“. . . Unfortunately, Captain Reyes, this matter is beyond your authority,” Admiral Telles Vindeilin said from the briefing room monitor, the Denobulan’s usually genial manner taking a back seat to her grim news. “You’re to take no action while the Federation Council tries to resolve the situation diplomatically. Dauntless is ordered to withdraw to the edge of the Azha system, escorted by the Chech’Iw. I know that adds insult to injury, Diego, but it was the only way the Klingon ambassador would even consider meeting with the Federation Council about this. Starfleet Command wants you to remain in the vicinity and to continue monitoring the situation as best you can. Keep me updated, and I’ll advise you of any changes on this end. Vindeilin out.”
Reyes, Fisher knew, had already sat through the recording once. He spent the replay watching the faces of his gathered senior officers, as well as that of their guest, Philippe Latour, for their reactions. No one looked happy.
As silence settled over the circular room, Reyes tapped the comm on the tabletop’s computer interface. “Reyes to bridge.”
“Jordan here, sir.” “Mister Jordan, I believe the Chech’Iw is waiting to hear from us. Please inform them we’ll be ready to get under way at one-quarter impulse in ten minutes. You may then proceed at your discretion to a position thirty astronomical units from Azha.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Reyes out.”
“That’s it, then,” Brzezinski said.
“The hell it is,” said the captain.
“Sir, Starfleet Command—”
“We may not be able to engage the Klingons directly,” Reyes said, “but I’m not about to simply do nothing. Think, people! Let’s break it down: an explosion of indeterminate origin on Azha-R7a forces the Arkenites to send out an SOS, just when the Chech’Iw was close enough to be the first responder. Does that strike anyone else here as even remotely suspicious?”
“It can’t be a coincidence,” Sadler agreed. “And since when do the Klingons come to the aid of Federation citizens in distress?”
“It’s unlike them,” Gannon admitted, “but not unprecedented, as long as it suited their purposes. The real question is, what have they achieved by answering the Arkenites’ call for help?”
“It’s a diplomatic knife between the ribs,” Shey said. “Think about it, the Klingons have acquired new territory and absorbed its population without firing a shot, essentially beating us at our own game. When word of this gets out, and it will, the Federation will be humiliated. Its ability to protect its members and holdings will be cast into doubt. If Gorkon did engineer all this, he knew exactly how to hit us.”
“Commander Gannon,” Reyes said, “what’s your read on Gorkon?”
“Current leader of the House of Makok and a thirty-year veteran of the Klingon Defense Force,” Gannon recited. “Thought to be a favorite of Chancellor Sturka, who is rumored to be grooming him for the High Council. Widely regarded as a brilliant strategist and one of the foremost military minds in the Empire. As commander of his current ship, the Chech’Iw, he’s been directly involved in sixteen skirmishes with Federation forces. Five of those involved the Dauntless. His wife and three of his sons are deceased. He has two surviving children, a twenty-one-year-old son in the KDF, and a daughter, six. As a grand master of klin zha—”
“That’s enough background,” the captain interrupted. “I’m more interested in how you’d assess his behavior inside the colony.”
Gannon hesitated. “I think that whatever is going on, Gorkon is worried about something,” she said at last. “He held all the cards, yet he twice acceded to Doctor Duvadi, as if he felt he had no choice.”
Reyes turned to Fisher. “Doctor, do you agree with Commander Gannon’s assessment?”
“I do, Captain,” Fisher said. “I got the same impression.”
“So did I,” Reyes agreed. “So what does that tell us?”
“That Duvadi is the one pulling the strings,” Brzezinski said.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Reyes, raising a finger toward the science officer, “but he definitely didn’t want to do or say anything to piss her off. That suggests to me he needs her for some purpose, and he’s willing to take atypical steps to ensure her continued cooperation.”
“Atypical is exactly the word for it,” Gannon said. “Nothing about this reflects usual Klingon behavior. Azha-R7a has little value strategically. Its mineral resources have some worth, but they represent neither a crippling loss to the Federation nor a significant gain for the Empire. No offense, Doctor Latour.”
