Текст книги "Summon the Thunder"

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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“This place is…Shedai.”

Frowning, Jetanien shook his head. “I’m afraid I do not understand, Your Excellency. This place is taboo? Quarantined? Forbidden?”

“ From long ago,”Sesrene said, “ our people avoided this place. It is said the unspeakable occurred here. Of all places, this is where we are not to be.”

Lugok released a hearty laugh, one Jetanien recognized as derisive. “Folk tales,” he said. “Stories to frighten the meek and mewling. These Tholians truly are cowards.”

Jetanien, however, found himself listening with intent to Sesrene’s words. Could this supposed fable have a foundation in ancient fact? Might the ambassador’s seemingly ingrained fear of the Taurus Reach possess roots to a danger so dreadful and frightening as to leave an impression lasting millennia?

What if they fear whatever it is we’re looking for? What if the very builders of the artifacts– the originators of the meta-genome– have struck millennia of terror in the Tholian people?All of this is connected. It simply has to be.

It has to be.

An OriginalPublication of POCKET BOOKS

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For Michi and Michelle—this is what

we were doing all that time.

Really.

Watch ye therefore, for ye know not when

the master of the house cometh.

—The Gospel According to Mark,13:35

The Taurus Reach

2265

1

Commander Hirskene found that, try as he might, he could not stop pacing.

Lost in thought, he was oblivious of the ever-present sounds enveloping the command deck of the Tholian battle cruiser Aen’q Tholis,and all but ignored the activities of the subordinates working around him. The only thing he heard was the staccato echo of his six feet against the metal deck plating. He had been at this long enough that he now allowed the sounds to guide him back and forth across the command deck, counting off the steps before he reached either the forward or the rear bulkhead and was required to reverse his direction.

His unease refused to release him from its unyielding grasp, and he felt as though it might fracture him at any moment. The sensation had plagued him for the past several cycles, starting when he received his first orders from the Ruling Conclave on Tholia and intensifying as his ship made its way toward the destination specified by those orders.

The Shedai Sector, or as the Federation had taken to calling it, the Taurus Reach.

We have crossed the territorial boundary, Commander. The report, offered by his second, Yeskene, pushed across the SubLink and broke into Hirskene’s troubled reverie. Accelerating his movements across the deck plating, the younger officer almost was scampering in order to stay in step with his superior, while the sapphire hues that had warmed the local thoughtspace deepened as the subordinate made his report. I never would have believed that I might visit this place.

Indeed,Hirskene replied. Like his second and the rest of the ship’s complement, he too was traveling into the Shedai Sector for the first time. For as long as he could remember, this area of space was a place to be avoided. The reasons had been lost to the ages, of course, having fallen into a vast chasm of mystery that lay somewhere between truth and legend. All that remained were the stories, and Hirskene had lost count of how many times he had heard them throughout his life.

He did not doubt them now.

This anxiety he nursed was not his alone, of course. Hirskene could sense it in every member of the ship’s complement, even without having to commune through the Lattice. Still, were he to make use of the vast telepathic network which linked all his people, he surely would perceive the same trepidation being mirrored by every Tholian in the Ruling Conclave.

“Status report,” Hirskene said aloud, amber hues coursing through the SubLink as he moved toward the center of the command deck. “Are there any indications of other vessel activity?”

There was a momentary pause before the subordinate manning the sensor display console replied. “Negative, Commander. We are alone here.”

To its credit, Hirskene’s crew appeared to be allowing neither their own feelings nor the actions of their superior to distract them from their duties. All around the command deck, members of the lower echelons—menials who served as conscripted crew aboard Tholian military vessels—kept their attention on their consoles and monitored the current status of every shipboard system as well as the area of space through which the Aen’q Tholiscurrently traveled. While his position as commander and a member of the Leadership Conclave saw to it that he never would carry out such proletarian and yet necessary work, Hirskene was in fact envious of the subordinates in his charge.

