Текст книги "The Art of the Impossible "

Автор книги: Keith R. A. DeCandido

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

The voice of Talik’s supervisor, Hamnod, sounded from behind him. “What’s happening?”

“Freighter Gratokhas experienced some kind of engine failure. They’ve lost attitude control.”

Hamnod was a large man with a belly that protruded sufficiently far in front of him that most of those in Orbital Control joked that his stomach arrived five minutes before he did. That belly was rubbing up against Talik’s console now, as the supervisor peered at the shatterframe display that gave the usual view of about eighty percent of the space around Raknal V. The only thing missing was the area on the far side of the planet—a blind spot at one hundred and eighty degrees from their position, and, not coincidentally, where the Klingons had set up their orbital control center. At present, the only bodies showing on the display were the Gratok—which was bouncing around like mad; its guidance systems and gyroscopic mechanisms were obviously completely destroyed—and Orbital Control itself. The supervisor then pointed a pudgy finger at a new item on the display. “What is that?”

Talik frowned. It wasn’t a Cardassian ship, which meant either an unregistered ship or a Klingon ship. Talik sincerely hoped it was the former. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a shouting match with a Klingon.

The new arrival just came into view from the blind spot. It was also on a course that would take it directly into the path of the Gratok,if both ships held course.

“Get that thing out of there, Talik,” Hamnod said.

Good thing you’re here, Inever would have thought of that,Talik thought as he opened a channel to the ship. He had heard a rumor that Hamnod spent most of his off-duty time with the very comfort women that Talik would never go near. Even if it wasn’t true, Talik had always taken it as gospel. It was certainly in character for the fat supervisor.

“Unidentified ship, this is Orbital Control. Please leave orbit immediately, we have a ship in distress, and we cannot guarantee your safety.”

There was no response from the ship, but Kater cut in. “Talik, our warp core’s going to go any minute, and I can’t get the ejection systems to function. I don’t think we’re gonna make it.”

“Yes, you are,” Talik said stupidly. “Just as soon as I get this ship out of the—”

“What ship? I’m blind out here.”

Hamnod had been doing a sensor check. “It’s a Forehead ship—the Chut.Passenger ship heading to Qo’noS.” The corpulent supervisor leaned into Talik’s comm unit. “Attention Chut,this is Orbital Control. If you do not change course immediately, you risk collision. Please, leave orbit now.”

“What? Great!”Kater’s voice was distant for those two words, then came on more clearly. “We think we’ve got the breach under control, Talik, but we still can’t change course.”

“Dammit,” Talik muttered. Whatever relief he felt at Kater’s continued survival was leavened by the continued presence of the Chut.The Klingon passenger liner was still on its standard orbital course, which would bring it slamming into the Gratokat one-eighth impulse in about seventy-five seconds.

“Chut,this is Cardassian Orbital Control.” Hamnod was practically shouting. “Veer off now,or you will be destroyed!” He pounded the console. “Why won’t they listen? Damned idiotic Foreheads…”

Talik tried to run a sensor scan on the Chut,but he wasn’t able to penetrate their shields. That was typical of the Klingons—trying to protect their secrets, Talik supposed, though what secrets a passenger liner could have was beyond him—but it made it all the more frustrating in circumstances like this. What if something’s wrong with them, too?Sadly, two vessels breaking down in orbit on the same day wouldn’t be out of character on Raknal V these days…

The Chutwas now one minute from colliding with the Gratok.“Why won’t they veer off? Just a two-degree course change would do it.” Talik leaned into his comm unit. “Kater, you’ve got to abandon ship. Those Klingons aren’t moving!” Then you’ll be forced to stay on Raknal V for a while,he thought. True, she’d be left without a ship, but at least she’d be alive. And maybe she would feel predisposed toward the man who did everything he could to save her…

“My people are getting to the escape pods now,”she said.

Talik didn’t like the sound of that. “Your people? What about you?”

“Ship-master goes down with the sinking ship, Talik—besides, we don’t have enough pods for everyone. I had to cut back to make more cargo room. I’m not about to make one of my people die for a financial choiceI made.”

This was ruining a perfectly good fantasy. “You can’t just die, dammit!”

“Then get those Klingons out of my way.”

Hamnod let out a breath that whistled through his nose. “We’re trying! Chut,you are now forty seconds from a catastrophic collision with a Cardassian freighter. Veer off now!”

