DIPLOMATIC IMPLAUSIBILITY

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  Still, the Gorkon was outnumbered four to one, and the shields would be gone in another minute. Individually, the Gorkon would make short work of any of these foes, but the sheer numbers meant they would be overwhelmed once the shields fell.

  Unless . . .

  He turned to Kurak, who was moving from station to station. She gripped her right wrist with her left arm so tightly, Vall was sure the circulation to her right hand was being cut off. She wore only a very flimsy tunic, and it wasn’t until this moment that Vall realized how attractive his commanding officer was. The rest of the engineering staff had been just as bad, trying desperately not to look at her state of undress. If it wasn’t for Kurak’s perpetual scowl, she probably wouldn’t have gotten a bit of work out of any of them.

  “Commander!” Vall called out.

  “What?” Kurak snapped.

  “There is a way to increase shield power. We can use the power from the holodeck.”

  Kurak rolled her eyes. “You imbecile, the systems are incompatible! We can’t—”

  “Yes, we can, Commander—or, at least, I can. I have conquered the system incompatibility by constructing a converter that can dump power from the holodeck into an engineering system. It is in my quarters. I did not inform you of the device because you told me—”

  “Enough!” Kurak cried, closing her eyes. Then she opened them and stared at Vall.

  Vall held his breath.

  “Do it. I’ll kill you later.”

  Having no idea if she was serious or not, and not really able to care at the moment, Vall ran to his quarters.

  Today is a really bad day to die, Klag thought sourly while sitting in his command chair.

  The shields were almost gone. The disruptors still had plenty of power, and Klag had rationed the use of the quantum torpedoes so they still had half their stock left, but things were starting to get ugly. The Sompek had signaled back, saying they were en route, but they were still half an hour away.

  “Kreel vessel number six destroyed,” Rodek said, “and reading no power output from number one.”

  That’s three down, Klag thought. And the remaining three were at diminished capacity. But so was the Gorkon. Once the shields fell . . .

  I am Klag, son of M’Raq, he thought. After all I’veaccomplished, after finally achieving my own command, Irefuse to fall to the Kreel!

  “Number four is increasing speed,” Leskit said. “It looks like the Kreel are trying to surround us.”

  Klag spit. “Typical. That might have worked if they still had all six ships. Rodek, concentrate fire on number four. Leskit, increase speed to three-quarters impulse and change course to one-zero-three mark four.”

  “Aye, sir.” Leskit steered the Gorkon through one of the holes in the Kreel’s attempt to surround them.

  The course took them in the general direction of taD’s moon. “Toq, is there sufficient power to activate the cloaking device?” Klag asked.

  Toq checked his panel. “No, sir.” Another impact. “Shields have fallen! We—” Then something beeped on Toq’s console. “Sir, available power increasing! I don’t understand it, but—”

  “Engineering to bridge. You now have full power.”

  Cheers rang out all across the bridge.

  “Full shields,” Klag said, getting up from his chair. “Leskit, you had better be treating that woman right.”

  Several officers turned in surprise at that. Klag couldn’t help but smile. Most surely guessed that Leskit’s injury—and reason for being on the bridge out of uniform—was due to a liaison with one of the women on board, but Klag doubted any of them had guessed that the woman was Kurak. If Klag hadn’t seen it himself . . .

  Enough of that. “Set a course to orbit taD’s moon, full impulse,” he said, walking over toward Leskit. “The second the Kreel ships fall out of sensor range, full stop and activate cloaking device.”

  It was a risky maneuver. The Kreel ships were close enough together that they would likely all have the same blind spot “behind” the moon, but it was possible that one of them might still be able to pick the Gorkon up when they cloaked. It was fairly easy to follow a cloaked ship if one saw it cloak—or at least, Klag thought, the Federation or the Dominion could. The Kreel probably don’t have sufficiently acute sensors.

  As the Gorkon flew in its elliptical orbit around the moon, Toq said, “Kreel still in sensor range.”

  “Number four breaking off,” Rodek said. “Their structural integrity is failing. Two and three closing in, though presently out of weapons range.”

  “Kreel now off sensors,” Toq said a moment later.

  Klag nodded. “Full stop. Engage cloak.”