At least they have something with which to occupy their time, and their thoughts.

He had known for many cycles that this day would come. Once the Ruling Conclave had begun reporting incursions into the Shedai Sector by forces of the Klingon Empire and the Federation, Hirskene had realized it would be only a matter of time before Tholian vessels were diverted from their regular missions to deal with this rapidly unfolding situation. What he had found disconcerting was that it had taken so long for the supreme leaders of the Political Castemoot to act.

The Federation’s foray into the region had happened seemingly without warning, followed by notifications of more recent, pronounced incursions into the area by more of its ilk. Of course, it was the latter occasions that had brought the most concern. As part of this series of overt actions, the humans and their allies had established a permanent presence in the sector. A mammoth space station, its size surpassing even the largest deep-space outposts of the Tholian military, now stood watch over Federation activities in the region.

And what was the nature of those activities?

Even before the advent of the space station, Federation vessels had been dispatched throughout the sector. Long-range sensor telemetry as well as reports from civilian merchant ships traveling within the region offered accounts of colonies and smaller settlements taking root on a host of worlds. If the information Hirskene had reviewed about the Federation’s supposed primary interests were true, then their motivation to extend the boundaries of their territory rivaled even that of the Assembly.

Though a young organization, the Federation was composed of species from numerous planets, most notably the Vulcans, who had been journeying across space for uncounted generations. Still, one of their prominent member worlds, the inhabitants of which called themselves “humans,” had in addition to their proclivity for expansion displayed an unnatural desire for making peaceful contact with anyone they might encounter during their travels. Since leaving the confines of their home planet, the humans had introduced themselves to a number of other spacefaring races, some of whom had proven to be enthusiastic about the overture.

The Assembly, of course, was not so welcoming.

While stories of Tholian exploration of the galaxy dated back to the earliest recorded history, Hirskene, like most of his brethren, always had harbored an intrinsic distrust of the aliens with whom he had been forced to interact. For the most part, the Assembly’s territorial annexing of neighboring star systems was a one-way proposition. The system being annexed usually became a servile province. Bipedal species in particular—races physiologically similar to humans, Vulcans, and other Federation members—had proven quite useful in the lesser echelons, though naturally they remained subservient to even the lowest-ranking members of Tholian society.

That did not mean Hirskene had to be content with their presence.

And so it was with the humans and their compatriots. Encounters with them had been infrequent since that initial contact, but each instance had been only a stark reminder of why they were to be avoided. Their aggressive movements into space—areas farther away from their homeworld and ever closer to territory claimed by the Assembly—had caused no small amount of unease. So far as the Ruling Conclave was concerned, the Federation was not to be trusted, particularly now. Something had attracted the humans and their allies to this part of space, something that necessitated abandoning their customary methods of expansion in favor of a more aggressive strategy. What had brought them here with such speed and fervor?

Hirskene suspected it had something to do with the mysterious phenomenon that had afflicted him—and every known Tholian—several cycles ago. Everyone had been gripped by an almost identical fear: a primordial sensation that coursed through the Lattice and forced its way into their minds, to the very core of their beings. This thought-pulse, while defying identification or explanation, led all who had experienced it to the same conclusions. The pulse originated somewhere in the Shedai Sector, and it must be destroyed.

How the Federation factored into that, Hirskene did not know. Perhaps their very incursion into this remote, mysterious region had prompted this violation of the Lattice? That might explain the sense of anger experienced by Hirskene and other Tholians linked within the Lattice at that dreadful moment, one that lingered long after the thought-pulse itself had faded. If that was the case, then the Federation’s continued presence in the sector—to say nothing of their ongoing efforts to push farther into the area—surely would continue to provoke whatever it was that had been…

… awakened.

Until this very moment, Hirskene had never considered the incident in just that way—but the notion now made perfect sense to him. The presence that had forced itself upon the Lattice and encroached upon his people’s most sacrosanct form of harmonious unity now felt to him as though it were a slumbering giant, one roused insolently from its sleep by the thoughtless, arrogant actions of those who knew not what they violated. And now, the giant sought restitution for this trespass, a demand it would not allow to be denied.

