Текст книги "Summon the Thunder"

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

27

“Report!”

On the bridge of the imperial cruiser Zin’za,Captain Kutal snarled the order, shouting to be heard over the dull drone of the alert klaxon. Gripping the armrests of his chair with his massive hands, he felt the deck still heaving beneath his heavy boots as his helmsman fought to bring the ship back under some semblance of control.

Over his right shoulder, sparks erupted from the communications console, sending the officer manning that station stumbling backward with his arms thrown up to protect his face. Acrid smoke tinged the already warm air, and the taste of burned insulation and wiring coated his tongue. All around him, consoles blinked and flickered in concert with the compromised overhead lighting, telling Kutal that the ship’s main power systems were suffering in the wake of the massive, unexpected attack on his vessel.

“It is a planet-based weapons system!” was the shouted report from his tactical officer, Lieutenant Tonar. “The attack was launched from four of the locations where we detected the unexplained power readings.”

Of course. Kutal cursed his lack of foresight as he studied the green-brown ball that was the lush world of Palgrenax, rotating before him on the bridge’s main viewscreen. Tonar had first detected power sources coming online from sixteen separate locations on the planet’s largest continent—each of them situated far beneath the surface—less than a kilaanbefore. Each of the locations appeared to be receiving its power via geothermal vents carved from the bowels of the planet and channeled to what Tonar had identified as massive generation and distribution venues. The technology was unlike anything on record, and estimates of the equipment’s age placed it as being older than most explored civilizations in this quadrant of the explored galaxy.

And yet, it works,Kutal mused. It was not lost on him that at least seven of the locations corresponded to sites that Dr. Terath determined featured examples of the ancient structures and technology which had so drawn her interest.

“The energy discharged from those locations combined into one beam for a single strike,” Tonar continued. “If our shields had been down, we might be crippled now.”

And those other twelve power readings might be weapons stations, as well.

“Move the ship to a higher orbit,” Kutal ordered his helmsman. “Route power from nonessential systems to the shields.” He knew he did not have to elaborate as he spoke the words. The Zin’za’s chief engineer would take the directive at face value, channeling energy from every shipboard system save weapons—including life-support—to strengthen the vessel’s defenses. Of Tonar, he asked, “What about those other sites? Are they a danger?”

His large hands playing over the tactical console that seemed too small to accommodate his oversized, muscled physique, Tonar consulted an array of status monitors. “I do not believe so, Captain. They are not showing power readings on the same scale as the locations which combined to attack us. However, the original four sites appear to be cycling through their earlier power levels and internal temperatures are rising.” Turning to Kutal, he added, “They may be preparing to fire again.”

Kutal shook his head in mounting anger. “What has Morqla released from the depths of that cursed rock?”

The governor’s harried, fragmented report had offered little in the way of useful information. At first confronted by the brazen, if ultimately futile, series of raids and disruptions set into motion by segments of the planet’s native inhabitants, Morqla and his garrison apparently had been forced to direct their efforts and focus to a new, more powerful threat, with numbers of his warriors facing off against mysterious humanoid figures that seemed more like wraiths or apparitions than physical beings. More surprising to Kutal even than this outlandish account were the claims that Morqla’s troops were being bested by a mere handful of these creatures, with the unknown assailants taking on and killing dozens of Klingon soldiers.

The very notion is as obscene as it is absurd. Kutal felt his jaw clench and his jagged teeth grind in frustration as the thought coalesced, knowing even as it did so that his brusque dismissal of the notion was incorrect. Morqla, despite his many flaws, was not given to flights of fancy or irrationality. His report, coupled with the happenings beneath the planet’s surface and the attack on the Zin’za,told Kutal everything he needed to know about just how serious the situation was in danger of becoming.

“Damage reports are coming in now, Captain,” said Lieutenant Kreq, his communications officer, who had taken the initiative to transfer the functions of his regular station to one of the smaller, backup consoles at the back of the bridge. “There is a coolant leak in weapons control, and engineering reports that antimatter containment has been weakened. He may have to take the warp engines offline.”

