Fallout 2

Personal log: Tylha Shohl, officer commanding USS King Estmere, NCC-92984

Six hundred and fifty million.

It takes less than a second to say. I could take the rest of my life, though, and still not reach a clear understanding of what it means. Six hundred and fifty million. On the screen, above the bar, the newscaster is speaking, words that go unheard, even though the room is otherwise completely silent. Behind him, two images: one of the Tellarite colony world, Bercera IV, as it was... the other, of the same world, as it is now. The first, a fertile class M world with a population of six hundred and fifty million; the second -

Impossibly, a bleary voice beside me says, "What th' hell, 's just Tellarites."

I turn. The drunken human to my right continues, oblivious. "Stupid pig-face losers, goin' on an' on about bein' founders of the Federation - all they ever do is run freighters anyway - bet they'll be all, like, 'oo, Starfleet, come an' save us', an' -"

I pivot on my heel, and my fist comes up of its own volition. I barely feel the impact, but all of a sudden, the human is sitting on the floor, burbling stupidly through smashed lips.

There is a group of Tellarites in the corner of the bar, so I may just have saved his life, at that.

A chirp sounds from my pocket. "That," I say, "will be Starfleet, not waiting to be asked." I fish out my combadge. "I only wish we'd been quicker. Shohl here."

"Vice Admiral." I don't recognize the voice. "Starfleet is going to maximum defensive alert, all planetside leave is cancelled, you are asked to report immediately to Earth Spacedock for a briefing."

"I'm in San Francisco now," I say. "I can see a transporter terminal from where I'm standing, I will be on my way right now."

"Clearing you for direct transporter access," the voice says, and clicks off.

I step over the fallen human, and run for the transporter pad.

---

Spacedock is always humming with activity. The hum is louder and more urgent today, though.

Admiral Semok meets me at the transporter room. "Vice Admiral Shohl. I regret the interruption to your well-earned leave."

"It had barely started, sir. I'd just stopped off for a quiet drink in a bar when - What are our orders, sir?"

The portly Vulcan consults a PADD. "Our experimental engineering group has been called upon to consider possible methods of reprisal." His eyes, normally bland and emotionless, look - anguished. "If the Klingons have stepped up their attacks to include wholesale planetary devastation -"

"We might have to fight fire with fire." I don't feel any happier about it than he does.

"Yes. One matter we have been asked to assess is the practicability of a c-fractional strike on Praxis."

"Praxis? Oh, I see...." The broken moon around the Klingon homeworld isn't the first target you'd think of. But it was shattered once, and if its orbit were destabilized again... the whole thing could come crashing down on Qo'noS, an unstoppable battering ram of destruction.

It's hard to control a planet, even with the resources that Starfleet and the Klingons can command. But it's surprisingly easy to destroy one, or at least to render one uninhabitable. C-fractional strikes - missiles moving at relativistic speeds - are the traditional method, if there are any traditions in this thing. But there are other ways. A single starship, even an old Constitution-class cruiser, can devastate a planet past the point of recovery. A ship like King Estmere could do it without breaking a sweat.

But this sort of war - crosses a line. The war is being fought for a mixture of reasons, but prime among them is control; control of territory, of resources, of the populations of the precious habitable planets of the galaxy. That the Klingons have started the wanton destruction of these resources... is a new, and alarming, development.

"Destroying the Klingon homeworld, though," I say, "is a move that might well backfire. Quite apart from any - humanitarian - considerations... it'd leave the Klingon factions leaderless, most of them thirsting for revenge, and out of control."

"This is my assessment also," says Semok. "I hope that it will be the conclusion reached by calmer heads on the Federation Council, too. However, some strong response is clearly necessary in the face of this atrocity."

We make our way to the stateroom. Normally, this is busy only with lecturers and brown-nosing cadets, but today it is crammed with so many senior officers, you could choke on the pips. Mere Vice-Admirals like me have to stand at the back and breathe in. If we want to breathe... because the holographic image of Bercera IV, floating in the air over the podium, is enough to make anyone choke.

Beneath it, the top brass have gathered. Admiral Yanishev looks as though he is graven in stone; Quinn is visibly distressed. As we enter, though, it's Admiral Routledge of Logistics Command who has the floor.

"A relief effort is under way as we speak," the elderly human says. Routledge was only a few months from mandatory retirement, last I heard. "The odds for survivors are... not good. It's possible, though, that some who've sought shelter in isolated rural areas... may survive the toxic and radiation contamination long enough for a pickup to be made. All available transport ships have been diverted. As for the main cities -" he shakes his head. "Our long range probes confirm. Total devastation."

Admiral Yanishev steps forward. "Fifth, Seventh and Tenth Tactical Wings are committed to cover similar possible targets in the immediate vicinity," he says in a voice like death. "We have a preliminary assessment of - possibles. We will act to protect them. As for an immediate response -"

"That's what we're here to discuss," Quinn says.