A reckoning, Hirskene feared, was at hand.

Even if the Federation is the cause,Yeskene reminded him, they are but one problem.His second-in-command and most trusted friend of course referred to the other party that had expressed an unabashed interest in the Shedai Sector: the Klingons.

Having decided that the Federation’s interest in the region must have something to do with acquiring an advantage in the ongoing political and military stalemate that currently existed between the two powers, the Klingon Empire had wasted no time dispatching ships of its own. From what Hirskene knew of Klingon practices when it came to usurping other planets, their tenacity rivaled even that of the Assembly. Those caught up in such action would find life to be unpleasant at best.

There already had been a few minor skirmishes with the Klingons as Tholian forces were dispatched into the region in a bid to counter the empire’s stratagem. Were the Ruling Conclave to decide that more overt action was necessary to stave off the aggressions of both the Federation and the Klingons—or even to undertake a bold, concerted effort to drive both parties out of the Shedai Sector—the only outcome Hirskene could foresee involved war with both powers.

If such challenges do await us,he wondered, can we truly be victorious?

“Commander,” Hirskene heard, the interrogative wrapped in stark scarlet as Yeskene allowed his concern to be discerned. Only then did Hirskene realize that he had been so lost in thought that he had failed to comprehend that it was the third such time his second had called to him.

Feeling Yeskene’s concern spreading among those subordinates who had turned from their stations to look upon him, Hirskene turned his full attention to his second. “What is it?”

“The sensors, Commander,” Yeskene replied, the bright red colors currently permeating the SubLink deepening in hue as his rearmost right leg tapped absently on the deck plating while he spoke. “They are detecting an unidentified energy surge.” The tapping was an unconscious habit of his, one that Yeskene displayed during times of uncertainty but that disappeared whenever a situation worsened. Hirskene had learned to accept the nervous tic as a barometer of whatever circumstances he and his crew might find themselves facing. Hearing it was usually a sign that something unexplained might be happening, but nothing inherently dangerous.

“What is the source?” Hirskene demanded as he turned back to the subordinate operating the sensor console.

“Unknown,” the menial replied, maintaining his watch over the computer-generated graphic displays floating in the air before him. “All I am able to determine is that it is not coming from inside the ship. It is an external phenomenon.”

“Are you able to localize it?” Yeskene asked, his six legs skittering across the deck to bring him alongside Hirskene.

The subordinate nodded. “I am attempting to do so now.” The two, long fingers of his uppermost left extremity played across his console’s smooth, translucent interface panel, each tap of a control slightly altering the array of sensor displays hovering over his head. “At first, I considered the possibility that the system might be experiencing a malfunction,” the menial said, “but such is not the case. All internal and external sensors are operating within nominal parameters.”

Hirskene nodded, pleased with the subordinate’s initiative. It was yet another example of Yeskene’s exceptional training and disciplinary regimen. He did not need to offer the menial any further instructions on how to proceed; the worker already was carrying out the proper protocols with exemplary proficiency.

“I believe I have pinpointed the source of the anomaly, Commander,” he said. “It is almost directly aft, maintaining a steady distance.”

Alarm flashed through Hirskene’s mind even as his training and years of experience automatically suggested the next steps. Defensive status,he ordered through the SubLink. Arm weapons and raise shields. Pilot, bring us about. There was a chorus of acknowledgments as his subordinates moved to carry out the orders, and Hirskene could sense the heightening tension as their anxiety permeated the Lattice and applied a deep crimson tinge to the thoughtspace he immediately occupied.

Ignoring the sensations, he turned to the menial at the sensor console. Let us see it,he projected, and then looked at the command deck’s largest display monitor, situated on the room’s forward wall. Transfer sensor data to central observation.