Kutal growled in dissatisfaction, shaking his head in disgust as he considered the idiot currently serving as the Zin’za’s chief engineer. “Tell him if he does that, I’ll personally see to it that he’s ground up and fed to the jeghpu’wI’on the planet.” Had the fool never seen combat? To even suggest that the ship deliberately be deprived of its primary power systems at such a time was ignorance at best, and treasonous at worst.

He made a note to execute the engineer at the earliest possible opportunity. For now, there were other matters to consider.

“So, it seems this planet has more to offer than even the High Command first realized,” Kutal said to no one in particular as the annoying, wailing alarm finally was silenced. Illumination on the bridge was now a deep red in keeping with the ship’s heightened alert level, and a quick glance to the tactical station along the left bulkhead told him that the Zin’za’s deflector shields were still up, though their strength had been weakened by the unexpected attack from the planet’s surface.

Naturally, he should have suspected something untoward the moment Tonar reported weapons fire coming from the settlement where Governor Morqla had elected to establish headquarters for his planetary occupation. The activation of the power source—located beneath the same village where Dr. Terath had been concentrating her research since her arrival—seemed to be an additional warning he should have heeded.

Hindsight is a crutch for politicians,he reminded himself, and warriors unable to adapt to the flow of battle.

Turning to his tactical officer, Kutal said, “Target those locations and stand by weapons.” His brow furrowing, he added, “Was one of the sites beneath Morqla’s headquarters?”

The tactical officer shook his head, the gesture causing his long, wild hair to twist about his broad shoulders. “No, Captain.”

“A pity,” Kutal replied. He possessed little respect for the governor, Terath, or any of her ilk. It might have been nice to eliminate two problems with a single strike. “What caused those power generations? Was it Terath?”

“Unknown,” Tonar replied. “I’m not able to establish contact with the research team or Governor Morqla.”

It had been several moments since the initial reports of disruptor fire from the surface, and Tonar had reported sensor indications of fires emanating from structures from six different settlements scattered throughout the region where Morqla had centered his occupation. From high above the planet, the scenario appeared easy to describe: The natives of Palgrenax had become discontent with their roles as servants to the empire, and finally had summoned the courage to do something about it.

Kutal respected the Palgrenai’s bravery and apparent resolve to stand up to a superior foe and do their best to drive their oppressors from their home, even though the cold reality was that their efforts ultimately would prove pitiful and fruitless. Still, he thought, it might have at least been invigorating to be on the planet’s surface right now, participating in the quelling of the uprising.

Not that he lacked his own matters to deal with at present, of course.

His attention was drawn to a series of tones emanating from the tactical station, and he turned to see Tonar looking at him. “Captain, our sensors are registering a low-level communications signal being transmitted between the different underground sites, as well as to whoever is attacking our forces on the ground. It’s a scrambled signal, employing an encryption scheme I have never seen before.”

“Can the transmissions be jammed?” Kutal asked.

Tonar shook his head. “I have already tried, sir, but there is no effect.”

Impressive technology,the Zin’za’s captain ceded, particularly given that by all accounts the responsible civilization had been dead for uncounted millennia. “If we cannot squelch it, then we shall remove it altogether. Target the source of those transmissions.” Nodding in satisfaction at his own plan, Kutal swiveled his chair back around so that he faced the bridge’s main viewer once more. “Helmsman, prepare to alter course. Tactical, stand by for orbital bombardment.”

Behind him, he heard Tonar enter several series of commands before announcing, “Targets plotted, Captain.”

Whatever had deigned to attack soldiers of the Klingon Empire—to say nothing of one of the emperor’s finest battle cruisers—Kutal vowed to demonstrate the foolhardiness of that ill-informed choice.

Pain!

Though not unexpected as they were during the first assault, the all-encompassing waves of agony washed yet again over the Shedai Wanderer as a second of her Sentinels succumbed to the irrepressible power of weapons the Telinaruulhad brought to bear. The energy from that initial attack had taken her by surprise; so unprepared was she for such an aggressive defense that she nearly failed to sever her connection to the overwhelmed Sentinel.

