Star Trek: Vanguard: Storming Heaven (9 page)

“This is a tall order,” Jetanien said, “but I will set myself to it immediately. I expect my contacts inside Starfleet Intelligence will prove more helpful and forthcoming than their civilian counterparts. As soon as I have some intelligence of note, I’ll contact you to set up a meeting.”

Lugok sounded suspicious.
“Just like that? Is this some kind of trick?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you haven’t asked for anything in return.”

Jetanien’s exasperation manifested itself as a grinding of his bony mandible. “Lugok, my friend, ours is not some simple quid pro quo arrangement. We are not hagglers in a market. This is how a relationship of trust is built: one act of goodwill at a time.”

The Klingon chuckled cynically.
“I don’t know whether to thank you or pity you.”

“Start by thanking me,” Jetanien said. “We’ll see how the rest goes from there.”

A battle alert blared from the
Valkaya
’s overhead speakers. Commander H’kaan leapt from his shower and scrambled into his uniform without bothering to towel himself dry. He pulled on his boots, and raced from his quarters to the bird-of-prey’s bridge to find his first officer, Subcommander Dimetris, and senior noncommissioned officer, Centurion Akhisar, conferring in low voices as they hunched over the shoulders of the tactical officer. Straightening the line of his red sash across his right shoulder with a small tug, he said, “Dimetris. Report.”

The sharp-featured woman turned and saluted H’kaan. “Commander, we’ve sighted the Starfleet vessel
Sagittarius,
cruising at warp eight-point-five on bearing one-eleven mark six.” She moved aside as H’kaan stepped forward to see the sensor readings for himself.

“Who made the identification?”

Akhisar looked him in the eye. “I did, Commander.” There was neither pride nor defensiveness in the gray-haired man’s declaration. “Hull configuration and energy signatures are a match, and preliminary readings suggest its usual crew complement is aboard.”

Eyeing the star chart for the sectors ahead of the Starfleet ship, H’kaan asked, “What seems to be her destination?”

The centurion deflected the question with a glance to Dimetris, who replied, “Unknown. That heading takes her into uncharted space.” She was quick to add, “We’re still close enough to intercept her, but if we don’t attack soon—”

“I can read the chart.” H’kaan respected Dimetris; in many regards she was an excellent first officer. Her most serious shortcoming, however, was impatience. He turned to Akhisar. “Centurion,
did you notify the fleet commander about this contact?”

“Yes, sir. We’re still awaiting his reply.”

Dimetris shot a hard look at the sensor image of the
Sagittarius
. “And while we wait, our prey widens its lead. We should strike now.”

H’kaan was dismayed by her hotheadedness. “Attacking a Federation vessel could spark a war. We don’t make such decisions. That privilege belongs to our betters.”

His answer only stoked the lithe woman’s frustration. “If we aren’t meant to destroy this ship, why was it designated a target of interest by fleet command?”

“Don’t ask so many questions,” H’kaan counseled her. “You’ll live longer.” He understood her hunger for revenge, and he knew that many members of the crew shared the sentiments she’d voiced. Animosity toward the Federation, and in particular toward Starfleet, had been running high since the crew of the
Enterprise
had breached the Neutral Zone and entered Romulan space, engaged in a blatant act of espionage, and escaped with a stolen cloaking device. It was not just a public embarrassment for the Romulan Star Empire but a major setback in its ongoing arms race against both the Federation and the Klingon Empire. The
“Enterprise
incident,” as it had come to be known, had afflicted the Romulan military’s psyche like an open, festering wound. Any opportunity for revenge was now embraced with great relish.

An electronic chirping from the subspace radio console prompted H’kaan, Dimetris, and Akhisar to huddle around the communications officer. Dimetris said, “Kiris, report.”

Sublieutenant Kiris checked the readings on his panel. “Encrypted traffic from fleet command. Decoding now.” He engaged several preprogrammed functions, whose specific workings were classified, and downloaded the new orders to a ciphered data card, which he handed to Dimetris. The subcommander turned to face the centurion, who held up a small device used for deciphering classified directives. He and Dimetris looked at the device’s screen as the orders appeared.

