Zero Hour 25

Captain Kuthis strode around and around the bridge of the IKS Chisaro, watching the displays, watching the immense clockwork of the Dolsulca system ticking around him.

The home system of the Siohonin was busy. Even after the war, when the temporal entity known as Sebreac Tharr had led the Siohonin on an ill-advised campaign of conquest, the population of the Dolsulca system numbered in the hundreds of billions. On the displays, Kuthis could see the myriad dots of space freighters and passenger liners travelling between the inhabited worlds and the many, many spaceborne arcologies. The Empire had taken over the government, was instituting reforms to the Siohonin social system - but it was taking time, and there was an immense amount of work still to do. And, in the meantime, KDF vessels like Kuthis's Vor'cha cruiser were tasked with patrolling the system, keeping the traffic in some sort of order, and watching for outbreaks of trouble. The Siohonin had made no friends in the galaxy with their brutal invasion... but there were always troublemakers, somewhere....

Today, though, everything seemed to be normal enough. Kuthis scowled at the main screen. He was Klingon, he felt the need for action - any kind of action. System patrols were necessary, he knew, but they were dull -

"Sensor contact, grid sixteen." The Orion science officer, Sesvedba, spoke in her musical voice. Kuthis turned towards her.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"Unknown. Whatever it is...." Her perfect jade brow wrinkled in a frown. "That can't be right. Closed to grid twelve already... it must be moving at high transwarp speed. Very high."

"Bring the ship to alert," Kuthis ordered. "Come about. Is this - whatever it is - coming out of warp?"

"Warp signature shows deceleration. But these readings - I've never seen anything like it." Sesvedba bit her lip. "Triangulating now -"

The display on the main screen flickered, broke up into static for a moment, then reformed. "What was that?" Kuthis snapped.

"Energy surge. Whatever it was, it came out of subspace at high speed. Equivalent of - that can't be right." Sesvedba shook her head. "It says, at least warp fifty."

"Get me a long-range scan. What is it?"

"Working." Sesvedba tapped busily at her console. "Well, it's a ship... configuration not registered... small, maybe around corvette sized...."

Kuthis strode back to his command chair. "Feed me the details. I have heard of something like this -" He sat down heavily, and engaged his command console. He was trying to think. Something about a renegade with a very fast ship - an intelligence briefing -

"It's powering up drives. We are still well outside effective combat range," said Sesvedba. "Warp field established - the parameters look very strange. Engaging -" She shook her head. "It's away. Same super-fast speed. We can't possibly pursue it, and the warp contrail will diffuse to nothing in a few minutes -"

"Got it." Kuthis snapped his fingers. "Combination subtranswarp and asynchronous warp field. Used by the renegade Kalevar Thrang - I have the intel files here. But why -?"

"What would Thrang want here?" Sesvedba asked. "And he was here less than a minute -"

"We do not know it was Thrang. He might have sold on that technology to others." Kuthis was thinking hard. "Here less than a minute. Time to make a pickup, perhaps, if there was a vessel close by - but there was not. Or time to launch something - Scan. Tachyon detection for cloaks, and check all exotic frequency ranges. He might have dropped a package for some passing freighter to pick up. Or a guided delivery drone -"

"Engaging full scan mode. Tachyon detection online." The displays shifted and changed, showing the input from the Chisaro's sensor suite. Kuthis was glaring at his console, watching as it flashed up further intelligence briefings.

"I have something," Sesvedba reported. "Cloaked - travelling at high velocity - no life signs." She turned towards the captain. "I don't understand. It's moving directly towards the sun. Exotic energy signature - on the screen now -"

Kuthis's eyes widened. "Plot an intercept!" he roared.

"Sir, there's no way - it's outstripping our best impulse speed -"

"Get me within weapons range!" Kuthis jumped to his feet and ran to the comms console, brushing the communications officer out of the way. His hand slammed down on the controls. "All vessels! All vessels in the Dolsulca system! This is the Chisaro! Emergency evacuation! There is a trilithium warhead inbound towards the sun! Warp out! Warp out now!"

---

Trilithium began as an academic curiosity.

The development of dilithium crystal technology led, inevitably, to further research, into how the crystals manipulated and focused energy, and how they might be developed to do it better. Trilithium, a variant compound with a triple enfolding of the crystalline structure, seemed to show promise - except that, in practice, it seemed to negate the generation of energy completely, at least for brief moments of time. And it was horrifically difficult to produce, hellishly unstable, prone to explode at the slightest provocation. For a while, its only practical application was as an explosive -

Then Dr. Tolian Soran worked out how to apply it, and trilithium stopped being a curiosity, and became a weapon of mass destruction.

The complex enfolding of trilithium's crystals did not negate energy, but transported it, moving it outside normal space-time, into subspace - for a few moments. When that energy returned to normal space, it was as a momentary, and often explosive, flash. Soran's contribution was to stabilize and extend the trilithium reaction, so that a small quantity of the material could transform all energy in a globe several light-seconds across -

The trilithium warhead that struck the star Dolsulca sucked the energy out of the entire star. A chromospheric research station, heavily shielded in the star's corona, was caught in the radius, and everyone aboard died instantly, their temperature reduced to absolute zero. They were the first.

