Ronnie comes back onto the bridge, and stops dead in the turbolift door, staring at the screen.
"Hello, Ronnie," says Shalo, from the viewscreen. "Or would you prefer Vice Admiral Grau?"
"Ronnie's fine," Ronnie mutters. "Everyone calls me Ronnie."
Shalo smiles. She looks sleek and glossy and supernaturally beautiful, as she always did while we were hunting the Klingon renegade Klur after the massacre at Bercera IV. Of course, during that time, I saw her smiling just as sweetly as she cut a junior officer's head off. Ronnie and I worked with her... I hope that doesn't mean we'd make the mistake of trusting her.
"So to what do we owe the honour?" Ronnie walks over to the command chair and sits down with exaggerated nonchalance.
"Obviously, I need Starfleet's help," says Shalo.
"Obviously," I say, "we have a small problem with that."
"The circumstances are unusual," Shalo says, unperturbed. "They were unusual the last time we cooperated.... This time, we have a chance to contain a rogue officer before they do anything... dramatic. I hope that Starfleet will take that chance."
Ronnie and I exchange glances. "Keep talking," I say.
"Thank you. Some weeks ago, a KDF force attempted to secure a military position on the planet Tiaza Zephora. This was believed to be a primitive agricultural world - we discovered, somewhat too late, that it is under the protection of some powerful entity. I believe there have been similar incidents in Federation space - the case of the Edo springs to mind, for instance."
"Let me guess," says Ronnie. "This didn't end well for your mob?"
"Casualties were inflicted. The surviving ranking officer ordered a retreat. I am transmitting a recording of her subsequent court martial -"
"Il est bon de tuer de temps en temps un amiral pour encourager les autres," says Ronnie incomprehensibly.
"There seems to be a problem with the universal translator," says Shalo. Ronnie smirks. "In any case, the officer in question - a mercenary commander named R'j Bl'k' - was cleared of the charge of cowardice. As you will see from the recording, though, she has developed something of an obsession with the - presumed entity - at Tiaza Zephora."
"So what's this got to do with us?" I demand.
"R'j Bl'k' has taken her ship across the border into Federation space," Shalo says. "Her objective appears to be the star system Duselva WX in the Eta Eridani sector. I am unsure as to her reasoning - possibly she believes that system to be connected in some way to the entity at Tiaza Zephora. However, she is operating outside the High Council's authorization... and, although we are still at war, no one wants a repetition of the events of Bercera IV. It is best if this officer is... intercepted and neutralized."
"So intercept her," I say.
"We cannot commit sufficient forces to be sure of that without provoking a response from Starfleet. Our commanders are, naturally, not averse to battle - but, in the ensuing confusion, it would be too easy for Bl'k' to slip away and accomplish - whatever she has in mind. Obviously, from our point of view, the best solution would be to arrange for a KDF task force to enter Federation space and proceed unimpeded about the task." Shalo examines her fingernails. "I suspect you might raise some objection to this approach. Hence, this compromise."
"You give us the information, and we take down this - character - for you," I say.
"It is in everyone's interests," Shalo says. "Whatever Bl'k' has planned, it is likely to be an embarrassment for the KDF and a danger to the Federation. We do not wish to be embarrassed."
"How dangerous is this Madame Unpronounceable?" asks Ronnie.
"Oh," says Shalo, "your combined firepower will prove more than a match for her, I can be quite sure of that."
"Why not alert the Federation Council by normal channels?" I demand.
"And concede in public that one of our officers has gone rogue? Far better to arrange things... informally. Of course, you can tell anyone you like about this conversation." Shalo examines her fingernails again. "It will be disavowed, officially, of course, but you can tell whoever you like."
"Duselva WX," Ronnie says thoughtfully. "Don't know it...."
"It will take you some time to reach it, no doubt," says Shalo. "I can only hope that you decide to act - and act in time." She looks at something off the screen. "I must go. I am transmitting an encrypted subspace frequency signature to you - use it to let me know, please, whatever you decide. Shalo out." The screen goes dark.
Ronnie and I exchange glances. "She's up to something," I say.
"Well, yeah, duh," says Ronnie. "Trouble is... this is one of those situations, isn't it? Where you have to take the bait, to find out why you're being baited. Jhemyl, where the hell is Duselva WX, anyway?"