  The already-dim lights dimmed further as the cloak was engaged.

  Kurak’s voice sounded over the speakers. “Captain, we can only maintain the cloak for ten more minutes. This additional power is limited.”

  “Understood, Commander.” Klag turned to the pilot, whom he was still standing behind. “Leskit, put us on an intercept course for ship number four.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Rodek, train a spread of torpedoes on that ship and get ready to fire on my order.”

  The gunner nodded, while Toq said, “Sir, vessels two and three are engaged in a search pattern.”

  Klag smiled. “Good. Let me know if they find anything.”

  Smiling back, Toq said, “Yes, sir!”

  “And also,” Klag added, “inform me if Commander Kurak’s ten minutes are in any danger of expiring.”

  Leskit said, “We’re in weapons range of the fourth Kreel ship, sir.”

  “Torpedoes locked,” Rodek said with his usual lack of enthusiasm.

  “Captain,” Toq said. “I have discovered something.”

  Klag strode over to the operations console. “What is it?” He assumed that it was something important enough to mention in the midst of a battle. If it isn’t—well, I’ll make sure Toq doesn’t make the same mistake twice.

  “The asteroids in this system have a similar geologic structure to that of taD—including a high concentration of Element 604.”

  Klag grinned. “A natural cloaking device.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, sir.”

  Moving back to the front of the bridge, Klag said, “Leskit, set a course for the belt, and prepare to execute as soon as we decloak.”

  “Can’t wait, sir,” Leskit muttered.

  Klag shook his head. Navigating an asteroid field would be hazardous, and Leskit obviously wasn’t looking forward to it. Aloud, he said, “And use both hands, Lieutenant. These new deckplates could do with a little bloodstaining.”

  Laughter rippled through the bridge at that. With a mild scowl on his face, Leskit removed his hand from the wound on his leg, which wasn’t bleeding as much, in any case.

  Klag went back to his command chair. He didn’t realize until after he was sitting in it that, for the first time in over a month, he sat in it normally, without taking the time to savor it.

  “Decloak and fire,” he said.

  “Torpedoes firing,” Rodek said at the same time that Leskit said, “Changing course.”

  With the diminishing number of foes, Toq had reduced the tactical display to a corner of the viewscreen, leaving the bulk of the display showing a real image of the fourth vessel. As a result, it was completely unnecessary for Toq to actually say, “Fourth vessel destroyed!” because Klag saw it explode in a satisfyingly fiery conflagration. But the second officer said it anyway.

  Yet another cheer rose up from the assembled crew. Toq yelled over the tumult, “Vessels two and three changing course to intercept.”

  Klag turned to the pilot. “Leskit?”

  “They won’t catch up until we’re well inside the asteroid field, sir.”

  “Good. Rodek, fire disruptors at will as soon as they’re in range.”

  The Gorkon moved at full impulse toward the asteroid belt. Toq changed the viewscreen image to that of the two remaining Kree
l ships as they pursued.

  “Entering asteroid field now, sir,” Leskit said.

  “Slow to one-eighth impulse, and change to an evasive course.” No sense making it any easier on the Kreel, Klag thought, though they shouldn’t be able to detect us in any case.

  “Sir, the Kreel are entering the asteroid field and firing at random,” Toq said. “The fools aren’t coming anywhere near us!”

  “As expected,” Klag said with a nod.

  “Kreel now disengaging,” Toq added. “They’re taking up positions outside the belt.”

  Toq changed the viewscreen image to give an overview of the asteroid belt. The Gorkon was a green light in the midst of several yellow lights of varying size indicating the asteroids. The two red lights indicating the Kreel ships were at different points outside the belt. Klag sighed; he had hoped the Kreel would be foolish enough to stick together. If they had, the Gorkon could just “appear” out of the belt and probably take both ships out. Based on the tactical display Toq provided, both ships’ shields were diminished, their power output low.

  Now, though, the Gorkon would only be able to pull that trick with one Kreel ship, leaving the other one free to pursue. The Gorkon could probably still take the second ship, but it would be more difficult. He could simply wait out the Kreel until the Sompek arrived.

  But no—Klag had had enough of these Kreel glob flies buzzing about him. It was time he swatted them and had done with it.