A star is a complex balancing act, between the force of gravity dragging everything inwards, and the pressure of heat and radiation forcing everything outwards. When Dolsulca was robbed of its radiation output, gravity won the battle: the star began to collapse. Almost immediately, though, compression and friction in the core of the sun began to re-ignite it. Under the immense force of gravity, atoms crashed together and fused: hydrogen to helium, helium to beryllium, helium and beryllium to carbon, higher and higher up the periodic table... and the star began to glow again.

Then the stolen energy came back out of subspace and flooded into the star once more. Randomized, the radiation pressure worked as much inwards as outwards, further squeezing and compressing the core, promoting yet more fusion into yet more exotic elements, unstable heavy nuclei that disintegrated almost at once, yielding yet more energy... and the seesaw swung back, with a vengeance.

To observers in the system, the star appeared to go completely dark for a second or so - and then glowed again, glowed with an ever-increasing light, flaring with a blinding intensity, reaching a peak of more than fifty thousand times its normal luminosity... unleashing a hail of hard radiation, x-rays and gamma rays and cosmic rays, that no material object within several AUs could hope to withstand.

The massive Siohonin space colonies vanished like snowflakes in the mouth of a blast furnace. The inner planets boiled.

Some of the gas giants in the outer system survived the radiation flare - and some space habitats, orbiting on the night sides of those planets, were shielded from the flare and lived. It made no difference. The immense energy liberated at the star's core threw its outer layers into space, blasting outwards as a globe of ionized plasma, expanding at a respectable fraction of the speed of light. Nothing in the system could stand before that blast wave.

The Klingon governor's residence was on the day side of the Siohonin homeworld when the star flared. It, and the people in it, and the continent it stood on, simply boiled away in the killing glare. And somewhere, in a computer memory - in a stack of messages long since disregarded as mere crank calls and empty threats - a counter reached 00:00:00:00.

The Three-Handed Game 44

"They are here." Sivetalin Aun's aide was frantic. "He is here. They are coming now."

Aun sniffed his ceramic globe, and shot a reproving look at the aide. "There is no need for panic," he said. "One must take the long view.... Our social system is perfect, and it is more than adequate to withstand a few... upheavals. We will simply wait out whatever is required of us." He frowned. "Of course, there is the matter of... repopulating... the religious caste. Well, there are younger sons of administrative and military families who may discover within themselves a religious vocation...."

He carefully avoided looking out of one window, where the Pantheon of all the gods had been recently replaced by the Temple of Sebreac Tharr... which had, itself, been still more recently replaced by a smoking crater, courtesy of the Klingons' orbital bombardment.

There was the sound of heavy, booted feet in the corridor outside. Sivetalin Aun put down the ceramic globe. He motioned for the aide to withdraw. He stood, and composed himself, hands folded before him, head bowed - not much, just enough of an inclination to suggest a polite submission.

The door of the office opened.

"Chancellor," said Aun, and bowed - not too deeply. "I bid you welcome. I regret the military adventurism that has estranged my people from the Empire, and I assure you that we are now ready once more to take our rightful place as a loyal tributary state."

J'mpok stared hard at him for a moment. "Very good," he said. "Very good. They told me you were an optimist - I did not realize you were also a comedian." But he showed no signs of laughing.

"If we are not to be your loyal tributary -" began Aun.

"Oh, your status has been decided," said J'mpok. "You have decided it for yourselves, with your rebellion, your assaults on the Empire and its allies, your treatment of captives -" He took a deep breath. "The Empire is, to some extent, at fault. We let your corrupt social system continue, we did not act fast enough to nip your rebellion in the bud. Well, we will take measures now. Your status is that of a conquered province under direct Imperial rule. Your military leadership - tell me, has Gamariden Tal killed himself yet?"

"Our military, ahh, do not observe such a custom in the case of defeat."

J'mpok shook his head. "Then we will attend to that detail. Your military leaders, such as remain, face execution for rebellion. For the moment, for the sake of our convenience, we will retain your administrative structure. Your legislative council will continue, you yourself -" he looked around him with a sneer "- will continue to occupy your office. But you will propose no legislation of your own, and you will oppose no rulings of your governor. Do you understand?"

Aun bowed his head. "I understand, Chancellor."

"Understand this also," said J'mpok. "There will be changes. There will be reforms. We will need to do something about your population problem -" He sniffed. "Intelligent beings restrain themselves."

"It is possible," murmured Aun, "I think - I offer it as a suggestion, nothing more - that a sterilization programme could be implemented among the labouring caste. The drabs have always bred to excess -"

"An interesting suggestion," said J'mpok. "We might start with the members of the former military caste, and those members of the administrative caste who are being immediately - phased out, as it were. At least the religious caste poses no problems." The priesthood of Sebreac Tharr was gone already - most of the priests killed during the reconquest by Starfleet, the KDF and the Republic of the hastily acquired Siohonin territories, the rest destroyed by their own people, when it became apparent how their god had failed. "We are reforming your social system, Aun. We are not the Federation, to bow to their Prime Directive."

He rummaged in one pocket of his leather coat. "That reminds me," he said. He drew out a handful of datapads. "You are an optimist, Aun. I am aware of your back-channel diplomatic efforts. I have the results here." He slapped the first datapad down on Aun's desk. "Your application for Federation membership. The Federation Council is very rarely unanimous, but they were unanimous in this - not one member spoke in favour, or even abstained from the vote. You might possibly have made history, there." He added another datapad. "The Cardassian Union, likewise, denies your petition for an alliance. They have a shorter answer, being less of a talking shop than the Federation. And the Romulan Republic - well, they follow D'Tan, and D'Tan's answer -" another datapad joined the pile "- was one simple word, no. Obisek, I gather, also answered with one word, but it burned out the datapad. The Breen Confederacy -" slap "- also, no."

