"Tactical display," said Ssurt, eventually.
The image of the asteroid field appeared on the screen, the icons for the two Federation starships blinking within it. Around it floated the symbols for Ssurt's ships; nearby was the Delta Gracilis space station itself... and, wrapped around everything like a great grasping hand, the minefield.
"A pretty little problem," Ssurt observed. "If we needed, simply, to kill them, it would be easy enough to achieve... but success in this operation depends on our retrieving Grau alive. If we destroy her ship, we cannot guarantee that she will reach an escape pod in time... and I do not see a way, at present, to destroy the Tapiola without jeopardizing the Falcon.... So. Other approaches must be found."
"Sir." Ssurt's exec, Krruvuk, spoke, rising to his feet, a great green-grey mountain of a Gorn who towered even over Ssurt himself. "I must ask - formally - whether you should not heed Grau's words. Is this - operation - worth it? Is her person worth the expenditure in resources, the loss of lives?"
"Do you question me?" Ssurt's tone was mild, yet laden with menace.
Krruvuk refused to be intimidated. "We have lost two ships already, and taken significant casualties. Our troops must know they risk their lives in a good cause. As the Klingon tradition has it, I serve the captain but I speak for the crew. Should your crew lay down their lives in this cause?"
"Consider," said Ssurt, "the economics of the situation, and then answer that question yourself. Our employers are offering a princely sum by any standards. By our normal allocations of prize money, the lowliest bekk in my fleet will receive enough darseks to live like a king for a year. You, yourself... your share will be sufficient to buy your own squadron, if that is what you desire. Perhaps it is not a noble or a romantic cause to fight for... but it is more than adequate, nonetheless."
Krruvuk considered for a moment, then said, "I withdraw... any objection."
"Good. I do not require distractions. Grau has, as you have observed, already proved costly for us." His yellow gaze flicked across the bridge, settled on Banen. "I did not anticipate her ingenuity... or her ship's capabilities."
"Sir." The intelligence officer swallowed, hard. "I... based my estimates of the Falcon's capacities on the reports from the Tiaza Zephora incident. We had solid information on her weapons and shields, but - for much of that time, her drive systems were artificially restricted. I assumed that she was not significantly more manoeuvrable than a standard Excelsior class starship. I was - in error."
"Yes," said Ssurt.
Banen steeled himself. The yellow eyes seemed to probe him for an anguished moment, as if Ssurt himself had the gift of telepathy. Then the general said, "But there were factors of which you could have no knowledge. And the involvement of the Tapiola, too, that was something none of us expected. I will grant you an opportunity, therefore, to redeem yourself."
"I have - I have something, perhaps, already," said Banen eagerly, relief washing through him. "There are life signs on the station. Few in number, but definitely present."
"Workers and technicians, presumably," said Krruvuk dismissively.
"Perhaps not. The Falcon attempted to send a signal... I think she succeeded. A message was sent from the station, and I was able to glean a partial identifier. A known associate of Grau - King Estmere's commander. The Andorian, Vice Admiral Shohl."
"So," said Ssurt. "That is interesting."
"To trade one Vice Admiral for another... even Starfleet could see a level of justification in that, " said Krruvuk.
"And if we hold her colleagues in our hands, Grau may prove more malleable," said Ssurt. "So. How long to lock transporters on these life signs and beam them up?"
Banen turned to his console, and his heart sank. "My sensor readings indicate... they have engaged transporter inhibitors around the station. It will not be quite so simple -"
"It need not be complicated," said Ssurt. "Land assault squads by shuttle on the station and detain this Shohl and her companions." He rose to his feet. "We shall make a sport of it, I think. Banen, R'kirr, Krruvuk... each of you will take an assault shuttle with a strike team. The one who brings me this Shohl, alive and suitable for trading, wins."
---
"This is unwise," said R'kirr on the private comms channel. Banen watched the station swell in the shuttlecraft's viewport, and said nothing.
"Unwise how?" asked Krruvuk. He, too, was tied in to the private channel used by the commanders only.
"Shohl did not become a senior Starfleet officer through family connections and patronage," R'kirr said. "We must expect resistance, intelligent resistance. It is unwise to make this a game, and I do not propose to play one. If that means I lose, so be it. But I will not be competing with you two for the prize - my team will support yours in whatever action you take."