The first thing he saw once the image shifted from that of a static starfield was…another static starfield. For all intents and purposes, the picture had changed not at all.

Where is it?he asked, feeling only the first hints of his impatience coursing through the Lattice and beginning to assert themselves as he turned from the monitor. I do not see anything.

According to the sensors,the subordinate replied, it should be centered on the screen.

There,Yeskene said suddenly, pointing to the display. Do you see it?

Looking back to the monitor, Hirskene at first saw that nothing appeared different, but then his eyes caught sight of…something.

A shape was coalescing, its form gaining substance with each passing moment. A vessel, though it was like nothing Hirskene had ever seen. Flat and compact, the craft appeared to be of simple construction. Its main hull appeared to be composed of gray metal, with no identifiable markings. What could only be engine nacelles angled away from the hull, giving the entire vessel an up-swept appearance as it moved through space.

Even as he felt harsh red waves ripple through the SubLink and the alert tone echo across the command deck, Hirskene realized that the ship which had materialized from nothingness was heading directly for the Aen’q Tholis.

2

“Cloaking device disengaged, Commander,” the voice of the weapons officer echoed across the Bloodied Talon’s cramped bridge. “Weapons armed and ready to fire.”

Commander Sarith did not need to hear the report, knowing that the subtle increase in the intensity of the bridge’s violet-hued lighting signaled the deactivation of the cloaking system and the halting of its formidable demands on the ship’s main power systems. Likewise, the telltale computer tone beeping at Centurion N’tovek’s weapons station told her that the vessel’s armaments were prepared for her next command.

In truth, given how sophisticated the automated defensive systems were aboard this vessel—one of the newest in the Romulan military arsenal—she truly had no need for the centurion at all.

Well, he does have one particular useful talent,she reminded herself as she glanced to where N’tovek stood at his post, garbed in the crisp gray tunic and trousers of a Romulan centurion, his head all but obscured by his polished gold helmet. Occupying one of the four stations that formed the central control hub at the center of the Talon’s cramped bridge, for once he actually appeared to be concentrating on the matter at hand.

If he ever learns to approach his duties with the same enthusiasm he demonstrates in other areas, he may one day become an acceptable, if not noteworthy, officer.

Forcing the errant thought away, Sarith took a final look at the lone Tholian battle cruiser on the screen. With its communications already jammed thanks to interference generated by the Talon’s tactical countermeasures, there was no way the vessel’s commander would be able to summon help. Sensor data had revealed that even at its maximum speed, the Tholian ship could not escape. Their only choice was to make a defensive stand, which sensors led Sarith to conclude would be laughable, at least against the state-of-the-art weapons currently under her command.

Perhaps they’ll make a fight of it, anyway,she hoped. If nothing else, it will alleviate my boredom for a time.

“The Tholian vessel has raised its defensive screens and is arming weapons,” N’tovek reported, his attention still focused on his tactical displays. “Shall I commence firing, Commander?”

Rational thought won out over her misplaced pride and potential overconfidence. While sensors suggested the Tholian vessel itself was no match for the Bloodied Talon,they could not rule out the ingenuity and simple guile of its commander. Better to dispense with this matter now and leave nothing to chance, Sarith decided.

“Fire.”

N’tovek wasted no time, his fingers moving over the weapons station’s firing controls before the echo of her command faded from the bridge. Moving to the station immediately to the centurion’s left, she peered into the viewfinder in time to see the twin bursts of crackling yellow disruptor energy lance across the void at the same instant the overhead lighting flickered in response to the weapons’ power draw.

The bolts closed the distance to the Tholian battle cruiser in an instant, impacting on its shields, causing them to flare in violent response to the attack. N’tovek fired again without waiting for the order, and this time the assault pierced the cruiser’s defensive screens. In the viewfinder, Sarith watched as plumes of freezing gases escaped from holes punched through the ship’s hull. The vessel banked to its right, attempting to evade further salvos, but N’tovek already was plotting new firing coordinates.