He held one datapad still in his hand. "The Ferengi Alliance is true to its principles," he said. "The Grand Nagus will admit your planet as a member, if you can pay the entrance fee. It is, mind you, a substantial fee - my scientists tell me that it translates to a sphere of pure latinum some eight light-hours in diameter. The Grand Nagus has asked me to inform you that credit will not be extended."

He slammed the last datapad down onto the pile. It overbalanced, tipping off the edge of the desk.

"You are without friends in the galaxy, Sivetalin Aun," said J'mpok. "Save for me. Save for me - and my friendship has strict limits. Test them at your peril."

Aun said nothing.

"Limits," said J'mpok. "No Siohonin is to have ownership, part-ownership, or functional control of any warp-capable vessel. No Siohonin is to bear arms - energy or projectile weapons. It has been suggested to me that some may need protection against wild animals, or that the police might be allowed stun weapons. But your ecosystem has been abused to the point where there are no large predators, and the police can always use clubs. Your people may not bear arms, under penalty of immediate summary execution."

Again, Aun made no reply.

"I know your thoughts, Sivetalin Aun," said J'mpok. "You take the long view - I know this. You believe the simple inertia of your society, of your overly vast population, will carry the day in the end. That our reforms will fail under the sheer weight of your existing system." He grinned without mirth. "Who knows? You may be right. But we have chosen a Governor for your people, a Governor of zeal and ability - and with one other, most suitable quality." He turned to the door. "Send the Governor in!" he bellowed.

Footsteps sounded, and a new figure stood in the doorway - and, for the first time, Sivetalin Aun knew despair.

"I am Zhura, daughter of Zur, of the House of T'Qagh. By order of the Chancellor and the High Council, I am Governor and absolute sovereign of this star system." Her hot dark eyes raked Aun with contempt from head to foot. "Kneel."

The Three-Handed Game 41

"Permission to come aboard."

"Permission granted, sir." The burly Andorian saluted crisply. "Welcome aboard the Enterprise."

Admiral Quinn stepped off the transporter pad and strode onto the Federation flagship's bridge. "Thank you, Captain Shon. What's the situation?"

"Fleet's holding station six AUs from Lambda Cygni. The Siohonin forces are massing - and I do mean massing," the Andorian added dryly. "Estimates have them at nearly a quarter of a million frigates. They've been busy."

Two hundred and fifty thousand ships... every one of them with weaponry capable of pounding a cruiser to ruins, any three of them capable of one-shotting a dreadnought... Quinn steeled himself, put the thought from his mind. "What about our allies?"

"We have direct contact with J'mpok on the Bortasqu', Commander Jarok on the Lleiset, Obisek on the Zdenia. I have them on your flag chair console now, sir."

Quinn took his seat, nodded to the row of faces on the miniature screens. "Quinn," growled the Klingon Chancellor. "Welcome to the fray."

"Still working on tying in Legate Murcenn aboard the Ninth Order's flagship, sir." Lieutenant Jav, the ops officer, took over smoothly. "And, sir, DaiMon Trok say's he's waiting for a confirmation code -"

"Patch him in," said Quinn. A fourth panel lit up, showing an expectant, fang-toothed, huge-eared face. "DaiMon. My receipt code is Qayliph-Alpha-Shul two seven four."

DaiMon Trok glanced at something outside Quinn's range of vision. "Checks out, Admiral. The forces of the Ferengi Alliance acknowledge receipt of your payment and stand ready to receive your orders."

"Good. Tie into our tactical command net and stay ready," said Quinn. The Ferengi grinned and vanished from the screen.

"How much did it cost?" asked Captain Shon.

"The Grand Nagus took me for everything I had," said Quinn. "At the time. Six strips of gold-pressed latinum."

Shon glanced at the tactical display, at the swarm of squat orange crescentric warships. "Special discount rates?" he asked.

"One-off bargain," said Quinn. "Just so he could say truthfully that the Ferengi never fought without payment -" He stiffened. "What's that?"

"Unknown, sir," said Lieutenant Commander Tem from the science station. "Sensor contacts approaching from two different vectors. Attempting analysis now -" Her face turned suddenly pale, and she uttered a loud Bajoran oath.

"Um, Admiral," said Lieutenant Jav. "I have... incoming hails. From the, umm, the Zlan'tirgri and the, the Naskatk...."

"The who? Put them through," Quinn growled. "Let's see what else we've got to deal with."

Two faces appeared on the main screen - or shapes, at any rate. One was a red-gold glittering crystal in which eyes glowed like fires. The other was a metal mask with a steaming respirator, surmounted by a cycloptic visor.

The crystal spoke first. <Admiral Quinn. I am Admiral Atene, aboard the Tholian Assembly dreadnought Zlan'tirgri. It is the judgment of the Assembly that the Siohonin present a clear and present danger, not only to your Federation and its allies, but to all species within their potential sphere of influence. The Assembly has therefore decided to offer military support towards ending this threat. Please transmit your requirements to coordinate my ships with your tactical computer net.>

"I - thank the Assembly for its cooperation," said Quinn. He turned to Lieutenant Jav. "Make it so." Then he turned to the masked Breen. "And you?"

