Red alert, over a long period, is hard to sustain. Tallasa and Jhemyl, being Andorian, don't need regular sleep cycles and can stay lively... for a while. Haloy's Rigelian */*species 5102*/* face is unreadable, and certainly doesn't show fatigue. Leo Madena on comms, though, is starting to look distinctly ragged around the edges. Come to think of it, I doubt I'm any oil painting myself.
*/*fatigue toxins rising---
reprocessing of blood factors at 87% and declining---
neural stress levels elevated 118%---
switch to regenerative mode required within 47 hours---*/*
Oh, be quiet, you. Anyway, sleep is for tortoises. Said so before.
"Are we getting anywhere yet?" I ask Leo. He shakes his head dumbly. To be honest, I don't see any reasonable way of getting past the Gorn jamming, but it doesn't hurt to ask.
"Tuataras are moving again, sir," says Tallasa.
Every so often, the cruisers come in for a probing attack. So far, it's just been indecisive skirmishing, with the Gorn ships scuttling away fast when we hit them with tetryon fire. I always worry, though, in case they've come up with some new wrinkle I haven't thought of. "Vectors?" I ask.
"None on approach. They seem to be... circling. I think they've just changed their patrol pattern, sir, that's all."
"OK. Keep an eye on them, though." Superfluous advice, but what the heck, commanding officers get to give it.
"Sir," says Leo. "I have a transmission coming in. It's the Gorn, sir."
"Whoopee," I say, with noticeable sarcasm. "All right, let's hear him."
A new image appears on the screen. Ssurt is standing in what looks like a Starfleet briefing room; it's with something of a shock that I realize how tall he is. Well, the bigger they are, and so forth.... "Vice Admiral Grau," he says. "I wonder if you have given any more thought to the matter of surrendering yourself?"
"Yeah, well," I say, "I keep mulling it over, and you know what? It still seems like a lousy idea."
"Let me see if I can persuade you otherwise," says Ssurt. "As you may have gathered, I have gained access to the Delta Gracilis station. Let me show you one of the things I found aboard it."
He makes an imperious gesture with one taloned hand, and two more massive Gorn step into the frame, dragging a third figure between them; a cringing female Ferengi */*species 180*/* in a Starfleet science commander's uniform. Tylha's computer whiz, Klerupiru.
"Ferengi," says Ssurt. The two Gorn troopers let Klerupiru go, and she drops to her knees. "I suppose, Vice Admiral Grau, that - like me - you consider one Ferengi more or less to be of little account." And there is a disruptor pistol in his hand.
I jump to my feet. "No!"
Klerupiru wails. Ssurt turns towards her, aims the pistol, fires. There is a flash of green light, and deathly silence, save for the body slumping inertly to the floor.
"No," I say again, in a whisper this time.
"One Ferengi is not important," says Ssurt. "The Vulcan, though, you may consider of some personal significance. And then there is the Andorian. Starfleet made her a Vice Admiral like yourself, evidently she is of value. I will give you some time to consider this, while I choose the subject for my next demonstration. You have five minutes." The screen goes blank.
"No," I say, stupidly, to myself. I can't think of anything else to say.
"Sir -" says Tallasa, and stops. Starfleet regulations don't cover situations like this. There is a ghastly silence all around the bridge. It seems to last forever.
Unexpectedly, it's Leo Madena who breaks it. "It's, um, it was - it was a fake, sir."
I whirl round to face him. "What?"
"I'm pretty sure," says Leo. "Uh, I'm checking now, but - well, it's, um, Ferengi Execution 104. Standard, umm, holoprogram. Re-skinned with a Starfleet uniform. Yeah." He fiddles with his console, and the image of Klerupiru's cringing form appears again on the screen. "See under the left armpit, there? Skin, clipping through the uniform. Uh, rush job of programming, I think, sir."
I feel an enormous sensation of relief. I peer intently at the screen. He's right, there's bare flesh poking through the uniform, where it shouldn't be. "Ferengi Execution 104?" I ask.
"Standard program in a lot of holo-libraries, sir."
