Saavik called out with uncharacteristic urgency, “there is a neutron radiation surge off our starboard side.”

McCoy reflexively grabbed onto the railing. “This can’t be good.”

“It is a Klingon vessel,” Saavik said. “It’s the K’tanco, Captain-it’s decloaking, with weapons charged.”

At Kirk’s order, the Enterprise heaved hard to port in a desperate evasive maneuver, but it was too late. As the enemy cruiser swept past, its disruptors scored point-blank hits and sent the starship reeling. Knowing what was coming, McCoy had barely kept his footing, but Raya went flying. She came up with a bloody gash on her head, and McCoy ducked over to help her.

Meanwhile, the Enterprise shook off the first salvo and righted herself. “Phasers,” Kirk barked. “Return fire.”

The Klingon vessel was momentarily vulnerable as it came about, and four rapid-fire phaser blasts found their mark along its flank. With each ship twisting through its own evasive dance, both became harder to hit with energy-beam weaponry-and both captains ordered torpedoes away. A pair hit the Enterprise engineering hull in quick succession and the ship shook down to its beams. Smoke and sparks filled the bridge.

Scott called through the smoke, “Captain, warp drive’s offline. Forward shields’re down to forty-three percent!”

“Captain,” Uhura said, “we’re being hailed.”

“On speakers.”

A moment later, a deep voice came through, all too loud and clear. “Kirk, I am holding two Federation spies of your acquaintance.”

Kirk’s jaw clenched. He knew the voice. “Kang,” he whispered.

“They will be tried and condemned to death.”

McCoy grunted to Raya. “You’ve gotta love Klingon due process.”

“Seeing is believing, Kang,” Kirk said.

“Very well, then.”

“Visual signal coming through, sir,” Uhura said. “On main viewscreen.”

Reactions from everyone on the bridge crew were immediate and simultaneous-gut-punched shock at the sight of Captain Spock and retired Admiral Harry Morrow held under the gun on Kang’s bridge. While Kirk made a superhuman effort to maintain a poker face, his mind raced. How the hell did Morrow and Spock end up in Klingon hands? When he spoke, his tone was commanding but quiet. “Release them, immediately… and guarantee our safe passage back to the Neutral Zone.”

Now it was Kang’s turn to be thunderstruck at Kirk’s audacity. Not knowing what else to do, Kang actually laughed. “Bold talk for an invader with no warp drive. You will pay for this act of war with your lives.”

“Klingons or Klingon agents attacked a science colony orbiting Mestiko,” Kirk parried. “That was an act of war that justifies our presence in Klingon space.”

“Kirk, I have it on good authority that the weapon you seek was stolen by terrorists from Mestiko.”

Barely able to find her voice, Raya rose from the seat where McCoy was tending her head injury. “What?”

On the viewscreen, Mara stepped forward, alongside her husband. “Yes, dissidents who call themselves the Torye formed an alliance with renegade Klingons, and they were to share the stolen weapon. But the Torye had a change of heart. They are still somewhere in Klingon territory. After we’re done with the Enterprise, we will hunt them down and destroy them.”

Raya looked queasy, and Kirk couldn’t blame her. McCoy helped her back to the seat.

“How do you know about the Torye weapon?” Kirk said.

“Because,” Kang replied, “we have those Klingon renegades in custody-and they will face harsh justice. As for you, Kirk, stand and fight… or run for the Neutral Zone.”

“We’re not leaving without Spock and Morrow.”

“Then battle it is. I grant you an honorable death.”

“Thanks just the same,” Kirk said, cutting the comm signal.

Raya glanced at McCoy. “What’s he going to do?”

McCoy shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

“Captain,” Saavik said, “another ship has just entered sensor range.”

“Klingon?”

“No, sir. Unidentified.”

“Scotty,” Kirk said, “will your modified shields block the subspace weapon at less than full power?”

“I don’t know, sir. We’re sailin’ uncharted waters.”

“Divert all power to deflectors.”

“You mean other than weapons?”

“All power.”

“Then how do we fire back at the Klingons?”

“I’m betting we won’t have to.”

“Captain,” Saavik said, “you may win that bet. The unidentified vessel is closing, and its warp signature matches that of the terrorist vessel… and they just deployed the subspace weapon.”

“Scotty…”

“All power diverted to shields, Captain. But I don’t know if it’ll be enough.”

“We’re about to find out.”

On the main viewscreen, the terrorist ship appeared barely bigger than a speck out beyond Kang’s warship, but the weapon’s sparkling matrix rippled across the distance in a heartbeat, cascading over both the Klingon cruiser and the Enterprise. Bridge lights flickered out, replaced by the red glow of emergency illumination, and computer consoles went dark.

Kirk took a deliberate breath. “Scotty, status report…”

“We’re gettin’ some frequency fluctuation, so we’re only at eighty-eight percent efficiency. But, so far, warp power and shields’re holdin’ up.”

But for how long? Kirk glanced anxiously around the bridge. Only the science and engineering stations remained functional, and he surmised from Saavik’s intent focus on her sensor viewer that they were receiving data from the special scanners installed by Dr. elZana. Battery reserves kept life support and communications minimally operational.

“Captain,” Uhura said, “we’re being hailed.”

At Kirk’s nod, Uhura patched the signal to the main viewscreen, where they could see the tight quarters of the Torye bridge, and a Payav with unusually elaborate tattoos sitting comfortably in his seat. Raya was the only one who recognized him, and she gasped so loudly that Kirk whirled in her direction, thinking she’d been hurt. As she stood up unsteadily, her face betrayed her mix of emotions: shock, confusion, and anger. “Vykul?” she whispered.

“Raya. Commanders, I am Vykul, of the Torye. We will be the new rulers of Mestiko.”

“Vykul,” Raya repeated. “You’re behind this?”

“Just me? Hardly. Thousands have joined the Torye. Have we had our fill of your government’s complacency? Oh, yes. The weapon is now ours, and we plan to use it to make sure our world gets the respect it deserves from those who would conquer us like the Klingons, or subjugate us with ‘kindness’ like the Federation.”

Raya closed her eyes, as if trying to blink away this nightmare. “Theena elMadej… you kidnapped her. If you’re forcing her to help you…”

Then Raya got her next big shock, when Theena stepped into view alongside Vykul.

“Nobody’s forced me, Raya.”

For an instant, Raya brightened at the sight of her friend… until the reality of Theena’s words registered. “What… what do you mean?”

“I’m not a captive. I’ve belonged to the Torye for some time. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

“You-you helped them? They killed nineteen people at the Discovery Center! You killed…” Raya shook her head, stunned by a truth more staggering than anything she could have imagined. Kirk wanted to go to her and put a supportive hand on her slumped shoulders, but instead he circled around to the engineering console.

“Scotty, report,” he whispered.

“Assumin’ the shielded scanners are operatin’ without distortion, the Klingon ship’s warp core is disabled. And the Torye ship shows no signs of energizing standard weapons.”

“Maybe they don’t need to… or maybe they can’t do both at once.” Kirk turned his attention back to the wrenching conversation between Raya and Theena.

“Raya, no one was supposed to die. That’s Vykul’s fault.”

“But they did die… and if you helped these monsters, it’s your fault.”

“So many of our people have died for nothing. At least the people at the center died so our world can become proud and free,” Theena said, with a catch in her voice. “Someday… someday, I hope you’ll understand why we had to do this.”

Raya shook her head. “I’ll never understand.”

“Both your ships have been disabled by a weapon which makes us more than your equals,” said Vykul in an easy tone, as if discussing a rain shower and not a sea change in galactic power. “Could we destroy you? Yes, but that’s not our goal. This was a demonstration. Will we meet again? Yes, and the next time, we’ll have the force to dictate the terms by which Mestiko will take its rightful place as a dominant power in this quadrant.”

The comm signal winked out. The Torye ship disengaged its super-weapon, moved off at a stately pace, then jumped to warp speed, leaving the drifting Enterprise and K’tanco behind.

Kirk stood with Raya, who looked more shattered than he’d ever seen her before. “James, I can’t believe Theena would do this. I’ve known her since she was a child. It’s not who she is.” She kept shaking her head.

“What about this Torye group? Did you see this coming?”

“No. And that’s my fault. Maybe I should have.”

“We don’t know that. And sometimes, even if you see something coming, there’s not much you can do,” he said, referring as much to the past as to the present. But here and now, they needed to make a rapid assessment of their situation, before the Klingons could attack again, and before the Torye could do… what?

Chapter 11

While McCoy took Raya to sickbay to patch up her head wound, Kirk huddled down in engineering with Scott, Saavik, and Hovda for an analysis of the Torye attack. To Scotty’s great relief, the modified deflectors succeeded in protecting warp-drive systems against all but minor degradation from the subspace weapon, beyond the battle damage inflicted by the Klingons.

