The Jackal's Trick

by John Jackson Miller

  “The last bit ran longer than a year, and you’re ready for the next one? You’re incorrigible.” Gaw waved. “You kids have fun now. Don’t let any piles of latinum bricks fall on you.”

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL RODAK

  GHORA JANTO

  Ghora Janto had two stars and no planets—and yet Zokar thought something about the system spoke to the Klingon imagination. Long before civilization arose in the Empire, a rogue white dwarf passed too close to a blue main-sequence star. Locking onto one another in gravitic battle, every planet in both systems was torn to shreds.

  Debris from the cosmic altercation continued to course around and between the combatants, switching direction frequently as the forces on them shifted. It had made mapping almost impossible—thus creating one of the Empire’s more secure refueling locations. Either you knew on which of the billions of chunks of rock to find the station, or you looked for it forever.

  Once again, Zokar’s experience had come in handy. The first bird-of-prey to arrive had paused outside the debris field, cloaked and confused. He had redirected their attention to a lone ship, vectoring into the system. It would lead them right to the meeting Kruge had spoken of, and Kersh.

  “Steady,” he said as Rodak cruised forward through the mineral miasma. The widespread distribution of debris made it highly unlikely the invaders could collide with anything large, but striking small particles worried him. Could plowing ahead too fast compromise their cloak? He didn’t have enough experience with this cloaking system to know. But the others followed his lead.

  “Five additional Unsung vessels have arrived,” Harch said. “Nine out of eleven.”

  “A quorum. And there’s the quarry.” Zokar studied the growing image onscreen. One of the larger asteroids exhibited signs of habitation, with towers and domes on its misshapen surface. Several ships were tethered to the low-gravity body. “The depot is beneath the surface. If Kersh is meeting anyone, it’s in there.”

  “Where’s Gur’rok?” Harch asked. “I thought that was her flagship.”

  “You heard Kruge. She is on the run, making a secret deal. We will see her ships soon enough—after we kill her.” His hand gripped the armrest. “Arm photon torpedos.”

  Harch looked back. “Valandris isn’t here yet.”

  “Too bad for the laggard. This revenge cannot wait.” Zokar was about to give a command when he noticed Harch’s expression. It had gone from concern to surprise. He looked back to see four Unsung warriors entering the bridge, two on either side of their prisoners: Worf and Sarken.

  “Hold position, Harch.” Zokar laughed and stood. “What, did you two go for a walk?”

  “We found them in engineering,” said one of the guards holding on to Worf’s arm. “You knew he was here, Zokar?”

  “He’s a stowaway. I was about to tell Lord Kruge about it when he was killed.”

  Worf raised an eyebrow. “Kruge was killed?”

  “Now you care? You thought him a fraud.” Zokar approached the prisoners and glared down at Sarken. She looked terrified. “Did you free him, stripling? It’s good we are busy, or I would lock you in a torpedo tube.”

  “Do not blame her,” Worf said.

  “Right.” Zokar punched Worf hard in the stomach. “This was your idea.”

  Worf shrugged it off with gritted teeth. “Zokar, this girl may have saved your lives. I surrendered because of what she found.”

  The word hit Zokar like a club. “Surrendered?”

  Worf spoke with urgency. “Your stealth positioning system—the thing that tells you where other ships in the Phantom Wing are—is accessible from deck six. I had intended to adjust the setting to broadcast your location to Starfleet.”

  “Ah, your plan. So you failed.”

  “No.”

  Zokar’s eyebrow tilted. “You succeeded?”

  “No. I discovered the system was already set to broadcast your locations to someone far away.”

  “Who set it?”

  “Whoever supplied you with the Phantom Wing.”

  Zokar looked around the bridge. The other Unsung were as puzzled as he was. “Why would they do that?”

  “To track you, I am certain. But also to trigger the thing Sarken identified by crawling into a space I could not reach. The system is connected to a detonator and a photon torpedo warhead. Whoever is tracking your vessels also has the means to destroy them by remote control—and I cannot imagine it is unique to Rodak.”

