The pre-dawn light of 54 Eridani was soft and rosy, but there was nothing soft about Kalevar Thrang's expression. "Where is the ship now?" he asked.
"Unknown. Off the grid," Tharval replied. "My assumption is that the unpronouceable alien persuaded Captain Grak to go to ground with her. After our High Councillor's little misjudgement, he will have needed little persuading."
Thrang remained completely still and silent for several seconds, the only sign of life being the glittering of his eyes. "They can't have assimilated all the data yet. T'Khal and Dillan didn't have all the data. And it will take those agents time to piece together what parts they do have. They are keeping the ship and Captain Grak hidden until they're ready to make their move."
"They have quite enough pieces to make our lives difficult," Tharval said.
"But they have to fit them together. So, we have to move before then." Thrang sighed, and went to sit down on the couch. Tharval remained standing by the doorway. "Well. My plans always have an element of flexibility. It would have been nice if T'Khal and Dillan could have bought or cajoled or blackmailed a supermajority on the Council, but we still have enough clout to win a vote. Sarv will just have to make sure there are no backsliders."
"We will have to move faster. Sarv himself might be exposed, now. And J'mpok's agents are not fools, they will fit those pieces quickly. They have already fitted enough together to expose T'Khal and Dillan."
"Those two would have had to be retired anyway," said Thrang. "Still, it's annoying that it had to happen on their schedule and not mine." He stood up. "Well. That's life, isn't it? Never mind, I'll adapt -"
The harsh bleeping sound made both their heads turn. Thrang frowned, crossed the room, touched the sconce of a candleholder on one wall. A panel at head height slid aside, revealing a screen. It flashed once, and an image formed on it; the heavy grey face of a Kobali.
"General," said Thrang, with a smile that looked quite unforced. "A pleasure to hear from you."
"I doubt that you will think so in a moment, Thrang." Jhey'quar glowered from the screen. "I have news for you, and you will not care to hear it."
"I won't? I'm sorry to hear that, General. I always try to be obliging."
"And we have obliged you in return. But no longer." Jhey'quar's voice was icy with anger. "You have corrupted the last of our newborns, Thrang. My son Geterian is in custody, now, after your treatments so deranged his mind that he murdered our daughter Lilitsia -"
Behind him, Thrang heard a sort of sigh from Tharval.
"You did this, Thrang. You did this with your interrogation machines. You brought back the person my son was, and it was enough to break his mind. We do not know if he can be saved. We know that Lilitsia cannot. And how many others have you damaged, Thrang? It ends. It ends now."
"General." Thrang's voice was quite calm. "I'm sorry for your loss. You understand, I hope, that it was not my intention -"
"I do not care about your intentions!"
"Nevertheless," Thrang continued, "you have benefited from our arrangement, and I hope that we can put this behind us and go forward. Of course, in the circumstances, I'll discontinue the questioning sessions -"
"Your devices have already been destroyed, Thrang! You have no choice in the matter!"
"Nevertheless, we have an arrangement, and I hope we'll both continue to benefit from it. Working with me, you'll be able to extend the Kobali presence in this quadrant, and -"
"We can do that without your aid, Thrang. We can, and we will. I will implement my own plans from henceforward. This conversation, and our arrangement, is over." And the screen blanked out.
"Damn," said Thrang. "Damn." He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took two deep breaths. Then he opened his eyes again, and turned to Tharval. "Are you all right?"
"I -" The Lethean shook his head, slowly. "I... suppose I am. She was dead. Already. I knew that...." He shook his head again. "I am all right."
"Good," said Thrang. "We just got another push. If Jhey'quar is that angry, the chances are good he's going to do something extremely stupid, and I think we should be out of here before he does. So, we were going to have to go into high gear... now we need to go one notch higher. Call the Grand Admiral. Tell him it's time to go to war. Then call Sarv, and tell him it's time for the vote."
---
"We need more time," J'mpok said.
The nameless Lethean looked at the Chancellor, looked at the massive Gorn and the tall elegant Orion who flanked him behind his desk. "I regret, Chancellor, that I can give you no more time. My government has questions.... Important people have, or had, relatives on the Eridani moon. And the attitude of the High Council has provoked... certain reactions."
"Lethean friendship is important to our overall alliance," said Melani D'ian in calm and measured tones. "The High Council is one thing... but you are among friends here, so surely we can be reasonable together?" She smiled.
"Private assurances are one thing," said the Lethean, "but the stated will of the High Council is another."
"If we are to make the High Council see reason," said J'mpok, "we need more time." Then he snarled as the comms panel on his desk buzzed for attention. He stabbed irritably at the button. "What is it?"
"Chancellor." The voice over the comm sounded nervous. "Councillor Sarv has requested to bring a special motion before the next meeting of the Council. He has appended details... which he urges everyone to consider deeply. Including, with respect, yourself, sir."
J'mpok swore under his breath. "Transmit the documents over my data channel, and then, no calls." Behind him, S'taass pulled out a datapad from his belt, and bent his massive head over it. "No more interruptions. I hope," said J'mpok. "Now. How may we persuade you to allow us more time to act?"
"I am under pressure from my government. I speak for Lethea... and there is concern, that my voice is not heard in the Council. That concern grows with each hour that passes."
"If we can reassure you as to the state of your colony," said D'ian, "would that alleviate some of the pressure? We have agents in the vicinity of the 54 Eridani system -"
"Those agents are on the run from the High Council, as I understand it," said the Lethean. "I do not know how much weight their words would carry - and I do not see how they can operate effectively, under that burden."
"They were effective enough to dispose of two rogue Councillors," D'ian said with a smile.
"Two Councillors are not the whole of the Council. And can they tell me what has happened to our people?"
"Hrrrr." The sound S'taass made was loud and terrifying. The three others all turned their heads towards him.
"Forgive me," the Gorn said. "But I too have received my copy of Councillor Sarv's proposal. I think, Chancellor, you should read it. We should all read it."
J'mpok's eyes rolled. "Is this going to improve my mood?" he demanded.
"I'm sorry, sir," says Oschmann. "It's just that, well, he expects to see you, now."
I glare at her. "If Rrueo had another human officer to spare, Rrueo would gladly disembowel you," I tell her. "But since we must keep up this imposture -"
We are back in Oschmann's apartment, and her tame Baron is on his way to bring more tittle-tattle of the Grand Imperial court. I hope he has something useful to say. We need more information, especially in the light of recent events. Melani D'ian's informal communications channels are still open, and the last message that she passed to Shalo was... disturbing reading.
So, now, once again, I start to remove my uniform. "It's not any more pleasant for me than it is for you, sir," says Oschmann. "Dealing with the Baron, I mean."
"At least you get to keep your clothes on!" I snarl at her.
"So far," Oschmann mutters darkly.
"Do not expect Rrueo to intervene if the Baron makes demands of that nature. Rrueo is an innocent non-sapient house pet and knows nothing of such matters.... How can he be such a fool? He must know that nobody breeds hunting cats like Rrueo, by now!"
"This planet's communications infrastructure is rubbish," says Oschmann. "They don't even have a fully accessible planetary data net! Earth had one of those back in the twentieth century, but these idiots -" She sighs and runs her hand through her hair. I kick my uniform out of sight, and assume what is, by now, becoming a familiar position.
Again, a brassy fanfare sounds from the intercom, and a synthesized voice says, "Attention! Prepare for the ingress of the noble Baron Josef Chaka Guevara Foch, who honours you with his presence!"
"Oh, God," groans Oschmann. She composes her face in a pleasant expression, which belies her underlying mind-tone. I dwell on thoughts of leaping on prey and rending it.
The door opens. "Lady Cynthia!" The noble Baron's puddle of a mind is oozing with ignoble thoughts. "Charmin' to see you."
"Delighted, as always, my lord," trills Oschmann.
"And your pet, what?" The Baron steps over to me, and scratches me behind my left ear. I resist the temptation to take his hand off at the wrist. It is not easy. I force a purr, instead. "Delightful beast, what? Lots of spirit in her, eh?"
Then he turns back to Oschmann, and says, in that drawling voice which is suddenly thick with unpleasant intentions, "However, I rather think you'd better, well, put her out for the night, what? Seems to me, my lady, that matters between us need to proceed to a conclusion, don't y'think? And, well, I don't much care for the house pets watchin' me perform. M'first wife, now, she used to let her dog sleep on the bed. Puts a fellow off his stroke, that sort of thing, what?"
Even mind-blind, he must surely be able to see the tension in Oschmann's body language. I tense, myself. I do not propose to let this arrogant primitive outrage one of my officers, and be damned to the consequences -
Then the decision is taken out of my hands, as the apartment window lights up with a brilliant flash. The sound of the first explosion follows, seconds later... and by then, there have been more flashes.
"'pon my word." The Baron, distracted, wanders over to the window and peers out. "But," he says, bewilderment fogging his mind-tone, "that can't be right, can it?"
"What is it?" asks Oschmann.
"Well, now." The Baron scratches his head. "The word on the old grapevine was, Duke Thrang would be consolidatin' his position by takin' out the Grand Admiral. So, well, we were all expectin' some jolly old fireworks to kick off sometime soon. But, well, it would be a space battle, wouldn't it? But those flash-bangs, now, they're on the ground... comin' from the area of -"
It is at this point that I leap across the room, seize the Baron by the shoulder and the waistband of his trousers, and heave him face-first out of the window.
The continual rumblings of the explosions, and the distant warbling of phaser fire, do not quite drown out the sound of the crash, and the outcries, as he hits the pavement. Oschmann comes to the window and looks down. "I don't think he's dead, sir."
"A pity. But we have no time to attend to trivia." I turn and grab my clothing out from under the bed. "Thrang has let idiots like that think that he plans a challenge to this Grand Admiral. Thrang, not being an idiot, has already come to a cosy arrangement with the Grand Admiral."
"That noise is the Imperial Palace under attack," says Oschmann.
"Precisely." I shrug on my uniform tunic, and grab my wrist comm. "Rrueo to Skaldak. We are evacuating. Send the Hoh'Sus in, cloaked, under cover of the battle to make pickup. Rrueo and Oschmann."
"We're... leaving?" Oschmann says.
"We have done all we can. By tomorrow morning, Thrang will have completed his coup, and will be installed as Emperor. Our task, now, is to see that this is the only place where he is installed as Emperor."
"You." The serjeant-at-arms puffs out his chest and glowers at me. "You three, you are all wanted by the High Council -"
"And we are here, now, to present ourselves to the High Council," I say with hauteur.
"You are proscribed! You are wanted criminals! You dare to approach the Great Hall in this manner?" He is a very picture of outraged Klingon officialdom.
"The High Council wishes us to account for ourselves, and we have urgent information for the High Council. It is in everyone's interests if we enter, immediately."
A breakneck flight from 54 Eridani to Qo'noS, using transwarp gates and every illicit means Melani D'ian could arrange to smooth our way... and now the last obstacle is this pompous official, barring our way to the Great Hall.
"I will summon the Yan-Isleth! You shall not go before the High Council, unless it is in chains! I will -"
There is a pulse of light in the air, and a force plucks the serjeant-at-arms off his feet and hurls him against the wall. He falls in a stunned heap.
I turn and direct a quelling stare at R'j. She shrugs. "Reasoning with him was getting you nowhere. And I believe we have a deadline."
"True." I step over the prone body and push open the door.
D'ian is on the other side, and she raises a finger to her lips. I look past her, at the Great Hall. J'mpok sits slumped and brooding on his seat; Sarv has the floor, and across the hall, the Lethean envoy glowers at him. A data sheet is showing on the holo-display; the population figures for the moon of 54 Eridani VI. They make grim reading, if you are a Lethean.
"Try not to attract attention," says D'ian, "for the moment. I have briefed the Lethean, but not J'mpok. I think it is best to have his authentic reaction."
The three of us sidle into the Great Hall, as inconspicuously as we can manage. It is not hard; the Lethean is speaking.
"So this," he says, "is the High Council's honour. This. The extermination of a colony of our people, to be resurrected as Kobali, as part of an underhand arrangement with that government -"
"The extermination was none of our doing!" snarls Sarv.
"That remains to be proved," the Lethean retorts. "And even so, what can the Kobali offer the Empire? A minor power, half the galaxy away! Lethean friendship towards the Empire has been steadfast, up till now... does the Councillor wish to throw that away, for the sake of a dubious Kobali alliance?"
