Forged in Fire Page 29

  Sulu sat behind his desk and keyed the bridge intercom button. “Put him through now, Janice,” he said.

  A moment after Rand acknowledged his order, the screen on Sulu’s desk flickered to life, first displaying the laurel-leaf-framed-starmap symbol of the Federation, followed by the red-black-and-gold trefoil of the Klingon Empire, which was quickly replaced by the scowling visage of an elderly but extraordinarily tough-looking, ridge-headed Klingon.

  “Commander Sulu, I presume?” the Klingon asked, an undercurrent of something akin to annoyance clearly evident in his tone.

  “Yes, Chancellor Kesh,” Sulu responded. “I appreciate your taking the time to contact me.”

  Kesh raised an eyebrow. “I might not have done so, Commander. But you appear to have friends possessed of enough influence to make it unwise for me to simply ignore you altogether.”

  Sulu tried to conceal his surprise at this revelation. Who had intervened on his behalf, and with the highest official of one of the Federation’s oldest adversary nations? Maybe one of Ambassador Kamarag’s political attachés down in sickbay has recovered enough to start pulling some very special strings, he thought. Or maybe Sarek has more pull with the Klingons than anybody ever realized.

  “I wanted to be certain that the members of the Klingon High Council — and you, in particular — had gotten all of the news about the Korvat bombing and everything that’s happened since,” Sulu said. “And while KDF captains Kor, Koloth, and Kang are preoccupied with tracking down the man responsible for the attack, I wished to make sure that you were kept apprised of everything my people have been doing to assist with the search effort.”

  “Commendable,” Kesh said, nodding and stroking his beard, which was knotted in a trio of braids. “So, Commander — inform me.”

  For the next twelve minutes, Sulu spelled out as many details about the attack on Korvat, its aftermath, and the albino saboteur — whom he now knew was named Qagh, thanks to Curzon Dax’s periodic reports — as he could. Although he knew he was verging on breaking protocol, he stepped right to the edge in providing details that might be considered proprietary or classified. If we don’t start trusting them with the truth, then what was this whole Korvat peace conference for? he thought, though he had little doubt that certain Starfleet brass wouldn’t see it that way.

  “Sto-Vo-Kor will no doubt shake to its foundations when the crew of the Gal’tagh arrives at its gates,” the chancellor said in a wistful yet martial tone once Sulu had finished. “So, the Klothos and the QaD will continue the hunt for this . . . Qagh?”

  “Yes, Chancellor,” Sulu said. “As soon as they complete whatever repairs they can make to the QaD on the fly. But their sensors cannot track the fugitive’s ship as easily as Excelsior’s can.”

  “If, indeed, the pirate can be tracked at all. He does seem to have eluded every pursuer for decades now,” Kesh said, revealing what sounded like a sneaking admiration for the bloodthirsty outlaw. “And what about this cloaked shuttle that was launched from the freebooter’s ship?”

  “Nobody has any idea why it was launched, Chancellor,” Sulu said. “Or what its target might be. According to Ambassador Dax’s report, the albino seemed as surprised as the Klingon captains were when it happened. But I have to point out that Qagh’s reaction could have been just a ruse. The shuttle could be carrying one of the albino’s genetically engineered bioweapons straight toward some Klingon or Federation world even as we speak. It could even be targeting Qo’noS itself.”

  Kesh’s dark eyes narrowed in apparent contemplation of Sulu’s words. After half a minute or so of thoughtful silence, the Klingon chancellor finally spoke again. “It would seem, Commander, that your purpose in telling me all of this is not solely to aid the Klingon Empire. You obviously have a personal stake in this matter. Qagh killed your captain, as well as other members of your crew. Doubtless you want revenge, and you further wish to save face for your Federation in response to the attack against the Korvat conference.”

  “I won’t deny —” Sulu started to protest, only to be interrupted.

  “You don’t need to deny anything, Commander,” Kesh said. “Honor, along with its defense and maintenance, are concepts as ingrained into the Klingon psyche as breathing and mating, either of which are arguably of less importance than honor. I fully understand and support your position. However . . .” The chancellor paused, apparently gathering his thoughts.

