CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When
Mantovanni, Riker, Troi, and Warrick emerged from the observation lounge, they
radiated a sense of urgency that quickly permeated the Bridge.
K’las
and Kaala had returned, and staked a claim to the two spots left of the command
chair. Troi’s thought of protest died aborning, as she considered the dispute
that might begin over something as trivial as the seating arrangements.
Instead, she sighed minutely and followed Riker, settling for the place at his
right Captain Mantovanni had used earlier.
The
young captain took the center seat, exhaled slowly, and calmed his mind. At least the Klingons look marginally
cooperative for the moment, he thought gratefully. Evidently upper echelons are less convinced of Federation treachery
than the locals once were.
“Counselor,
please inform all personnel to expect a rough ride over the next few moments.
Tell everyone to find somewhere to be, and stay there. My apologies to Dr.
Crusher, as well; I know she’s got enough problems right now without this.”
“Yes,
sir,” she replied crisply, and set about doing so.
“Auxiliary
power to the inertial dampeners and structural integrity field on my mark, Mr.
Data; none of us want to be a smear on the wall after this upcoming stunt.”
The
android’s fingers were a literal blur. “Aye, sir. On your mark, inertial
dampeners will increase to 135% of normal; structural integrity field will
reconfigure for high torque maneuvers.”
“Lieutenant
MacLeod,” Mantovanni continued, “prepare to bring those sensor modifications
you and Commander Data made online simultaneously. Tie them into the tactical
station and Commander Riker’s console as you do so.”
“Understood.”
“Please
take no offense at this, Lieutenant Worf: I’m going to need every bit of that
speed and pinpoint accuracy you mentioned. Phasers will be your sole
responsibility for the next few moments.”
“Will,
you’ll handle the shields; route them through your panel and raise them at the
first sign of trouble. Use those instincts I’m coming to trust so much.”
Riker
smiled briefly at the running joke. “Aye, sir,” he responded.
“Commander
Warrick, reconfigure one of the aft consoles as a second tactical station.
Inform weapons control I want photon torpedoes set for low-moderate yield and
loaded into the forward tubes manually.”
A
silence settled over the bridge. A minute later, Warrick informed him, “Weapons
control reports nominal, sir.”
“Good.
Don’t miss.”
Mantovanni
quietly declared, “Ready? Mark.”
A
second later, his voice thundered out, and galvanized them all. “Ensign Page,
hard to starboard, 180° about!”
“Aye,
sir, coming around!”
The
turn was startlingly swift and smooth: Data had done his job, as usual, to
perfection.
“Sensors
are detecting a particulate wave front bearing to starboard,” MacLeod warned.
“Target
the largest power concentration, Mr. Worf!
“All
weapons, fire!”
Even
before the Warbird had fully emerged from her cloaked state, she was struck by
a phaser barrage whose impact found its way inexorably to her main disruptor
array. As she staggered from that blow, a full spread of photon torpedoes
hammered other crucial areas—her engines and defense systems.
“Qapla!” K’las clenched an armored fist
in triumph.
The
attack ceased.
The
Warbird didn’t retaliate, because she couldn’t.
“Sensors
indicate moderate damage to the Romulan vessel’s impulse drive; her forward and
dorsal shield generators are overloaded, and her port power coupling is
severed. Disruptors are inoperative as well.”
Data
turned completely around in his chair, and stared curiously at the captain.
“You knew she was there,” he stated with what would have sounded like
conviction were he not an android.
“I
guessed, Mr. Data,” he corrected. “It seemed like a reasonably logical
assumption, though.
“Nicely
done, all.”
K’las
managed to restrain his enthusiasm, though his eyes were aflame with what he’d
seen. “Impressive,” he allowed.
“It
will be a shame to have to kill you later.”
Though
his eyes never left the screen, Mantovanni replied before anyone else could
speak.
“Keep
in mind what I said about Klingon posturing, Commander. You’re liable to lose
your chance at me if you don’t.”
To
Kaala’s, and everyone else’s, amazement, K’las fell silent.
“The
Warbird’s not even trying to move off,” Ensign Page observed in surprise.
“Her
commander’s assuming that if they even blink we’ll destroy them, Ensign,”
Mantovanni mentioned. “And her commander would be right.”
“Sir,
they are hailing us.” This time, Worf couldn’t keep the satisfaction out
of his voice.
“On
screen,” Riker ordered.
The
viewer changed from a vision of the damaged ship to the image of a female
Romulan commander. Considering the situation, she managed to project a
remarkable calm.
“Captain
Pi... Captain,” she amended herself quickly. “I am Commander Toreth of
the Imperial Romulan Warbird Khazara. I would be far more upset at your
attack if a state of war didn’t currently exist between our peoples, and I
hadn’t just been caught on your side of the Neutral Zone.
“Counselor.”