The next forty seconds were the longest of Talik’s life. He found himself utterly riveted by the display in front of him, as the yellow light that indicated the drifting Gratokgrew closer and closer to the red light that indicated the leisurely pace of the Chut.Some smaller yellow lights appeared—those had to be the escape pods Kater mentioned. Talik noted that there were eight of them; freighters of the Gratok’s class usually had twelve two-person pods. Hamnod continued to shout implorations to the Chut,to no avail. The Klingon ship continued forward, its course unchanging.

The collision itself was almost anticlimactic, rendered as it was by the red light and the yellow light intersecting. A moment later, both lights went out.

If the Chutwas a typical Klingon passenger ship, it had the capacity to hold a hundred people, staff included. The Gratokhad a crew complement of twenty, at least sixteen of whom probably got out in the pods, though Talik had no way of telling if the pods survived being that close to the two ships annihilating each other. Plus, of course, the Gratokwas carrying a valuable zenite shipment.

“Get me Prefect Monor now,” Hamnod said.

And Kater Onell was dead.

“Talik!”

The flight controller shook his head and looked up at Hamnod’s fat face. “Hm?”

“I said get me Prefect Monor now!”The supervisor sighed. “It’s going to be a very very long night.”

“This outrage will not go unanswered, Qaolin!”

Governor Qaolin had already gone through the two bottles of bloodwine in his desk drawer, and was fervently wishing for a third as he stared at the outraged face of his Cardassian counterpart. I suppose I should be grateful that he is at least speaking to me. Usually I only get to talk to that imbecile aide of his.But the destruction of the Gratokand the Chutwas the worst of the recent disasters, and Qaolin wasn’t about to stand for going through an underling. Not with a hundred dead.

“Youdare call this an outrage, Monor? At least most of your people survived! There were ninety-eight Klingon nationals on the Chutwho died because of your incompetence!”

“Our Orbital Control Center did everything they could to get theChut to veer off. They refused to respond to us!”

“Convenient, is it not, Monor, that these exhortations only occurred after the Chutentered the one orbital section we could not scan from ourOrbital Control Center. Of course, we would have been able to verify your account if you had allowed us to put the boosters in place, or even accepted our offer to cooperate…”

“Oh, no you don’t.”Monor’s face was contorted into a rage that was almost Klingon. Qaolin found himself fighting an urge to admire it. “Don’t try to make this into something that’s our fault.”

Qaolin couldn’t help but laugh in Monor’s face. “Whose fault is it, then? It was not ourship that malfunctioned and went catastrophically of course. On the contrary, the Chutwas following a standard orbital path—which got it destroyed and a hundred innocents killed.”

“Innocent—pfah! I know you Foreheads—you’re responsible for this! You’re trying to get in good with that damned Trill of yours, and trying to make us look bad by sabotaging our zenite shipment.”

Restraining himself from reacting directly to the slur, Qaolin instead forced a grin to his face. “We need commit no sabotage to make you look bad, Monor. You are accomplishing that task quite adequately on your own.”

“I will not be insulted by the likes of you! I know you sabotaged theGratok, and I’ll prove it!”

The grin became a snarl. “Are you so deluded as to think that we would murder a hundred of our citizens just to stop your rocks from getting to Cardassia?”

“Don’t try to play the innocent with me, Qaolin.”Monor leaned forward into his viewer. “You Foreheads are all alike—fanatics to a man. A hundred dead? That’s nothing, as long as you can get your precious Ch’gran relic back. I know your type, and I know that you’d all jump into a black hole if it meant you could get that stupid wreck back in your hands. You’re all such fools—glorifying the past so much you forget about the future. Well, let me tell you something, ‘Governor’—the future is the Cardassian Union ruling the galaxy, and you barbarians working as slave labor and wondering where you went wrong. I’ll tell you where—thinking that being some kind of honorable warrior means something, when all it’s going to do is get you defeated.”Monor leaned back. “Enjoy your victory, Qaolin. It won’t last.”

Monor’s image faded from the viewscreen on the wall of Qaolin’s office, but the governor spoke to it anyhow. “This is victory?”

He went to take a gulp of his bloodwine, only to find the mug empty. Furious, he threw the mug across the room.

Stabbing the intercom with a finger, he summoned his aide, who entered at a dead run. “Yes, my lord!”

“My lord.” That is the true joke,Qaolin thought. “Find out if General Worf has left yet. If he has, call his ship back here. If he hasn’t, I need to see him immediately.”

“Uh…” The aide shuffled from foot to foot.

