“You like that?” Reyes spread his hands. “Maybe now you’d be willing to talk some business.”
A slow smile crept across Turag’s lips. “With the master of the Taurus Reach? Of course.”
Zhao Sheng studied the Vulcan woman before him at the table, poised and silent. Her offer hung in the air between them, the charged lethality of what she had demanded of him in Spock’s stead as deadly as a poisoned dagger. The way the light in the cabin crossed her hair reminded him of Atish, and the sudden flash of recall brought a small gasp from him. Khatami had been much more than just the captain’s woman aboard Endeavour; she had been his confidante, his sounding board, his comrade in battle as well as his lover. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for his attachment to the tawny-skinned woman. If only he had cared less, then he would not have forced himself and his crew into the bloody service of Red Reyes.
Zhao shook his head, feeling the moment fall away. Perhaps once there had been a time when he might have defied the commodore, but not now. The proud, ruthless soldier of the Empire he once was had vanished, and in his place was the dissolute man he was now. Little more than a pirate, just a bandit with a fancy starship operating under letters of marque and reprisal. A slave with a longer leash but still a slave nonetheless.
The sensible choice would be to throw her into the brig and turn her over to Leone’s tender mercies for interrogation. I’m certain he would relish the opportunity. Reyes would reward him if he brought T’Prynn back to Vanguard, broken and begging. He might let me see Atish again…perhaps for a little while.
T’Prynn watched him carefully. “I require an answer, Captain Zhao.”
Was she reading his thoughts? He had heard stories of the psychic powers that some Vulcans were alleged to possess. They say Admiral Spock can make a man vanish with just a thought. What tricks might he have taught this one? “Vanguard is too well protected,” he told her. “Endeavour would be destroyed trying to attack it.”
“We have a spy in place in the command crew, ready to sabotage the starbase’s systems,” she countered. “And your trusted status will allow you to close to point-blank distance before opening fire.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I have great admiration for Spock, and in any other circumstance, I would put my colors to his mast. But what you ask of me I cannot do. I…I am a defeated man.” Zhao looked away, grabbing the brandy bottle and taking a long pull from it. “The captain your admiral sent you to find is gone. Go back and tell him that.”
T’Prynn was silent for a long moment before she spoke again. “Tell me, Zhao Sheng. How did you rise to the captaincy of this vessel?”
He snorted. “The usual method. I terminated my commander.”
She cocked her head. “Why?”
“Does it matter?” He took another swig of brandy. “He was in my way. I murdered him. End of story.”
“That is not an explanation. Tell me what made you want to kill a man in cold blood. Tell me why you murdered an officer your oath of allegiance bound you to obey.”
“Because he deserved it!” The Vulcan’s words lit a sudden fire inside him, and he threw the bottle aside. “He had appetites that sickened me! He did not deserve to wear the uniform of a soldier of the Empire! He…he was…”
“Dishonorable?”
“Yes.” Zhao sat heavily. “And now I am no better.”
When he looked up again, T’Prynn was holding the data card in her hand, offering it to him. “Are you certain? Has your honor truly fled, or have you only misplaced it?”
He saw her without really seeing, his thoughts far away. Atish. Does she think I have abandoned her? Is she even still alive? Do I have anything left to lose?
The whistle of the intercom broke through his thoughts, and he tapped the panel. “What?”
“Sir, something odd on long-range sensors,” said Klisiewicz. “We’re reading a massive energy spike in the Palgrenax system. It looks…well, like a planet there just exploded.”
“It’s starting,” said T’Prynn. “You must make your choice.”
He did. “Yellow alert,” Zhao ordered. “Set course for Vanguard, maximum warp, and prep the weapons. We have a fight ahead of us.”
T’Prynn had been prepared for dissent; she had a small phaser hidden in the bracelet around her wrist, powerful enough for a single disintegration blast. She had been quite ready to use it, standing carefully at Zhao’s shoulder, so that any member of his crew who objected to their new orders could be dispatched if the need arose.
