CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I
think she’s telling the truth.”
Mantovanni
listened in silence as Warrick, Worf and Troi relayed their opinion of a story,
that, until a few days ago, would have seemed unbelievable.
“There
is no doubt in my mind, Captain,” the Klingon added, in support of Warrick’s
conclusion. They all looked to the Betazoid; she nodded as well.
“I
sensed no deception on her part,” the counselor affirmed. “My only caveat would be her acknowledgment that
she’d actually seen none of it, and
rather had heard secondhand from Commander K’las what occurred.”
Riker
inquired, “You tried to talk to him?”
Warrick
shook his head in exasperation. “After he’d recovered, we asked a few
questions, but all he would say was, ‘I will speak only to the one I faced on
the bridge. The rest of you are nothing.’
“We
didn’t get another word out of him.”
Mantovanni
sighed.
“The
determining factor, I suppose, then, is what he’s willing to tell me. He gestured to Worf. “You can bring
them both in here, Lieutenant.”
The
Klingon opened the Observation Lounge door, and motioned for a quartet of
guards to escort the two of them to their seats.
K’las
possessed even more arrogance than the average Klingon, sweeping into the room
as if he were Kahless himself, and the coveralls he wore imperial garb. He
examined Mantovanni as if their positions were reversed, with him the jailer
and the captain his prisoner.
“So,
you are the legendary warrior.
Somehow, I’d imagined you as ... taller.”
“I
bet he looked pretty tall when you hit the floor,” Warrick observed pointedly.
Almost
any other of his people would have leapt across the table for such an insult.
K’las, however, merely focused his gaze on Warrick, and scoffed, “You are no
more worthy of my attention now than you were then, hider in shadows.”
Then
he turned back to Mantovanni.
“You
surprised me with your skill. Such would ... will not occur again.”
“Well,
then it seems we both have something we want, K’las: You wish an opportunity to
face me in hand-to-hand combat a second time; I want an accurate account of
what you saw as you left the Qul'etlh.
No posturing, no accusations of Federation treachery, no Klingon polemic—just a
warrior reporting what he saw on the field of battle.
“If
you do this for me,” Mantovanni continued, making the arrangement personal, “I
promise, on my honor, that when this
situation is resolved, one way or another, I'll give you your duel.”
Now
K’las smiled. Riker got the distinct impression that both men had already
gotten exactly what they’d wanted even before the Klingon began to speak again.
“I
agree,” he replied simply, and bared his teeth in what was for his people a
restrained anticipation. Then the look disappeared as his thoughts turned back
to what he had seen.
“The
Qu’letlh was still under attack as we
emerged from the shuttle bay. I counted two assailants. The first was of a
design with which I was unfamiliar, though its lines seemed almost...
recognizable.
“I
had no difficulty identifying the second.” He paused for emphasis, and
delivered his next statement with damning force.
“It
was an Excelsior-class starship.”
Despite
the fact they’d heard a version of this before from the now silent Kaala, all
of the assembled Starfleet officers still struggled with the very concept of
what had been revealed.
“Go
on,” Mantovanni prodded at last.
“It
was fortunate we were cloaked; we escaped their notice. In the moment before I
activated the warp drive, I saw something which caused me to... hesitate.”
“A
third vessel appeared in front of the
Qul'etlh.” He stopped momentarily,
and leaned across the table towards Riker and the captain. “Do not mistake what
I am saying; it did not just drop out of warp.
“It
decloaked. An Ambassador-class starship decloaked and fired a spread of photon
torpedoes at a ship that was already dead in space. The Qul'etlh had no shields, but many survivors… until that moment.
“I
am not a terrorist,” he finished. “I took the opportunity to attack the
K’las
was breathing hard with the effort it took to restrain himself.
“Thank
you, Commander.
“Lieutenant
Sanchez, take our two guests below. Assign them quarters, and give them back
their armor and blades.” Troi looked aghast at Mantovanni’s instructions, but
held her tongue when she saw Riker nod in agreement.
“Would
you care to rejoin us when you’re done, Commander K’las?”
The
wary Klingon was still trying to comprehend that his weapons and warrior’s garb
would be returned, but he rallied well.
“In what capacity?” he snarled
suspiciously.
“As
the official observers for the Klingon Empire. You and Lieutenant Kaala will
record observations on our investigation into this incident; as well as
assisting us if we require it, and making recommendations as you feel they’re
needed.”
For
the first time, K’las looked to be at a loss for words. Kaala, though, stepped
into the breach.
“We
must be permitted to contact the Klingon High Command immediately,” she declared firmly, and added with a touch of
sarcasm, “to inform them of our status, of course.” It was obvious she wished
to see how the captain would respond to such a blatant gesture. Again she was
startled.
“We’ll
see to it within the hour.” Mantovanni gestured to the young Castillian. “See
to their needs, Lieutenant Sanchez.”
Neither
of the two said another word as they left the observation lounge in the care of
Sanchez and his team.
As
the doors slid closed, everyone looked at Troi.
“There’s
no deception, sir. It happened just the way he said it did.”
“Then
the Romulans may very well have evidence showing ‘Federation’ ships attacking
their vessels,” Warrick concluded. “This is not
good.”
“One
of their cloaked deep space probes may have observed a similar incident,” Riker
agreed. “If it happened with the Klingons, it could have taken place earlier
with the Romulans.”
“Why
not just transmit their information to the Federation Council?” Troi wondered.
“Or to every Alpha Quadrant power, for that matter?”
Riker
responded immediately. “One: We’d say it was faked, just like the Romulan
ambassador pointed out; no one is going to believe visual evidence alone
because it’s too easily manufactured, and Romulan eyewitnesses wouldn’t be
considered reliable enough; Two: They’d lose their chance to get the Enterprise into their space to perform
an ‘investigation.’ They want us to
cross the border; as far as they’re concerned, they have the evidence to go to
war already, but if they can manipulate us into continuing what they obviously
think is a bluff on our part, we have to carry through on our side until they choose to call it off. This way,
they’re able to do exactly what Worf had feared—destroy the Federation
flagship, or worse, capture it.”
“Could
this all be a set up engineered by
the Romulans?” Warrick asked. “Perhaps they’ve been carefully assembling a
small fleet of captured Federation starships for the last 15 to 30 years, just
so they could accuse us of such a thing, and have the perfect ‘evidence’ to
back it up.”
“That
would be enormously difficult, if not impossible. I’d think security ciphers
and self-destruct sequences would preclude that. Then again...” Mantovanni’s
voice faded for a moment; then he continued.
“Our
problem is now significantly more difficult than it was a half-hour ago. Not
only do we have to prove to our own satisfaction that this is all some sort of
attempt to discredit the Federation, we have to prove it to the Romulans and the Klingons as well, since
they’ll now both undoubtedly think it’s all true … or at least possible.
“We
haven’t got a lot of time.
“Mr.
Worf,” he abruptly changed subjects, “how quickly can you arm phasers, manually
target them, and fire?”
The
Klingon’s brow furrowed. “Two or three seconds, perhaps.”
“Good.”
Mantovanni seemed satisfied with the answer. “Assume your station and be
prepared to do so.”
“Aye,
sir,” Worf replied. As he was leaving, he inquired, “Who will I be attacking?”
The
young captain looked at the Klingon with an inscrutable expression. Riker
thought, I’ve got to keep this guy out of
our poker game.
“I’m
not entirely certain, Lieutenant,” he admitted. “Cheer up, though.
“If I am right, you may just have the
distinct honor of firing the first shots in a war that will kill us all.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN