Chapter Six
Stardate 54656.2 (6 September 2377)
The Planet Hri’on
SerenityValley
Sister Mary Grace, now adorned in traditional habit, paused outside the house of Elder Mezhdan. The building was modest, constructed of native stone and wood. A large Glembuk tree provided shade over much of the house, its large, green leaves hanging heavily from thick branches.
She walked up the stone path and cleared her throat. One did not knock on doors in either Klingon or Orion culture. These hybrid people preferred the more direct approach.
“Elder Mezhdan!” she shouted, “I would speak with you.”
For a moment, there was no response. Custom forbade a second shout – that would constitute a challenge and Sister Mary Grace had no desire to fight the 158 year-old Klinorian, even though she was pretty sure she could take him.
The heavy double-doors of the house opened and Mezhdan’s son, Krelt, appeared. He regarded the nun with a cold stare. The Elder’s son appeared to be a full-blood Klingon, though he was a mix like the rest of the locals. Apparently Krelt’s Klingon genes were dominate.
“Krelt, I wish to speak with your father,” said Sister Mary Grace, unperturbed by Krelt’s lack of warmth.
“The Elder is resting. Tell me your message and I will pass it along to him,” he responded curtly.
“My words are for Elder Mezhdan, Krelt. I would be grateful if you would let him know I am here.”
She had known Krelt since he was a young boy chasing glo-bugs in the fields. There was a time not too long ago he would have greeted her with a very Human-like hug. But something had changed in him as he reached young adulthood – he had become aloof, almost hostile in his demeanor. She had first passed it off as a temporary life stage, like adolescence in Humans. But time had not mellowed Krelt. His stare was icy cold.
But the Sisters of Mercy were not shrinking violets. She had faced hardship, loneliness and come close to death more than once in nearly 90 years of existence. She did not fear Krelt, but it saddened her that something had changed in the young Klinorian.
Glowering, Krelt took a step toward the nun in an obvious attempt to intimidate her. “I said . . .” he began in a low growl, but was interrupted by the appearance of Mezhdan in the doorway.
“Krelt!” Though Mezhdan’s jade-green skin was paper thin and festooned with a purple web of capillaries, his voice was still strong and commanding. The younger Klinorian stopped abruptly. Sister Mary Grace thought she caught a brief glimpse of shame on Krelt’s face.
“I informed the Sister you were resting,” Krelt explained in a petulant tone.
Mezhdan’s eyes narrowed. “And you disgraced yourself with your behavior. Leave us.”
Krelt seemed momentarily contrite but the contemptuous expression stole back across his face as he turned back to the nun. He nodded curtly. “Until we next meet, Sister.” His tone made it sound like a threat.
“Peace to you,” she replied calmly. She watched as Krelt skulked away back into the house. Mezhdan also watched his son while shaking his head.
“I apologize for his rudeness, Sister,” he said once the doors had closed. His voice now sounded thin and tired. “Please, won’t you sit with me a while?”
They made their way to a stone bench situated at the base of the Glembuk tree. A small multi-limbed reptile chittered at them before scurrying up the trunk in search of grubs.
The Elder moved slowly, favoring his right leg and leaning heavily on a polished wooden staff. He sat gingerly on the bench, alighting with a grunt and a sigh. Sister Mary Grace sat beside him and looked out over the fields of red grass. Soon the tall plants would be harvested for silage.
“What brings you to my house this day, Sister?”
“Elder Kiveln informed me you would not attend the gathering in honor of the Border Service officers.”
Mezhdan was quiet for a moment. “That is true.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“I had a dream, Sister. More, I will not say.”
“Elder, we have known one another for half a century. You can confide in me.”
He smiled and surprised her by reaching out a gnarled hand and taking one of hers. “I trust you as much as any Klinorion, Sister Mary Grace, probably more. But we see the universe in different ways, you and I. You faithfully follow your deity and I respect that. But you are not connected to this place as I am, Sister. It does not speak to you as it does to me.”
“Can you not tell me what you think you’re hearing?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Such messages are for the recipient alone. I cannot even share them with the other Elders, although truth be told, I believe they think me demented with age.” He tapped his ridged forehead for emphasis.
“But what has that to do with your refusal to meet with Captain Akinola and his officers?”
Mezhdan looked away. “It would be best for them not to come.”
“Elder, surely you don’t fear them?” she asked, gently.
He gazed ahead, out toward the fields of red grass. “No, Sister. I do not fear them. I fear for them.” He turned toward her. “And for you as well.”
* * *
Stardate 54656.2 (6 September 2377)
USS Bluefin
Standard Orbit over Hri’on
Captain’s Log – Supplemental: We have achieved standard orbit over Hri’on without incident. All of our system scans were negative, with no signs of any other vessels within range of our sensors. If the Klingons are planning any move against the Klinorions, it won’t be today.