“What is it?” Qaolin prompted.

“Sir, we just received the passenger list for the Chut.”

Qaolin closed his eyes.

Then he picked up his chair and threw it against the wall containing the viewscreen. The chair broke in several places, and the screen shattered with an ear-splitting crack.

The aide stood in the doorway, unmoving.

“General Worf was on the Chut?”Qaolin asked.

“Yes, sir, he was.”

“That would mean that General Worf is dead.”

“Yes, sir.”

Qaolin smashed his fist into his desk. “Establish the insta-link to the Homeworld. Now!”

“Yes, sir.” The aide scurried out of the room.

“And fetch me another bottle of bloodwine!” Qaolin had no idea if I.I. agents went to Gre’thoror Sto-Vo-Kor,but whichever it was, the governor was quite sure that Yovang was laughing at him from there right now.

The insta-link was a tight-beam subspace system that enabled live communication between Raknal V and Qo’noS. It used an appalling amount of energy, and was only to be engaged in emergencies. As far as Qaolin was concerned, this qualified.

Ten minutes and three mugs of bloodwine later, Qaolin faced the image of Chancellor Ditagh on the small viewer on his desk’s workstation. Five minutes after that, he had finished briefing the chancellor on what had happened.

“What action do you wish me to take, sir?”

Ditagh blinked. “There is no action to be taken. If the families of those dead wish to claim vengeance, do not stop them. Otherwise, we have won a great victory. The Cardassians’ incompetence has led to the destruction of one of their zenite shipments and the unnecessary deaths of our people. The loss of life is regrettable—particularly that of the general—but we can use that to our advantage as well. Ch’granwill be ours—the Cardassians have already given it to us.”

Qaolin frowned at his chancellor. “Of course, sir,” he said out of respect for the office, but he did not see that it was nearly as simple as the head of the High Council was making it out to be.

Even as he closed the insta-link connection, he could hear Yovang’s laughter.

Chapter 16

I.K.S. Pu’Bekh

“Sir, something’s wrong.”

Captain K’mpec of the I.K.S. Pu’Bekhlooked up at that report from the operations station behind him, then gave a nod to Commander Mogh, who walked over to that station. “Explain,” the first officer said.

“We just sent out routine communications traffic, sir,” the operations officer said. “However, when I checked to see if it had been picked up by this system’s communications relay, I got no readings.”

“None?” Mogh sounded surprised. “Do a full scan of the relay.”

“I have already attempted to do so, sir. Sensors aren’t picking up any emissions from the relay at all. In order to do a more complete scan, we’ll need to get closer.”

K’mpec scowled. They had come to the Donatu system on a routine patrol. Incidents with Cardassian ships along the border had increased over the past several months—ever since the destruction of the Chutat Raknal V—and Command had sent the Pu’Bekhto make sure that all was well in this particular system. It had been the flashpoint of a Federation–Klingon conflict almost a century ago, and Command thought that the Cardassians might try one of their sneak attacks here. They had already made similar assaults on bases and ships in the Archanis and Cursa systems, though the Cardassian government had, of course, denied it—or, at the very least, disavowed the attacks.

Of course,K’mpec thought with bitter amusement, the High Council has similarly disavowed attacks in the Cuellar and Trelka systems in Cardassian space. Not to mention that skirmish between theKorvale and that Cardassian fighter last month.

“With your permission, Captain?” Mogh said.

K’mpec nodded.

Mogh turned to the helm control station to the captain’s left. “Pilot, set course for the communications relay, full impulse. Operations, when we are within range, do an intensive scan. I expect a full report within the hour.”

“Sir!” both officers said.

Then K’mpec rose from his chair. “I would speak with you, Commander,” he said, his deep voice rumbling throughout the bridge.

“Of course.”

The two of them exited the bridge. Entering his office, the captain gathered his floor-length coat of office and sat his slim, athletic form down into the metal chair behind his workstation. There were no guest chairs—K’mpec had never seen any good reason to make other people more comfortable than he—and so Mogh stood.

K’mpec regarded his first officer, who had only been on this assignment for less than a year. He had a simple, yet strong crest, with a raised middle ridge, penetrating black eyes, and wide shoulders. In battle, he had proven a crack shot with a disruptor, but awful with a bat’leth.The captain preferred that to the other way around—it was all well and good to be handy with a blade, but ultimately it was disruptors that won battles.

Mogh also waited patiently, standing at attention. He did not fidget or show any outward sign of displeasure or worry. K’mpec admired that.

“It has been several months since the Chutincident on Raknal V, Mogh. Yet you have said nothing.”

“There has been nothing to say.”

K’mpec chuckled. “I find that difficult to believe. Your father was killed in a cowardly attack. Does that matter to you?”

“Why do you ask me this, sir?”

“Are you questioning me, Commander?” K’mpec asked, his voice lowering.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

At that, K’mpec laughed. “Good. I was beginning to wonder if you had any passion at all.”

Mogh looked straight at K’mpec. “My father died in an accident caused by carelessness. The only one against whom I could possibly seek vengeance—the captain of the Cardassian cargo ship—is also dead. As far as I am concerned, the matter is closed. My father died in the line of duty. The best way to honor his memory is to continue to serve, as he did.”

Silently, K’mpec was impressed. It was quite possibly the longest number of sentences Mogh had strung together in all his time serving aboard the Pu’Bekh.

“I have received many reports, Mogh. You have no doubt read them as well. Many of the family members of the Chutvictims are seeking vengeance against random Cardassians.”

With a shrug, Mogh said, “That is their prerogative. But it is a foolish endeavor. It is not true vengeance if it is against someone unrelated who happens to be of the same species.”

Before K’mpec could pursue this further, the intercom sounded. “Bridge to captain.”

K’mpec looked up. “Yes?”

“We have scanned the relay, sir—or, rather, what is left of it.”

“Mneh,” the captain grumbled, and got up from his chair. Mogh followed him back onto the bridge.

“Report,” Mogh said as K’mpec took his seat.

The operations officer stood at attention. “Approximately sixty percent of the relay’s surface area has been blasted away. Preliminary scan indicates phaser fire consistent with Cardassian ships.”

“Are the relay’s security systems intact?” Mogh asked.

“Impossible to be sure.”

K’mpec looked at the viewscreen, which the operations officer had provided with a view of the relay. Its oblong shape was pitted, its surface broken, with wiring, circuitry, and chips all exposed to the vacuum of space.

One of the officers sneered. “Only Cardassians would invade our space to attack a mere relay station.”

Several other members of the bridge crew snarled and spat in assent. K’mpec had to agree with the sentiment. The relay’s sole function was to amplify and redirect communications traffic. Normal ship-to-planet communication, even via subspace, could take days, but relays such as this did much to make interstellar communication as close to instantaneous as possible. However, the machinery was also easily repaired or replaced, and could hardly be counted as a major blow against the Empire.

“Sir,” Mogh said, “request permission to beam the relay into the cargo hold. We can examine it more thoroughly that way.”

K’mpec nodded his affirmation. “You will supervise the examination personally, Commander. I want to know precisely what happened to that relay, and what it will take to fix it.”

“Sir!”

An hour later, Mogh once again stood in K’mpec’s office. “We have had success, Captain. The Cardassians showed poor aim. Though I am afraid that the unit will have to be scrapped and replaced, as it is beyond repair, they did not hit any of the security systems.” Mogh then smiled. “Lieutenant J’tal was of the opinion that the Cardassians were not smart enough to realize that a communications relay would have a security system.”

“Or, perhaps they do not think us smart enough to have constructed one.” K’mpec chuckled. “Either way, I assume that the images provided are useful?”

“One might put it that way, yes, sir.” Mogh was still smiling as he loaded a dataspike into K’mpec’s workstation.

K’mpec watched as the relay showed the emptiness of space. Mogh advanced the recording to the moment when a ship came out of warp. Within moments, the ship came close enough to be visually identified as a Cardassian Akril-class ship. Definitely from their military,he thought. Perfect.

The ship, which the Pu’Bekhcomputer identified as the Boklar,then fired on the relay and warped back out of the system.

“I already have the pilot charting their projected course,” Mogh said when the recording was done. “Based on the time-stamp of the relay security, this occurred less than seven hours ago.”

At that, K’mpec looked up sharply.

“Yes, sir—we just missed them.”

“We will not miss them again.”

Mogh’s smile grew wider. “No, sir, we will not.”

“Very well then, Commander, give chase. I will alert Command of what has happened.”

“Sir!” Mogh moved to leave K’mpec’s office.

“Commander!”

Mogh stopped and turned around.

“For one who swears no vengeance against the Cardassians, you are extremely eager to pursue them.”

Dropping the smile, Mogh said, “I merely wish to see that theseCardassians pay for their cowardly attack, Captain.”

“And that is all?”

“Yes, sir.”

After dismissing his first officer, K’mpec ordered a communication be put through to Qo’noS. Then he called up the Defense Force records on the Boklar.The only thing they had was its class—which K’mpec knew from looking at it—and that it was most recently known to be commanded by a gul named Onell.

K’mpec frowned, his complex crest furrowing. He knew that name. After a moment he placed it as connected to Raknal V. Calling up the records of that, he saw it: Kater Onell was the ship-master of the freighter that crashed into the Chut.

He wondered if Mogh knew this, and if that explained his enthusiasm. So much for this being over, eh, Commander?

“Sir, we have gotten through to Qo’noS. I have Councillor Kravokh for you.”

K’mpec was impressed. He had expected to get one of Kravokh’s functionaries at best. “Put him through.”

Kravokh’s angular face appeared on the viewscreen on K’mpec’s desk. “Report, Captain.”

“Our assignment to this system has been justified. A Cardassian ship called the Boklarattacked the communications relay in this system. We are in pursuit.”

“Excellent. And you have proof?”

“Yes.”

“Most excellent. This is a great day, Captain. With this, perhaps we can finally convince the Federation to take Raknal V away from the unworthy Spoon Heads and then, finally, Ch’gran can be ours.”Kravokh leaned forward. “I want that ship captured, Captain. I want whoever the gul of that ship is—”

“Gul Onell.”

“Fine, I want Onell to stand before the Council and speak for all to hear that he destroyed Klingon property at the order of their Central Command. Then he will be executed, and we will have all the justification for taking Ch’gran that we will need.”

K’mpec thought the councillor was jumping ahead of himself a bit. “And if we do not find the Boklar?”

Kravokh shrugged. “Then we will demand it through channels. We have proof now, after all. I want that proof sealed, Captain—under the best protection your guards can give it. And no matter what it takes, I want that ship intact and its gul alive, even if you are to leave Klingon space, am I understood?”

“It will be done.”

“Good.”

After Kravokh cut off the connection, K’mpec leaned back and smiled. His ambitions had always stretched far beyond that of the captain’s chair, and currying favor with Kravokh—who was looking more and more to be the favorite to succeed the ailing Ditagh—could only benefit K’mpec now.

At least, the reports were that Ditagh was ailing. He had been less and less visible over the past few months—though some argued that he was already insubstantial, so becoming invisible was not much of a stretch. The current chancellor seemed to be in favor of strengthening the Empire but had never actually implemented any plan to do so. Kravokh, at least, had the welfare of the Empire in mind, though he seemed to think the restoration of Ch’gran would do the most good to restore the Empire to greatness. K’mpec wasn’t so sure—but he also knew that losing Ch’gran would be a disaster.

K’mpec also questioned the wisdom of pursuing the Boklarout of Klingon jurisdiction. True, most of the space between here and Cardassia was either unclaimed or belonged to the Federation, but engaging the Boklarafter they left Klingon territory would muddy the issue. They needed to take the Boklarin Empire space.

Mogh’s voice came over the intercom. “Sir, we have picked up theBoklar on long-range sensors. They are on course for Cardassian space, but still within our borders.”

“Can we catch them before they cross the border?”

“Yes, sir, if we increase to warp eight.”

“Anh!” he grunted, then moved quickly to the bridge. We will get them,he thought gleefully.

As K’mpec entered the bridge, the pilot said, “Speed increasing to warp eight.”

Standing next to the operations console, Mogh added, “At this rate, we will overtake the Boklarin three minutes—long before they reach the border.”

“Arm torpedoes, and fire a minimal spread at their engines as soon as they are within range.” He turned to face the gunner, a heavy-ridged older lieutenant with gray-and-white hair, and spoke in a quiet tone, enunciating every word even more than usually. “The ship is to be taken intact.If it is not, I will hold youresponsible.”

“Sir!” the lieutenant said quickly, understanding that the penalty for the Boklarbeing destroyed would be the gunner’s own life.

Mogh then approached the command chair and spoke quietly to K’mpec. “Sir, the Akril-class vessels have impressive firepower. I do not doubt the ability of the Pu’Bekhto win any battle, but if we hamstring ourselves—”

Matching Mogh’s quiet tones, K’mpec interrupted. “Our orders are to take the Boklarintact and bring Gul Onell back to the Homeworld for trial.”

“Sir, we have the sensor logs from the relay. What need do we have to keep these Cardassian animals alive?”

