Demands of Honor (10 page)

“You could get out there and find that your phasers won't penetrate their shields,” Scott said.

“True, but that's why I propose affixing a single external photon torpedo to the shuttle and use that to get past their shields. The phasers will take care of the rest. Then we can board and rescue the hostages,” Fuller said.

“You can't be serious,” McCoy said.

“I am, Doctor. This not only will protect the
Enterprise,
but it will help us maintain a greater safety margin for the hostages. If it's a trap, the Klingons will be waiting for a starship. And the moment the
Enterprise
steps over the border, it would light up every sensor and relay in the sector. However, a shuttle may be able to get in undetected. Even if it isn't a trap, the cargo ship would see the
Enterprise
coming at a much greater distance, giving them time to kill off the hostages. A shuttle can take them by surprise and then keep them too occupied to act against the hostages.”

Fuller watched Kirk, deep in thought.

“Jim …,” the doctor began.

“It is a logical way to minimize risk to this ship and the hostages,” Spock said.

“What about the security team?” McCoy asked.

“The risk to them will be greater, with too many variables to calculate odds with any accuracy,” Spock said.

“These are human beings we'd be sending out there, not variables,” McCoy nearly shouted.

Kirk silenced the discussion with a raised hand. He
understood the doctor's concerns; the problem was that there was no way to conduct a rescue operation like this one without significant risks. “Is it technically possible? Mister Scott? Can you outfit a shuttle with phasers and a torpedo quickly?”

“Aye, the phasers are simple enough. They will be relatively low power, but the shuttle will be able to maintain them nearly indefinitely,” Scott said. “The trick is the torpedo. I can rig a containment field tied into shuttle power, but you won't have a launch mechanism.”

“A simple release is all I need,” Fuller said.

“Aye.” Scott nodded.

“In English please,” McCoy said.

The chief engineer said, “We can rig a torpedo to the shuttle with a manual-release mechanism. In space, they point the shuttle at the target, release the torpedo, and pull away. The problem is that they will have to get very close to do it and will only have one shot.”

“We only need one. The Klingons wouldn't likely grant us a second chance anyway,” Fuller said.

“The other problem is that the containment field will not last for very long. It will also be a drain on the shuttle. You'll have enough power to reach the cargo ship and perhaps a twenty-minute safety margin. If there's a delay, you'll have to release the torpedo or risk having the field fail.” Scott didn't have to explain further. Kirk knew that if the containment field that separated the matter and antimatter in an armed torpedo failed, the torpedo would immediately detonate. If that happened with the torpedo still attached to the shuttle, a cleanup crew would be able to fit the remaining pieces of the vessel inside a small cup.

“Or, if the shuttle is hit by weapons fire and there is a
sudden interruption in the shuttle's power, it would lose containment,” Spock added.

Before McCoy could voice another complaint, Kirk turned to Giotto and said, “Commander?”

“I'm also uncomfortable with the risk to the team, but it does give the
Enterprise
and the hostages the best chance. It's not a good option, it's just the best one we have.”

Kirk decided quickly. “How much time do you need to outfit the shuttle?”

“To give you a reasonable safety margin? More time than we have. However, I can have her ready to launch in ninety minutes,” Scott said, already getting to his feet.

“Dismissed, Mister Scott,” Kirk said, also rising. “Mister Spock, how long until the
Enterprise
is in position?”

“Thirty minutes,” his first officer answered.

“Mister Fuller, do you have a qualified command pilot on your squad?” Kirk said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get your people ready then,” Kirk said, and Fuller was out the door.

The captain was sure he was doing the right thing. He had taken an oath to protect Federation citizens, and he would not sacrifice them to protect the Federation from a theoretical danger, no matter how inevitable it seemed. However, until now, he had expected to take at least part of the risk of the operation himself—to the extent that the entire ship would help effect the rescue. Now, however, he would be sending seven people on a small vessel—a vessel designed for short trips in space and hops down to a planet from orbit—and sending them into enemy territory to take on a larger and better-armed ship.