And Hovda was quite happy with how well the shielded scanners worked, yielding a wealth of useful information on the weapon and its inaugural performance. That data indicated that the Torye were having trouble mastering the weapon’s full potential. Even running at only half-capacity for a relatively brief period of time, the subspace weapon consumed all of the small ship’s available engine output, with nothing left for conventional weapons. As Hovda phrased it, it was lucky that the Torye vessel was underpowered compared with a starship like the Enterprise. Scotty was convinced the Torye cut their attack short because they were close to overloading their engines. Saavik noted that the subspace distortion field never achieved optimum matrix stability or power utilization-problems, Hovda confirmed, that were predicted by computer models and tests conducted by the development team. Still, the “demonstration” left little doubt they faced a formidable threat.

“How does Theena’s involvement change the equation?” Kirk asked. “She knows this weapon system as well as anyone. Will she be able to get the bugs worked out?”

“Not easily,” Hovda said. “We didn’t want any lone wolves working on this. We worked in teams of at least two. Crucial data was segregated into self-contained, encrypted memory units. Each scientist on the project was assigned a secret passcode, and it takes a minimum of two simultaneous passcode entries to gain access to those encrypted data units.”

“Can Theena solve those problems even without access to blocked information?” Kirk asked.

“She is brilliant,” Hovda said, with mixed pride and regret. “With enough fiddling time, she’ll fix some of it by sheer determination. But that won’t happen soon. Given the power limitations of their ship, they may not be able to surpass what we’ve already seen.”

“Aye,” Scott said, “but what if they get their hands on a better power source?”

Kirk’s brow furrowed. “Vykul said they’d have the force to dictate terms. Idle boast, or real threat?”

Scott looked grim. “If they capture a ship like this one, or a Klingon battle cruiser, and hook that thing up to bigger engines…” His voice trailed off. No one needed that peril spelled out.

“Then we have to keep that from happening,” Kirk said, his jaw tightening at the thought. “But we’ve got a more immediate concern.”

Scott allowed himself a half-smile of satisfaction. “The Klingons? They’re in a wee bit of a mess, sir. Their warp drive’s completely offline, so they’ll not be so eager for battle.”

“Is their warp core disabled permanently?”

Dr. elZana shrugged her shoulders. “We don’t have enough real-world data to know for sure. In theory, it could recover. But it’s likely to take at least a few hours for them to regenerate enough capacity for warp speed and weapons capability.”

“So, for the moment, we’ve got an advantage,” Kirk said. “Let’s use it to fix our battle damage, and then we’ll deal with the Klingons.”

Aboard the K’tanco, Mara coordinated damage reports from her barely operating bridge station, and repair teams scrambled throughout the ship. Batteries sustained minimal life support, but their warp reactor was stone-cold dead. Though damage inflicted by the Enterprise was mostly superficial, the knowledge that his vessel could neither fight Kirk nor pursue their attackers left Kang seething.

Under interrogation, Spock, Morrow, and Navok maintained that they knew nothing more about the Torye weapon beyond what they’d all observed. “But I suspect Captain Kirk knows more,” Spock said calmly. “If you destroy the Enterprise, you will lose that knowledge. It is in your own self-interest to deal with Captain Kirk, and expeditiously, I should think. The Torye may strike again at any time, or they may use their weapon against other Klingon ships and installations.”

That, of course, was the last thing Kang wanted to hear. But Mara took him aside and emphasized that the Vulcan’s logic was inescapable: Kirk might in fact hold the key.

“They invaded our space,” Kang said. “Kirk must pay for that.”

“Whatever he may be, Kirk is not foolish enough to undertake a one-man invasion. He told us why they violated the Neutral Zone, and we’ve seen this weapon for ourselves. Which is the bigger threat-one Starfleet ship, or an unknown weapon that left us paralyzed?”

“Trust Kirk, to defeat a common enemy?”

“You did it once before,” Mara reminded him.

“That was a long time ago. We have learned the hard way that humans cannot be trusted. And Kirk will not trust a sworn enemy he holds responsible for the death of his son.”

Measuring her husband’s stony resistance, Mara modulated her approach. She knew better than anyone how Kang hated forced inaction. When it came to revenge, he had a hard time waiting until that particular dish was sufficiently cold. It was his main flaw as a commander and warrior (and husband, too, for that matter), this inability to accept that stillness was sometimes required in order to make the best decision. Someday, when it mattered most, Mara believed he would master this art. In the meantime, after all their years together, she had evolved various means of diverting Kang’s impulse to act at moments when patience was the better choice. She leaned close to him. “Information is power, is it not?”

“It can be.”

“Then it’s time Klaa told us whatever he’s withholding.”

“He is a Klingon. He will not yield under interrogation, or torture.”

“We have another option.”

The unexpected invitation from Mara kicked Admiral Morrow’s guard up a couple of notches. Would he and Spock join her for Klingon tea in the private quarters she shared with Kang? Do we really have a choice? Since gentle persuasion wasn’t a customary Klingon tactic, he was pretty sure something was up-he just didn’t know what. But despite his heightened level of suspicion, he was unprepared for the proposal Mara made to Spock.

“A mind-meld?” Morrow blurted, almost choking on the sip of bitter brew he had in his mouth. “With Klaa?”

“We believe Klaa has information of value to us as well as Kirk.”

Spock’s eyebrow arched. “An intriguing request.”

“Spock,” Morrow said, bug-eyed at the very notion and stunned that the Vulcan hadn’t already rejected it, “you can’t do it.”

“There is no physiological obstacle, Admiral.”

“Why would we want to help the Klingons get information from one of their own?”

“Admiral,” Mara said, “we are being asked to trust Captain Kirk solely on the basis of his pleasant smile. Are you unwilling to grant reciprocal trust?”

Morrow chuckled without humor. “You don’t trust us, and we don’t trust you.”

“I beg to differ. You and General Navok seemed to be getting along quite well.”

“That was a work in progress.”

“This is not merely a matter of trust,” Spock said to both of them. “It could be a matter of survival. Based on Klaa’s admission of partnership with the Torye, it is logical to conclude that he intended to use their weapon against a specific, strategically valuable target, which remains unknown. If the Torye have decided to proceed against that same target without Klaa’s participation, any collaborative efforts at contravention would benefit from information on its description and location.”

Morrow spoke to Spock but glared at Mara. “How do we know it’ll be collaborative?”

Mara smiled. “Admiral, at the moment, this vessel’s systems are almost totally nonoperational. But I have enough data to suggest that the Enterprise was somehow able to withstand the Torye attack better than we were. If Kang has intelligence Captain Kirk will find useful, Kirk may be more likely to share his defensive countermeasures with us in trade. On the other hand, if the Enterprise doesn’t know where to find the Torye ship, all the countermeasures in the universe will be of little use. And without adequate defenses, we won’t be able to defeat the Torye even if we know where to find them. However, our two ships on a cooperative mission have a much better chance of success.”

Spock took a pensive sip of his tea. “Inescapably logical.”

Mara nodded graciously, but Morrow was no less unhappy with the direction in which this conversation seemed headed. “All right, say Spock does a mind-meld and finds out where Klaa planned to use this weapon. How do we know you’ll share that with Captain Kirk?”

“How do we know Kirk will give us the technical information on his countermeasures? I suppose that will be the moment of truth-are both sides intelligent enough to override our natural hostility toward each other in order to achieve a mutually beneficial goal?”

“You are correct, Mara,” Spock said. “Without knowing the Torye’s likely target, any effort directed at stopping them will be moot. I will accede to your request.”

“Spock,” Morrow objected, “are you crazy?”

“It is a logical choice, Admiral. Indeed, it may be our only choice at this juncture.”

Morrow shook his head. “I don’t like it. But I can’t stop you.” Then he turned to Mara. “Have you already plied Klaa with tea and blood-crumpets to get him to go along with this?”

“Klaa will require another means of persuasion.”

That “persuasion” took the form of four strong officers hauling Spock’s violently unobliging partner to a brig interrogation chair, strapping down his legs and arms, and clamping a cage around his jaw to keep him from biting. Then two guards held Klaa’s head still as Spock approached. As Morrow listened to Klaa’s brutish snorts and bellowed threats of vengeance, he wondered how the hell anyone could pierce that shell of furious resistance. But seconds after Spock’s fingertips pressed against the Klingon’s face and skull, the fire in Klaa’s eyes gave way to a trance of fear and his breath came in short, shallow huffs.

“I… am… Spock,” said one.

“I… am… Klaa,” the other answered.

“Our minds are moving closer… closer…”

“Nooo,” Klaa grunted.

“Closer … ” Spock took a deep breath. “Our minds… are one.”

Morrow glanced away for a moment to find that Mara and Kang and the rest of the Klingons were watching with what could only be called a mixture of fascination and revulsion at the thought of a Vulcan mind invading their own. Spock’s eyes were slits of pure concentration. Klaa’s eyes were pools of terror, his mouth gaping but unable to speak.

The Vulcan spoke for him in a guttural snarl that sent a chill down Morrow’s spine. “I… am… Klaa. The empire… dying… paralyzed. bIHnuch’yej… a council of cowards. We will act… I will act… Ha’DIbaHpu’! Bljeghbe’chugh vaj blHegh! Bljeghbe’chugh vaj blHegh! Bljeghbe’chugh vaj blHegh!”