"Agreed," said Krruvuk. "I, too, have misgivings about this sporting proposal. Banen?"
Banen hesitated a moment. To win Ssurt's game might bring him needed prestige, enough to wipe out the memory of his error over Falcon's abilities... but they were right, this was a target that needed a careful approach. "I concur," he said. Of course, he thought in the privacy of his own skull, if the opportunity arose to claim the prize for himself anyway.... Then he reflected that R'kirr's shuttlecraft was not so far away, after all, and that the Ferasan's telepathy was formidable and his ethics nonexistent, and he hastily quelled that line of thought.
The assault shuttles closed in on the station's docking bay. Banen turned his attention to the next task, that of overriding the access doors' security codes. The Delta Gracilis station was built to a standard Federation pattern, there were known security trapdoors and vulnerabilities.... He concentrated for a while, tapping out sequences of codes on his security console. He hoped, devoutly, that the station had not improved its security. Another black mark, another failure on his part... Ssurt had a low tolerance for failures.
The console flashed acceptances at him. "I have access," he reported. "Opening the docking bay."
A hectare of metal slid aside, exposing the way into the station. The shuttles moved smoothly onwards, coming to rest on the deck with barely a jar. Banen remained engrossed in his console.
"Well?" R'kirr's voice demanded. "What information do you have for us?"
"I have... partial idents from three combadges," said Banen. "One I am certain, now, is Shohl, the other two... I am cross-referencing known officers aboard Falcon and King Estmere now...." A pause, while he worked feverishly. "Two science officers, one Ferengi, one Vulcan. Commander Klerupiru from King Estmere, Commander Saval from Falcon. The Vulcan is Grau's chief science officer, she will not willingly lose him. The Ferengi... I have no details on the Ferengi."
"Only three?" R'kirr demanded. "No others?"
"Not that I can detect," said Banen.
"He may be right," Krruvuk's voice rumbled. "We saw only a very few life signs - it is possible they were shutting down their operations and preparing to withdraw from the base."
"A final confirmation that all was complete? Yes," said R'kirr, "it is possible, at least."
"Computer security is running on default standard protocols," said Banen. "I do not have administration privileges, I cannot locate personnel precisely - not here, not from this console. If I could access an admin workstation, things might be different." He stood up. Behind him, in the cramped interior of the shuttle, the faces of his assault squad turned to him expectantly. Gorn, mostly, a few Klingons, no others.... They would suffice, though, for the task in hand. "Make ready," he told them.
He blinked repeatedly as they left the shuttle, going into the bright lights of the Federation docking bay. The Feds always liked their interior lighting bright, too bright.... Krruvuk was wearing faceted eye shields against the glare, he noticed, and R'kirr's savage green eyes had their pupils contracted to mere slits. The wiry Ferasan held a scanner in one hand. "This registers some life signs," he said.
Banen pulled out his own tricorder, connected to the data feed from the shuttle, and studied the results. "Yes," he said. "The life support system... that is the best way to discover the occupancy of any region. There is respiration, air being used - there." He pointed, and R'kirr nodded.
Krruvuk lumbered over to look at their instruments. "The readings are very faint," he grumbled.
"Necessarily so. Only three people, on a station of this size?" said R'kirr. "We have done well to detect them at all."
"They must be grouped together," said Banen. "It makes things easier for us, I suppose - they are not trying to hide."
"It would do them no good," said R'kirr, and licked his fangs with his pale pink tongue. Yes, Banen thought, the Ferasan was a notoriously competent hunter.
"Move out," Krruvuk ordered.
They marched in an orderly column out of the shuttlebay, along the bright empty corridors of the base, following the readings of Banen's and R'kirr's tricorders. "A meeting room, it looks like," said the Lethean, as he called up a plan of the base. "Perhaps they have... made camp in it, for some reason."
"Foolish," said Krruvuk. "Do they think to resist us? The three of them?"
"Starfleet can be tricky," muttered R'kirr.
"This one is not," said Banen with something approaching a sneer in his voice, though no expression showed on the leather mask of his face. "Station security is still at default minimum setting - I can penetrate their console lockouts with ease. They should have engaged a competent data security expert, I think."