K’mpec’s instinct was to remind the commander of his place and of the foolishness of questioning his orders. But K’mpec also preferred underlings who thought for themselves. The question being, is Mogh thinking for himself, or thinking only of the vengeance he claims he does not feel the urge to undertake?This bloodthirstiness was completely understandable—the Cardassians had, after all, invaded—but may have had ulterior motives. Either way, K’mpec felt the need to explicate. “Do not underestimate the power of a living witness and of physical evidence, Commander. We can tamper with our own sensor logs, after all.”

Mogh nodded, in seeming understanding. “I withdraw my objection, Captain.”

“Weapons range in thirty seconds,” called out the gunnery lieutenant.

“Prepare to fire,” Mogh said with a smile.

“In range.”

Clenching his fist, Mogh cried, “Fire!”

K’mpec watched as the torpedoes traveled through the distortion of warp space, traversing the gap between the Pu’Bekhand the Boklar,then striking the latter ship’s shields, disrupting them.

“Direct hit. They are coming out of warp.”

“Stay with them, pilot,” Mogh barked. “Arm disruptors and raise shields.”

From the operations console, the officer posted there said, “They are hailing us.”

A rumble sounded in K’mpec’s throat. “I have nothing to say to invaders.”

The officer smiled. “Sir!”

“Coming about,” the pilot said.

“Fire!”

Disruptor fire now struck the Boklar’s shields even as the Cardassians fired their own phasers at the Pu’Bekh.

“Shields down to ten percent!” The gunnery lieutenant’s voice was tinged with surprise and outrage.

“It would seem the Cardassians have improved their arsenal.” K’mpec pounded a fist on the armrest of his chair. “Damage to the Boklar?”

“Minimal, sir.”

“We must bring down their shields. Continuous fire.”

Disruptors and torpedoes burst forth from the Pu’Bekh’s weapons arrays, pounding at the Boklar’s shields. The disruptors finally brought the shields down, with the final torpedo striking the Cardassian vessel’s hull.

A cheer went up from around the bridge, even as more Cardassian phaser fire struck the Pu’Bekh.

Consoles then sparked around the bridge. “Shields dow—” the gunner started before the deckplates behind him exploded in what sounded to K’mpec’s veteran ears like a plasma fire. K’mpec turned to see that the gunner had been thrown halfway across the bridge and into a bulkhead. Mogh, to his credit, immediately ran to take the gunner’s position.

“Programming torpedo pattern,” he said.

The gunner managed to clamber back up and return to his post. K’mpec noted that he seemed to have even more white in his hair now. “Thank you, Commander.”

Mogh gave the lieutenant a curt nod and made way for him.

“Firing torpedoes and disruptors.”

Seconds later, just as the torpedoes were striking the hull of the Boklar—and after the disruptors had already started cutting through the vessel’s hull—the Cardassian ship exploded in a fiery conflagration that forced K’mpec to avert his eyes from the viewscreen momentarily.

Furious, he unholstered his hand disruptor even as he turned around to face the gunner. Growling in inarticulate rage, he fired.

The gunner’s screams seemed to echo long after his body had disintegrated.

K’mpec had no choice. He had already stated to the entire bridge that the destruction of the Boklarwould mean the gunner’s life.

Yet it had been Mogh who programmed the torpedoes’ firing pattern.

Then again, the disruptors struck theBoklar first. It is quite possible—likely even—that it was the disruptors that provided the fatal blow.

Either way, it no longer mattered. “Damage report.”

“Shields and cloak are gone,” the operations officer reported. “Multiple hull breaches on the lower decks—we have had to evacuate the entire undersection. Warp drive offline; engineering estimates a day to repair.”

“Communications?” Mogh asked.

“Functioning.”

“Good,” K’mpec said, falling more than sitting back in his command chair after reholstering his disruptor. “Make contact with the Homeworld.”

Mogh stepped up to stand beside K’mpec. “It is not what we had hoped,” the commander said. “But when I look back on this day, it will be one of celebration. I will not mourn the loss of the cowards who invaded our space to fight a mere communications relay. I will instead see this as a victory against an unworthy foe who deserved nothing less than what they received.”

K’mpec regarded his first officer carefully. There was, once again, no glee in his voice, no joy in victory, simply a recitation of duty. As usual.But the captain did not know whether or not Mogh had been responsible for the destruction of the Boklaror not.

What he did know was that the actions of this day would have long-term consequences. Already, K’mpec was beginning to formulate ways he could work them to his advantage.