"Not just Kobali!" shouts Sarv. "They will be our partners in that system - and will oversee our alliance with the humans!"
There is a shocked murmur among some of the Council - the ones Sarv has not already primed for this. J'mpok stirs on his seat, but does not speak.
"Yes!" Sarv crows. "The humans! A human colony, at first, but when Earth hears of this, when the warrior humans learn of a firm alliance with our people - they will rise up! They will throw off the shackles of the Federation pacifists! They will take back their birthright of combat and blood! Two great warrior peoples of the quadrant will unite, and nothing will be impossible for them!"
It is, I suppose, possible he believes this himself.
J'mpok speaks at last. "And at what cost will we buy this human alliance, Councillor?"
"Only a small one," says Sarv. "Only the granting of a title - a title that is meaningful, true, but one whose actual effectiveness is in name only. The one called Kahless filled the role of Emperor well - he inspired our warriors in battle, he upheld the great traditions of the Empire, and at the last he died as a warrior should! But his throne is now vacant. What Klingon can claim it? Would you dare, Chancellor?"
"I am not worthy," says J'mpok. "Who is?"
"What use is a throne if it is empty?" demands Sarv. "Someone must fill it - and the Grand Imperium has an Emperor. I say, in token of our grand alliance, we will seat him upon the throne! This honourable Council will attend to the details of administration - but the symbolic might, the name and title, will be borne by our new ally!"
It is worrying how little protest and outcry there is at this. Sarv has evidently prepared his puppets well.
"We shall let the new Emperor have all official pomp and splendour," says Sarv. "And how the humans will smile! They will think they have conquered us - but we, we will know that we have won! To take our old enemies and make them Klingon - is it not the greatest of victories?"
He swaggers across the floor of the Hall, and picks up a datapad. "The Council will be pleased to vote on these preliminaries," he says. "Matters of administrative trivia - the official entitlements, a formal treaty, a nominal amnesty for any offences committed against the Empire -"
D'ian nudges me, but I do not need her urging to spot the right moment. "Let us ensure that all relevant data is brought before the High Council," I declaim. "What is the name of our Emperor-to-be?"
Sarv stares at me. "You -" he begins.
"I have been called to account for myself before this honourable Council. Well, here I am. And I have information more current than Councillor Sarv's. We have obtained much data from the records of the late Councillors T'Khal and Dillan." With each word, I advance into the hall, until I am in the open, facing Sarv. I do not look at him; I let my smile play, like a disruptor bolt, across the ranks of Councillors.
And I see the quicker ones react, and my smile broadens. Yes. You know, now, that the blackmail files assembled by Thrang's minions are now in our hands. You know who owns you now.
"The name, Councillor Sarv," I repeat. "Give us the name."
"I -" He takes a step back. "The Grand Emperor is Hadrian VII of the House of Corvo -"
"Your information is out of date, Councillor." Now I smile directly at him. "By now, the ruler of the Grand Imperium - the man you want to rule this Empire - is Kalevar Thrang. And he will no doubt be very glad of that nominal amnesty you wish to arrange -"
And I am interrupted. J'mpok springs from his seat, his face congested with rage. His authentic reaction, indeed.
"You imbecile!" he roars at Sarv. "You dolt! You want my office, and you try to set up Kalevar Thrang as a puppet on your behalf? You are the puppet! Thrang's puppet! He would have you dancing on his strings within a week, and he would lead the Empire to ruin! You unutterable -" He clutches spasmodically at the air in his fury. "I have seen targ droppings with better sense than you!"
The Hall is filling with rancorous shouts. No one who was not already cowed by Sarv would support his proposal... and, now, those who were must realize that their only hope for survival lies in denouncing him.
Sarv's reaction... is not one I had expected. He gapes at J'mpok, he casts a worried glance around the Hall - and then he bolts for the nearest exit. I have never seen a High Councillor move so quickly.
The display of open cowardice stuns everyone, for an instant. J'mpok is first to recover. "Stop him!" he roars.
"Let him run!" I bellow, as loud as I can. "He will run to Thrang!"
J'mpok rounds on me, and for a moment I think I am dead. The floor of the Great Hall is not the wisest place to gainsay the Chancellor.... But his pragmatism kicks in, just in time to save my life. He glares at me. "Then you will pursue him," he snarls, "now!"
I raise my fist in salute. "As you order, Chancellor!"
J'mpok is staring at something else, now, and I see what - or, rather, who - it is, as we turn to go. "What are you grinning at?" he demands.
"Oh, just an idle thought." Melani D'ian's smile is bright and poisonous. "I just wondered... if the honourable Council would care to vote, now, on Councillor Sarv's proposal."
It was a bold plan, but too reliant on treachery to fully succeed - another 'king among the ruins' plot, perhaps, throwing the Empire into Civil War, dragging the Federation in from the humans in the Grand Imperium appealing for aid?
I can see the appeal to Sarv as working with humans, even a token, silly group of them, under the Empire's banner.
If I were a high-level Empire official, I would be planning a targ-hunting trip while this blows over; Jm'pok (and even scarier, Shalo ) has access to Thrang's secrets of the dead.
Fate - protects fools, small children, and ships named Enterprise Will Riker
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I wonder if Thrang himself has that (rather mistaken) impression of the Humans of the Federation - that they are in fact bloodthirsty warriors, equals of the mot violent Klingons, who are held back only by fear of pacifist leaders (which is a nonsensical statement in the first place, but I can see someone like Thrang, who respects only strength, believing it).
I'm afraid that he would have been in for a bit of a shock even if Sarv's proposal had passed. Humans, at least the non-Augmented sort, are a peculiar blend of pacifist and warrior, and would likely have stunned Thrang with their willingness to fight - alongside their Federation allies, and with the intent of disassembling his little empire, if not the Klingon Empire as a whole, in order to restore peace to the quadrant...
I wonder if Thrang himself has that (rather mistaken) impression of the Humans of the Federation - that they are in fact bloodthirsty warriors, equals of the mot violent Klingons, who are held back only by fear of pacifist leaders (which is a nonsensical statement in the first place, but I can see someone like Thrang, who respects only strength, believing it).
If you believe yourself the best of humanity, and are a violent sociopath, I could see expecting the rest of your race are just violent sociopaths waiting for the Greatest of Them All to let that out from their weak and frivolous social constructs.
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My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
Thrang doesn't actually believe the bill of goods he's sold Sarv on - it's just meant to be something Sarv can believe in, or plausibly pretend to believe in. Thrang's plan is more along the lines of 1) become titular ruler of the Klingon Empire, 2) become actual ruler of the Klingon Empire, 3) fight off all honour challenges and assassination attempts arising from 2), 4) do a very good job of managing the Empire, 5) become so indispensable and/or dangerous at high-Galactic-politics level that people like Okeg and D'Tan have to start making accommodations for him and generally letting him set policy. As you may have noticed, Thrang does not lack for self-confidence.
(You may also gather that he's not interested, in practice, in a long-term alliance with the Kobali either. They're just another means to an end.)
Re: Thrang's Evil Plan: The Kobali seem to be set up to be presented as a decent sized government to ally with with so the presented 'allies' aren't a complete bunch of buffoons, if I'm reading this right? (Also, I still really enjoy volatile, pragmatic Jm'pok as a presentation from among the existing characters. Watching the KDF originals bicker is always a joy).
Considering the ideas Klingons like to have versus what often happens, the Grand Imperium probably is a more comfortable natural tributary state ally than the Syndicate. But alas, this imperfect world.
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My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
Jhey'quar strode onto the Ostigon's bridge, his heavy face a mask of disapproval. "What is the situation?" he demanded.
"Klingon raptor inbound," the sensor officer reported. "Displaying High Council identification... it seems to be a fast courier ship, lightly armed. The identification matches Councillor Sarv, and there is a sub-channel transponder which corresponds to -"
"Thrang's man on the High Council," Jhey'quar interrupted. "Well. We will hear him, and we will deal with him. Are the main preparations well in hand?"
A hush fell across the bridge. "We cannot rely on Thrang," said Jhey'quar. "We must act on our own behalf. We begin here. What is our status?"
In a small voice, an aide said, "Six shuttles fully loaded. Eighteen more being prepared. We are at the limits of our replication capacity -"
"How much in each shuttle?"
"Twenty tons of the alpha-furanizol compound. With the dispersers, enough to fill sixteen cubic kilometres with a lethal dose. There will be inefficiencies, local variations in density -"
"No doubt. But it is sufficient." Jhey'quar's gaze swept the bridge. "This is why we are here. Why we have taken up the banner, why we are no longer restricted by the homeworld's government. We do not wait patiently for other species's leavings. From now on, we take. Is that clearly understood?"
There was a muted chorus of assent. Jhey'quar nodded, apparently satisfied. He turned to the communications officer. "Hail that raptor."
It took only a few moments before Sarv's face appeared on the screen. "I need Thrang," he said. "I need to speak to Thrang, now. Things have - not gone according to plan." The Klingon's face was sweaty and desperate, Jhey'quar noticed.
"Thrang is not here," he said. "But I know where he is - beam aboard, and we will discuss what help I can give you."
"It is urgent. There are hostile forces in pursuit of me, now. I have a fast ship, but I cannot guarantee they will not find me here -"
"Send your ship away. Lay a false trail. You will be safe from your pursuers aboard the Ostigon."
Sarv gulped. "It is - a sound idea. Very well. I will go now to the transporter room." The screen went blank.
"As will I," said Jhey'quar, as if to himself. He gestured to two of the bridge security guards. "You two. With me."
---
In the transporter room, a column of light glowed and sparkled and resolved itself into Sarv. The Klingon stepped off the pad. "Very good," he said. "Now. We must go directly to Thrang, and discuss - his remaining options. His current plan has failed. We must...." His voice trailed off. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Take him." Jhey'quar gestured to the guards, who rushed forward and seized Sarv by both arms. Astonished, the former High Councillor made no effort to defend himself. "What - what is this?" he asked.
"Thrang's plan has failed. More exactly, it has failed us. He has abused our newborns, and he has not made good on his promises. Do you know what he promised us, Sarv?"
"He -" Sarv shook his head. "A foothold. A Kobali colony in the Beta Quadrant - bodies, to serve your needs -"
"More than a foothold, Sarv." Jhey'quar advanced with a heavy, measured tread. A hypospray was in his right hand. "He promised us a resurgence of the Kobali. A thousand offspring, Sarv, for each one of us. That is what he promised, and what we will have." He raised the hypospray. "Starting here."
"No!" Sarv shrieked. He struggled, uselessly, against the iron grip of the guards.
Jhey'quar pressed the hypospray against the screaming Klingon's neck. "Sleep now," he said. "You will awaken as one of us. It will be better." His voice hardened as he spoke to the guards. "Take him to medbay. Administer the virus. Then, prepare. There will be battle."
---
The Grand Admiral, Johan ter Horst, awoke to the screaming of alarm klaxons. He slapped at the intercom panel, shouted "Report!" even as he struggled into his uniform tunic.
"The alien ship has left the orbit of the sixth planet," a voice told him. "It is approaching the Imperial perimeter defences. Our sensor platforms tell us its shields are raised and its weapons hot."
Ter Horst swore. "Rally the fleet! And inform the Emperor! If this is part of his plan -" He left the thought, and the sentence, unfinished as he raced out of his quarters and headed for the bridge.
The bridge was already at alert status, the tac display showing the Imperial forces - and the alien ship. Ter Horst eyed its icon narrowly. The ship played some part in the new Emperor's schemes - he did not know what - but he had assessed it as best he was able. It was large, long, possibly slower and more unwieldy than Thrang's destroyer... but heavily armoured and armed, he was sure of that.
"If it is hostile," he muttered, "this will be a challenge."
"All battle squadrons are at readiness. We have reports on ground defences from... seventy sectors," his exec reported.
Fourteen holes left in the planet's anti-spacecraft defences.... Ter Horst shook his head sadly. "We will have to stop it in space," he said. "Fortunately, it is only a single target.... Strategy Zulu One. Engage, englobe, destroy with continual harassing fire. Assuming it is confirmed hostile. Where is my link to the Emperor?"
"Trying to reach him, sir." The comms officer started. "One moment. General hail from the alien."
Ter Horst nodded. "On screen."
