It's ridiculous, but after so long on the King Estmere, a standard Starfleet bridge layout seems strange. Or maybe it's just the position I'm sitting in.
I look at the strategic display on the flag console. My force - officially, now, Task Group Vitruvius - is on final approach to Gimel Vessaris, individual elements moving into the tactical posture I have planned. It's, in theory, a flexible one, with light forces surrounding three cores of heavy units. I should be able to catch any smaller group of ships between my fleet and the planetary defences, englobe them and destroy them in detail.
King Estmere is at the heart of one of the three detachments. The Tholian carrier is almost dwarfed, though, by a monstrous Breen Sarr Theln, and one of the new Jupiter-class ships. Three carriers, backed up by Guardian- and Odyssey-class cruisers and several flights of tactical escorts. A solid core of firepower, with the ability to project force fast and effectively.
On the other side of me, a different tactical mix, intelligence ships and science vessels clustering round the flattened, angular shape of the intel cruiser Airly Beacon. Two of my best special assets are in that battle group, the temporal-anomaly science vessel the Indra, and her snub-nosed, lethal counterpart from a different timeline, the Ratri. Between them, a Wells-class and a Mobius-class should be able to come up with quite a few surprises for any attackers....
But there should be no surprises from the central core of the fleet, where I am now. This is pure firepower, projected by waves of frigates and heavy cruisers, by Andorian escorts like Spirits of Earth and her sister ships... and centred on the might of the massive command battlecruisers.
I broke one of my own rules for those command ships. Gustav Holst wrote a lot of music, but he's mainly remembered for just one piece, the "Planets" suite, with its individual movements named after the worlds of Earth's home system. I've always, in the past, thought that was too obvious to use. But I had access to three cruisers fresh from the yards, and I was in a hurry -
So, a few kilometres below me and to my left is the USS Neptune, and a short way above and to my right is the USS Saturn, and here I am on the bridge of the USS Mars, and I am trying very hard not to think about the sub-title of that particular piece.
Mars. The Bringer of War.
I hear the turbolift doors hiss open, and Anthi Vihl strides onto the bridge. I don't know what she's been doing - some part of the busy-work that keeps a good exec occupied. She crosses the bridge, and for once her face has a slightly puzzled look about it, as she confronts the empty seats at the centre. She shoots me a look.
I point. "Centre seat, Flag Captain Vihl."
Her eyes flash and her antennae twitch with - some emotion. I don't know what, because she suppresses it faster than a Vulcan would. She takes the command chair, looking as if she was born to it. Which, of course, she was. Anthi, dependable, loyal and brave... a credit to her Imperial Guard ancestors... she should have had ship command long, long ago.
She consults the command console, now. "USS Mars at battle readiness. Your orders, Admiral?"
I take a deep breath. This is it. "Fleet address. Put me live."
And it takes far too few seconds before the CHANNEL OPEN light flashes green.
"All ships, this is Admiral Shohl. We are on final approach to Gimel Vessaris. So far, we have no indication of hostiles in-system, so we will proceed by defence plan Delta, occupying the intermediate orbitals around the planet and securing the asteroid bases." Gimel Vessaris's small moonlets aren't much of an asset, but we have to hold them. "Given time, we'll establish regular patrols around the system boundaries which will alert us to incoming hostiles. Our best guess is, though, that the Nausicaans are moving in quickly, so we have to stand ready to defend the planet at short notice."
Time for another deep breath, which I hope no one notices. "We have sufficient numbers and capability here to fend off anything short of a full-scale invasion, and we will have the planet's own defensive satellite grid to fall back on. In the event of attack, we will bracket enemy forces between our tactical groups and destroy them with crossfire. However, let's remember that force is a last resort. If the Nausicaans arrive, we will try to negotiate their peaceful withdrawal. Let me emphasize that we open fire only in immediate self-defence, or to defend Federation civilians. We're Starfleet. We're going to act like it." I make a final check on the console. "Approaching system boundary now. Prepare to slow to impulse. Fleet to yellow alert."
Streaking stars slow to motionless dots on the viewer, and the planet looms up. Gimel Vessaris. I was born there... I nearly died there. It isn't much - a marginal colony world with a climate only Andorians could love. But it's a Federation world with Federation citizens, and our job is to protect it.
"Connecting with satellite defence grid." Cordul is on the comms station, handling it with stolid competence. "Data telemetry coming through... targeting linked in with our tac net."
"Deploy on plan Delta," I order. "Flagship to coordinates -"
"Incoming contacts," Three of Eight interrupts me. "Inbound vector seven four two. Multiple heavy units, confirmed KDF signatures."
A hard knot contracts in my stomach. Just in time. We got here just in time. The rash of red icons is already filling one outer segment of the strategic display -
There's a lot of them. The computer is already making tentative identifications - Ravager and Balaur dreadnoughts, Vo'quv and Kar'fi carriers, a hulking Klinzhai command cruiser that's at least the equal of my ship. It's not as big a force as some of those we sacrificed in the Iconian War. It is at least the equal of Task Group Vitruvius. And it isn't slowing down.
I hit the general address button. "All ships. Red alert. Battle stations."
The alarms sound, and red lights glare on my bridge. I turn to Cordul. "Open hailing frequencies. We need to talk to them."