The fact that it did not was a source of mild surprise for the Vulcan. For all the level of open debauchery and disorder shown by Endeavour’s rabble of a crew, when the man spoke, all of them listened. And none of them complained; in fact, many of them took the commands to attack Vanguard with rough humor, as if it was something they had been waiting for.
Zhao glanced up at her from his command throne. “You’re wondering why no one is trying to oppose me?”
She nodded.
He smiled. “Well. Ask yourself this, then. What does it tell you about Diego Reyes when every member of my crew would happily see the bastard and his comrades dead?”
“Rather,” she replied, “I am considering what that tells me about you.”
He shrugged. “My crew trust me.”
“A rare commodity in the Empire.”
On the main viewscreen, the massive clamshell doors of docking bay 3 were retracting into Vanguard’s saucerlike upper hull. T’Prynn saw a ship moored there, a yacht of Orion design.
“Ganz’s boat,” Klisiewicz noted, reading a display. “I see his pennant on the hull. He’s aboard.”
“Distance?”
“Point-blank range in ten seconds.” He frowned. “I’m also detecting a Klingon ship docked at one of the lower pylons.”
Zhao threw a nod at his weapons officer, a younger man with a savage smirk on his lips. “Pen? You assured me this would work?”
“It will, boss,” said the officer. “We’ll fire without using sensors, so they won’t detect a thing until it’s too late. I’ve removed the safety interlocks from the torpedoes. They’ll arm the moment they leave the tubes.” He gave a giggle.
“The weapons will be unguided,” noted T’Prynn.
“Oh, yeah,” he told her, “but at this range, it won’t matter at all—”
A chime from Klisiewicz’s console cut him off. “We’re being hailed,” said the science officer. “It’s Reyes.”
Zhao stiffened. “Onscreen.”
The view of the docking bay became the dark expression of Vanguard’s commander. “Zhao. You’d better have a good reason for ending your patrol early. I’m right in the middle of some business here.”
The captain folded his arms. “I brought you something, Commodore.” He nodded at T’Prynn.
Reyes leered. “Oh. Pretty. But if you think I’m going to trade her for Khatami, you’re a million miles wrong.”
Zhao snorted. “Ah, Diego. For all your cunning, you will live and die a thug.”
“In range,” said Klisiewicz.
“What the hell did you just say to me?”
The captain ignored him. “And today’s the day.”
The rapid-sequence firing carousels in Endeavour’s weapons bay ejected four photon torpedoes, sending the munitions running even as the starship pivoted into a turn from the open hangar. This close, inside the starbase’s deflector envelope, there was nothing to stop them. The first shots struck the Orion yacht amidships, tearing off its port warp nacelle, starting a chain reaction of concussive detonations. The second pair flew the length of the bay and struck the core spindle of Vanguard station, gouging out huge pieces of hull metal.
Endeavour surged away, keeping tight across the starbase’s surface as static defense turrets began to return fire. The starship gave no quarter, releasing beams of collimated energy to cut great slashes through the station’s hull. Vanguard’s torpedo launchers misfired, their targeting software refusing
to shoot something so close for fear of backwash damage. The Endeavour’s crew had no such qualms. Zhao’s helmsman pushed the vessel, flying it more like a fighter than a capital ship.
Starbase 47 trembled as it was hit again and again.
Reyes punched down the man who helped him to his feet, blinded with rage. He pressed one hand to his optic implant; his skull was ringing from the impact it had taken when the torpedo blast threw him to the floor. The operations-room status board had an ugly red smear across the middle of Vanguard’s systems display, right through the docking bay. He could distantly feel the rumble of secondary explosions through the deck.
“Serious structural damage in the main bay,” called Commander Cooper, his voice tense. “Ganz is gone…reading explosive decompression in sections of the terrestrial enclosure. Emergency reports coming in from all over!”
