by Diane Carey
he surveyed the forward screen and the now-huge vessel
that was at a notable distance now that the starship was
moving back. "How close is the Klingon fleet now?"
"ETA fourteen minutes, Captain," Chekov reported.
He'd been ready for that.
"Hail General Kellen."
"Go ahead, sir," Nordstrom said. "Channels open."
"General Kellen, this is Captain Kirk."
'I know what you think you are. I suggest you not
attempt to stop us again. I have my fleet now. Ten battle
cruisers. I am officially revoking your privilege to be in
Klingon space. Go home. Thi s is man's work."
248
FIRST STRIKE
"You also have my cooperation. And my apology. You
were correct about these people's ancestry."
"Hah."
"I'm not saying you're right about the mythology and I
don't believe in the thing you call Havoc. But there does
seem to be an inescapable connection between them and
this side of the galaxy."
'Thank you. Get out of my way."
"I will not get out of your way," Kirk blistered. "I will deal with this if you and your fleet will cooperate."
There was a pause, and he recognized it as the kind of
pause a commander takes when he's weighing his options and trying not to give any away.
"What do you want?"
Respect for Kellen boosted a few degrees. He wasn't
throwing the kettle out with the stew just because he had
been disappointed before.
Kirk indulged in a pause of his own and let Kellen
guess for a moment or two.
Then he said, "I want all of us to provide a united
front and make them think twice about their intents." 'Against them? You're going to fight?"
"Only as a last resort. I want to back them down only
enough to give me a chance to talk to Zennor."
"Talking again.
"Yes, talking. I want a chance to explain some historical data to him, without all this... fury."
How well the word fit.
Before him on the screen was a ship full of household
spirits, glen nymphs, tikis, banshees and zombies, were-wolves
and medusas, none hellborn as legend had rattled
down, but only a crew of Ishmaels. That wasn't hell over
there, but another starship, crewed by expatriates with
an ill-considered dream.
Still a dream, though. He didn't wish to wreck it, but
only to redirect it. So much energy, a whole civilization
and all its past for four thousand years, so much worth
and resolve, if he could have the time to make them
understand
249
Diane Carey
"No more talking," Kellen broadcast. "This is Klingon
space. You will stand aside."
Gazing in unexpected longing at the purple scales of
Zennor's now-vast ship, Kirk glanced at the upper
starboard screens and noted the visual picture of the
approach of ten full-sized Klingon battle cruisers,
flanked by more than a dozen lighter-weight patrol
cruisers. There weren't many overt differences between
the two classes of ships--the difference was more one of
hull weight and firepower--but to the trained eye, and
Kirk had one, the difference demanded consideration.
"Hail Zennor again, Lieutenant," he crabbed.
Nordstrom's console beeped behind him, like pins
going into his scalp. Went silent. Beeped again.
"No response, sir. He's closed his frequencies."
"Ship to ship."
"Go ahead, sir."
With a bitter hunch of his shoulders, Kirk leaned on
his chair's arm, pursed his lips, and felt his eyes burn.
"Very well, General. Both of you can have it your way.
Be advised we're moving off. Mr. Byers, clear the way for
the Klingon fleet to make their own maneuver against
the Fury ship."
Byers glanced at him, emotions crashing across his
round face. "Moving off, sir."
The Klingon fleet made no attempt to contact or warn
off Zennor's invasion ship. They came in fast and firing,
patrol cruisers rushing in first, with obvious intent
simply to blast the invaders out of Klingon skies, or
anybody else's sky. Kellen's determination had infected
the fleet, and clearly they meant to be sure this threat would not exist after today, here or anywhere. They
weren't going to leave enough of that vessel to limp into
Federation sanctuary, only to come back at them later.
Kirk might've been reading too much into what he saw
on the screen, but the sensations ran hot in his instincts and he didn't think he was misinterpreting much.
The patrollers led the way, strafing the closed purple
250
FIRST STRIKE
petals on the Fury ship, trying to punch weak points in
the hull where the heavier goosenecked cruisers could
then inflict deep wounds. The hematite blackness of
space erupted into waves of disruptor fire, sheeting off
the Fury ship's cornucopia hull as fluidly as water.
The resulting glow of released energy as it flooded into
space made him glad he had moved off to observance
range. Even from here he could see the quick, maneuverable
Klingon patrollers rocking in the waves of backwash,
wobbling like seagulls.
"Effectiveness?" His hands were clenching and un-clenching.
"None readable." Spock bent forward, leaning on one
hand and hanging on to the sensor hood with the other.
