Star Trek: Voyager®: Full Circle

by Kirsten Beyer

  After a few moments, the door slid open again and Commander Logt moved quickly toward them. Before she reached them, the ground shook and particles of loose dust filled the air.

  “What was that?” Janeway demanded.

  “Undoubtedly your people are losing patience with your efforts, Admiral,” Logt said briskly.

  “That’s not Voyager,” Janeway corrected her. “We’re not due to check in for a few more minutes, but even if we missed that contact, they would never fire directly on this place without ascertaining that we were already dead.”

  “We should oblige them,” the warrior holding Seven suggested unhelpfully.

  Another warrior rushed to Logt’s side and whispered something in her ear. The only word Seven could make out of the hasty communication was “Gre’thor.”

  “Take them to the holding cells,” Logt ordered, and immediately the guard behind Seven dug the blunt end of her weapon into Seven’s back to urge her forward.

  “We would prefer to fight at your side,” Janeway said calmly.

  Logt looked back, clearly surprised by the admiral’s offer.

  “The Warriors of Gre’thor have arrived,” Janeway said evenly. “They have come to kill Miral Paris, and no one here will sit idly by while that happens.”

  “We have betrayed you and those you hold most dear,” Logt countered. “You cannot be trusted.”

  Janeway abruptly grabbed the blade of the weapon leveled at her throat, drawing blood from her palm. She then raised her dripping hand to Logt and said, “I swear to you now that we will stand with you against those who have come to kill us all. Once they are defeated, we can discuss the fate of Miral Paris.”

  Logt favored Janeway with a hard stare, then drew a short sword from her belt and unflinchingly opened a gash into her left hand. Raising it, she clasped Janeway’s and said, “I accept your oath.”

  Janeway nodded grimly, and Logt turned, saying, “Follow me.”

  Kim thought he had been well prepared for conflict. He and his security staff had drilled repeatedly on the holodeck in various combat scenarios. As Klingons made some of the most challenging opponents, they were often chosen as opponents in training simulations—exclusively, since Harry had learned of the threat posed by the Warriors of Gre’thor.

  Unfortunately, the reality of this situation bore little resemblance to any of the simulations.

  The Warriors of Gre’thor were vicious. They seemed to take pleasure in the gory chaos surrounding them. Their weapons of choice were variations on Klingon bat’leths, mek’leths, and shorter blades they sent whizzing through the air with alarming accuracy—though they were also armed with disruptors.

  It also didn’t help that they were engaging them on a hillside, and for now, the warriors held the higher ground.

  There was little usable cover. The hillside was dotted with scrub brush, and the loose soil made keeping one’s feet and balance almost impossible.

  Harry had led his team to a rocky outcrop that offered a semblance of protection. From there, they fanned out through the brush on their bellies, looking for clear shots in an attempt to pick off as many of their foes as possible with their phaser rifles.

  It seemed that no matter how many they felled, there were always more. The Warriors had successfully formed an impenetrable line along the ridge that led to the sanctuary’s entrance.

  The other two Voyager teams, one led by Kahless and the other by Tom, were spread out along the hillside. Their cover was equally sparse, and for every shot they managed to get off, four came answering back from the Warriors’ disruptors.

  In the first few minutes of battle Harry had lost Peterson and Pallizolo, and he could see the bodies of at least five more security personnel lying dead on the hillside.

  What they needed was a way to breach the line. Settled behind a rock, and stinging from dozens of small burrs that had punctured his uniform as he crawled through the brush, Kim signaled for Ensign Ward to lay down cover fire. Ward rose and fired his volley and Harry turned quickly, stabilized his elbows on the rock, and fired five clean shots, successfully picking off one of the Warriors above.

  “This is getting us nowhere fast,” Ward said grimly as he crouched, narrowly avoiding a disruptor blast that pinged off the rocks above and started a small downpour of loose grit onto Harry’s head.

  “Harry, can you hear me?” Tom’s voice shouted through Harry’s combadge.