“What does he keep repeating?” Morrow said to no one in particular.

“A challenge to our enemies,” Kang said. “Surrender, or die.”

Spock’s fingers dug into Klaa’s face and his voice took on a rising intensity that made Morrow very uneasy. “I… am… Klaa. We will conquer. I am… Klaa!” Then the few words became drawn out and it took greater and greater effort for Spock to form them. Beads of sweat coursed down his face. “I… I… I… aaaamm… K-k-k-klaaaa. I… aaaamm… I… aaaamm…”

Klaa’s face contorted in silent agony as he attempted to fight off Spock’s mind reaching into his own. Morrow had no idea what was going on but he wanted this to end, now. He lurched forward and grabbed Spock by the shoulders just as he grunted his own name: “Spock!” The Vulcan yanked his hands away from Klaa with such repellent force that he stumbled back against Morrow, who barely kept them both from tumbling to the deck. Klaa lapsed into an unconscious stupor.

It took several long moments for Spock’s breathing to slow to normal and the glaze to clear from his eyes. Then he squared his shoulders, stepped back from Morrow, and looked around the room, as if reorienting himself. “A fascinating experience,” he murmured. “A mind of cunning determination, and simplistic aggressive certainty as to the rectitude of his own decisions. Klaa’s universe is black and white.”

“Did you find out what we needed to know?” Morrow asked.

Spock nodded. “His intended target was to be the mobile Klingon battle base. Presumably, that is where the Torye are now headed.”

Kang frowned. “Battle base?”

The reactions from Kang and Mara made it clear they’d had no prior clue about this addition to the empire’s arsenal. “Like it or not,” Morrow said, “you’re going to want to release General Navok. He can tell you all about it. And I can tell you this-if the Torye capture that battle base and use it as a platform for this new subspace weapon, they’re going to pose a grave threat to the Klingon Empire, the Federation, and anybody else who gets in their way.”

Chapter 12

“You wanted to see me, Bones?” Two strides into sickbay, Kirk stopped short when he saw McCoy was not waiting for him alone. Scott and Saavik were there as well. “Am I being ganged up on?”

“Saavik was willing to do this by herself,” McCoy said, “but Scotty and I thought senior officers should be present… when she questions your sanity.”

Saavik’s eyebrow rose with a muted Vulcan variant of alarm. “Doctor,” she said sharply, “please.”

McCoy made a two-handed gesture of surrender, and allowed Saavik to take the lead.

“Captain,” she said, “cooperating with the Klingons is the logical option.”

Kirk glanced at all three of them. “And you all agree?”

“So do Uhura and Chekov,” Scott said.

“Opinions noted. But this isn’t a democracy. Have the Klingons sent any olive branches I haven’t seen?” Again, he looked at each of them. “I didn’t think so. The Klingons view peaceful overtures as a sign of weakness. I need this crew focused on coming up with ways to fight the Torye alone.”

“The Torye?” McCoy blurted. “Jim, we’re not even ready to fight the Klingons.”

“Mr. Scott,” Kirk said, “how are repairs going?”

“We should have warp drive and phasers back online in an hour, sir. But… we’re in Klingon space, Captain. And we’ve no idea where the Torye went. We cannot just cruise around, hopin’ we’ll run into them.”

“The needs of the many,” McCoy said tartly, “outweigh the paranoia of the one.”

Kirk managed a weary chuckle. “Logic, Bones? How quaint.”

“Then to hell with logic! I find the fear of getting blown to bits in Klingon space emotionally taxing.”

Kirk stiffened, trying (and failing) to avoid looking defensive. “Even if I agree, Kang never will. He loves humans as much as I love Klingons. Now, if you’ll excuse me- “

The whistle of the intercom interrupted him, followed by Uhura’s voice. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

Kirk keyed the intercom on McCoy’s desk. “Kirk here.”

“The first officer of the Klingon vessel is asking to speak to you, sir.”

Kirk didn’t even try to cover his surprise. “Oh? I’ll take it down here.” Mara’s face appeared on the comm viewer. “Mara. If you’re calling to rescind Kang’s honorable-death offer- “

“No, I am proposing cooperation between us, Captain. Will you consider it?”

“Will Kang?”

“He has no choice. Neither do you.” Mara paused. “We know you blame Klingons for the death of your son at the Genesis planet.”

“The murder of my son,” Kirk corrected through clenched teeth.

“As I understand it, your son died an honorable death.”

“Talk to me after your son dies an ‘honorable’ death,” Kirk whispered.

“Captain.” It was Spock’s voice, and the view from the Klingon ship widened to reveal Spock and Morrow standing alongside Mara. “The Klingons have obtained intelligence regarding the Torye’s likely target. They are willing to share this information.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Assistance enabling them to defend against the Torye weapon.”

“How do I know they don’t have disruptors aimed at your heads right now?”

“We are under no coercion, Captain. Kang has accepted the logic of the situation. You each have information vital to the other, and you share a common goal-stopping the Torye. The odds of success are considerably improved if the Enterprise and K’tanco work together.”

“Jim,” said Morrow, “I don’t like this any more than you do. But Spock is right.”

Kirk felt the muscles in his jaw twitch. Has everybody but me gone insane? Klingons can’t be trusted. But it was a high tide he was swimming against. Was McCoy right? Was his obstinate opposition really about David? Never mind trusting the Klingons-a lot of people he did trust were telling him he was wrong. “Mara,” he finally said, “I need a sign of good faith. Return Spock and Morrow first.”

“Don’t insult our intelligence, Captain. You need us as much as we need you. And our prisoners ensure that you won’t double-cross us. As a sign of good faith, I pledge that they will not be harmed, and they will be released when our mission is complete. Now it’s your turn.”

“All right. Assuming we’re successful, I’ll see to it that the stolen weapon and plans are destroyed.”

“If that is acceptable to the Klingons,” Spock said, “I propose an immediate truce between our two vessels, and a simultaneous mutual exchange of the information on the defensive countermeasures and the Torye target, to be carried out in thirty minutes.”

Mara nodded. “Agreed. Captain?”

Kirk forced out the words. “Agreed. A truce. Thirty minutes. We go after the Torye… together.”

With negotiations concluded, Mara and three guards accompanied Spock and Morrow back to the brig. “Spock,” Morrow said quietly, “I’m not saying you should’ve, but you could’ve simply told Captain Kirk what you got from Klaa.”

“Had I done so,” Spock replied, “the captain would not have been motivated to cooperate with the Klingons.”

“And,” Mara said, “I would have had no choice but to kill you both on the spot.”

“It is imperative that the two ships undertake this mission together,” Spock continued. “Additionally, actions we take now may yield collateral beneficial consequences in the future.”

Morrow reacted with a small, knowing smile. “Spoken like a diplomat, Spock.”

Kang paced the perimeter of K’tanco’s bridge like a penned klongat. He was not pleased about the agreement he’d authorized Mara to make with Kirk. He hated logic, and hated to be ruled by it, when passion was so much more satisfying. But an astute commander should know enough to recognize and use the expertise of his officers, without diluting his own authority. It did not wound his pride to acknowledge that Mara was not only smarter than him, but also more attuned to psychological nuance. And he had learned to trust her judgment in matters other than battle, so he was secure enough to defer to her today. The deal was struck, and he would honor it as long as Kirk did. At the first sign of treachery, however, he would slit the throats of Spock and Morrow with his own d’k tahg and transport a cup of their blood to Kirk.

“Captain,” the tactical officer shouted, “weapons fire in the brig!”

“Mara is down there.” Kang reached for his d’k tahg with one hand and drew his disruptor pistol with the other. “Summon all available security teams to meet me there.”

As Kang raced through his ship, the roar of his blood rushing in his ears, he attained the controlled frenzy of the warrior who would give no quarter and take no prisoners. The lift door opened and he charged toward the sounds of combat echoing down the narrow corridor to the brig. In a matter of seconds, through the smoke and noise, all of Kang’s senses measured the chaos of carnage. At least five dead bodies in and around the hatchway into the brig, all Klingons… pools and rivers of Klingon blood… hand-to-hand fighting… but who were the aggressors and who the defenders?

In a corner, he spotted Mara, one of Klaa’s men, and Morrow. The human held a d’k tahg… and was trying to kill Kang’s wife. But, wait, no… Mara was down, wounded, and it was Klaa’s warrior attacking her. Morrow flew forward, and his vicious slash nearly severed the Klingon soldier’s arm. The attacker screamed, and his long-bladed knife clattered to the deck. In one desperate motion, Mara lunged for it, grabbed it, and ran it through her assailant’s gut.

Now Kang knew Klaa was the instigator, taunting fate with his second mutiny attempt of the day. Kang’s eyes searched the bedlam: Where is that Qu’vatlh Klaa? I will cut his throat and slice out his heart!

Then, he saw Klaa on the fringe of the melee, trying to reach the exit. “To the bridge,” Klaa shouted, “to restore the honor of our fathers!”

