Rise of the Federation: Live by the Code (25 page)

Tefcem var Skos stared dumbstruck for several moments before he finally gathered himself. “What . . . happened?” he asked with tight control.

His shocked delay had given Tucker time to study the readings. “The bioneural implants . . . we thought we’d developed a workaround for the Ware’s immune system. Convinced it to
accept the new circuitry as part of its own system. It should’ve integrated.”

“Instead,” Banerji said, “our program modification seems to have triggered, well, an autoimmune response. We confused the Ware’s identification of self and other, and it essentially rejected itself.”

Vabion gave a cold chuckle. “We underestimated the sheer paranoia of the Ware’s original programmers. We thought that blurring self and other would cause it to accept the alien wetware and software as part of itself. Instead, its vehement rejection of anything outside its parameters won out, as we should have anticipated it would. And so it destroyed indiscriminately.”

“My God,” Mayweather said. “Four months ago, we would’ve welcomed this. It’s the perfect anti-Ware weapon. But now . . .”

“Too perfect,” Reed pointed out. “A reaction like this would kill any sleepers before they could be rescued.”

“This is a disaster!” var Skos cried. “Look what you would unleash upon us! If this station had been active and networked with the rest of the Ware, you would have doomed us all!”

“Now, hold on,” Tucker cautioned. “This was just our first trial. The whole reason we tested it here was to make sure any mistakes
wouldn’t
spread beyond the one station. We have a pretty good idea what went wrong—we just need to find a way to compensate for it.”

“And if you cannot? The Klingons continue to drive closer to the core worlds every day.”

“And
Endeavour
is heading to intercept them,” Reed told him. “With luck, Captain T’Pol can negotiate a cease-fire. Failing that . . . we’re prepared to bring in the rest of the task force in your defense.”

It was the least they could do, Reed thought, given how much damage they’d done already. Normally, he would think twice about taking an action that the Klingons would surely interpret as a declaration of war. But the Klingons, it seemed, had already declared war on both the Federation and the Partnership. If anything, an alliance with the Ware-based civilization could be necessary for the Federation’s survival—
if
they could find a way to reprogram the Ware without destroying it.

Reed gazed at the now-diffuse cloud of debris on the viewscreen.
Whatever happens,
he declared to himself,
we must not let this weapon fall into Klingon hands.

U.S.S. Essex,
orbiting Ardan IV

It was fortunate, thought Bryce Shumar, that
Essex
had transferred to Admiral Narsu’s command so recently. The shift from exploration to a more defensive footing entailed reassignments for much of the crew, as scientific specialists were rotated out in favor of more security, armory, engineering, and medical personnel. The scientists had already disembarked at Starbase 12 once
Essex
had reported there, but the bulk of the new combat crew had yet to arrive, leaving the ship with a lean 116-person complement, just over half the maximum a
Daedalus
-class vessel could support.

Which made
Essex
the ideal ship for handling the evacuation of the Starfleet outpost on Ardan IV. The outpost, a fortress-like ground installation located near the planet’s modest but useful dilithium deposits, had a staff of two hundred and twenty Andorians, Tellarites, Arkenites, and humans. They would be in close quarters even by the standards of
Essex
’s
tightly packed barracks, but the ship could support them for long enough to return them to Starbase 12.

Or it would have, at any rate, had the Klingons not had the singularly ill manners to begin their attack on the planet while
Essex
was still in the middle of the evacuation and thus unable to break orbit to engage the enemy. “Three of them,” Lieutenant Commander Mullen announced from the science station. “Two D-five class battlecruisers, one standard Bird-of-Prey.”

“Three of them, three of us,” Commander Caroline Paris said from the helm station, which the redheaded first officer had chosen to take over personally in the wake of Ensign Ling’s death in the battle with
Gantin
. “That seems fair.”

“It’d be more fair if we could get in the fight,” Morgan Kelly replied from tactical, sounding frustrated.

“Our responsibility is the safety of the outpost personnel,” Shumar reminded her. “Trust our Andorian colleagues to handle the rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Kelly said, not particularly mollified. Kelly had never liked being left out of the action, even when Shumar had been acquainted with her back during the Romulan War—although Morgan Kelly had been a “him” at the time, at least anatomically. Her sex reassignment following the war had left her more comfortable with herself, but that had paradoxically made her even more aggressive than before.