  “We’re pinned down about twenty meters from your position,” Harry replied.

  “Kahless is going to swing his men wide to the left and charge that flank. Prepare to lay down cover fire.”

  “Understood,” Harry said, motioning to his team to collect themselves and hurriedly advising them of their new target.

  Moments later, they rose and sent a barrage of fire toward the Warriors collected at the farthest left edge of the ridge as Kahless cried out, leading twelve of Harry’s best men and women up the hill. Reager and Uzan fell instantly, but the others managed to reach the line, where they immediately engaged the Warriors in hand-to-hand combat.

  In the subsequent chaos an opening appeared in the center of the line as the Warriors nearest the fray turned to aid their comrades. Kim ordered his team to concentrate their fire to the right of the breach, hoping to widen it while avoiding firing too close to the Starfleet officers who had charged the line.

  Paris’s team clearly had the same idea, and within minutes the line had been successfully divided.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tom called over the combadge.

  It was time for his team to assault the line. Given their position, Tom’s team would have to go first, but Harry would be on his heels.

  “We’re right behind you,” Harry replied.

  Kim motioned to his team to lay down cover fire. Tom’s team had barely begun their ascent, when a fresh group of Warriors poured through the breach in their line and charged down the hillside directly toward Tom’s position.

  “Oh, hell,” Ward said in disbelief.

  Harry didn’t have to order his men to do the obvious. They immediately turned their rifles toward the onslaught, taking down as many Warriors as possible before they reached Tom’s officers.

  And still, more were coming.

  Janeway stood between Seven and Waters. The dozens of women waiting at the main entrance to the sanctuary chamber had been arranged in columns, preparing to meet the Warriors of Gre’thor, should they find their way through the maze of caverns above. An eerie calm had descended upon them. Overhead, the cry of a Warrior or the clash of metal would reach their ears, but few among the ranks even flinched at the ominous sounds.

  With a nod, Logt, who stood at the head of the line next to B’Elanna, dispatched twenty warriors, who went rushing into the tunnels above. Janeway hadn’t been allowed to greet B’Elanna when she had been brought to join the ranks. But she had caught sight of Janeway and Seven, and clearly her spirits had been buoyed by their presence. Janeway was pleased that Logt had accepted her suggestion to allow B’Elanna to join their fight.

  Soon, the pings of disruptor blasts came echoing down, along with what sounded like a distant steady march.

  It’s only a matter of time, now, Janeway thought, steeling her nerves with a deep breath.

  Stay with them!” Chakotay shouted to Tare. “Tuvok, keep targeting those disruptors.”

  Bursts of angry energy flew from Voyager’s phaser array as Tare maneuvered into position off the Kortar’s aft bow to give Tuvok a clear shot.

  Unfortunately, whoever was piloting T’Krek’s ship just as quickly compensated, effectively evading, once again, the potentially disabling shot.

  For what had seemed like hours, but in reality had only been a little over ten minutes, Voyager and the Kortar had done this hostile dance, each unable to inflict any serious damage on the other.

  The only good news, apart from the fact that their shields were holding, was that Voyager had eliminated T’Krek’s ability to
send further reinforcements to the planet’s surface.

  Chakotay held tight to his chair as Tare dropped Voyager’s nose in a short dive, while Tuvok unleashed another barrage of phaser fire.

  This time, one of the Kortar’s many aft-mounted cannons erupted in a ball of orange flame.

  “Good shot,” Chakotay congratulated Tuvok. “Tare, bring us around—”

  “Captain, another vessel is approaching at full impulse,” Lasren called out, interrupting him.

  “Can you identify it?”

  But before Lasren could reply, another Klingon warship, bigger and meaner than the Kortar, appeared on the viewscreen and immediately opened fire upon the Kortar.

  “It is the Chancellor Martok’s flagship, the Sword of Kahless,” Tuvok’s maddeningly placid voice advised Chakotay.