But before Kang could wade in, a cudgel struck him in the center of his chest. He fell to his knees, momentarily breathless. Kang saw the cudgel rushing down toward him for a death blow when, suddenly, it froze in midair. A new pair of hands had seized the arms of the Klingon about to crush his skull… Spock’s hands. Kang had no idea Vulcans were that strong, but Spock gripped the cudgel, gave it a thrash violent enough to dislocate his opponent’s shoulders, and bashed the man into unconsciousness with a single uppercut stroke. Without a word, Spock reached down, grasped Kang’s wrist, and hauled him to his feet. Face-to-face with Spock, Kang looked into those slitted eyes and saw, for a fleeting instant, all the savagery that Vulcans tried so hard to bury under their stifling blanket of dispassionate logic.

Another one of Klaa’s men hit Morrow from behind with a flying tackle. Morrow crumpled, with the Klingon on top of him. The Klingon’s immense hands wrapped around Morrow’s head as if to snap his neck. Spock interceded with a precisely aimed kick to the back of the Klingon’s head, accompanied by the fatal crack of splintering bone.

A moment later, a dozen of Kang’s security reinforcements flooded into the fight, and it was over in a matter of minutes.

“Are you all right, Admiral?” Spock asked as he helped Morrow to his feet.

“More or less, thanks to you.”

They stood aside as two of Kang’s men carried a corpse past them. Morrow’s breath caught in his throat as he realized it was General Navok.

Morrow sat on a bench in the K’tanco’s medical bay as a nurse tended to his and Spock’s injuries. Morrow had assorted cuts and contusions on his hands and face, and what he guessed to be a cracked rib, based on the sharp ache in his side. Spock had a gash over one eyebrow and a swollen right hand. Morrow winced as the nurse roughly applied a slimy salve to a one-inch cut on his cheekbone, then pressed a skinsealant device against the wound. The burning sensation caused by the device hurt more than the cut.

“I guess the Klingons don’t believe in painkillers,” Morrow muttered to Spock after the nurse left to work on other patients.

Spock flexed his hand gingerly. “Indeed. Submission to Dr. McCoy’s ministrations would be preferable.”

“Did Klaa get killed?”

“Negative. I saw him being reincarcerated with his surviving mutineers.”

“I guess he won’t be getting invited to tea anytime soon.”

“Unlikely.”

Making small talk with a Vulcan was not the easiest thing, and Morrow was acutely aware that he was babbling. He wondered if Spock was thinking what he was thinking… and whether he should just confess or forget the whole subject, the elephant in the room with them. I condemned this man to death on Genesis a half-dozen years ago when I ordered Jim not to go back there. I didn’t mean to. How the hell was anybody supposed to know he’d end up being… reconstituted? Even Jim didn’t know. He just had this feeling, like he had to go there, even if there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell. I’ve never had that kind of connection with anybody… can’t even imagine it. If I’d understood what Spock meant to him, I’d have let him go. Hell, I’d have ordered him to go. But I didn’t. And now Spock saves me. I have to say something….

“Spock,” Morrow said in a hoarse whisper, “you know you saved my life back there.”

“You would have done the same, had the situation been reversed. You saved Mara’s life.”

“I owe you my life, but I very nearly cost you yours.”

Spock arched one eyebrow. “When?”

Morrow stared. “Are you kidding me?”

“Explain.”

“At Genesis. The only reason you were here to save me today is because Jim Kirk ignored my direct order six years ago.”

“He has been known to do that from time to time.”

“Are you saying you’ve never blamed me?”

“For what?”

Morrow almost laughed, wondering if Spock was being deliberately obtuse just to annoy him. But Vulcans didn’t do that… did they? “Nobody knew you were alive. If Jim hadn’t stolen the Enterprise and gone back there, you’d have died there… again… when the planet came apart at the seams.”

“That is correct. But your judgment at that time could not have reflected facts unknown to you. Assigning blame under such circumstances would be illogical.” Spock paused and frowned ever so slightly. “Though I may never fully understand the thought processes which led them to undertake my rescue, logic does not prevent me from being grateful for what the crew of the Enterprise did for me.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little ironic that I gave the order that would have left you for dead? Jim Kirk disobeys and saves you, and that’s the only reason you were here to save me.”

“Then it is fortunate that we are both here to appreciate that irony. Though it defies logic and cannot be supported by rational evidence, things, as you humans like to say, sometimes do work out for the best.”

Morrow smiled and shook his head. “You’re an interesting creature, Spock.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

Mara limped over to them, making a stoic effort to ignore her own pain. “I trust our medics have given you satisfactory treatment for your injuries.”

“We’ll survive,” said Morrow lightly.

“Mara,” Spock said, “I should like to invoke a Klingon tradition.”

She smiled. “I know what you are about to say, Spock.” Then she turned solemn. “You have shed blood in a Klingon cause. As fellow warriors, you have earned the right to be treated as honored guests, no longer prisoners.”

Morrow looked surprised. “Well! Thank you. We appreciate that.”

“Don’t abuse the honor,” Mara warned. “If you’re ready, we’re needed on the bridge. It’s time for the information exchange with the Enterprise.”

Chapter 13

We’re helping the goddamned Klingons.

It was a perversion of all Kirk believed, the last thing he expected to be doing. But their immediate situation left him little choice, no matter how justified his animosity toward the Klingons might be. So it was that an Enterprise team worked side by side with Kang’s engineers to repair the K’tanco’s warp drive, and Scott and Dr. elZana guided Mara and her specialists through the precise deflector modifications needed to defend against the Torye weapon.

Meanwhile, using sensor data collected during their initial exposure to the subspace weapon, Chekov reconfigured the Enterprise’s photon torpedoes to make them less vulnerable to the subspace disruption matrix. The trade-off worked out to a fifty percent reduction in explosive power in exchange for fifty percent more shield protection for the internal components of each torpedo. Kirk wasn’t thrilled with that-but maximum destructive potential wouldn’t mean much if torpedo guidance systems failed and they missed their targets. Once Chekov was satisfied with the alterations, he shared the details with the Klingons.

Then there was that damned mobile battle base. As Kirk reviewed the meager information Kang had retrieved from Klaa’s ship and was willing to share per their truce, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His starship, the pride of Starfleet, was three hundred and five meters long and displaced a million metric tons. The Klingons’ dreadnought creation was ten times longer, with thirty times the mass. Enterprise armaments included nine double-barreled phaser banks; the battle base had fifty. Enterprise could accommodate a handful of shuttles on its hangar deck-this thing could carry thirty birds-of-prey. Resembling neither a vessel nor a spacedock, it could move at warp five. It was ungainly, functional-and lethal, on a scale far surpassing anything in the Starfleet arsenal. Hell, we don’t even have anything like it on the drawing board.

As a student of military history, Kirk recognized that such gargantuan bases could be the modern equivalent of old-time naval aircraft carriers, playing a key strategic role and changing the face of galactic warfare. But massive aircraft carriers eventually outlived their usefulness (as battleships had before them), becoming little more than oversized, unwieldy targets for ever-more-deadly and precise long-range offensive weapons.

Whatever its ultimate function and fate, this battle base was a grave current threat to the balance of power in the quadrant. Steamed over Kang’s refusal to share little more than the battle base’s location and minimal specifications, Kirk was determined to gather as much intelligence as possible once they got close to it.

Yet, for all its military transcendence, Kirk’s lasting impression of the battle base remained one of surprise: How the hell did the Klingons muster the resources to build something like that, given the economic stresses chipping away at the empire? That they’d been crazy enough to plan on constructing a whole fleet of the things confirmed Kirk’s unsettling suspicion that lunatics were calling the shots in the High Council, lunatics who appeared more concerned with bellicose chest-thumping than survival. Surely, the cost of a dozen copies would break the empire’s strained treasury.

Finally, after two hours of unstinting work, both the Enterprise and K’tanco were sufficiently repaired and fortified, and they headed for the battle base.

What neither captain knew was that the battle base was heading for them.

Not exactly what we expected, Theena thought as she walked through the dimly lit bowels of this Klingon monstrosity. The Torye had been pleasantly surprised to find it occupied only by a skeleton maintenance and construction crew, so the actual capture turned out to be bloodless. With the subspace weapon working better the second time, they’d been able to catch the Klingons completely defenseless. Once their immense set of warp reactors were suddenly offline, the Klingons found themselves without power for weapons or shields, and they had no reason to disbelieve what Vykul told them-that they’d been conquered and had no option other than unconditional surrender. Since they were engineers and workers rather than dedicated military warriors, they complied with only token resistance.

By sheer mass alone, the battle base was initially quite impressive. But its deficiencies started becoming apparent the moment the Torye crew stepped off their ship in the cavernous hangar bay, and found not a flotilla of battle-ready birds-of-prey but a mere pair of work-worn shuttlecraft. Once aboard, Vykul split his people up for a more detailed inspection of their new acquisition.