I will shortly beam down to meet with the Klinorion Elders and Sister Mary Grace and apprise them of the possible dangers they face. However, with such a dearth of evidence, I doubt that they will be persuaded to take any precautions, much less evacuate the planet. I’ve asked Commander Strauss, Lt. Bane, Lt. Sarnek, Ensign Vashtee and Dr. Castille to accompany me. Perhaps we may discover some clue as to why the Klingons would be interested in this out-of-the-way planet. The problem is, I have no idea what that might be.
Akinola saved his log entry and stood, absently yanking at the waist of his dress uniform jacket. It was similar in cut to Starfleet’s dress uniform, with the uncomfortable high collar and excess of gold braid, differing only in its color – dark blue rather than white.
At least we don’t look like glorified waiters, he mused, wryly. He flicked a piece of lint from the jacket’s sleeve and exited the ready room.
On the main viewer, the ravaged surface of Hri’on slowly passed below them. Delta Simms was in the center seat. She turned as Akinola stepped onto the bridge and smiled.
“The Klinorion elders are ready to receive you whenever you’re ready, Captain,” she said.”
“Very well. Begin deploying the early-warning buoys and continue long-range scans. Notify me immediately of any incoming vessels – Klingon or otherwise.”
“Aye, sir, and may I say, you look quite snazzy in your dress duds, sir.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Delta.” He turned and faced Ops. “Lt. Rune?”
The green Orion officer turned from her station. “Yes sir?”
“In addition to the system scans, I want you to begin scanning the planet also.”
She lifted a dark green eyebrow in surprise. “The planet? Anything in particular I should be looking for?”
A grimace formed on Akinola’s dark face. “I wish I knew. Be alert for anything out of the ordinary. Log any anomalies you come across”
Rune’s expression remained puzzled, but she replied, “Aye, sir.”
“The ship is yours Commander Simms. We should be ready to beam back in about four hours.”
“Yes sir. Good luck.”
Akinola stepped into the turbo-lift. “Deck six,” he barked as he absently reached behind his back to pat the small Type-I phaser hidden under his jacket.
* * *
“Stop squirming!” said Inga Strauss as she tried to fasten Nigel Bane’s uniform collar. She finally succeeded at connecting the fastener and stepped back, inspecting her handiwork.
Bane tugged at the collar. “I thought torture devices were banned in the Federation,” he groused.
“It will be more comfortable when you quit tugging at it,” she observed. “Honestly, Nigel, you’re not ten years old.”
“Too bad we’re not orbiting Betazed,” he replied with a roguish smirk. “I hear clothing’s optional when they host visiting dignitaries.” He winked for emphasis.
Inga felt her face redden. “Did you sleep through the diplomacy class at the Academy, Mr. Bane?” she asked, trying to restore some decorum to the conversation.
“Nah, I couldn’t sleep. The chairs in the lecture hall were too bloody hard. I worked on trigonometry problems instead.”
The doors to the transporter room slid open. Chief Deryx entered and took his customary place behind the control console.
“Good morning, sirs,” he said.
Bane and Strauss returned the greeting. “Hey Chief, you ever been to Betazed?” queried Bane.
“Lieutenant,” Strauss hissed icily. “Drop. It. Now.”
“What did I do?” he asked, with feigned innocence.
The Denobulan CPO merely smiled and shook his head as he activated the transporter’s targeting scanner. The doors slid open again, revealing Captain Akinola who was accompanied by Lt. Sarnek and Ensign Vashtee. The Captain moved directly to the transporter dais as did the other officers. He glanced around, annoyed.
“Where’s Castille?”
The doors slid open again to reveal a harried Chief Medical Officer. He was still attempting to fasten his collar.
“Glad you could join us, Doctor,” Akinola said coolly.
“I would have been here on time if I didn’t have to wear this damn strait-jacket. Whose idea was this, anyway?”
“Mine, actually,” replied the Captain. “The Klinorions are honoring us with one of their special gathering feasts. The least we could do is dress appropriately.”
“Appropriately? How the hell am I supposed to swallow in this thing?” complained Castille.
Akinola sighed. “You’ll figure it out, Doctor. Chief Deryx, beam us down please.”
* * *
The away team materialized in an open area near a tall, narrow building with a steeply pitched roof. A few Klinorions stood by in colorful robes and regarded the landing party with interest.
Akinola turned to the officers. “Smile, mingle and enjoy the food,” he directed. “After the official Gathering concludes, I’ll speak to the Elders. You’ll have time to explore afterwards – the locals are proud of this valley and will be happy to show you around. Sarnek, Maya, you have your tri-corders?”
They both answered in the affirmative.
The Captain nodded in approval. “Good. Take sensor readings, but be discreet. I’m interested in anything that might interest the Klingons, so let me know if you discover anything out of the ordinary.”
“Captain, those parameters are rather vague,” observed Sarnek.
