2268
The battle above Atraz was taking its toll on both vessels.
“Shields down to forty percent,” Chekov reported. “Plasma and radiation leaks reported on decks nine, twelve, and twenty-one. Turbolifts out of commission below deck seventeen. Life-support compromised on the hangar deck, botanical gardens, brig, and science labs.”
“Sickbay receiving multiple casualties,” Uhura informed Spock. “No fatalities so far.”
“Emergency bulkheads sealed,” Scott said. “Repair crews at work or en route to affected areas. All Jefferies tubes still accessible. Diverting discretionary power to primary systems.”
The acrid odor of fried circuitry, along with scattered wisps of smoke, contaminated the once-pristine atmosphere of the bridge. Tense personnel labored to restore broken and malfunctioning consoles to full working order, while other crew members made do at auxiliary stations. Energy surges and shock waves had tested the sturdy construction and built-in redundancies of the ships’ hardware and systems, even as the Enterprise and the BortaS continued to exchange heavy fire, speeding past, above, and below each other as they circled the planet at impulse speed.
“Brace yourself!” Rahda called out from the helm. “Here she comes again!”
On the viewscreen, the battle cruiser swooped toward them, growing larger in perspective by the millisecond. Caustic green energy lit up the screen, momentarily overwhelming the brightness filters. Spock’s inner eyelids blinked against the glare as yet another disruptor blast rocked the Enterprise, striking with increasing force as the ship’s deflector shields steadily weakened over the course of the conflict. The impact challenged the inertial dampers, resulting in a gravitational tilt across the bridge. An overworked yeoman, dashing from one station to another, was thrown off his feet and slammed into the turbolift doors. Other members of the bridge crew grabbed onto consoles, railings, and seatbacks to keep from falling. Crackling and sizzling noises emanated from within the environmental subsystems station; its monitors and displays went dead.
But the BortaS was in similar straits. Its latest attack brought it within easy range of the Enterprise, which fired its phasers at the same time that the battle cruiser’s disruptor cannons flared green once more. Working in tandem, Rahda and Farrell scored a direct hit on the Klingons’ forward torpedo launcher. The resulting energy discharge was of sufficient magnitude to suggest that the phaser beam had inflicted considerable damage on the launcher, despite whatever protection was afforded by the BortaS’s progressively threadbare shields. Scorch marks on the battle cruiser’s hull, along with trails of leaked vapor and plasma, attested to the wounds sustained by the ship. Spock had no doubt that the Enterprise had also been visibly scarred.
The mathematics of attrition indeed, he thought.
“Shields down to thirty-seven point three percent,” Chekov updated him. “Phaser banks at half capacity.”
Scotty scowled at his engineering displays. “We can’t take this much punishment indefinitely.”
“Nor can the BortaS,” Spock said, “as Captain Khod is surely aware, even if he is loath to admit it.”
Uhura glanced at Spock from her station, where she monitored, sifted, and collated status reports from throughout the ship with practiced efficiency. “Isn’t it almost time, Mister Spock?”
Spock checked his own mental countdown against the ship’s chronometer, finding them in agreement down to two decimal places. “Almost, Lieutenant. Just a few moments more.”
“I hope so,” she murmured under her breath. “And none too soon.”
In fact, the anticipated signal arrived precisely 2.864 minutes behind schedule. Spock blamed gravimetric fluctuations, ionic turbulence, quantum filaments, interstellar obstacles, spacial anomalies, or some other random variable for the delay, which had caused him to briefly entertain the dire possibility that an unforeseen factor had derailed his plan completely. He allowed himself a modicum of relief at the signal’s tardy receipt.
“Mister Spock!” Uhura winked at him. “I’m receiving an encrypted subspace transmission from the Yorktown and the Argosy.”
“On speaker, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir. Decrypting now. Code Two-Zeta.”
“Attention Enterprise,” said a voice that bore a distinct resemblance to Lieutenant Charlene Masters in engineering. “Your situation has been relayed to us on a priority channel. By order of Starfleet Command, we are en route at top speed to provide reinforcements and are authorized to take whatever measures are necessary to protect the planet and the Enterprise from Klingon aggression. Hold the fort until we get there. We won’t be long. Yorktown, over and out.”
The message was, of course, a hoax.
The recorder marker they had launched earlier, supposedly to convey their logs to the nearest subspace relay buoy, had also been programmed to transmit a recorded signal back to the Enterprise once the marker had traveled sufficiently far enough to mask its origins. The counterfeit signal had been carefully crafted by Uhura to resemble a genuine Starfleet communication in all particulars, employing a code known to have been cracked by the Klingons’ Romulan allies, with the full expectation that the BortaS would be monitoring all transmissions to and from the Enterprise.
