FOREIGN FOES

by Dave Galanter

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS

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  Copyright © 1994 Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

  STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

  This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.

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  ISBN: 0-7434-2114-0

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  “IF THE KLINGON MOVES, kill him.”

  For a moment, no one moved. The Hidran ambassador’s order crashed off the meeting hall’s stone walls and into the ears of the Enterprise officers. His breathing mask muffled the threat, but made it no softer, no less a demand.

  Captain Urosk crushed his phaser into Worf’s chest.

  If Worf moved, he would die.

  He tensed, his wide shoulders tight, his dark face clenched in anger.

  “Hold it!” Commander William Riker yanked up his phaser and took a step toward them. Close enough to smell them—not to stop them.

  He motioned Data forward from the other side.

  The hall had grown uncomfortably large. What had been a meter between them now seemed much more. The only thing within reach was Riker’s regret at having brought Worf when judgment should have told him better. Klingons and Hidran never mixed.

  Urosk and Ambassador Zhad glanced at Riker. It was long enough for Riker to see their eyes, dark green marbles set under brows of wet red leather.

  Worf seized the moment of distraction and swung his arm, slapping Urosk’s weapon away.

  But Urosk’s tall frame gave him advantage, kept him on his feet. He whipped the disrupter back around.

  “I said stop!” Riker jumped forward and wedged himself between his own security officer and the two Hidran.

  Riker was tall as well—tall enough to shoulder the Hidran captain back in a sweeping motion. Why hadn’t he seen this coming?

  “Kill him! Kill him!” Zhad shouted to his captain. Lieutenant Commander Data came up beside them, the android’s gold-skinned hand gripping his holstered phaser, ready for Riker’s order to draw.

  “You insult us with the presence of this animal!” Ambassador Zhad spat, his glare intent on Worf, his voice gravel beneath the breathing mask that shrouded half his face.

  Urosk took only one step back. The Hidran’s long scarlet fingers anxiously pumped the handle of his weapon, waiting to finger the trigger.

  “How dare you?” Zhad growled, his tall body shaking, his red hue darkening in anger.

  Riker looked from the Hidran to Worf and back. “How dare we?” Staggering audacity. To demand that the Federation help the Hidran people, then act as if they were doing the Federation a favor by accepting such charity . . . Riker had to restrain himself from explaining to the good ambassador just where he could stuff his vainglorious attitude.

  He took in a settling breath, then regretted it as he choked on the Hidran’s musty odor. He should have been ignoring the stench—humans probably smelled to a number of alien races—but that was easier said than done when the alien next to him reeked like mold and wet burlap.

  “What do you know of seventy years of oppression?” Zhad roared, his voice shaking the hall, his dark eyes burning with contempt. “Or twenty years of war? And twenty more of harassment?” He pounded a ruby fist on the granite table next to them. Rock on rock. “When was the last time your comrades were killed in cold blood? Was your family murdered in your home?” He angrily wagged a dripping crimson limb at Worf. “He has done this to us! He has ravaged our homeworld, and strangled our future!”

  Worf straightened stubbornly. “I have done nothing.”

  The Klingon’s deep baritone and skyscraper posture were a reminder of just how intimidating he could be.

  Riker stepped back. “Your war was with the Klingon Empire, gentlemen,” he said. “Not the Klingon race.”

  “That is a matter of opinion.” The Hidran ambassador turned his head away. “I will speak with your captain now.”

  “He’ll be here, Zhad.” Riker couldn’t force the anger from his tone. His body held it too—fists clenched, jaw tight.

  Data moved his hand away from his phaser.

  Not yet. Riker shook his head once, and the android gripped the weapon again.

  Zhad was too unpredictable, too irrational. Every ambassador was a creature of rhetoric, but Zhad was also a bully who coerced his way to victory. His reputation said he twisted facts to suit his purposes, freely perverting his opponents’ arguments, all despite the breathing mask that distorted his voice. He was a rooster who announced the dawn with such arrogance that he convinced every ear he’d created the sun himself. It had worked for him and his race, and was why he was present.

  That thought stiffened Riker’s spine, for if Zhad had a purpose here, so did Urosk.

  And Urosk was a soldier. Riker had watched the Hidran captain’s eyes as he surveyed his situation and summed it up. There was little Urosk would do without reason. Captains were all alike in some ways. At least the ones who survived were. And that was why the Hidran captain was the danger. Loudmouths with fists were annoying—clever thinkers with fists were dangerous.

  Riker assured himself he would not be caught off guard again.

  Nothing ever went quite as planned. Riker had been ordered to keep the Hidran occupied—diplomatically. Can’t be done. And adding Worf to the mix hadn’t been the wisest move. He’d hoped it might show the Hidran how Klingons could be. No such luck. Now it looked as if an argument was the only way they would communicate.

  “We’ll not wait much longer.” Zhad’s face twisted into what Riker assumed was a frown.

  “Ambassador, we’re here because your planet is dying,” Riker said.

  “Interesting lie!” Zhad spat. “Agreements are signed over subspace. Why has the Federation brought us to this godforsaken planet, where we are met by our enemy and forced to wait at his bay?”

  “Lieutenant Worf isn’t your enemy, and this godforsaken planet was the only one your government would agree to,” Riker said.

  “Enough!” Zhad axed Riker’s platitudes off with a bark and turned back away. He slithered the perimeter of the table, spying every corner of the large hall.

  “We are the only ones here.” Riker gestured for Data to follow the ambassador.

  Zhad flashed an unamused eye at Riker and ran his palm along on
e of the tapestries that lined the high walls. With two quick tugs he tested the strength of its hold on the ceiling. He lifted it and looked behind.

  “Klingons don’t come that thin,” Riker grumbled dryly. “And their assassins don’t hide in the cracks of walls. If we had brought you here to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

  “Perhaps I was interested in the rugs,” Zhad said. “They are quite old, Ambassador.” Data motioned to the tapestries. “They are believed to be the work of the ancient Velexians.”

  Zhad shot a glare at all three Starfleet officers. “Who cares?”

  Data began to answer, but Riker shook his head again.

  The ambassador stomped back and stood next to Urosk. “Summon your captain or we leave now.”

  “Ambassador, Captain Picard said zero-eight-thirty hours, and he meant zero-eight-thirty hours.” Riker squeezed the grip of his phaser and felt the tension grow. It had smothered all diplomacy since the first weapon had been drawn, and now it threatened to spoil what civility was left. “In fifteen minutes—”

  Captain Urosk’s communicator screeched wildly and he yanked it off his belt. A voice crackled from the small speaker. “Sir, a Klingon warship enters this sector. Its weapons are charged and it cruises at battle speed.”

  Riker groaned. Great. Just great . . .

  Urosk pulled his disrupter up again and roared into the communicator. “Shields up! Arm for battle! Pull out of orbit.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Zhad grabbed Urosk’s arm and yanked the communicator to his mask. “Destroy the Klingon vessel!”

  “No!” Riker stepped closer, but stopped himself from jumping on Urosk’s weapon. Instead, he nodded Data back behind the Hidran and held his own ground. “The Enterprise is up there! Let them handle it!”

  Zhad wheeled around and rammed the butt of his disrupter against Riker’s shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Riker’s phaser went clattering across the marble floor.

  Pain arched Riker’s back as he pushed himself up on his elbows and stared at the ambassador’s weapon, which that had come from . . . where?

  Towering over him, Zhad aimed very deliberately at Riker’s head.

  “So, this is the Federation’s ‘word of honor.’ As much a lie as Klingon honor.” He turned to Urosk. “We’ve been betrayed. This was a trap! They have brought us here to die!”

  “Status report!”

  Captain Jean-Luc Picard marched onto his bridge. The lift doors whispered closed behind him.

  “We’re on yellow alert.” Lieutenant Anderson vacated the command chair and returned to her tactical station. “Sensors indicate Klingon battle cruiser—this sector—armed. The Hidran have raised their shields and moved out of orbit. They are transferring power to weapons.” She paused, checked a readout on her sensor board. “The Klingons are on an intercept course.”

  Picard nodded and surveyed the approaching disaster on the viewscreen. The Klingons were early. Too early. He’d wanted time to deal with the Hidran, time to explain that the Klingons would be coming. Time to explain to the Klingons as well.

  Explanations were no longer an option.

  “Shields up. Battlestations.”

  Alert panels flashed red and the captain could almost sense his crew racing to their stations throughout the massive ship. He shared a brief glance with Counselor Troi who sat to his left. The thought that she might be feeling his tension crossed his mind. He was sure the rest of the crew believed his calm demeanor. Deanna was the only one who could know better.

  “Ensign DePotter,” Picard said, his attention now squarely on the Klingon vessel that steadily retreated on the screen, “take us out of orbit, heading two-ten mark six. Put us right between them.”

  “Aye, sir.” The young man’s fingers flew over the navi-console, pushing Enterprise gracefully out of orbit, placing her steelgray hull between the Hidran ship and the now closing Klingon battle cruiser.

  Under Picard’s order, Enterprise hovered there. To the other ships she must have seemed to dominate space. That was as Picard wanted. His ship could be a looming reminder of just how powerful power could be.

  “The Klingons are trying to maneuver around us, sir,” Anderson said.

  “Crowd them out, Mr. DePotter,” Picard ordered.

  The Klingon vessel turned and twisted, and Enterprise echoed each move, barring them from the Hidran ship at every angle. Picard watched the starscape shift wildly across the main viewer and was annoyed by the Klingon’s tenacity. He fought the urge to remove his ship from this nonsense, and leave the Klingons and Hidran to the violent fate they coveted.

  The captain pulled in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Patch me in to the Klingon vessel, Lieutenant.”