“Their main engines are offline,” reported Darjil, the centurion to N’tovek’s right, whose own face was bathed in gentle blue light from his station’s viewfinder. “Sensor readings also show a loss of primary life support.”

Never even a chance to fight back,she mused. A pity.

“Finish it,” Sarith said, her voice offering no trace of emotion as she gave the order. The sooner this business was concluded, the better.

With equal detachment, she watched as the Talon’s targeting scanners locked on to the Tholian vessel before the ship’s weapons unleashed another burst of disrupting fury, which enveloped the retreating battle cruiser in a halo of undulating golden energy. Even at this distance, she could discern easily the separation of hull plates as the Tholian ship came apart. Explosions and fires from within the vessel snuffed out the instant their own raging chaos came into contact with the airless void surrounding the ship. Those parts of the cruiser that were not disintegrated quickly collapsed into a cloud of debris that began to expand in all directions—paltry evidence that a ship had ever existed there.

“Powering down weapons,” N’tovek reported.

“Lay in a course away from here,” Sarith ordered as she began to pace the perimeter of the utilitarian bridge. “They may have managed to dispatch a call for assistance.”

Looking up from his station, Darjil said, “Commander, our countermeasures to scramble their transmissions were active throughout the encounter. I detected an attempt to dispatch a subspace message, but it was dispersed. There was nothing for anyone to receive.”

“It seems that someone hasn’t read the intelligence briefings on the Tholians,” a voice said from behind Sarith, and she turned to see her second-in-command, Subcommander Ineti, entering the bridge from the service corridor. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, warming his cragged, angular features. “Or the very least, the material appended to those briefings by the senate’s liaison from the Medical Division has been overlooked, specifically the information pertaining to the Tholians’ formidable telepathic abilities.”

Despite a paternal, almost mentoring tone that was a perfect accompaniment to his aged countenance, there still was no mistaking the rebuke in Ineti’s voice.

“I apologize for my oversight, Subcommander,” Darjil reported as he snapped to attention. “There was much information to review, and I felt it prudent to concentrate on the military aspects of the vessels we were likely to encounter during this mission.”

Sarith suppressed a smile as the centurion delivered his weak attempt at an explanation. Despite this being his second long-term assignment aboard the Bloodied Talon,Darjil still had not yet learned that the best response to Ineti’s frequent observations on how the crew might go about improving themselves was simply to acknowledge the proffered recommendations and commence acting on them as soon as possible.

“Considering the tasks the Praetor has given to us,” Ineti replied, crossing his arms as he commenced a leisurely circuit of the bridge, “I commend you on your sense of priorities. However, if I may be so bold, Centurion, perhaps upon the conclusion of your current duty shift, rather than spending your time and your funds engaged in games of chance with the misguided hopes of increasing your meager wealth, you might instead attempt to extend your knowledge of the Tholians into areas that do not directly pertain to their military capabilities. After all, an enemy can pose a threat in many ways that do not relate to their ability to brandish a weapon. Would you not agree?”

It was the executive officer’s habit never to raise his voice or vary his inflections even to the smallest degree when addressing perceived deficiencies in his subordinates. Not that it mattered, because only a fool would mistake the subcommander’s suggestions as anything less than an ironclad directive that he expected to be followed without hesitation or stipulation.

“Absolutely, Subcommander,” Darjil replied, an unmistakable tremor now evident in the junior officer’s voice as he stood ramrod straight and stared straight ahead—even when Ineti came to a stop and leaned forward until his face was less than a finger’s length from Darjil’s right ear.

“Learn everything that you can about your enemy, Centurion, and not just those aspects which dovetail with your chosen area of expertise. Only then can you hope to truly be victorious. Now, return to your station.”

Not even bothering to wait for an acknowledgment of his order before turning away from the control hub, Ineti stepped closer to Sarith, waiting until he was out of the line of sight of any of the centurions manning the bridge’s stations before allowing a wolfish smile to grace his wizened features.

