Chapter 137 (2/2)
Just inside the orbit of the first planetary body the sensor tech looked up.
”Sire, I have twelve unknown ships at less than ten thousand miles! They just dropped some kind of stealth behind us!” the Second Most High Scanner Tech blurted out.
”Put them on-screen,” the Most High said. ”Let's see what trash these Terrans have sent to try to stop the righteous strength of the Lanaktallan people.”
The ships were decidedly ugly to the Most High. The ship core was flat, with a rounded wedge forward section attached by a narrow umbilicus to the flat rounded body, with two wings off of the main section that had engines attached. They were dark green, with red running lights.
They looked clumsy to the Most High.
”They are attempting to open a communications channel,” the Communications specialist said. ”They've transmitted a lexicon.”
”Very well, let's listen to these primitive primates beg for mercy from our ancient civilization,” the Most High sneered.
The beings that appeared didn't look like humans. Bipeds, yes. Hair on their heads, yes. But their skin was dark brown, they had ridges on top of their heads, their faces were flat with prominent noses and mouths full of sharp teeth.
Before the Most High could speak the creature onscreen spoke.
”I am Dipaq of House Vrat, Commander of the Negh'Var-class ship IKS Hammer of Vengeance, this system is under the protection of the Klingon Empire,” the figure barked out, the translation appearing across the bottom of the screen rather than translating the words to civilized speech. ”Declare your reasons for your ship presence in this system or be destroyed.”
The Most High sneered. ”I am Most High Executor Gretalo'o, commander of this task force you see before you. Surrender and be destroyed.”
The beings on screen laughed.
”Glory to one of our houses then,” the being said. He made a motion and the screen went blank.
”Most High, the Terrans, they're breaking formation and accellerating! It looks like attack runs!” the Most High Sensor tech said.
”Bah, their weapons are primitive, we have no...” the Most High started to say.
That's when the disruptor cannon hit the back of his ship, collapsing the ship's battle-screens, ripping through armor and deep into the ship's vitals.
Gretalo'o found himself thrown against the restraining straps as his ship started flipping end over end.
Torpedoes launched blew ships into splinters. Heavy disruptor banks shattered armor and ripped ships apart.
When the first attack run ended, the ships vanished into stealth for only a few minutes before reappearing behind the panicking Lanaktallan ships, opening fire again.
It took four attack runs for the Lanaktallan task force to be reduced to vapor and wreckage.
On the bridge of his ship, his pride and joy, Commander Dipaq turned to his communications officer.
”Tell Sisko-89371 that the cowtaurs tried their hand in this system and we have brought glory unto our house,” he ordered, picking up an engraved chalice and sipping at the spiced blood wine.
”And their life pods?” his Executive Officer asked.
Dipaq sneered. ”Let us show them the mercy they have shown the people of Harmony.”
His expression grew cruel. ”Show them Klingon Mercy.”
-----------------
Task Force 271 was heading deep into Terran Space, one of the furthest targets into Confederate Space that the Executor Council had authorized. They'd been in the upper reaches of Jumpspace for nearly a month, traveling thousands of times the speed of light. It wasn't easy to keep six hundred ships together in jumpspace, but the navigators had done an excellent job and jumpspace sensors tied the whole fleet together.
Which is why the sudden impact that threw Most High Untara'a onto the floor of his cabin came as such a sudden shock. He heard his ship creak and groan as the hyperalloys were stressed. He scrambled up, reflexes having him pulling on his vac-suit as quickly as possible.
Sirens were going off when he touched the communicator, connecting him to the bridge where the Fifth Most High was on duty.
”Report,” Untara'a snapped.
”Something massive dropped us out of jumpspace. Our sensors reported that a gravity shadow appeared and the jumpspace conduit collapsed, dropping us into real space,” the Fifth Most High said. ”Our sensors are scrambled but it looks like our fleet dropped completely. The ship's VI went offline a few moments ago, we're basically drifting.”
”I'm on my way,” Untara'a said.
The whole way to the bridge lights kept dimming and brightening, flickering, turning off or on. Displays kept coming and displaying gibberish before turning off. Speakers howled or chattered garbled sounds. It took three tries for the elevator to arrive. Twice the elevator stopped, once it started going down, and once it went up so fast that Untara'a almost went to his knees.
When the elevator finally deposited him on the bridge his tendrils were tight and his crests were inflated. The bridge was chaos. Lights flickering, turning off for a moment before turning back on, lights exceeding their normal brightness. Computer displays were showing garbage, sometimes streams of letters and numerals, other times choppy clips of videos or pictures, or screaming chattered bits of sound files.
”Most High, we've lost control of all systems, the computers aren't responding!” the Fifth Most High reported. ”We have no idea about the status of the rest of the Task Force!”
”Hmph. Each being, reset your consoles manually,” the Most High ordered, moving over and taking his place in his cradle.
He watched as each computer was reset.
They just stayed dead. No data display.
One by one all the systems went down, even the computers that hadn't been touched yet.
Even the ship's virtual intelligence remained offline.
Despite the Most High's demands, everything stayed turned off.
Long minutes went by until suddenly a dot of bluish white appeared on the middle of the main bridge display. It started pulsing, getting bigger with each pulse, until it suddenly flashed rapidly and transformed into a strange face made of bluish white code. It was hard edged, with two eyes of bright blue, the edges chrome and sharp looking.
”I am the Engine,” the face said without moving its mouth. It spoke in perfect Lanaktallan. ”I have examined and are assimilating your culture. Do not attempt to flee. You will be identified.”
”Get this thing off my display,” Most High Untara'a ordered.
”How, Most High?” the Display Tech Third Class asked. He pointed at his work station: ”My terminal is inoperative.”
”You are species designation Lanaktallan,” the face said again. ”Hostile Species in service to a hostile government.”
There was silence again.
”You are slated for termination.”
There was an audible inhale by everyone on the bridge.
”You are allowed one plea per ship.”
Everyone looked at the Most High, who drew himself up. ”Show yourself!”
The screen cleared to show a black orb floating in the space between stars. The screen blinked and the chrome and blue-neon face showed up again.
”You have now seen me. Do you wish to enter a plea for continued existence?” the face asked.
”You do not have authority over this ship or my subordinates! Release us at once!” the Most High said.
”Your plea, combined with evidence of genetic and biological warfare technologies aboard your ships, have been rejected. You now have sixty seconds to perform whatever death rituals your people observe,” the face said.
The screen went black, leaving everyone in the dark.
Untara'a tried to turn on his suit lights, but his suit wasn't responding. It was starting to get hot in his vac-suit. He opened his visor in time to hear the warning that the ship's atmosphere was venting. He slapped his visor shut.
Within a few minutes Untara'a realized that his suit's environmental system wasn't working, that he was stuck with what little air was just inside the suit. It got hot, and hard to breathe.
He passed out, and eventually suffocated.
The ships just sat in space. Dead. Their computer systems all shut down. Their ships VI snuffed out.
The Engine went back to monitoring jumpspace in a five hundred light year span around himself.
It was his duty.