The grey mottled face that appeared on the screen... did nothing to calm the Grand Admiral's nerves. "Attention. This is General Jhey'quar aboard the Kobali cruiser Ostigon. Your world is now forfeit. You are advised, most strongly, to offer no resistance. You will lay down your arms, and prepare to... embrace your new destiny."
Nuru-Or comes screaming into 54 Eridani space, into the blasting and glare of an all-out war.
Behind me, Skaldak and Knobos crash out of subspace, weapons hot. I am comforted. I am not greatly comforted, as it is necessary to take Thrang, or at least confirm his death, and the confusion of a space battle is not the best place to do that.
"S-s-s-s-s. What is the tactical situation?" I ask.
"The Grand Imperial forces are fighting the Kobali cruiser," says Laska. The flash of a core breach illuminates the screen. "And losing," she adds.
"We tentatively identified that Nihydron ship as Thrang's, yes?"
"Yes. It seems to be acting as flagship for the Imperials - which would make sense, if it is Thrang's ship and he is now Emperor. It is the only vessel which can even put up a fight against the Kobali."
Lights are flashing on the comms console. I hit it, and Rrueo's and Shalo's faces appear on the small screen. "What exactly is happening?" I ask.
"Thrang's tools appear to be fighting amongst themselves," says Shalo. "We should wait for the dust to settle, then pick through the wreckage, I think."
"Rrueo disagrees." The Ferasan's face is grim. "Rrueo has performed sensor scans. There is a disturbing factor. The Kobali ship is loaded with complex organics. Alpha-furanizol. For Rrueo to be able to detect the compound, at this range and in this much sensor noise, there must be a very great deal of it."
"S-s-s-s-s. Why would the Kobali ship be carrying huge quantities of poison -?" The answer comes as soon as I frame the question. "To make more Kobali. Indeed, to mass produce more Kobali."
"Thrang would not allow his empire to be destroyed -" Shalo begins.
"Thrang now knows Sarv has failed him," I interrupt her. "Perhaps he now seeks a new Kobali power base. In any case -"
"Mass murder of civilians," says Rrueo. "Rrueo is not often idealistic, but... the Empire is supposed to stand for something, after all."
"And," says Shalo, "if we defend the Grand Imperials, they may be more accommodating later, when we ask for the head of their new Emperor.... Very well. Let us do the decent and proper thing." She laughs. "At least it will be a novelty."
"Battle cloak," I order, and, "Threat assessment."
"Heavily modified Kobali Samsar-class cruiser," says Laska. "Reman style shields and deflector, Vaadwaur polaron armament... I do not recognize the engine readings, they may have been individually customized by Thrang."
"Complex hybrid technologies," I muse, while I sketch out a battle plan on the tac console. "The sort of thing Starfleet's Experimental Engineering Division likes to play with. S-s-s-s-s. Perhaps we should send them any remaining usable fragments." Rrueo and Shalo are signalling approval of the tactical plan. "Range?"
"Three thousand kellicams and closing rapidly."
"Steer two six mark two. On my order, hard about." The Grand Imperium's navy is being slowly swatted away, antique ships tumbling in flame across the sky. The Nihydron ship is dealing out a reasonable amount of damage, but not enough to trouble those high-powered Reman-designed shields... and the Nihydron itself is taking polaron fire, and suffering.
"Skaldak is - in position. Knobos is - approaching position. All-bands hail from - General Shalo."
"Let us hear it, at least."
Shalo's face comes up on the main screen. "I am General Shalo of the House of Sinoom," she announces, "personal emissary of the Chancellor and the High Council of the Klingon Empire. Grand Imperium ships, clear this area, now. To the commander of the Kobali vessel approaching 54 Eridani V - power down your drives, shields and weapons, and eject your warp core, now, as a signal of unconditional surrender. No further warnings will be given." And she looks, very definitely, as though she means it.
I check the tac display. The Samsar is still boring straight in for the planet, blasting defensive satellites and the occasional quixotic Imperial relic out of its path as it goes. The Nihydron ship is swinging around for another pass at the Samsar's port shields. Whoever is handling that ship has some talent, but it will not be enough.
A new voice sounds on the comms channels. "This is General Jhey'quar. We do not take orders from the High Council, or from Kalevar Thrang, or from any source but our own destiny. This is not your fight, Orion. Do not involve yourself." So. We can be reasonably certain that Kalevar Thrang is not on that ship.
And mine are in position. "Hard about, three five five mark zero. Lock torpedoes. Sensors, stand ready. All cannons to rapid fire. Commence attack run."
Nuru-Or swings sharply around, aiming herself directly at the oncoming Samsar. From this angle, the ship's deflector and sensor grid, with armour above and below, and the two sharp prongs at each side, looks like the toothy maw of some hungry predator. On the screen, it expands towards us. I count off the range in my head.
"Fire torpedoes." Balls of green-hot burning light spout from our launchers. "Decloak and open fire!"
Nuru-Or shimmers into visibility to launch a ghostly spray of antiproton bolts which make the Kobali ship's forward screens flare and waver. Knobos has come about, has deployed fighters and support platforms, is directing withering fire onto the Kobali's flank. Skaldak is hanging back. It must irk Rrueo, but she is where I need her to be.
The grin of the Samsar is suddenly disfigured by bursts of flame as our bolts pierce its failing shields... but the damage is merely superficial, as yet, and the Kobali ship shows as much, with a sudden barrage of polaron fire. Our own shields flare in response, and there is a flash-bang on the bridge as a conduit overloads. "Steady," I hiss.
Nuru-Or hurtles forward into the hail of fire, guns spitting out bolt after bolt... and as we slant upwards, over the frowning brow of the Samsar, I order, "Vent warp plasma now!"
Charged particles spill from our rear vents, enveloping the Samsar in an auroral fog. Through it, bolts of antiprotons and polarons flash. We are running an evasion pattern, but the Kobali gunners are good; our shields are weakening, the ship is rocking from impacts, and the damage control board is... disheartening. I can only hope that Laska, on the science console, is getting what we need -
We slam past the tall fin at the rear of the Samsar's hull, trailing warp plasma and fire. "Hard about!" I order. Shields are lower than I would like -
A weak burst of phaser fire comes from somewhere on our starboard quarter. The Pioneer-class ship, the one we encountered on our first visit to this system. It is approaching the Samsar in an act of futile defiance. Its phasers barely irritate the big ship's shields - but they elicit a polaron barrage in reply. Flaming craters erupt on the Pioneer's forward saucer; the fragile domes of the Bussard collectors shatter at once. The Pioneer yaws violently; another polaron barrage rips away a nacelle and opens the engineering hull to space.
Considerate of them to die on our behalf. "Targeting solution is locked," Laska reports.
"Take out their shield emitters! All cannons rapid fire!"
Kobali. They are very protective of their second lives. That cruiser is layered about with protective measures, with armour and reactive nanites and regenerative integrity fields... to hurt it seriously, we must strike, not just hard, but accurately, overwhelming its shields at precision points, damaging the emitters to take the shields offline - temporarily, until repairs are made, but I do not propose to allow them time to make repairs....
Nuru-Or's cannons roar, following the precise guidelines laid down by Laska's sensor suite, and the eldritch glow of the Reman-designed shields flickers and fades.
"Now!" I yell over the comms channels. The Samsar is laying down a punishing barrage of polaron fire in order to protect itself - my ship is shaking, my shields are in tatters, and the lurid light of exploding conduits is flooding the bridge. Distractions. I ignore them.
My ship hurtles back towards the Kobali, weapons blazing. The cruiser's thick, slab-sided armoured flanks begin to disintegrate under the barrage. I am not alone in my attack. Knobos is closing in on the starboard flank, beam arrays clawing the hull armour into jagged ruins of blazing metal. There are organic shapes on the sensors, fleetingly - Kobali, blasted into space on torrents of escaping air, to die a very final second death.
Skaldak drops neatly into position, her forward weapons ablaze, her disruptor autocannon raking the Samsar's long shape, opening up the cruiser's spine.
Auxiliaries are launching - shuttles, registering cargoes of alpha-furanizol. Shalo's To'Duj fighters peel off from their attack runs to intercept. The Kobali shuttles are outmatched; they shatter in bursts of poison and flame.
Rrueo's attack has torn open a huge trench along the Samsar's upper hull. "Two four seven mark three seven two!" I shout, and Nuru-Or wheels about and points her prow directly at the monstrous wound. "Fire!"
Plasma torpedoes roar from our launchers, unimpeded by shields, to drive through the torn gaps in the hull armour and deep into the bowels of the enemy ship.
The Samsar lurches and heaves, flames spewing from its wounded hull. Nuru-Or comes about and screams in for another attack run - but there is no need; the polaron fire is slackening and failing, and the battered hull is visibly deforming as a series of explosions runs through the interior. My ship races down the length of the enemy vessel... and flies free into empty space, just as the cruiser's warp core goes, and the ship dissolves into a white-hot spray of debris. Whatever destiny Jhey'quar had in mind, he goes to face it alone, now.
My damage control board makes for sad reading, but the worst is over now - or it would be, if there were not a message light blinking on the console. I rattle out the brief version of the Ss'kra-h'ji sutra, which consoles those whose work is never done. Then I accept the call.
"One down," says Rrueo. "One to go."
"The Nihydron?" I suppose it cannot be avoided.
"Thrang's flagship," says Rrueo, and licks her fangs. "Rrueo has a plan."
I close the helmet of the Sentinel suit, and R'js voice whisper-rasps in my ears, "I hope you know what you are doing."
"Rrueo does. Rrueo is the expert on Delta Quadrant ships, after all." In as much as we have any experts... well, at least I have shot at several of them. I step into the airlock, close the inner door, wait as the chamber is evacuated, then open the outer door. "Rrueo is ready," I announce.
"Adjusting flight angle now," says K'Rokok's voice. "Trajectory locked and set. Countdown should be on your helmet visor now, sir."
It is. The numbers are worryingly low. Already, I am regretting this decision, but it is far too late to back out now. "Patch Rrueo through to transmissions from the Knobos," I say.
The next voice to fill my ears is Shalo's; she is talking - well, speechifying - to the Imperials. "… cannot guarantee any negotiating position on behalf of the Klingon Empire," she is saying. "However, we are not necessarily hostile, provided that cooperation is given. We have requested your forces to clear the battle zone; we now request those ships which have not complied... to submit to detailed sensor scans for potential hostiles, including high-intensity tachyon scans -"
And that is my cue. I gather my muscles, take hold of the edges of the airlock opening. The squat shape of the Nihydron ship is sweeping into my field of vision. The countdown on my visor reaches zero.
And I scream, and I leap.
I leave the artificial gravity field of the Skaldak, and I am flying free in space, hurtling towards the Nihydron destroyer. So far, so good. K'Rokok has been putting Skaldak through a series of course changes, which have coincidentally brought her, for a few moments, into close range and matching velocity with Thrang's ship - at least, it should look like coincidence. It may pass as equally coincidental when Shalo's tachyon scan momentarily reaches a very high intensity level, enough to destabilize the Nihydron's shields.
Thrang, of course, will not believe in such coincidences. But we have just saved the homeworld of the Grand Imperium, and he may find it hard to convince his crews that we are, nonetheless, the enemy. In any case, it is not as though we are launching an obvious attack on him. Yet.
Just one lone figure, flying through space. One Ferasan - I will admit it to myself, one very nervous Ferasan - in a spacesuit, carrying a single spatial charge.
Silent stars watch me as I drop across the kilometres that separate Skaldak from the Nihydron ship. I can risk only the slightest of corrective burns with my suit's thrusters; even like this, I risk detection - despite the heavy space suit, I feel nakedly exposed.
The Nihydron ship expands towards me, growing in my visor from a child's plaything to... what it is, a massive and very effective military starship. I check my speed; I must risk the thrusters, to decelerate, or I will be smashed against that armoured hull -
I turn, fire the thrusters, wait with my heart hammering -
And I am down; I feel the shock in my pads as my boots make contact. Anyone on the other side of that hull... actually, how much will they have heard, through the layered composite armour? I do not know. I must proceed, then, on the assumption that I have very little time.
Outside the hull, the ship's artificial gravity field is weak, patchy and inconsistent - more of an annoyance than anything else. I scramble from handhold to handhold across the curving armour, towards the base of one projecting pylon, and the spot I need to reach.
Oh, we could simply blast this ship out of space - it is no match for the three of us. But presenting the High Council with a large bag of ashes, and saying Thrang might be somewhere among them... is not an elegant solution. We need to catch him alive, or at least see him dead.