"Thot Trel," the Breen rumbled.

Quinn frowned. "I thought you were dead?"

"No, no, that was Thot Trel, I'm Thot Trel." The masked figure shifted - in irritation or amusement, Quinn couldn't tell. "Anyway, what the chatty crystal said goes for us as well. These lunatics are a threat to everyone, the Confederacy included. My fleet will coordinate with yours, and if it all works out, the Siohonin are going down."

Quinn blinked in bemusement. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "Welcome, Thot Trel." He turned to an increasingly harassed-looking Lieutenant Jav. "Try and keep a couple of command channels open," he said, "just in case the Dominion or the Hirogen show up."

"I'll try, sir. Um, the Cardassian fleet contingent is linked in now -"

"Let me have full tactical display," Quinn ordered.

The main viewer lit up with the fleets marked in. Starfleet, KDF, the Romulans... the Cardassians on one flank, the Ferengi on another... and now, more forces, Tholian and Breen, linking into a network of terrifying firepower. Tholian Tarantulas and Breen Rezreth Destroyers... having ships like that on his side, for once, should make a difference, Quinn thought.

But against the oncoming wall of Siohonin warships, even this fleet looked paltry by comparison. Quinn settled into the flag chair, and studied the screen. The faces of his fellow commanders regarded him from the console.

"Incoming hail from the Siohonin, sir," said Jav.

J'mpok glared and made a contemptuous noise. "Ignore it," he suggested.

"We may as well hear what they have to say." Legate Murcenn was a heavy-jowled elderly Cardassian with an unexpectedly smooth, silky voice. "It may buy us time, at least."

"Put them on," said Quinn, wearily.

He knew the face that appeared now. "Admiral Jorel Quinn," said the Siohonin. "I am Grand Marshal Gamariden Tal. The Federation has seen fit to ignore some reasonable requests made by our lord the Theocrat. My orders, therefore, are to implement the Theocrat's requirements. You and your wretched mob are in my way, Quinn. Get out of it."

Quinn looked at Tal, looked at the arrogant carriage, the glowing triumphant eyes of the man. He thought very hard about what to say.

"No," he said, and cut the channel.

J'mpok laughed. "Admirably direct."

Quinn turned to the Tholian and the Breen. "Have you assimilated our tactical plan?"

"Got it," said Trel.

<Your late Vice Admiral M'Azzur seems to have judged well,> said Atene. <Swamping their defences with auxiliary craft seems the best way to negate their special weapons. Even so, their numbers are colossal - Still. The Assembly is ready to follow your plan.>

Quinn nodded. The Siohonin fleet was closing faster now, there was no more time to delay. "All ships," he said, "launch auxiliaries."

From the launch bays of every carrier in the fleet, from the shuttle bays of every other ship, fighters, frigates, and shuttles shot out. The tactical display flickered on the verge of overload at the huge number of units now involved in the battle. A blizzard of auxiliaries swept out from the allied fleets, to interpenetrate the Siohonin formation, to snipe and harass the enemy from every angle.

M'Azzur's plan had been the best option, they had decided. The harrying fighters would disrupt the Siohonin's already limited tactical coordination - the Siohonin couldn't use their warp mirror defence against attacks from multiple vectors simultaneously - the fighter harassment would prevent groups of three frigates from linking up to use the devastating warp cannon -

In theory.

That theory was about to be put to the test. "Fighters in weapons range," Tem reported. "Engaging."

To the naked eye, it would have seemed as though a multi-coloured haze was spreading across space. Half a dozen different kinds of energy weapons, spitting from thousands of small ships, turned the starfield into a shifting, glimmering glow. Here and there, a bright gleam announced the first deaths, the first breaches of warp cores....

"Confirming... Siohonin casualties," said Tem. "Sir, I don't think... I can't be sure, but I don't think we've lost any allied fighters yet."

Quinn frowned. The Siohonin frigates were individually feeble, outclassed by the Tholians' Mesh Weavers, Cardassian Hidekis, or even Starfleet's Delta Flyers and runabouts... but surely some of the auxiliaries must have run into the path of those deadly kinetic lances, by now?

"I have Captain M'urra from Atrox's fighter wing reporting now," said Lieutenant Jav.

"Put her through."

The Caitian figher commander appeared on screen. "They're not using the lances!" she cried. "No sign of their special weapons! They only have standard disruptors, and they're not even good with those! We're swarming all over them! If we get main fleet support, we can finish them!"

"It could be a trap," said Tiaru Jarok, thoughtfully. "To lure in our heavy units and take them out."

"Our lead escorts are already in range," said J'mpok. "If it is a trap, they must spring it soon, or it will be all over for them."

Quinn thought furiously for a moment. The Siohonin weren't disciplined, weren't experienced - under the fighter assault, he was sure, a Siohonin frigate commander would have used the kinetic lances... if he was able....

He decided. "Quinn to fleet. All ships. Commit to full engagement."

Enterprise surged smoothly forwards in the vanguard of the Starfleet contingent. Quinn tried to block his ears to the sound of Klingons singing behind J'mpok.

"Attack Pattern Eta Nine," Captain Shon ordered. "Wide angle barrage, target as many opponents as you can. Reinforce forward shields." He glanced at Quinn. "If our firepower's divided between multiple targets - it might get reflected back in increments we can survive."