"Trying it, sir." He frowns over his console. "I have a hail. From the Nausicaan dreadnought Zlatchko."
I stand up, and tug at my uniform tunic, making sure it's straight. "On screen."
I know the face that appears on the main screen. I've seen it before. Here, when we took Gimel Vessaris back. Gvochkorr. His eyes are glaring, his mouth open, baring his tusks in a grimace. "Starfleet. Shohl," he says. "I was going to offer you the chance to withdraw peacefully -"
"I'll make you that offer," I say. Gvochkorr. He ruled Gimel Vessaris as an Imperial labour camp, and when we finally made peace with the Klingons, he tried to have me assassinated anyway. I have to try to forget that. I have to try. "This is a Federation colony world. Your forces have no business here. You are requested, formally, to withdraw from this star system."
"This star system is Nausicaan territory!" Gvochkorr snarls. "I have proof! And I will not make peace, Shohl, not now I see you - I am here for your hide! And I will smash your paltry little fleet to get it!"
"The Nausicaan government has no claim on this system. I have proof of that, from one of your own ships. Stand down and withdraw your fleet, Gvochkorr. This is a Federation world, and we will defend it."
"I will have your hide! Tacked to my trophy room wall! I will take back what is mine, Shohl, and I will destroy you!" He gestures, and the screen goes blank.
I look down at the strategic display. The KDF force has a lot of ships. The satellites give me an edge... maybe.... But Gvochkorr's force is closing, and closing fast. I have only minutes to get my forces into position -
I frown. Something is wrong, on the display.
"Sir." Anthi's voice. "Klingon and Orion ships are breaking formation."
"Trying to flank us?" It's the sort of tactic I was planning myself. But Anthi shakes her head.
"Confirm," says Three. "The Klingon command vessel is slowing and coming about onto a new heading. The other Klingon ships - and the Orions - are moving with it."
On the display, the cloud of KDF icons is visibly splitting in two. My mind is racing. What are they planning?
"Sir," says Cordul, "I have another incoming hail. From the IKS chIS Hov -"
"On screen." If they want to talk, I want to listen. If they want to explain, all the better.
The screen flashes, and a scarred Klingon face looks out at me. "This is Dahar Master Dhalsell aboard the chIS Hov. Are you Shohl?"
"This is Admiral Shohl aboard the USS Mars."
Dhalsell looks at me through narrowed eyes. His hair and beard are white as snow, as Andorian hair.
"I have received information from the Chancellor," he says. "Apparently, information has come to light which invalidates Gvochkorr's claims regarding this system. The Chancellor orders that we should not support a dishonourable claim based on false information. The Chancellor further orders that we should support our allies in this matter. Accordingly, and at the Chancellor's order, KDF forces in this system will now accept your orders." One corner of his mouth lifts - perhaps in a smile, perhaps in a grimace. "What are your orders, Admiral Shohl?"
Is it a trick? It can't be a trick - the Klingons' movements have shattered Gvochkorr's formation, they've put him at a massive tactical disadvantage. And a Dahar Master - they're not known for lying to their enemies. Or their friends. Whichever one I am, just now.
"Thank you, Dahar Master," I say. "Tie in your tactical command net to mine, using the old Khitomer Accord protocols." I gesture at Cordul, who nods and starts working furiously at the comms console. "Bring your forces to coordinates -" I try to assess the battlefield, try to work out where to put this sudden bounty of allies - if that's what they are "- four seven by two two four. We'll catch Gvochkorr's Nausicaans and Gorn between your ships, my battle groups, and the planetary defence grid."
Dhalsell's eyes flicker rapidly beneath his white brows. "Reasonably sound," he says, rather grudgingly.
"Before we open fire, though," I continue, "let's see if Gvochkorr's got anything to say. Comms."
"Hailing now, sir," says Cordul. "I have.... Got him, sir."
The screen splits. On one side, the glowering impassive shape of the Klingon; on the other, Gvochkorr, his red eyes suddenly wild. "Gvochkorr," I say. I'm damned if I'm giving him any sort of title. "The Imperial government seems to have repudiated this - raid - of yours. Stand down."
"I -" His eyes dart rapidly from side to side. "I will take back what is mine. What is mine. I will not back down from Andorian arrogance and Klingon treason -"
"Treason!" Dhalsell is stung into anger. "You dare accuse a Dahar Master of treachery, you runaway from Rura Penthe?"
"This is my world!" screams Gvochkorr. "My domain! It was promised to me! I will burn you all before I let it go! I will -"
There is a sudden blur of motion on the screen, and Gvochkorr vanishes. Dhalsell and I exchange startled glances. There is nothing on the screen except a blank stretch of wall, nothing on audio but confused scuffling sounds - and then a choked-off scream.
I wait, pulse racing, antennae stiff with expectation.
Another figure appears on the screen in Gvochkorr's place; a large, black-haired Nausicaan in battle armour... with a dripping Tegolar blade in his right fist.
"This is Flag Captain Dr'chelk," he growls. "And this is not a day I choose to die for someone else's ambitions. Former Governor Gvochkorr is no longer a factor. We will depart, now, for Nausicaan territory - with your permission, Admiral, Dahar Master."
And - just like that - it's over.
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