“Commander, we have new orders from Admiral Inaros,” Akhisar said. “‘Engage and destroy Starfleet vessel
Sagittarius
with extreme prejudice. Authentication code:
Tisar, Jolan, Kolet,
nine, four, seven,
Seetha
.’” He looked up at H’kaan. “Message is authentic, sir.”

H’kaan looked at Dimetris, who added, “I concur, sir. Message is authentic.”

“All hands to battle stations,” H’kaan said, stepping smartly to his command console. Dimetris and Akhisar took their places at the other two sides of the triangular station in the center of the bridge. “Subcommander, destroy that ship.”

“Yes, sir.” She lifted her voice and began belting out orders. “Helm, set intercept course, maximum warp. Weapons, stand by for a snap shot. Target their center mass. Centurion, stand by to drop the cloak on my mark.”

Curt acknowledgments came back to her in quick succession, and Akhisar nodded once to indicate he was ready. H’kaan watched the tactical display in front of him and felt his pulse quicken with anticipation as the
Valkaya
closed to attack position on the
Sagittarius
. When they reached optimal firing range for torpedoes, he said simply, “Now.”

Akhisar dropped the bird-of-prey’s cloak, and the weapons officer unleashed a burst of charged plasma that slammed into the small Starfleet scout ship and knocked it out of warp.

“Helm,” Dimetris called out, “come about and drop to impulse. Sublieutenant Pelor, charge disruptors and ready another plasma charge. Centurion, raise shields.”

Pelor replied, “Weapons locked!”

Dimetris crowed, “Fire!”

In the scant moments between the order and the action, H’kaan glimpsed the sparking, smoldering mass of the
Sagittarius
on the bridge’s main viewscreen.
Looks like we scored a direct hit with the first shot,
he observed with pride.
All those battle drills finally paid off.

Then a pair of disruptor beams lanced through the smoldering husk of the
Sagittarius,
and the ship erupted in a massive fireball
that quickly dissipated, vanishing into the insatiable vacuum of deep space. When the afterglow faded, all that remained was glowing debris.

“Secure from general quarters,” H’kaan said. “Well done, all of you.” Much as he tried to remain detached and professional, H’kaan could not resist the urge to gloat over his victory. “Kiris! Send to Admiral Inaros, ‘Starfleet vessel
Sagittarius
destroyed. Continuing patrol.’ And make sure to notify our friends at the Klingon High Command. I want them to know we’ve just scored the victory that’s eluded them for years.”

Akhisar sidled up to the commander and asked confidentially, “Are you sure you wish to rub their noses in our triumph so boldly?”

“Absolutely. I just wish I could be there to see the looks on their faces.”

A dull and distant buzzing, like a million bees at the bottom of the sea. That was all Nogura heard, all he could latch on to. He felt like a synesthete, seeing the steady, angry sound as if it were an anchor line sunk into the depths to serve as his guidepost, a filament of focus to lead him up out of the oceanic fathoms of sleep, back into the twilight of semiconsciousness.

Slumber’s murky curtain parted, and the waking world flooded into Nogura’s mind, smothering him with its overwhelming, concrete reality. He blinked as he turned his head toward the companel on the end table beside his bed. Despite still being so groggy that he felt as if he were bobbing on a storm swell, he swatted open the comm channel. “Nogura.”

“Admiral, this is Lieutenant Commander Dohan.”

Nogura visualized Yael Dohan as he honed in on her voice. He imagined the swarthy, athletically toned Israeli woman with her short-cropped coal-black hair standing over the Hub, the octagonal situation table on the supervisors’ deck inside the operations center. “Go ahead.”

“The Romulans took the bait, sir. At approximately 0356
station time, a bird-of-prey uncloaked and opened fire, destroying our
Sagittarius
decoy drone.”

Pinching the sleep from the inner corners of his eyes, he asked, “Are we sure they didn’t know it was a decoy?”

“As sure as we can be, sir. The drone’s sensors picked up a fair amount of encrypted signal traffic before the attack, and our long-range sensors picked up major chatter on the secure Klingon and Romulan frequencies just afterward.”

The admiral covered his mouth as he yawned and hoped the sound didn’t carry over the open channel. “All right,” he said. “What time is it now, Commander?”

“Just after 0438, sir.”