Yanishev nods. "Obviously, a major retributive strike is necessary," he says. "The Klingons will expect it, of course - in a way, that makes it even more necessary. If we even look like we're backing down, over this, they will be all over us. Plans for assaults on targets in the Archanis sector have been in evaluation for some time." His face turns grimmer still. "We are activating those plans. First, Second and Fourth fleets will hit strategic Klingon systems within the week. The Klingons' response to that - well, it will tell us something. Conventional warfare would be - in a way - good news. More attacks of this kind, though -"

"Hold on, hold on." A querulous female voice breaks in. The speaker is a Vice Admiral, a skinny human female with several very obvious Borg cybernetic implants. "Look, I'm rolling this around in my head," she says, "and none of it fits. We need to figure out what this means before we go off at half-cock, right?"

"Vice Admiral Grau," says Yanishev. He doesn't sound pleased.

"Listen," says Grau. "Bercera. Soft target, well behind our front lines, not that lines mean anything much in space combat. So why is it a target? What's at Bercera? Can't be a terror attack, the Klinks aren't fools, they know we won't back down from a show of force, we can't afford to. So what else could it be? Why is J'mpok raising the stakes by burning off an entire world?"

Yanishev looks like he's about to speak, but Grau carries on regardless. "Could be desperation, end-game bravado, last desperate stroke of a dying man - except the Klinks aren't dying, the war is doing their internal economy no particular good, but they're a long way from being beaten yet. So, 'when I am dead, let fire the Earth consume' - no, it doesn't fit, because J'mpok ain't dead yet. But Bercera is a soft target because it's not a significant part of the war effort, right? So why kill it? Unless it's some sort of spook stuff? Were we using Bercera IV for spook stuff? Oh, right, I mean, did Starfleet Intelligence have any major assets on the planet?"

"No," Quinn says, suddenly. "Nothing of the kind."

"Well, there you are, then," says Grau. "Like I said, I'm turning this over in my head, and I can't fit it in with Klink strategy. Got to know the reason for this one. Know the reason, you know how to respond. Sure, sure, kick 'em back, kick 'em hard and low and dirty, so they know they've been kicked - but we need to work out where best to kick them. So we have to know why this happened. It doesn't make any obvious military sense, so it must be spook stuff. If not ours, then theirs. I'm telling you."

"Thank you for your contribution, Vice Admiral," Yanishev says with finality.

"Still," Routledge says, "we do need to study the situation. Someone should go in to support the rescue operation and salvage... as much data as we can."

"If I might make a suggestion," Semok speaks up. "My group has been tasked with researching planet-killing methods - I will not say we are experts in the field, since we have never needed such - but we are to contribute our resources in this area. Further, we have at our disposal a multi-functional carrier vessel which can support the relief effort, serve as a combat-capable craft if need be, and carry out any investigations in the field, as required. Vice Admiral Shohl can be ready to depart in a matter of hours." He glances at me. "I am correct, Vice Admiral Shohl?"

"Of course, sir." There's really nothing else I can say.

"Very well," says Routledge. "Vice Admiral Shohl will rendezvous with my rescue fleet and begin investigations. Now, as to the logistics of our armed response -"

---

Afterwards, I head for the docking bays with purpose in my eyes. Before I make it, though, a hand grabs my sleeve. I turn, to see the human-Borg woman, Grau.

"Listen," she says. "You're going out there, right? You keep an open mind."

"I intend to," I say. "We need the facts. You're right about that at least."

"Facts, facts," she says, and looks around, before turning her gaze back to me. The Borg targeting laser covering her left eye scans erratically over my face. "We haven't met, have we? Veronika Grau. Call me Ronnie, everyone does."

"Tylha Shohl," I answer. Then I frown, as I recollect something. "There was a Veronika Grau during the Romulan War, wasn't there? She did - hmm, something impressive, I guess. Were you named after her?"

"No, no," she says, "that was me. Roms, they're not as sneaky as they think they are. Oh, right, yeah, it was a while ago. Time warps. Bane of my life, time warps. Listen. There is something wrong about this whole setup. Watch your back out there. There's spook stuff at the bottom of this, you mark my words. And it's spook stuff that's already eaten a planet, so it won't stop at swallowing a Vice Admiral. If you get my drift."

I grin at her, without humour. "It'll choke on this one. I promise you."

---

King Estmere is ready by the time I get to the bridge; everyone is bustling around doing last-minute checks, but I know they're just a formality. I take my seat in the command chair.

"We have priority clearance to depart when ready, sir," Anthi Vihl says. My exec's tone betrays no emotion, but I can tell from the stiffening of her antennae just how angry she is. "Your orders, sir?"

"Put me on ship-wide address," I say to F'hon Tlaxx, who touches his console and nods to me. "Attention, all hands. This is Vice Admiral Shohl. Our orders are to proceed at best speed to the Bercera system, there to render all possible assistance to the relief effort, and to gather evidence relating to this... atrocity." I pause, and take a deep breath. "It's possible - only possible - that we may run into the Klingon war criminals responsible for this. In which case, we will be ready for combat... and may the Infinite have mercy on their souls, because we will show none to their bodies. Shohl out." I turn to Anthi. "Clear all umbilicals, proceed on thrusters to spacedock exit."

"Confirmed."

King Estmere's deck quivers beneath me, and we are on our way.