“Yes," conceded Akinola, "they are. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but this may all be a wild-goose chase.”
The Vulcan frowned. “I was not aware that feral Terran water fowl were present on this planet.”
Maya Vashtee patted his arm. “I’ll explain later, Sarnek. We’ll give the place a thorough check, Captain.”
Akinola chucked. “Thank you, Maya. Here come our hosts; remember to keep your elbows off the table, Mr. Bane.”
Nigel grinned. “Me? No worries, Skipper. If they throw in a few pints of Fosters, I can choke down anything they set on m’ plate.”
Inga sighed.
* * *
Stardate 54656.3 (6 September 2377)
Hui’kHun Shipyard
KlingonTerritory
The Hui’kHun Shipyard was listed by Starfleet Intelligence as “a minor repair and refit facility, primarily used by civilian and transport ships.” This was generally a correct assessment and the very reason that the Klingon High Command used it for development of experimental, highly-classified projects.
Nearly two dozen angular space-dock frames orbited a small, airless planetoid. On Stardate 54656, Starfleet long-range scanners would note that eleven of the docks were occupied with ships ranging from bulk freighters to a massive deuterium tanker. The operations appeared routine and quite ordinary.
For anyone observing up-close, say in a work bee, the activity would still appear quite mundane. Moving closer to the dock housing the deuterium tanker, one would see workers replacing one of the forward deflector arrays. The tanker itself was old, scarred and utterly unremarkable – merely one of a type vessel used by all the major powers that numbered in the thousands.
What the Federation’s long range scanners could not reveal, nor a flyby in a work bee uncover, was the fact that the deuterium tanker itself was a mere shell, serving as a cover for the work being done on the ship secreted inside its massive green hull.
Admiral Sto’Qun stood on a pressurized catwalk, taking in the sight of the up-rated K’tinga-class battleship that hung before him. The vessel had the classic shape common to Klingon dreadnoughts – crank wings connected to slab-shaped nacelles, a trapezoidal engineering hull linked to the bulbous command section by a tapering boom – but there, the similarities ended.
Instead of the standard Imperial green livery, the ship was covered in a matte black finish. The hull plates were unusual, both in their texture and purpose. Rather than providing physical protection for the crew, these plates served to confuse and defeat enemy sensors. In conjunction with the prototype next-generation cloaking device on board, the ship was virtually undetectable – even by other Imperial ships. The ship was capable of absorbing its own tachyon and ion emissions – the trails that allowed the Federation to pierce the older cloaking technology. Even more significant, this ship could fire its weapons while still cloaked.
There were trade-offs, of course. The new plating was not as robust as that of standard ships and the cloak did not work at warp speed – something to do with warp harmonics - a concept the Admiral did not pretend to understand. Most troubling was the massive power consumption required for the new cloaking device which meant the ship was slower at sub-light speeds and its weaponry carried less of a punch.
Still, for the Admiral’s purposes, the ship would do nicely.
“Admiral Sto’Qun!”
The Intelligence Chief turned to see the ship’s commanding officer approach. Captain Vuhj stopped and brought his fist to his chestplate. Sto’Qun straightened and returned the salute.
“You have read your orders?” asked the Admiral.
Vuhj nodded curtly. “Yes, my Lord.”
Sto’Qun regarded his subordinate carefully. “Do you have misgivings about the assignment?”
Vuhj’s eyes flashed. He brought himself up even straighter. “I live and die for the Empire!”
The Admiral nodded. “As do we all, Captain. I also know that such an assignment may seem unworthy for such a valiant warrior as yourself. You acquitted yourself well in the war, Captain Vuhj. And you have shown a remarkable ability to think clearly even when battle fever consumes you. Not all warriors have that ability.”
Vuhj gave a respectful nod. “SoH batlh jI”
“It is you who honor the Empire with your service, Captain. Believe me when I tell you – this mission is of the utmost importance. Your new ship and your crew will be standing for all of the Empire. Because of the need for secrecy, I regret that no songs will be sung, no blades forged to honor your success, but you will not be forgotten – neither by Chancellor Martok nor by me.”
Vuhj looked out over his ship. His face an impassive mask.
“Admiral . . . this new technology is untested. If something happens and we are discovered by Starfleet . . .”
“The planet must be obliterated, Captain – at all costs. Is that clear?”
“Jlyaj! Perfectly, sir.”
Sto’Qun inclined his head slightly, accepting the Captain’s word. He had hand-picked Vuhj to command this ship, not knowing it would be needed so soon. He had chosen well.
He clapped the Captain on the shoulder with enough force to break the collarbone of a Human. “Qapla’, Captain, and to your crew. May fortune smile upon you.”
“Qapla’!” thundered Captain Vuhj in reply. He saluted and spun on his heel to prepare the IKS Kortar for her mission.
* * *
