Demands of Honor

by Kevin Ryan

  Jon had not sacrificed who he was—a brave and honorable man—even when it meant betraying his mission for the Klingon Empire and his own people. As a security officer, it had been her job to protect people. That position was essential to who she was. If she decided not to have this baby, she could continue the service—a service that was needed now more than ever.

  But to do that she would be sacrificing whatever was left of Jon in this galaxy, and whatever was left of what they had shared, which was also part of who she was. It was then that she realized that there was one more life that she could protect.

  After endless days and nights of agonizing over what to do, Parrish found that her decision was quite simple in the end. It wouldn’t just change a few things, it would change everything. The doctor had already told her that there would be complications and a danger to her. Well, she had faced danger before.

  Parrish got up and headed for sickbay.

  Chapter Twelve

  I.K.S. D’K TAHG

  FEDERATION-KLINGON BORDER

  WHILE KAREL HEADED TO the bridge, he had to resist the impulse to run. Given the current situation with the Federation, he knew that each summons by his commander might mean the start of serious trouble for the ship. What that danger might mean for the empire was another matter—one he had had to put aside to concentrate on the most immediate dangers. And topping that list was Councillor Duras and whatever he was planning for System 7348.

  Just a few weeks ago, Orions working for someone on the Klingon High Council had tried to destroy that world. Now, they were headed there to … what? The official story was that they were going to start talks with the biological Klingons on the second planet to enter the empire. Even if that was true, it was the smallest part of the reason.

  The obvious answer was the dilithium, which the empire badly needed for its war effort. But it was impossible to be sure of anything with Duras, who had shown himself to be both treacherous and dishonorable. Would he sacrifice the Klingons on the surface to get what he wanted to fuel his dishonorable war? Certainly. What of the D’k Tahg and its crew?

  That Duras had yet to fully reveal his plans told Karel that whatever danger he posed to the ship might come from any direction. Karel had faced difficult battle before, fights that had taken the lives of most of the warriors around him. He neither hesitated nor flinched from danger he could see and could fight. But this, this was intolerable. It worried him like no honest battle had ever done.

  After Karel had told Koloth the truth about what he had learned of his brother’s fate and what it meant for the empire, Karel had felt a brief period of relief. He knew now that he had a partner in his fight. However, he also knew that they might soon be fighting a member of the High Council as well as the Federation.

  Entering the bridge, he saw Koloth in his seat. The captain looked well, but Karel knew that this mission was taking a toll on him. Koloth now left the bridge only for brief periods to eat and sleep.

  What they were about to do would worry any commander entering a battle, and Karel had no doubt they were, in fact, entering a battle. But what sort of battle? And against whom?

  Koloth acknowledged him with a nod. “Councillor Duras will be arriving shortly. He has an announcement for us.” The captain’s tone was flat, but no one on the bridge had to wonder for a second about how their commander felt about this mission.

  Karel checked with the navigator and said, “Ten minutes until we cross the Federation border, Captain.”

  Koloth acknowledged that with a nod, and a moment later Duras entered the bridge with three of his armed guards. Unlike their former captain, Koloth did not keep personal guards on the bridge. He depended on the loyalty of his crew and his own ability to answer honest challenges. Thus, the sight of Duras’s guards was yet another reminder of all that was foolish and dishonorable about the empire today.

  “Councillor, we are about to enter Federation space,” Koloth informed him.

  “Excellent,” Duras replied.

  “This ship and crew are entering enemy territory, Councillor. I would like to tell them what to expect,” Koloth said.

  Duras seemed to be weighing his next words carefully. “Communications Officer. Put me on ship-wide intercom.”