He had stood up when Kirk wasn't looking. "I suspect
Zennor's dreadnought is swallowing the power wash
somehow. It is accepting the impact, then absorbing the
energy as it attempts to dissipate. Possibly back into
their own power wells."
"You mean Kellen's doing them a favor by firing on
them?"
Spock nodded. "We may not have the capacity present
to overload Zennor's ability to absorb the punishment."
"Could it do the same to phaser and photon energy?
no way to judge that. The Vulcan glanced at him.
"Likely, though. To devise such an ability, they must have a remarkably resilient and adaptive culture."
"They had to be." Peering at the screen as if he were about to do surgery, Kirk mumbled, "Better do some
thing else, then."
At the forward science station, Chekov straightened suddenly. "Sir, the general's heavy cruisers are moving in!"
"Which is the general's ship?"
The young man pointed at the main screen, lower starboard. "He was broadcasting from the ship with the yellow ensign, sir."
Kirk squinted.
On the screen, flooding past them at proximity range,
251
Diane Carey
growing suddenly out of the edges of the screen, came
the elegantly massive Klingon war cruisers, with their
hulls of brushed silver, forms not so swanlike as the Enterprise, but instead mindful of the in-flight silhouettes
of cranes on a dark horizon. Their necks outstretched
with sensor bulbs chewing at space before
them, they flowed past the starship on a rendezvous with
General Kellen's version of foresight.
And there, on the right, was Kellen's own ship, banded
with a yellow collar fo
r identification over and above the
other vessels, so everyone would know where the fleet
leader was. Klingons didn't believe in protecting their
leaders.
As soon as they reached short range they opened fire.
There was no approach strategy--they simply plowed
in, blasting away. The dozen patrollers vectored off, then
swung around in circles, up, down, and at angles, buzzing
about the attack scene and shooting whenever they
had clearance.
Space lit up in a holiday light show, flash upon flash of
bright blue-green energy, and there was so little damage
on Zennor's dreadnought that the scene was nearly
entertaining. Kirk felt detached, drugged with fascination
and regret, as he watched the patrollers zag about
the huge purple ship, having less effect than sparrows
smashing into a brick wall.
He pushed out of his chair. Moving toward Spock, he
hung an arm over the rail and kept his. voice down.
"Energy weapons seem to be about as useful as a waxed
deck."
"Zennor's technology has found a way to negate
enemy fire by absorbing it." Spock kept one hand on the
sensor hood, bracing his weak back. "His claims were
apparently not bravado. The ship is very strong. He has
not even returned fire yet ....
"If, as I suspected, Zennor's ship has some way of not
only funneling down the enemy fire, but drawing upon it
.. he may be taking the opportunity to build power
while draining the Klingons'."
252
FIRST STRIKE
Kirk turned to Nordstrom. "Lieutenant, ship to ship
with General Kellen."
Yes, sir. Ready.
"General, this is Kirk. Be aware your shots are being
absorbed somehow by Zennor's ship. We think you're
providing him with energy to fight you."
"Mind your own business."
Shaking his head, Kirk pushed off the rail and went
back to his chair, but didn't sit. "You're welcome.
Lieutenant, keep the channels open."
"Channels open, sir."
McCoy joined him there. "One tribe fighting another
tribe. And why? Because they're tribes. It's a sorry
sight."
"Your civilization depends on how much you suppress
the savage," Kirk told him. "They're giving in to it
instead."
"We all have our inner demons. Just think of all the
conflicts and stories and threats coming to a head today,
right out there. All the childhood nightmares and
confession-box repentances... it boggles the mind.
Makes me want to study my history files a little more
often. Just for the hell of it."
Kirk snapped him a fierce look. "Are you doing that
on purpose?"
His pique pinned the conversation to the deck and the
only thing that saved McCoy was Yeoman Tamamura
appearing in the turbolift with the captain's tray and
several cups of coffee.
"Sir," she greeted, but she was glancing at the action on the screen and almost dumped the tray onto the
captain's chair. She recovered in mid-slosh, handed the
captain his cup, then offered one to McCoy.
"Do we get popcorn too?" The doctor looked up, not
at the yeoman, but at Kirk.
Over the open channels in the background, communication
between Kellen and the other ship crackled as the
captains and their helms coordinated an attack that was
clumsy at best, but in essence the clumsiness didn't
253
Diane Carey matter. They kept opening hard fire, but the disruption
kept having no effect, just sheeting down the folded
petals of the Fury ship and somehow being funneled
away without cracking that scaly armor.