"They made a Ferengi snuff holo? They made a hundred and three others, before it? Who the hell would want something like that?"
"Anyone who's ever done business with a Ferengi?" Tallasa asks wryly. The sense of relief is as pervasive as the earlier shock.
"What are you doing watching stuff like that?" Leo's ears turn red and he doesn't answer. "Never mind." I shake my head. "It just goes to show, you never do know what'll turn out to be useful. OK, people, let's get ready for act two, then." I sit back down in the command chair and compose myself.
It doesn't take long before Ssurt reappears on the screen. Despite everything, my heart skips a beat when I see that this time, it is Saval being held between two Gorn guards.
*/*inaccurate---
cardiovascular anomaly not detected---
some elevated stress levels only---*/*
Shut up. Ssurt is fondling his disruptor pistol in a positively unhealthy fashion. "So, Vice Admiral Grau," he says. "Do you have anything to say, before I proceed with my next demonstration?"
I really, really hope Leo is right about this. "Nope," I say. "Carry on."
Ssurt's yellow eyes open wide at that. "What?"
"I said, carry on. Shoot as many holograms as you like. We've got popcorn."
Ssurt snarls. He makes a gesture with his free hand, and Saval, the Gorn troopers, and the briefing room behind him all fade away, leaving behind only the bare wires of a Klingon-style holodeck.
"I'll admit," I say, "you had us worried for a minute."
"I can bombard that station," says Ssurt, "blast it and your friends into rubble."
"It's a big station, and Tylha's probably found a dozen secure boltholes now," I say. "You'll need your whole force to pound it flat enough to be sure of killing her, and while you're pounding, we'll be escaping."
"I will pull you out of your bolthole." Ssurt's tone is getting uglier. "I will tractor those asteroids away and expose you."
"I thought of that one. Same thing applies. You'd need to concentrate all your ships on one vector to get a good hold on those big rocks, and if your force is concentrated in one place, we can slip out through all the places it's not."
"Then consider this. It will not require nearly as much force and precision to collapse that asteroid cluster -"
"To push the rocks into each other and crush our ships," I interrrupt. "Yeah, right. And how flat do your employers want me, exactly? For that matter, who are they? You still haven't said."
Ssurt glares. "This is not over," he hisses, and cuts the connection.
"Trouble is," I muse, "he's right about that part."
"There's a way out of any cage, sir," says Tallasa grimly. Waitaminute. Wasn't that Chris Pike? When did Tallasa start doing quotations?
"Sir," says Leo, "I've got the Tapiola on the laser channel."
"OK," I say, "let's hear them."
T'Pia appears on the screen. She is small and perfectly formed as always - I must look like something the cat dragged in by now, but T'Pia has not one ginger hair out of place. "I have good news," she says.
"Oh, wow. Great. That'll make a change from Ssurt's charm offensive, anyway. Did you see that transmission?"
"I did," says T'Pia. "Your analysis of the true situation was swift, I must congratulate you. In any event, it is of transmissions that I wish to speak. I believe we may have a way to send a message through the jamming."
That perks me up, enough to make me jump out of the command chair. "How? How does it work, and can we get a message back?"
"We have not been idle during our time here," says T'Pia. "Long-range sensors have located several of Ssurt's transphasic mines, and also two of his subspace jamming beacons. They are too far from the asteroid cluster for us to find a firing solution with our main armament, but I have analysed the jamming patterns, and I believe Tapiola can create a resonant subspace pulse which will cancel out the jammers. They will, of course, automatically remodulate and adapt, but there will be a brief window of opportunity in which we can transmit a general distress call."
"Right," I say, "right. Sounds like a plan to me. What do you need from us?"
"Tapiola's subspace antennae must be entirely devoted to creating the resonant pulse. We will need Falcon actually to transmit the distress call. Your communications officer appears to be competent, which is fortunate, as the operation will have to be very precisely coordinated."
"Right." I shoot a quick glance over at Leo. He looks worried, but he nods assent. He's doing all right, is Leo. I shall be sorry to lose him, when he comes to his senses and asks for a transfer.