Three-quarters of the base’s interior turned out to be unfinished, mostly skeletal superstructure still awaiting installation of decks and bulkheads. Less than half the disruptor banks were operational, and the armory inventory was mostly vast empty racks where thousands of torpedoes should have been. And even in the sections which were more or less completed, Theena noted substandard materials and shoddy construction-a general observation rendered frighteningly specific when she stepped out of a balky turbolift and twenty feet of decking partially collapsed under her, leaving her dangling from a set of rickety crossbeams. It was almost as if the base had been built by apathetic slave labor-which, knowing the Klingons, could have very well been the case.

Had Klaa been able to realize his dream and seized the battle base, he would have been extremely angry and disappointed by the reality. Considering all its shortcomings, Theena would have had substantial misgivings about taking the base into actual combat. Fortunately, the Torye had other plans. All they really needed was a more powerful source of reliable energy for the subspace weapon, and the base’s warp drive was among the few systems actually functioning up to nominal levels.

As she made her way back to the command center, Theena wondered how she’d ended up here. She thought of all the moments when she might have been able to stop Vykul, all the internal doubts she’d squelched, all the questions she chose not to ask… all the opportunities she’d had to break the chain of events that led to this looming confrontation. Where was that big brain of yours when you really needed it?

Disclosing her implacable opposition to Vykul’s delusional plans had been a stupid, stupid mistake. She was now an object of suspicion, limiting any chance she might’ve had to sabotage the weapon. Despite the fact that Theena knew more about it than anyone else, Vykul made it clear he was blithely determined to use it with or without her cooperation-no matter the risks. That left her with two awful alternatives: apply her knowledge and expertise to make sure the weapon was used as safely as possible to advance a cause in which she no longer believed… or walk away, knowing that no one else would be able to fend off disaster if the temperamental weapon became unstable.

If she believed her absence would assure Vykul’s defeat, even if she and her erstwhile comrades would die in the aftermath, she’d have chosen that course without hesitation. But in reality, leaving the operation of the weapon in less skilled hands simply increased the likelihood of triggering a cosmic catastrophe of almost unimaginable proportions. Even she was uncertain of the theoretical extent of potential damage to the fabric of subspace. It was her responsibility to make sure that didn’t happen, no matter how much she’d have preferred curling up in a ball of ignorance.

“James,” Raya said, looking Kirk in the eye, “what are we going to do when we find them?”

Kirk gazed down into the depths of his coffee mug for a long moment. He and Raya sat at a small table next to a window in the recreation lounge. Out in the star-strewn darkness, the Klingon battle cruiser kept pace. “We’ll do what we have to do.”

“Does that mean destroying the Torye ship?”

Kirk finally looked up at his friend. She looked tired and worried. “Raya, that’s never my first choice. But we’ve seen what that weapon can do. Do you want them coming home to Mestiko and using it to overthrow your government? Getting your world into wars of conquest?”

“I keep hoping Theena can find a way to talk some sense into Vykul… or beat it into him.”

Kirk managed a smile. “Either way would be fine with me.” He glanced out the window at the Klingon ship in the distance. “We’ve both got friends in trouble.”

“I’ve got a whole planet in trouble. There’s a political firestorm brewing. Opposition parties are going to see this as their big chance to knock us down. It’s not even about governing to them, it’s all about winning. But there are also going to be honest questions about how we could let research like this go on without controls and oversight… about funding priorities… about the very existence of the Discovery Center.”

“And you’ll have honest answers. You always do.”

Raya shook her head sadly. “What if I don’t? This happened on my watch. I’m responsible. And if we get out of this mess, I need to know how something like this happened… and I need to make sure it never happens again.”

“Then that’s what you’ll say. Good leaders are secure enough to admit when they don’t have all the answers, and then they get on with searching for them.”

The intercom whistled, followed by Uhura’s voice: “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

Kirk slid out of his seat and walked to a nearby comm panel. “Kirk here.”

“Captain, we’re receiving a message… from the Torye.”

“On my way. Kirk out.”

Kirk and Raya strode out of the turbolift onto the bridge, and Uhura played back the message on the viewer abover her console. It was Vykul, seated in an unfamiliar control chamber. He rambled on for a stretch, answering his own questions about how the Torye were leading Mestiko into a future of limitless possibilities. He heaped magnanimous praise on Raya and her government for all the progress made in recent years, with special acclaim for the concept of a center devoted to unimpeded research and learning. “Without it, this great leap forward would not have been possible. We share the credit for our achievement with you, Raya.”

Raya rolled her eyes and muttered a curse. “Just what I need.”

“We’ve used the new weapon to annex a Klingon battle base. Why? To lead Mestiko to its rightful position as an independent power in firm control of its own destiny. We stand on the shoulders of giants, and reach toward a new golden age for all our people.”

And that’s where the message ended, leaving Raya with her head bowed as she tried to rub the tension from her long neck. “He almost makes it sound reasonable,” she said.

“Almost,” Kirk reminded her. “Saavik, do we have a fix on the origin point of that message?”

“Affirmative, sir. They made no effort to hide their location.”

“Yes,” said Kirk, “walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”

Raya gave him a quizzical look.

“One of my favorite old children’s poems,” he said. “They want us to know exactly where they are. Vykul figures the sooner we find them, the sooner he defeats us and starts his ‘golden age.’ Let’s accommodate him. Saavik, confirm coordinates with the Klingons and change our course.”

“Yes, sir.”

Theena arrived at the command center and took a deep breath before entering. Vykul looked up. “Is everything ready?” he asked.

“Not quite everything,” she said as she assumed her post at the weapons-control console. “But we have about seventy-five percent engine power available to us, which is at least three hundred percent more than we had with our ship alone.”

“Will that be enough to overwhelm any augmented deflectors on the starships?”

“Impossible to say for certain, since we don’t know what countermeasures they may have initiated. But I’d rather be us than them when the subspace distortion matrix hits.”

Vykul nodded. “Well, we find out soon enough.”

From the tactical console, Fiota said, “Vykul, two ships just appeared on long-range scanners.”

“Good. Then everything we’ve worked for is within our grasp.” Vykul smiled as he activated the internal comm system and addressed his crew. “Red alert. All hands to battle stations!”

Those words made Theena’s blood run cold. Vykul’s scheme, unfolding with her right smack in the middle, would not have been possible without her complicity. This is all my fault. How will you ever be able to make up for it, Theena? Wrap your big brain around that .

Chapter 14

On the outer ring of the Enterprise bridge, Kirk perched on the rail and studied the star chart on the screen above Saavik’s science station. Two decades ago, Sector 418-D had been an Alpha Quadrant backwater. Then one rogue pulsar changed everything. Look at it now, he mused. One little sector encompassed the troubled planet Mestiko, a swatch of the Federation-Klingon Neutral Zone, the key Klingon colony of Tiranax, and a ribbon of Klingon-Romulan border sufficiently contentious for the Klingons to have deployed their new battle base there. It was if all sides had heedlessly tossed discordant ingredients into the same pot, disregarding the noxious stew boiling up inside. And now the lid was about to blow.

If he and Kang were going to prevent that, they’d need a unified strategy-easier said than done. Kang’s impulse was to sweep in like the avenging Sword of Kahless and obliterate the battle base and its conquerors in one stroke. With McCoy and the rest of the bridge crew watching, Kirk reminded his stern Klingon counterpart that destruction of the battle base wasn’t an option, since excessive destabilization or uncontrolled shutdown of the weapon had to be avoided at all costs. Hovda elZana stressed that they simply had no way of knowing how much damage that might do to the very fabric of subspace.

When Mara reminded Kang the base was still a valued Klingon military asset which might yet prove useful in defense of the empire, he dismissed it as an abomination created by the fevered minds of a High Council gone mad. I actually agree with him there, Kirk thought. How about that?

Kirk contended that their initial attack should probe for weakness and avoid exposing their own strengths and vulnerabilities. Kang was impressed (and more than a little surprised) when Kirk quoted an ancient human warrior-philosopher named Sun Tzu: “If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”

“Kahless said the same thing,” Kang replied. “I did not know that any human possessed such wisdom when it came to the art of war. What else has this Sun Tzu taught you?”

After a moment of thought, Kirk recalled a relevant passage: “‘You can be sure of succeeding in your attacks if you attack only places which are undefended.’ We already know what the subspace weapon can do. But the Torye haven’t had a lot of time to integrate it with the battle base. We need to find their undefended places.”

Kang agreed. “Kahless said, ‘The prepared warrior waits to take the enemy unprepared.’ Our first attack will measure our enemy. Our second will vanquish him.”

“From Kang’s mouth to God’s ears,” McCoy whispered to Uhura, “and that’s a phrase I never thought I’d utter.”

The Enterprise appeared to be alone as it approached the battle base and fired its first salvo of photon torpedoes. The Torye immediately unleashed the subspace weapon, and its cascade of scintillating energy rippled rapidly out in concentric spheres, flooding over the Enterprise. Just as Vykul wondered about the absence of the Klingon ship, K’tanco decloaked on the opposite side of the base. A spread of Klingon torpedoes sliced through the distortion matrix and exploded sequentially along the base’s armored flank. The armor plating seemed almost sentient, shimmering, flexing, and settling once the blast energy had dissipated.

