Star Trek: Vanguard: Storming Heaven (22 page)

Nogura’s resolve never wavered, and his eyes betrayed no sign of anger as he met Marcus’s glare. “First of all, Doctor Marcus, I have not
asked
the Vault team to conduct this operation, I’ve
ordered
them to do it. Second, as for your invocation of the laws of the Federation, I see that I must remind you once again that we are not currently
in
the Federation. Third, I do not need you to lecture me about the principles of Starfleet. I am well aware of my oath and my duty. Fourth, and last, you seem to forget that whatever authority you wield inside this lab is nothing compared to the authority I wield over this station. Your concerns are all noted—and overruled.” He looked at Xiong. “Lieutenant. Tell your team to construct and activate the artifact array with all due haste, and have Doctor Marcus assist you as necessary.”

The admiral walked away while Xiong stood dumbstruck, processing the simultaneous demotion of Carol Marcus and his reinstatement as Director of the Vault, the position he’d held before Marcus’s arrival on Vanguard years earlier. He knew the shock and humiliation she must be feeling at that moment, and it took all his training as a Starfleet officer not to look the least bit pleased about the situation. Marcus, however, wore her dudgeon openly, crossing her arms as she fixed him with a smoldering stare. “I suppose you’ll want the office back,” she said.

“First, I think we should focus on getting the artifacts unpacked and accounted for,” Xiong said. Despite his best intentions, he gloated. “
Then
I’ll take the office.”

Captain Kutal entered the main transporter room of the
I.K.S. Zin’za
to find his first officer waiting for him. BelHoQ’s lazy stance and saturnine glare radiated disgust as he grumbled, “Has that
yIntagh
Brakk lost his mind?”

“He claims our channels are being monitored and refuses to share sensitive intel over the comms,” Kutal said. Before his first officer could protest, he added, “I know it’s stupid, but he’s the fleet commander. We have no choice but to do this his way.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the transporter controls. “Beam over his lackey and get this done with.”

BelHoQ stepped back to the transporter controls and activated the system, filling the compartment with the rich hum of charging energizer coils. Kutal kept his true concerns to himself as he faced the platform and awaited Brakk’s courier. It had been less than a week since the
Zin’za
and the
baS’jev
had joined Brakk’s ship, the
Qu’vang,
as its combat escorts. Brakk had wasted no time splitting up Kutal’s and Chang’s ships, immediately ordering the
baS’jev
on a long-range reconnaissance patrol while keeping the
Zin’za
close by. Just as Captain Chang had predicted, Brakk—no doubt with prompting from his father, Duras—had pegged Kutal and Chang as hostile operatives of their rival, Gorkon. Regardless, the haste with which Brakk had responded had taken Kutal by surprise. He had expected himself and Chang to be held at arm’s length for a few months while Brakk assessed their strengths and vulnerabilities. Instead, the impulsive young commander had gone directly to dividing and conquering.

Even if I respect him for nothing else,
Kutal decided,
I have to
admire his aggression. But that begs the question: Is he really paranoid about using the comms? Or is this merely a ruse?

“The
Qu’vang
is signaling ready,” BelHoQ said. “Energizing.”

A crimson flurry of high-energy particles swirled into view above one of the target pads, and within it a Klingon warrior took shape. Seconds later the glow of the beam faded, and the enlisted crewman stepped down and saluted Kutal with his right fist raised against his chest. “Captain Kutal, I bear a message for you from Captain Brakk.” He held out a data card in his left hand. “It is coded for your eyes only, sir.”

Kutal took the data card from the soldier. “Naturally.”

“My orders are to wait here for your encoded reply.”

“Whatever. Stay here. Don’t touch anything.” Kutal headed for the door and subtly cued BelHoQ to follow him. As they left the transporter room, an armed guard entered to keep Brakk’s messenger under watch until they returned.

Neither of them spoke on the walk forward to Kutal’s quarters, but as he led BelHoQ inside, the first officer stopped in the doorway. “He said the message was for your eyes only.”

“Do I look like I give a damn? Get in here, and lock the door behind you.”

BelHoQ secured the door while Kutal crossed to his desk, sat down, and inserted the data card into a slot beside his computer terminal. The imperial emblem, a black trefoil against a red background, appeared on the screen as a guttural, synthetic voice issued from the monitor’s hidden speakers:
“State command authorization code.”