Jhemyl rattles off a burst of galactic coordinates. "Huh," Ronnie says. "Easily a week's cruise in this old bucket...."
"King Estmere could make the trip faster, then," I say.
"Yeah," says Ronnie, "yeah... hold on, though." She starts tapping at her command console, the Borg metal on her fingertips rattling against the panel. "Oh yeah."
"What?"
"Transwarp gateway. Duselva WX is within range of a secondary hub on the network. Forget a week's travel, the Falcon could be there inside six hours."
She sounds enthusiastic, all of a sudden. "Do you think we should?" I ask.
"Shalo can't be expecting us there that fast. We can scope out the lay of the land before Madame Unpronounceable turns up, even. Let's set it up. Tallasa - oh damn. Still on her hot date with Ysrip." I swear she pouts for a moment. "Tylha, would you mind taking the XO slot? It's getting so's I can't think without a pair of reproachful antennae in that seat."
Something tells me Ronnie's made her mind up. "All right," I say, "but let me pass a message on to King Estmere, first."
"Right. Right. Good idea. They can come in and back us up. And maybe bring Tallasa and Ysrip with them. Face-ache, umm, I mean Mr. Madena. Do the business, will you?"
While Ronnie's hapless comms officer is putting through the calls to King Estmere, I settle into the exec's seat and start work on the console. Ronnie's first officer has everything set up neatly, tactical systems, shipboard organization, all the details that a good exec should have at their fingertips. Of course, Ronnie would be bound to have a good exec. Ronnie desperately needs a good exec.
I tie the console in to my earpiece and start work, calling up the automated sequence to hail Spacedock traffic control and get departure clearance. Somewhat to my surprise, a "hold" icon starts flashing on the panel, and then a human male voice speaks in my earpiece. "USS Falcon?"
"Yes," I say.
"Requesting departure clearance?" the voice continues.
"Urgent clearance for a transwarp departure to the Eta Eridani sector, coordinates as transmitted." I check the console - I've got the coordinates right.
"Hold, please," says the voice. "Transferring you to Commander Maxwell."
There is a brief pause, and then another human male voice speaks to me. "USS Falcon? Requesting departure clearance?" Commander Maxwell, presumably. He sounds nervous.
"That's correct, Traffic Control," I say crisply. "What's the hold-up?"
"Ah," says Maxwell. "No... no problem, Falcon. We have you under observation, and we have a departure slot held for you... we always do, it's just.... You're requesting departure clearance."
"Yes," I say, as patiently as I can.
"It's just... you're requesting departure clearance. Is Vice Admiral Grau ill?"
I look at Ronnie, who quirks her one eyebrow at me. I explain. "Oh, right, yeah," she says. "Traffic control. I always take a sort of Jesuit view with departure clearances." She laughs.
"Jesuit view?" I ask.
"Easier to obtain forgiveness than permission. Right. Here we go then. Cast off, single up all lines, splice the mainbrace, all that good stuff." That leaves me to go through all the actual preparations to depart. From the helm, Jhemyl shoots me a sympathetic glance.
Still, it doesn't take long before Ronnie can lean back in her command chair and say, "All righty, then. Punch it."
And we're away.
---
The journey from the transwarp point to Duselva WX, as Ronnie expected, takes only a few hours. Along the way, we have time to sit down in Ronnie's ready room and review the data Shalo transmitted, including the recording of the court martial.
"Oh," I say, as we see the tall green-skinned woman take her place on the trial floor, "that explains the name. She's a Mlkwbrian."
Ronnie pauses the recording and stares at me. "A which-what-how-now?"
"Mlkwbrian. I remember reading about them in my linguistics classes. They have a weird vocal tract, they're an extreme edge case in phonetics terms. Continuous circular breathing through those tubules at the angle of the jaw - they find vowel sounds hard to produce, but they have super complicated tongues and palates, so they can manage a whole range of different complex consonants...."
"Sounds fascinating," says Ronnie in an utterly not-fascinated way. "Do you remember anything else about these Mulk... Mul-uk.... umm, Two of Twelve says they're species 10118, so I'm going to call them that, OK?"