  “On screen, sir,” Anderson said.

  The forward viewer image of the battle cruiser washed away, replaced by the harsh features of a Klingon commander.

  “I am Kadar, commander of Imperial Cruiser HIv SuH. Captain, we assume you are under attack by what we identify as a Hidran warship. We offer assistance. Move, so we may destroy them.”

  The Klingon’s manner was cool, his tone measured. Despite that, Picard saw through to piercing anger. With revenge in the pot, Klingons had poor poker faces.

  “This is Captain Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise.” His voice was calm and hard.

  “Sir,” Anderson interrupted, her voice low, “Commander Meliosh of the Hidran ship is signaling.”

  Picard nodded and thumbed a button on the arm of his command chair. “Captain Kadar, I appreciate your concern, however, none is necessary. I assure you we are in no danger. Please stand by.” The captain motioned to the screen. “Put Meliosh on.”

  The bridge of the Hidran ship came onto the viewscreen. Meliosh sat in a command chair that could hardly be seen for the water vapor that filled his ship.

  “This is Captain Pic—”

  “You have broken your word, Picard!” Meliosh bellowed.

  “We broke no word,” Picard said. “You asked our help. Conditions on that are not yours to set.”

  “You claim aid, yet summon our enemies to murder us. No, Picard, you have lost our trust!” Meliosh’s color glowed ruddy and his lips curled around sharp little teeth. “Remove your vessel from our path. We have an enemy to defeat!”

  Picard rose and stepped closer to the viewer, hoping his compact stature would appear more imposing as he filled the Hidran’s screen.

  “You won’t defeat anyone, Meliosh,” he said, his voice firm and even. “You don’t want to risk another war.”

  Meliosh raised his head proudly. “We’ve beaten back the Klingons before. We will again.”

  Abruptly, the starscape returned to the screen.

  “Transmission cut, sir,” Anderson said. “I’m reading a power surge on the Hidran ship. They’re moving off—locking torpedoes on the Klingons.”

  “Tactical,” Picard ordered sharply.

  A corner of the forward viewer flashed a graphic display of the sector. The Hidran ship warped out of the solar system with the Klingon battle cruiser turning to follow.

  Picard frowned and frustration gnawed at his will to help those who so vigorously rejected it.

  “Shields on maximum.” Picard leaned down to the helm. “DePotter, do exactly as I say.”

  The Hidran ship twisted about and fired a spread of torpedoes. Wicked orange bolts flashed across the viewer as they rounded toward the Klingon vessel.

  The young ensign looked up. Picard gave him a reassuring nod and ordered: “One-one mark twenty. Warp one . . . now!”

  Enterprise jumped into warp, forcing herself into the path of the salvos.

  Picard glared at the main viewer. One after another, the torpedoes pounded against the shields, cloaking the starscape in a blur of electrical flame. Each explosive sizzle of energy rattled the Enterprise and jolted her a little off her course.

  The captain gripped the back of DePotter’s chair as the bridge shook around them.
Fingers of electricity crackled across the screen as the Enterprise was gripped and wrenched to one side. “Stabilize,” Picard ordered over the din of every deck reporting in. “Hail those ships, Anderson. Request a three way conference. Demand one. If they refuse, force it.” He pointed at the navi-console. “Full stop.”

  “Minimal damage to engineering decks three through seven, sir,” Anderson said. “Shield strength holding at eighty-seven percent. Commander Meliosh and Captain Kadar standing by on three-way.”

  “Damage control teams, Lieutenant.” Picard smoothed out his tunic and glared at the viewer. There was a rage that filled the captain when he was forced to put his ship and crew in the line of fire. That anger narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

  “Put our friends on,” he said slowly.

  Meliosh appeared on one side of the screen, Kadar on the other. Picard could see by their expressions that they also could now see each other.

  “Commander Meliosh,” Picard said, his voice a hammer. “You’ve fired on a Federation vessel. That is an act of war. Stand down from battlestations and resume orbit around Velex.”

  “We’ll not lower our shields with an armed Klingon warship at our throats!” Meliosh raged.

  “Commander,” Picard said, “perhaps you could defeat the Klingons in a war. Perhaps even the Federation. But certainly not both.”

  There was silence as Meliosh considered the threat.

  The Klingon captain smiled.

  “There’s nothing to smirk at here, Kadar,” Picard snapped. “You haven’t won anything. Your peoples need each other. You will work something out.”

  “We do not talk with Klingons,” Meliosh said.

  “You will, if you want to live,” Picard corrected. “And I don’t refer only to your suffering homeworld. I’m willing to overlook your attack on my vessel, but only for the moment. Picard out.” The captain gestured toward Anderson, and Meliosh faded from the main viewer. Now only Kadar filled the screen.

  “Scan them,” Picard ordered.

  Anderson jabbed at her console. “Hidran moving back toward Velex, sir. An orbital maneuver.”