  It was, of course, a breach for Duras to give orders to Koloth’s warriors on his bridge, but that was no doubt what the councillor intended. When the communications officer signaled he was ready, Duras puffed himself up and began. “Honored warriors of the Klingon Empire, we are about to cross the border into the territory of the cowardly and treacherous Federation. We go to claim a world full of those who share our Klingon blood. We also will likely fire the first shots in the final battle with the Earthers. I am pleased to tell you that meeting us at our destination will be the Federation starship U.S.S. Enterprise, which recently took the lives of many of this crew in their pitiful effort to defend one of their starbases. When the time is right, you will all be able to seek your revenge. In the tradition of Klingons throughout the ages, we shall serve our vengeance very cold to the Earthers.”

  There were rumbles on the bridge and Karel had no doubt there were cheers throughout the ship. The crew had all lost comrades in the battle of Starbase 42. Karel, of course, had lost his own brother, who had been serving on the Enterprise.

  In the fight against the Earthers, Karel had seen the humans fight bravely. And, most important, they had won the day.

  “This is a battle that was begun twenty-five years ago at Donatu Five, where the treacherous Earthers denied us our rightful victory, placing a great stain on the honor of the Klingon Empire. We shall reclaim that honor and take our final victory over the Federation now.”

  This time, Karel could actually hear the cries of Klingons throughout the battle cruiser. Whatever else Duras was planning, he was offering the crew something they wanted badly: blood.

  There was silence on the bridge for a long moment. Finally, it was broken by the navigator, who announced, “We are entering Federation space now.”

  Immediately, there were grunts of approval from the bridge crew. Karel glanced at the captain and saw his own worries written on Koloth’s face. There was danger everywhere. They were truly caught in the nest of a Denebian slime devil. And there was something else, something that Karel’s blood was trying to tell him: whatever Duras was planning, whatever was going to happen, was going to happen soon.

  Chapter Thirteen

  SHUTTLECRAFT GALILEO

  KLINGON SPACE

  THE FLIGHT PATH was remarkably complex, but Ensign Quatrocchi executed it flawlessly. Like the Federation, the Klingons had an intricate web of sensors watching the border. They were designed to detect large, powerful vessels like starships. Thus, under normal circumstances, the shuttle should have been able to slip over the border fairly easily without raising an alarm. Certainly larger merchant and smuggling vessels had been able to do it for many years.

  The problem was that the current political climate was far from normal. Fuller knew there was a reasonable possibility that this whole situation was a trap to lure a starship into Klingon space. The Klingons had used a similar tactic at the Battle of Donatu V, when Fuller’s first vessel, the Endeavour, had been ambushed by three Klingon cruisers.

  Now, the destruction of the Enterprise or any of the eleven other ships in her class would give the Klingons an early tactical advantage. And it would allow the Klingons to claim that the Federation had provoked the war by violating their space.

  Of course there was a better than even chance that the distress call was genuine and the situation was just as it seemed. The problem was that if it was a trap, Fuller would have little time to make that judgment and get his team out of there.

  Fuller checked the sensors again. For a ship its size, the shuttle had remarkably robust sensors, which were given a temporary boost by the class 1 probe Mister Scott and his team had attached to the craft.

  There it was, an energy spike, and it matched the range for Kli
ngon merchant vessels. There were no other readings anywhere within two square light-years, certainly nothing like a Klingon warship’s warp signature. Of course, there were ways to mask those kinds of readings, so absolute certainty was a practical impossibility here. Then again, certainty—absolute or otherwise—had never been much of a part of his career in security.

  “I have them on sensors. It’s a Klingon cargo ship with no sign of other vessels in the area,” Fuller said. One hundred percent certainty may have been a practical impossibility, but his squad needed him to be infallible. Once again, he was reminded why he did not want to serve as a section chief again: what his people needed and deserved and what he could deliver were light-years apart.

  Dozens of names were on a wall at Starfleet Command because Fuller had been all too fallible. For the most part they had been young officers, and they had all been good people.

  People like Sam, a voice in his head supplied. Fuller had to quiet that voice by sheer force of will. He couldn’t be distracted now. Otherwise there would be seven more names on that wall by the end of the day.

