His large hands playing over the tactical console that seemed too small to accommodate his oversized, muscled physique, Tonar consulted an array of status monitors. “I do not believe so, Captain. They are not showing power readings on the same scale as the locations which combined to attack us. However, the original four sites appear to be cycling through their earlier power levels and internal temperatures are rising.” Turning to Kutal, he added, “They may be preparing to fire again.”
Kutal shook his head in mounting anger. “What has Morqla released from the depths of that cursed rock?”
The governor’s harried, fragmented report had offered little in the way of useful information. At first confronted by the brazen, if ultimately futile, series of raids and disruptions set into motion by segments of the planet’s native inhabitants, Morqla and his garrison apparently had been forced to direct their efforts and focus to a new, more powerful threat, with numbers of his warriors facing off against mysterious humanoid figures that seemed more like wraiths or apparitions than physical beings. More surprising to Kutal even than this outlandish account were the claims that Morqla’s troops were being bested by a mere handful of these creatures, with the unknown assailants taking on and killing dozens of Klingon soldiers.
The very notion is as obscene as it is absurd. Kutal felt his jaw clench and his jagged teeth grind in frustration as the thought coalesced, knowing even as it did so that his brusque dismissal of the notion was incorrect. Morqla, despite his many flaws, was not given to flights of fancy or irrationality. His report, coupled with the happenings beneath the planet’s surface and the attack on the Zin’za,told Kutal everything he needed to know about just how serious the situation was in danger of becoming.
“Damage reports are coming in now, Captain,” said Lieutenant Kreq, his communications officer, who had taken the initiative to transfer the functions of his regular station to one of the smaller, backup consoles at the back of the bridge. “There is a coolant leak in weapons control, and engineering reports that antimatter containment has been weakened. He may have to take the warp engines offline.”
Kutal growled in dissatisfaction, shaking his head in disgust as he considered the idiot currently serving as the Zin’za’s chief engineer. “Tell him if he does that, I’ll personally see to it that he’s ground up and fed to the jeghpu’wI’on the planet.” Had the fool never seen combat? To even suggest that the ship deliberately be deprived of its primary power systems at such a time was ignorance at best, and treasonous at worst.
He made a note to execute the engineer at the earliest possible opportunity. For now, there were other matters to consider.
“So, it seems this planet has more to offer than even the High Command first realized,” Kutal said to no one in particular as the annoying, wailing alarm finally was silenced. Illumination on the bridge was now a deep red in keeping with the ship’s heightened alert level, and a quick glance to the tactical station along the left bulkhead told him that the Zin’za’s deflector shields were still up, though their strength had been weakened by the unexpected attack from the planet’s surface.
Naturally, he should have suspected something untoward the moment Tonar reported weapons fire coming from the settlement where Governor Morqla had elected to establish headquarters for his planetary occupation. The activation of the power source—located beneath the same village where Dr. Terath had been concentrating her research since her arrival—seemed to be an additional warning he should have heeded.
Hindsight is a crutch for politicians,he reminded himself, and warriors unable to adapt to the flow of battle.
Turning to his tactical officer, Kutal said, “Target those locations and stand by weapons.” His brow furrowing, he added, “Was one of the sites beneath Morqla’s headquarters?”
The tactical officer shook his head, the gesture causing his long, wild hair to twist about his broad shoulders. “No, Captain.”
“A pity,” Kutal replied. He possessed little respect for the governor, Terath, or any of her ilk. It might have been nice to eliminate two problems with a single strike. “What caused those power generations? Was it Terath?”
“Unknown,” Tonar replied. “I’m not able to establish contact with the research team or Governor Morqla.”
It had been several moments since the initial reports of disruptor fire from the surface, and Tonar had reported sensor indications of fires emanating from structures from six different settlements scattered throughout the region where Morqla had centered his occupation. From high above the planet, the scenario appeared easy to describe: The natives of Palgrenax had become discontent with their roles as servants to the empire, and finally had summoned the courage to do something about it.
Kutal respected the Palgrenai’s bravery and apparent resolve to stand up to a superior foe and do their best to drive their oppressors from their home, even though the cold reality was that their efforts ultimately would prove pitiful and fruitless. Still, he thought, it might have at least been invigorating to be on the planet’s surface right now, participating in the quelling of the uprising.
Not that he lacked his own matters to deal with at present, of course.
His attention was drawn to a series of tones emanating from the tactical station, and he turned to see Tonar looking at him. “Captain, our sensors are registering a low-level communications signal being transmitted between the different underground sites, as well as to whoever is attacking our forces on the ground. It’s a scrambled signal, employing an encryption scheme I have never seen before.”
“Can the transmissions be jammed?” Kutal asked.
Tonar shook his head. “I have already tried, sir, but there is no effect.”
Impressive technology,the Zin’za’s captain ceded, particularly given that by all accounts the responsible civilization had been dead for uncounted millennia. “If we cannot squelch it, then we shall remove it altogether. Target the source of those transmissions.” Nodding in satisfaction at his own plan, Kutal swiveled his chair back around so that he faced the bridge’s main viewer once more. “Helmsman, prepare to alter course. Tactical, stand by for orbital bombardment.”
Behind him, he heard Tonar enter several series of commands before announcing, “Targets plotted, Captain.”
Whatever had deigned to attack soldiers of the Klingon Empire—to say nothing of one of the emperor’s finest battle cruisers—Kutal vowed to demonstrate the foolhardiness of that ill-informed choice.
Pain!
Though not unexpected as they were during the first assault, the all-encompassing waves of agony washed yet again over the Shedai Wanderer as a second of her Sentinels succumbed to the irrepressible power of weapons the Telinaruulhad brought to bear. The energy from that initial attack had taken her by surprise; so unprepared was she for such an aggressive defense that she nearly failed to sever her connection to the overwhelmed Sentinel.
As it was, only frantic last-instant action had enabled her to withdraw the tendrils extending from her mind and pull them back to the safety of the Conduit. Ensconced within the depths of what had once been a proud monument to her civilization’s technological prowess and the alacrity with which they had employed that knowledge to rule this entire region of space, the Wanderer registered the torment exacted upon the guardians she had sent forth as though the wounds were being inflicted on herself. So painstaking in detail and precision was the connection she shared with her servants that every sense was as if experienced firsthand. From the warm breeze that failed to cool her, to the bright lights being shone upon her as her opponents attacked from the predawn shadows, to the shock of tortured nerve endings reacting to the particle beams being directed at those she commanded, the Wanderer was immersed in all of these sensations as though it were her standing on the surface.