As the distortion matrix smothered the Enterprise, power generation took a precipitous plunge (much to Mr. Scott’s alarm). As his starship twitched, Scotty held his breath. But the shields held, power surged, and the Enterprise escaped the subspace weapon’s domain.

The K’tanco weathered the same rough ride and also slithered away, and the two ships met up again at a safe distance. Both crews immediately set about analyzing the wealth of sensor data gleaned from their sortie. Neither commander had to wait long for the results. The subspace weapon registered at twice the intensity of their first encounter, and the additional energy enhanced the distortion matrix’s stability. Saavik felt compelled to make an inconvenient point: They had no way of knowing if the Torye were utilizing maximum power, or holding something in reserve.

However, it appeared that the power demands of the subspace weapon precluded simultaneous use of the base’s disruptors. As Scotty put it, “There’s only so much energy to go around.” And not only were the battle base’s warp engines fueling deflectors and the subspace weapon, they were also providing power to its unique adaptive armor. As Saavik and Chekov reported, unlike typical passive plate armor or energized force-shields, this defensive shell was constructed of an energy-infused alloy able to shuffle its molecular structure in response to attack, giving it an unusual capability for refraction and absorption of offensive energy.

Kang insisted he knew nothing of the development of this revolutionary armor. General Navok might have known about it, but he was dead. Kirk was privately certain only that they’d witnessed the application of a new and worrisome technology that could give Klingon ships a huge advantage in future battles.

The modified torpedoes had worked well enough, unaffected by the subspace distortion-but with the diversion of destructive capacity into shielding, they’d barely made a dent in the combined protection afforded by the base’s deflectors and reactive cladding. Faced with one level of protection or the other, the torpedoes might inflict more damage, but against the combination they were unlikely to prove decisive.

Mara was the first to locate a ray of hope, which Saavik quickly confirmed: There were a few gaps in the base’s deflector coverage-an indication that some of its shield emitters were either inoperative or improperly aligned. Though admittedly small, those gaps might be the fatal flaw Kirk and Kang had hoped to find-if they could figure out a way to exploit it.

They could try firing torpedoes through them-but that courted the risk of catastrophic destruction while the subspace weapon was deployed. One gap appeared large enough for a shuttle carrying commando teams to dock, but would they be able to breach the armor and get inside? Even if they could, that would take time, during which the shuttle would be vulnerable.

“Could we beam people through one of those gaps?” Kirk asked.

Everyone looked at Scott, who appeared dubious. “Captain, we’ve no idea how that subspace distortion could affect the transporter. If it disrupts the annular confinement beam, our people could arrive as puddles of protoplasm-if they got there at all.”

“What if we minimized the distance?”

“Aye, that’d help-but it’d have to be point blank. And droppin’ our shields at close range? If they have torpedoes, we’d be sittin’ ducks, sir.”

“Not if one ship does the beaming while the other provides cover.”

“Jim,” McCoy said, “it could be a suicide mission. We have no idea what they’ll run into over there.”

“I’m aware of that, Doctor. But this could be our best-and only-chance to retake the base and shut down that weapon.”

Kirk knew it was an option fraught with peril. But they had to do something, and time was one luxury they didn’t have, considering the destructive power now concentrated in unpredictable Torye hands. Advised by their senior officers, Kirk and Kang finalized a plan: A six-person tactical team combining Starfleet and Klingon personnel would be transported from the Enterprise while the K’tanco provided heavy covering fire. Then both ships would harass the battle base and distract the Torye crew while the boarding party attempted to shut down the subspace weapon and secure the base.

Mara and Scott were assigned to lead the group of three officers from each ship. Their task: to take down the subspace weapon without blasting a disastrous hole in the universe. As they completed final preparations in the transporter room, Raya chipped in with her appraisal of Vykul and his crew.

“He fancies himself a military leader,” she said, “but he and the rest of the Torye have no real experience at this. You people obviously do.”

“Well, that’s something,” Kirk said. Then he turned to the boarding team. “But don’t forget: Fanatics can make formidable opponents. Good luck over there. Remember, you’ll have two starships doing our level best to give you the time you need to accomplish your mission.”

From her console at the heart of the command center, Theena tracked the two ships as they wheeled around and began what looked like a side-by-side run at the battle base.

“Status?” said Vykul, still exuding supreme confidence. He leaned back in the commander’s seat on its raised platform, his hands clasped comfortably behind his neck.

Theena checked her panels. “All internal systems normal. Deflectors and armor battle-ready. Weapon system on standby.”

“Phase two power?”

“Ready.”

One console to Theena’s right, Fiota peered intently at her tactical screen. “The Klingon ship remains uncloaked.”

“They could engage their cloaking device anytime,” Theena said.

“Or, maybe they’ve just decided on a refreshing frontal attack,” Vykul said. “They may have realized we have an overwhelming advantage and it doesn’t much matter what they do. This could be a suicide run.”

Theena gave him a quick, queasy stare, not even bothering to conceal her apprehension. Did he really believe what he was saying? Was he actually unaware of all that could go wrong? Had he forgotten that the opposing warships had been able to escape from the distortion matrix this last time around? They’d obviously determined how to adapt their shields to put up greater resistance. So we’ve modified our tactics in response-but we can’t be sure it’ll work. What if it doesn’t? We don’t have any more tricks up our sleeves. Yet Vykul radiated blissful assurance, without a hint of doubt. Is he right-or insane?

As Enterprise and K’tanco approached, Theena kept waiting for them to split up. But they stayed alongside each other, as if tethered together. Her hand hovered over the weapon trigger. Enterprise and K’tanco each fired a volley of torpedoes, but remained in tandem.

“Deploy weapon-phase one,” Vykul ordered.

Theena followed the command. “Distortion matrix engaged.” She paused while the fusillade of torpedoes exploded against the base’s armor like distant, rolling thunder. But the command center barely shivered. “Targets acquired.”

Vykul leaned forward slightly. “Effects?”

“Same as before. Fluctuations in their power output, but their warp drives are still online.”

Suddenly, the two starships broke formation. Enterprise dove down, passing beneath the battle base, while the Klingon ship veered and came about sharply, unleashing a rapid-fire barrage of a dozen torpedoes in a matter of seconds.

“Phase two,” Vykul said, “full power-now!”

Theena engaged the rest of the warp reactors. For just a heartbeat, lights dimmed and the background ventilation hum muted; then it returned to normal. On the main viewscreen, the shimmering distortion field billowed out and flared brightly.

“All warp engines… now at maximum,” Theena said in a hushed voice. Her eyes widened as she waited for circuits to overload and systems to blow. But, to her astonishment, nothing failed. The augmented subspace distortion matrix flowed over both starships from behind as they accelerated away-and both appeared to falter as the distortion field interfered with their propulsion output. Despite the fact that she hated what Vykul was doing, she felt a thrill seeing how her handiwork performed.

Theena felt her stomach churn as she observed what the sensors told her: The Enterprise and K’tanco shunted almost all their respective primary warp-drive energy to their deflectors, providing a precious few seconds of extra protection while the ships limped away on impulse power. Both ships had escaped the trap she’d set for them.

Then she felt Vykul’s hand squeezing her shoulder. “Don’t look so depressed. We have what we came for. We continue on course for home.”

Theena shook her head. “Kirk and Kang aren’t going to allow that.”

“They don’t have a choice. With your weapon and this battle base, we are unstoppable.”

Fiota suddenly looked up from her internal-status monitors. “Vykul, we have intruders aboard. We’re detecting residual transporter signatures in the lower levels.”

“How could they beam people over through our deflectors?” Vykul strode over and grasped the edge of the console.

“I don’t know,” Fiota said with a nervous shrug.

Theena sensed that Vykul’s largely untested crew was starting to panic, and for the first time, Vykul’s frown betrayed his own concern.

“We have to protect this command center,” he said, making a conscious effort to sound confident. “Full security alert! Seal it up! If they can’t get in here, they can’t stop us.”

“They can stop us,” Theena countered, “if they get to engineering ops and disrupt power flow from warp drive to weapons systems.”

“Can you prevent that?”

“Not from up here. I have to do it down in ops.”

“Do you need any help?”

“It’s faster if I do it alone. And you need all available personnel for security.”

“All right… but take these.” He handed her a Klingon tricorder and a disruptor. “Scan for the intruders. Avoid them if possible-I don’t want you captured. If you have to, shoot to kill. Go-but be careful.”

Theena bolted from the command center. Running through one corridor to another, she heard muffled explosions and felt the deck shake under her feet. The two starships were attacking again, with a steady bombardment of torpedoes fired from a safe distance. How long can this thing take the pounding?

She ducked into a turbolift, which dropped fifteen decks so abruptly it felt like free fall. The pod jolted to a halt, the door opened, and she jumped out onto the engineering level. Then she paused to scan for life forms-and there they were: humans and Klingons, aft of her position and three decks below. Whoever got to the operations section first would be able to lock out intruders. She couldn’t allow the boarding party to beat her there.