His instinct was to lead the rescue himself, but given
the larger threat the Federation still faced from the empire, he could not justify that action. What Fuller had proposed was logical, the best possible plan under the circumstances, and Michael Fuller was arguably the best man in Starfleet to lead the team.

Nevertheless, Kirk found that none of those truths gave him the slightest bit of comfort.

Fuller assembled his squad in the shuttlebay where Scott and his team were already working on the shuttle. He quickly briefed his people on the mission. There were a few surprised gasps of breath, but he finished without interruption.

“Let me get this straight,” McCalmon said. “We're going to invade the Klingon Empire in a
shuttlecraft?
”

Fuller gave her a thin smile. “Technically, yes, but our objective is not a full-scale invasion, just a simple rescue.”

“Perhaps we can conduct a full-scale invasion when the rescue is finished, no?” Ensign Quatrocchi said with a full smile. Quatrocchi was from Italy and spoke English with a moderate accent.

“We are not currently authorized to extend the parameters of our mission, but I will take that suggestion up with the captain,” Fuller said, returning the ensign's smile. “We had a saying years ago. Shuttles are good for exactly two things: going slow and getting lost. Today, we are going to try to add a third capability to that list. I won't kid you, there is a strong element of risk here. If anyone doesn't feel comfortable with the mission, now is the time to speak up.” He turned his attention to McCalmon. “Ensign, I trust you have had time to review my recertification records.”

“Yes, and, as you know, you would be near the top of
this
year's graduating class. I'm comfortable with you, and I'm satisfied with the risk. However, I
do
have a problem with the people we're going out to rescue.”

Parmet looked stricken and ready to say something, but Fuller raised his hand to silence the young man. Fuller didn't expect or want blind obedience—at least not until the mission started. If there were questions, better to get them out in the open now.

“You've been reading up on the Anti-Federation League, then?” Fuller said.

“Yes, and I had some experience with them in San Francisco during one of their anti-Starfleet demonstrations.” Some of the others nodded, and Fuller could see that she was just saying what everyone was thinking. “They hate the Federation and everything it stands for. However, to be fair, they seem to hate Starfleet even more. And, according to the mission data we've seen, they are in Klingon space in violation of a number of laws and regulations. And their self-styled peace mission is foolish at best, and treasonous at worst. If I'm reading this situation correctly, we'll be risking our lives to save people who hate our guts.”

“You obviously have strong feelings about these people. Do you think that would compromise your ability to fulfill your duties?” Fuller asked.

“Not at all, sir, but I simply wanted to make it clear that I think our friends in the Klingon's hands … well, I don't like them, sir,” McCalmon said.

From the nods in the rest of the squad, Fuller could see that the others agreed with her.

“Noted, Ensign. We have to respect the infinite diversity
we encounter, but we are under no obligation to like everyone we meet. Consider this an opportunity to reach out to people who may just need to get to know Starfleet better.”

“With all due respect, sir, I think the minds in the Anti-Federation League are pretty well made up with regard to Starfleet.”

“You're probably right, but I did say that we would be facing some pretty tough odds here,” Fuller replied.

That done, they went over the mission again. When Fuller was finished, Jawer asked, “Sir, will you be flying the shuttle?”

Fuller shook his head. “No, we have a more highly rated command pilot in the squad. Ensign Quatrocchi, you just volunteered.”

The tall ensign nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You are rated on this model shuttle, but understand that additions to the external configuration will change the mass distribution. I want you to log some time on a simulator—as soon as Lieutenant Sulu finishes working one up for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Until then, you can all join me in the armory. We're going to pick up training phasers and get to work,” Fuller said.