“What is the meaning of this?” spat Turag. “We are attacked by your own ship?” He lurched forward, bleeding from a gash on his cheek. “Human petaQ! You make all these grandiose claims, and then this—”
He never got a chance to finish. Reyes grabbed a handful of Turag’s sash and yanked the envoy forward, almost into an embrace. The high-intensity laser inside the commodore’s implant buzzed, and a dart of red light flashed into the Klingon’s head, burning clean through it. Reyes threw the smoking corpse at Lurqal and stalked to the primary console. “Zhao!” he bellowed. “You hear me? I’ll kill that whore of yours by inches for this!”
“He’s coming around for another pass,” Cooper snarled.
Reyes stabbed at a control on the console. “Time to show off the Orion Syndicate’s little gifts. Pop the turrets. Give that traitor a surprise.”
The standard armament of a Watchtower-class space platform was twelve phaser and photon torpedo launcher units. The nonstandard armament of Vanguard was eight more Orion disruptor cannons, concealed under retractable hull plates, fitted under Reyes’s personal orders and without the knowledge of any but his most senior staff. The spindly guns were lethal, capable of independently targeting or firing in concert for maximum effect. The Endeavour was quite unprepared for the onslaught.
“Multiple sensors targeting us!” Klisiewicz snapped. “Power surges!”
“Brace for impact!” Zhao barely spoke before the first beams of coruscating green lightning reached out to slam into the shields.
Lights flickered and dimmed across the bridge. T’Prynn ducked away as the panel behind her fractured and blew out, spitting gas and flames. She saw Tupo, the Edoan security guard, fall lifeless to the deck.
Endeavour rocked as it was raked a second and then a third time.
“Orion weapons.” The first officer coughed out the words. “Damn him.”
“We’ll all be damned unless we survive this,” Zhao retorted. He glared at T’Prynn. “Where’s this spy of yours?”
The Vulcan glanced up at the view of the station turning beneath them.
Surgeon-Commandant Fisher’s face twisted in a grimace as the lab’s lights dimmed momentarily. Ming Xiong heard the caged Shedai make a low moan.
“Careful!” Fisher snapped. “Keep the power steady. If the flow is interrupted, the confinement field could be compromised!”
Ming looked up at the deck over their heads. “What do you think is going on up there?” Red-alert strobes were flashing on every console.
Fisher turned away. “That’s not your concern, Lieutenant,” he retorted. “The commodore has everything in hand.”
“You really believe that?”
“He is a great man,” Fisher said, bending over a power regulator. “You should remember that.”
Ming saw the moment and took it. “Yes, I will.” In a single swift motion, the lieutenant grabbed the older man’s arms and caught him in a neck lock. Fisher cried out, but Ming had taken his balance. With a hard shove, he pushed the surgeon-commandant’s torso against the throbbing energy nimbus of the open power conduit.
Fisher’s body stiffened, and he screamed. Flesh blackened and crisped, spitting sweet-smelling smoke into the air. In a moment, it was done, and the man was dead.
Ming let him drop. Only one scream, at the end. With the number of times Xiong had seen Fisher elicit cries of agony from others, it didn’t seem right that he had perished so quickly. I should have made it last.
He stepped away and recovered his tricorder. To a cursory inspection, the device resembled a normal Imperial-issue unit; but Vulcan technicians had secretly enhanced it with a number of capabilities, one of which was a tight-beam encrypted subspace transmitter. Ever since Reyes had upgraded the sensor capacity of Vanguard’s multispectrum array, Ming had been afraid to use it—but now it seemed like a moot point. “Attention,” he spoke into the device. “Asset five-four-three-Gamma reporting. I authenticate: nine-nine-five-Delta-nine. Please respond.”
He wasn’t surprised to hear the tight, clipped diction of a Vulcan in reply. “Responding. You are to initiate exit strategy immediately.”
The deck vibrated beneath his feet, and once again, the Shedai howled against the bars of its cage. Ming nodded. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
Pennington threw the captain a look. “Confirmed, boss. Small detonations along the main conduit. The transport-inhibitor field protecting the station is failing.”
“The lieutenant was successful,” said T’Prynn from the communications panel. “His orders required him to conceal explosive devices in several key power nodes. These are now being triggered.”