  Then he noticed something on the tactical display— one of the Kreel ships was within twenty thousand qelI’qams of a small asteroid. If we fire a torpedo into the asteroid and detonate it when we engage the other ship, it should do sufficient damage to the Kreel ship. And Ele ment 604 should provide camouflage for the torpedo itself.

  “Bridge to engineering,” Klag said.

  “Kurak.”

  “Commander, I need a quantum torpedo to be set with a delayed detonation.”

  “They’re not designed for that.”

  “That was not a request, Commander, nor was it an invitation to discuss engineering minutiae. I repeat: I need a quantum torpedo to be set with a delayed detonation.”

  Klag heard a nasal voice, but couldn’t make out any words, then Kurak said, “One moment, Captain. I need to consult with my staff.”

  A bark of laughter came from the helm. “Something amuses you, Leskit?” Klag asked.

  “Not at all, sir,” Leskit said quickly. “Just something caught in my throat.”

  Kurak came back on. “Give us a minute, Captain, and we’ll have your torpedo.”

  “Good. Bridge out.”

  Klag got up from his chair and walked to the viewscreen. The Kreel were holding position. Their shields were at ten and thirty percent, respectively. He hoped Kurak wouldn’t take too long with the torpedo—that asteroid was drifting away from the second Kreel ship, and soon would be too far away to be useful.

  “Captain,” Rodek said, “modified torpedo is loaded and ready.”

  Pointing at the particular asteroid, Klag said, “Fire torpedo on that asteroid, gunner. Detonate on my mark.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Leskit, head for the other Kreel ship, intercept course. Rodek, the moment we’re in firing range, fire disruptors on them and detonate the torpedo.”

  Sounding as disinterested as ever, Rodek repeated, “Yes, sir.”

  Klag returned to his command chair. The rest of the bridge crew was obviously caught up in the joy of the battle. Rodek, though, had all the passion of dead gagh. Klag wondered why this was.

  “In weapons range,” Leskit announced.

  “Firing,” Rodek said, “and detonating torpedo.”

  The timing turned out to be exquisite. Vessel number three exploded from the Gorkon’s disruptor fire at virtually the same moment that the debris from the torpedo-destroyed asteroid tore through the second vessel’s depleted shields and ripped it to pieces.

  “Victory!” Toq cried, thrusting his fist into the air, and the other officers added their voices to a cacophony of cheers.

  One of the officers at an aft station started chanting, “Klag! Klag! Klag! Klag!” Soon the others joined in, and Klag basked in the joy of an entire bridge full of warriors bellowing his name in victory.

  Then Toq cried over the tumult, “Sir! Receiving a distress call!”

  The chanting dimmed as Klag asked, “Source?”

  “The first Kreel ship—the Glione.”

  Klag shook his head. “We never did reply to their initial message, did we? It’s past time we did. Leskit, change course to intercept. Rodek, blow the Kreel to Gre’thor.”

  In less than a minute, the Gorkon moved to within range of the first Kreel ship and fired its disruptors. The Glione went the way of the other five ships in the “fleet.”

  Another cheer rose. Toq started to sing, “Qoy qeylIs puqloD. Qoy puqbe’pu’.” He pounded the side of his console on the alternate beats.

  It was the Warrior’s Anthem. Leskit and a couple of others joined Toq: “yoHbogh matlhbogh je SuvwI’.”

  Soon, all the bridge crew joined in: “Say’moHchu’ may’ ’Iw. maSuv manong ’ej maHoHchu’.”

  Klag noticed that it was now coming in over the speakers—it seemed they were singing all across the ship. . . .

  nI’be’ yInmaj ’ach wovqu’.

  batlh maHeghbej ’ej yo’ qIjDaq

  vavpu’ma’ DImuv.

  pa’ reH maSuvtaHqu’.

  mamevQo’.maSuvtaH. ma’ov.

  For the first time in over six months, Klag’s right arm didn’t itch.

  When the warriors got to the end of the song, and after the subsequent cheering had died down, Klag rose from his chair. “Lieutenant Toq.”

  “Sir!”