  Here’s where the politics get in the way of simply doing the right thing, Sulu thought, trying not to allow his face to reveal his immediately crestfallen spirit.

  “However,” Kesh resumed, “I will not allow Excelsior to advance into Klingon space any further than the Korvat system. At least not before the matter can be put to a full vote of the High Council, and that has not yet occurred. And the High Council will first wish to decide whether or not to allow the interrupted Korvat talks to continue.”

  “I understand your position, Chancellor,” Sulu said. “But consider everything that this one man has destroyed over the past few days. And if he really is using that cloaked shuttle to attack the worlds beyond Korvat, then think of how much more damage and destruction he could cause. Respectfully, Chancellor, no one on the High Council would want to allow that to happen. Please at least let me help look for the shuttle, to prevent that.”

  Kesh nodded soberly, his eyes narrowing as if to warn Sulu not to continue. “I will press the Council to speed up its timetable for a vote, Commander,” he said, his tone making clear that he would brook no further discussion on the matter. “But that’s the best I can do, especially with so many Council members currently away from the First City celebrating the Festival of Qu’batlh. In the meantime, the Klingon Defense Force will be put on full alert status. I am certain that it will prove more than able to protect any significant target within the Empire’s boundaries.”

  Kesh’s face softened slightly for a moment. “Thank you for your candor in this matter, Commander. It will not be forgotten. But for now, however, you will have to continue to wait.”

  A moment later the monitor went black, a heartbeat or two before the blue-and-white emblem of the UFP returned.

  Sulu let out a low growl of frustration. I’m no better off than I was before, he thought, feeling no small amount of bitterness at the failure of his gambit. And I let out information that might come back to haunt me someday.

  Although he had little to do now other than wait through the remainder of the long night, Sulu knew that sleep would be a long time coming.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Early 2290 (the Year of Kahless 915,

  late in the month of Doqath)

  The freebooter ship Hegh’TlhoS

  “How far are we from the H’Atoria system?” Qagh asked.

  “Another four leS,” Kurga said from behind the helm console. “Three, perhaps, if we drop our cloak and divert additional power to the warp drive.”

  Four leS, Nej thought, worried that the time it would take Qo’noS to turn on its axis four times might be beyond his employer’s physical capacity, not to mention his patience. He turned toward Qagh, who was standing in front of his raised command chair, apparently far too restless and nervous to remain in one spot for any significant length of time.

  He could only hope that whatever biomedical resources might await them at H’Atoria wouldn’t send the albino into another disappointed rage — and that the next round of injections would calm the pirate chieftain’s rebellious cells, tissues, and organs.

  “When we get there, Nej, I’ll expect you to get a survey team together,” Qagh said, wiping the sweat from his striated, chalk-white brow. “I will lead it.”

  Nej could see how unsteady the albino already looked and frowned. Then he nodded toward the much younger, much stronger Klingon who stood monitoring the long-range scanners on the cramped control room’s port side. “Why not send Choq down instead?”

  Qagh wasted no time considering his response. “Because Choq is nowhere ne
ar as well motivated as I am to find what needs to be found.”

  If Choq was insulted, he betrayed no sign of it. Instead, a look of surprise creased his smooth features as he sat behind one of the scanner consoles. “We’re being pursued, Captain. It may be one of the Klingon Defense Force vessels we encountered earlier. Sensors show he’ll come within weapons range in under a kilaan.”

  Qagh’s energies seemed to rebound at this news, though his foul mood showed little improvement as he stomped quickly across the small control room to Choq’s station. “How did he get so close to us without being detected?”

  Choq shrugged, long used to his employer’s mercurial and frequently abusive temperament. “Our pursuer must be running under cloak, as we are.”

  Nej found that perplexing. “If he’s cloaked, then how did you manage to detect him at all?”

  “I mined many of the surrounding systems with passive sensing equipment and hundreds of small subspace relays long ago,” Qagh said as he entered a string of manual commands into one of the consoles. “Now that they’ve detected the ship that’s following us, perhaps they can positively identify it.”