As it was, only frantic last-instant action had enabled her to withdraw the tendrils extending from her mind and pull them back to the safety of the Conduit. Ensconced within the depths of what had once been a proud monument to her civilization’s technological prowess and the alacrity with which they had employed that knowledge to rule this entire region of space, the Wanderer registered the torment exacted upon the guardians she had sent forth as though the wounds were being inflicted on herself. So painstaking in detail and precision was the connection she shared with her servants that every sense was as if experienced firsthand. From the warm breeze that failed to cool her, to the bright lights being shone upon her as her opponents attacked from the predawn shadows, to the shock of tortured nerve endings reacting to the particle beams being directed at those she commanded, the Wanderer was immersed in all of these sensations as though it were her standing on the surface.

And along with the pain came another sensation for which the Wanderer had received no preparation: fear. Never before in her lifetime—before the uncounted generations that had passed since she had first yielded to the long, cold sleep—had she experienced such trepidation, and never when facing lesser beings such as those the Shedai once had ruled.

Refocusing her attention on the third of six Sentinels she had dispatched to disparate locations across the surface of the world above, the Wanderer once again felt the energy of life coursing through her consciousness as she directed the guardian’s movements. She sensed yet ignored the impacts of the energy weapons the lesser beings carried, their personal weapons too small and inconsequential to inflict any significant damage to the body she wore. Gravity weighed against it as she directed it to face approaching attackers, and she relished the feel of its stoneglass arms slicing through fragile flesh and bone. So sensitive were the receptors formed into the shell’s bioconstruct that the Wanderer even felt the warmth and moisture of Telinaruulblood as it splashed across the Sentinel’s face.

Upon first dispatching the team of guardians, she had likened her opponents to those she had encountered on the ice-bound planet from which she had come. They certainly were larger, stronger, and even more aggressive than those she had fought on that world, something she had taken into account when choosing to deploy more than one Sentinel on this occasion.

She initially considered that she might have overcompensated as the first of the Sentinels engaged the Telinaruulon the planet’s surface. Despite their heightened ferocity—something the Wanderer actually had found refreshing—her opponents initially had proven to be little more than the bothersome pests she previously had encountered. As before, the Sentinel now at her command rebuffed the brave yet pitiful attempts at attack, pushing through the Telinaruulwith the ease of water flowing over rocks in a stream.

Similar scenes were playing out in much the same fashion with the other three Sentinels that shared her consciousness. More of the opponents were coming to the individual battles now, showing none of the fear of those she had encountered on the barren, glaciated planet. If anything, losing comrades in battle seemed to be having the opposite effect, spurring them on to even greater hostility and fury. Likewise, this heightened emotional response did not seem to detract from their tactics or sense of awareness while doing battle. Indeed, even as her Sentinels cut down and slaughtered a growing number of their brethren, the Wanderer surmised that this species of lesser life-form appeared to thrive on the chaos and intensity of combat.

They are a proud people. It is a pity that they must be destroyed, but their meddling cannot be tolerated.

She already had killed those Telinaruulwhom she found skulking within the winding corridors of the subterranean complex that housed the Conduit anchor point’s power-generation and support structures. Those beings had provided nothing in the way of a challenge, certainly nothing like she was experiencing on the surface. It was those engagements that now were giving her cause for concern as, for the first time since unleashing her cadre of guardians to the surface, the Wanderer was feeling the initial pull of fatigue. The demands of directing the Sentinels when coupled with her need to oversee the global defense network as it dealt with the vessel in orbit above the planet were causing a pronounced strain—one the likes of which she had not been required to endure for unknown generations. If the splintered, protracted battles continued, the notion of her opponents gaining a decisive advantage moved from dim hope to potential threat.

She felt another barrage of weapons fire—channeled from another of the Sentinels through the Conduit to her own stressed consciousness as the Telinaruulbegan their assault anew—and directed the guardian to retaliate. Her opponents were so close now that olfactory senses relayed the pungent stench of unwashed bodies and foul breath consistent with a carnivorous diet. One of them released a loud, fierce cry of anger as it and a companion lunged forward, each brandishing a large edged weapon with a curved blade.

