Текст книги "Open Secrets "

Автор книги: Dayton Ward

Соавторы: Kevin Dilmore
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Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

51

“Glad we could be of service, Admiral,”said the image of Captain Daniel Okagawa, from where he stood on the bridge of the U.S.S. Lovell. “Give us a call if we can ever be of further assistance.”

Standing with his arms folded before the viewscreen in his office, Nogura offered a cordial nod and smiled. “We appreciate everything you and your crew have done for us, Captain. It’s a shame Starfleet’s decided they need you elsewhere. I’d rather gotten used to having you around.”

It was true that he had been something less than confident upon getting his first look at the dilapidated Lovell,which itself had been assigned to Starbase 47 as a temporary replacement for the ill-fated U.S.S. Bombay.The ship had already visited the station on an earlier occasion, and circumstances had led to the engineering crew learning some tangential facets of the starbase’s top-secret mission. When the situation called for a ship to serve in a stopgap capacity until a formal replacement for the Bombaycould be dispatched, Commodore Reyes had requested the Lovell.He was able to take advantage of its primary mission for the Corps of Engineers as cover for assignments to planets within the Taurus Reach known to harbor Shedai technology and other artifacts. Both the ship and its crew had wasted little time impressing the hell out of him.

On the viewscreen, Okagawa said, “Well, somewhere someone needs a tunnel bored through a planet, or perhaps their sewage system needs a good dredging. Call us if your toilets get backed up.”

That actually elicited a small chuckle from Nogura, a rare occurrence. “However it happens, here’s hoping our paths cross again. Until then, safe journeys to you and your crew, Captain.”

“And best of luck to you, Admiral.Lovell out.”

The image on the screen shifted from Okagawa himself to an exterior view of space beyond the station, with the Lovellfinishing its undocking maneuver and moving away from Vanguard’s primary hull. Nogura watched as the ship turned on its axis, dwarfed even by the massive doors to the docking bay it had just vacated, its impulse engines flaring to life as they pushed the vessel away from the station.

From behind him, he heard Commander Cooper tapping on the data slate, which seemed to have become an extension of the executive officer’s hand in recent weeks. “I’ve just received an update on the Akhiel,Admiral. She’s due to arrive within thirty-eight hours.”

Nogura turned from the viewscreen and made his way across the office to his desk. “Excellent. We’ll certainly have plenty of work for her captain and crew, won’t we?”

“You’ve got a knack for understatement, sir,” Cooper replied, moving to one of the two chairs before Nogura’s desk as the admiral gestured for him to take a seat. “Captain Whitsitt likely won’t have time even to authorize any shore leave before we turn them around and send them out again.”

It was not a notion for which Nogura held any real enthusiasm, but it was a simple reality of their current operational tempo. Because of other commitments and needs throughout the quadrant, Starfleet had been unable to assign a true replacement for the Bombayuntil now. The Lovell,despite its effectiveness and that of its crew, simply had not been able to fill all of the requirements for vessels assigned to the station. What was needed was another starship possessing capabilities on par with what the Bombayhad brought to the table. As no Miranda-class ships currently were available, Nogura had decided on a frigate that could handle the cargo transportation requirements for which the Bombayhad been selected, as well as providing a greater degree of offensive and defensive power. Nogura also had asked that a fourth ship be assigned to the station—preferably a Constitution-or Saladin-class cruiser—but that request was still being considered by Starfleet Command.

Maybe we should stop making so many neighbors mad at us.

“What’s the latest on Cestus III?” he asked, leaning forward and reaching for the nearly forgotten cup of coffee on his desk.

Looking down at the data slate now perched on his lap, Cooper replied, “The outpost was almost completely destroyed. With the exception of a handful of survivors, all Starfleet personnel and civilian colonists were killed—more than five hundred casualties in all. According to the report submitted by the Enterprise’s captain, a previously unknown species called the Gorn claimed that the Cestus system lay within their territory and viewed our establishing the outpost as an aggressive action against them.” He tapped the data slate’s display window with the stylus in his right hand before adding, “Captain Kirk’s report on Gorn physiology and technology makes for some very interesting reading.”

Kirk again,the admiral thought. The young starship captain had more than his fair share of vocal supporters within the upper echelons at Starfleet Headquarters, and there was little to dispute about the man’s abilities and performance to this point. Still, Nogura was not yet convinced that Command had not erred in giving Kirk one of the most advanced vessels in the fleet. He conceded that he might not be giving the captain the benefit of the doubt and was possibly unfairly comparing him with Christopher Pike, the man he had succeeded as captain of the Enterpriseand an exceptional, consummate officer in his own right. In truth, since taking command of the Enterprise,Kirk had already rung up an impressive list of accomplishments.

I’m going to have to keep an eye on that young man.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “now we have the Gorn to worry about, on top of the Klingons and the Tholians and even the Romulans, though they seem to have gone quiet as of late.”