  “But how could they have seen through our cloak?” Nej said.

  “Perhaps the same way we saw through theirs,” Qagh said. “Or maybe our engine repairs were sufficiently imperfect so as to leave a hard radiation trail they were able to follow.”

  “The pursuing ship’s warp signature matches one of the Klingon warships we evaded earlier,” Choq said.

  “The Klothos, no doubt,” Qagh said. He smiled grimly as he turned toward the forward screen, squinting as if hoping to tease the invisible approaching vessel into plain view. “My kinsman and his friends are a persistent lot, I’ll give them that. I may have underestimated them.”

  “We destroyed one of your kinsman’s ships, Qagh,” Nej said, trying to sound hopeful. “We don’t know that he wasn’t aboard it when it blew apart.”

  The albino shook his head. “Being a survivor runs in the family.” He turned toward Choq. “Drop our cloak so we can increase our speed. Then lose them.”

  Choq blinked in undisguised skepticism. “Lose them how, Captain? There’s no way we can outrun that ship for any length of time, even with the cloak down.”

  “You won’t have to evade them for very long,” Qagh said. “At least not once you get us a little closer to Qul Tuq. I noticed that our present course takes us very close to the system’s outer belt of ice bodies.”

  Nej didn’t particularly like what he was hearing, though he couldn’t see a better alternative at the moment. “Qul Tuq? You’ll lead him right to one of our best safe houses, Qagh. That’s a rather expensive risk —”

  “Facing a Klingon warship that’s not susceptible to another sneak attack is far riskier,” the albino said, interrupting. “Besides, we still have other safe houses. And we can count on Qul Tuq herself to even the odds for us.”

  If she doesn’t cook us and devour us before we’ve reached safety in the eye of the storm, Nej thought, recalling why Qagh and his organization used this particular safe house so infrequently. He wondered if even the spectral helmsman of the Barge of the Dead possessed sufficient courage to face the veqlargh-forsaken hellhole the Hegh’TlhoS was about to enter.

  He could only hope that the commander of the pursuing vessel would demonstrate the good sense to break off his pursuit once Qagh’s destination became clear.

  “Dropping cloak,” Choq said, nodding as his large but surprisingly nimble fingers quickly entered commands into his console. “And we’re now on course for the second planet in the Qul Tuq system.”

  Nej watched as Qagh strode toward the hatchway in the aft section of the room. “Come with me, Nej. I may need your help to present our pursuer with a proper welcome.”

  Nej followed Qagh through the hatch and into the narrow corridor that terminated at the entrance to the albino’s small but efficient personal workspace. He watched as his employer walked to the table at the back of the room and touched the security-recognition pad built into the top of the large black case that sat there. The hinged metal lid responded by folding backward with a faint mechanical whirring sound.

  Four stoppered glass vials, each one about as long as a man’s hand and perhaps half as wide, stood upright inside the open case, held by delicate metal clamps.

  “Nothing says ‘welcome’ quite like a lethal, custom-made retrovirus,” Qagh said, smiling a smile that chilled Nej’s bones.

  • • •

  I.K.S. Klothos

  Dax waited anxiously while another half hour passed uneventfully. Too uneventfully, he thought more than once as the members of Kor’s ever-efficient bridge crew continued stalking their prey in silence.

  “He knows we’re coming,” Koloth said, looking up from the station he had taken over during the chase. “He’s changed course, and has begun accelerating away from us.”

  I really, really hate being right all the time, Dax thought as he did his best to stay out of the way of the frenetically busy bridge personnel; they had suddenly begun moving at double time in response to the newly altered tactical situation.

  “Ghuy’cha’!” Kang said sourly from the station beside Koloth’s. “How did he detect us?”

  Kor remained seated in the command chair at the raised center of the control room. Scowling as he leaned forward, he said, “Does it matter? Pursue them, helm, and intercept. Drop our cloak and ready all weapons.”

