Star Trek: Vanguard: Storming Heaven (36 page)

As he passed Lieutenant Greenfield, he caught her eye and issued an order on the move. “Tell Captains Khatami and Nassir I need to see them in my office right now.”

“Aye, sir,” Greenfield replied as the office door closed behind Nogura.

He went back to his desk, sank wearily into his chair, and checked the chrono. It was 1743 hours. By his best estimate, it would take Khatami and Nassir approximately five minutes to travel from their ships to his office. Which meant he had just less than five minutes to think up a dignified and confidence-inspiring way to convey the message,
We are completely screwed
.

“Tell me you aren’t serious,”
Gorkon said.

“I most certainly am,” Jetanien insisted. He and Lugok stood shoulder to shoulder in the sitting room of the Klingon diplomat’s villa outside Paradise City, facing the enlarged image of Councillor Gorkon on the wall-mounted vid screen. “I would not have imposed upon your patience if the matter weren’t of the gravest import.”

Lugok struck an apologetic note as he interjected, “Forgive me, my lord, but my associate refused to take me at my word when I told him there was nothing we could do.”

“With good reason,” Jetanien countered. “The Klingon Defense Force has considerable military assets within two days’ travel of Vanguard. There is a great deal they could do to affect the outcome of the impending conflict. It is simply a matter of marshaling the will to act.”

Gorkon’s eyes narrowed.
“Therein lies the impediment, Ambassador. The political climate as it presently exists does not permit such largesse on our part.”

“Yet you saw no such impediment when you sought a favor from me, nor did I shy away from expending political capital on your behalf.”

“And for that you have our gratitude,” Lugok said.

“But not your reciprocity.”

His criticism seemed to stoke Gorkon’s temper.
“Do you really think the execution of a low-risk smear campaign on your part merits a costly military intervention on ours? I don’t wish to sound callous, Ambassador, but I think you would have to admit the favor you granted and the one for which you’ve petitioned are far from equivalent.”

The Chelon’s frustration mounted, and he struggled to maintain a civil timbre. “Councillor, if your desire to build a foundation for a future peace with the Federation is genuine, this would be an unparalleled opportunity to lay the cornerstone.”

The councillor’s reply was pregnant with regret.
“It is not the Klingon way, Ambassador. Maybe someday, the Federation will be able to seize such a moment and win a debt of honor no Klingon could ignore. But this is not that day, for either of us.”

Jetanien switched tactics. “If you will not intervene for our benefit, do so for your own.”

Lugok and Gorkon exchanged baffled looks, and then the portly diplomat replied, “If the Tholians destroy your space station, that benefits us.”

“Are you certain of that? The Tholians have committed a significant percentage of their combat fleet to this attack. If they succeed in destroying Vanguard—”

“I believe you mean
when
they succeed.”

Glossing over Lugok’s interruption, Jetanien continued, “There will be nothing to stop them from continuing their rampage. The Tholian Ruling Conclave has made no secret of its desire to see the Taurus Reach expunged of all nonindigenous species. Without our starbase to stand against them, they will be able to lay waste more than five dozen colonies in that sector—many of them yours, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Gorkon seemed unmoved by Jetanien’s argument.
“We stand ready to defend what’s ours, Ambassador. And we have every confidence that your station will inflict serious losses on the Tholian armada before they both go down in flames. Whatever remains of the bugs’ fleet after Vanguard is gone should pose little danger to our forces in the Gonmog Sector.”

It took tremendous effort for Jetanien not to grind his chitinous mandible in irritation at having his bluff called so quickly and thoroughly. “Then it’s decided: You won’t help us.”

“If Klingon interests were truly at risk, we would already be en route to the battle. But for me to press the High Council to authorize military aid to your station would put me in a most
untenable position. While I am in your debt for helping me expose the Romulans’ corruption of Duras, there is no way I can muster support for defending Vanguard without betraying my own rather questionable ties to a foreign power.”
A heavy frown deepened the shadows on his face.
“I believe that one day, our nations will achieve a state of truce. Perhaps, in generations to come, our descendants might even stand together in battle, brothers and sisters in arms. But for now, the passions are still too high, and the grudges too fresh, on both sides. Just because we have a common enemy in Tholia, that is not yet enough to make us allies.”
He added somberly,
“May your friends die with honor, Jetanien.”