"OK," I say. "Standard priority one distress call, and... can we include a data packet? Some quick precis of the Gorn forces in the area? Maybe?"
"I'll try, sir." Game lad.
"Transmitting requisite data over the laser link now," says T'Pia. "Please indicate when your timers are synchronized with ours."
"Yes, sir." Leo's fingers fly over his console. The message, when the time comes, will have to be sent automatically - there is no way human reflexes can match the mechanical ones on the Gorn's jamming beacons - but Leo has to program the whole process in advance, and I'm hoping he's setting it up right. "Transmission recorded and ready. Timers locked in. Tapiola, ready when you are."
T'Pia's head turns. "Begin the pulse," she orders.
I don't see or hear anything happen. I hate it when a battle's fought at a level my senses can't even register. There are some funny jagged lines on one of my console displays, and that's it. I can't even say for sure whether they were related, darn it.
"Transmission sent, sir," says Leo.
"Any acknowledgement?" I ask, knowing the answer full well in advance.
"No, sir."
"It was not to be expected," says T'Pia. "The nearest subspace relay post to our position would not have time to generate and transmit a response before the Gorn jammers locked down again." For a moment, it almost looks like a faint shadow of emotion clouds her brow. "We must anticipate that the Gorn will respond to this by continuously remodulating the jammer frequencies. We will not be able to attempt the same stratagem again."
"So, now," I say, "nothing to do but... wait and see if it worked."
I'm really lousy at the waiting thing. I huddle in the command chair and sulk, and fret. About half the time, I'm fretting about the message and whether it got through or not. The other half, I'm fretting about my big concern....
We're here because Q's cryptic - or drunken - words pointed Tylha towards Tamik's device. A quantum reality manipulator, it's the sort of thing Q might well be interested in. And Q, being Q, must have known about the Gorn mercenaries... in fact, there is no reason why Q couldn't be the mysterious employer of the Gorn mercenaries. This whole situation might be a Q-designed set-up.
And if it is... my worry is, it might be set up with only one end in view. To leave us trapped, with no way out except a truly desperate measure...
Turning Dr. Tamik's machine back on.
---
But it turns out, a bit later, I needn't have worried. Not about that, at least. Our message was received, and we get proof of it, in the most direct and unambiguous manner you could imagine.
One moment, everything is quiet, except for the ceaseless circling of Ssurt's task force. Then, suddenly, a rash of brilliant dots stipples the starfield, as if it's suddenly broken out in a half-dozen new constellations. And then, in amidst those bright dots - each one a destroyed Gorn mine - there is a welcome sight indeed. Federation starships, crashing out of subspace, shields up, and guns hot.
King Estmere is there, surrounded by her Mesh Weavers and T'Pia's support frigates. And the big carrier has found some friends from somewhere - the massive forms of four of the new Guardian class cruisers. I didn't think those were past the field trials stage, yet, but these four certainly seem to be working just fine.
Two of Ssurt's patrolling Tuatara cruisers are within range of the Guardians as they emerge. Space crackles with phaser fire as the big ships throw all they've got - and they've got plenty. The Gorn ships vanish in fiery blazes of light.
As for King Estmere - I've been of the opinion for some time, now, that Tylha's exec, Anthi Vihl, secretly has the hots for her boss. An unfortunate Varanus now discovers exactly what happens when you get between a frustrated Imperial Guard zhen and her would-be girlfriend. King Estmere's plasma banks blaze, and the Mesh Weavers add their tetryon barrages to the mix, and all of a sudden that Gorn ship is dead, killed hard enough, probably, to send shockwaves back in time and ruin the crews' parents' first dates.
"Transmissions coming in, sir," says a sleepless Leo Madena.
"Let's hear them. And let's move." I sketch in a course on my tac display.
A new voice makes itself heard on the bridge "- Gorn ships in the Delta Gracilis system. This is Rear Admiral Stuyvesant aboard the USS Custodian. Stand down and surrender your vessels. You are under arrest. Any attempt at resistance will be met with maximum force. I repeat: to all Gorn ships in the Delta Gracilis system -"
Ssurt's ships, patrolling to allow us no avenue of escape, are scattered around the asteroids and the station. If he could link them up, he could still make a fight of it, but that massive, compact force of heavy starships can overwhelm any isolated elements and destroy them in detail. My job, therefore, is to join up with that compact force, and help keep Ssurt's ships scattered.