"I'm trying to think." I study the image on the screen. "Those funny silvery eyes, that's because of a polarization-sensitive coating on the cornea. They have independent depth perception in each eye, and can move them individually. See the two weapon holsters?" The Klingons took R'j Bl'k's weapons before putting her on trial - obviously. "For you and me, dual pistols would just be for show - but she can hold two weapons and aim them both."
"Worth bearing in mind," says Ronnie grudgingly. "Anything else?"
"They're darn near impossible to strangle - you can close off all the respiratory tubules in their throats, but it's quicker and easier just to break their necks. Some of them have a limited psychokinetic ability - nothing sophisticated, they can just generate a sort of push. Culturally and galactographically, they're pretty much from the heart of Klingon territory - I think their home system is Phi Leonis in Earth astrography, and they have a highly structured society, ritualistic and militaristic. They assimilated into the Empire pretty seamlessly about three hundred years ago."
"Round about when militarism was getting fashionable in Klingon society," Ronnie comments.
"I thought they'd been warriors since, well, always?"
"They've always had a warrior caste. It got to be fashionable shortly before I was born... trouble is, of course, a warrior caste tends to resist going out of fashion. With guns." Ronnie shakes her head. "Explains a lot, doesn't it? Not so much the politics and the expansionism, but the - the posturing. All that emphasis on death and glory. The leather, the machismo... the relentless, unremitting opera...."
"Let's see how this played out," I say, and Ronnie starts the playback again.
We watch in silence as the grim-faced alien defends herself against the ranting prosecutor. "Now that guy was a poser, all right," says Ronnie, once it ends.
"Ch'Gror?"
"Typical Klingon armchair warrior. The chickenhawk tendency's one of the worst things about Klink politics. I suppose the Federation's got its own equivalent, mind... the hippy-dippy pacifist camp, the guys with the high ideals and no practicality."
"People like my parents?" I comment.
Ronnie looks at me. "Were they hippies? I didn't know Andorians had any."
"They had high ideals. It didn't count for much when the Nausicaans hit us... they had disruptors."
Ronnie nods. "Anyway," she says, "returning to the present... anything strike you about that lot?"
"For a Mlkwbrian, she sounded... pretty reasonable, on the whole."
"Yeah. Made more sense than I do, most days.... What was that Adept of the Seven whatsits bit about, do you know?"
"Oh, these quasi-religious sects run all through Mlkwbrian society... she's probably a member of half a dozen of them. Like I said, they're highly ritualistic."
"Things you kids learn in school these days," Ronnie mutters.
"Well, didn't you take any electives at the Academy?"
"Didn't really have Starfleet Academy in my day, not like it is now.... Anyway." Ronnie scratches at the skin around her Borg targeting implant. "This all seems very iffy to me."
"There has got to be something Shalo isn't telling us," I say. "And I don't know why she's let slip some of the stuff she has told us - the strategic position of Tiaza Zephora, for instance. Or the whole business with the - protecting entity, come to that."
"Yeah," says Ronnie, vaguely. "Yeah, we know this thing's kicked a Klink occupying force off its planet, right? So, logical assumption, we'd want to talk to it, persuade it to do a bit more of that kicking on our behalf. So...." She shakes her head. "There's little stuff that doesn't add up, too. Duselva WX, where the hell does that figure in? And the way the Klink carriers blew up - fifty kellicams is a lot closer than I'd let off an antimatter explosion, if I was protecting whatever was fifty kellicams away."
"Maybe - whatever it is - couldn't manage a longer range," I say.
"Yeah. Maybe. No." Ronnie shakes her head. "Then why didn't it use its other trick? Whatever wiped out the Klink ground troops, with no explosions at all?"
"We don't know enough to say."
"We need more information," says Ronnie. "And, like I said, the only way to get it is to take Shalo's bait. Dammit."
The intercom on Ronnie's desk chimes. "Sir," says Jhemyl's voice, "we have dropped out of warp at the edge of the Duselva WX star system."
"Right," says Ronnie. "Anything on scan yet?"
"Total of eight ships at extreme long range of tactical scan," says Jhemyl. "One energy signature possibly consistent with a Monbosh battleship... the others appear to be Klingon Birds of Prey, and one Nausicaan, possibly a Guramba-class destroyer."
"Anybody shooting at anything? At us? At each other?"
"No weapons activity," says Jhemyl.
"Curiouser and curiouser." Ronnie stands up. "No weapons activity? Well, at least I can fix that."
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