But the Andorian Guard provided more than enough aggressiveness to go around.
Docana
and
Atlirith
soared ahead into the Klingons’ path, making them scatter. Over the open comm channel, Shumar heard the voice of
Docana
’s commanding officer, Senthofar ch’Menlich, issuing a warning, which the Kling­ons responded to with disruptor cannons and torpedoes. The
two
Kumari
-class starships returned fire, and the viewscreen’s false-color enhancement turned the space between the five ships into a flickering, shifting cat’s cradle of green and blue threads, amplified far beyond what the naked eye could see at this range.

Shumar followed the progression of the fight tensely, hoping ch’Menlich and
Atlirith
’s Captain sh’Retsu could succeed at preventing the Klingon ships from slipping past to come at
Essex
or the evacuation shuttles still rising from the surface. But they were two against three, and open space was not much of a bottleneck. All that the Andorians could do was to bombard the Klingons heavily in hopes of disabling or (if necessary) destroying them before they could break past for the outpost.

But
Atlirith
took a serious hit to its port wing cannon from one of the battlecruisers, leaving a gap in their firing pattern that the Bird-of-Prey took advantage of. The compact, pudgy-looking warship followed a wide arc that took it past the battle and in toward the planet. “They’re vectoring in on the escape shuttles,” Mullen warned.

“Caroline,” Shumar ordered, “bring us down closer to the shuttles. Brush the atmosphere if you have to—we’re due for a new paint job anyway.”

“I want racing stripes this time,” Paris bantered back. “Or maybe flames.”

“I’d rather you avoid any flames at the moment, if you don’t mind.”

“Right, take all the fun out of it.”

“Kelly, a spread of torpedoes at the Bird-of-Prey. Lock phase cannons and fire as soon as it’s in range.”

“Aye, sir!” The deck shook five times in quick succession as the torpedoes burst from
Essex
’s tubes. Their engines flared
brightly as they homed in on their target, needing little amplification to be seen. Shumar often thought torpedoes could do their jobs better if they were less easily detectable, but starships moved so swiftly that a torpedo without active thrusters would be as useless as a cannonball. Thus, there was little that could be done to prevent the Bird-of-Prey from targeting the incoming torpedoes, other than relying on their high velocity and the lag time of light-speed sensors to throw off the Kling­ons’ aim. The bulbous, winged vessel managed to pick off only two torpedoes before two others struck its shields. The fifth was a clean miss, its thrusters unable to bend its course enough to strike home.

“Its shields are weakened,” Kelly reported, “but still online. Reading damage to starboard wing power relays and forward hull plating.”

“Not good enough. Take out their weapons before they get in range of those shuttles.”

Kelly kept firing, but the Klingons must have improved their shields and hull armor in the few years since their last battle against Starfleet, since the Bird-of-Prey kept coming. “How many shuttles left?” Shumar asked Steven Mullen.

“Three,” the science officer replied. “One is on final approach now.”

That left two shuttles with at least twenty persons each. Shumar could only watch in dismay as the compact but powerful warship came into range and unleashed green fire toward both
Essex
and the defenseless shuttles below.
Where is their precious honor now?
he wondered.

“The leading shuttle’s hit!” Mullen cried. “Their propulsion’s down . . . they’re losing altitude.”

“Can we get a tractor beam on them?” Shumar asked as disruptors continued to pound against the shields.

“Not yet,” Paris said, setting her jaw. A moment later,
Essex
swerved and headed downward into the atmosphere, a dull and intensifying roar replacing the thud of the disruptors. Perhaps the Klingons had simply been too surprised to keep firing.

“The other shuttle, sir!” Kelly reminded him.

Nothing for it now.
“Advise them to take evasive action,” he ordered Miguel Avila at communications. “Kelly, keep the Bird-of-Prey busy as best you can.”

Essex
continued to shudder and thrum still harder as it descended. Shumar could see licks of red-orange plasma dancing across the viewscreen. “Careful, Commander. You do remember we’re not built to handle atmosphere, I trust.”

“I prefer to think the atmosphere isn’t built to handle us,” Paris replied. She blinked. “I have no idea what that means, but it sure sounds good.”

