Hell's Heart (7 page)

Eleven

U.S.S. E
NTERPRISE
-
E

O
RBITING
G
AMARAL

C
ascading system failures, as Geordi La Forge sometimes told his engineering staff, were often aggravated by the sentient mind's inability to correctly impose priorities as new disasters happened. Each crisis that arose imposed a kind of amnesia, causing the diagnostician to forget earlier problems that might be more important to deal with first. He had tried to avoid that in his own work and had mostly been successful.

That was as chief engineer, however. It was another thing to experience failures in quick succession while in command. With Picard and Worf planetside, the captain had wanted his second officer sitting center seat on
Enterprise
. La Forge was on the bridge, watching the Gamaral proceedings on the main viewscreen, when shots were first fired on the plaza five hundred kilometers below.

A second later, an explosion rocked the
Sovereign
-class starship's engineering section. And a second after that, another struck the saucer section.

“
Red alert
!
”
La Forge called out, struggling to stay in his seat. The lighting shifted accordingly, and the klaxon sounded. He didn't need to ask if the blasts came from within the ship; by now, he knew the feeling of being shot. “Shields. External view on screen.” The feed from Gamaral disappeared from the viewscreen, replaced by a view of space. He looked to the right. “Report.”

Lieutenant Rennan Konya, deputy of security, was at the tactical station. “Sensors report two—no,
three
photon torpedo strikes. No hostiles detected.”

Ahead, Glinn Ravel Dygan, the Cardassian exchange officer at ops, spoke up. “Surface report. Confirms what we saw: shots fired on the Circle of Triumph.”

“Whose report?”

“Caller did not identify. But the combadge code belongs to Ensign Regnis, a security officer.” Dygan frowned. “He is not responding.”

“Get me Å mrhová,” La Forge commanded, adrenaline pumping. Another blast rocked the vessel. “Tactical, where are those torpedoes coming from?”

“Several cloaked contacts, based on the vector of incoming fire,” Konya said. “Cannot—”

Dygan spoke over Konya. “Å mrhová reports her team outside the plaza is under fire. Disruptor rifles from the woods. Multiple assailants.” The Cardassian looked back, his eyes wide. “Sir, she reports the cordon's been breached. Infiltrators have cut off the security team from the plaza entrances.”

“Evacuate the surface,” La Forge said without thinking twice. “Starting with the captain.” There had been a plan discussed earlier. Å mrhová would deactivate the transport inhibitors below—and if she failed, La Forge still had the ability to remotely override them.
Enterprise
's crew had installed the inhibitors; they weren't going to be hamstrung by their own insurance measures.

The only problem was that the starship was under attack, too, and
Enterprise
's shields were up; lowering them to initiate transports would expose it to the threat from the cloaked vessels. Yet even under fire,
Enterprise
was a safer place for those on the surface. A decision had to be made, before—

The computer spoke.
“Intruder alert.”

“What?”

A female voice came over the comm.
“Commander, this is Granados in engineering. We're being boarded!”

T
HE
C
IRCLE OF
T
RIUMPH

G
AMARAL

Worf had only crossed the first few meters of the plaza when the assailant he'd spotted opened fire. But the disruptor shot wasn't meant for him—or for Kahless. Instead, the energy beam lanced overhead, striking the noble whose platform was immediately to Kiv'ota's left: Lord A'chav. There was a scream, audible even over the din. Worf ignored it and continued forward.

Had he a moment to think, he might have cursed the terms of the
may'qochvan
observance: no weapons were permitted on the plaza save the one in Kahless's hand. The assassin, meanwhile, had somehow bypassed
Enterprise
's security team outside—and he had brought friends. Shots ripped across the Circle of Triumph from two other positions.

There was no time to think on that, either—nor to head for the part of the central platform that had the steps to the top. He leaped instead for the bunting secured to the side of the rostrum. The Klingon banner held, and he quickly scaled to the top.

Kahless was crouching on the rostrum, certain the shots were coming at him but clearly unsure where they were coming from. Worf grasped at the emperor's shoulder and clapped his hand on his combadge. “
Enterprise
! I have secured Kahless. Two to beam up!”

U.S.S. E
NTERPRISE
-
E

O
RBITING
G
AMARAL

Of course T'Ryssa Chen would be present to hear Worf's call come in, since she had practically lived in
Enterprise
's personnel
transporter rooms that day. Picard had given her the task of making sure the nobles got down to Gamaral without bumping into one another. That had required her to coordinate with a legion of escort officers and had kept her running from room to room to make sure the Klingons got the pomp-filled exits they wanted.

The centenary observance was to have been the only respite for her, before her job would begin again in reverse. Galdor's son's battle cruiser had not yet arrived, and with no living accommodations on Gamaral,
Enterprise
would likely be host to the nobles for at least one more night. She wasn't looking forward to it. It had been a thankless, arduous detail.

Now it saved her life.