  Before Chakotay could smile in relief, Tare had adjusted their course, and Voyager joined the flagship in another barrage, which did serious damage to the Kortar’s port weapons array.

  “The Kortar’s shields are failing,” Tuvok called out.

  Clearly outgunned, the Kortar quickly turned tail and began to maneuver out of orbit.

  The Sword of Kahless let loose another volley, but before it could reach the Kortar, the renegade ship had jumped to warp.

  “Analyze their warp trail,” Chakotay ordered. “Helm, prepare to lay in a pursuit course.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tare replied.

  “Captain, we are being hailed,” Lasren called.

  “Onscreen.”

  The face of Martok appeared before Chakotay, grinning broadly.

  “Greetings, Captain Chakotay,” Martok said.

  “A pleasure, as always, Chancellor,” Chakotay replied.

  “While I appreciate your assistance up to this point in subduing the Kortar,” Martok said pointedly, “it is no longer required.”

  “Understood.” Chakotay nodded.

  “It appears you have dispatched ground forces as well,” Martok said.

  “We have.”

  “At the moment they appear to be outnumbered. We should remedy that.”

  “By all means.”

  “Once my troops have been deployed,” Martok said, “I will pursue the Kortar.”

  Much as Chakotay would have liked to be the one to bring the Warriors of Gre’thor to their end, he knew better than to deny the chancellor his prize.

  “Good hunting, Chancellor,” Chakotay nodded, “and thank you.”

  “Qapla’,” Martok replied, signing off.

  Seconds after Tuvok confirmed transport of a hundred soldiers to the battlefield below, the Sword of Kahless jumped to warp, in pursuit of its quarry.

  Knowing Martok, it would be to the ends of the known universe.

  Fall back!” Paris shouted.

  Every meter of ground he gave up was one more meter Paris knew he would eventually have to conquer if he was ever going to see his family alive again, but it would be pointless to die standing his ground.

  Disruptor blasts pounded into the ground and pulverized the solid rocks dotting the hillside. Tom threw his right hand over his shoulder and wildly fired his hand phaser to discourage pursuit. The lusty cries coming from behind him had Tom doubting it was making any difference.

  Suddenly his right foot sank into a deep crevice, and Tom went flying facedown into the dust. Despite the angry, hot pain now gripping his leg, Paris forced himself to curl onto his side to keep from skidding on his stomach down the rest of the incline. His head, barely protected by his hands, hit something hard, and he came to rest in a shallow gully. Temporarily blinded by the sun, Tom automatically raised his phaser and fired wildly.

  The warrior who had been pursuing him dodged these aimless shots and suddenly blocked the sun, stepping into Tom’s line of sight with a bat’leth raised above his head, ready to strike.

  Tom took better aim and fired again, but the phaser had exhausted its power supply.

  With a ferocious grin the warrior began his downward stroke, and Tom pushed off the ground to his left, hoping to avoid the worst of what was coming.

  But the strike never came.

  Instead, Tom heard another loud cry, and the grisly thump of metal meeting flesh that was not his.

  Paris quickly scrambled to his hands and knees and looked up.

  The warrior who should have killed him was now teetering toward his left, as if suddenly half of his body had become too heavy for the rest to bear. A long gash ran from his right shoulder to the middle of his belly, and blood was pouring over the long blade embedded in his gut.

  Behind this grim spectacle stood another Klingon, who proceeded to pull his blade—a mek’leth, now that Tom could see it more clearly—from his victim. The slain warrior fell to his side, mere inches from Tom’s head.

  With a curt nod to Tom, the victor then turned and hurried back up the hill toward a pair of Starfleet officers who were fighting hand to hand against a single Klingon attacker.

  What’s happening? Tom wondered dizzily. Either he’d hit his head harder than he realized or something had changed.

  Tom tried to rise, but his right ankle wouldn’t hold his weight. A sharp pain in his right leg also suggested that his recent surgery might need another look when all was said and done.