The deck shook again, the explosions outside the hull louder than before. They’re targeting engineering! If they’re trying to force us to stand down, they don’t know Vykul.

Theena kept running until she felt like her lungs were burning. And then she ran some more, until she arrived at the hatch leading to engineering operations. She leaned against the wall for a rest, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She checked the tricorder again-the boarding party was almost here. But instead of entering ops and locking the hatch behind her, she bypassed it. She moved toward the intruders as they came toward her. As an afterthought, she pulled the disruptor pistol from her belt and held it in her hand.

Twenty meters from a corridor intersection, Theena stopped to check the tricorder one more time, and then she waited. A few moments later, the boarding party rounded the corner and saw her. A Klingon female was an instant away from shooting when a burly human with gray hair and mustache stopped her. Theena recognized the human. “Mr. Scott!”

Scott squinted at her. “Theena?”

Chapter 15

Mara still wanted to shoot Theena. “You know her?” she said to Scott.

“Aye. Uhh, lassie, unless you’re plannin’ to use that weapon, you might want to lower it.”

Theena looked at her disruptor, as if she’d forgotten she was even holding it. Realizing the likely ramification of pointing a weapon at a Klingon, she clipped it back onto her belt hastily. The boarding party approached her. “I’m here to help you.”

Scott stared at her. “You’re here to what?”

“Help you. We have to shut down the subspace weapon.”

Mara hadn’t yet holstered her weapon, and looked like she didn’t intend to. “Are you going to trust her?”

“Well,” Scott said, keeping a wary eye on Theena, “that all depends. Why would you be helpin’ us?”

“Because Vykul’s lost his mind. All this…” She waved her hand around them, and her voice grew increasingly frantic. “This was never my intention. I don’t know how long this base will hold together, and I sure as hell don’t know how long the subspace distortion matrix will remain stable. Now, you can shoot me and try this yourself, without having the slightest idea what you’re doing. Or you can let me help you. Whatever choice you make, do it fast, because this much I do know-we don’t have a lot of time.”

On the Enterprise bridge, Commander Uhura swiveled to face the command chair. “Captain, message from Mr. Scott.”

Kirk nodded and Uhura put Scott on speaker. “Kirk here. Status, Scotty?”

“We’ve reached main engineering-and we’ve got Theena helpin’ us shut this beastie down.”

Kirk’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Theena?”

“It’s a long story, Captain. But I don’t know if we could do this without her. How’s the Enterprise, sir?”

Kirk couldn’t help smiling at Scott’s concern for his pride and joy. “Minor degradation to the warp engines, but they’re regenerating. The torpedoes aren’t having much of an effect on the base… and our inventory is starting to run low. So… our fate is pretty much in your hands, Scotty.”

“Aye, sir. We’ll do our best. Scott out.”

Kirk’s jaw tightened. He was all too aware that they’d be unable to retrieve the boarding party unless they could get back to the beam-in point at the battle base’s shield gap, or unless Scotty’s team succeeded in cutting power to the base’s deflectors altogether. The Klingons might’ve regarded this as a good day to die, but Kirk refused to accept that his people over there were expendable until he had absolutely no alternative.

“Captain,” Saavik said urgently, “the subspace distortion matrix is becoming unstable. They cannot sustain this level of output.”

Kirk leaned forward in his seat, his attention on the viewscreen where the distortion field had begun to waver. “But do the Torye know that?”

“Maybe we should tell them,” Raya said from her perch next to McCoy near the communications station.

“You’re right,” Kirk said, rising to his feet. “Uhura, open a channel.”

“Channel open, sir.”

“Vykul, this is Captain Kirk. Shut down the weapon, before it’s too late.”

The Torye leader appeared on the screen above Uhura’s console. “Why would I do that, Captain? We have the most powerful weapon in the quadrant and we’re safe inside an invincible flying fortress.”

“I don’t think so. Our boarding party’s already breached that fortress of yours. And if you check your diagnostics, you’ll find that your super-weapon is on overload. You know the consequences.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Then shut it down and surrender. Or are you planning to be a martyr?”

“I’m not a religious man, Captain; I’m sure Raya has told you that. But I’ll blow this base up and take you and the Klingons with me before I surrender. So if you don’t withdraw… you know the consequences.”

Outwardly calm, Kirk’s mind raced. Is Vykul all bluster? How far is he really willing to go? You don’t have to be religious to be a fanatic. What if we call his bluff and we’re wrong? “You’ve made your point. You’ve got Raya’s attention.”

“That was never the point, Captain. But do I expect you to understand? No. You take orders, I give them. You’re just a cog in a machine, but I’m the power that makes the machine go. And do I mind going out in a blaze of glory? Not at all.”

“Glory?” Raya blurted, stepping forward alongside Kirk. “Is that what you call this? If you and your Torye want to vaporize yourselves, I don’t really care. But this weapon… it could cause even more devastation than the Pulse! Did our people fight back from the brink of oblivion just so you can wreak destruction on a cosmic scale?”

“You have the power to stop it, Raya.” With that, Vykul cut his comm signal.

Kirk moved toward Saavik. “Lieutenant, what’s their status?”

“Distortion pattern integrity is degrading at an accelerating rate. Matrix oscillations will soon exceed acceptable limits. Subspace tearing is increasing in magnitude, with a concurrent increase in tetryon, gamma, and hyperonic radiation.”

“Dammit. Uhura, contact Mr. Scott.”

Uhura nodded. A moment later, they heard Scott’s voice again. “Scott here.”

“Progress report,” Kirk said tersely.

Scott began with a prefatory deep breath. In Kirk’s experience, that was never a positive sign. “It’s no good, sir. Theena’s doin’ all she can, but… it’s too late for a controlled shutdown.”

“What if you just cut power to the weapon? Won’t that collapse the distortion matrix?”

“She’s past the breakaway threshold. Cuttin’ power won’t do a blessed thing to stop her.”

“Then we’re getting you out. Can you shut down the base’s deflector system from there?”

“Captain, there’s no time! Leave us and save the ship! If subspace is comin’ apart at the seams, you’re already seein’ enough radiation to interfere with the transporter.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Scott. Shut down those deflectors and stand by. That’s an order.”

“Aye, sir.”

McCoy frowned at the main viewer, where he noticed a new development-ethereal tendrils of ionized particles swirling away from the main distortion field. “Ohh, that can’t be good,” he said, and all eyes turned toward the viewscreen image.

“Captain,” Saavik interjected, “the subspace tears are starting to exert gravitational attraction on proximate matter and energy.”

“Which, at some point,” McCoy hissed, “is going to include this ship.”

Kirk ignored the comment and activated the comm panel on his chair. “Uhura, contact Kang.”

Vykul paced behind the noticeably jittery Fiota. “What’s going on?”

“The weapon’s on overload.” She chewed on her lip as she checked her status monitors. “Warp reactor output is fluctuating all over the place. Maybe if we shut it down, the subspace damage will stop.”

“Shut it down?” Vykul echoed. “I don’t want to shut it down.”

That pushed Fiota beyond her limit. She spun around in her seat, and was about to scream at her leader when she heard a shrill alarm beeping at her console. She whirled back and stared at the screen.

“What is it?” Vykul prompted.

Fiota swallowed hard. “Deflector emitters… they just shut down.”

“Ours? Or theirs?”

“Ours.”

A second later, a clockwork flurry of five torpedoes blasted the starboard hull just outside the command center, with enough violence to throw Vykul off his feet and knock his crewmates out of their chairs. Lights flickered, and the starboard consoles sparked and caught fire.

Out in space, Kang’s battle cruiser swerved hard about for another torpedo run, while the Enterprise edged in so close to the belly of the battle base the two were almost touching. The ship was shaking and straining to escape from the cosmic turmoil unfolding around them.

Saavik and Chekov delivered status updates: The moaning warp engines were operating at not quite eighty percent capacity; shields were down below seventy percent. The weapon’s distortion matrix had collapsed into chaos, shredding subspace, with new tears opening all around the battle base and rapidly expanding into gaping rifts. Increasingly intense gravimetric turbulence buffeted both ships like kites in a gale, holding them back as if by a string that stretched but refused to break. And the K’tanco was in even more trouble, some distance behind the Enterprise, as a vortex of matter and energy formed with the battered Klingon base at its raging heart. The more matter and energy it dragged into its maw, the faster the vortex bloomed.

Finally, the report came from the transporter room. “Tuchinsky to bridge. We’ve got the entire landing party, plus one, sir.”

“Mr. Chekov, shields to maximum,” Kirk said, relieved. “Get us out of here.” Then to Tuchinsky, he said, “Chief, have Mr. Scott, Theena, and Mara report to the bridge, and have security escort the other two Klingons to the recreation lounge as our guests.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Scott arrived at the bridge, he went straight to the engineering console, while Theena and Mara stood near the turbolift doors next to McCoy and Raya. “Scotty…,” Kirk began.