She was finally drinking a cup of coffee beside Lieutenant Moran in transporter room six when the first photon torpedoes impacted
Enterprise
—and she and the technician were ready at the control station when Worf's urgent call was piped in. But before Moran could start working the interface, two bipedal figures appeared on the transporter pads, unbidden. Their appearance was faster and flashier than the usual materialization effect, and it took Chen's eyes a moment to focus on the intruders.

They were dressed head-to-toe in black, from their form­fitting uniforms with armored breastplates to their helmets with darkened visors. Chen couldn't see their faces, and she wasn't looking, anyway—as both held disruptor rifles. The new­comers raised them in the direction of Chen and Moran and fired.

Their shots struck their intended target: not the officers, but rather the transporter control interface before them. The console exploded, producing a wave of sparking debris that threw Chen and Moran backward off their feet. Grasping at the wall, trying to stand, Chen saw the intruders training their weapons upward at the imaging scanners on the transporter room's overhead. More blasts, and another explosion. Heedless of the sparks showering down on them, they fired again—

—and now Chen thanked her lucky stars for being on the
Klingons' shipboard honor detail instead of down on Gamaral, because while weapons were forbidden in the Circle of Triumph, she had been able to conceal a type-1 phaser under her dress uniform. Righting herself, she drew a bead and fired into the smoke. The phaser shot struck the chest of one of the invaders, glancing off his armored midsection and knocking him a step backward; the outfit clearly offered some level of protection. She dialed up the setting.

The other intruder—Chen thought she was female—turned from her mission of destruction and faced her. Chen fired again, but the intruder shrugged it off.
Not high enough.
The invader pointed her disruptor in Chen's direction and seemed to hesitate for a moment.

In that moment, deliverance came—once again, as a consequence of Chen's duties. The members of Chen's honor escort detail, awaiting their next assignment elsewhere on the same deck, had responded to the noise and were in the corridor, firing through the now-open door at the armored figures. Struck by three phaser blasts at once, the female intruder tripped backward.

Her partner returned fire—and found someone in the hall, as evidenced by the horrific bellow from outside. But the shots from outside only intensified, and the female intruder touched a control on her wrist. White halos appeared, whisking the two away as fast as they had arrived.

The entire episode had taken less than fifteen seconds. Chen fell to her knees, unsure why the intruder had not fired on her but thankful nonetheless. She looked over to find Moran on the deck: unhurt, but clearly startled. Transporter rooms didn't see a lot of action. As the security officers rushed in, Chen slapped her combadge. “Bridge, this is transporter room six. We've just been boarded!”

Konya responded.
“We know. Other teams have hit every personnel transporter room—they're now going after the emergency ones. There are battles everywhere.”

Chen did a double take—and Moran, mesmerized by the smoking wreckage around her, said what they both were thinking. “That's—that's
sixteen
rooms!”

I guess they brought friends,
Chen thought. She remembered Worf's call—and stood. “Konya, did someone else beam up Worf and Kahless?”

“Negative. Shields are up. We're working on a way to—”

A barrage shook
Enterprise,
drowning out the rest
—
but Chen had heard enough. “Find us a room that's still intact,” Chen said, heading for the door. “Even if it's in the middle of one of those battles!”

Twelve

T
HE
C
IRCLE OF
T
RIUMPH

G
AMARAL

I
mmediately after Worf had bolted toward Kahless, Picard quickly sent Šmrhová the code word initiating the panic scramble: A
LAMO
. That would lead to the deactivation of the transport inhibitors, he knew, allowing evacuations—but he had more immediate concerns. Wobbly old Kiv'ota still stood on his platform of honor, petrified by the gunfire around him.

Without thinking twice, Picard scaled the few steps from the gallery to the pedestal. “My lord, get down!” the captain said, reaching out for the Klingon. Picard grabbed hold of a piece of robe and yanked.

It was just in time: a blast that would have incinerated Kiv'ota seared the hem of his garment instead. But it put the old man's body into motion, and Kiv'ota tumbled backward off the dais, landing hard at the foot of the stone steps. Picard rushed to drag him fully behind the platform as more shots blazed past.

Looking to either side, he saw the other attackers; they had taken similar positions in the nooks between the thirteen observation galleries. The Kruge family members' mutual disdain for one another had led to this: a single, continuous seating area wouldn't have offered the snipers the same crannies. As it was, the ceaseless disruptor fire meant Picard couldn't look past the platform to see what had become of Worf and Kahless.

There was only one thing to do: exit the gallery down the steps that led from the arena and out into Gamaral's night. But Picard found Kiv'ota unconscious from the fall. With orange fire blazing overhead, Picard saw no other choice. He slipped
his arms around the Klingon's chest and heaved, dragging him backward toward the rock stairs. It wouldn't be easy—or comfortable for Kiv'ota—but at least the old man's head wouldn't strike the steps on the way down.

Where the devil is that security team?
Picard wondered as he dragged the dead weight. But he never stopped pulling.

•   •   •

It seemed to Worf that the whole universe outside Kahless's waiting area had descended into madness. He had hailed
Enterprise
only to be told that the ship was under attack, shields raised, and unable to transport anyone. Then he had tried the surface security team and gotten no one for long seconds, until he finally heard,
“We're trying to reach you. Stand by. Å mrhová out.”

