Part 7 (2/2)

Worf stepped up to the bar on Dax's left and filled a tall gla.s.s with prune juice. Captain Riker sidled up on Dax's right and poured himself a mug of piping-hot coffee. Noticing her wandering gaze, he confided, ”Jordan spruced the place up, but I was the one who named it.”

As soon as he'd said it, Dax was certain she noted a glower from Worf that was aimed in Riker's direction.

That's a story I'll have to ask Worf about later, she decided, while nodding politely at Riker.

Captain Picard raised his voice for the room and said, ”Could we all gather, please? We haven't much time.” The officers convened and sat down on either side of a row of small tables that Jordan and his staff had pushed together at the forward end of the lounge, along a wall of windows with a spectacular view of the nebula.

Dax only half listened as Picard summarized for Riker how the Enterprise's efforts to halt the Borg's access to Federation s.p.a.ce had led him and his crew to the Azure Nebula.

After Picard finished, Dax quickly apprised Riker of the link between her crew's investigation of the downed Earth Stars.h.i.+p Columbia NX-02 in the Gamma Quadrant and the subs.p.a.ce pa.s.sage that brought them to the nebula.

Then came Riker's brief but gripping account of t.i.tan's detection of energy pulses in a remote sector of the Beta Quadrant and the trap into which he and his crew had been led as a result. Dax saw the anguish in Riker's eyes as he related in detail the circ.u.mstances that had compelled him to abandon his wife and his away team. ”I had to make a snap decision, so I chose to bring my s.h.i.+p home,” he said. ”But it was a rough trip, and if what Captain Hernandez tells me is true, the Caeliar gestalt put up a h.e.l.l of a fight to keep us there.”

Two words leaped out at Dax, who interrupted, ”Did you say 'Caeliar gestalt'?”

Riker did a surprised double-take. ”Yes. Why?”

”The alien that stole the runabout from my s.h.i.+p,” Dax said. ”The one who led us here. He identified himself as Arithon of the Caeliar. He was looking for something called the gestalt.”

”Well, I'd say we found it,” Riker said. ”And the Caeliar.”

Pazlar interjected, ”Captain Hernandez's account of the destruction of Erigol and the recorded date of the supernova that made this nebula are a match. If the Caeliar created those subs.p.a.ce pa.s.sages, it would explain why this was their nexus.”

Bowers, whose body language telegraphed his impatience, replied, ”I'll admit that's all fascinating, but is any of it relevant to stopping the Borg armada?” Unfazed by the group's many stares of reproach, he continued, ”Seriously, what's the plan here? What's our next step?”

Captain Picard frowned but salvaged Bowers's pride by answering, ”The commander has a point. We need to focus on the future, not dwell on the past. I'll open the floor to ideas.”

”Part of the problem,” Ra-Havreii said, ”is that there's little chance we could reach any of the threatened worlds in time to make a difference. The Borg outpace us by a wide margin. By the time we reach Earth or Vulcan or any of the other core systems, the battles for their fates will be long over.”

”Maybe not,” Dax said. ”The Aventine's carrying a prototype quantum slipstream drive. We weren't scheduled to start testing it until next month, but I think we can bring it online now, with a few hours' notice. If it works, we could leapfrog past the Borg, maybe even beat them to Earth by a few hours.”

With casual skepticism, Picard replied, ”To what end? With all respect, Captain, that's not a plan-it's just a tactic.”

”I was simply refuting Commander Ra-Havreii's a.s.sertion that we're too slow to make a difference,” Dax said.

”I see,” Picard said. ”You're right. It's important to know what capabilities we have at our command. But before we deploy them, we owe it to ourselves to be certain of our objectives.”

Dax summoned the calm confidence that her symbiont's lifetimes of experience granted to her. She quashed her initial defensive reaction and let herself hear the wisdom in what Picard had said. ”You're absolutely right,” she replied. ”Before we make any plans, we need to take stock of our strengths and resources.” Looking at Riker, she added, ”Starting with Captain Hernandez. After eight centuries among the Caeliar, she might have knowledge of advanced technologies that could help us fight the Borg. Before we do anything or set any plans in stone, we should see if she's able and willing to help us.”

Picard nodded. ”An excellent point, Captain.” He pushed away his mug of Earl Grey and stood up. ”I think it's time you and I met Captain Hernandez.” Then he asked Riker, ”Can I impose on you to make the introductions?”

Riker nodded and said, ”My pleasure.”

”Very well. Meeting adjourned.”