The Wanderer was able to admire the attackers’ skill as they employed the implements in an almost choreographed series of maneuvers no doubt designed not only to intimidate an enemy but also to celebrate a culture that had long ago embraced ritualized aspects of the combat arts. She could admire such devotion, as the Shedai had long fancied themselves accomplished practitioners of similar martial disciplines. Further, it was that appreciation which allowed her to more quickly and easily detect her oncoming opponents’ weaknesses and more appropriately adjust her counterattack.

Her fatigue was greater than she had first surmised, however. It was only as the larger, mobile energy weapon—one similar to those already deployed against her other Sentinels—had finished moving into position that the Wanderer took notice of it. By then it was too late and she felt her entire consciousness gripped in a torrent of shock and pain as the weapon was unleashed on the Sentinel. The connection she shared with the servant body fluctuated and threatened to dissolve altogether, carrying with it the very real risk of leaving her essence trapped within the guardian’s mortal shell and at the mercy of the mighty weapon as it fired once more.

Sensing yet another loss, the Wanderer had no choice but to withdraw from the Sentinel, recalling that part of herself back to the Conduit just as her servant body surrendered to the barrage of energy enveloping it. She felt the last vestiges of its life consumed by the weapon’s ferocious power even as she struggled to refocus her flagging strength between the three remaining Sentinels and the needs of the global network she was trying to direct.

It was foolish to have overextended herself in this manner, she realized, though there was nothing to be done about correcting her flawed decision, particularly now as the defense system’s orbital sensor web informed her that the Telinaruulship in orbit was repositioning itself for what probability algorithms described as an attack profile.

From deep within her own being, the Wanderer saw the scene as if floating in space before the enemy vessel, watching as its weapons ports spouted a series of blazing crimson plumes. Eight elongated spheres of packaged energy raced away from the ship and plummeted toward the planet below, accelerating and superheating as they entered the atmosphere. She watched as they divided into pairs before separating, four double contrails cutting swaths through the still-dark sky and the dense cloud cover.

The first vicious jolt came moments later. Alarm indicators streamed through the Conduit to her, reaching out from points within the planet’s global information network. Immediately she felt the loss of connection to one of the defense system’s vital hubs, then sensed the decline in her control over the rest of the system. The sensation was repeated twice more in rapid succession as more of the ship’s torpedoes found their intended targets and detonated, laying waste to yet more support facilities.

When the fourth volley struck, the Wanderer had no choice but to withdraw from the defense system, leaving it behind in a desperate attempt to preserve herself. Even as she redirected her consciousness to other areas of the thoughtspace, she felt the demise of the protective network, collapsing in on itself as the physical structures and equipment that supported it fell victim to the barrage of fire raining down from space.

Struggling to retain some semblance of focus on what little of this world’s Conduit anchor point remained, she observed that only a few of the key systems were available to her. Even her access to her remaining Sentinels had been compromised, her essence now feeling the effects of their disconnection from the Conduit and thusly vulnerable to her aggressors’ weapons. She could do nothing about that now, just as she was unable to manufacture and deploy replacements for those guardians which already had been lost. Those areas of the thoughtspace remained unavailable to her, and reestablishing an interface to those channels would take far more time than she believed remained to her.

Once again, the Wanderer felt fear at the realization that she was on the brink of being overcome by these Telinaruul. All the Shedai held dear on this world, everything for which they had prepared as part of her people’s vision to return to power, might be at stake if left in the hands of these savage interlopers.

Only one option remains.

28

With each strike of the Zin’za’s torpedoes, Kutal released a deep, wolfish laugh of unrestrained satisfaction.

“Continue bombardment!” he shouted to Tonar. “I want every one of those sites reduced to burning cinders.” A tactical overlay displayed on the main viewer showed him the current assessment of the orbital attack’s effectiveness, and he nodded in approval at what he saw. Of the sixteen sites determined to house active power sources which had come online as of their own accord, six of them had apparently been destroyed thanks to Tonar’s skilled marksmanship.