So I am scrambling for the base of the pylon, and then for a point between it and its mate on the other side of the ship. Assuming that I am remembering correctly what little I know about Nihydron ship architecture -
I miss a handhold, flail in empty space, must risk another burst on thrusters to get me back into position.
No one has noticed me yet, it seems. Such luck cannot last long. I reach the place. I spot the rounded, shallow dome between the two pylons, and permit myself a little purr. Then I swing the spatial charge into place and set it.
And now, I have a tight deadline. I swarm across the underside of the destroyer, looking for what I know is there... these ships are capable of emergency landings, there are access hatches and airlocks on the underside....
I reach one such hatch. It is secured, but I have specialist tools that break the lock in seconds. Too many seconds, though. As I swing it open, a shiver runs through the vessel, and my shadow is cast on the hatch cover before me - stark black as if etched on the metal by the white light behind me.
The spatial charge was correctly placed; it has breached the destroyer's main plasma manifold, and now a column of brilliant white flame is spouting from the breach. It is easily repaired, given time and opportunity - but, for the moment, the ship's main power is offline, its weapons and defensive systems crippled.
I pull myself up through the hatchway, seal it behind me. Air hisses around me. I open the airlock's inner door. I am in a deserted maintenance run at the lowest level of the ship. No one is yet about - that is good enough.
I touch my wrist comm, engage my transporter buffer. It is a weird feeling, to have my suit disappear around me and be replaced by the segments of my Honor Guard armour - but the big disruptor pulsewave is a comforting weight, now, and the transporter enhancers are ready at hand. I place them on the deck, activate them, and touch the comm again.
"Rrueo here. Boarding parties to beam over now."
And the dimness of the maintenance run is filled with red light, that darkens and resolves itself into Klingon warriors. I stand straight and address them.
"You have your assigned targets. Life support. Main engineering. Computer core. Auxiliary control. Strike team one, with Rrueo, to the bridge, now!"
They move - with discipline, and with savage smiles on their faces. Klingon warriors. The play-actors of the Grand Imperium are about to get a rude awakening to the realities of combat. We are heavily outnumbered by this ship's crew, of course - and it must contain at least a cadre of Thrang's own people, who we must assume are competent - but, even so, I am confident that my warriors will take their objectives.
I raise the wrist comm to my mouth again as my team falls in behind me. "Rrueo to Skaldak. Commence transporter interdiction now." And I flick another switch, that converts the transporter enhancers to transporter jammers.
"General Bl'k' promised to send support -" K'Rokok begins.
"And she will keep her word. She always does. Now, move."
And we move. Myself, K'Rokok, Oschmann... the two Gorn, Toriash and Shegithem... the Lissepian medic Siowxayer... and the Breen renegade who calls himself Gal the Recusant. It is not a force that any sane person would confront, but I do not know how much sanity to expect from the Grand Imperium. The corridors and slanting ramps of the Nihydron ship are... confusing. I have a deck plan on my tricorder, and I try to look, as far as possible, as if I know where I am going.
We come upon a group of technicians - humans, almost certainly Imperials. Sensibly, they flee. We round a corner, and charge up another ramp - and face our first active opposition. An armoured figure in a demon-masked helmet: one of the Imperium's supposed warriors - they call them the samurai-praetorians. He roars a challenge and charges us with his absurd power sword raised above his head.
Seven disruptor bolts slam into his midriff, and he falls to the deck in several pieces. K'Rokok laughs.
"They are idiots," I say. "But they may be lucky idiots. Stay alert." And we press on. Intruder alarms are, belatedly, starting to sound.
The Nihydron corridors are bare, functional - but this ship is now part of the Grand Imperial navy, and signs of this become apparent as we move onwards. There are decorative wall hangings, gaudy armorial bearings, other indications that we are moving into the higher-status regions of the vessel.
Around a corner, I hear a voice - and I stop in my tracks, astonished. The voice and the mind-tone behind it are familiar.
"- all I'm sayin' is, a tour of the flagship is one thing, but it's possible to have a bit too much bally excitement along the way, what? So when can I expect all this damn noise to quieten down, so I can catch a shuttle back to civilization - hello? Hello?" The baron swears. "Cut me off, did he? Damn impertinence."
He steps around the corner, and his jaw drops. He is unarmed, in civilian clothing, and I notice some bruises. "Lady Cynthia!" he says to Oschmann, and then he blinks as my presence registers. "You," he says, "you're - you're Lady Cynthia's pet -"
"Oh, no," I say, "that would be you." And I slam my fist hard into his stomach. He folds up, choking. There is a Jeffries tube in the opposite wall; I stuff him through the opening, and listen to the bumps and gasps as he tumbles down it.
Onwards. Aristocratic guest quarters; we must be close now. K'Rokok is consulting his tricorder. "The Nuru-Or is manoeuvring for docking," he says, with a frown. "But she is too far forward - she has missed the main airlock -"
I say nothing. I reach out and take a firm hold on a projecting stanchion.
As a result, I am the only one to keep my feet when the blast from the breaching charge runs through the deckplates. "General Bl'k' has a habit of making her own entrances," I tell the rest of my team as they scramble to right themselves. "That was close at hand - we will link up with her, now."
It is easy enough to hear where R'j and her boarding party have entered the ship. The gunfire has died down by the time we arrive, though, and R'j is stalking imperiously along the corridors with a gaggle of heavily armed Klingons and Gorn behind her. As she draws level with a side door, her arm shoots out and the pistol in her hand cracks. A samurai-praetorian falls out of the doorway, with a smoking hole in the middle of his demon mask. "S-s-s-s-s," says R'j. "Those people are annoying."
My wrist comm buzzes for attention; I raise it to my mouth. "Report."
"Commander Vesas here. As you ordered, auxiliary control and the computer core are now secure. We have tapped the core and have control of ship's functions."
"Excellent. Cancel their security. Lock all interior doors in the open position." I grin at R'j. "Nothing bars our way to the bridge. Shall we?"
She smiles back. "Lead on."
And we move, loping up the last ramp, along the last corridor. Someone has erected a barricade, a clumsy thing of piled-up furniture. I trigger the pulsewave's grenade launcher, and a photonic blast knocks it away.
I charge onto the bridge, snarling, the pulsewave sending out blast after blast of sick green disruptor light. Beside me, the twin beams of R'j's pistols stab through the air with surgical precision. Half the bridge crew are down before they even have a chance to surrender.
The command chair is big, throne-like, its high back turned towards me. I leap forwards and spin it around, the barrel of my pulsewave pointing straight at the occupant's head.
It is not Thrang. It is an older human male, dressed in an over-decorated Imperial uniform. I hiss in disappointment, and aim my tricorder at him. It is definitely not Thrang. We have his genetic profile, and the tricorder scan confirms it. This is... someone else.
"S-s-s-s-s," says R'j. "The Grand Admiral with all the other grand titles. Ter Horst, that was the name, yes?"
The man glares at us, hopeless but defiant. "I am the Grand Admiral," he says, "and I command the flagship in battle. The Emperor gave me this ship -"
"All very well," I snarl at him, "but it is your Emperor we want. Where is he? Where is Kalevar Thrang?"
And a voice from behind me says, "I'm not in just now."
---
I whirl. The face on the main viewscreen is definitely Kalevar Thrang's. The smugness alone would confirm it.
"If you're watching this recording," he continues, "then things haven't gone to plan. I suppose it's my own fault, really - I keep forgetting that I'm not dealing with reasonable people. Reasonable people would keep their heads down when they're wanted by the High Council. Or they'd have the sense to stick to an eminently sensible arrangement which benefits everyone, aside from a few Kobali newborns with psychological issues. Seriously. You know the old saying about eggs and omelettes, don't you?"
He positively pouts in disappointment. "Anyway. As I'm speaking, well, I've just heard what's happened aboard Jhey'quar's ship. If you're looking for Sarv, by the way, don't bother, he's past anyone's concern by now. I'll give you that for nothing. As a gesture of goodwill, if you like." His tone brightens. "Anyway, now Sarv's failed and Jhey'quar's gone rogue, well, there's no way even I can pick up all the pieces of this little scheme. So, well, it's time to cut my losses. I don't think I'd like being the emperor of just one silly planet, anyway, so my last act as Grand Emperor is to abdicate and proclaim the republic of 54 Eridani V." He raises one clenched fist over his head. "Power to the people! - Bye now."
I exchange baffled glares with R'j, as the screen freezes on Thrang's odiously smiling face.
I am sitting down on a balcony, watching two men hack each other to pieces, while drinking raktajino with the woman I want to kill. I suppose, in First City terms, this makes it a normal day.
One of the warriors falls to the floor of the challenge ring. Melani D'ian makes a tutting noise, and pushes a small pile of coins across the table to me with one impeccably manicured finger. "That is the second time I have lost money on a warrior of the House of Klagroth," she says. "I must have words with their trainer, sometime.... However. One more piece of good fortune on which to congratulate you, General."
"Those are always welcome," I say, and sip my raktajino. "Few as they are."
"You are back in favour with the High Council, you have thwarted a plot against the Empire...."
"We did not capture Kalevar Thrang."
D'ian smiles. "That is your good fortune too, I think. If you had risen too high in J'mpok's esteem, I would have had to take... certain measures. As things stand, you and I can continue to be useful to each other." She must catch my sour look, since she adds, "There is no need for us to like each other, General."
"That is fortunate," I say. Then I sigh. "So. How do matters stand, overall?"
"Oh," says D'ian, "the... tidying-up... is proceeding. It could have gone better, of course. The problem is, simply revealing that there were blackmail files on some High Councillors... made Imperial Intelligence very insistent about knowing what they were. So we had to hand over that data." Though if she thinks I believe she handed over all that data.... Well. Half of it probably came from dealings with the Syndicate already. "And then J'mpok became tiresomely traditional about executing the dishonoured Councillors...."
"I take it you dissuaded him?"
"K'Men and I appealed to his practicality. In the interests of... continuity of government. So soon after the Iconian incident, it would never do to have another massacre of the High Council. So, certain Councillors live to fight another day."
And thus the Chancellor tightens his grip on the Council... but the blackmailed Councillors will know it, will resent it. J'mpok and K'Men will have to tread carefully, even while they command obedience.... Well. It is the game of Klingon politics, and both of them have been playing it long enough to be masters.
"What of the other... details?" I ask. "The Letheans, and the Kobali?"
"Yes," says D'ian thoughtfully, "the Kobali. The Kobali government has disclaimed all responsibility for this General Jhey'quar; they claim he was a rogue officer, leader of a discredited radical movement which does not truly represent Kobali interests or intentions. We have, of course, no proof that they are lying...."
"Were their lips moving?" I ask. "That is generally a reliable sign."
D'ian laughs. "No actual proof. And we really cannot afford to meddle any further in Delta Quadrant politics, not just now. But this disclaimer means they have refused any sort of compensation to the Letheans for their lost colony... they will take the late colonists and integrate them into Kobali society, that is all. Relations between the Letheans and the Kobali, then, have... cooled, rather. To the point that it is a very good thing that they live at opposite ends of the galaxy."
"One more item on Thrang's account, then," I say. "Along with the situation on 54 Eridani V... do we have any idea how that will progress, now?"
"Well," says D'ian, "the civil war started by Thrang's proclamation appears to be in full swing. Once the shooting has died down, the Federation and the Empire will send in a joint peace-keeping and reconstruction force. We still hold their Grand Admiral, and by their standards he is a reasonable man... he will probably be adequate as an interim head of state. In the meantime, however, the Empire cannot intervene without provoking further hostility, and the Federation, of course, quotes its wretched Prime Directive and sits on its hands. Once the survivors start appealing for humanitarian aid, then we can move."
Until then - chaos and war. "Thrang's plans cost a lot of lives," I observe. "More, even, than yours."
"Mine? My dear General, I assure you, I am positively parsimonious with the lives I spend. One cannot buy an empire at too high a cost... or it will not be worth having. Do you not agree?"
"Some people's idea of a small cost," I say, "may be ruinous, to others."
"True," says D'ian. "And a point well worth considering, if you plan to rise in the Syndicate."
"I have no plans in that direction," I assure her firmly.
"Oh, you must put aside this prejudice!" She shakes her head. "The Syndicate needs competent operatives, and you are competent."
"I also desire your death."