Cooper shrugged. “Hard to say with the Gorn, sir. After Kirk’s little adventure with the ship that led the attack on Cestus III and that weirdness that came after, an arrangement was made for us to leave the planet to them. In turn, they’ve agreed to give us a wide berth, and vice versa. That should keep things manageable on thatfront for the time being.”

It was probably the best possible outcome from such a tragic series of events, all of which had stemmed from simple lack of communication and trust. While Nogura was relieved that the Federation would not have to deal with yet another enemy during this most difficult of times, the arrangement with regard to Cestus III did have one other facet. “The planet was selected for its proximity to the Klingon border. Without the long-range sensor array we were establishing there, it’ll be harder to track Klingon ship movements in that sector.” That ability would also have proven quite useful to Starbase 47, as Klingon activity to and from the Taurus Reach also would have been detectable.

His reverie was broken by an alert indicator from his desktop computer terminal. Nogura glanced to the display, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well, what have we here?”

Cooper frowned. “Sir?”

Without responding, Nogura reached for the terminal’s compact keypad interface, pressing the control to transfer the information from his desktop unit to the wall viewscreen. “This report just arrived from the Sagittarius.They’re on fast patrol out to the Aleriq system, and their long-range sensors picked up shock waves similar to those generated by the destruction of Palgrenax. Same energy signature.” Walking back to the viewer, he pointed to the computer-generated map of the Taurus Reach. Rendered in a simple two-dimensional vector-line graphic, the region appeared as a triangle, wedged between territories belonging to the Tholian Assembly and the Klingon Empire. “ Sagittariuscouldn’t get close enough, so their information is somewhat spotty.” He pointed to the area of the map dominated by Tholian space. “It’s a good distance inside their territory. We don’t even have a name for the affected system. We don’t even know which planet we’re talking about.”

“But the shock wave was the same?” Cooper asked.

Nogura nodded. “It appears so. According to the reports and theories put forth by Lieutenant Xiong, all known Shedai technology should have gone dormant after the Jinoteur system did…whatever it was that it did. So, if someone—Tholian, Klingon, us, or a player to be named later—didn’t fumble their way into one of those underground complexes and press the wrong button, then are we talking about a Shedai?”

“Remember what Ensign Theriault told us about how they’re able to move through that network of Conduits?” Cooper asked. “We don’t know how many of them escaped before Jinoteur disappeared. If we’re to believe what that…Apostate…told Theriault, there could be hundreds of them out there, searching for storehouses of Shedai technology. Even if they’re limited in what they can do because any control mechanisms that might have resided in the Jinoteur system are now gone, what the hell do beings with that kind of power do once they’re off the leash?”

Turning from the viewscreen, Nogura shook his head. “Thank you, Commander, for that image, which is sure to keep me up nights from now on.” Of course, he had already lost a lot of sleep thanks to this topic, starting from the first day he had learned that he would be commanding this station. Reports submitted by Commodore Reyes and other members of his senior staff had painted a staggering, frightening picture. The Shedai threat, in whatever form it now took after the astonishing events that had taken place since the beginning of the Federation’s investigation into the Taurus Reach, made problems posed by the Klingons, the Romulans, the Gorn, and anyone else who wanted to step up to the plate seem like schoolyard spats by comparison.

What the hell are we going to do?

There was no time to ponder an answer, as his attention was caught by his desktop intercom, followed by the voice of his assistant, Ensign Greenfield. “Admiral, I have Dr. Marcus on the intercom, requesting to speak with you. She says it’s urgent, sir.”

“Put her through, Ensign,” Nogura said, returning to the chair behind his desk and pushing the control to activate the intercom. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”

“Admiral,”Marcus replied, and Nogura immediately picked up on the excitement in her voice, “you’re not going to believe what we’ve found.”

52

Reyes had finally gotten to the good part of Sunrise on Zeta Minor,with the two fugitives escaped from the underground prison and now on the run from the malfunctioning android prison guard, when his evening of quiet reading went straight to hell.

He lay on the bunk in the single-person quarters that had been his home aboard the Nowlanfor nearly five weeks, his head propped against two pillows and with the book resting against his bent knees. Reaching to turn the next page, Reyes froze as the silence of his room was shattered by a blaring alarm Klaxon, followed by a male voice booming through the intercom system.

“Red alert. All hands to duty stations. This is not a drill!”

At first, Reyes questioned the term duty stationsrather than battle stations,but just as quickly realized that it was appropriate, given the Nowlan’s notable lack of formidable weapons. He recalled what he knew about the Antares-class transports, not liking what he remembered. His stomach twitching, Reyes pulled himself to his feet and moved toward the metal desk, which was little more than a shelf affixed to one bulkhead. An intercom keypad was attached to the desktop, and he thumbed the activation control.