  Zokar goggled. “Do you mean there is a bomb on board every ship?”

  Worf stared at the older Klingon. “You thought the Unsung lived free, Zokar. In truth, you only exist while someone else allows you to.”

  Fifty-five

  “Madness!” Zokar said. “Utter madness. There is no warhead. You waste my time.”

  “He tells the truth,” Sarken said. “I saw it.”

  “You do not even know what a warhead looks like.”

  “I live on a bird-of-prey—and before that my hut was next to the armory. I know.”

  Worf gave the little girl a reassuring look. “Send someone. But tell them not to try to deactivate it. I doubt anyone here has the skills.”

  “Then what good is knowing about it?” Zokar asked. “Son of Mogh, you speak in circles.”

  “Valandris has just emerged from warp,” the woman at the comm station said. “We are all here.”

  “Fine. No more of this.” Zokar pointed to the guards. “Take the girl back to the hold. As for Worf—”

  Before he could give his command, an alarm sounded on the bridge. “Three battle cruisers have just appeared in sensor range,” the woman at the navigation station said. “The lead vessel is identified as V’raak. Kersh’s ship is not with them.”

  Zokar walked over to see for himself. “This makes no sense. Kruge told us she would come here.”

  “Yes, Zokar. Why would he lie?” Worf asked. As he did so, the Unsung holding him tensed. Others growled.

  “Careful, son of Mogh,” Zokar said. “You are among true believers.”

  “What will it take to make you understand? Battle cruisers arrive just as the whole squadron is in the system.” Worf strained against his captors. “There is a deception at work—”

  “Incoming!” Harch had scarcely finished the word when a photon torpedo exploded near Rodak. The bird-of-prey pitched sideways, throwing prisoners and captors alike to the deck.

  Zokar clambered back to his command chair. “Who is firing?”

  Harch looked back. “That was V’raak. The other two are firing as well—at our other birds-of-prey!”

  “But we are cloaked!”

  A second blast struck the starboard shields, sending debris from the asteroid field slamming into the ship. A console exploded, sending sparks raining across the deck. Worf grabbed Sarken, yanking her clear of the spray.

  “Evasive action,” Zokar ordered. The ship rolled. “Start our attack run on the depot.”

  “It is too late for that,” Worf yelled. As if to punctuate his words, the proximity alarm sounded again.

  “A Romulan warbird is decloaking before the depot,” Harch said. “No, two!”

  Zokar’s eyes bulged as he saw the enormous vessels before the large asteroid. “Are they targeting us, too?”

  “Definitely blocking us, and—”

  Another alarm. The navigator reported, “We have Breen ships arriving, directly aft.”

  Worf scrambled forward and grabbed at the bald Klingon’s shoulder. “You are betrayed, Zokar!”

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ

  GHORA JANTO

  “Something is wrong,” Valandris said. Her investigation of Kruge’s death had made Chu’charq the last bird-of-prey to leave Omicron Lankal. Arriving last gave her a wider perspective on the developing situation. A battle raged: a peculiar-looking one-sided affair, with the three Klingon battle cruisers firing—and striking—unseen targets in the asteroid field.

  The Romulan warbirds and the Breen battl
e cruisers were doing something else entirely. “They’re firing torpedoes into the debris field,” Raneer said, “using it to bombard everything in sight.”

  “And not in sight,” Valandris said from the command chair. “I don’t think the Romulans and the Breen can see us—they’re just responding to the Empire vessels’ shots and trying to limit our field of movement.” But the Klingon battle cruisers definitely had found a way to target them.

  “Heavy damages being reported from—” At her station, Hemtara stopped in midsentence. “Valandris, Kaanz has been destroyed.”

  A Phantom Wing vessel. “Get us in there. Start firing back!”

  Chu’charq wheeled and accelerated, careening toward the fight. Another alarm sounded. “Now what?”

  “It’s Titan,” someone said. “And Enterprise.”

  Hemtara called out. “Starfleet is here!”

  Valandris had sensed an apocalyptic feeling in the squadron ever since Kruge’s murder. I think the moment has arrived.

  HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND

  KETORIX PRIME, KLINGON EMPIRE

  Korgh rocked back and forth on the chair in Odrok’s command center, almost too excited to sit. The audio feed from V’raak detailed a magnificent battle. One shipful of his puppets had already met their end, with the kill going to Lorath. And there would be more. Ten more.

  He didn’t understand how the Romulans and Breen had gotten there so quickly, but that didn’t matter. Their participation would give him more ammunition against the Federation. The arrival of Titan and Enterprise had been unwelcome, but the important thing was that they were last, and had no idea how to target the cloaked ships. Lorath did. The accolades would be his.

  Not once did he worry about Odrok’s absence. She would regret missing this, for sure.

  U.S.S. TITAN

  GHORA JANTO

  Vale heard the turbolift open. “The Romulans and Breen are already here, Admiral.”

  “How did that happen?” Riker walked onto the bridge and stared at the conflagration in wonder. Titan had held position at the edge of the system, waiting for Enterprise’s arrival and for Lorath’s vessels to make the first move. Once the Klingon battle cruisers entered the debris field and started firing, that was Starfleet’s cue to close in. But how had the Breen and Romulan party crashers found a fight that was only minutes old?

  “We are tracking the shots the Klingon battle cruisers are firing,” Keru said, “and creating contacts in our targeting database.”

  “It’d be a lot easier if they’d tell us how they’re doing this,” Vale said. She looked over to Riker, now watching on her right. He shrugged. “Bring us toward the nearest contact, conn.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Riker stood behind Kyzak, serving at ops after his unusual adventure on H’atoria. “Send our modeling to Enterprise. Have them disable anyone trying to escape on this vector.”

  The challenge facing the Starfleet vessels could not have been more daunting. They were entering a firefight with ships they could not see, but they were also concerned about Worf, who might be aboard any one of them. If any disabled Phantom Wing vessel decloaked, Titan and Enterprise had to get to it in time to transport survivors off the ship.

  “Security teams, stand by in the transporter rooms for possible evacuees,” Vale ordered.

  She didn’t see the look her first officer gave her, but Riker did. Sarai had never liked the idea of going into battle with one hand tied behind their backs. In the earlier briefing, she’d stopped just short of implying that Riker’s judgment was compromised by his personal concern for Worf. Riker didn’t care. He knew finding survivors among the Unsung was absolutely necessary to unraveling the mysteries surrounding them.

  And if they netted Worf in the process, all the better.

  On the main viewscreen, he saw disruptor fire lancing from nowhere at one of the Klingon battle cruisers. Fire came in from all directions at the source. A bird-of-prey rippled itself into view—and then tore apart.

  “When they fire back, everybody lights them up,” Sarai said from Vale’s side. “This won’t take long.”

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL RODAK

  GHORA JANTO

  “There goes Garada!”

  At the sight of another destroyed bird-of-prey, Worf felt jubilant, restored—and then he looked down at Sarken, clinging to his leg and wailing. Each call of a destroyed ship hit the bridge like a sledgehammer. Every ship had one-twelfth of the Unsung community aboard. Everyone he had seen on Thane.

  Some Unsung had slain on the false Kruge’s command, but some hadn’t. There was no time to waste, he thought. Lifting Sarken into his arms, he moved in front of Zokar. The older Klingon seemed frozen, paralyzed with rage and frustration. Every attempt to strike at the Klingons—or his preferred enemy, the Romulans—had resulted in Rodak being beaten back, with damage to its systems.

  “Do you see, Zokar? There is your answer. We know who has access to the stealth positioning system. They do!”

  Zokar gripped his armrest with his hand—and then looked up at Worf, his normally stern face fraught. “What am I to do?”

  “If you drop your cloak, you will disengage the device.”

  “Fool! If we drop our cloaks, they will destroy us!”

  “They are doing that anyway,” Worf said. “But while the stealth positioning system is activated, they can find you. And you will be in danger from whoever set those bombs!”