  “We’re ready, sir,” Parmet said.

  Fuller turned and looked at the squad, who were all looking back at him with earnest, trusting faces. They believed in him, believed in the myth of his record—not seeing or actively ignoring the many failures that had cost the lives of people just like them.

  Like Sam.

  Fuller shook off his doubt. Their faith, however misplaced, would help the mission now. Nodding, Fuller instructed, “Put your helmets on.” Five of the squad complied immediately. Quatrocchi and Fuller would have to wait. As pilot and copilot, they couldn’t afford the limited visibility and restricted movement until the Klingon ship’s weapons and shields were down.

  “Ten minutes to Klingon weapons range,” Fuller said. Even longer until we reach the range of our weapons, Fuller thought, but didn’t say. Though it was true that the Klingon weapons had greater range and power, the security team still had a few tricks up their sleeves.

  At the halfway mark, Fuller hit a sequence on the console and said, “Launching probe now.” They heard a click on the hull and the probe appeared in front of them, racing toward its position.

  A moment later, a light came on in front of him. The Klingons had seen them and were hailing the shuttle. He would have preferred for his conversation with them to wait, but he had no choice. Fuller activated the probe. Immediately, it started jamming the Klingon ship’s communications and sensors. Now, they would have trouble tracking the shuttle and would not be able to raise an alarm.

  The shuttle would also be out of communication with the Enterprise, but they were observing communication silence anyway. Of course, the jamming also affected the shuttle sensors, but Fuller was just able to get a visual on the Klingon ship. Pointing to the viewer in front of them, Fuller said, “There.”

  “I see it,” Quatrocchi said.

  “Full speed. Interception course.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  What happened next would happen quickly, Fuller knew. He studied the small image of the Klingon ship. It fit the basic profile of a Klingon cargo vessel. There was still no sign of any Klingon warships, and Fuller had to put thoughts of a trap aside. They were committed now, and the Klingon vessel would give them enough trouble. If there was a Klingon military vessel in range, this mission would be over for them in a few minutes anyway.

  Four minutes to go. Three. The Klingon ship loomed larger, revealing more detail. Fuller was able to identify the class of ship, and the computer told him the most important details. “The vessel has forward and rear disruptor cannons. The shield emitters are in the approximate center of the command and propulsion segment. I need you to get me a shot on the shields first.”

  “Yes, chief,” Quatrocchi said.

  Then, to Fuller’s surprise, the Klingon vessel began to move, but not toward the shuttle, which it was no doubt having trouble pinpointing.

  “Stay with him,” Fuller said.

  The shuttle matched the movement and Fuller saw what the Klingon vessel was doing. “They’re looking for the probe. Get us in there.”

  Quatrocchi pushed the speed and Fuller could hear the shuttle engines straining. It couldn’t maintain the speed for long, but it wouldn’t have to. The battle would be over long before the engines burned out.

  On the viewer, the cargo ship executed a turn and its cannons came alive, spewing green energy at the space in front of the Klingon ship. Fuller could not make out the probe at this distance, but, apparently, neither could the Klingons because they kept up a steady stream of fire that looked almost random.

  Fuller understood. “They’re trying to hit the probe, but they can’t get a lock or even a visual, so they’re firing at multiple coordinates in the probe’s general area.” It wasn’t a bad approach—the only one the Klingons had. Of course, it would take a good bit of luck for them to hit the probe before the shuttle engaged them.

  Before that thought had fully formed in his mind, there was a flash of an explosion and Fuller realized that the first bit of luck of the day had just gone to the Klingons. His sensors came online. “The probe’s gone.”

  No one spoke, but they all understood. The Klingons would be able to transmit their situation to any nearby ships. Even another merchant ship could tip the balance in the Klingons’ favor here.