"Targets in weapons range," someone announced.

"Fire!"

The Federation flagship trembled as her phaser arrays sent out beams of golden energy like the questing fingers of a giant - and what those fingers touched, they broke. A half dozen luckless Siohonin frigates died within seconds, shields blasted to nothing, hulls vaporizing under the Enterprise's phasers.

"Torpedo tubes, scatter pattern, fire!" And more Siohonin ships died, torpedoes piercing their shields and smashing through to wreak havoc on their hulls.

"Slaughter them!" J'mpok was shouting. "Send them to Gre'thor! Avenge every insult to Klingon honour!"

"The Siohonin have a small number of genuine starships," said Quinn. "Their command and control battleships."

J'mpok looked at him, and the light of battle faded briefly in his eyes, to be replaced by a calculating look. "Yes," he said, "yes, if we take those, the rabble of frigates will be forced to surrender."

Quinn nodded. "Let's find them."

"I have partial ID for the Siohonin heavy units already," said Lieutenant Commander Tem. "Sir - the closest one to us is the enemy flagship. The Glaive."

Quinn smiled, just a little. "Signal Escort Group Alpha to accompany us and keep Siohonin light elements out of the way," he said. "Let's go deal with Gamariden Tal."

---

"Warp cannon inactive. Warp mirror inactive. Kinetic lances offline," the weapons officer repeated in tones of weary desperation.

Gamariden Tal whirled round to stab an accusing finger at Nyredalit Amm. "Still nothing! Where is the god's aid, Amm? Where is it?"

Sweat had broken out on the priest's brow; he clung to his rod of office like a lifeline. "The god must be testing us - testing our devotion - Our faith must not waver!"

"Faith is not helping my ships!" roared Tal. He made a sweeping gesture to the status board that dominated one side of the bridge - where he could see his forces dwindling, his fleet melting away, like a sandcastle in the rain, under the apocalyptic barrage from the Allied ships. "We need the special weapons, Amm! Intercede with the god, Your Holiness - if not on our behalf, then on your own!"

"Movement among the infidel ships, sir," the Glaive's tactical officer reported. "Some of their heavier elements have changed course - they are -" He swallowed. "They are moving to intercept our capital ships. Sir, the USS Enterprise is coming towards us."

Tal swore loudly. He took rapid stock of his available forces, and strode to the communications console. "Twelfth Assault Armada! Defend the flagship! Engage and destroy the Enterprise!"

"There is other movement," the tactical officer continued. "The infidel fighters are withdrawing from battlefield sector two eight by three seven -"

Tal looked at the screen. "Their forces are thinly spread in that area! Concentrate the fleet! We will break through and outflank them!" He turned to Amm. "We may win through yet."

"If our faith is strong -" the priest began, and Tal turned away from him with a dismissive oath.

The comms channels were humming with orders and distress signals already - now, new messages were coming in, on the priority channels reserved for the Siohonin capital ships.

"This is the Ranseur, we have a Tholian dreadnought inbound, request urgent support -"

"Demilune engaging the Cardassians, we are outnumbered by their Galors, request support -"

"This is the Corseque! We have the Bortasqu' on scan, contact imminent! Evading now! Assistance needed!"

"Partizan calling. We are under attack from the Nausicaan vessel Anar. We will sweep this mercenary scum out of the sky -"

That voice broke off. Tal called up a visual image from that sector, and winced. The Nausicaan Guramba destroyer was spinning away from the fight, its spines reconfiguring after firing its disruptor javelin - and the Partizan, pierced from stem to stern, was collapsing into a blazing hulk -

But his forces, now, were concentrating in the battlefield sector that had been cleared of enemy fighters. That one was dominated by the Romulans and the Remans, Tal noticed. His lip curled. They were cowards who preferred to strike from hiding, it was no wonder they had no stomach for a real fight.

"Ships at sector two eight by three seven, prepare to advance," he ordered. "Punch through the Romulans and fall on the Federation from the flank. Glorious victory - in the name of Sebreac Tharr!" There. That should please the god, perhaps even enough to awaken him.

The Siohonin ships, obedient to his orders, advanced. And then space shimmered before them -

Scimitars. Romulan and Reman Scimitars, too many for Tal to count at one glance, and all of them decloaking with their weapons spines raised and charged. They fired their thalaron barrages in concert, in one devastating blast, planet-wrecking weaponry aimed squarely at the dense mass of Siohonin ships.

The light frigates simply evaporated as the blast wave swept over them. The capital ships - Bardiche, Voulge, Pilum, Kontos, a half dozen others - resisted only a few seconds longer before they, too, burned. Tal screamed with rage and frustration as he realized that a full twenty per cent of his forces - his remaining forces - had perished at one stroke.

He rounded on Amm. "With the warp mirrors, we could have blasted the Romulan filth with their own weapons! Where is the god?"

If Amm had an answer, it was lost in the sudden screaming of alarms, the flash-bangs from consoles, the shuddering of the ship from impacts. "Enterprise in weapons range!" yelled the tactical officer. "Shields down to forty per cent! Hull breach, deck seventeen!"

"Return fire!" Tal shrieked. He turned to Amm again. "We need the warp mirror, the warp cannon! We need them now! Or your god has failed us!"

"The god does not fail," said Amm, almost plaintively. "We must trust that this is part of his plan -"

The ship shuddered again. "Port weapons offline! Shields failing!"