"Well, that is true of most of my subordinates. For that matter, do you not recall how I reached my current position? I assure you -" her brilliant eyes are icy and stern "- I never forget."
I believe her. This woman knows what she has bought, and what she has paid for it - in blood, death and destruction. Melani D'ian's grip on the Orion people remains, I think, unbreakable.
For the moment, at least.
"I will concede this much," I say. "I would rather work with you, than with Kalevar Thrang."
"Oh," says D'ian with a sniff, "I am sure he thinks he would be ideal as head of the Syndicate.... That man has ambitions."
"Obviously," I say.
"And resources. He spirited himself away from 54 Eridani, and nobody seems to know where he might have gone. He is irritating." D'ian's face turns pensive for a moment. "I think we shall all sleep a little easier, once we have dealt with Kalevar Thrang."
Comments
"Unknown. Off the grid," Tharval replied. "My assumption is that the unpronouceable alien persuaded Captain Grak to go to ground with her. After our High Councillor's little misjudgement, he will have needed little persuading."
Thrang remained completely still and silent for several seconds, the only sign of life being the glittering of his eyes. "They can't have assimilated all the data yet. T'Khal and Dillan didn't have all the data. And it will take those agents time to piece together what parts they do have. They are keeping the ship and Captain Grak hidden until they're ready to make their move."
"They have quite enough pieces to make our lives difficult," Tharval said.
"But they have to fit them together. So, we have to move before then." Thrang sighed, and went to sit down on the couch. Tharval remained standing by the doorway. "Well. My plans always have an element of flexibility. It would have been nice if T'Khal and Dillan could have bought or cajoled or blackmailed a supermajority on the Council, but we still have enough clout to win a vote. Sarv will just have to make sure there are no backsliders."
"We will have to move faster. Sarv himself might be exposed, now. And J'mpok's agents are not fools, they will fit those pieces quickly. They have already fitted enough together to expose T'Khal and Dillan."
"Those two would have had to be retired anyway," said Thrang. "Still, it's annoying that it had to happen on their schedule and not mine." He stood up. "Well. That's life, isn't it? Never mind, I'll adapt -"
The harsh bleeping sound made both their heads turn. Thrang frowned, crossed the room, touched the sconce of a candleholder on one wall. A panel at head height slid aside, revealing a screen. It flashed once, and an image formed on it; the heavy grey face of a Kobali.
"General," said Thrang, with a smile that looked quite unforced. "A pleasure to hear from you."
"I doubt that you will think so in a moment, Thrang." Jhey'quar glowered from the screen. "I have news for you, and you will not care to hear it."
"I won't? I'm sorry to hear that, General. I always try to be obliging."
"And we have obliged you in return. But no longer." Jhey'quar's voice was icy with anger. "You have corrupted the last of our newborns, Thrang. My son Geterian is in custody, now, after your treatments so deranged his mind that he murdered our daughter Lilitsia -"
Behind him, Thrang heard a sort of sigh from Tharval.
"You did this, Thrang. You did this with your interrogation machines. You brought back the person my son was, and it was enough to break his mind. We do not know if he can be saved. We know that Lilitsia cannot. And how many others have you damaged, Thrang? It ends. It ends now."
"General." Thrang's voice was quite calm. "I'm sorry for your loss. You understand, I hope, that it was not my intention -"
"I do not care about your intentions!"
"Nevertheless," Thrang continued, "you have benefited from our arrangement, and I hope that we can put this behind us and go forward. Of course, in the circumstances, I'll discontinue the questioning sessions -"
"Your devices have already been destroyed, Thrang! You have no choice in the matter!"
"Nevertheless, we have an arrangement, and I hope we'll both continue to benefit from it. Working with me, you'll be able to extend the Kobali presence in this quadrant, and -"
"We can do that without your aid, Thrang. We can, and we will. I will implement my own plans from henceforward. This conversation, and our arrangement, is over." And the screen blanked out.
"Damn," said Thrang. "Damn." He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took two deep breaths. Then he opened his eyes again, and turned to Tharval. "Are you all right?"
"I -" The Lethean shook his head, slowly. "I... suppose I am. She was dead. Already. I knew that...." He shook his head again. "I am all right."
"Good," said Thrang. "We just got another push. If Jhey'quar is that angry, the chances are good he's going to do something extremely stupid, and I think we should be out of here before he does. So, we were going to have to go into high gear... now we need to go one notch higher. Call the Grand Admiral. Tell him it's time to go to war. Then call Sarv, and tell him it's time for the vote."
---
"We need more time," J'mpok said.
The nameless Lethean looked at the Chancellor, looked at the massive Gorn and the tall elegant Orion who flanked him behind his desk. "I regret, Chancellor, that I can give you no more time. My government has questions.... Important people have, or had, relatives on the Eridani moon. And the attitude of the High Council has provoked... certain reactions."
"Lethean friendship is important to our overall alliance," said Melani D'ian in calm and measured tones. "The High Council is one thing... but you are among friends here, so surely we can be reasonable together?" She smiled.
"Private assurances are one thing," said the Lethean, "but the stated will of the High Council is another."
"If we are to make the High Council see reason," said J'mpok, "we need more time." Then he snarled as the comms panel on his desk buzzed for attention. He stabbed irritably at the button. "What is it?"
"Chancellor." The voice over the comm sounded nervous. "Councillor Sarv has requested to bring a special motion before the next meeting of the Council. He has appended details... which he urges everyone to consider deeply. Including, with respect, yourself, sir."
J'mpok swore under his breath. "Transmit the documents over my data channel, and then, no calls." Behind him, S'taass pulled out a datapad from his belt, and bent his massive head over it. "No more interruptions. I hope," said J'mpok. "Now. How may we persuade you to allow us more time to act?"
"I am under pressure from my government. I speak for Lethea... and there is concern, that my voice is not heard in the Council. That concern grows with each hour that passes."
"If we can reassure you as to the state of your colony," said D'ian, "would that alleviate some of the pressure? We have agents in the vicinity of the 54 Eridani system -"
"Those agents are on the run from the High Council, as I understand it," said the Lethean. "I do not know how much weight their words would carry - and I do not see how they can operate effectively, under that burden."
"They were effective enough to dispose of two rogue Councillors," D'ian said with a smile.
"Two Councillors are not the whole of the Council. And can they tell me what has happened to our people?"
"Hrrrr." The sound S'taass made was loud and terrifying. The three others all turned their heads towards him.
"Forgive me," the Gorn said. "But I too have received my copy of Councillor Sarv's proposal. I think, Chancellor, you should read it. We should all read it."
J'mpok's eyes rolled. "Is this going to improve my mood?" he demanded.
"Oh, no," said S'taass. "Definitely not."
"I'm sorry, sir," says Oschmann. "It's just that, well, he expects to see you, now."
I glare at her. "If Rrueo had another human officer to spare, Rrueo would gladly disembowel you," I tell her. "But since we must keep up this imposture -"
We are back in Oschmann's apartment, and her tame Baron is on his way to bring more tittle-tattle of the Grand Imperial court. I hope he has something useful to say. We need more information, especially in the light of recent events. Melani D'ian's informal communications channels are still open, and the last message that she passed to Shalo was... disturbing reading.
So, now, once again, I start to remove my uniform. "It's not any more pleasant for me than it is for you, sir," says Oschmann. "Dealing with the Baron, I mean."
"At least you get to keep your clothes on!" I snarl at her.
"So far," Oschmann mutters darkly.
"Do not expect Rrueo to intervene if the Baron makes demands of that nature. Rrueo is an innocent non-sapient house pet and knows nothing of such matters.... How can he be such a fool? He must know that nobody breeds hunting cats like Rrueo, by now!"
"This planet's communications infrastructure is rubbish," says Oschmann. "They don't even have a fully accessible planetary data net! Earth had one of those back in the twentieth century, but these idiots -" She sighs and runs her hand through her hair. I kick my uniform out of sight, and assume what is, by now, becoming a familiar position.
Again, a brassy fanfare sounds from the intercom, and a synthesized voice says, "Attention! Prepare for the ingress of the noble Baron Josef Chaka Guevara Foch, who honours you with his presence!"
"Oh, God," groans Oschmann. She composes her face in a pleasant expression, which belies her underlying mind-tone. I dwell on thoughts of leaping on prey and rending it.
The door opens. "Lady Cynthia!" The noble Baron's puddle of a mind is oozing with ignoble thoughts. "Charmin' to see you."
"Delighted, as always, my lord," trills Oschmann.
"And your pet, what?" The Baron steps over to me, and scratches me behind my left ear. I resist the temptation to take his hand off at the wrist. It is not easy. I force a purr, instead. "Delightful beast, what? Lots of spirit in her, eh?"
Then he turns back to Oschmann, and says, in that drawling voice which is suddenly thick with unpleasant intentions, "However, I rather think you'd better, well, put her out for the night, what? Seems to me, my lady, that matters between us need to proceed to a conclusion, don't y'think? And, well, I don't much care for the house pets watchin' me perform. M'first wife, now, she used to let her dog sleep on the bed. Puts a fellow off his stroke, that sort of thing, what?"
Even mind-blind, he must surely be able to see the tension in Oschmann's body language. I tense, myself. I do not propose to let this arrogant primitive outrage one of my officers, and be damned to the consequences -
Then the decision is taken out of my hands, as the apartment window lights up with a brilliant flash. The sound of the first explosion follows, seconds later... and by then, there have been more flashes.
"'pon my word." The Baron, distracted, wanders over to the window and peers out. "But," he says, bewilderment fogging his mind-tone, "that can't be right, can it?"
"What is it?" asks Oschmann.
"Well, now." The Baron scratches his head. "The word on the old grapevine was, Duke Thrang would be consolidatin' his position by takin' out the Grand Admiral. So, well, we were all expectin' some jolly old fireworks to kick off sometime soon. But, well, it would be a space battle, wouldn't it? But those flash-bangs, now, they're on the ground... comin' from the area of -"
It is at this point that I leap across the room, seize the Baron by the shoulder and the waistband of his trousers, and heave him face-first out of the window.
The continual rumblings of the explosions, and the distant warbling of phaser fire, do not quite drown out the sound of the crash, and the outcries, as he hits the pavement. Oschmann comes to the window and looks down. "I don't think he's dead, sir."
"A pity. But we have no time to attend to trivia." I turn and grab my clothing out from under the bed. "Thrang has let idiots like that think that he plans a challenge to this Grand Admiral. Thrang, not being an idiot, has already come to a cosy arrangement with the Grand Admiral."
"That noise is the Imperial Palace under attack," says Oschmann.
"Precisely." I shrug on my uniform tunic, and grab my wrist comm. "Rrueo to Skaldak. We are evacuating. Send the Hoh'Sus in, cloaked, under cover of the battle to make pickup. Rrueo and Oschmann."
"We're... leaving?" Oschmann says.
"We have done all we can. By tomorrow morning, Thrang will have completed his coup, and will be installed as Emperor. Our task, now, is to see that this is the only place where he is installed as Emperor."
"You." The serjeant-at-arms puffs out his chest and glowers at me. "You three, you are all wanted by the High Council -"
"And we are here, now, to present ourselves to the High Council," I say with hauteur.
"You are proscribed! You are wanted criminals! You dare to approach the Great Hall in this manner?" He is a very picture of outraged Klingon officialdom.
"The High Council wishes us to account for ourselves, and we have urgent information for the High Council. It is in everyone's interests if we enter, immediately."
A breakneck flight from 54 Eridani to Qo'noS, using transwarp gates and every illicit means Melani D'ian could arrange to smooth our way... and now the last obstacle is this pompous official, barring our way to the Great Hall.
"I will summon the Yan-Isleth! You shall not go before the High Council, unless it is in chains! I will -"
There is a pulse of light in the air, and a force plucks the serjeant-at-arms off his feet and hurls him against the wall. He falls in a stunned heap.
I turn and direct a quelling stare at R'j. She shrugs. "Reasoning with him was getting you nowhere. And I believe we have a deadline."
"True." I step over the prone body and push open the door.
D'ian is on the other side, and she raises a finger to her lips. I look past her, at the Great Hall. J'mpok sits slumped and brooding on his seat; Sarv has the floor, and across the hall, the Lethean envoy glowers at him. A data sheet is showing on the holo-display; the population figures for the moon of 54 Eridani VI. They make grim reading, if you are a Lethean.
"Try not to attract attention," says D'ian, "for the moment. I have briefed the Lethean, but not J'mpok. I think it is best to have his authentic reaction."