  He steadied himself on the boulder that rested at the lip of the gully and looked out over the hillside. He could easily pick out the few Starfleet officers still standing in the melee, but now Klingons were also fighting Klingons.

  Has there been a mutiny in the last few minutes? Tom wondered. Not that he minded. Any port in this storm would do just fine.

  Then he realized that most of the Klingons now rampaging over the hill were wearing the distinctive black and silver of the Klingon Defense Force as opposed to the antiquated uniforms of the Warriors of Gre’thor.

  Suddenly, Harry was rushing to his side. He was cradling his right arm in his left, and his uniform was torn in several places, many of which seeped fresh blood, but otherwise his injuries appeared to be superficial.

  “Who are these guys?” Harry asked breathlessly when he reached Tom. “They transported in just behind the ridgeline, and I figured we were done for.”

  “That would be the cavalry, Harry,” Paris said with a smile.

  Tom had always enjoyed John Ford’s movies.

  The first two Warriors to reach the entrance of the sanctuary were quickly dispatched by the women on the front line. One was beheaded by a single swipe of a bat’leth, and the second struggled valiantly for a few moments before being surrounded by four qawHaq’hoch with equally lethal agendas.

  As the ranks around her began to disperse, Janeway wondered why they weren’t using the disruptors on their belts. Killing was killing, and it didn’t seem to be less or more honorable whether done by blade or blast. But watching the qawHaq’hoch engage hand to hand, she realized that they had been well trained for hundreds of years in ancient battle techniques. As the next wave of unfortunate Warriors poured into the entrance, braying like wild animals, the women met their force with serene composure, moving fiercely, decidedly, and with great effect.

  The admiral clutched her phaser rifle tightly, prepared to fire at the first open shot. Soon enough disruptor blasts began to fly throughout the cavern, and the ranks broke as everyone moved either to engage or to seek cover.

  Janeway planted herself behind an overturned desk that had been pulled from a nearby work area and took aim at the sanctuary entrance. Firing well above the heads of the women battling there, she managed to take down one warrior who was rushing into the fray.

  She aimed again, only to have her shot spoiled by an insistent tugging on her arm. Turning, she saw Seven, her rifle tossed over her shoulder, gesturing toward an opening in the cavern to her far right. Janeway barely had time to glimpse B’Elanna disappearing into it, alone.

  The battle raged around them. To their credit, the qawHaq’hoch had things well in hand. Janeway could clearly see Maplethorpe and Waters in the mi
ddle of the fracas, teaming up on one disarmed warrior with their fists.

  “B’Elanna might need our assistance,” Seven said urgently.

  Janeway nodded and, following Seven, ducked and dodged her way through the chaos toward the tunnel B’Elanna had disappeared down.

  Over the din of battle raging above, B’Elanna strained to hear any sound that might reveal Miral’s whereabouts. She doubted seriously that the qawHaq’hoch had left her daughter unattended. Gripping the bat’leth Logt had armed her with, B’Elanna refused to give her worries full rein.

  B’Elanna hurried past the cell she had been held in and followed the darkened hall to a dead end.

  Doubling back, she heard footsteps approaching and ducked into the shadows, raising her weapon to strike. She paused when an urgent whisper met her ears.

  “B’Elanna?”

  It was Admiral Janeway.

  B’Elanna quickly stepped into the path of Janeway and Seven of Nine.

  “I’m here.”

  B’Elanna greeted Janeway with a quick hug so intense it might have cracked a rib. “Thank you for coming.” She looked at Seven. “Both of you.”

  “How did you convince Logt to allow you to join the fight?” B’Elanna asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Janeway replied hastily, “but suffice it to say that while it might be a good day to die, I’d much prefer we all get out of here in one piece.”

  “We have to find Miral,” B’Elanna said quickly.

  “Do you have any idea where she’s being held?” Janeway asked.

  B’Elanna shook her head in frustration. “She has to be down here, but the rest of these cells are empty.”

  Seven had already pulled out her tricorder and was scanning the walls diligently.

  “Anything?” Janeway asked.