"This is not part of a plan!" screamed Tal. "Your god has abandoned us! Sebreac Tharr has failed!"

"No! No!" Amm wailed in reply. "You cannot say that! You cannot defame the god!" He waved his flame-tipped rod of office at Tal. "In the name of Sebreac Tharr, I rebuke you!"

The stylized flame pointed straight at Tal's heart. Nothing happened.

Tal swore loudly, drew his laser pistol and fired. Nyredalit Amm toppled backwards, his face a picture of horror and woe, around the smoking crater drilled between his eyes.

Tal had one moment to exult, and then the deck leaped away from under his feet. The lights went out. The noise and glare of exploding consoles filled the bridge. Tal landed heavily on the bucking deck, scrambled to his feet. Red emergency lights came on.

"Dorsal nacelle ruptured," someone was saying in a weak voice. "Hull breaches, all decks. EPS grid fluctuating, main power down. Shields down. Structural integrity at twelve per cent."

Tal looked wildly around him. The comms console, somehow, was still intact. He dropped his pistol, ran towards it, opened all the hailing frequencies with one smash of his hand against the switches.

"Glaive to Enterprise!" he screeched. "Glaive to all ships! This is Grand Marshal Tal! Stand down! We surrender! Tal to fleet, all ships, surrender! Surrender! We surrender! We surrender!"

The Three-Handed Game 31

"Grand Marshal," said Nyredalit Amm.

"Your Holiness," Gamariden Tal replied, turning the Glaive's command chair to face the priest. "You are comfortable in your new quarters?"

"Oh," said Amm with a chuckle, "quite like old times, thank you." He stepped forward, and looked around the bridge. "Impressive."

"Suitable, I trust," said Tal, "for the flagship of the Theocracy." He laughed, nervously. "It will take time to get used to that."

"Well, look on the bright side," said Amm. "Unlike the priests of the false gods, at least you and I have the time. Where am I to sit?"

"I have given orders for an observer's chair to be added to the bridge," said Tal. "You will have full access to the tactical displays - you will not, of course, have input into the network. Your blessing, Your Holiness, we require; your military insight -"

"Yes, quite," said Amm. "On the whole, better not." He strolled around the bridge, his eyes avid. "So much nostalgia," he murmured. "How much we would have given for equipment like this, back in the old days!"

"The frigates are still very much in the old style," said Tal, "except, of course, for the special weaponry."

"Tried and tested?" said Amm.

"And easy to replicate. Our fleet grows daily. The losses incurred in the battle with the Federation are... trivial."

"And mostly drabs, anyway," said Amm. "I must say, we have been glad to learn from the military in that... matter. We have so many, ahh, vacancies to fill - in the administrative functions of the former priesthood, you understand. As High Pontiff, it devolves to me to... smooth over the difficulties."

"You are training drabs to perform basic priestly functions?"

"As you train them to push buttons on starships. They are so biddable, so eager to advance their lowly status... it makes them easy to train. In basic functions, within their capacity. And in devotion, in obedience to the doctrine of Sebreac Tharr."

"As it should be," said Tal. "The true god brings us victory."

"And he asks so little in return," said Amm. "Only our devotion, and the occasional material symbol.... It is of this that I must speak. Work is progressing on one of the true god's requirements - the shipments of labourers from the Federation and the Republic have proven adequate to the task. But another requirement is not yet met - oh, do not concern yourself unduly, it is not you who has failed, but our agents in Klingon space. Had the Klingons not dealt with General Ssurt summarily, it would have been the god's pleasure to chastise him. Still, though... the god has needs. And so our lord the Theocrat has requirements."

"What does Enteskilen Mur require?" asked Tal.

"Transportation, essentially," said Amm. "He has decided to take a personal hand in certain affairs. To do this, he needs a starship. A frigate, obviously, is unsuitable for his station - not to mention affording inadequate protection against, ahh, disaffected elements...."

"Are there any such fools left?"

"Oh, Sivetalin Aun and his brethren are leaves that blow with every wind, but there are rumblings of discontent in some quarters - and besides, there is Starfleet, the Republic Navy and the Klingons to consider. So... how difficult are these magnificent ships to reproduce?"

Tal laughed, shortly. "We shall have all we need. Tell the Theocrat that he may take the Warhammer, with the military caste's grateful thanks for his guidance and his leadership."

Amm bowed. "I will send word at once. He will be gratified by your devotion."

"Will one ship prove sufficient? I can detach others, or provide a frigate escort."

"With the god on his side, the Theocrat will content himself with a single ship. The Warhammer. It sounds a fittingly aggressive name." Amm bowed. "I will, with your permission, withdraw and inform the Theocrat now. He is anxious to depart on his errand."

"Of course. You need no permissions from me, Your Holiness."

Amm smiled, bowed again, and left the bridge. Some day, Gamariden Tal told himself as the turbolift doors closed, some day I will kill that man.

The Three-Handed Game 30

"We have sensor contacts," reported Lieutenant Commander Scargill. Admiral Gref just grunted, and shifted irritably in the command chair of the Taras Bulba. Sensor contacts... well, of course there would be sensor contacts. By now, a mouse couldn't squeak in this star sector without alerting his web of satellites and sensor buoys.

"A number of sensor contacts," Scargill continued, his voice becoming high-pitched and excited. "Energy signatures confirm... sir, it's a Siohonin fleet. Reading... that can't be right."

