The Three-Handed Game 1

The Captain was in a foul mood. It was easy to tell, from the way he flicked the blades of his d'k tahg open, then closed, then open again, scowling at the gleams of red light on the blade. The crew stepped cautiously around him as they went about their tasks.

It was only his Lethean exec who had the forthrightness to ask, "Is all well, Captain?"

"Well enough." The Captain scowled. "These missions! They irk me. Collecting tribute... it is no task for a warrior."

"Warriors must be fed," the Lethean commented. "And tribute from these outlying systems -"

"Yes, it is necessary. Of course it is necessary. But -"

The Lethean's face moved into what might have been a smile. "But it irks you. Sir."

The Captain nodded. "How long to the next one?"

"Entering system space now, sir," the helmsman reported.

The Captain nodded again, more pensively. "What are these ones called?"

"The Siohonin," the Lethean replied. "They were taken under Imperial protection some thirty-seven years ago. Mostly, they supply minerals - dilithium, pergium -"

"I'm not interested," the Captain said shortly. "So long as their cargo fleet is prepared to depart, I don't care what's in it. Science officer?"

"Reading ships on scan, sir." The science officer looked up from her screen. "There is something odd about the formation...."

"On screen." The Captain sat forward in his command chair, studying the image. "Curious. If I did not know better, I would have thought that a combat formation, not a convoy...."

"Scanning." The science officer's eyes widened. "Sir, power levels and mass readings confirm, those are not cargo vessels! Seventeen light warships, frigate-class, and three... I'm not sure of the class, sir. Larger, and with odd power fluctations. But definitely not freighters."

"Threat assessment?"

"Siohonin frigates are lightly armed and flimsy in construction," the science officer said. "They are proscribed by treaty from constructing military-standard ships.... A single frigate is no match for a Kamarag cruiser like ourselves, but in such numbers, they may have a tactical advantage."

"May have." The Captain considered. The science officer was, obviously, reluctant to suggest retreating, in the face of a supposedly inferior enemy - but odds of twenty to one would tell, no matter what the difference in quality. All those light frigates had to do, the Captain thought, was to get lucky once. And then there were the other three ships, the unknown quantity -

"Open a comms channel," he ordered, "and stand ready for warp speed, in case we must withdraw to obtain reinforcements."

"Channel open," the communications officer reported, promptly.

"This is the IKS raD Hol," the Captain announced. There was no visual; the screen was blank. Never mind, the Captain thought, they can see my frown. "We are here to collect the tribute due from your system. Where is your freighter fleet? Explain yourselves!"

For a second, there was no response. Then a voice said, "In the name of Sebreac Tharr... we rebuke you, Klingon."

"Sir!" There was urgency in the science officer's voice. "Massive subspace rupture! Building between those three ships!"

"Evasive maneuvers!"

The raD Hol slewed and jinked, as space nearby boiled and twisted, blue Cherenkov emissions mixing with the mangled light of nearby stars. The Klingon cruiser was fast, but not quite fast enough.

Damage control lights flashed across the bridge, and the ship shuddered. "Report!" snapped the Captain.

"It went right through the shields!" the engineering officer shouted. "Whatever it was - it went through the shields, and hit the starboard nacelle!"

"The frigates are moving," the exec reported. "Approaching on intercept vectors."

The Captain bared his teeth. "What is our status?"

The engineer's face was pale. "Sir... the starboard nacelle is breached. Non-functional."

Silence fell across the bridge, to be broken by the Captain. "Well," he said, in almost conversational tones, "we cannot establish a warp field with one nacelle down. And it seems our friends outside are unlikely to allow us time to make repairs." He actually smiled. "So, tonight we dine in Sto'vo'kor. All power to forward weapons! Let us see how many we can send on ahead to announce us."