“Youthful exuberance,” he said in a low voice. “So much energy, so little focus. Was I ever like that, I wonder?”

“I don’t believe our historical records chronicle events that far in the past,” Sarith retorted as she turned from the bridge’s main deck and moved toward the small alcove that served as both her station in the ship’s command center and her office. Its dominant feature was a simple desk, fashioned from the same metal as the deck plating and jutting out from the bulkhead. Atop it sat a computer terminal and a control pad, which allowed her access to the ship’s communications system. A pair of functional chairs, bolted to the deck and the only two to be found in the already cramped control room, completed her station’s furnishings. While it was not nearly as lavish as the private chambers allotted to the commanders of larger vessels, the alcove adequately served Sarith’s purposes.

Taking the chair positioned on the outer edge of the alcove, Ineti offered a knowing grin as he settled himself. “So, another glorious victory for the Praetor, yes?”

Sarith looked about the bridge, wondering whether any of the bridge crew had overheard him. Thankfully, the omnipresent thrum of the Talon’s engines had muffled his voice, preventing it from carrying across the cramped chamber. “I wish you would learn to be more…guarded with some of your observations, Ineti,” she said. “It would better serve you in your quest to end your career on a positive note.”

“I’m afraid it’s more than a bit late for me to make such a fundamental alteration in my admittedly flawed approach to life, Commander,” Ineti replied. “Besides, it’s not as though I’ll ever be considered for a ship of my own. Such opportunities have long since traveled beyond my reach, I’m afraid.” Shrugging, he added, “As it happens, I’m content to ply my skills as a teacher, and to keep youout of trouble.”

Smiling in spite of herself, Sarith shook her head. In truth, she knew that Ineti was all but untouchable in the eyes of the Senate, Fleet Command, or even the empire’s intelligence bureau. His career, already long and distinguished even before she was born, had all but assured him a place of prominence not only in the halls of Romulan power but also in the annals of their history. A decorated veteran of numerous conflicts—including campaigns waged alongside her father during the war against the forces of Earth and its allies more than a century ago—Ineti could well have ascended to the Senate itself had he ever sought such prominence.

However, his propensity for speaking his mind—regardless of the subject or whoever might overhear—had soured him in the eyes of those who oversaw the advancement of officers into the higher echelons of military command and political office. While popular opinion prevented them from taking direct action against him, those individuals nevertheless found more surreptitious methods for making their displeasure known to him.

At least,Sarith thought with no small amount of amusement, that’s what Ineti chooses to let them believe. So far as she was concerned, the shortsightedness of certain narrow-minded cowards at Fleet Command was to her advantage, as it allowed her to continue benefiting from the aged warrior’s learned counsel.

“Keep me out of trouble?” she repeated after a moment. “If that were true, then where were you when the Tholian vessel detected us?”

“In the engine compartment, trying to learn how it was possible in the first place,” Ineti replied. “Apparently, the cloaking device’s energy dissipation rate is such that it can register on another vessel’s short-range sensors within a certain distance.”

Sarith nodded, considering her mentor’s report. “So, we approached too close to our enemy.”

“I believe that is what I said,” Ineti replied, mild amusement playing across his otherwise stoic expression. His features hardened, however, as he leaned across the narrow desk. “We were fortunate on this occasion that it was a single vessel that we easily outmatched. Such providence may not visit us next time, particularly if the Tholians were able to dispatch a distress call. We need to exercise more caution if we are to continue our mission undetected.”

“I would have preferred to avoid contact altogether,” Sarith said, leaning back in her chair and allowing her head to rest against the bulkhead behind her. Her standing orders to avoid detection at all costs made no other decision possible. “Unfortunately, the cloak’s power requirements tend to degrade the performance of other onboard systems.” In addition to its impact on the ship’s weapons and defensive systems, the cloaking device also compromised the sensors such that the only way to obtain decent telemetry was to approach objects of interest much more closely than normally would be required.