Gref turned in his chair. "What can't be right?" he growled.

"I'm reading - well over a thousand ships, sir. It's immense. The fleet, I mean, sir."

Gref shrugged. "They have industrial capacity. And those lightweight frigates of theirs are a throwaway design - replicators can churn them out by the gross. What about heavier units? Serious starships?"

"It's hard to get a reading, sir, with all the noise... but at least three."

"Three," said Gref thoughtfully. The Siohonin frigate wolf-packs seemed to travel in large clusters, with a single command and control vessel at their centres... three such capital ships suggested a particularly large force, indeed. "What's their heading?"

"They're currently travelling sublight," said Scargill. "Overall bearing seems to be... coordinate vector one seven four by two zero three.... Sir, that'd put them on course for the Dioclema trading station."

Gref grunted. "Give me fleet communications," he ordered.

"Channels open, sir," the comms yeoman called out.

"Gref to all ships. Siohonin fleet has been detected, destination appears to be Dioclema. These people have already attacked a number of Federation and Allied worlds, and we are not going to let them do it again. All ships to battle readiness. We are moving to intercept. I will try negotiations, but you people know me, and the Siohonin are less reasonable than I am. This is going to get rough - but I know you people can do your jobs, and that's all we need to do today. Gref out."

"Setting course for the Siohonin fleet," said Lieutenant T'Nen at the helm.

"Good." Gref muttered darkly under his breath. The Siohonin... it would be better, really, if they did negotiate. But the aliens were drunk with their victories over the Klingons, their conquests of scattered Federation worlds... this was going to end badly for someone, Gref could feel it.

"Sir," said the comms yeoman, "I have Vice Admiral M'Azzur on hail."

Gref groaned silently. The Caitian and his damned carrier... he would have been happier with Ronnie Grau, even, in that space on his fleet roster. The damned furball was too keen, that was the trouble. "On screen," he said, with no enthusiasm.

M'Azzur's face, whiskers twitching, green eyes shining, appeared on the viewer. "I'm ready to take Tiger's Claw in first, sir. I reckon, if we deploy a fighter screen fast, we should make even that number of frigates think twice about tangling with us. What do you think, sir?"

Gref considered. If there was going to be a fight - and he was pretty sure there was - M'Azzur's Atrox carrier would be a lot more use with its fighters already off the launch rails and its considerable armament ready to support them. Gung-ho he might be, but M'Azzur had decent tactical senses. "Very well," he said. "Take point, and get the cruiser elements to back you up - tactical plan Delta Seven."

"Yes, sir! M'Azzur out." Too damn keen, Gref thought.

He consulted the tactical display. "That," he said, "is a whole lot of ships." No one answered him. "Open hailing frequencies," he ordered. "Let's at least give them a chance to talk."

But the face that appeared on the main viewer now was not that of a man disposed to talk. "I am Third Marshal Amaranuk Tem, aboard the Theocracy battleship Bardiche," the Siohonin commander announched. He was blond-haired, blond-bearded, and his horns were long and filed to needle points. "We are conducting military operations in this star sector. Do not attempt to impede us."

"Admiral Gref, Sixth Fleet, aboard the USS Taras Bulba," said Gref. "If you're conducting military operations in Federation territory, be aware that this will not be permitted. Your people have already attacked Federation worlds, but I'll let the diplomats sort that out - for the moment. Right now, I want to see you and your ships turn around and head back to Siohonin space."

"Brave words," said Tem. "And where, in the view of the mighty Federation, is Siohonin space?"

"The details aren't my business," said Gref. "Your home system, maybe? In any case, not here, and not Dioclema station either. Turn back, Third Marshal."

"The Theocracy does not take orders from the Federation," said Tem. "No more than we do from the Klingons.... You are too accustomed to thinking of yourselves as a galactic superpower. Times are changing, Admiral Gref. Learn to bend with the wind... take your fleet home."

Gref rose to his feet. "Take my fleet home? This is Federation space, Third Marshal, my fleet is home. And we will defend it. Make no mistake about that."

"I grant you leave," said Tem,"to try." And the channel went dead.

"Siohonin ships are changing formation," Scargill reported.

Falling into an attack pattern, Gref decided. A basic one, a wall of battle across the sky, seeking to use their numerical superiority to outflank the Starfleet ships and overwhelm them from all angles. Gref engaged his tactical console. "Gref to fleet. They're trying to wrap around us. We're going to punch through and split their forces." He considered. "Attack plans as given, concentrating on vector three seven mark six three."

"Sir," said T'Nen, "that will put us very close to the Bardiche."

Gref grinned. "Damn right it will. In weapons range, in fact. Weapons free."

"Vice Admiral M'Azzur on comms, sir."

"Tell him - oh, put him through."

The Caitian was grinning from ear to ear. "Going in, sir. Looks like you're aiming for their flagship? We'll go after one of the other heavies."

"All right," said Gref. "Stay alert, keep moving. Try and stay out of the way of those kinetic lances, and watch for their other special weapons."

"Yes, sir. Don't worry, my boys and girls will clean up those frigates, no problem."

"Let's hope," Gref growled.

"Fleet in engagement range," Scargill reported. "Weapons fire exchanged... conventional disruptors only from the Siohonin, so far. Lots of it, but individually, not heavy."

"Stalkers going in," M'Azzur reported. The Caitian was practically bouncing with excitement.