“Kutal
wa’ pagh SuD loS Hut Doq vagh
.”

“Command authorization accepted.”
The imperial emblem faded to a vid of Captain Brakk in his office aboard the
Qu’vang
. It was Kutal’s opinion that Brakk was far too thin, his face too lean, and his hair too short. Worse, his nose seemed perpetually wrinkled, as if he spent every waking moment afflicted by a foul odor only he could detect.

“Greetings, Captain Kutal. You are a clever man, so I’m sure
you already suspect there is no actual risk of our communications being intercepted. There are three reasons I have sent you this message in this manner. The first is that our rank and file have no need to know of our roles as pawns in the political games of our betters. The second is that I do not trust you enough to risk coming aboard your vessel. I have reason to believe you and your ship were assigned as my escorts in order to spy upon me for Councillor Gorkon, and possibly to move against me if the opportunity should present itself. I do not intend to give you that opportunity, Captain.

“The third and final reason I have sent you this message will become apparent soon enough. By now, your ship’s internal comms have been off-line for close to half a minute, and all compartments except your quarters have been flooded with neurocine gas.”

Kutal tensed and shot a look at BelHoQ. “Get my scanner from the second drawer.”

The first officer retrieved the scanner from Kutal’s desk and activated it as Brakk’s recording continued.
“I have spared your life this long only because I wanted to thank you personally for helping me murder your valiant crew. The data card I sent was loaded with a computer virus. Normally, your ship’s data network would have scanned for such a threat and intercepted it, but by generously providing your voiceprint and command code, you’ve enabled my program to bypass your ship’s filters and take control of the intruder-control systems.”

BelHoQ showed Kutal the scanner’s readout; it confirmed Brakk’s message. “We might be able to reach the nearest escape pod before the gas takes us,” he said. Kutal got up, hurried to his lavatory, soaked two cloths with water, and tossed one to BelHoQ on their way to the door.

“Good-bye, Captain,”
Brakk said from the computer terminal.
“I doubt you’ll earn a place in Sto-Vo-Kor for blundering into a trap, so I’ll look forward to our next meeting in Gre’thor. Brakk out.”
The message ended, and the screen went black.

A subtle hiss from the overhead ventilation ducts gave warning
that Kutal’s quarters were being flooded with the deadly toxic gas. He unlocked the door, which hissed open. Though the air outside his quarters looked no different than that inside, an excruciating stinging assaulted his eyes, which watered instantly even as he squeezed them shut. Kutal and BelHoQ stumbled out into the corridor, holding their breath, mouths and noses covered by the damp rags. Squinting through the pain, they felt their way down the passage and stepped over the corpses littering the deck. Every bit of exposed flesh on Kutal’s face and arms felt as if it were on fire as he and BelHoQ staggered the last few steps toward the escape pod.

His hand was poised over the control pad to open the pod’s hatch when, out of the corner of his bloodied eye, he noted the blurred profile of a figure standing in the middle of the corridor. When he turned his head to look, he saw a Klingon in an environmental suit, pointing a disruptor at him. Then came a deafening screech and a blinding flash—and, with them, an end to his pain.

If not for his intense aversion to risk and his innate loathing for embarrassment, Brakk might have considered his victory over Captain Kutal and the crew of the
Zin’za
an empty one. But a win was a win, and all that really mattered was that Kutal was dead and Brakk was not, and that all the vital secrets Kutal had possessed about the Taurus Reach would soon belong to Brakk.

Gorkon was a fool to think he could saddle me with such obvious traitors,
Brakk gloated.
Now the House of Duras will know what’s so important about the Gonmog Sector—and then we’ll finally be able to get those Romulan
petaQpu’
to back our rise to power over the Empire
.

Brakk presided over the bridge of the
Qu’vang
from his elevated command chair, his attention fixed upon the main view-screen’s image of the
Zin’za
adrift in space. He was about to call for a status update when his first officer, Nuqdek, appeared. “We’ve bypassed the lockouts on the
Zin’za
’s protected computer
core,” he said. “Its contents are being copied to our databanks now. We will have everything momentarily.”