“None taken,” Latour said.
“Arkenites, as a species, have never been of particular interest to the Klingons before, so it’s unlikely this has anything to do with them,” Gannon went on. “And with all due respect to Shey’s valid analysis of the astropolitical fallout of this crisis, the tactics employed simply don’t track with Klingon psychology. They favor direct confrontation to subtlety and lateral thinking. It’s hard to see what they’ve really gained from this.”
“The science labs,” Reyes mused, suddenly turning his full attention to Latour. “Why is it that, of all the locations to set up as their command post, the Klingons chose the laboratory wing?”
“Honestly, Captain, I have no idea,” Latour said.
“But what are the labs for?” Brzezinski asked. “I thought Azha-R7a was strictly a mining complex?”
“We started branching out last year,” Latour explained, “after a survey of a high-impact region revealed the presence of a subsurface frost layer teeming with exotic microbial fossils and unusual organic compounds, which we’ve determined were deposited by past cometary strikes. The Federation Science Council granted us a full array of state-of-the-art analysis-and-research equipment to study what we found. We’ve been at it ever since. But before you draw any hasty conclusions about that, we’ve made a thorough study of the frost and its contents, and I can assure you there’s nothing dangerous about our discoveries.”
“Let’s say you’re correct,” Sadler said. “What about the lab equipment itself? Is there anything about it that might be cause for concern if it fell into the wrong hands?”
Latour started to reply, but his confidence in whatever answer he was about to give faded quickly. “I’m not sure.”
“Shey,” Reyes said. “Take Doctor Latour with you to engineering. I want you to work together on compiling an inventory of everything the FSC sent to the colony. Check the library computer for their specs and review them for all possible applications.”
“Aye, sir,” said the Andorian engineer, nodding to the deputy administrator as the two of them got up from the meeting table and exited the briefing room.
Reyes turned to his chief of security. “Terry, I want you to start developing contingency plans to storm the colony. If we find out that diplomacy has failed, Starfleet Command might want us to take direct action to liberate the Arkenites, regardless of the political consequences.”
“Will do. But you need to know this, Captain . . . I’ve already made a thorough study of the mining complex, and in my current estimation, there’s no scenario that won’t involve civilian casualties.”
“Find one,” Reyes said. “Brzezinski, please assist Mister Sadler.”
That left only Gannon and Fisher in the room with Reyes. “Captain, I understand the necessity of preparing for worst-case scenarios,” the XO said, “but you must realize that if we do resort to force, we’ll be giving Gorkon exactly what he wants: an even stronger claim on Azha-R7a.”
Reyes looked close to losing his patience. “Commander, I respect the fresh perspective you bring to the table, but I know this man in ways that transcend what you can memorize from a computer file. And despite any pretense of honor, Gorkon is a ruthless, cunning bastard who won’t hesitate to space those people down there if and when he decides he doesn’t need to perpetuate this farce any longer. Once he has whatever he came here for, they’re as good as dead. My job is to make sure that moment never comes. Now, is there anything relevant you have to contribute to that objective?”
“There is one thing,” Gannon said evenly, “but I don’t think you’re going to like hearing it.”
Reyes’s eyebrows shot up. He cast a glance Fisher’s way, then leaned back in his chair. “Speak freely, Gannon.”
Gannon laced her hands atop the wood-stained oval table. “Gorkon takes great satisfaction in pushing your buttons, Captain. And frankly, that’s something he shouldn’t know how to do. This has gotten personal. You can’t seem to respond to him any way other than viscerally, and Gorkon knows it. He’s using your hatred of him to keep you off balance, to throw you off your game, to interfere with your judgment. And from what I’ve observed so far, he’s succeeding.”
Wow, Fisher thought. Go, Hallie!
Reyes’s eyes blazed. “Observation noted,” he answered curtly, abruptly vacating his chair and moving toward the exit.