The Endeavour listed as another disruptor charge splashed across the forward shields. Zhao came up out of his chair. “We won’t be able to keep dancing around them like this forever. Reyes is a bloodthirsty barbarian, but he’s not an idiot. It’s only a matter of time until he gets another ship out here.” He snapped his fingers at sh’Zenne and Mkembe. “With me. We’re boarding.”
“Sir?” Klisiewicz gasped. “Captain…I know that your lover is aboard that station, but if you go over there, there’s no certainty you’ll make it back alive.”
Zhao turned to T’Prynn. “You will assist Mr. Klisiewicz. Keep my ship in one piece until I return.”
“Klisiewicz is correct,” said the Vulcan. “And Khatami may already be dead.”
“Admiral Spock’s offer grants three rewards.” Zhao spoke over his shoulder as he made for the turbolift. “The first I have taken in defying Reyes, and the last I will accept if I survive. But she…she is the most important to me.”
The red warning strobes had turned the lab into a vision of some arcane hell, the smoke from fried components streaming through the air. Flashes of bright blue light sparkled through the bars of the phase cage; the Shedai was beating itself against the walls of its prison, screaming and hooting in mad agony.
She knows what’s going on, Ming realized. She can smell death.
He felt his skin crawl as the alien turned its attention on him, as eyes that were not eyes glared in his direction. Psychic pressure tightened about his skull, and he felt blood trickle from his nostrils.
Telinaruul! It was a silent roar. Release me! Release me!
Through the mind touch of the Shedai, he could sense the very edges of the being’s consciousness; he could see the scars across its mentality, where Fisher had brutally tortured her during her captivity. Any remnant of rationality was gone now; the creature was insane with rage, filled with a hate so powerful it could have smothered suns. It threatened to engulf him, pull him under.
“One,” he called into his communicator, trying to keep himself focused. “One to beam up…”
RELEASE ME!
Of their own accord, Ming Xiong’s fingers reached for the cage controls.
Vanguard’s internal communications had gone offline in the first moments of the attack, leaving Desai isolated in the interrogation chamber. Down there, in the place the crew had nicknamed the dungeon decks, she was usually free to conduct her work as Reyes’s chief inquisitor; but the power failures and alert klaxons w
ere a most unwelcome interruption. She cursed and stalked back across the room, to where her current subject hung suspended over the drain in the floor.
The naked man was panting, barely awake after the shock of blood loss from the shallow cuts over his body. He tried to raise his head and mumbled.
“It’s not a rescue, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she spat. Desai shot a look at her slave. Normally, the woman would cower under such a glare, but Atish had a peculiar look on her face. Almost like…hope.
Desai backhanded her to the deck, and Khatami flailed, knocking over a trolley of medical instruments. “The same goes for you,” she told her. “You belong to us now, body and soul. Never forget that.”
For the first time in months, Atish’s eyes flashed with defiance. “Body, perhaps. But never my soul. Never that.”
The other woman laughed harshly, picking out a scalpel from the confusion of instruments. “Do you require another demonstration?” She crossed to the man in restraints and cooed to him. “Quinn. Quinn, can you hear me?”
He gave a gasp, bloody spittle trickling from his lips.
Desai glanced at Khatami as she spoke. “I have all I need from you. I’m going to free you.”
“No,” said Atish, getting to her feet.
The blade of the instrument cut through the soft flesh of Quinn’s neck, and he choked and writhed, dying there before them. Desai tossed the scalpel away and sneered. “This is Vanguard, Atish. Life is cheap here.”
Khatami bowed her head. “Yes. Yes, you’re right.”
Satisfied that she had made her point, Desai beckoned her slave toward the hatch. “Come. We must find out what is going on.”
She was two steps away when the duranium door blew off its mounting and broke apart. Parts of the body of the Orion guard outside spattered on the deck. Figures stepped through coils of smoke, and Desai flinched as a towering ebony-skinned human advanced toward her. Behind him came a man in a long coat with a phaser in either hand.
Star Trek®: Mirror Universe: Shards and Shadows Page 14