Gorkon terminated the transmission, and the screen briefly switched to the red-and-black Klingon trefoil emblem before it faded to black. Jetanien turned to Lugok. “Thank you.”

“For what? You’ve gained nothing.”

“Far from it,” Jetanien said. “True, my generosity has yielded no immediate boon, and for that I am disappointed—but I am not disheartened, because your Councillor Gorkon has, at least, offered me something else in exchange.” He noted Lugok’s dubious stare and added, “Hope for the future. I have heard few people speak as passionately for peace as does your lord.”

“Let us drink, then, old friend.” Lugok walked to his liquor cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of
warnog
. He filled two steins and carried them back to Jetanien. Handing one of the metal mugs to the Chelon, he raised his own, and Jetanien joined him in clinking the steins together in a toast. “To peace: May we find it somewhere other than the grave.”

Gorkon descended the granite spiral staircase at the front of his manor, taking a moment as he neared the bottom to straighten his steel-studded red leather jerkin on his lean frame. He stepped off into the main foyer and looked around until he saw Captain Chang loitering in the entryway to the main dining room, admiring the mounted heads of game Gorkon had felled on
various worlds throughout the Empire. “Welcome, Captain! Make yourself at home!”

The captain turned and smiled at Gorkon’s approach. “I’m honored to be your guest, my lord. I hope you don’t mind that I came early. Your servant let me in.”

“I’d have met you myself, but I was quelling Azetbur’s latest tantrum,” Gorkon said. “I’ve seen Targhee moonbeasts that were easier to calm. She’s become quite the spitfire of late.”

Chang grinned. “Teenagers. It happens to all of them when they reach that age. Or so my brothers tell me.” They clasped each other’s forearms in a fraternal greeting. “Wait until you taste the bloodwine I brought. It’s a rare Kriosian bottling from an exceptional vintage.”

Gorkon released Chang’s arm and clasped his shoulder. “Will it go with
gagh
?”

“I’m sure it will.”

“Then we’re both in for a treat,” Gorkon said, leading his loyal thane down a lavishly appointed hallway toward his private library. “My chef is preparing the most succulent
gagh
in the Empire. This will be a meal worthy of heroes.” As they drifted past marble busts of warriors of renown and famed Heroes of the Empire, he added, “I have other good news, as well.”

A sly look from Chang. “As do I. But I won’t presume to speak out of turn.”

Acknowledging the captain’s deference, Gorkon said, “I’ve interceded on your behalf with Chancellor Sturka and General Korok at the High Command. Your name has been placed on the short list for promotion to colonel. I expect it will become official within the year.” He landed a congratulatory slap on Chang’s back. “We’ll make you a general in no time.”

Chang stopped and turned to face Gorkon, who mirrored him. “You honor me, my lord. I pledge that my service shall bring glory to your name.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Gorkon said, ushering the captain to follow him inside his library. On the left side of the room as they entered, a long table built from thick, heavy pieces of
Ty’Gokor redwood was strewn with loose papers, open tomes, and hand-annotated star maps. “Now, tell me, Captain: What news do you bring me?”

The captain was ecstatic. “The Gonmog Sector will soon be rid of Starfleet’s bloated starbase. Even as we speak, a Tholian armada bears down upon it. In two days’ time, there’ll be nothing left of it but wreckage and memories.”

Gorkon said nothing and withheld all emotion from his face.
News travels quickly,
he realized. Chang’s attitude troubled him. Knowing he could not risk asking questions too pointed in their nature, he chose to feign ignorance of the Tholian attack on Vanguard. “What finally prodded the Tholians into action?”

“No one knows, and I for one don’t care. All that matters is that they’ve come loaded for siege, and it promises to be a glorious battle. If not for the risk of being caught unnecessarily in the crossfire, I’d love to be there so I could savor the carnage from my bridge.”

Staring out a window twice his height at the deepening purple twilight descending on the distant outline of the First City, Gorkon folded his hands behind his back. “I imagine the Battle of Vanguard will be quite a spectacle. It’s rather a shame my old nemesis Diego Reyes no longer commands the station. He would have made the Tholians pay dearly to win the day.”