"Having to hack the maps and the doorways would not delay us long, in any case," said Krruvuk.
The column reached the end of a corridor, found themselves facing a pair of wide double doors. "In there," said Banen, and reached out with his mind. He could feel the Ferasan engaging his own telepathic talent, too, a weird, uncomfortable sensation like an itch deep down in his brain. "I sense them... the Andorian is guarded, alert, I could breach her mind, but it would take time. The Vulcan is shielded, the Ferengi... I cannot read a Ferengi mind."
"No one can," said R'kirr, "and who would want to?" He looked sidelong at Banen. "Did you sense... anything else?"
"No. What is there to sense?"
"For a moment, I thought... but you are right. Only three life signs."
"Aware of us?" Krruvuk demanded.
"Oh, by now, they must be," said Banen. "Even the incompetents of the Federation could not have missed our approach."
"Yet the security alert level has not risen," said R'kirr. "Curious...."
"What good could a security alert do them? No guards to respond, no ships to come to their rescue... a red alert would make an annoying noise, no more."
Krruvuk grunted. "Let us make some noise of our own," he said, "and announce ourselves. Warriors, forward. Banen, open those doors."
The Gorn shock troops strode up to the doorway, weapons ready. Krruvuk held a disruptor rifle that looked like a toy in his massive hands. Banen touched his tricorder, sent the signal -
The door hissed open.
"Vice Admiral Shohl!" Krruvuk shouted. The room beyond the door appeared to be in darkness; Banen could make out faint shapes, as if the furniture had been piled up in hasty barricades. "Surrender yourself!" There was no response. With an imperious wave, Krruvuk sent his shock troops forwards.
Banen took a deep breath, and followed them in. He would at least be near the front ranks when the Andorian was taken -
Then there came a series of crashes, and suddenly the lights in the room came on, full strength, dazzling the Lethean. The Gorn troopers in the front rank were staggering and falling, explosions raging around them... and they moved with a strange, dreamlike slowness. "Chroniton mines!" someone shouted, and suddenly the air blazed with heat and light.
Somehow, there were figures all around the walls of the room, and they had weapons in their hands, and the dull blatting noise of plasma fire was everywhere, and the shock troopers were falling, falling - The armed figures were heavily armoured, with bulbous face-concealing helmets, mostly black, except for one in grey who wielded, not a plasma gun, but a phaser rifle whose glaring orange beam cut down the troopers with surgical precision. There was a chattering of automatic weapons fire, too, and a deep-throated roaring that had to be a plasma flamethrower -
Something slammed into Banen, hard, and he stumbled. Shot. He had been shot. His shield had taken the worst of the bolt, his body armour had held - but he had worn armour designed for phaser fire, and the enemy was using plasma. Another bolt stabbed into him, and this time he felt searing pain, and screamed aloud as the scent of his own scorched flesh rose to his nostrils.
"Security holograms!" R'kirr screeched. The Ferasan's blue fur was on fire in half a dozen places, and as Banen watched, another plasma beam struck him and dropped him in a yowling heap to the floor.
Krruvuk roared a challenge and charged forwards, his disruptor rifle blazing with sick green light. For the first time, in the sudden chaos, Banen caught a glimpse of their target. She stood in the circle of light cast by a force shield generator, and there was a grim look on her face, and a weapon in her hands that sent out blast after blast of golden lightning.
She saw Krruvuk, turned, and pointed that weapon. She fired.
There was no blast of phaser light, but something hit Krruvuk and stopped him in his tracks. Then the photon grenade exploded at his feet, lifting the huge Gorn bodily into the air and dropping him to the deck. Banen felt the light of Krruvuk's mind go out.
Another plasma bolt hit him, and another. His shield was gone, his armour was melting, it was sticking to him, and it burned. "Fall back!" he howled at the top of his voice. He ducked the next volley of plasma fire, caught R'kirr's battle harness in his fingers, and scrambled along the floor, dragging the half-conscious Ferasan after him. The Gorn troopers, disciplined even now, were falling back by groups, providing covering fire for each others' retreat. Some of the Klingons were less disciplined, they rushed forwards, eager for glory and battle... and they died.