  A chorus of terse acknowledgments rebounded across the room as the crew hastened to perform their various tasks. Dax could feel a subtle shift in both tension and vibration in the deck beneath his boots, signaling that the ship had abruptly changed both its speed and heading, executing a hard turn at hundreds of times the speed of light.

  “The albino cannot outrun us,” Kor said, leaning forward in his chair and staring into the gradually changing stellar panorama arrayed before him.

  Koloth grunted in terse agreement. “He appears to be aware of that now. He has deactivated his cloak, no doubt for the benefit of his engines.”

  As if taking Koloth’s words as a cue, the image of a beat-up, heavily modified freighter appeared on the central viewer.

  Dax frowned. “Something’s not right about this.”

  Kor’s gleaming, battle-keen gaze struck him like a spear. “What do you mean?”

  “He must know that he can’t outrun you,” Dax said, pointing toward the motley vessel on the screen. “So why isn’t he at least trying to hide?”

  “Because if he continues on his present heading, he won’t need a cloak to hide himself,” Kang said, looking down at the data on his console. “He is on a course for Qul Tuq.”

  “Qul Tuq?” Dax asked. He wasn’t embarrassed to admit that his knowledge of the Klingon Empire’s star charts left much to be desired. “That means ‘house of fire,’ doesn’t it?”

  “A suitably dramatic name, don’t you think?” Kor said, a death’s-head grin splitting his swarthy face. “It comes from the title of one of our most highly regarded operas. I’d call that a good omen for the glorious battle that lies ahead.”

  Dax wasn’t so sure about that. Moving toward Kang, he said, “Isn’t ‘only a fool fights in a burning house’ one of the Klingon people’s most revered proverbs?”

  Kang answered only with scowling, brooding silence, prompting Dax to recall the Klingon aphorism about revenge being a dish that is best served cold.

  Dax turned back toward Koloth and Kor. “What else can you tell me about Qul Tuq?”

  “Your scientists would probably describe it as a neutron star,” Koloth said. “Though it is a neutron star of a most peculiar type. Qul Tuq possesses a magnetic field roughly a quadrillion times stronger than those that act as shields to most inhabited worlds, such as Qo’noS.”

  “Then it’s a magnetar,” Dax said, recalling Audrid’s studies on the subject. The almost unimaginably intense magnetic fields created by such dead, ultradense stars actually slow their rot
ation, creating surface “starquakes” that release potent showers of intense radiation, ranging from gamma rays to delta rays to berthold radiation all the way down to the less exotic, if no less spectacular, ion storms. He moved toward one of the bridge computer terminals, filling the time that seemed to stretch between the initial course change and eventual interception by reading further on the topic of Qul Tuq in particular, and Klingon magnetars in general.

  “Approaching the inner system,” the bekk at the helm station reported a short time later. “The stellar magnetic field is already pushing our shields close to their limits. And there’s a lot of debris and ion storm activity all around us as well.”

  Of course, Dax thought. All the better for a pirate ship to hide in.

  The deck suddenly rocked beneath his feet, heaving him violently into a nearby unoccupied console; he clutched at its edge to avoid toppling all the way to the deck.

  “Meteoroids, Captain,” said the hulking young officer who manned the tactical station. Dax was relieved to hear that they hadn’t fallen victim to yet another sneak attack.

  “Reinforce the shields!” Kor shouted.

  “Shields are failing, Captain,” the tactical officer replied in a rumbling voice. “The more closely we approach Qul Tuq, the more such difficulties we will experience.”

  Dax didn’t need to be told that without the constant protection of the shield generators, the magnetar’s intense magnetic field could very quickly and efficiently fry every system aboard the ship, including life support.

  Kor slammed his clenched fist onto the arm of his command chair. “Q’Lujj! All emergency power to shields and weapons systems!”

  The chief engineer’s voice came over the intercom, already sounding weary. “Understood, Captain. But life support may become compromised.”

  “Maintaining life support means nothing if we fail to maintain honor,” Kor said before snapping the channel closed.

  Dax wondered how long two lungsful of honor would sustain him once the magnetar out there finished immolating the ship’s electronic guts.