“Hrm. Cut new orders to the
Endeavour
. Have them divert and proceed to the drone’s last known coordinates at maximum warp.”

“Acknowledged. Dohan out.”
There was a soft click as the channel closed.

Collapsing back onto his bed, Nogura hoped this convoluted deception didn’t turn out to be a waste of time, or worse. If the enemy really believed it had destroyed the
Sagittarius,
then the Klingon and Romulan patrols in the sectors adjoining Vanguard might let up just enough for the real
Sagittarius
to be safely on its way to Eremar. But if the enemy knew that they’d just destroyed a drone, then every patrol ship in the Taurus Reach would be on high alert.

Let the lie live just a few hours longer,
he prayed,
that’s all I ask
.

Captain Droga considered the news his first officer had just given him and felt torn between jubilation and envy. To make sure his revels weren’t premature, he asked, “This is confirmed?”

“Yes, sir.” Tarpek pointed at the communications officer. “Magron showed me the message from High Command. The
Sagittarius
was destroyed fourteen hours ago by one of our Romulan allies, roughly fifty-nine light-years from our current position.”

Droga swiveled his chair on its elevated dais until he faced the weapons officer. “Rothgar! What’s been Starfleet’s response to the attack?”

The portly lieutenant looked over his shoulder at the captain. “The battle cruiser
Endeavour
has been diverted from its regular patrol route. It’s on a direct heading for the coordinates where the
Valkaya
reported the
Sagittarius
destroyed.”

“Glorious!” The broad-shouldered, hard-muscled captain stood and hopped down to the main deck beside his burn-and-shrapnel-scarred first officer. “Now we’re free to plunder the prey we’ve been tracking since last night.” He pointed to the slow, hulking vessel on the bridge’s main viewscreen. “Have we figured out what that is?”

Tarpek reached over to a command console and keyed in a few commands. A string of data appeared on the screen, superimposed over the image of the ship: registry, tonnage figures, and other technical gibberish Droga didn’t feel like making time to read. That was the job of the first officer, who reported, “The Federation freighter
Ephialtes
. Twenty-five crew and officers, maximum speed warp six. Primary function: colony support.”

Stroking his brown-and-gray-bearded chin, Droga could see with his own eyes that the vessel was unarmed and likely had only the most perfunctory shielding. “Is it carrying anything worth stealing?”

“Perhaps,” Tarpek said. “Our scans suggest it’s fully loaded with unrefined minerals.”

The captain nodded. “Probably bound for the refinery on Benecia.” He gave Tarpek’s shoulder a hard, fraternal slap. “Let’s make sure it never gets there. Are we set?”

“Yes, sir. The target is now fully inside the blind spot created by the qul’mIn star cluster, and there’s no indication its crew has detected our presence. The cloaking device appears to be working—for now.”

Droga understood the grievance implicit in Tarpek’s last remark. Their ship, the
I.K.S. vaQjoH,
was a Klingon bird-of-prey, so far the only class of ship that the Klingon Defense Force had
succeeded in equipping with the Romulan invention known as the cloaking device. Even aboard the
vaQjoH
and ships like her, however, the new technology was plagued by overloads, spontaneous failures, and other potentially disastrous malfunctions. As much as Droga enjoyed being able to creep up on his prey in deep space like a hunter stalking
targ
in the deep forest, he hated the unreliability of the new system and had serious doubts that it would ever really earn widespread acceptance by the great mass of Klingon warriors.
That’s a problem for future generations,
he decided as he climbed back into his command chair. Once he settled in, he pointed at the ship on the main screen. “Commander, seize that vessel. I want its cargo.”

“Yes, Captain.” Tarpek moved from station to station, handing out orders and back-slaps as he went. “Garthog, prepare to sweep in from their starboard side. Hold position at five hundred
qelIqam
s. Kopar, stand ready to drop the cloak, on my command. Rothgar, target their engines, but do not fire unless I give the order. We want to board this ship, not destroy it.” Returning to the captain’s side, he shouted, “Drop cloak and come to attack position!”

The bridge lights switched from a dull, ruddy background glow to a harsh white glare as the cloaking device disengaged and the ship’s crew switched into combat mode.

Garthog declared, “In position!”

The weapons officer added, “Torpedoes locked!”