Outside, through the door and up the steps to the rostrum, he heard disruptor fire and screaming. The assassins were still at work. No one had advanced on the bunker yet, and that had given Worf time to rifle through the lounge looking for a weapon.

Grabbing an ornamental metal torchère, part of the decorations, Worf pulled it off its base and smashed the head against the wall, creating a formidable bludgeon with sharp, jagged ends.

Kahless, who had stood mute until now, watched Worf, asking, “What do you intend?”

Worf set down the makeshift weapon long enough to remove his combadge and hand it to Kahless. “I will stand at the door and delay them as long as possible,” Worf said. “Keep trying
Enterprise
. If I fall, you have the
mek'leth
.” He gestured to the ceremonial armament, still in the emperor's other hand. Then he turned toward the doorway.

Worf glanced back before he stepped out—only to see Kahless standing there, simply staring at the combadge.

Kahless looked up, his eyes ablaze. “Worf, you must truly think me a fat nothing if you would protect me like a child. Or
a bok-rat, burrowed in a hole!” He turned and threw the badge against the wall. It clattered to the floor.

“That is not what I meant,” Worf said. He quickly reentered the room, heading to where the combadge landed. “I know your worth in battle. But you are the emperor—and whoever these people are, my life cannot mean as much as yours. If you live, we deny them victory.”

“And if I do not fight those assassins, I was never Kahless. And you will have died protecting nothing.” Taking the
mek'leth
up, Kahless strode toward the door.

There was no swaying him, Worf knew. He reclaimed the combadge and headed after the emperor.

U.S.S. E
NTERPRISE
-E

O
RBITING
G
AMARAL

Enterprise
's troubles kept multiplying—as did its number of attackers, both inside and out. With Gamaral in chaos, establishing transporter service to and from the surface was of paramount importance, even if it meant dropping shields. But the boarders seemingly had no problem transporting through them, and the way they were striking transporter controls, La Forge wasn't about to risk anyone's life by energizing a signal that might become lost in transit.

But
Enterprise
's security teams could at least
see
the boarders. The situation outside was, if anything, more frustrating.

“There's another cloaked contact firing,” Ensign Abby Bali­demaj announced. Normally on the beta shift, she had reported to the bridge to help at the other tactical station while Konya worked to manage interfaces alight with blinking threats.

“Target phasers on new contact and fire,” La Forge said.

Balidemaj did. “No result.”

“Keep on it.”

Another blast buffeted
Enterprise
's shields. The cloaked ves
sels outside were hornets, darting about and stinging—even if their shots appeared to be no more than harassing fire. With Balidemaj's new contact, Lieutenant Dina Elfiki's best guess was that there were at least eight attacking ships. That was based on the science officer's quick mathematical modeling, utilizing all the readings on when and where the attackers had fired from.

But there was, as yet, no way for La Forge to predict where they were before they fired.
They don't have a tell.

In dealing with General Chang's conspiracy years earlier, a different
Enterprise
had faced incoming fire from a single cloaked vessel. There were so many safety reasons to avoid firing weapons while cloaked that few ever did it. A subroutine disabling offensive systems while under cloak had been part of the standard Klingon bird-of-prey design for years. Whoever was firing clearly wasn't worried about that—and nothing about their systems provided any kind of tip-off as to where they were. Chang had been undone by ionized exhaust from its impulse engines; La Forge hadn't found anything like that yet. As with Shinzon's
Scimitar
, neither tachyons nor antiprotons told where an attacker would be before it fired.

Then again,
La Forge thought,
maybe we're looking at this the wrong way.
Perhaps the key wasn't
to be found in where the shots were coming from—but rather, in what the shots were aimed at?

Another barrage struck. “I think it's
nine
contacts,” Elfiki said.

La Forge didn't hear her. He was onto some theorizing of his own. As yet, no deaths had been reported as a result of the barrages; the cloaked vessels' strikes had seemed random, possibly not intent on providing anything more than a distraction for the boarders. But La Forge now suspected they were
not
random—and stepped quickly back behind the captain's chair to a master systems display on the aft wall. It only took him a second to confirm his suspicions.

“They've been targeting the subspace emitter pads on the hull,” he announced, heading back to the center seat. There were two dozen of the emitters, mounted on different sections of the ship, used for channeling transporter matter streams. “That's why it's seemed so random—they've been targeting a distributed system instead of a centralized one. It's another part of their attack on our transporter systems.”

“That's what the boarders are after,” Konya said. He had scrambled security to every transporter room, but was still waiting to get word of one taken intact. “They just disable a room and leave.”

“But they couldn't expect to put them all out of commission,” La Forge said. “That's what the external attack's about.” The whole scheme, no doubt, was about keeping
Enterprise
from assisting those on Gamaral. There were as-yet-undamaged emitter pads that could only be approached from
Enterprise
's aft; at least one of their attackers would be gunning for those eventually. The ship was a smaller target from behind and that meant La Forge had a relatively small arc to probe with fire.

“Tactical, give me aft phasers and torpedoes. Randomized spread. We're going fishing!”