"What the hell happened to her ship?" I ask.
The Leacock is filling my viewscreen, and she looks distinctly different. There are greyish patches on the hull, and along the sweeping blades of the nacelles - and they are outlined with a faintly glimmering, greenish light, which makes me uneasy. I've seen something like that before. But I can't remember where or when, and it bothers me.
"Whatever it is," says Win, poised over the scanner, "it didn't do her any harm - quite the reverse, I think. Her shield power is reading higher than before... there's something odd about the frequencies, though...."
"Hail from the Leacock," Kara Grant interrupts.
"Put it on screen."
The ship's image vanishes, replaced by Carolyn Caird's face. She looks a bit less bouncy, somehow. "Harrier. This is the Leacock. We need tae hae a wee chat."
"What's up?"
"We got jumped by a Klingon battlecruiser near Priyanapari, an' she was way too powerful fer a standard D7. Ye may hae seen th' fireworks."
I shoot a questioning glance at Win. "We did register some energy discharges a little while back," he says. "Too far away to resolve them, though."
"Fireworks don't seem to have done you any harm," I say to Caird.
"Dinnae believe it. We had tae bug oot an' mak' repairs. Plugged in some upgrades, right enough, along th' way. Point is, yon D7 is bad news." She holds up something in her hand - the square shape of a standard data cart. "I hae some upgrade packages here fer ye, they may help if ye need tae tak' on yon Klingon lassie."
I frown. I'm not sure about plugging a set of unknown "upgrades" into my computer systems - and how good can they be, if they're just a software hack? - and besides, there's the obvious factor to consider. "She's not allowed to cause me any trouble," I point out. "Organian treaty."
"Ah'd guess she's on the look oot fer loopholes, there," says Caird. "Ah agree, she'll no' be able tae claim ye're a Xindi warship in front o' th' Organians, but that'll nae be ony consolation fer ye if ye're deid, am Ah right?"
"What loopholes are there? This is a Starfleet ship, for crying out loud."
"Aye, mebbe, but Ah widnae tak' a chance, mysel'." Caird looks genuinely worried. "Ah'll transport this over tae ye, ye can use it if ye have tae. But we need tae -" She stops, and looks off-screen at something.
At the science station, Win Moorcroft suddenly turns around. "I'm reading a massive energy discharge - and a surge in chronitons. Coordinates seven four mark three hundred, range roughly two two four -"
"It's a temporal portal," says Caird, "an' someone's comin' through. Gie me a visual!" she yells at one of her bridge crew.
"Me, too," I tell Win. "On screen. Best magnification you've got."
Caird's face is replaced by a lurching starscape as Win tries to focus on the disturbance. It settles in the centre of the screen; an eye-wrenching funnel of blue-white light, and something emerging from it - long, red, bat-winged and disturbingly organic -
"Na'kuhl battlecruiser." Caird's voice. "Trouble, but we should be able tae tak' her on. But she's no' comin' oor way -"
"Confirmed." T'Pren is Vulcanly imperturbable as always. "Alien vessel is on course for Priyanapari at high impulse speed."
Oh boy. I'm not sure I'm meant to know about the Na'kuhl, but that's the problem with time-travelling bad guys, they tend to show up in the history books when they're not meant to. "Does your software package give me anything that'll handle that beast?" I ask.
"Mebbe. Or mebbe no'. Dinnae chance it."
"Where'd it come from? Or when?"
"That," says Caird's voice, "is a verra interestin' question. Ah'm gettin' really weird parameters from yon temporal portal - it leads somewhere pretty damn peculiar. Ah wonder...."
"Keep on wondering," I say. "In the meantime, I'm going in. Helm. Set course for Priyanapari, maximum impulse. Comms, broadcast our Starfleet ID and diplomatic privileges." Every Starfleet captain has to be able to act as an ambassador, sometimes, and we at least have comms codes to help.
"Whit?" Caird sounds incredulous. "Whit are ye daein', fer Christ's sake?"
"Going in to find out what's going on," I say firmly. "If the Klingons are doing a deal with the Na'kuhl right under our noses, I want to at least see what they're dealing about. The Federation needs a presence in this - whatever's going on. And the Harrier is the only actual Starfleet ship on the spot, so we're going in." I feel the surge of power as the impulse drive kicks in. "If your magic data cart can help, send it. But we're not doing any good stooging around on the perimeter of the system."