Whatever the ancient planetary defense system possessed in raw power, it seemed obvious to Kutal that it appeared to be lacking in something as basic as a means of protecting itself from attack. Perhaps the original designers had believed their offensive capabilities to be so superior as to nullify the ability of an enemy to counterattack. While Kutal could grasp and even admire such audacity, there was a fine line to be drawn between confidence and foolhardiness, and it appeared this world’s long-departed original inhabitants had chosen to travel on that divider’s wrong side.

Such are the fortunes of battle.

Kutal knew he was taking a risk by releasing the full fury of his vessel’s armaments, given the apparent importance the High Council placed on the plethora of ancient structures and artifacts littering the planet, which presumably also would include any weapons technology that might be hidden down there. Still, whoever or whatever now commanded the weaponry being used against his ship as well as the garrison on the surface could not be allowed to escape punishment for their actions. Those on the planet below, or by extension beings native to the Gonmog Sector and unfamiliar with the political realities of neighboring regions, would learn at Kutal’s hand the imprudence of daring to challenge the Klingon Empire.

It’s long past time we announced our presence in this sector with due authority.

“Adjusting orbit to bring us in line with the next set of targets, sir,” Kutal heard his helm officer report, and on the viewer he noted the angle of Palgrenax shift as the Zin’zamodified its position over the planet. The tactical overlay highlighted sites that already had fallen victim to the battle cruiser’s weapons; bright red circles were superimposed on the computer-generated map of the world’s natural topography.

“Sensors are continuing to register subterranean power sources,” Tonar called out. The tactical officer turned from his console to regard Kutal. “It appears there are redundant systems which are coming online to compensate for the primary targets we’re destroying.”

His brow furrowing as he rubbed his chin, Kutal nodded at the report. “Perhaps those original designers were not so shortsighted, after all. Factor the new targets into your firing scheme and relay revised coordinates to the helm.” To Lieutenant Kreq at the communications station, he asked, “Any contact with Morqla or the garrison?”

Kreq replied, “I’m unable to reach the governor, Captain, but I am continuing to get scattered reports from other officers on the ground. The battles continue, both with jeghpu’wI’as well as the new enemy. There are accounts of many casualties, though no reliable estimates as of yet.”

The report did nothing to assuage Kutal’s growing concerns. What was going on down there? Where had the strange attackers on the surface come from? Did they live underground, somehow shielded from the scrutiny of his vessel’s powerful sensors? Had they arrived from elsewhere, perhaps in another ship he somehow had failed to detect? Who controlled the mammoth network of weapons which had been deployed against his own ship? What other capabilities did they possess?

Swearing a particularly vile oath under his breath, Kutal rose from his chair and stalked toward the front of the bridge until he stood before the main viewscreen. He crossed his arms and watched as the Zin’za’s orbit shifted to align with the next targets called for by Tonar’s bombardment plan. The area of the planet now visible to him was still shrouded in darkness and dominated by dense cloud cover, preventing him from seeing the outlines of the continents or even those areas that now burned in the aftermath of orbital attack. His inability to see his targets only deepened the mystery surrounding the odd battle he now waged.

“New targets selected,” Kutal heard Tonar say from behind him. “All weapons are ready. I await your…”

When the rest of the customary report did not come, Kutal turned away from the viewer and saw the tactical officer hunched over his console, his face bathed in warm yellow as he peered with intense scrutiny at one of the sensor display monitors.

“Massive spikes in power readings are being detected across the planet,” Tonar finally said. “Geothermal activity is rising rapidly.”

“Helm, break orbit,” Kutal said, feeling the hair on the back of his muscled neck stand up as he considered the report. “Prepare for evasive maneuvering.” If their faceless enemy was preparing to unleash yet another weapon against his ship, he wanted to be ready.

Then Tonar whirled away from the tactical station, his eyes wide with terror. “Captain, the planet! We need to move away from it! Now!”

Frowning, Kutal turned back toward the viewer, muscles tensing in anticipation of a renewed attack from the surface. “What?”

Despite himself, the captain felt his mouth fall open in mute shock.