Falcon leaps forward, squeezing neatly through a gap between two county-sized rocks. There is a single Tuatara on the other side, waiting for us, and I feel an almost unhealthy thrill as our beam banks and plasma torps cut loose. The Gorn ship gets off a volley which makes our forward shield flare, and then our weapons bludgeon their shields down and shred their hull. The Tuatara spins away, one warp nacelle coming loose, air and flames gushing from the rents in its hull.
T'Pia is moving too; Tapiola skips nimbly out of the asteroids and guts a passing Phalanx before turning her attention to another Tuatara. The Gorn cruiser advances, firing disruptors, hard and fast. Tapiola's shields flare and flicker, and the science vessel seems to falter for a moment... and then the Tuatara, suddenly, is wallowing helplessly in an induced gravity well, and a heavy thermionic disruption torpedo brings down its shields, and Tapiola's tetryon arrays finish the job.
"Hard about, niner seven mark three eight three! Try and plug us in to the Custodian's tactical net!"
"On it, sir. Uh, I have King Estmere on direct link -"
"Put her through!" A cold, hard, blue face appears on my screen. "Commander Vihl. Great to see you."
"We got your distress call, sir. Custodian and her consorts were participating in the - rescue - mission already - when we received your call, Admiral Stuyvesant volunteered to assist."
That assistance has cost Ssurt another two cruisers by the end of that sentence. "Tylha is still aboard the station, as far as I know. Can you bring King Estmere round to pick her up?"
"Tactical situation permitting, yes, sir. I believe Admiral Stuyvesant wishes to speak to you. I will take King Estmere in as soon as resistance is dest- ceases."
Falcon is dashing across space, now, towards the Guardian cruisers and the shelter of their guns. The remaining Gorn ships are moving in several different directions. I'm guessing some of them want to try and catch the Falcon, but most of them want someone else to try and catch the Falcon. Tapiola is cruising smoothly on by our side, tetryon arrays snapping out at any Gorn ship that looks like it's getting close.
"Vice Admiral Grau." Stuyvesant's voice. "Sir, as senior tactical officer present in this system, you are entitled to assume command of my battle group should you wish -"
"No need, Rear Admiral, no need. You and your guys are doing a lovely job." I'm starting to feel light-hearted. And light-headed. "Leo, can you try and get me Ssurt? He's got to know he's beaten by now."
"On it, sir."
"Custodian and Paladin will cover your approach, sir," says Stuyvesant. OK, Ronnie, relax and let someone else handle the tactical planning. "Protector and Yeoman will support King Estmere on her path to the station. Assuming all goes to plan, we will link up at point -"
"I have the Zo'ar," Leo Madena interrupts.
"OK. Let's see if we can finish this up without any more shooting. Put him on."
Ssurt's face appears on the screen. I can't read his expression.
"General. You lose. Don't throw any more lives away. Tell your ships to stand down."
"I still have resources." The hissing voice is laden with wounded Gorn pride. "My minefield and my jammers -"
"Will be cleared as soon as we get round to sweeping them up! How many more ships do you want to throw in front of our guns? You're not a Klingon, Ssurt, you don't need to go out in a blaze of glory, and you owe it to your crews not to get them killed!"
Ssurt bares his teeth, and I am very glad that he's on the screen and not face to face with me in the flesh. "You are - regrettably - correct," he says. He turns his massive head. "Pass the word to the squadron. Stand down. Surrender."
Euphoria washes over me. "Sensible decision," I tell him. "Now listen." I can't help it, I always start to babble at times like this. "We need to have a nice cosy chat about things, you and me and Starfleet Intelligence, like who your employers actually are, and what they want with me, and why they can't simply ask for me to come and -"
I don't get any further with that sentence before a red light closes around me and takes me away.
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