But would Khod see through the deception?
In a very real sense, this was the opposite of the ruse Captain Kirk had employed in the Tellun system. Kirk had tricked Khod into thinking the Enterprise was far more helpless than it actually was. By contrast, Spock wanted Khod to believe that the Enterprise was about to achieve a decisive advantage, with the battered battle cruiser soon to be outnumbered three to one.
“You think they bought it?” Uhura said in a low voice.
“That remains to be seen, Lieutenant.”
Their gambit relied on Khod being so determined not to fall for the same trick again that he would fail to discern its reverse image. Spock was also counting on the Klingon’s pragmatism to win out over his combative nature and temper now that Spock had provided him with a legitimate and indisputable reason to abandon the battle. Khod was warlike, not suicidal, as proven by the fact that he’d chosen retreat over certain defeat the last time he’d fought the Enterprise. In theory, his pride and honor would survive not throwing away the BortaS in a quixotic clash against three Starfleet vessels, two of which were fresh to the fray.
Or so Spock estimated.
“The BortaS is hailing us again,” Uhura said. “Funny coincidence, that.”
“Indeed, Lieutenant. Put him through.”
Khod’s hirsute features reclaimed a corner of the viewscreen.
“So, Vulcan, it seems you lack confidence in your vaunted calculations, nor do you possess the heart to face me in combat, your ship against mine. Instead you cravenly call for others to save you from our righteous fury!” He sneered at Spock and the bridge crew. “Do not deny it! We know full well that even now your precious Starfleet is sending more ships to fight your battles for you. Coward!”
Spock replied carefully, not wanting to provoke Khod into prolonging the armed conflict. He needed to allow the Klingon the opportunity to salvage his pride and dignity before retreating in the face of overwhelming odds. The sooner the BortaS withdrew, the less likely Khod was to discover that no actual Starfleet reinforcements were imminent.
“If you say so,” he said evenly. “As a Vulcan, my pride cannot be wounded by accepting aid from my allies, which is only logical. All that matters is the result of the equation, where the variables are now indisputably in our favor. What you choose to do with that information is naturally up to you, but I surmise that the Klingon Empire did not become a galactic superpower without choosing which battles to fight to the end… and which are not worth the expense.”
Khod nodded on-screen. “Never underestimate our cunning, Vulcan. We are warriors, yes, but we are seldom fools.”
“I never thought otherwise,” Spock said.
“See that you don’t!” Khod snarled, perhaps as much for his own troops as for Spock. “To die for victory is glorious, but to risk total destruction for… a misplaced scientist?” He spat out the last word with audible contempt. “Very well. Have your renegade professor if you can take her, but never cross me again, Vulcan. I will not be so merciful the next time we meet!”
Khod vanished abruptly from the viewer, claiming the last word. Now occupying the whole of the screen, the BortaS executed a loop that sent it soaring away from the battle, but not before its rear-firing cannons took a parting shot at the Enterprise. A final barrage of disruptor beams punctuated the battle cruiser’s exit, blazing through space toward the starship’s saucer section.
“Hold on tight!” Rahda shouted, taking evasive action. “We’re taking the plunge!”
The bridge tilted forward precipitously as the Enterprise dived beneath the vicious viridian beams, the prow of the ship all but skimming the upper edges of Atraz’s exosphere before leveling out. The steep, rapid descent reminded Spock of a classical human diversion known as a roller coaster, whose appeal had always eluded him. A jarring vibration ran through the ship, agitating display screens and indicator lights all around the bridge. Evidence of disruptor contact despite Rahda’s swift reflexes?
“Damage?” Spock asked.
“Only a glancing blow,” Chekov said. “Scraped the shields over our stern, but only minimal damage to the hull.” He cast an aggrieved look at the departing D7 cruiser. “That Cossack just had to get a last lick in, I guess.”
“Just as long as we’ve seen the last of him,” Uhura said. “And that ridiculous forked beard of his.”
“You said it, lassie.” Scott grinned at Spock. “Well done, Mister Spock. Remind me to never play poker with you.”
“A highly unlikely scenario.” Spock was gratified by the apparent success of his ploy and made a mental note to see to it that Uhura’s invaluable contribution to the hoax was duly noted in the logs, but he resisted the temptation to pronounce the crisis over prematurely. “Course and heading of the battle cruiser, Mister Chekov?”
The ensign consulted the long-range sensors.
“They’ve left orbit and are heading out of the system, sir. Toward the Klingon border.”
“Good riddance,” Scott said. “But now then, what about the captain and the others?”
“My thoughts exactly, Mister Scott.”