The three of us sidle into the Great Hall, as inconspicuously as we can manage. It is not hard; the Lethean is speaking.
"So this," he says, "is the High Council's honour. This. The extermination of a colony of our people, to be resurrected as Kobali, as part of an underhand arrangement with that government -"
"The extermination was none of our doing!" snarls Sarv.
"That remains to be proved," the Lethean retorts. "And even so, what can the Kobali offer the Empire? A minor power, half the galaxy away! Lethean friendship towards the Empire has been steadfast, up till now... does the Councillor wish to throw that away, for the sake of a dubious Kobali alliance?"
"Not just Kobali!" shouts Sarv. "They will be our partners in that system - and will oversee our alliance with the humans!"
There is a shocked murmur among some of the Council - the ones Sarv has not already primed for this. J'mpok stirs on his seat, but does not speak.
"Yes!" Sarv crows. "The humans! A human colony, at first, but when Earth hears of this, when the warrior humans learn of a firm alliance with our people - they will rise up! They will throw off the shackles of the Federation pacifists! They will take back their birthright of combat and blood! Two great warrior peoples of the quadrant will unite, and nothing will be impossible for them!"
It is, I suppose, possible he believes this himself.
J'mpok speaks at last. "And at what cost will we buy this human alliance, Councillor?"
"Only a small one," says Sarv. "Only the granting of a title - a title that is meaningful, true, but one whose actual effectiveness is in name only. The one called Kahless filled the role of Emperor well - he inspired our warriors in battle, he upheld the great traditions of the Empire, and at the last he died as a warrior should! But his throne is now vacant. What Klingon can claim it? Would you dare, Chancellor?"
"I am not worthy," says J'mpok. "Who is?"
"What use is a throne if it is empty?" demands Sarv. "Someone must fill it - and the Grand Imperium has an Emperor. I say, in token of our grand alliance, we will seat him upon the throne! This honourable Council will attend to the details of administration - but the symbolic might, the name and title, will be borne by our new ally!"
It is worrying how little protest and outcry there is at this. Sarv has evidently prepared his puppets well.
"We shall let the new Emperor have all official pomp and splendour," says Sarv. "And how the humans will smile! They will think they have conquered us - but we, we will know that we have won! To take our old enemies and make them Klingon - is it not the greatest of victories?"
He swaggers across the floor of the Hall, and picks up a datapad. "The Council will be pleased to vote on these preliminaries," he says. "Matters of administrative trivia - the official entitlements, a formal treaty, a nominal amnesty for any offences committed against the Empire -"
D'ian nudges me, but I do not need her urging to spot the right moment. "Let us ensure that all relevant data is brought before the High Council," I declaim. "What is the name of our Emperor-to-be?"
Sarv stares at me. "You -" he begins.
"I have been called to account for myself before this honourable Council. Well, here I am. And I have information more current than Councillor Sarv's. We have obtained much data from the records of the late Councillors T'Khal and Dillan." With each word, I advance into the hall, until I am in the open, facing Sarv. I do not look at him; I let my smile play, like a disruptor bolt, across the ranks of Councillors.
And I see the quicker ones react, and my smile broadens. Yes. You know, now, that the blackmail files assembled by Thrang's minions are now in our hands. You know who owns you now.
"The name, Councillor Sarv," I repeat. "Give us the name."
"I -" He takes a step back. "The Grand Emperor is Hadrian VII of the House of Corvo -"
"Your information is out of date, Councillor." Now I smile directly at him. "By now, the ruler of the Grand Imperium - the man you want to rule this Empire - is Kalevar Thrang. And he will no doubt be very glad of that nominal amnesty you wish to arrange -"
And I am interrupted. J'mpok springs from his seat, his face congested with rage. His authentic reaction, indeed.
"You imbecile!" he roars at Sarv. "You dolt! You want my office, and you try to set up Kalevar Thrang as a puppet on your behalf? You are the puppet! Thrang's puppet! He would have you dancing on his strings within a week, and he would lead the Empire to ruin! You unutterable -" He clutches spasmodically at the air in his fury. "I have seen targ droppings with better sense than you!"
The Hall is filling with rancorous shouts. No one who was not already cowed by Sarv would support his proposal... and, now, those who were must realize that their only hope for survival lies in denouncing him.
Sarv's reaction... is not one I had expected. He gapes at J'mpok, he casts a worried glance around the Hall - and then he bolts for the nearest exit. I have never seen a High Councillor move so quickly.
The display of open cowardice stuns everyone, for an instant. J'mpok is first to recover. "Stop him!" he roars.
"Let him run!" I bellow, as loud as I can. "He will run to Thrang!"
J'mpok rounds on me, and for a moment I think I am dead. The floor of the Great Hall is not the wisest place to gainsay the Chancellor.... But his pragmatism kicks in, just in time to save my life. He glares at me. "Then you will pursue him," he snarls, "now!"
I raise my fist in salute. "As you order, Chancellor!"
J'mpok is staring at something else, now, and I see what - or, rather, who - it is, as we turn to go. "What are you grinning at?" he demands.
"Oh, just an idle thought." Melani D'ian's smile is bright and poisonous. "I just wondered... if the honourable Council would care to vote, now, on Councillor Sarv's proposal."
(On another note, how did I miss the part before that, with Thrang's coup?
Infinite possibilities have implications that could not be completely understood if you turned this entire universe into a giant supercomputer.
I can see the appeal to Sarv as working with humans, even a token, silly group of them, under the Empire's banner.
If I were a high-level Empire official, I would be planning a targ-hunting trip while this blows over; Jm'pok (and even scarier, Shalo ) has access to Thrang's secrets of the dead.
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I'm afraid that he would have been in for a bit of a shock even if Sarv's proposal had passed. Humans, at least the non-Augmented sort, are a peculiar blend of pacifist and warrior, and would likely have stunned Thrang with their willingness to fight - alongside their Federation allies, and with the intent of disassembling his little empire, if not the Klingon Empire as a whole, in order to restore peace to the quadrant...
If you believe yourself the best of humanity, and are a violent sociopath, I could see expecting the rest of your race are just violent sociopaths waiting for the Greatest of Them All to let that out from their weak and frivolous social constructs.
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(You may also gather that he's not interested, in practice, in a long-term alliance with the Kobali either. They're just another means to an end.)
Considering the ideas Klingons like to have versus what often happens, the Grand Imperium probably is a more comfortable natural tributary state ally than the Syndicate. But alas, this imperfect world.
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"Klingon raptor inbound," the sensor officer reported. "Displaying High Council identification... it seems to be a fast courier ship, lightly armed. The identification matches Councillor Sarv, and there is a sub-channel transponder which corresponds to -"
"Thrang's man on the High Council," Jhey'quar interrupted. "Well. We will hear him, and we will deal with him. Are the main preparations well in hand?"
A hush fell across the bridge. "We cannot rely on Thrang," said Jhey'quar. "We must act on our own behalf. We begin here. What is our status?"
In a small voice, an aide said, "Six shuttles fully loaded. Eighteen more being prepared. We are at the limits of our replication capacity -"
"How much in each shuttle?"
"Twenty tons of the alpha-furanizol compound. With the dispersers, enough to fill sixteen cubic kilometres with a lethal dose. There will be inefficiencies, local variations in density -"
"No doubt. But it is sufficient." Jhey'quar's gaze swept the bridge. "This is why we are here. Why we have taken up the banner, why we are no longer restricted by the homeworld's government. We do not wait patiently for other species's leavings. From now on, we take. Is that clearly understood?"
There was a muted chorus of assent. Jhey'quar nodded, apparently satisfied. He turned to the communications officer. "Hail that raptor."
It took only a few moments before Sarv's face appeared on the screen. "I need Thrang," he said. "I need to speak to Thrang, now. Things have - not gone according to plan." The Klingon's face was sweaty and desperate, Jhey'quar noticed.
"Thrang is not here," he said. "But I know where he is - beam aboard, and we will discuss what help I can give you."
"It is urgent. There are hostile forces in pursuit of me, now. I have a fast ship, but I cannot guarantee they will not find me here -"
"Send your ship away. Lay a false trail. You will be safe from your pursuers aboard the Ostigon."
Sarv gulped. "It is - a sound idea. Very well. I will go now to the transporter room." The screen went blank.
"As will I," said Jhey'quar, as if to himself. He gestured to two of the bridge security guards. "You two. With me."
---
In the transporter room, a column of light glowed and sparkled and resolved itself into Sarv. The Klingon stepped off the pad. "Very good," he said. "Now. We must go directly to Thrang, and discuss - his remaining options. His current plan has failed. We must...." His voice trailed off. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Take him." Jhey'quar gestured to the guards, who rushed forward and seized Sarv by both arms. Astonished, the former High Councillor made no effort to defend himself. "What - what is this?" he asked.
"Thrang's plan has failed. More exactly, it has failed us. He has abused our newborns, and he has not made good on his promises. Do you know what he promised us, Sarv?"
"He -" Sarv shook his head. "A foothold. A Kobali colony in the Beta Quadrant - bodies, to serve your needs -"
"More than a foothold, Sarv." Jhey'quar advanced with a heavy, measured tread. A hypospray was in his right hand. "He promised us a resurgence of the Kobali. A thousand offspring, Sarv, for each one of us. That is what he promised, and what we will have." He raised the hypospray. "Starting here."
"No!" Sarv shrieked. He struggled, uselessly, against the iron grip of the guards.
Jhey'quar pressed the hypospray against the screaming Klingon's neck. "Sleep now," he said. "You will awaken as one of us. It will be better." His voice hardened as he spoke to the guards. "Take him to medbay. Administer the virus. Then, prepare. There will be battle."
---
The Grand Admiral, Johan ter Horst, awoke to the screaming of alarm klaxons. He slapped at the intercom panel, shouted "Report!" even as he struggled into his uniform tunic.
"The alien ship has left the orbit of the sixth planet," a voice told him. "It is approaching the Imperial perimeter defences. Our sensor platforms tell us its shields are raised and its weapons hot."
Ter Horst swore. "Rally the fleet! And inform the Emperor! If this is part of his plan -" He left the thought, and the sentence, unfinished as he raced out of his quarters and headed for the bridge.
The bridge was already at alert status, the tac display showing the Imperial forces - and the alien ship. Ter Horst eyed its icon narrowly. The ship played some part in the new Emperor's schemes - he did not know what - but he had assessed it as best he was able. It was large, long, possibly slower and more unwieldy than Thrang's destroyer... but heavily armoured and armed, he was sure of that.
"If it is hostile," he muttered, "this will be a challenge."
"All battle squadrons are at readiness. We have reports on ground defences from... seventy sectors," his exec reported.
Fourteen holes left in the planet's anti-spacecraft defences.... Ter Horst shook his head sadly. "We will have to stop it in space," he said. "Fortunately, it is only a single target.... Strategy Zulu One. Engage, englobe, destroy with continual harassing fire. Assuming it is confirmed hostile. Where is my link to the Emperor?"
"Trying to reach him, sir." The comms officer started. "One moment. General hail from the alien."
Ter Horst nodded. "On screen."
The grey mottled face that appeared on the screen... did nothing to calm the Grand Admiral's nerves. "Attention. This is General Jhey'quar aboard the Kobali cruiser Ostigon. Your world is now forfeit. You are advised, most strongly, to offer no resistance. You will lay down your arms, and prepare to... embrace your new destiny."
Oh this isn't ending well for anybody.
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Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved 800 lives, including your mother's, and yours.
I dare you to do better.
Nuru-Or comes screaming into 54 Eridani space, into the blasting and glare of an all-out war.
Behind me, Skaldak and Knobos crash out of subspace, weapons hot. I am comforted. I am not greatly comforted, as it is necessary to take Thrang, or at least confirm his death, and the confusion of a space battle is not the best place to do that.
"S-s-s-s-s. What is the tactical situation?" I ask.
"The Grand Imperial forces are fighting the Kobali cruiser," says Laska. The flash of a core breach illuminates the screen. "And losing," she adds.
"We tentatively identified that Nihydron ship as Thrang's, yes?"
"Yes. It seems to be acting as flagship for the Imperials - which would make sense, if it is Thrang's ship and he is now Emperor. It is the only vessel which can even put up a fight against the Kobali."
Lights are flashing on the comms console. I hit it, and Rrueo's and Shalo's faces appear on the small screen. "What exactly is happening?" I ask.