“Reyes to bridge. What’s going on?”

Instead of a reply from the Nowlan’s bridge, he received a response from Lieutenant Ket, the Bolian security guard stationed beyond his door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reyes, but your intercom has been programmed to connect only to the comm panel outside your quarters.”

Ignoring that, Reyes, asked, “What the hell’s going on?”

“Unknown, sir,”Ket replied. “I know only that Commander Easton has raised the alert level.”

Reyes felt his ire rising but forced it back down. Remembering that he no longer was the commander of any vessel or crew or even an officer deserving the time or respect of a subordinate, he suppressed the urge to respond more harshly to Ket’s seemingly dismissive comments. “I understand that, Lieutenant, but maybe you could contact the bridge and get more information? We’re out here in the middle of nowhere, after all.” It was not a thought that had consumed much of his time since the Nowlan’s departure from Starbase 47 for the prolonged journey to Earth, but there were only so many situations that might call for a ship’s commander to order his crew to their duty stations. Shipboard emergency was one such possibility, though Reyes’s gut told him that it was something else.

The room’s overhead lighting flickered at the same time as the drone of the ship’s engines changed, deepening as though being requested to generate more power.

That can’t be good.

The door to his quarters slid open, revealing the anguished face of Lieutenant Ket staring at him from the corridor.

“Commander Easton reports that they’ve picked up an unidentified vessel on sensors,” the Bolian said, an edge of fear now present in his voice. “It’s closing fast, and he’s requesting your presence on the bridge.”

Unidentified? Reyes wondered if it might be a Klingon ship. He would not put anything past them, not out here, considering the worsening diplomatic situation between the Federation and the Empire, to say nothing of the apparent price placed on his own head.

“Let’s get up there, then,” Reyes said, jogging to keep up with Ket as the lieutenant ran up the corridor. Antares-class transports only possessed three habitable decks to support what he remembered was a twenty-person crew complement, with the bulk of the ship’s interior volume dedicated to cargo storage. Rather than turbolifts, the three primary decks were connected by a series of ladders and Jefferies tubes. As they moved up the hallway toward one such access point, Reyes noted other members of the Nowlan’s crew moving with speed and purpose, presumably to their assigned station.

Then something slammed into the ship, and the bulkheads and deck plates trembled, groaning in protest. Everything pitched to starboard, and the deck went out from beneath Reyes’s feet, defying the vessel’s inertial dampening systems and throwing him into the bulkhead to his left. He winced in pain as his shoulder struck the wall, even as he flailed with his other hand to grab something for balance. Ahead of him, Ket fared better, managing to avoid being tossed off his feet and reaching for the entrance to a Jefferies tube to steady himself. All around them, alarm indicators flared harsh crimson, and Reyes heard the pitch of the ship’s engines waver yet again.

“Are you all right, sir?” the lieutenant asked as the deck leveled out beneath them.

Reyes nodded, rubbing his sore shoulder. “I’m fine. Let’s get up there.” If a vessel of any size and armament was indeed attacking them, he did not give the Nowlanmuch chance of surviving long after the initial salvo.

The berthing compartments were on the second deck near the aft section of the ship’s primary hull, and the bridge was one deck up and forward. They had only just begun the short ascent to the next deck when the ship shuddered around them yet again. Reyes felt his stomach lurch as the artificial gravity gave way for a moment, and he tightened his grip on the ladder as his feet left the rung on which he was perched. Darkness enveloped the narrow shaft, throwing off his equilibrium, but only for a moment before emergency lighting activated. Now long shadows stretched the length of the passageway, heightening his sense of confinement.

Prison sounds pretty good right about now.

It took only moments for Ket and Reyes to complete the transit to the bridge, climbing the ladder two rungs at a time and emerging at the rear of the Nowlan’s command center. Reyes pulled himself through the narrow, circular entry and onto the main deck, after which an ensign assigned to one of the aft stations moved to secure the hatch. At the front of the small, compact room, a large viewscreen dominated the forward bulkhead. The image on the screen was nothing but dense black space highlighted by a handful of distant stars. One of the stars was moving, growing larger by the second as it appeared to be coming closer.

Uh-oh.

Compared with its counterparts on larger Starfleet vessels, the Nowlan’s bridge was a sparse, utilitarian affair. Other than the set of consoles at the rear of the room—which seemed configured to handle engineering functions—the only other stations designed for manning by an actual member of the crew were housed in a free-standing console positioned in front of the main viewer and incorporating functionality for helm, navigation, and sensor control. A human female sat at the helm and navigation station, next to a human male manning the sensors. Both wore gold uniforms with lieutenant stripes, and their attention was focused on the status indicators and controls arrayed before them.

Hovering just over their shoulders was a large, muscled man of African descent, the ship’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Brandon Easton. A rivulet of sweat ran down the side of his smoothly shaved head, and his own gold uniform tunic stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. The man reached forward and slapped one of the controls on the helm console.