Everyone stood and moved in a loose group toward the exit. Bowers fell into step close beside Dax and said confidentially, ”What if she can't or won't help us?”

Dax frowned as she pondered that scenario. ”In that case,” she replied, ”I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you.”

11.

The shortest battle of Martok's life was rapidly becoming the costliest. In the few minutes since his fleet had uncloaked and engaged the Borg armada with a barrage of transphasic torpedoes, more than seventy percent of both forces had been annihilated.

”Keep firing!” barked Captain G'mtor, over the rumbling of shockfronts and debris buffeting the Sword of Kahless. ”Set course, bearing two-six-one! Don't let that cube get away!”

Already, several Borg s.h.i.+ps had broken through the line and were accelerating deeper into Klingon s.p.a.ce, their trajectories gradually diverging as they zeroed in on different star systems. Just as they had in the Azure Nebula, they had rammed their way through the Klingon blockade, sacrificing a few cubes for the sake of the overall invasion effort. Once they pa.s.s out of range, we'll never catch them again, Martok knew.

He watched the image of the receding Borg vessel shrink on the main viewscreen. Then the tactical officer called out, ”Weapons locked!”

”Fire!” snapped G'mtor. Six transphasic torpedoes slashed in blue streaks up the center of the viewscreen and converged with lethal alacrity on the cube. A sun-flash blanched the viewer. When it faded, it showed a cloud of smoldering black wreckage being dispersed by the navigational deflector of the victorious Sword of Kahless. ”Hard about!” bellowed the captain. ”Tactical, acquire a new target!”

Fire and fury blasted through the bridge's starboard stations. A slab of metal struck Martok's chair and knocked it off its pedestal. The impact hurled him from the rus.h.i.+ng jaws of spreading flame and slammed him brutally across the deck, where the bulkhead fragment pinned him and s.h.i.+elded him at the same time. Soldiers and parts of soldiers ricocheted off the port consoles and collapsed in smoking heaps on either side of him.

The bright white battle-stations lighting went dark, and the ruddy glow of standard illumination took its place. Gray static flurried on the main viewscreen, and the air was bitter with smoke from overloaded circuits and the stench of burnt hair. Martok spat out a mouthful of his own blood and tried to drag himself out from under the metal slab. Knifing pains alerted him to broken bones in his rib cage and left leg.

General Goluk stumbled over the rubble-strewn deck to Martok and yelled to a pair of nearby warriors, ”Help me lift this bulkhead plate off the chancellor!” The tall, broad-shouldered duo did as the general ordered. With three pairs of hands and deep grunts of pained effort, they raised the slab high enough for Martok to free himself. Once he was clear, they let it fall to the deck with a resonant peal of metal on metal.

Martok reached up and took Goluk's offered hand. The general pulled Martok upright and steadied him until he could balance himself on his unbroken leg. To the two warriors, Martok said, ”Get me damage reports and a battle update.” Once they had stepped away, Martok asked Goluk in a confidential tone, ”G'mtor?” The general nodded at the smoking heap of rubble and bodies from which Martok had been extricated.

Around the bridge, bloodied and scorched soldiers of the Empire struggled to wrest data or responses from their consoles. A faint crackle of comm chatter permeated the hazy compartment like an undercurrent. The minute Martok spent waiting for reports from his crew felt like an eternity.

One of the soldiers who had aided him returned. ”Engines, s.h.i.+elds, sensors, and weapons are offline, Chancellor,” he said. ”Life support is failing.”

”What of the rest of the fleet?”

The warrior's jaw tensed, as if he refused to let the words escape his mouth. Then he bowed his head and said, ”Broken.”

Goluk asked, ”Do we have communications?”

”Yes, sir,” the soldier replied. ”General Klag reports the Gorkon has been crippled and is unable to continue pursuit of the escaping Borg vessels.”

Martok heaved an angry sigh. ”How many broke through?”

”Sixty-one,” said the soldier. ”Ten heading to Qo'noS, two to Gorath, and the others to targets not yet identified. Also, another wave of Borg s.h.i.+ps has been reported in the Mempa Sector, on course for more remote parts of the Empire.”

Grim stares pa.s.sed between Goluk and Martok. The general placed a hand on Martok's shoulder. ”It was a glorious battle.”

”Yes,” Martok said. ”But what will that matter if no Klingon remains to sing of it?” Nodding to the soldier, he said, ”Open a channel to Qo'noS. We need to alert the home guard.”

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