  Fuller didn’t hesitate. He hit the transmit button on the console. “Klingon vessel. This is the Federation shuttle Galileo,” putting emphasis on the word shuttle. “We demand you hand over the Federation citizens you are now holding. Drop your shields and power down your weapons or prepare to be destroyed.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. Then there was loud, hearty Klingon laughter.

  “Federation shuttle. You are in no position to demand anything. I encourage you to keep your shields up and, by all means, use your weapons. We will destroy you anyway.”

  The Klingons cut the line.

  “Um, sir?” came a voice from behind him. It was Parmet. Fuller couldn’t mistake the concern in his voice.

  Fuller kept his eyes on the window in front of him. They were now close enough to the Klingon ship to see it unmagnified. “The challenge will keep them from asking any other ships for help. It will be a matter of pride for them to deal with us themselves,” Fuller said. “Mister Quatrocchi, change of plan. Meet them head-on at full speed. No maneuvers. Just give me a straight shot.”

  Quatrocchi acknowledged and Fuller ran a quick diagnostic on the photon torpedo. It was functioning and its containment field was showing a solid hour of power.

  A disruptor beam flashed by the shuttle, close but not close enough to touch their shields. The second shot hit them a glancing blow, and warning lights lit up the panel in front of him. Fuller ignored them and returned fire with phasers. They would be ineffective against the Klingon ship’s shields—particularly at this range—but they might distract the Klingons for a few moments.

  Another disruptor blast exploded in front of them, and Fuller didn’t have to check his instruments to know that it had made a direct hit on their forward shields. They would be lucky if the shields were still holding at even 50 percent. Another shot might finish them, or even if it didn’t, it might disrupt the torpedo’s containment field.

  Fuller returned fire but resisted releasing the torpedo. If he fired it too soon, the Klingons might have enough time to target it and detonate it in space. There was another blast, a direct hit that shredded their forward shields, which, at this moment, were the only ones that mattered.

  Time was up and Fuller didn’t hesitate. He released the torpedo, putting it on a straight path for the Klingon cargo ship. Photon torpedoes were guided weapons and could track their targets. However, at this range it would only be able to adjust course a few hundredths of a degree before it hit the Klingons or overshot them.

  “Evasive maneuvers,” Fuller called out, and he felt the shuttle lurch to one side
as Quatrocchi pushed the ship to its limits. There was a green flash and Fuller realized they had been hit again. Yet the shuttle was still in one piece, so the aft shields must have held.

  Switching his eyes to the viewer, Fuller saw the torpedo speeding toward the Klingon ship. The Klingons fired wildly at it, but it would have taken pretty extraordinary luck to hit something moving that fast, even at close range. This time, luck wasn’t with the Klingons, and the torpedo exploded in a brilliant flash of light against the front of the cargo ship.

  Fuller’s sensors were fried so he couldn’t tell if the Klingon shields were down. He would have to assume they were. A visual inspection told him that the forward disruptor cannons were twisted metal. It also told him exactly where the ship’s transmission dish was located—near the front of the command area. Fuller aimed at it and with one shot the dish disintegrated. Now the Klingons would not be able to make a report even if they wanted to.

  “Bring us to their rear,” Fuller said, and the shuttle immediately swung around. To Fuller’s surprise the Klingon ship started to turn as well, no doubt trying to bring the rear guns to bear on the shuttle. Quatrocchi matched the movement, keeping the shuttle skimming the length of the cargo ship and keeping them out of the deadly weapon’s field of fire.

  The trip was short, and at the last moment Quatrocchi lifted the shuttle ten degrees to give Fuller a clear shot. It would briefly put them in the sights of the Klingons’ one remaining weapon, but it was necessary.

  Fuller targeted the guns and fired. Luck was with them again and the guns exploded. “All their weapons are down,” Fuller announced, and he could feel the relieved sighs of his people.

  Quickly, he reached for his helmet and put it on as Quatrocchi did the same. “The easy part is over. Now let’s go in and get the hostages.”