“It would make no difference,” Chang said. “Either way, Starfleet and the bugs will pummel each other into blood and scrap, and then the Gonmog Sector will be wide open for us. If we move now, we could dominate that region in a matter of months.”

That drew a sidelong glance of dark amusement from Gorkon. “Don’t be so confident, Captain. That station might be the Federation’s most visible symbol of power in the sector, but it’s not their only resource.” Dark premonitions crowded his thoughts as he gazed back into the night. “Far from breaking their will, losing Vanguard might actually galvanize Starfleet’s commitment to exploring and colonizing the region.”

“I think you might be overestimating them, my lord.”

“I assure you, I’m not.” He turned and paced away from the window. “The Federation is an unpredictable opponent, Captain. It comprises dozens of species on scores of worlds. That gives it complexity and leads to strange interactions. What breaks one of its members emboldens others.” He stopped and took his House’s centuries-old ceremonial
bat’leth
off the wall. “To understand the Federation, one must think like a swordsmith. Pure metals can have great luster and value—but if you want a supple blade of fearsome strength that’s light enough to strike quickly, you need an
alloy
.”

Chang eyed the honor blade in Gorkon’s hand and smirked. “If the Federation is a
bat’leth,
my lord, then I’m glad our Defense Force is a disruptor: modern, unseen until its moment arrives, and able to deal out death and fire without warning.”

Gorkon laughed and slapped Chang’s shoulder. “Well played, Captain!
Qapla’
!” He let Chang take a self-mocking bow as he returned his
bat’leth
to its place on the wall above his mantle. Then he motioned toward the open doorway. “But enough talk of the Federation’s woes. A feast awaits us, and we’d best not keep my new wife waiting.”

“Wise counsel, my lord. Lead on.”

They walked together down the hall, back to the dining room, where the kitchen staff was setting out the first course of their meal—fresh
pipius
claws and flagons of
warnog
. Gorkon’s wife, Illizar, met them as they entered. “You’re late.”

“Nonsense,” Gorkon said. “We’re right on time.” His wife shot him a challenging stare, which he weathered in good humor before taking his seat at the head of the table. Illizar took the chair opposite his, and Chang sat halfway between them on one of the table’s long sides, facing the broad picture window that looked out on a vista of dizzying sea cliffs and crashing waves.

As Gorkon hoped, Illizar asked Chang to tell tales of his greatest victories and narrowest escapes, and the Captain provided the evening’s entertainment by obliging the lady of the manor. But as Gorkon listened to Chang spin one yarn after another of vengeance, cunning, and cold-blooded violence, he wondered
if such a man was really the ally he needed for the long work that lay ahead. He harbored no doubts of Chang’s loyalty, but unlike Lugok, Chang struck Gorkon as one who might never accept the idea of rapprochement with the Federation. Despite his youth, the man had already amassed a lifetime’s worth of hatred for the Empire’s greatest rival in local space; such animosity, in Gorkon’s experience, was never surrendered easily or without great reservation.

Well, it’s not as if I need to make a diplomat of him overnight,
Gorkon reasoned. He expected his political agenda would take decades to bring to fruition.
Perhaps, given that much time, I can sway his thinking. Mitigate his bloodlust. Persuade him of my vision for the future
.

Gorkon kept telling himself that, while Chang guzzled one goblet after another of bloodwine and filled the dining room with gales of malicious laughter.

Every passageway on the
Endeavour
was crowded with mechanics making last-second repairs through open panels in the bulkheads, ordnance crews moving antigrav pallets stacked high with photon torpedoes, and noncombatant personnel from the station who had been packed like sardines into the ship’s guest quarters and cargo bays.

Bersh glov Mog shouldered through the chaos, moving from one urgent repair to the next, checking his crew’s work and making sure no important corners had been cut. They had spent the past four days shaving minutes off each bit of overdue damage control, sacrificing perfection in the name of having the ship ready for combat before the Tholian armada arrived. The Tellarite chief engineer didn’t know what troubled him more at that moment: the need to tolerate substandard workmanship aboard his beloved starship, or the knowledge that in a few hours there was a high probability it would all be destroyed in a Tholian crossfire.