The rim of the planet seemed to glow as the blanket of clouds shrouding his view of the world below began to burn away before his eyes. Was it his imagination, or was he able to discern cracks in the very continents themselves, easily visible even from his vantage point thousands of qelI’qamsoverhead? Highlighted in bright orange as magma from deep within the planet’s crust was forced to the surface, the fractures appeared to widen and multiply with every passing heartbeat.

“What in the name of Kahless is this?” Kutal asked, though of course he expected no one on the bridge to answer. Whatever was causing the horrific scene before him, common sense told him that it could not possibly be a natural phenomenon. No indications of problems beneath the surface had been detected on any previous sensor scan. The only explanation for what he was seeing—as startling as it was to contemplate—was that it was the result of a deliberate act. Who or what could possess such power?

Ask your questions later!The mental rebuke stung with the force of a physical blow. Assuming you survive!

“Get us out of here!” Kutal shouted, pointing to his helm officer even as he pivoted on his heel and lunged for his chair at the center of the bridge. “Full impulse power!” Slamming his fist down on the arm of his chair with such force that he thought he might break the control pad embedded there, he shouted into the intercom, “Engineering! Stand by warp drive!”

“What about our warriors on the planet?” Tonar asked, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. “We cannot leave them.”

“They’re already dead!” Kutal said, his attention riveted to the main viewer. The deck plates vibrated and even shifted slightly beneath his boots, the Zin’za’s harried maneuvering away from the planet coming so quickly that the ship’s inertial-dampening systems struggled to maintain balance for the robust yet still fragile living beings inside it. Below and far behind the bridge, the steady drone of the battle cruiser’s impulse engines increased to a whine that was transmitted across every surface of the ship as their power amplified in response to his orders. On the viewscreen, Kutal saw plumes of lava and magma hurled skyward from the surface as the tortured planet slid out of view.

Anyone on the surface, he knew—be they Klingon, jeghpu’wI’,or whatever had put this entire nightmarish scenario into motion—was doomed. If they were fortunate, they already were dead, and would be spared the apocalypse that was to come.

“Reverse angle!” he ordered, feeling the ship complete its rotation as his helm officer aimed its bow for the comparable safety of deep space. The image on the viewer shifted as the impulse drive kicked in and the planet began to recede on the screen.

Then there was nothing for Kutal to do except watch with an odd mixture of horror and fascination as the entirety of Palgrenax collapsed in upon itself.

“Shock wave approaching!” shouted Centurion Darjil from his workstation at the center of the Bloodied Talon’s bridge. “Impact in fifteen ewa!”

Pointing to the centurion manning the helm console, Commander Sarith ordered, “Evasive! Deactivate the cloak and engage warp drive! Emergency power to the shields!”

With everyone on the bridge scrambling to carry out their tasks, Sarith watched as the planet came apart, splintering into billions of fragments that along with magma from the ill-fated world’s molten core were hurled outward in all directions. The core itself, freed from the tremendous tectonic and geothermal pressure at the heart of the planet, vaporized as it surrendered to sudden vacuum, generating a maelstrom of frenzied color and violent energy that served only to punctuate the awesome destructive power which had been unleashed.

None of that mattered to her now, however. The largest threat at this moment was what she could not see.

“Tactical plot!” she ordered, and Centurion N’tovek responded by activating a computer-created digital map outlining the ship’s current position in relation to the world referred to by its native inhabitants as Palgrenax. More accurately, it depicted where Palgrenax once had been, along with the trajectory of the Klingon vessel that the Talon’s sensors had been observing from behind the curtain of stealth offered by the ship’s cloaking device. The battle cruiser was already long gone, having made the jump to warp speed well ahead of the spherical shock wave also displayed on the map. The wave emanated outward from what had been the center of the planet, expanding in all directions with speed far greater than that of the Talon.

“Where are my warp engines?” she called out even as she felt the first effects of the wave beginning to wash over the ship. Her bridge crew gripped support struts, consoles, anything that might provide a handhold while bulkheads shook and deck plating rattled. In the depths of the ship, powerful engines attempted to wrestle it from the orbit of the planet at it succumbed to its death throes. Above all of that, she heard the cycling of the cloaking device as it was deactivated and all of the power it required in order to operate was redirected to the warp drive.