ORION-BUILT MINING FACILITY

SYSTEM 7348

FEDERATION SPACE

A
DON HAD JUST FINISHED
with a simulation when he heard a noise outside the computer center. The smile died on his face and he was immediately on his feet. A moment later, one of the clan came running in. It was his uncle, his father's younger brother. The man's face was twisted by … what? Fear? Grief?

“There's been an …,” his uncle said, faltering when his eyes found Adon's. “It's your father.”

Moving before the words had fully registered, Adon asked, “Where?” as he headed for the door.

“They will reach the village in a few moments.”

Adon raced through the halls, with his people trailing behind him. He picked up a few details on the way:
there had been an accident, his father had been hurt.

What kind of accident could Father have had at a clan meeting?
a voice in his head asked.

An attack,
he replied to himself. That is what Uncle was going to say. His father had been attacked, probably by an animal. There were predators on their world, but they rarely ventured close to the villages—having learned long ago that they would more likely find death than a meal in Adon's people.

But there is no more dangerous predator than Father,
Adon thought.

Something was wrong.
Father must be badly hurt,
he thought. Adon ran faster for the village. Even if he was hurt, Father was strong. And the green-skins had left more than weapons and mining machines. There was equipment for treating injury and illness. Father would recover.

Unless he's already
…, the voice in his head began, but Adon silenced it before it could finish. Finally, he reached the outer residences and raced on to the center of the village where a small crowd was gathering. He recognized one of Gurn's people there, which made him shudder. Before he could even make an inquiry, he saw movement ahead. Someone was coming. No, not someone—
two
someones—and they were carrying a third person.

Father
…, he thought, and raced for them.

As he arrived, Gurn and one of his clan placed Adon's father on the ground. They did it slowly, almost reverentially. Something was wrong with that. If father was hurt, he needed attention. They needed to move quickly. He might need the green-skins' machines.

“Father,” Adon gasped out loud as he got down on his knees.

The wounds were terrible. There were bites on his hands and chest, as well as one on his throat.

“Help me get him to the mine,” Adon said desperately as he pulled on his father's arm. There was something wrong. Father felt too heavy, and the others weren't moving. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Gurn looking down at him.

“He is dead. I am sorry, young Adon.” For an irrational moment, Adon wanted to kill the clan leader for speaking such a deplorable lie about his father. Gorath couldn't be dead. The clan needed him, especially now …

… and Adon needed him.

Adon felt his control start to crumble, but he forced himself to his feet and looked at Gurn. The man was wearing a crude bandage on his face. Looking around, Adon saw the clan leader's other men had also been injured.

“What happened?” he asked sharply.

“After the clan meeting, we heard a struggle and ran to see your father battling three
quoth.
He fought bravely and we tried to help him. Together, we fought off the beasts, but it was too late for your father.” Gurn put his hand on Adon's shoulder. “I am sorry, son.”

Reflexively, Adon shook off the hand and looked up at Gurn suspiciously. His blood was calling out a warning. Then he saw something, a line of blood under the bandage on Gurn's face.
A straight line of blood
—from a straight wound, the kind made by a blade not a bite.

His eyes automatically searched out his father's
mek'leth,
which was lying on his chest. Kneeling down, Adon saw blood there. Of course there was no way to tell if the blood was from the beasts.

Or was there?

Yet the sight of his father's bloody and torn body soon pushed all other thoughts aside, and Adon felt his control disappear. Sobs racked his body as he clutched his father.

Adon finally agreed to allow his father's body to be moved from the clearing. Along with Uncle and three of his father's closest companions, Adon carried his father to their home. Two of Adon's own companions joined them there.

He fought down his grief and worked with his uncle to prepare his father's body. Cleaning his father, he saw that the wounds were terrible. Yet, dressed in his departing robes, Gorath looked as if he might simply be asleep. That thought brought a fresh well of grief that threatened Adon's scant control. In truth, he was simply a boy who desperately needed his father to tell him what to do. He needed his father to get up from the table and tell him that it had all been a terrible mistake. Then he needed his father to set this great wrong to right.