"Thrang's tools appear to be fighting amongst themselves," says Shalo. "We should wait for the dust to settle, then pick through the wreckage, I think."
"Rrueo disagrees." The Ferasan's face is grim. "Rrueo has performed sensor scans. There is a disturbing factor. The Kobali ship is loaded with complex organics. Alpha-furanizol. For Rrueo to be able to detect the compound, at this range and in this much sensor noise, there must be a very great deal of it."
"S-s-s-s-s. Why would the Kobali ship be carrying huge quantities of poison -?" The answer comes as soon as I frame the question. "To make more Kobali. Indeed, to mass produce more Kobali."
"Thrang would not allow his empire to be destroyed -" Shalo begins.
"Thrang now knows Sarv has failed him," I interrupt her. "Perhaps he now seeks a new Kobali power base. In any case -"
"Mass murder of civilians," says Rrueo. "Rrueo is not often idealistic, but... the Empire is supposed to stand for something, after all."
"And," says Shalo, "if we defend the Grand Imperials, they may be more accommodating later, when we ask for the head of their new Emperor.... Very well. Let us do the decent and proper thing." She laughs. "At least it will be a novelty."
"Battle cloak," I order, and, "Threat assessment."
"Heavily modified Kobali Samsar-class cruiser," says Laska. "Reman style shields and deflector, Vaadwaur polaron armament... I do not recognize the engine readings, they may have been individually customized by Thrang."
"Complex hybrid technologies," I muse, while I sketch out a battle plan on the tac console. "The sort of thing Starfleet's Experimental Engineering Division likes to play with. S-s-s-s-s. Perhaps we should send them any remaining usable fragments." Rrueo and Shalo are signalling approval of the tactical plan. "Range?"
"Three thousand kellicams and closing rapidly."
"Steer two six mark two. On my order, hard about." The Grand Imperium's navy is being slowly swatted away, antique ships tumbling in flame across the sky. The Nihydron ship is dealing out a reasonable amount of damage, but not enough to trouble those high-powered Reman-designed shields... and the Nihydron itself is taking polaron fire, and suffering.
"Skaldak is - in position. Knobos is - approaching position. All-bands hail from - General Shalo."
"Let us hear it, at least."
Shalo's face comes up on the main screen. "I am General Shalo of the House of Sinoom," she announces, "personal emissary of the Chancellor and the High Council of the Klingon Empire. Grand Imperium ships, clear this area, now. To the commander of the Kobali vessel approaching 54 Eridani V - power down your drives, shields and weapons, and eject your warp core, now, as a signal of unconditional surrender. No further warnings will be given." And she looks, very definitely, as though she means it.
I check the tac display. The Samsar is still boring straight in for the planet, blasting defensive satellites and the occasional quixotic Imperial relic out of its path as it goes. The Nihydron ship is swinging around for another pass at the Samsar's port shields. Whoever is handling that ship has some talent, but it will not be enough.
A new voice sounds on the comms channels. "This is General Jhey'quar. We do not take orders from the High Council, or from Kalevar Thrang, or from any source but our own destiny. This is not your fight, Orion. Do not involve yourself." So. We can be reasonably certain that Kalevar Thrang is not on that ship.
And mine are in position. "Hard about, three five five mark zero. Lock torpedoes. Sensors, stand ready. All cannons to rapid fire. Commence attack run."
Nuru-Or swings sharply around, aiming herself directly at the oncoming Samsar. From this angle, the ship's deflector and sensor grid, with armour above and below, and the two sharp prongs at each side, looks like the toothy maw of some hungry predator. On the screen, it expands towards us. I count off the range in my head.
"Fire torpedoes." Balls of green-hot burning light spout from our launchers. "Decloak and open fire!"
Nuru-Or shimmers into visibility to launch a ghostly spray of antiproton bolts which make the Kobali ship's forward screens flare and waver. Knobos has come about, has deployed fighters and support platforms, is directing withering fire onto the Kobali's flank. Skaldak is hanging back. It must irk Rrueo, but she is where I need her to be.
The grin of the Samsar is suddenly disfigured by bursts of flame as our bolts pierce its failing shields... but the damage is merely superficial, as yet, and the Kobali ship shows as much, with a sudden barrage of polaron fire. Our own shields flare in response, and there is a flash-bang on the bridge as a conduit overloads. "Steady," I hiss.
Nuru-Or hurtles forward into the hail of fire, guns spitting out bolt after bolt... and as we slant upwards, over the frowning brow of the Samsar, I order, "Vent warp plasma now!"
Charged particles spill from our rear vents, enveloping the Samsar in an auroral fog. Through it, bolts of antiprotons and polarons flash. We are running an evasion pattern, but the Kobali gunners are good; our shields are weakening, the ship is rocking from impacts, and the damage control board is... disheartening. I can only hope that Laska, on the science console, is getting what we need -
We slam past the tall fin at the rear of the Samsar's hull, trailing warp plasma and fire. "Hard about!" I order. Shields are lower than I would like -
A weak burst of phaser fire comes from somewhere on our starboard quarter. The Pioneer-class ship, the one we encountered on our first visit to this system. It is approaching the Samsar in an act of futile defiance. Its phasers barely irritate the big ship's shields - but they elicit a polaron barrage in reply. Flaming craters erupt on the Pioneer's forward saucer; the fragile domes of the Bussard collectors shatter at once. The Pioneer yaws violently; another polaron barrage rips away a nacelle and opens the engineering hull to space.
Considerate of them to die on our behalf. "Targeting solution is locked," Laska reports.
"Take out their shield emitters! All cannons rapid fire!"
Kobali. They are very protective of their second lives. That cruiser is layered about with protective measures, with armour and reactive nanites and regenerative integrity fields... to hurt it seriously, we must strike, not just hard, but accurately, overwhelming its shields at precision points, damaging the emitters to take the shields offline - temporarily, until repairs are made, but I do not propose to allow them time to make repairs....
Nuru-Or's cannons roar, following the precise guidelines laid down by Laska's sensor suite, and the eldritch glow of the Reman-designed shields flickers and fades.
"Now!" I yell over the comms channels. The Samsar is laying down a punishing barrage of polaron fire in order to protect itself - my ship is shaking, my shields are in tatters, and the lurid light of exploding conduits is flooding the bridge. Distractions. I ignore them.
My ship hurtles back towards the Kobali, weapons blazing. The cruiser's thick, slab-sided armoured flanks begin to disintegrate under the barrage. I am not alone in my attack. Knobos is closing in on the starboard flank, beam arrays clawing the hull armour into jagged ruins of blazing metal. There are organic shapes on the sensors, fleetingly - Kobali, blasted into space on torrents of escaping air, to die a very final second death.
Skaldak drops neatly into position, her forward weapons ablaze, her disruptor autocannon raking the Samsar's long shape, opening up the cruiser's spine.
Auxiliaries are launching - shuttles, registering cargoes of alpha-furanizol. Shalo's To'Duj fighters peel off from their attack runs to intercept. The Kobali shuttles are outmatched; they shatter in bursts of poison and flame.
Rrueo's attack has torn open a huge trench along the Samsar's upper hull. "Two four seven mark three seven two!" I shout, and Nuru-Or wheels about and points her prow directly at the monstrous wound. "Fire!"
Plasma torpedoes roar from our launchers, unimpeded by shields, to drive through the torn gaps in the hull armour and deep into the bowels of the enemy ship.
The Samsar lurches and heaves, flames spewing from its wounded hull. Nuru-Or comes about and screams in for another attack run - but there is no need; the polaron fire is slackening and failing, and the battered hull is visibly deforming as a series of explosions runs through the interior. My ship races down the length of the enemy vessel... and flies free into empty space, just as the cruiser's warp core goes, and the ship dissolves into a white-hot spray of debris. Whatever destiny Jhey'quar had in mind, he goes to face it alone, now.
My damage control board makes for sad reading, but the worst is over now - or it would be, if there were not a message light blinking on the console. I rattle out the brief version of the Ss'kra-h'ji sutra, which consoles those whose work is never done. Then I accept the call.
"One down," says Rrueo. "One to go."
"The Nihydron?" I suppose it cannot be avoided.
"Thrang's flagship," says Rrueo, and licks her fangs. "Rrueo has a plan."
I close the helmet of the Sentinel suit, and R'js voice whisper-rasps in my ears, "I hope you know what you are doing."
"Rrueo does. Rrueo is the expert on Delta Quadrant ships, after all." In as much as we have any experts... well, at least I have shot at several of them. I step into the airlock, close the inner door, wait as the chamber is evacuated, then open the outer door. "Rrueo is ready," I announce.
"Adjusting flight angle now," says K'Rokok's voice. "Trajectory locked and set. Countdown should be on your helmet visor now, sir."
It is. The numbers are worryingly low. Already, I am regretting this decision, but it is far too late to back out now. "Patch Rrueo through to transmissions from the Knobos," I say.
The next voice to fill my ears is Shalo's; she is talking - well, speechifying - to the Imperials. "… cannot guarantee any negotiating position on behalf of the Klingon Empire," she is saying. "However, we are not necessarily hostile, provided that cooperation is given. We have requested your forces to clear the battle zone; we now request those ships which have not complied... to submit to detailed sensor scans for potential hostiles, including high-intensity tachyon scans -"
And that is my cue. I gather my muscles, take hold of the edges of the airlock opening. The squat shape of the Nihydron ship is sweeping into my field of vision. The countdown on my visor reaches zero.
And I scream, and I leap.
I leave the artificial gravity field of the Skaldak, and I am flying free in space, hurtling towards the Nihydron destroyer. So far, so good. K'Rokok has been putting Skaldak through a series of course changes, which have coincidentally brought her, for a few moments, into close range and matching velocity with Thrang's ship - at least, it should look like coincidence. It may pass as equally coincidental when Shalo's tachyon scan momentarily reaches a very high intensity level, enough to destabilize the Nihydron's shields.
Thrang, of course, will not believe in such coincidences. But we have just saved the homeworld of the Grand Imperium, and he may find it hard to convince his crews that we are, nonetheless, the enemy. In any case, it is not as though we are launching an obvious attack on him. Yet.
Just one lone figure, flying through space. One Ferasan - I will admit it to myself, one very nervous Ferasan - in a spacesuit, carrying a single spatial charge.
Silent stars watch me as I drop across the kilometres that separate Skaldak from the Nihydron ship. I can risk only the slightest of corrective burns with my suit's thrusters; even like this, I risk detection - despite the heavy space suit, I feel nakedly exposed.
The Nihydron ship expands towards me, growing in my visor from a child's plaything to... what it is, a massive and very effective military starship. I check my speed; I must risk the thrusters, to decelerate, or I will be smashed against that armoured hull -
I turn, fire the thrusters, wait with my heart hammering -
And I am down; I feel the shock in my pads as my boots make contact. Anyone on the other side of that hull... actually, how much will they have heard, through the layered composite armour? I do not know. I must proceed, then, on the assumption that I have very little time.
Outside the hull, the ship's artificial gravity field is weak, patchy and inconsistent - more of an annoyance than anything else. I scramble from handhold to handhold across the curving armour, towards the base of one projecting pylon, and the spot I need to reach.
Oh, we could simply blast this ship out of space - it is no match for the three of us. But presenting the High Council with a large bag of ashes, and saying Thrang might be somewhere among them... is not an elegant solution. We need to catch him alive, or at least see him dead.
So I am scrambling for the base of the pylon, and then for a point between it and its mate on the other side of the ship. Assuming that I am remembering correctly what little I know about Nihydron ship architecture -
I miss a handhold, flail in empty space, must risk another burst on thrusters to get me back into position.
No one has noticed me yet, it seems. Such luck cannot last long. I reach the place. I spot the rounded, shallow dome between the two pylons, and permit myself a little purr. Then I swing the spatial charge into place and set it.
And now, I have a tight deadline. I swarm across the underside of the destroyer, looking for what I know is there... these ships are capable of emergency landings, there are access hatches and airlocks on the underside....
I reach one such hatch. It is secured, but I have specialist tools that break the lock in seconds. Too many seconds, though. As I swing it open, a shiver runs through the vessel, and my shadow is cast on the hatch cover before me - stark black as if etched on the metal by the white light behind me.
The spatial charge was correctly placed; it has breached the destroyer's main plasma manifold, and now a column of brilliant white flame is spouting from the breach. It is easily repaired, given time and opportunity - but, for the moment, the ship's main power is offline, its weapons and defensive systems crippled.
