Chapter Eleven
Stardate 54246.3 (2 April 2377)
USS Bluefin
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.0
Lt. Commander Delta Simms entered the ward room, seeking the replicator and a glass of iced tea. She was pleasantly surprised to see Dr. Castille seated at the long table, but she hesitated when she saw the dour look on his face.
“O.C.? Are you okay?” she asked, concern in her soft voice.
Castille looked up. “Hmm? Oh, hi Delta. No . . . nothing’s wrong.”
The auburn-haired second officer walked to the replicator. “Tea – Daddy’s blend, Simms Oh-441.” A tall glass of tea over crushed ice shimmered into existence, a wedge of lemon floating on top.
Delta retrieved the glass of tea and sat across from the CMO. Castille looked distracted.
“Nothing’s wrong, huh?” she said before taking a sip of the cold, sweet beverage.
“No . . . Yes! . . . Damn.” Castille fidgeted in his chair. Finally, he leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial tone.
“Did you know that Starfleet is sending the Resolute to destroy the Queen Elizabeth if we can’t stop her?”
Delta took another sip of tea and set the glass down carefully on the table. She regarded him with her lovely hazel eyes. She nodded.
“Yes, I was aware of that.”
“And you’re okay with that?” he asked, incredulous.
She placed a hand over his tightly clasped hands. “With what? Destroying the QE, or having a contingency plan to prevent war with the Tzen-kethi?”
He huffed out a breath in frustration. “For God’s sake, Delta! The people on that star liner aren’t pawns! We have no right to treat them as such.”
“Nobody wants to see those people hurt or killed, O.C. You should know that! But at the same time, we can’t afford war with the Tzen-kethi. Starfleet is still hurting from the Dominion war, and we just lost several more ships and thousands of people in the Talarian incursion. And now there’s news that five more ships have been lost en route to the Velkamis system!”
“That doesn’t justify murdering civilians!” growled Castille, obstinately.
Delta sighed. “Look. Here’s the harsh truth: If that liner crosses into Tzen-kethi space, we’re effectively at war. All the explanations and all the diplomatic overtures in the galaxy won’t prevent it. And in our weakened state, the Tzen-kethi will pose a very real threat to us. It won’t be like the last time we fought when we had superior technological and strategic advantage. This time, the playing field will be just about even. In that case, we could be looking at casualties in the hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions! There’s a very real possibility we might not be able to win such a war.”
Castille grimaced. “Okay, okay, I see your point. But, dammit! I didn’t sign on to kill people, I signed on to help them!”
She reached over and placed her hand against his cheek. Her palm felt cool and soothing on his hot skin. She smiled.
“I guess that’s what I like most about you, Doc – you give a damn.”
“And I thought it was my dashing good looks,” he groused, but a shadow of a smile formed on his lips.
She stood and leaned over, kissing him on top of his balding head. “Well that too, of course." She straightened and favored him with a weary smile. "I’ll see you later – I’ve got to catch a few hours of sleep before all hell breaks loose.”
* * *
Inga Strauss sat in the command chair, effectively alone with her thoughts. The bridge lights were dimmed and the subdued red caste of the combat lighting gave the ship’s control center a somber hue.
She sat with her legs crossed, a now cold cup of coffee in her hands as she gazed at the luxurious star liner they paced, a few thousand kilometers off their port bow. She wondered about the passengers, how they were holding up under the stress. Surely many had seen the bodies of their dead shipmates drifting alongside. What a horrible spectacle that must have been for them.
She also wondered about the circumstances that placed the passengers on the Queen Elizabeth. Probably for many, this trip was a long-time dream, the culmination of years of saving and scrimping. Some might be on their honeymoon. Others, enjoying a retirement cruise. Perhaps some were traveling to visit family and friends.
One thing she knew for certain. The dream had turned into a nightmare.
“Commander?”
Inga blinked, and turned toward Nigel Bane. Their eyes locked, allowing a fleeting moment of intimate communication. She smiled at the handsome Australian lieutenant.
“Yes, Mr. Bane?”
“I’m picking up three contacts on long-range sensors – heading our way.”
“Bearing and speed?”
“190 mark 88, speed – warp 8. On their current course, they should intercept us in about ninety minutes.”
Strauss frowned, her reverie completely forgotten. “Can you determine their origin?”
He shook his head apologetically. “Not with any degree of certainty. However, they are coming from the general direction of Cardassian space.”
A small alarm went off in Inga’s head. “I need you to identify those ships for me, Lieutenant - now.”
“They’re running without ident transponders – that’s how they got so close before we picked them up. I estimate it will take another half hour before I can give you an ID. But they’re running in formation and heading straight for us.”
“And that’s no coincidence,” replied Strauss. She tapped her com-badge. “Captain to the bridge!”
Momentarily, she heard a sleepy reply. “Akinola here. What’s up, Commander?”
“We have three unidentified in-bound vessels on an intercept course. Estimated time of arrival is ninety minutes.”
“I’m on my way, Akinola – out.”
* * *
Stardate 54246.3 (2 April 2377)
SS Queen Elizabeth VII
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.0
Kenda Byress looked at the chronometer adjacent to the helm console and smiled. He turned to regard the haggard face of Captain Lumford.
“Do you enjoy the theatre, Captain Lumford?”
The white-haired captain frowned in puzzlement. “What? What the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Just making conversation. Of course, we didn’t have much time for entertainment on Bajor when I was growing up. And what drama we had was unbearably heavy with religious overtones. But when I spent time on Earth, I had the chance to attend several plays, including one on Broadway in New York.” He smiled at the memory. “I have to admit, you Humans are rich in the performing arts.”
Lumford remained quiet, glaring at the Bajoran terrorist.
Kenda was unfazed by the Captain’s stubborn silence. “I particularly enjoyed the symmetry of theatre – how the various scenes and acts came together to make up a whole. I found a certain . . .” he gestured in the air, seeking the right word, “elegance to the progression of those plays. The plot moved along until it reached its denouement – the final resolution. The story hinged on that point, you see.”
He stood, suddenly, and walked over to the operations console. He scrolled through various readouts, finally stopping and gazing intently at one particular screen. A feral smile crept across his face.
“It would seem, my dear Captain, that our own little play is nearing its final resolution. Only one or two scenes remain to be played out.” He turned, beaming at Lumford. “Perhaps you’ll win an award for your supporting role!”
“Go frak yourself, you preening gint!” shouted Lumford, his face bright red with rage.
Kenda threw back his head and laughed. “Oh my, Captain! How thin is the veil of your civility!” He suddenly sobered, his expression growing hard and menacing. “Just like the thin veil of civility that our precious Federation and Starfleet has hidden behind for so long.”
He walked quickly toward the old Captain, thrusting his face in close enough for Lumford to smell the Raktajino on the Bajoran’s breath.
“The veil is about to be ripped away, my dear Captain Lumford. Ripped away and shredded. Soon, the entire quadrant will know how uncivilized our Federation can really be!”
* * *