Scott shook his head. “You’ve already got all she has to give, sir.”

As the two starships labored to pull away, the battle base skidded back, then began to break apart as it was swallowed up by the spatial whirlpool. As it disappeared inside the roiling cloud of energized particles and vapors, everyone on the bridge waited, breathless…. The vortex coughed out three hot flares-and then a great fireball with the fury of a small sun going nova. The massive ejection of gas and gravitons slammed into the two ships and flung them away, tumbling into the distance.

On both ships, bodies and equipment went flying. Somehow, Scotty and Chekov clawed their way to the controls and coaxed the Enterprise out of her wild spin. Those who weren’t hurt helped those who were. Kirk wiped away the blood dripping from a gash over his eyebrow and made his unsteady way back to the center seat. The viewscreen revived in time for them to see the final frenzied moments of the gravimetric maelstrom consuming all matter and energy within its savage grasp. It collapsed and twisted itself into an unimaginably dense, searingly bright pinpoint. Finally, all that compressed mass exploded into a fountain of rainbow plasma which swiftly began coalescing into the beginnings of a shimmering new nebula.

Raya and Theena stood transfixed by the awful beauty of what they’d witnessed-and survived. Brilliant colors from the viewscreen image danced across their faces. “It’s… so beautiful,” Raya whispered.

“But lethal,” Theena added softly. “Radiation levels in this region will be deadly for centuries. There could have been planets… civilizations… destroyed. And it’s my fault.”

Raya looked into her young friend’s haunted eyes. “Some of it, yes.”

“I was responsible for creating a terrible, dangerous weapon.”

“But it didn’t have to be used. You helped Vykul use it.”

“I know… I do know. And I’m sorry,” Theena said as two security guards approached to take her away. “Here I am with this big brain. But it took all this for me to understand… the most dangerous thing in the universe is a creature convinced beyond doubt of his own virtue.”

Kirk overheard Theena’s humbling, hard-won wisdom… and he knew, beyond doubt, it applied to all of them.

Epilogue

Mara and her crewmates returned to their ship, and Spock and Morrow beamed over to the Enterprise. As both crews assessed damage and made repairs, Kang’s vessel escorted the Enterprise through Klingon space and back toward the Neutral Zone. Kirk informed Kang he planned to urge the Federation to ban any further development of subspace-disruption weapons, by the Payav or anyone else-and he warned that the Federation would not tolerate deployment of the provocative battle stations.

When they reached the Neutral Zone, Enterprise and K’tanco went their separate ways. With his ship on course for Mestiko, Kirk left Chekov in command and stepped into the turbolift, with Spock and McCoy following. Noticing that Kirk looked especially grim, McCoy tried to lighten the mood. “Those Klingons might be writing one of their caterwauling songs right now, commemorating for the ages the day when the great Captains Kang and Kirk worked together to save the galaxy.”

“Indeed,” said Spock, “future generations may look back on recent events and recognize them as a key step toward peaceful coexistence between the Federation and the Klingons.”

Despite the fact that he’d cheated death yet one more time, and escaped with his ship and crew intact, Kirk did not warm to the spirit of the occasion. “The Klingons… can go to hell. And I don’t mind showing them the way.”

So much for lightening the mood. They rode down in silence, until Kirk grabbed the control grip and brought them to an unscheduled halt. He fixed his first officer with a hard, accusatory glare. “Spock, what the hell were you and Morrow doing in Klingon space in the first place?”

“We were asked to undertake a sensitive mission by President Ra-ghoratreii himself, which remains classified. I regret that I cannot discuss it further.”

“So do I.” Kirk looked away and restarted the turbolift.

When they reached their destination deck, and the door opened, the captain took a deep breath and his expression softened, permitting his friends a fleeting glimpse of the heartache he’d carried with him since the day his son was killed. “We… can’t negotiate with them, Spock. You know what they are… what they’ve done.”

“Jim,” Spock said, “there are some Klingons who recognize the imperative of change.”

“They’ll never change.” Then Kirk turned and walked down the corridor.

McCoy sighed as they watched him go. “Well… you can’t blame him.”

“Doctor, after all these years, I do understand that emotions can be a heavy burden for humans,” Spock said, not unkindly. “His feelings toward Klingons are substantive and understandable. But a starship captain cannot allow judgment to be impaired by emotion.”

“Maybe he keeps us around to remind him of that. But as a doctor, I can tell you… some wounds never heal.”

Kirk found Raya in her cabin, looking exhausted by the ordeal they’d all endured over the past few days-and troubled by the consequences waiting for her back on Mestiko. She managed a melancholy shadow of a smile. “Maybe I won’t go home. Maybe I’ll just join your crew and explore the cosmos… and you’ll be in charge and I won’t have to worry about a thing.”

“Have you talked to Theena?”

“I know she has to be in the brig, but it’s just… depressing. She says she doesn’t want an advocate. Just wants to plead guilty, no matter what the charges.”

“That would be simpler.”

“Part of me agrees. But part of me wants to put her through a trial.” She clenched her fists and shook them. “Part of me wants to strangle her! She betrayed me, James… betrayed a lifetime of friendship and respect. Is that… petty… of me?”

“Not after what she did. But she didn’t intend to do it to you personally.”

“I know that-but it feels that way. Not now-it’s too fresh-but I’m going to have to sit down with her and talk, really talk. I need to know why she did this. How could such a brilliant girl go down such a dark and foolish path-and without my noticing? How many more of our young people feel so much despair and frustration? After all we’ve been through, all the strides forward… are we doomed by our demons? Do some wounds never heal?”

“Those are the questions your people have to ask, out loud. And I can’t think of anyone better equipped than you to listen-really listen-to the answers.” Kirk gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Well, I’ll let you get some rest.”

“No, wait. Stay. I… don’t want to be alone.” Raya blinked to hold back a wave of grief. “I called home to check in. Blee told me… my grandmother died.”

Kirk sighed and reached out for her hand. “I’m… so sorry. I liked your elor.”

“She liked you too, James.” Then Raya laughed despite the tears sliding down her cheeks. “But she really liked this ship of yours. You know, when I left her this last visit, I… I had a feeling.” Raya squeezed her eyes shut. “She told me to go do what I had to do.”

“So on top of everything else, you have to make funeral arrangements.”

Raya nodded as she wiped her eyes. “Something I can’t delegate to my staff. I have no idea…”

“If there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Just listening helps.” She let out a weary sigh as recollections of Elee filled her head. “You know, she loved to fly-in anything. Gliders, props, jets, balloons… your starship. She’s positive she’ll be reincarnated as a bird. Then she’d get to spend the rest of her next life flying over…” Raya’s voice trailed off and she frowned, then brightened slowly. “Wait… I do know what she would want… where to scatter her ashes. And, yes, you can help me.”

“Whatever you need.”

“James, would you please join me and Elee for a balloon ride across Tuuliie Bay?”

Kirk’s careworn face broke into a boyish grin. “I’d be honored.”

TO BE CONCLUDED…

Acknowledgments

This is my first time involved in a project with this many writers kibitzing together-a veritable writing orgy!

However, as much as we hope our readers enjoy these stories, you’ll never know just how much fun we had writing them for you. Why? Because you’ll never get to read the loony e-mail exchanges we had during the process (unless Keith decides to include them in a future “Special Edition”).

Like most writers, I’m accustomed to working alone. Remember, many of us became writers in the first place because we’re socially maladroit. So this was a welcome change of pace.

It was a great pleasure working alongside and being inspired by my talented Mere Anarchy colleagues. Thanks to Kevin Dilmore and Dayton Ward, Mike W. Barr, Dave Galanter, Christopher L. Bennett, and Margaret Wander Bonanno for the honor of their company.

Thanks to Our Glorious Editor (O.G.E.) Keith R.A. DeCandido for inviting us to play together.

And on a personal note, thanks to all the devoted fans who have kept Star Trek alive, and given me the lucky opportunity to write these for more than thirty years.

About the Author

Since HOWARD WEINSTEIN sold his first story at age nineteen (the 1974 animated Star Trek episode “The Pirates of Orion”), his writing career has spanned four decades! His credits include a half-dozen Star Trek novels, three V novels, and sixty Star Trek comics. Recent contributions to Star Trek short-story anthologies are “Safe Harbors” in Tales of the Dominion War and “Official Record” in the original-series fortieth anniversary collection Constellations. His nonfiction work includes “Being Better,” an essay in Boarding the Enterprise, a fortieth anniversary celebration of the legacy of Star Trek from BenBella Books; the book Puppy Kisses Are Good for the Soul & Other Important Lessons You & Your Dog Can Teach Each Other; and a biography of New York Yankees baseball star Mickey Mantle. His numerous articles and columns have appeared in the New York Times, Baltimore Sun, Newsday, and Starlog Magazine. Despite his not-so-secret identity as a displaced New Yorker, Howard lives in Maryland with his understanding wife, Susan, and their two cute Welsh corgis, Mickey and Callie.