“Engineering, we need more power to the shields, now!” The only immediate response was static coming over the communications channel, to which Easton uttered what Reyes recognized as a particularly vile Andorian oath.

“Report,” Reyes commanded, reverting without hesitation to ingrained habits born from years of training and experience.

Easton turned from the consoles, and Reyes saw the look of anxiety on the younger man’s face. “We’re about to get our asses kicked by whoever that is out there,” he said. “It popped up on sensors coming at us like a bat out of hell and didn’t let up until it was in weapons range and started shooting at us. All of our attempts to hail it have been ignored. Data banks call it a civilian freighter, but whoever owns it has retrofitted that thing from stem to stern.”

Grunting in irritation, Reyes said, “Pirate vessel.” Out here, and particularly with larger, more powerful Starfleet vessels occupied with far larger problems, a slow-moving transport was easy pickings. “What’s your weapons status?”

“Standard phaser banks fore and aft,” the commander replied. “Not that it matters.” He waved a hand toward the viewscreen. “We’re no match for them. They’re armed to the teeth.” The man paused, clearing his throat. “This is more than a little out of my league, sir.”

Reyes nodded in understanding. The Nowlanmight be a low-profile transport ship with a crew smaller than the staff Reyes had been assigned while in command of Starbase 47, but Easton was still the one in charge and still the one responsible, no matter what happened. Knowing what it meant for the commander of a ship, anyship, to have to ask another officer for assistance or guidance while facing a tough situation, Reyes exchanged a knowing look with the younger officer before hooking a thumb over his shoulder and turning to Ket. “Get on that console, Lieutenant. Open a hailing frequency to that ship.”

“Aye, sir,” the Bolian replied, snapping into action.

“Commander,” the female at the helm console called out, “they’re coming around again.”

“Continue evasive,” Easton ordered before looking to Reyes again. “They can carve this ship up like a holiday roast. The only question is why they haven’t done it yet.”

Ket reported from the aft bridge station. “Channel open, sir.”

Casting aside his current status of prisoner and once more embracing the persona that had defined him for his entire adult life, Reyes cleared his throat. “Unidentified vessel, this is Commodore Diego Reyes, commanding the U.S.S. Nowlan.” He shrugged, mouthing an apology to Easton before continuing. “We are on a peaceful mission and pose no threat to you. Please state your intentions.” He waited with the rest of the bridge crew for a response, wondering just what the hell he might say if and when anyone actually answered him.

The reply to his query came in the form of another salvo rocking the transport. Reyes was thrown to his right and reached for Easton’s command chair to keep from falling. Easton grabbed the back of the sensor officer’s chair, and everyone held on as lights, monitors, and consoles across the bridge flickered in the face of widespread power disruptions.

“Shields are down,” reported the man at the sensor console. “Forward phaser banks are offline.”

Another salvo slammed into the ship, this time throwing the helm officer from her chair and slamming her to the deck. The alarm sirens wailed once more, deafening within the compact bridge. Still gripping the center seat, Reyes kept his feet and, without thinking, lunged for the helm, his eyes rapidly taking in the console’s various status readings.

“Damage report!” Easton ordered from where he knelt next to his fallen helm officer. Reyes glanced down at her, unsure if she was unconscious or dead. The odor of burnt circuitry assailed his nostrils, and he glanced around the bridge in search of the source. Nothing presented itself, but Reyes was sure that the last attack had overloaded systems across the ship. Without shields, the Nowlanmight survive one more salvo, but Reyes doubted it.

The rattled lieutenant at the sensor station replied, “Hull breach on Cargo Deck Five, but it’s contained. I’m also reading a coolant leak in engineering.”

That would explain them not responding,Reyes knew. A coolant leak almost certainly meant an evacuation of that entire area of the ship, at least until the engineering crew could don oxygen masks, if not full environment suits.

A crimson indicator flashed on his console, and he called over his shoulder, “Here they come again.” It took another few seconds before the lieutenant manning the sensors looked up from his station and said aloud what Reyes’s gut was already telling him.

“All of their weapons are hot.”

“No response to our hails!” Ket shouted over the Klaxon from the rear of the bridge. “I’ve tried sending out a distress call, but they’re jamming our signals!”

This is it.

The lone thought echoed in Reyes’s mind as he watched the mysterious, unidentified ship growing larger on the main viewer, its blunt bow dominated by a pair of disruptor banks glowing fiery red.

“Here it comes!” Easton shouted. “Brace for impact!”

An instant later, the warship’s disruptors flared again, spitting forth hellish new spheres of barely harnessed energy, which filled the screen a heartbeat before the twin blasts struck the Nowlan’s unprotected hull.

When the ship trembled this time, Reyes knew it was the beginning of the vessel’s death throes and the end of everything else.