“Range to shuttle?” Shumar asked.

“Still outside tractor beam range, sir,” Kelly replied, working her console intently. Then she grinned, her teeth clenched. “But I’ve got the tractor beam on it anyway!”

“Morgan?” Paris asked. “Did you just void our warranty?”

The Klingons chose that moment to resume firing, and Paris was all business again. “Pull them in, fast,” she ordered, rotating the ship to put its spherical prow in the Klingons’ line of fire. Kelly cut loose with all four forward phase cannons and both torpedo tubes while Mullen took over the tractor beam operation, guiding the damaged shuttle into the aft bay.

“The Bird-of-Prey’s breaking off to pursue the other shuttle, Captain,” Kelly announced.

Shumar could hear a distant shriek of atmosphere beyond the hull as Paris fired the thrusters to bank the ship around. “I
can’t get us there in time, not with this drag,” she said. “Anyone got an idea?”

Kelly snapped her fingers. “I can blind their sensors!”

“How?” Shumar asked.

“Artificial aurora, sir. A diffuse burst from the phasers, directed above the shuttle.”

Shumar did a double take. “Phasers?”

Kelly blushed. “Pardon the slang, sir. Phase cannons.”

Shumar nodded. “Do it. Quickly.”

Moments later, beams of phased nadion energy sprang forth from the ship, exciting the nitrogen in their path to blue luminescence. Shumar could not tell from this angle, but he knew the beams must be spreading out with distance, and soon they created a burst of shimmering, rippling curtains of blue and green light, splashing out across the atmosphere like luminescent dye poured in a pool. It was surely the most beautiful combat tactic Shumar had ever seen.

Paris smiled. “Phasers. I like it.”

Kelly shrugged. “Easier to say.”

The auroral interference blinded the Klingons’ sensors long enough to let
Essex
rendezvous with the last shuttle, though a few of their random potshots came uncomfortably close to both craft. But finally the last evacuees were aboard
Essex,
the planet emptied of all but its primitive indigenous life.

“Which still leaves one problem,” Paris pointed out. “Getting them all out of a war zone.”

“Sh’Retsu here,”
came the voice of
Atlirith
’s captain.
“We’ve destroyed one battlecruiser. We’re coming in to lend you support. You see to the evacuees; we’ll ensure the base is held.”

“Very good, Molsetev,” Shumar replied. “But we could use some assistance getting this Bird-of-Prey off our tail.”

“Should be easy,”
interposed ch’Menlich from
Docana
.
“We’ve taken out the other cruiser’s warp drive and weapons. A single B
ird-of-Prey will be short work.”

Shumar worried whenever victory over a Klingon seemed easy. As it turned out, his concerns were well-founded. As the two
Kumari
-class vessels moved in to trap the smaller Klingon ship between them and
Essex,
the surviving D5-class cruiser suddenly accelerated toward Ardan IV. “Sir!” Mullen cried. “It’s on a collision course with the planet!”

Even as he spoke, the Bird-of-Prey fired a spread of disruptor bolts at
Essex
and broke past it, also diving planetward. “They’re targeting the dilithium mine!” Kelly warned.

“All ships, retreat to a safe distance!” Shumar ordered.

Perhaps that was an excess of caution, given the modest size of the planet’s dilithium deposits. Still, he had no desire to be anywhere close to the sight that filled the viewscreen mere moments later. Two blinding flashes of light erupted on the surface in quick succession as the antimatter cores of two Klingon warships detonated, the atmosphere intensifying the blast effects enormously. That would have been bad enough . . . but then the dilithium began to ignite.

“Mary, Mother of God,” Kelly breathed, crossing herself. “It’s Coridan all over again.”

Mullen swallowed. “On a smaller scale . . . but . . . yeah.”

Within minutes, much of the planet’s surface was obscured beneath a spreading, rubicund cloud of dust, flickering with electric discharges and underlit by the glow of the molten surface. “It won’t be long until the cloud covers the entire planet,” Mullen said. “The heavy metals . . . the radiation . . . I doubt much of the indigenous life will survive, except in the ocean depths.” He shook his head. “All those species . . . we were only just starting to learn about them.”