  It was clear Zokar had forgotten all about the warhead hidden inside his hull. He looked to Harch, his closest advisor. Receiving no counsel, he growled. “Today is a good day to die!”

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ

  GHORA JANTO

  “Drop your cloaks,” Zokar said in an announcement to the squadron. “I have no time to explain.”

  “I was about to do it anyway,” Valandris said. Chu’charq needed all power to its shields and engines to stave off the assault.

  “Are you insane?” Raneer asked, looking back in horror. “They will see us!”

  “And nothing at all will be different.” Valandris’s jaw stiffened. “Give me close approaches on the attacking ships. I want them to see me wave. Hemtara, tell the whole squadron to do the same.”

  The woman looked back at her, stunned. “Suicide?”

  “As soon as we decloak, we’ll take fire from everyone. But I am betting the different factions only have permission to attack us. They will think twice before shooting closely at one another!”

  Fifty-six

  U.S.S. ENTERPRISE

  GHORA JANTO

  “Steady,” Picard said. “Be prepared to move in.”

  He was unaccustomed to playing the vulture, but that was the Enterprise’s role. The Romulans and Breen had been the sheepdogs, keeping the Unsung from leaving the field while the Klingon battle cruisers thinned the herd. Enterprise was herding, too, but Picard’s focus was on beaming out survivors before they were annihilated. As yet, he hadn’t been given the chance—but when several birds-of-prey decloaked, Picard figured it was time.

  Then the calculus changed.

  “Seven birds-of-prey decloaked,” Dygan announced from ops. “With two destroyed plus the one at H’atoria, that leaves two unaccounted—”

  “Aspect change on the nearest target,” Šmrhová announced. “Birds-of-prey converging on the battle cruiser nearest us.”

  “Attack pattern gamma four,” Picard said. “Target only the vessels more than two kilometers from the Klingon cruiser. Phasers only, fire to disable.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed—and then widened as fire ballooned from the battle cruiser’s bridge. He wasn’t watching suicide runs. The Unsung knew what they were doing.

  “Hail the cruiser,” Picard ordered. They might be bringing a different sort of survivor aboard entirely.

  HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND

  KETORIX PRIME, KLINGON EMPIRE

  Something had gone wrong. The Unsung had not turned the tide, but the
voices Korgh was hearing on the Defense Force feed were no longer as joyous. They should have been ecstatic, because several of the Phantom Wing ships had unexpectedly dropped their cloaks.

  But those birds-of-prey quickly moved to close quarters, risking annihilation in exchange for a chance to stay temporarily out of harm’s way. Worse, they were using their proximity to exact damage. Like buzzing insects, several had converged on one of Lorath’s companion cruisers. They had delivered a devastating blow, striking at its bridge; no reports had come from it since.

  Korgh still did not doubt victory, but he began to worry that Unsung survivors might be captured—and while he did not fear that, it was a complication he preferred to avoid. It was one he had prepared for. He shuffled around the documents on Odrok’s desk. There was a program in her computer systems for such an eventuality; it just required the activation code.

  He was searching the mess under the desk when a hail arrived, nearly scaring the old man out of his wits. It was on the private channel he’d established with V’raak’s ready room. “What is it, Lorath?”

  “I must speak quickly, Father. Something is wrong. Our targeting is tied into the Phantom Wing’s stealth positioning system. But now that most are decloaked, we are no longer receiving data from them.”

  “Then switch to manual targeting.”

  He heard shouting in the background. “Doing so now, but it will take a minute to reset the systems and expel the old code.”

  “I—I had not thought of that.” He couldn’t imagine why the squadron was decloaking. Such behavior made no sense.

  “You said to call if things went wrong. We have the upper hand, but one of my ships is out of action—and the Unsung are tenacious. If you have found something else that will help us, you had better tell me.”

  “Ah!” The request delighted Korgh. Lorath’s forces had done enough damage to qualify him as the hero of the engagement; now was the time to detonate the bombs Odrok and her minions had installed aboard the ships, eliminating all evidence. It would be the mass suicide everyone expected from the Unsung.

  But the code was nowhere to be found.