I pull myself up through the hatchway, seal it behind me. Air hisses around me. I open the airlock's inner door. I am in a deserted maintenance run at the lowest level of the ship. No one is yet about - that is good enough.
I touch my wrist comm, engage my transporter buffer. It is a weird feeling, to have my suit disappear around me and be replaced by the segments of my Honor Guard armour - but the big disruptor pulsewave is a comforting weight, now, and the transporter enhancers are ready at hand. I place them on the deck, activate them, and touch the comm again.
"Rrueo here. Boarding parties to beam over now."
And the dimness of the maintenance run is filled with red light, that darkens and resolves itself into Klingon warriors. I stand straight and address them.
"You have your assigned targets. Life support. Main engineering. Computer core. Auxiliary control. Strike team one, with Rrueo, to the bridge, now!"
They move - with discipline, and with savage smiles on their faces. Klingon warriors. The play-actors of the Grand Imperium are about to get a rude awakening to the realities of combat. We are heavily outnumbered by this ship's crew, of course - and it must contain at least a cadre of Thrang's own people, who we must assume are competent - but, even so, I am confident that my warriors will take their objectives.
I raise the wrist comm to my mouth again as my team falls in behind me. "Rrueo to Skaldak. Commence transporter interdiction now." And I flick another switch, that converts the transporter enhancers to transporter jammers.
"General Bl'k' promised to send support -" K'Rokok begins.
"And she will keep her word. She always does. Now, move."
And we move. Myself, K'Rokok, Oschmann... the two Gorn, Toriash and Shegithem... the Lissepian medic Siowxayer... and the Breen renegade who calls himself Gal the Recusant. It is not a force that any sane person would confront, but I do not know how much sanity to expect from the Grand Imperium. The corridors and slanting ramps of the Nihydron ship are... confusing. I have a deck plan on my tricorder, and I try to look, as far as possible, as if I know where I am going.
We come upon a group of technicians - humans, almost certainly Imperials. Sensibly, they flee. We round a corner, and charge up another ramp - and face our first active opposition. An armoured figure in a demon-masked helmet: one of the Imperium's supposed warriors - they call them the samurai-praetorians. He roars a challenge and charges us with his absurd power sword raised above his head.
Seven disruptor bolts slam into his midriff, and he falls to the deck in several pieces. K'Rokok laughs.
"They are idiots," I say. "But they may be lucky idiots. Stay alert." And we press on. Intruder alarms are, belatedly, starting to sound.
The Nihydron corridors are bare, functional - but this ship is now part of the Grand Imperial navy, and signs of this become apparent as we move onwards. There are decorative wall hangings, gaudy armorial bearings, other indications that we are moving into the higher-status regions of the vessel.
Around a corner, I hear a voice - and I stop in my tracks, astonished. The voice and the mind-tone behind it are familiar.
"- all I'm sayin' is, a tour of the flagship is one thing, but it's possible to have a bit too much bally excitement along the way, what? So when can I expect all this damn noise to quieten down, so I can catch a shuttle back to civilization - hello? Hello?" The baron swears. "Cut me off, did he? Damn impertinence."
He steps around the corner, and his jaw drops. He is unarmed, in civilian clothing, and I notice some bruises. "Lady Cynthia!" he says to Oschmann, and then he blinks as my presence registers. "You," he says, "you're - you're Lady Cynthia's pet -"
"Oh, no," I say, "that would be you." And I slam my fist hard into his stomach. He folds up, choking. There is a Jeffries tube in the opposite wall; I stuff him through the opening, and listen to the bumps and gasps as he tumbles down it.
Onwards. Aristocratic guest quarters; we must be close now. K'Rokok is consulting his tricorder. "The Nuru-Or is manoeuvring for docking," he says, with a frown. "But she is too far forward - she has missed the main airlock -"
I say nothing. I reach out and take a firm hold on a projecting stanchion.
As a result, I am the only one to keep my feet when the blast from the breaching charge runs through the deckplates. "General Bl'k' has a habit of making her own entrances," I tell the rest of my team as they scramble to right themselves. "That was close at hand - we will link up with her, now."
It is easy enough to hear where R'j and her boarding party have entered the ship. The gunfire has died down by the time we arrive, though, and R'j is stalking imperiously along the corridors with a gaggle of heavily armed Klingons and Gorn behind her. As she draws level with a side door, her arm shoots out and the pistol in her hand cracks. A samurai-praetorian falls out of the doorway, with a smoking hole in the middle of his demon mask. "S-s-s-s-s," says R'j. "Those people are annoying."
My wrist comm buzzes for attention; I raise it to my mouth. "Report."
"Commander Vesas here. As you ordered, auxiliary control and the computer core are now secure. We have tapped the core and have control of ship's functions."
"Excellent. Cancel their security. Lock all interior doors in the open position." I grin at R'j. "Nothing bars our way to the bridge. Shall we?"
She smiles back. "Lead on."
And we move, loping up the last ramp, along the last corridor. Someone has erected a barricade, a clumsy thing of piled-up furniture. I trigger the pulsewave's grenade launcher, and a photonic blast knocks it away.
I charge onto the bridge, snarling, the pulsewave sending out blast after blast of sick green disruptor light. Beside me, the twin beams of R'j's pistols stab through the air with surgical precision. Half the bridge crew are down before they even have a chance to surrender.
The command chair is big, throne-like, its high back turned towards me. I leap forwards and spin it around, the barrel of my pulsewave pointing straight at the occupant's head.
It is not Thrang. It is an older human male, dressed in an over-decorated Imperial uniform. I hiss in disappointment, and aim my tricorder at him. It is definitely not Thrang. We have his genetic profile, and the tricorder scan confirms it. This is... someone else.
"S-s-s-s-s," says R'j. "The Grand Admiral with all the other grand titles. Ter Horst, that was the name, yes?"
The man glares at us, hopeless but defiant. "I am the Grand Admiral," he says, "and I command the flagship in battle. The Emperor gave me this ship -"
"All very well," I snarl at him, "but it is your Emperor we want. Where is he? Where is Kalevar Thrang?"
And a voice from behind me says, "I'm not in just now."
---
I whirl. The face on the main viewscreen is definitely Kalevar Thrang's. The smugness alone would confirm it.
"If you're watching this recording," he continues, "then things haven't gone to plan. I suppose it's my own fault, really - I keep forgetting that I'm not dealing with reasonable people. Reasonable people would keep their heads down when they're wanted by the High Council. Or they'd have the sense to stick to an eminently sensible arrangement which benefits everyone, aside from a few Kobali newborns with psychological issues. Seriously. You know the old saying about eggs and omelettes, don't you?"
He positively pouts in disappointment. "Anyway. As I'm speaking, well, I've just heard what's happened aboard Jhey'quar's ship. If you're looking for Sarv, by the way, don't bother, he's past anyone's concern by now. I'll give you that for nothing. As a gesture of goodwill, if you like." His tone brightens. "Anyway, now Sarv's failed and Jhey'quar's gone rogue, well, there's no way even I can pick up all the pieces of this little scheme. So, well, it's time to cut my losses. I don't think I'd like being the emperor of just one silly planet, anyway, so my last act as Grand Emperor is to abdicate and proclaim the republic of 54 Eridani V." He raises one clenched fist over his head. "Power to the people! - Bye now."
I exchange baffled glares with R'j, as the screen freezes on Thrang's odiously smiling face.
Somehow, we both manage not to shoot it.
I am sitting down on a balcony, watching two men hack each other to pieces, while drinking raktajino with the woman I want to kill. I suppose, in First City terms, this makes it a normal day.
One of the warriors falls to the floor of the challenge ring. Melani D'ian makes a tutting noise, and pushes a small pile of coins across the table to me with one impeccably manicured finger. "That is the second time I have lost money on a warrior of the House of Klagroth," she says. "I must have words with their trainer, sometime.... However. One more piece of good fortune on which to congratulate you, General."
"Those are always welcome," I say, and sip my raktajino. "Few as they are."
"You are back in favour with the High Council, you have thwarted a plot against the Empire...."
"We did not capture Kalevar Thrang."
D'ian smiles. "That is your good fortune too, I think. If you had risen too high in J'mpok's esteem, I would have had to take... certain measures. As things stand, you and I can continue to be useful to each other." She must catch my sour look, since she adds, "There is no need for us to like each other, General."
"That is fortunate," I say. Then I sigh. "So. How do matters stand, overall?"
"Oh," says D'ian, "the... tidying-up... is proceeding. It could have gone better, of course. The problem is, simply revealing that there were blackmail files on some High Councillors... made Imperial Intelligence very insistent about knowing what they were. So we had to hand over that data." Though if she thinks I believe she handed over all that data.... Well. Half of it probably came from dealings with the Syndicate already. "And then J'mpok became tiresomely traditional about executing the dishonoured Councillors...."
"I take it you dissuaded him?"
"K'Men and I appealed to his practicality. In the interests of... continuity of government. So soon after the Iconian incident, it would never do to have another massacre of the High Council. So, certain Councillors live to fight another day."
And thus the Chancellor tightens his grip on the Council... but the blackmailed Councillors will know it, will resent it. J'mpok and K'Men will have to tread carefully, even while they command obedience.... Well. It is the game of Klingon politics, and both of them have been playing it long enough to be masters.
"What of the other... details?" I ask. "The Letheans, and the Kobali?"
"Yes," says D'ian thoughtfully, "the Kobali. The Kobali government has disclaimed all responsibility for this General Jhey'quar; they claim he was a rogue officer, leader of a discredited radical movement which does not truly represent Kobali interests or intentions. We have, of course, no proof that they are lying...."
"Were their lips moving?" I ask. "That is generally a reliable sign."
D'ian laughs. "No actual proof. And we really cannot afford to meddle any further in Delta Quadrant politics, not just now. But this disclaimer means they have refused any sort of compensation to the Letheans for their lost colony... they will take the late colonists and integrate them into Kobali society, that is all. Relations between the Letheans and the Kobali, then, have... cooled, rather. To the point that it is a very good thing that they live at opposite ends of the galaxy."
"One more item on Thrang's account, then," I say. "Along with the situation on 54 Eridani V... do we have any idea how that will progress, now?"
"Well," says D'ian, "the civil war started by Thrang's proclamation appears to be in full swing. Once the shooting has died down, the Federation and the Empire will send in a joint peace-keeping and reconstruction force. We still hold their Grand Admiral, and by their standards he is a reasonable man... he will probably be adequate as an interim head of state. In the meantime, however, the Empire cannot intervene without provoking further hostility, and the Federation, of course, quotes its wretched Prime Directive and sits on its hands. Once the survivors start appealing for humanitarian aid, then we can move."
Until then - chaos and war. "Thrang's plans cost a lot of lives," I observe. "More, even, than yours."
"Mine? My dear General, I assure you, I am positively parsimonious with the lives I spend. One cannot buy an empire at too high a cost... or it will not be worth having. Do you not agree?"
"Some people's idea of a small cost," I say, "may be ruinous, to others."
"True," says D'ian. "And a point well worth considering, if you plan to rise in the Syndicate."
"I have no plans in that direction," I assure her firmly.
"Oh, you must put aside this prejudice!" She shakes her head. "The Syndicate needs competent operatives, and you are competent."
"I also desire your death."
"Well, that is true of most of my subordinates. For that matter, do you not recall how I reached my current position? I assure you -" her brilliant eyes are icy and stern "- I never forget."
I believe her. This woman knows what she has bought, and what she has paid for it - in blood, death and destruction. Melani D'ian's grip on the Orion people remains, I think, unbreakable.
For the moment, at least.
"I will concede this much," I say. "I would rather work with you, than with Kalevar Thrang."
"Oh," says D'ian with a sniff, "I am sure he thinks he would be ideal as head of the Syndicate.... That man has ambitions."
"Obviously," I say.
"And resources. He spirited himself away from 54 Eridani, and nobody seems to know where he might have gone. He is irritating." D'ian's face turns pensive for a moment. "I think we shall all sleep a little easier, once we have dealt with Kalevar Thrang."
Thrang snuck away again, but they got quite close to getting him this time. He's running out of boltholes.
Another excellent evil plan to foil, shevet, in this story, very well done per usual.
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
(I figure there is one more story left in Thrang. But I shall leave him licking his wounds for now.)