“Gorkon was paying Commander Mehta a compliment, by the way,” Gannon called after him, and Reyes stopped in the doorway. “Before you threatened to blow his head off, when he told me to die as well as my predecessor? He wasn’t threatening me, or spitting on Mehta’s memory. He was acknowledging the honorable death of someone he considered a warrior. Among Klingons, it’s high praise.”
“What’s your point?”
“Only this, sir: The only way you’re going to beat Gorkon is by understanding what’s driving him, not by judging him according to human values. He’s never going to fit into the box you keep trying to put him in.”
• • •
As he strode down the curved corridor two hours later, Fisher told himself he’d waited long enough. When he reached his destination, he stopped at the door and thumbed the buzzer. It was answered in a distinct tone of resignation: “Come in, Zeke.”
The door slid open, and Fisher stepped inside the captain’s cabin to see Reyes working at his desk. “How’d you know it was me?”
Reyes’s eyes rolled toward him. “Everyone else aboard has the good sense not to bother the captain when he’s in a bad mood.”
“That’s a relief. I was afraid you were gonna make some smart-ass crack about hearing my joints creaking from down the corridor.”
Reyes rose and moved to his food slot. “Look, Zeke, if you came here to say something, just say it and go. Or you can shut up and join me for some bad coffee. Either way, I’m too busy to put up with the usual crap.”
“I’ll take the coffee,” Fisher said agreeably as he strolled toward the desk, where the screen displayed Reyes’s after-action report on the incident at Xarant. The doctor ignored it, reaching instead for the slate that Reyes had placed facedown on the desk when Fisher walked in. He turned it over and saw Gannon’s personnel file.
“Archery,” Fisher noted. “Who would have thought?”
“Hey, do you mind?” Reyes said irritably, grabbing the slate and handing Fisher a steaming cup. “What if this had been a top secret file?”
Fisher waved dismissively and went to sit in the chair opposite Reyes’s desk. “So what? You hate keeping secrets.”
Reyes sighed and returned to his own chair. “So what do you want, really? If you came here to talk to me about Gannon—”
“Actually, I came here to talk about you.”
“What about me?”
Fisher smiled. “Are you going to keep Hallie as your XO?”
Reyes scoffed and leaned back. “That’s none of your damn business, Doctor,” he said without heat.
“Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong, Captain. But we’ll let that one go. Here’s a better question: do you think she’s right?”
Reyes didn’t answer, and after a moment, he picked up the slate again and handed it to Fisher. “That special training she received about the Klingons . . . Look who she studied under.”
“Doctor Emanuel Tagore,” Fisher read. “The former ambassador?”
“The same. He’s been on the lecture circuit since his retirement. Felt he owed it to the Federation to share what he’d learned from living on the Klingon homeworld for four years. Somebody at Command finally realized Starfleet had something to gain from his knowledge and experience. The thinking was that star-ship captains would benefit from having officers with specialized training in the Klingons’ language, culture, history.”
“Let me guess: somewhere in this file is a glowing recommendation from the ambassador.”
“Glowing? It’s radioactive. She was one of his star pupils.”
Fisher shrugged and handed back the slate. “So she’s got a black belt in Klingon and she’s not afraid to use it. That doesn’t really tell you anything you didn’t already know.”
“No . . . but it does make me wonder if I really am making this personal.” Reyes stared into his coffee. “This thing with Gorkon . . . I’m letting it affect me exactly the way she described, aren’t I? And if Hallie is right about that . . . What if the reason Dauntless got the tar beaten out of it last year—the real reason Rajiv died—is because I’m not able to understand what really drives the Klingons?”
Fisher set down his cup. “Diego, listen to me. You have to stop blaming yourself for Rajiv, and everyone else who dies on your watch. We all knew the score when we signed on. Tomorrow it could be someone else. Maybe me. And if it happens, I hope you’ll feel the loss. But the last thing I’d want is for you to be crushed under the weight of it, or for it to compromise your ability to function as captain of this ship. It’s the last thing Rajiv would want, too.”
