"It will work," Chrog announced in dramatic tones. He came to a halt and turned to face her.
"Very probably," Luga said. The probability indices from the temporal analysis seemed... unclear, but generally favourable. There was no point troubling her commander with the details, though.
"We shall take that system." Chrog's right hand clenched into a fist. "We shall take it, and it shall be ours. Ours alone. No venal Vorgons, no treacherous Terrans, no supercilious Tuterians to offer their aid and advice.... above all, no renegade Krenim with overcomplicated plans and incomprehensible grievances. The power of Priyanapari will be ours to command, and ours alone." Luga fancied she could see his eyes glowing, even behind their reflective shields. His bold facial markings stood out in the ruddy light of the bridge, as if his head was gripped by a giant claw from behind.
"Whatever the power of Priyanapari might be," she commented.
"What do you mean?" Chrog demanded.
"I mean," said Luga, "that the timelines around that location are significantly convoluted. There has already been at least one intervention... and, in this timeline, it was successful; there is nothing at Priyanapari and very possibly never has been. But there is, or might have been, more. There are branching timelines, complex alternatives.... Whatever is not at Priyanapari, it was worth fighting over. To someone."
"That is the point," said Chrog. "That treasure, whatever it was, will be ours. If it is worth fighting for -"
"To someone," said Luga. "To us, though?"
"It is power, it is potential, and it will be ours," Chrog insisted.
Luga shrugged. "Turning to practicalities," she said, "the system is deserted and useless in this timeline. Any intervention will have to take place significantly in the past, so that the technology - whatever it is - has time to develop and mature."
"How long?" Chrog demanded.
"Ideally, at least two hundred years. The earliest we can reasonably intervene is when the system was first explored in the twenty-third century. That would allow us to reap the benefits -"
Chrog shook his head. "Too long. By the mid-twenty-fifth century, Temporal Investigations was well-established, critical points like Priyanapari would be patrolled, monitored. Two hundred years is too long."
Luga sighed. "Early twenty-fifth, then? In among all the other madcap schemes...."
"Reasonable. Our efforts may well pass undetected, amid all the other confusion."
"Well," said Luga, "if we are to set up - whatever it is - at Priyanapari in the 2200s, and then skip forward to collect the mature technology in the twenty-fifth century, we will need allies."
"I said this project was to be ours -"
"Disposable ones. In the earlier time frame. Unless you plan to stay behind for a few generations to direct the research project? - I thought not."
"We can leave a team -"
"We are too few. Until we can subvert the timeline sufficiently for more of our armada to escape through the time portal. We are only one ship - a strong one, true, but one ship - and we need our crew. No, Commander. We must have local allies to do the tedious work for us."
"Choose appropriately, then. Someone of... significance."
Luga laughed. "That would hardly be appropriate. No. I have selected an ally already - and it is someone of no importance at all, in this timeline."
---
Captain Kirza sat on the command chair of the IKS Hov'etlh and fumed, silently, as the empty stars slid across the screen.
How? How had they done it? She had spent thousands upon thousands of darseks in bribes, had called in old debts of honour, had cajoled and persuaded High Councillors... and all for nothing. The assignment to the frontier sectors - the leadership of a fleet, with all the opportunities for glory and commerce raiding that implied - should have gone to her, but the debate in the Great Hall had turned against her so swiftly -
It was as if that whelp B'Vat and his backers had known her arguments, her tactics, in advance.
And now, glory and profit would be B'Vat's, while she was - Well. It was, certainly, an assignment to a frontier sector. An assignment to the Federation frontier, where the thrice-damned Organians were watching forever, waiting for some violation of their accursed peace treaty. She had command of a warship... that might be disabled in a trice, if she ever dared use any of its weapons.
She leaned back in the command chair, and rubbed her smooth forehead. B'Vat had said something, once, too, about undoing the genetic plague.... Well, perhaps the whelp could manage that, too: nothing seemed to be beyond him. "Status?" she demanded. For form's sake only. Nothing would happen here.
"Cruising at warp five," her exec Kingrol reported. "All ship systems nominal. Nothing on sensors -" He frowned. "Wait."
Kirza turned towards him. "What is it?" she snapped.
"I am... not sure." He touched the controls on his sensor console. "There is an energy surge - coordinates four seven by eight two. I - do not recognize these readings -"
"Show me," snarled Kirza. "On screen."
The main viewscreen flickered and changed. Kirza's eyes widened. In the centre of the screen was a disc of blue-white fire... no, not a disc, Kirza thought, but a hollow mouth, the round opening to a cavern - but a cavern that led off in some direction that made no sense, that made her eyes hurt to look at it....
And something was coming out of it.
"Maximum alert! Battle stations!"
The thing was vast and red, a bat-winged nightmare of a ship - if that disturbingly organic shape was a ship at all. It turned its sharp prow towards her. Behind it, the blue-white fires of the impossible portal dwindled to a point, flared, and vanished.
Kirza's lips pulled back from her teeth. "What is that thing?"
"Readings are coming in," said Kingrol. "Powered object - a starship - a very big starship. No match for its configuration in our data files. Power levels are -" He swallowed loudly. "That cannot be right!"
"Tell me what it is!" Kirza roared. "I will decide what is right!"
The ship lurched. Kingrol saved himself from falling by clutching the console. "At least six times our warp core output! They have locked on a tractor beam -"
"Sir!" A shout from a young lieutenant at communications. "Hail from the alien vessel!"
"They wish to talk, do they?" Kirza settled herself in the command chair. "Sensors! Find me a weak point in that thing, something we can hit - And, meanwhile, let us parley. On screen."
At least six times the power of her D7 battlecruiser. She would not let that cow her. She would not.
The face that now appeared on the screen did nothing to quell her disquiet. It was hollow-cheeked and leathery-skinned, with burning red eyes, and markings that ran down from them like trails of dried blood. After a moment's thought, Kirza decided it was a female... probably. The near-lipless mouth opened.
"Captain Kirza. Honour to you and your House. My name is Luga, and I am speaking to you from the bridge of the NV Strange Attractor. I have a proposal for you - one which will be to our mutual advantage."
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