"Targeting solution for the enemy flagship!" shouted a tac officer.

"Phasers to maximum," Gref ordered. "Let's give him a nudge he won't forget in a hurry."

"Phasers locked." The tac officer turned, a puzzled frown on his face. "Sir... he's making no evasive manoeuvres. His shields are up, but... he's making no attempt to avoid action."

Gref snarled. Suddenly, he felt a deep inner disquiet, and there was no way to dispel it but immediate, violent action. "Fire as they bear, as soon as we enter range."

"Yes, sir." Light was slashing across the starfield, now, green light of Siohonin disruptors, golden-orange of Starfleet phasers. Were his ships holding their own against the Siohonin onslaught? Gref thought so....

"Enemy in range. Firing phasers."

Taras Bulba trembled as the phaser banks fired -

- and then the ship rocked and lurched, and the bridge was full of the crash-bangs of exploding consoles, and the lights failed and flickered and came back red. The terrific impact hurled everyone to the floor. Alarms screamed. The surviving console displays were unintelligible with static, the air was filled with smoke and fire and noise.

"Damage report!" Gref roared. "What the hell -? What hit us?" He clambered groggily to his feet, and stared at the scene of chaos which was his ship's bridge. T'Nen was slumped inert over the wreckage of the helm console - the tac officer on phasers was nowhere to be seen -

"Coming through now," Scargill's voice croaked. He was staring in horror at his screens, ignoring the blood that ran freely from a gash on his scalp. "I don't understand - we were hit by a phaser barrage!"

"Damage report," said Gref firmly.

Scargill swallowed. "It's - bad, sir. Six per cent structural integrity, hull breaches all decks, main deflector is offline, shields are down."

"Trying to get a line to main engineering now," the comms yeoman chimed in. "Sir, Vice Admiral M'Azzur is hailing -"

"Can you get him? On screen!" Gref shouted.

The Caitian's face appeared, shot through with static, on the main viewer. "Sir," he said, "we think we know what happened -"

"What?" Gref demanded.

"They - somehow, they inverted the region of space between you and their flagship. Turned it, and everything in it, through a hundred and eighty degrees. Your own weapons, sir, they were reflected back on you."

Gref groaned. "Warn the other capital ships!" If they could do that - No wonder the Klingons hadn't got proper reports back on this weapon. Klingon capital ships emphasized firepower over armour, if they were caught like this, their own barrages would blast them to flinders. Even his ships -

"We can fight this, sir." M'Azzur's face was grim, now, and determined. "Come in at multiple angles - they can't use that defence in every direction at once, they'd cut themselves completely out of normal space-time. My fighters can engage them and swamp them."

Gref studied his half-wrecked tactical board. "Try it. You have fleet command. I can't run tac coordination from Taras Bulba now."

"Yes, sir." M'Azzur saluted.

"I'm getting some telemetry back," Scargill said. "Sir - the Siohonin are firing their kinetic lances. The fleet is taking heavy damage." His voice suddenly cracked. "Oh, God - Warspite is moving to engage one of their capitals -"

"Comms! Get a warning through!" If the dreadnought Warspite fired her phaser lance, she was done for.

"Stalkers engaging," M'Azzur said fiercely. "We'll make them pay for -"

And then his voice stopped, and his image vanished from the screen. "What happened?" Gref yelled.

"Trying to get a picture," said Scargill. "I'm patching stuff through, but -"

Disjointed images were appearing on the viewer. Gref groaned aloud as Warspite fired - and the brilliant beam of the phaser lance doubled back on itself, and in one horrifying flash the dreadnought was gone. He could see cruisers taking a savage pounding from the Siohonin lances... the light enemy ships were suffering too, but they had the advantage in numbers, had done from the start. The Caitian fighters were inflicting damage, but without the support of the mother ship - what had happened to M'Azzur, damn it?

"I don't believe it," said Scargill. "Sir, I - I'm picking up the Tiger's Claw."

Gref rounded on the man. "Where?"

Scargill swallowed. "It's... it's at one of our remote sensor buoys, sir. About half a light year away. The Siohonin weapon... it's some sort of overloaded, focused warp field. It physically picks up the target and throws it through subspace. That's where all the interference comes from, that's why the targets just seem to vanish...."

"What about the Tiger's Claw? How soon before they can get back?"

"I'm sorry, sir." Scargill's tone was bleak. "The field must generate a massive gravimetric turbulence. All I'm getting from the buoy is the Tiger's Claw's ID transponder... in among the debris."

Gref sagged back into the command chair. "Do we have any comms channels at all?"

"Can get you fleet-wide on unencrypted only, sir," said the comms yeoman.

"It will have to do. Set it up." Gref took a deep breath. "All ships, this is Admiral Gref. We are outnumbered and outgunned. All ships, scatter and retreat. I repeat, scatter and retreat. Flagship out." He turned to glare at the yeoman. "Get a secure link-up to the buoy network. Send a signal to Starfleet. They have got to know how the Siohonin warp weapons work. There's plenty of redundant bandwidth in that system, work with it. That message has to get through."

"Sir," said Scargill, "I don't know if we - we're massively badly damaged - I don't know if the ship can generate a warp field."

"I do," said Gref. "She can't. Taras Bulba will cover the fleet's retreat for as long as she is able. After that -" He snorted. "I suppose we get to see how the Siohonin treat prisoners of war."