  “You have command of the bridge. Set a course back to taD. Tell the Sompek that they missed the battle, and inform the ambassador that he can beam aboard at his leisure. I’ll be in the medical ward.” He looked at Leskit. “Lieutenant, you’re with me. I believe I promised you some medical assistance.”

  Leskit laughed, and rose from his chair. Klag and the rest of the bridge crew joined in the laugh.

  This is what it should feel like, Klag thought as he walked off the bridge to the adulation of his crew.

  His crew.

  Chapter Nine

  WORF GLOWERED AT THE IMAGE of Minister T’Latrek on the computer screen in his quarters on the Gorkon.

  Due to the distance between Earth and taD, the message from the Vulcan woman—which had arrived just as Worf returned to the Gorkon following its successful campaign against the six Kreel ships—had taken several hours to wend its way through subspace, so Worf was not able to respond directly. This was probably for the best, as his instinct was to say something that it was probably unwise to utter in front of a member of the Federation Council.

  “I am afraid that your suggestion of relocating theal’Hmatti to another world, while logical, is simply notpractical. Under normal circumstances, the Federationwould, of course, be happy to do this, but circumstances,as you are well aware, are far from that. The backlog ofrefugees from the Dominion War is considerable. Relocating the al’Hmatti would require committing resourcesthat we simply do not have.”

  It probably didn’t matter. Emperor me’Grmat had made it clear that the al’Hmatti would not accept relocation. But now Worf wouldn’t even be able to propose it.

  Worf was in a bad mood. Over the last several years, he’d developed one of two habits when he got into such a mood. He’d either go to the bar—Ten-Forward on the Enterprise, Quark’s on Deep Space Nine—and drown his sorrows in prune juice, or he’d go to the holodeck and kill things.

  Or he’d go talk to Jadzia.

  But the Gorkon didn’t have a bar—a major failing in a starship, to Worf’s mind—and Jadzia . . .

  Jadzia . . .

  Conveniently, though, the Gorkon did have a holodeck, complete with a proper calisthenics program. Worf went there, his mek’leth in hand.r />
  “Computer, activate program. Level one.”

  The setting changed from the default grid to a jungle glade. Worf started moving slowly through the glade, emptying his mind, letting the sounds and scents ride toward him.

  He heard a mild flapping noise. Bird. Harmless. He heard something moving through the underbrush, and the smell of leather reached his nostrils. Possible foe. He raised the mek’leth.

  A skeletal creature wearing leather-studded armor leapt out at him, swinging with a two-bladed axe. Worf parried easily with his mek’leth, then kicked at the creature. They parried with their weapons for several minutes. Worf let himself fall into the rhythm of it, gauging his opponent’s capabilities, waiting for the right moment to strike.

  With each thrust, with each parry, his mind became less cluttered. His frustration with recent events ebbed. His irritation with Tiral, Klag, and Drex faded. His everpresent anguish over Jadzia’s death receded. His lingering guilt over the very existence of Rodek died down.

  The instant that the opening came, Worf plowed his mek’leth into the creature’s bony neck, severing the skull from its body.

  That was too easy, he thought, and just that he could think that clearly meant that he needed to up the stakes. “Computer, level seven.”

  The skeleton creature got back up, a new skull materializing on its neck, and charged. Even as Worf parried its ax with his mek’leth, he could hear another attacker behind him.

  He swiped at the skeleton creature, then swung the mek’leth in a mong’em maneuver, placing the mek’leth behind his neck to parry a blow from behind. He felt the impact of a weapon on the mek’leth, then raised his weapon in response.

  In one fluid motion, he kicked at the skeleton creature’s leg, shattering the bone, then turned to face the rear attacker.

  An armored reptilian creature swung its mace at Worf a second time. Again, Worf parried, this time catching the mace at its handle, forcing the attacker to lose its grip on the weapon. Disarmed, Worf easily dispatched it.

  The reptilian creature’s yellow ichor dripping from his mek’leth, Worf turned back to the skeleton creature, which was hobbling toward Worf, its ax raised. Worf parried the ax strike easily, but then the creature struck at his face with a bony fist. Worf reeled with the impact, struggling to keep his footing, swinging wildly with the mek’leth. He stumbled backward a few steps—