Destiny_ Lost Souls Part 2

3.

"Hail them again, Commander," Captain Picard said to Miranda Kadohata, the Enterprise's third-in-command and senior operations officer.

Her lean, attractive Eurasian countenance hardened with frustration as she worked at her console. "Still no response, sir," she said, her accent redolent of a Londoner's inflections.

Medical and security personnel worked with quiet efficiency around and behind Picard, clearing away the evidence of the ship's recent pitched battle with Hirogen boarders, two of whom lay dead in the middle of the Enterprise's bridge. A thin haze of smoke still lingered along the overhead, and its sharp odor masked the stench of spilled blood on the deck.

On the main viewer, framed by streaks of warp-distorted starlight, was the Vesta-cla.s.s explorer vessel U.S.S. Aventine. Under the command of Captain Ezri Dax, it was racing at its best possible warp speed toward Earth. They were in futile pursuit of a Borg armada that had, only hours earlier, slipped through a previously unknown-and since collapsed-subs.p.a.ce pa.s.sage from the Delta Quadrant. Picard feared that at any moment Captain Dax's crew would activate their ship's prototype quantum slipstream drive and rush headlong into a suicidal confrontation.

Lieutenant Jasminder Choudhury, the Enterprise's chief of security, directed four medical technicians entering from the main turbolift to the Hirogen's corpses. "Get those into stasis," she said. "We'll want them for a.n.a.lysis later."

"Aye, sir," said one of the technicians, and the quartet set to work bagging the enormous armored bodies.

While they worked, another turbolift arrived at the bridge, and four engineers stepped out. They carried tight, tubular bundles that unrolled to reveal long sheets covered with tools tucked into fabric loops and magnetically sealed pockets. In moments, the engineers all were at work, repairing ruptured duty consoles and bulkhead-mounted companels.

Commander Worf finished a hushed conference with junior tactical officer Ensign Aneta mrhova and returned to the command chairs to take his seat next to Picard's. Speaking at a discreet volume, he said, "Sensor reports confirmed, Captain. There are more than seven thousand Borg cubes deployed into Federation, Klingon, and Romulan territory. Several targets have already been engaged."

"Thank you, Number One," Picard said, though he was anything but grateful for the update. He raised his voice and asked the flight controller, "Mister Weinrib, time to intercept?"

"Actually, sir, the Aventine's lead is increasing," Weinrib said. "They're now point-eight-five past our top rated speed."

Picard admired the sleek lines of the Aventine as it slipped farther away from the Enterprise. He was almost ready to abandon hope of reasoning with Dax when Kadohata swiveled her chair around from ops to report, "Aventine is responding, sir."

"On-screen," Picard said.

Captain Dax's face appeared on the main viewer. "Changed your mind about joining us, Captain?"

"Far from it," Picard said, rising from his chair and walking forward. "I urge you to reconsider this rash action."

The young, dark-haired Trill woman seethed. "The Federation's under attack," she said. "We have to defend it."

"We will," Picard said. "But not like this. Sacrificing your ship and your crew in this manner serves no purpose. Going into battle against great odds can be brave or n.o.ble-but going into battle without a plan is worse than futile, it's wasteful."

She heaved an angry sigh, and he sensed her frustration, her desire to do anything other than stand and wait. "So, what do you propose we do?"

"We'll contact Starfleet Command and request new orders," he said. "They may not even be aware that our ships are still in service after the loss of the expeditionary force."

A smirk tugged at one corner of Dax's mouth. "Contact Starfleet Command? No offense, Captain, but that's not exactly the answer I expected, given your reputation."

"I'll admit that when my orders have contradicted common sense, morality, or the law, I have followed my conscience," Picard said. "But at the moment, Captain, we haven't any orders at all-and I think we at least ought to see if Starfleet knows where it needs us before we commit ourselves to a potentially fatal course."

Dax relaxed her shoulders. "I suppose it can't hurt to ask," she said.

"Then might I suggest we drop out of warp?" Picard said. "At least until such time as we know where we ought to go?"

She narrowed her gaze for a moment, and then she nodded to someone off-screen. "We're returning to impulse," she said. "Can you patch me in when you're ready to talk to Starfleet?"

"Of course," Picard said. "Enterprise out." The screen switched back to the exterior view of the receding Aventine.

Picard nodded to Worf, who said to Weinrib, "Match their speed and heading." The conn officer nodded his confirmation.

On the viewscreen, the streaks of light shrank back to gleaming points as the Aventine and the Enterprise returned to normal maneuvering speeds.

Another guarded victory for common sense, Picard mused. "Commander Kadohata, raise Starfleet Command on any secure channel, priority one."

"Aye, sir," Kadohata replied.

He turned toward his ready room. "I'll take it in my-" He stopped in midstep and midsentence as he saw the burned and smoke-scarred interior of his office, which had been set ablaze during the a.s.sault by the Hirogen hunting pack. Picard frowned. The sight of his flame-scoured sanctum resurrected unpleasant memories he'd hoped were long buried.