There is a blessed silence, for a moment, from the other end of the comms link. Then a grudging voice says, "Aye, mebbe. But ye're puttin' yersel' at risk. OK. Yon data cart should be comin' through yer transporter room. But listen -"
"They already have you pegged as a hostile. Stay out here, do whatever you need to do with that temporal portal." On the screen, the twisty funnel of light has closed already, but Caird must have plenty of sensors and things that will tell her things about where it was and where it went. I hope. "In the meantime, we're going to have a peaceful discussion with our friends the Klingons. And their friends." And with luck, some of us might still be alive at the end of it. "Grau out."
---
The flight doesn't take long. The flight takes a distressingly short time, in fact. It takes long enough, though, for Kara Grant to go down to the transporter room and return with a palm-sized square of yellow plastic, suitable for insertion into the readers in my command chair. I turn it over, pensively, in my fingers, as Priyanapari swells in the viewer.
"Positive fix on the Na'kuhl ship," says Win. "And - I'm reading the Klingon. ID reads as IKS Hov'etlh, but that is not a standard D7's power signature. No way."
"So chalk one up to the wee Scotch lassie," I say, "that's what she told us to expect. Let's start hailing them."
"Go to red alert?" suggests Win.
"No, we shouldn't, we're meant to be peaceful. Yellow. Go to yellow. Maybe with a bit more urgency... orange? Can we do an orange alert?" Win gives me such a look. "Just keep hailing. They've got to answer somehow." They might answer with a barrage of Na'kuhl chronoplasma weapons, of course... well, I'll just have to risk that. "Anyway. We've got our secret weapon, we should be OK."
"Are you going to use that data thing?" Stulk demands.
I give the Tellarite a sly smile. "Our other secret weapon," I say. Stulk looks nonplussed.
"I have a response from the Klingons," says Kara.
"On screen."
A fierce Klingon face appears. "This is Captain Kirza of the Hov'etlh. Starfleet. Your presence is not required here. You are instructed to depart."
"This is Captain Veronika Grau of the USS Harrier," I say cheerfully. "What the heck, call me Ronnie, everyone does. We're on a fact-finding mission in this neutral system, and we'd like to confer with you and your associates, under the terms of the Organian Treaty. That reminds me, we've got an observer aboard who's keen to make sure everyone sticks to that treaty. Clefune, care to show yourself?"
This is going to be so embarrassing if I'm wrong.
But I'm not. There is a breath of wind across the bridge, and a breath of heat, and then light glares, and fades, and the Organian is there. I figured, if he was worried enough to put in a personal appearance, there was no way he'd just pop up once and vanish back to Organia. He has to be under orders to keep an eye on the situation. Whatever it is.
Kirza's face is a picture. Her mouth works, but nothing comes out of it.
"So there we are," I say. "Harrier will make standard orbit in -" I check the readouts "- fifteen minutes, and then we can all have a nice chat about Priyanapari, under the eyes of a neutral and unbiased observer. I'm just itching to know what it is you've found there, myself. See you shortly. Grau out." I cut the channel before Kirza can think of anything to say.
Clefune can, though. "This is unwise," he hisses at me. "Most unwise. Seriously, you have no conception of how unwise this is -"
"Care to explain why?" I ask.
"There are factors -"
"- of which I am unaware," I finish for him. "Some day, I hope I'll find out what those factors are." The Organian glares at me. I really shouldn't make this super-powered energy being mad at me, I suppose.
But if Kirza, and the Na'kuhl, know he's here... even in her souped-up battlecruiser, with the Na'kuhl ship on hand to help, she's still going to think twice about blasting the Harrier out of space. For now, at least, Kirza has to play nice.
For now.
"Well," I say, "if you're not going to explain your factors... I'm just going to have to use my own initiative, aren't I?"
Clefune is just looking miserable, now. I think he wants to say something... but his better judgement is telling him to keep his mouth shut. There is clearly a lot going on that I don't know about. I suppose I should be worried. Then again, if Clefune knows about these unknown factors of his, maybe I should leave the worrying to him.
I have a lot of questions. Maybe, the miserable-looking planet ahead of me has some answers.
"OK, then," I say. "Priyanapari, here we come."
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