Reyes remained silent, his eyes filled with doubt.
The bosun’s whistle sounded from his desk’s intercom. “Bridge to Captain Reyes.”
Reyes switched it on, and Gannon’s face appeared on its tiny screen. “Reyes here. Talk to me, Commander.”
“Sir, we have a situation,” she told him. “All hell is breaking loose aboard the Chech’Iw.”
“Kendrick managed to tap into their intraship communications,” Gannon explained once Reyes and Fisher were on the bridge. “The Chech’Iw has suffered some sort of disaster in the surgeon’s bay. They’ve lost containment of something toxic, and whatever it is, it’s spreading quickly throughout the ship. They don’t seem to have the medical personnel on hand to deal with the crisis.”
“Captain, if I might make a suggestion?” Sadler said. “This could be an opportunity.”
Fisher didn’t like the way that sounded. “An opportunity to do what?”
The security chief continued speaking directly to Reyes. “We can offer them the same sort of deal they gave the colonists— help in exchange for their agreeing to relinquish their claim on Azha-R7a.”
“Or what?” Fisher challenged. “We’re going to let them die?”
“That’s exactly the choice they gave the Arkenites,” Sadler said.
“Since when do we take our cues from the Klingons?” Fisher asked.
Reyes stared at the viewscreen. The Chech’Iw hung above them, astern and to port, offering no outward sign that anything was wrong. “I agree with Mister Sadler—this is an opportunity.”
Fisher couldn’t believe it. Well, if that’s the way it’s gonna be, I sure as hell don’t need to stick around here to watch. Fuming, he started for the elevator.
“As you were, Doctor.”
Dammit. Fisher stopped and slowly turned back around, folding his arms. “Aye, sir.”
“Hail the Chech’Iw,” Reyes told Kendrick as he strode toward the center seat.
“Hailing frequencies open, sir.”
“I.K.S. Chech’Iw, this is the U.S.S. Dauntless. Do you require assistance?” When no answer came, he looked over his shoulder. “Are they receiving us?”
Kendrick nodded.
“I.K.S. Chech’Iw, we have crisis response personnel standing by to assist you. Please respond.”
“Reply coming in, Captain,” Kendrick said.
The screen warbled and dissolved to show Mazhtog, sweat beading on his forehead, his breathing labored. “What are . . . what are your . . . terms?” he rasped.
“No terms,” said Reyes, and Sadler’s mouth dropped open. “We’re offering our assistance without condition. Do you accept?”
“We . . . accept.”
“Fine. My chief medical officer will be beaming over shortly.” Reyes looked as if he were about to sign off, but then added, “After the first few minutes, you’ll probably want to shoot him. Please don’t. Reyes out.”
The captain spun his chair around and faced his officers.
Fisher smiled. “You surprise me sometimes, Diego.”
“Don’t be too impressed,” Reyes cautioned him. “I have ulterior motives. This is our best chance of obtaining first-hand intel about what the Klingons are really up to.” He looked at Sadler. “There’s more than one kind of opportunity, Lieutenant.”
Sadler nodded. “Understood, sir.”
“Gannon, go with Doctor Fisher. Do what you can to help the Klingons, but be careful over there. And keep your eyes open.”
As the Klingon ship solidified around him, Fisher’s thought from the previous day came back to him: That boy is gonna get me killed one of these days.
Suited up in biohazard gear, he and Gannon had once again beamed into a phalanx of armed Klingon guards, all wearing breathing masks. A strident alert Klaxon bleated from unseen speakers, forcing Gannon to shout over it as she spat at the guards in their own language.
One of the guards spat back, and then he and another Klingon took Fisher and Gannon by the arm, ushering them out of the transporter room and into bedlam.
The Klingons who could still walk stumbled through corridors strewn with the twitching bodies of those more gravely stricken. Some of the fallen bled from their noses, or ears, or eyes.
Fisher opened his tricorder, and the readings he took confirmed his fears.
The Chech’Iw was dying.