Petals... petals... scales...
He'd done and felt this many times before, yet each
time the tapestry was different. The lives were the same,
but not a thing else. No training scenario co uld anticipate
the real thing, with dozens of minds working
independently, and passions flying wild.
He flinched as an explosion on the upper left corner of
the screen took him by surprise, and his mind was
instantly back on the choreography of the battle.
The bridge crew flinched at the stabbing light and
didn't even have time to shield their eyes. When the light
faded, there was nothing left but tumbling hull plates,
motes of smoke, and a forest fire of sparks. Gases and
remnant plasma from the disseminated bowels of the
cruiser spun through space, burning themselves away without purpose, with nothing left to push on.
A full-sized Klingon cruiser--gone!
"What happened?" Byers stammered.
Ensign Chekov gawked at the screen. "Sir, did they
self-destruct?"
Realizing he too was staring like a struck midshipman,
Kirk didn't bother to mask his surprise. "Mr. Spock?"
But even Spock frowned at the scene. "I... suppose
they may have sacrificed shield power for disruptors ....
Perhaps they did not have time, or forgot, to divert
power back to their deflectors." He turned to his sensor
hood, determined to depend on the witness of science
instead of guessing. After a moment he reported, "Zen-nor
apparently opened fire, Captain. Reading the same
kind of energy flush signature as when we and Zennor
engaged the Klingons earlier. Much stronger now, however.
One Klingon battleship has exploded... a direct
hit. Complete thermal compromise. They must have
been hit squarely in the warp core. No survivors noted
as yet."
254 FIRST STRIKE
"Pretty sore price for a mistake." Aware of his crew's
glances, Kirk tried to be casual. He hadn't even seen the
Fury ship fire. It must have happened while one of the
other Klingon ships was masking the view. "Keep your
eyes open, everyone. I don't want to miss another
change. Keep the short-range sensors sweeping for life-pods,
Mr. Chekov."
"Yes, sir," Chekov answered.
Spock's face was blue with sensor light, and he
squinted as he spoke. "Residual energy is nominal...
dissipating. No solid objects larger than point-five-three
meters. No possible survivors."
Annoyed, Kirk peered from the corner of his eye.
"Keep' scanning anyway, Mr. Chekov."
"Aye, sir."
"There they go?" Donnier grasped the navigation
console with both hands and held on.
The nine remaining Klingon battle cruisers moved in,
using a dependable hourglass formation. Four ships
came in, firing hard, then bore downward; then two
more came in, separated, and strafed the flanks of the
pinecone-shaped hull; then the last three, making a
triangle around the enemy as they roared from the Fury
ship bow to its stern, grazing the purple scales with full
disruptor fire all the way.
Space before the Enterprise was no longer black, but
made up of plumes of electric blue and sargasso green.
As the last wave of cruisers scared by, the Fury ship
o
pened fire again. Lavender and yellow spirals of energy
built along the half-mile-tall stern of the dreadnought,
screwed down the body of the ship as pretty as anything,
then went out from the ship like sound waves to engulf
the passing Klingon fleet.
"Wow!" Donnier gasped. He rocked back in his chair
and his hands fell onto his lap.
That pretty much summed up the expressions Kirk
saw in his periphery.
The nearest three Klingon cruisers were knocked
straight sideways--and no ship was ever meant to take
255
Diane Carey
that. They squalled off, spewing mare's tails of expelled
gas and tumbling hot wreckage. Scorched bits of fragmented
hull material rolled through space and splattered
on the starship's shields.
Kirk and his bridge crew bit a collective lip at the
sight. Those crews must be flying around inside there
like so much trash in a tumbler. Artificial gravity would
be screaming. Kirk could hear the bones breaking. Their
propulsion systems were buckling. He could see it from
here.
What a punch Zennor packed with that combined
ship.
And not a word from him. Despite their dramatic
manner and archaic speech patterns, Zennor and his
people evidently hadn't come here to make speeches.
"Condition of the Klingon ships," he requested.
Spock studied his readouts. "Two ships veering off,
both venting plasma. One is adrift... being tractored
out of range by two patrol cruisers. Another is emitting
spotty motive ratios, but is limping away under its own
power .... The others are regrouping and coming back
in." He paused again, then cleared his throat and added,
"General Kellen's ship is shutting down partial life-support,
but is not veering off."
"Thank you. Mr. Spock, sure you're all right?"
Spock looked at him as though threatened. "For the