Time is the fire in which we burn.

Looking back at Kadohata, he said, "I'll take it in the observation lounge, Commander." He walked to the aft starboard portal as he added, "Commander Worf, you have the bridge."

4.

"Battle stations!" roared Captain Krogan. The bridge lights snapped to full brightness as the I.K.S. veScharg'a dropped to impulse one million qelI'qams from the Klingon world Morska. Following close behind the veScharg'a was its battle partner, the Qang-cla.s.s heavy cruiser Sturka.

A firestorm of disruptor blasts raged up from the planet's surface and hammered the two Borg cubes in orbit. The impacts seemed to have no effect on the cubes except to silhouette them and give them blinding crimson halos. Then the Borg returned fire and wrought blazing emerald scars across the planet's surface.

Krogan's first officer, Falgar, bellowed, "Raise shields! Arm weapons! Helm, set attack pattern ya'DIchqa."

"Ten seconds to Borg firing range," answered the helmsman.

"All reserve power to shields," Falgar ordered.

Time to find out if Starfleet's secret torpedoes work for us, Krogan brooded, watching the Borg cubes grow larger on his viewscreen. His foes would have several seconds of advantage over his Vor'cha-cla.s.s attack cruiser, whose effective firing range was a few hundred thousand qelI'qams shorter than that of the Borg cubes. The veScharg'a's goal was to survive the Borg's initial barrage and get close enough to target the cubes with the transphasic torpedo, which Admiral Jellico of Starfleet had just ordered to be distributed to ships of the Klingon Defense Force.

"The Borg are firing," Falgar said, sounding perfectly calm. Then explosions shook the battle cruiser with the ferocity of Fek'lhr himself. The bright battle lights flickered. Fire and sparks erupted from aft duty stations, and the stink of burnt hair a.s.saulted Krogan's nostrils.

Qonqar, the tactical officer, shouted over the clamor, "Weapons locked!"

Krogan slammed a fist on the arm of his chair as he pointed at the Borg cubes on the screen. "Fire!"

A trio of blue bolts shot forth, spiraling erratically through the Borg's defensive batteries. As they closed on target, Falgar called out, "Helm! Break to starboard! Qonqar, all power to port shields!"

More blasts shook the veScharg'a. Krogan grinned as he watched the viewer and saw the aft-angle view of the torpedoes. .h.i.tting home and blasting one Borg cube to pieces in a sapphire flash. As the blue fire cloud dissipated into the vacuum of s.p.a.ce, another cerulean blast filled the starscape behind it, as the second Borg cube was annihilated.

The bridge officers cheered and roared at their victory. Krogan permitted himself a satisfied smirk and a nod of his head. It is a good day to die...for my enemies.

The warriors' revels were ended by the shrilling of an incoming subs.p.a.ce message. Communications officer Valk covered his in-ear transceiver for a moment, then looked up at Krogan. "Signal from General Klag."

"On-screen," Krogan said, lifting his chin to project pride and confidence to his commanding officer.

The visage of General Klag, commander of the Fifth Fleet, filled the viewscreen. "Report," said the general, who was now also hailed as a Hero of the Empire.

"Our foes are vanquished," Krogan said.

"Excellent," Klag said. "Your vessel is needed at a new battle. What is your status?"

Krogan replied, "Minor damage but still battle-ready."

Klag nodded, and then he asked, "What of the Sturka?"

Qonqar routed an after-action report from the Sturka to Krogan's command monitor. "Captain K'Draq reports they've taken heavy damage," Krogan said, reviewing the details.

The general's brow creased beneath his scowl. "We need every ship. Can they continue?"

"Doubtful," Krogan said. "They've lost warp drive."

"Leave them, then," Klag said. "Rendezvous with the fleet in three hours, at the coordinates I'm sending you now."

At a glance, Krogan knew that the meeting point lay on a direct line between the Azure Nebula, source of the Borg scourge, and the Klingon homeworld. "The Borg are coming for Qo'noS, then," he said.

"If they do, they come to die," Klag said with an eager grin. "Get under way now. That is an order. Klag out."

The screen returned to the wounded orb of Morska and the smoldering, battered hull of the Sturka, adrift in s.p.a.ce. Krogan relayed the rendezvous coordinates to the helmsman's console. "Set a new course," he said. "Maximum warp. Go." Stars swept across the screen and then distorted into streaks as the veScharg'a jumped to warp.

Though Krogan would never say so-not to his crew, to his family, or to his superiors-he knew that it had been sheer luck that had preserved his ship even as the Sturka had fallen to the Borg. And if there was one truth that every warrior knew, it was that no one's luck lasted forever.

Chancellor Martok stepped off the transporter padd and was glad to be back aboard his flagship, the I.K.S. Sword of Kahless. General Goluk, a high-ranking member of the Order of the Bat'leth and the commander of Martok's venerated Ninth Fleet, gave him a nod of greeting. "Qapla', Chancellor."

In his cutting growl of a voice, Martok replied, "Qapla', General. Report." He marched out of the transporter room, in a hurry to reach the bridge.

The gray-bearded general followed him and said, "Khitomer and Beta Thoridor have fallen. Beta Lankal and the Mempa system are under attack, as are several dozen smaller colonies."

"And Morska?"

"Defended by the Sturka and the veScharg'a," Goluk said. "The Borg are also laying siege to Rura Penthe."

"Who cares about Rura Penthe?" Martok said. "Is Klag gathering his fleet?"

"Yes, my lord," Goluk said, following Martok up a steep crew ladder to the command deck. "Our forces will a.s.semble in three hours and engage the Borg in four."

Martok bounded up from the ladder and strode down the pa.s.sageway toward the bridge. Despite the absence of his left eye and his limited depth perception, Martok knew the steps and corners of his ship so well that he could navigate its corridors blind. "Has there been any word from our forces at the nebula?"

"Not yet," Goluk said. He remained close behind Martok's shoulder as they walked.

The two grizzled warriors arrived on the bridge. The command center of the Sword of Kahless was packed with warriors, all of them intently busy preparing for rapid deployment. Deep, muted voices mixed with the comm chatter and the ambient hum of the ship's power-distribution systems. On the viewer, dozens of Vor'cha-cla.s.s and K'vort-cla.s.s cruisers moved in tight formations, turning in unison like flocks of birds.

Captain G'mtor, a seasoned officer who proudly bore a deep facial scar from his right temple to his chin, approached the chancellor and the general. "New reports from Federation and Romulan s.p.a.ce, Chancellor," G'mtor said. "Battles have begun at Nequencia Alpha, Xarantine, and Jouret. The Borg armada is destroying all stray vessels it encounters."

"We'll find strength in numbers, then," Martok said. He took his place in the command chair. "How many ships are ready to follow us into battle, Captain?"

"One hundred seventeen are gathered here at Qo'noS," G'mtor said. "Another three hundred sixty-one will meet us at the rendezvous coordinates."

General Goluk asked, "And how many Borg vessels have we detected inbound?"

"Four hundred ninety-two," G'mtor said. He flashed a sharp-toothed grin. "So already we enjoy an advantage."

Immediately, Martok could tell that Goluk was performing the arithmetic in his head. Then the general inquired of G'mtor, "How did you arrive at that conclusion, Captain?"

Martok loosed a short roar of laughter and answered for G'mtor, "Because we are Klingons!" Encouraging roars came from every warrior on the bridge. These men were sharp and ready for battle, and it filled Martok with pride to be among them. He stood and said to G'mtor, "Open a channel, all ships."

G'mtor nodded to another officer, who carried out the order with haste and nodded in reply. "Channel open," G'mtor said.

In a breath, Martok gathered himself and declared, "Warriors of the Empire! A great hour is upon us, a foe to test our mettle. The Borg have come not to plunder us but to destroy us-to leave our empire in flames, our bodies broken, our spirits disgraced at the gates of Gre'thor.

"This is a mistake they will not live to regret. We will meet their armada with our own and show them what it means to fight with honor. We shall whip the Borg from our s.p.a.ce and crush them. Our empire has risen by the sword, and one day it might be felled by it. But if such a fate awaits us, let us fall to warriors-not to these petaQpu'.

"Today is a good day to die, for a warrior-but not for a way of life. The Klingon Empire will not fall today." He slammed his fist and forearm to his chest. "Fight well, and die with honor, sons and daughters of Qo'noS! Qapla'!"

A roaring "Qapla'!" came back to Martok from his bridge crew, who broke without preamble into a throaty and spirited rendition of "Soldiers of the Empire." Their proud voices echoed off the bulkheads and rang through the corridors, where new choruses of singers picked up the tune and carried it on.

General Goluk nodded to the communications officer, who closed the channel as the singing continued. Martok settled into the command chair, which sat on a dais above the rest of the bridge. The general placed himself at Martok's right side. Over the hearty song, he said, "All ships ready to deploy, my lord."

"Break orbit," Martok said. "As soon as the fleet is in formation behind us, coordinate our jump to maximum warp."

Goluk let Captain G'mtor handle the details of marshaling the fleet into warp speed. Martok, meanwhile, savored all the sensations of shipboard life: the gruff singing voices, the warm aromas from the galley several decks below, the rumbling of the impulse engines pushing the ship out of orbit, the chimelike echo of boots stamping across duranium gratings.

This was not the war he would have chosen, but it felt good to be leading his people into battle, all of them united under one banner. The Kinshaya and the Elabrej had not been enough to give the far-flung worlds of the Empire common cause. But the Borg were a menace without equal in known s.p.a.ce. The Collective's attack had galvanized the n.o.ble families and the common people, and it had quelled the resurgent internecine struggles of the High Council.

Barked commands across the bridge were followed by the flash of warp-distorted starlight across the main viewscreen.

When this war is over, Martok ruminated, the Empire will be stronger than it's ever been...or it will lie in ashes.

5.