Banen reached the doorway, pulled himself and R'kirr through it. He groped for his tricorder. One of his arms was burned, his fingers barely functioned. Somehow, he found the command interface, sent the order to close those doors, close them and lock them.
He sent the command. For a second, nothing happened. Then, a message appeared on the tricorder's interface, a single sentence: "Yes, OK, I'll let you do that."
The doors slid shut. There were a few faint screams from the other side, then silence.
Banen groaned. Beside him, R'kirr was moaning too, smoke still rising from his smouldering fur, his mind reduced to nothing but a red roar of pain. Banen found a medkit, and with shaking hands pulled out an analgesic medijector. He rammed it into his throat and pushed the stud, again and again, sending synthetic endorphins into his system until the pain of his burns faded away.
"Set up," he croaked at the surviving troopers. "Set up. That computer expert was not incompetent. She was very, very good."
He rose, staggering, to his feet. "I need to report," he said vaguely. "And we need to retreat. They could send those holograms out after us...." Holograms. No wonder he hadn't been able to sense their minds. The surviving Gorn shock troopers eyed him doubtfully. "I am senior officer," he said with all the force he could muster. "We have taken too many casualties. We must regroup and obtain reinforcements. Back to the shuttle bay."
They obeyed, the fitter ones supporting the wounded, one massive Gorn figure cradling R'kirr protectively in his arms. Banen refused aid, though the analgesics made him giddy, and he was dimly aware, still, of how much damage had been done to him.
"Not the bay itself," he ordered. "Observation gallery. Above it." The last thing he wanted was to be in the shuttle bay, and have that Ferengi take control of its doors and open it to space.
Reluctantly - very reluctantly - he keyed his wrist communicator to report. "This is Banen," he said. "The enemy has taken control of the station's security systems. They are able to generate photonic security troops of their own. We have taken substantial casualties. Krruvuk is dead, R'kirr is severely injured. We need -" His voice almost broke. "We need assistance."
Ssurt's voice was direct and practical when he replied, and somehow Banen found a sense of menace in that. "State your requirements," he said.
"We need fresh troops, armoured against plasma fire. We need tech teams capable of breaching the station's systems and disabling the holograms. We need - I need - medical support. I will be able to break their security systems. That Ferengi cannot defeat me."
"Very well," said Ssurt. "You will have what you need. I am ordering fresh shuttles to launch now, they will be with you within minutes. Once you have assembled them... and your immediate medical needs have been addressed... you will proceed."
"Yes, sir," said Banen.
"Much depends on this mission," said Ssurt, and signed off with an audible click.
Banen submitted to the rough-and-ready ministrations of a Gorn field medic. Pain suppressed, he was able to inspect his own burns with an almost detached interest. He would have scars, he realized, scars that would show even on a Lethean's leathery skin.... It didn't matter. He lurched over to the windows of the observation gallery, looking out towards where Ssurt's ships swept in tight orbits around the station, or around the asteroids. His spirits lifted as he saw a row of bright dots, moving in an orderly line towards him. The shuttles. The shuttles with the fresh troops and tech experts that he needed, that would win him this fight -
Burning golden light slashed across the starscape.
The station. The station had a defence grid, and Shohl and her pet Ferengi had reactivated it. And the station had been abandoned before the armistice - its automated systems still read KDF forces as hostile. Dimly, Banen could hear the screeches and the high-pitched hum as the EPS grid built up power, and discharged it... discharged it through phaser banks and beam arrays, at the incoming shuttles.
The light Kivra shuttlecraft stood no chance. The heavier Torons put up some resistance, but not enough. They burned. They all burned.
Then there was another sound; first a loud click, that seemed to come from a dozen directions at once, and then a voice, a voice that spoke from the public address system with a harsh Andorian snarl.
"This is Vice Admiral Shohl to the enemy forces on this station. I just want to make you aware of the reality of your situation. I am not trapped in here with you - you are trapped in here with me. If you have any sense, you'll leave. Departure for your shuttlecraft will not be blocked. Shohl out."
Banen sagged against the nearest wall, slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. He still had the medijector. He used it, blasting endorphins into his bloodstream until he didn't care any more.
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