“Well done, Commander. Have all our people returned from the
Zin’za
?”

“Yes, sir.” Nuqdek seemed troubled. “We’ve intercepted several subspace messages from Captain Chang on the
baS’jev
. He’s trying to reach Captain Kutal.”

“What of it? Let him enjoy the silence.”

A crewman at an aft station on the bridge called out, “Commander?” When he had Nuqdek’s attention, he gave the first officer a single nod. Nuqdek returned the gesture, then said to Brakk, “The databanks have been copied over, Captain. Do you wish to put a tractor beam on the
Zin’za
for its return to Somraw?”

“That hunk of excrement isn’t going anywhere,” Brakk said.

Nuqdek warily studied the battle cruiser on the viewscreen. “How, then, are we to explain its disappearance?”

Brakk looked down at his first officer.
Some days I just don’t understand this man
. “Why should we explain anything, Commander? Space is dangerous. Ships vanish all the time, even imperial warships. Why think the
Zin’za
immune to such a fate?”

“You mean to destroy it, then.”

“Of course,” Brakk boasted. “I armed its self-destruct system ten minutes ago. After I trigger it, nothing will remain of that overhyped rust pile except dust and memories.”

The first officer’s discomfort with that news was obvious to Brakk, despite Nuqdek’s effort to mask his unease. “Permission to speak, Captain?”

“What is it?”

“I suggest we salvage useful material and munitions from the
Zin’za
before you trigger its self-destruct package. Destroying the ship is obviously necessary for operational security, but it seems wrong to waste parts and torpedoes that could be made to serve this vessel.”

He waved away Nuqdek’s request. “Absolutely not. The last thing we need is for some overzealous junior officer at Somraw
Station to notice that our weapons bay is stocked with torpedoes from a lot that was used to supply the
Zin’za
.” He directed his orders to the bridge officers surrounding him and Nuqdek. “Terminate all data channels to that ship! Helm, reverse thrusters, put us two hundred thousand
qelIqam
s aft of the
Zin’za
. Tactical, raise shields.” With an oblique glance at Nuqdek, he asked, “Any last words for the fallen?”

For once, Nuqdek was wise enough to hold his tongue. He faced the viewscreen and lifted his chin, a final gesture of respect for the dishonored dead.

The helmsman reported, “We’re in position, Captain.”

Without ceremony or pity, Brakk pressed a button on his chair’s armrest, triggering the
Zin’za
’s self-destruct package. The battle cruiser erupted in an orange-white fireball that quickly spawned several more explosions, washing out the viewscreen for several seconds.

It was the most beautiful vision of destruction Brakk had ever seen. He couldn’t help but beam with satisfaction.
Wherever you are, Gorkon . . . you’re next
.

Confronted with the latest news from Captain Chang, Gorkon felt as if an oppressive weight had fallen upon his shoulders. “Are you certain the
Zin’za
’s been destroyed?”

“As certain as I can be, my lord.”
His fury was palpable, even over a subspace channel.
“Brakk claims he sent Captain Kutal and his ship on a routine patrol from which they never returned. Meanwhile, his ship’s newest combat escort just happens to be the
Valkaya
—a Romulan bird-of-prey whose captain volunteered its service to Brakk.”

“When was the last time you heard from Kutal?”

“Four days ago. He’s missed his last three check-ins. Which would suggest his ship was destroyed while mine was on its own pointless recon mission, as ordered by Brakk.”
His mien took on a cast of suspicion.
“Why would Brakk have risked so bold an
attack on other Klingons? What could have made that worth the potential consequences?”

“Most likely, the information in the
Zin’za
’s databanks.” Gorkon entered commands via the interface panel beside the screen. “I’m elevating your security clearance so that I can tell you this. What you’re about to hear is classified at the highest levels.”

“Understood, my lord.”

“The Empire’s interest in the Gonmog Sector is driven by more than a desire for territory and resources. Five years ago, a Starfleet vessel, the
Constellation,
made a discovery that motivated the Federation to build a major starbase far beyond their own borders. It became clear that there was something there that they considered vital to their interests. We soon learned it was related to an extinct precursor civilization, one that had left technology on worlds throughout the sector and complex information concealed inside genetic sequences.