Though her tone was pleasant enough, Toreth leaned forward in her chair, as if
anticipating that through some preternatural exercise of will she could get her
hands around Troi’s neck just by desperately wishing it. “I see you are
well.”
The
object of her cold anger replied neutrally, “Commander.”
“None
the worse for your ... harrowing experience in Romulan space, I see.”
Troi
didn’t reply.
“You’re
quite an excellent spy. For all the trouble you caused me, you might as well
have been a member of the
Tal Shiar.
“However,
we shall discuss that at another time. For now, Captain...?” she hesitated
expectantly.
“...Mantovanni,”
he supplied.
Again,
her equanimity was nothing short of amazing. Other than a thinning of her lips,
she gave no reaction to a name that ranked with Kirk and Styles as one of the
most hated in the annals of Romulan military history.
“For
now, Captain Mantovanni, I must ask for your terms. Bear in mind, though, that
I shall destroy this vessel if you demand its surrender or attempt to board
her.”
“A
typically Romulan attempt to dictate policy even when helpless,” Kaala observed
contemptuously.
“When
I want your opinion I’ll ask for it, Lieutenant,” Mantovanni informed her curtly.
For a moment, it looked as if she would respond, but a murderous glare from
K’las made it clear such a course of action was not a good idea.
“My
conditions are as follows.
"One:
You will make no attempt to repair any of your damaged systems until and unless
authorized by either myself or Commander Riker. If I have even an inkling that
you’re attempting to circumvent this directive, I’ll destroy the Khazara and proceed on my mission
without a second glance.
“Two:
You will relay a visual record of the information the Romulan High Command
claims is evidence the Federation has violated the Treaty of Algeron, and you
will do so without delay. Failure to transmit the data will result in your
immediate destruction.
“Three:
You will stand by for further instructions.”
Toreth
formed her fingers into a steeple and narrowed her eyes. Clearly she had
expected terms far more stringent than what she’d been offered. Though it
galled her Romulan pride, she knew Mantovanni was, thus far, being
incomprehensibly generous—especially considering they were at war.
“I
accept your terms,” she finally agreed.
“Thank
you, Commander. Transmit your data now. We’ll contact you shortly.
The
screen went dark.
“Well,
like the old joke goes,” Riker ventured, “Now that we’ve got them, what do we
do with them?”
An
amused laugh came from behind Worf.
“‘An
excellent spy?’” Warrick quoted. “You’re getting more interesting by the
minute, Counselor.”
Deanna
suppressed a grin and glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ll try to keep you on
your toes, Commander.”
“They
are transmitting the visual record you requested, sir,” Data informed them.
Mindful
of what Warrick had mentioned to him not long before, Mantovanni considered
adjourning with the senior staff into the observation lounge to view the
‘evidence’ privately. Then, he decided against it.
“Give
us a look, Commander.”
Judging
from the slight fuzziness of the picture, and the stream of Romulan script and
numerals flowing along the edges of the screen, the visual was, indeed,
telemetry from a deep space probe, probably cloaked.
Everyone
assembled on the bridge watched in rapt silence as the device focused its
scanning apparatus on a Romulan scout vessel running at sub-light.
Most
probes are programmed to focus on anything anomalous in the region they're
deployed, and the fact the ship was its primary interest established the
location as an out-of-the-way sector.
A
full, unremarkable minute passed.
Then
it happened: Behind the scout and to starboard, the telltale haziness of a
de-cloaking vessel solidified rapidly into the form of a starship. A circular
primary hull and two cylindrical nacelles all attached to a secondary support
section left no doubt the craft was of Federation design.
“Ambassador-class,” Riker murmured.
The
newcomer wasted little time: Her phasers raked the scout’s aft quarter and a
pair of photon torpedoes blasted away her port nacelle. The Romulan was nearly
helpless, that much was certain; she peeled desperately away, but whatever
engine power remained was not enough to gain her the seconds she needed to
regroup. The phasers lashed out again, and their target disappeared in a brief
explosion of light.
Almost
before the glow had faded, so had the attacking ship, back into the shadows of
cloak.
“Anyone
recognize that?” Mantovanni inquired.
“Attack
pattern epsilon. A fairly standard combat maneuver,” Worf answered.
“If you attended
“That
was the ship I saw,” K’las growled in
barely contained fury.
“Looks
like she’s been a busy girl,” Warrick observed. “Let’s just hope you didn’t see
another Ambassador-class starship engaged in the same type of action.”
Data
half-turned from ops.
“Sir,
I have formulated the beginnings of a hypothesis. To ascertain its validity,
however, will require both a brief period of research, as well as information
from the Klingon and Romulan databases.”
Mantovanni
thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Contact
the Khazara and make your request,
Mr. Data. I’ll expect an explication of this hypothesis in one hour. Get
Commander La Forge and Lieutenant MacLeod to assist you.
“Meanwhile,”
the young captain concluded, “I believe we need to have another talk with the
Klingon High Command.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN