* * *
The alarm sounded, a surprisingly benign chime seeing as it likely presaged a battle to come.
She silenced it. “Ten hours,” she noted stolidly.
Trujillo and Glal sat in the ready room, staring across the desk at one another. A glass was positioned in front of each of them, containing a small measure poured in honor of the impending fight. It was one of their longstanding traditions.
“Time enough for Kiersonn to have recovered most of our technical personnel,” Glal acknowledged. The Tellarite inclined his head towards the glasses. “What do you have for us this time, sir?” He picked up the glass and swirled its contents as he observed the amber fluid play against the surrounding light.
“Macallan, barrel aged twenty-five years. Bottled in 2147. I received a bottle of it from Admiral Munroe when I made captain.”
“The bottle,” Glal said reverently. “Rumors abounded that you had such a trophy among your collection.” He studied her carefully before asking, “Why now, sir?”
“I wanted to open it before I did something that would disappoint the admiral,” Trujillo confessed. “We may have a resounding success out there today, or we may start a war. We might kill an entire world in the process. I’d rather crack that bottle with clean hands, as it were.”
Glal bobbed his head sagely at this, accepting the logic of her argument. He raised the glass in a toast. “Augh’toom,” he offered.
‘To a successful endeavor,’ the universal translator in his combadge obligingly provided.
“Salud,” she answered, leaning forward to touch the glasses with a soft clink before they both took a sip.
“Oooh…” was all Glal could say. “You Humans certainly do know how to ferment.”
Trujillo stared at her glass appreciatively. “And this is just the neck-pour. If we live through this, you and are going to have to create a serious deficit in the contents of that bottle.”
Glal drained the rest in a single draught, taking a moment to swish it around in his mouth before swallowing. “I would enjoy that very much, sir.”
The commodore took her time with her glass, savoring the liquid in a series of deliberate sips. Finally, glass empty, she stood. Glal followed her through the parting doors out onto the bridge.
“Commodore on the bridge!” Jarrod called as the senior officers stood from their stations in deference.
“As you were,” Trujillo said, moving to assume the captain’s chair from Lieutenant Shukla.
“Situation unchanged, sir,” Shukla advised as he in turn relieved the ensign manning the Operations station. “Our boobytrapping of the Klingon warships still appears to have gone unnoticed, and there’s been no sign of the Bird-of-Prey.”
“Understood,” she replied, settling into her seat. “Engineering, restore power to nominal levels. Weaps, bring shields and defensive systems to the ready. Helm, set course for Habitat Node-11 and execute at best speed, owing to local conditions.”
In the tightly confined innards of Praxis’ remains, Reykjavík was forced to bull through the debris at low speeds while creating a wake that was far more visible to sensors than Trujillo would have liked. Regardless, they forged ahead, mindful to avoid the graviton lattice that maintained the cohesion of the rubble field.
A tense half-hour passed, with the bridge crew maintaining strict discipline. The only conversations were duty related, brief exchanges so as not to distract one another from their sensor displays or status readouts.
The silence was finally broken by a sensor alert at Operations. “Contact,” Shukla advised, “picking up Klingon D-7 cruiser. Range, seventeen kilometers, bearing 297-mark-130 at one-hundred ninety kph.”
Trujillo glanced to Garrett at Science. “Is that the one we tagged?”
There was a brief pause as Garrett checked her sensor returns. “Yes, sir. She’s got mines on her port nacelle and impulse engine.”
“Have they detected us?”
Shukla fielded that. “I don’t believe so, sir. Their sensor sweeps are too generalized to have locked onto us as yet.”
“Alter course to avoid them, if possible.”
Reykjavík adjusted to skirt around the old, prowling cruiser, resuming their original course only after it was certain the warship wasn’t following them.
Another twenty minutes of plowing through meteoric debris brought them to a habitat constructed within a sizeable shard, perhaps three-quarters of a kilometer in diameter. The station’s structure seemed to extrude through the surface of the asteroid, as though having grown from inside.
“Habitat Node-11,” Garrett identified the facility. “Detecting seventy-three lifesigns of Federation member species… and twenty-two Klingons.” She delivered this last bit of news with a dour expression aimed at Trujillo.
“It is the one place the Klingons knew we’d eventually have to show up at,” Trujillo allowed.
“So, they’re taking hostages now, eh?” growled Glal.
“They’ll probably propose an exchange,” Trujillo countered. “Our people for K’mpec.” She favored her XO with grim look. “It’s what I’d do if I were them in these circumstances.”
"That's what worries me," Glal answered sotto voce.
After a moment’s consideration, Trujillo turned to Jarrod at the Tactical console. “Lieutenant, prepare an assault team to storm that facility and recover our people, should that prove necessary.”
Jarrod nodded enthusiastically, “Aye, sir,” before turning his station over to a subordinate and moving for the turbolift.
“Helm, move us to within transporter range.” Trujillo leaned back in her chair, tugging at the bottom of her uniform blouse. “Open a channel to the station, tight-beam.”
The view of the asteroid station was replaced with the image of an irritated looking Andorian male flanked by Klingon soldiers.
“I'm Lieutenant Jaron’Jesh with the JOIM. We’ve been expecting you Commodore,” he gestured to his escorts, “as have our… friends.”
“Good day, Lieutenant,” Trujillo answered. “We’re here to collect you and your people for evacuation. May I presume the Klingon contingent joining you was stationed here to ensure your safety until our arrival?”
One of the Klingons stepped forward as he pushed Jaron’Jesh roughly out of frame. “No, Commodore, that is not correct! I am Commander Verad of the Imperial Navy, and I have been sent to recover the traitor K’mpec from your ship.”
Trujillo shifted in her seat, leveling an inscrutable expression at the man over the comms-channel. “We are here with the express permission of the High Council, and my ship was thoroughly searched prior to entering the system, Commander.”
“Enough words!” Verad raged. “We know you have him! Surrender K’mpec to us and we will hand over your people unharmed.”
“You take hostages and threaten their safety?” Trujillo asked derisively. “Are these the actions of honorable Klingon warriors?”
Verad drew his disruptor from its holster and held it aloft. “These are the actions of a soldier under orders. What do I care for an outworlder’s opinion of Klingon honor?” He leveled the weapon and fired before Trujillo could muster a response.
The image shifted just in time to show Lieutenant Jaron’Jesh vaporized by the disruptor pulse in a shriek of air rushing to fill the void of his passing.
Trujillo rose from her seat slowly, her fists clenched. “How dare you take the life of a Starfleet officer in cold blood?”
Verad appeared unmoved by her obvious outrage. He held the disruptor up again. “Seventy-two of your people remain, Commodore, and my weapon is fully charged. What is it to be, then?”
If expressions could kill, Verad would have been ashes. Slowly, by force of will, Trujillo brought herself under control. “If we were able to locate this person… this K’mpec, and turn him over to you, I have your word our people will be returned unharmed?”
“My word as warrior and member of House KaTaj’j is given,” Verad answered coolly. “Any deception on your part, and I will kill them all.”
Trujillo reached out and terminated the comm-link via her chair’s armrest display. “Mister Glal, collect K’mpec and meet me in transporter room two.”
* * *
Glal intercepted Trujillo in the corridor just outside the transporter bay.
“Sir, we can’t. We just can’t.”
She stopped short, cocking her head as she assessed her XO. “We most certainly can, Commander. The Klingons sent the right man for the job. If I’m any judge of character, Verad will kill every one of our people with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. I can’t bluff my way out of this.”
“Jarrod’s strike team,” Glal said, grasping.
“If we beam in a rescue team, they’ll start shooting hostages. How many lives are we willing to risk with that gamble? And where is Verad’s ship? We don’t see it, but I’d wager he didn’t walk here. Odds are there’s one or more ships under cloak here with us. As soon as we lower shields to beam over the assault team, they’ll decloak and open fire. Then the rescue team’s cut off while we’re fighting for our lives and trying desperately not to damage any of the delicate graviton infrastructure surrounding us.”
“If we give up K’mpec, hundreds of thousands will die, perhaps millions as the Klingon offensive continues.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, her voice softening. “We swore an oath to Starfleet and the Federation, Commander. In this circumstance our people’s lives are the primary consideration. It’s awful, it’s unfair, but it is what it is.”
With that she stepped past him and into the transporter room.
Reykjavík’s resident Klingon guests, both K’mpec and Physician Kardec, stood rigidly, escorted by armed and armored security personnel.
Trujillo strode through the doors, with Glal trailing her. She turned to face the two Klingons. “My apologies, gentlemen, but your countrymen have begun murdering Federation citizens to force my hand. I must return you, K’mpec, to secure the lives of our people.”
“You can’t be serious?” K’mpec replied, his expression caught between disbelief and outrage.
“Too damned serious, mister,” Trujillo rejoined hotly. “They just executed one of our officers and will continue to kill our people until you’re turned over. They’re not buying my denials anymore.”
“You’re signing my death warrant by surrendering me to them, Commodore. All hope of swaying the High Council to oppose the chancellor’s expansionism dies with me.”
Trujillo stepped forward, coming face to face with the young Klingon. “You, me, and everyone else gambled that this little deception would work. It didn’t. I’m now out of options, and I won’t trade seventy-two Federation lives for you, your political influence be damned.”
“Is this how the Federation upholds it’s word?” K’mpec practically snarled the question, causing the security personnel in the room to rest their hands on the grips of their holstered phasers.
“I’m done talking, K’mpec. You have two choices. You can step up on that pad and face your fate like a warrior, or I can have you stunned and beamed over like cargo. Decide now.”
The man stood erect, eyes focused on the transporter pad and all it represented. His face slackened as he seemed to come to terms with this new destiny. “I understand. This was always a possibility.”
He stepped up onto the pad, turning to face Trujillo.
Kardec moved to join him, but Trujillo interceded. “They only want K’mpec. You may remain.”
Kardec swallowed. “I appreciate your gesture, Commodore, but my duty is to remain with my patient.”
“Where he’s going, they won’t need doctors,” Trujillo answered coldly. “You stay.” She gestured for one of the security specialists to move Kardec gently but insistently away from the pad.
“For what it’s worth, K’mpec, I desperately wish this ruse had succeeded," Trujillo said by way of farewell.
He nodded once, definitively. “As do I.”
Trujillo moved to toggle a comms control on the transporter console. “Trujillo to bridge, patch me through to the habitat.”
“Aye, sir. Channel open.”
“Trujillo to Verad, I am beaming K’mpec over to you. I expect the immediate return of our personnel, unharmed. Let me be clear, their safety is the only thing keeping you alive. If you betray me, I’ll destroy every one of your ships in this debris field and every graviton emitter I can find on my way out. We’ll see how enthusiastic your people are for continued war while the sky is literally falling.”
There was a pause, followed by Verad’s voice, now sounding significantly less conceited. “I understand, Starfleet. Let’s be done with this.”
“Energize,” she ordered, and K’mpec vanished in a cascading field of energy.
Her jaw tight with repressed anger, Trujillo remained long enough to see the first group of Starfleet engineering personnel beamed over from the habitat.
As she turned to leave, Kardec stepped up to her.
“Why keep me behind?” he asked.
“You damned well know why,” Trujillo replied acidly as she shouldered past him and out of the compartment.
* * *
* * *
Trujillo sat seething as Reykjavík threaded its way through the meteoroid field towards freedom from the debris disk. Her thirst for revenge was almost overpowering, but she suppressed it for the good of the mission and the welfare of her crew. Yes, they had rescued the Federation personnel from the remotest of the operation’s outposts, but it had cost the life of yet another Starfleet officer and the shameful surrender of someone Trujillo had sworn to safeguard.
Even Glal knew better than to approach her in such a mood, and she had quickly abandoned the bridge for the seclusion of her ready room.
Glal recalled her to the bridge roughly an hour later as the red alert klaxon blared.
She waved off the customary announcement of her arrival as she fastened the front flap of her tunic and took her seat. “What do we have?”
“A Bird-of-Prey has just decloaked in our path and we’ve detected three additional ships on approach. Our D-4 and D-7 of earlier acquaintance, and now a K’tinga-class cruiser,” Glal recited.
“We’re being hailed, sir,” Ops noted.
“Let them wait,” Trujillo replied, taking a moment to query the ship’s readiness for battle from her department heads. Once she was satisfied her ship and crew were prepared, she ordered the channel open.
Commander Verad sat atop the BoP’s throne-like command chair, his self-satisfied smirk having returned. “Commodore Trujillo, so nice to see you again.”
“I’m in no mood for games, Verad. What do you want?”
“I had meant to distinguish myself and my crew in battle against the Federation today, but it appears the cowards I allied myself with have decided to stand down now that you have so helpfully surrendered the traitor. Your other ships are leaving the system even now, and so you can clearly see my dilemma. Here I have a Federation vessel of some renown in my sights, and those outside this asteroid field can never know what, precisely, transpired within.”
“Ah,” Trujillo surmised, nodding. “You mean to destroy my ship and then trade upon your accrued honors. How very Klingon of you, Commander.”
Verad inclined his head as if accepting a genuine compliment. “I’m pleased you see the necessity of it.”
Trujillo smiled broadly, the gesture causing Verad’s grin to falter.
She touched both hands to her chest in a gesture of gratitude. “Commander, I thank you. As we left here today, I found myself nearly overcome by the desire for vengeance, but there were no means readily available for me to achieve it. Now, here you are, obstructing me and making threats when I have already met your demands.” She pointed toward Verad’s image. “On your belt, may I surmise that knife you carry bears the crest of your house?”
Verad glanced down despite himself, then looked back to Trujillo, his confusion evident. “It does, yes.”
“In that case, Commander, I solemnly swear that if you do not move out of my way, and that if you provoke a battle here with me, I will deliver that blade to the family of Lieutenant Jaron’Jesh on Andoria as some small token of compensation for his murder at your hands.”
“I have four ships,” Verad scoffed. “True, your starship is formidable, to be sure, but—”
Trujillo toggled a button on her armrest and explosions rippled across the hulls of the previously mined D-4 and D-7, sending them careering, shield-less, into nearby debris fields.
“You have two ships,” Trujillo corrected, “and you are still in my way. Move, or be destroyed.”
The communication link was abruptly terminated on Verad’s end.
“Open fire,” Trujillo commanded as Verad’s Bird-of-Prey began to cloak. Streamers of phaser fire raked across the scout’s nose, collapsing the bulkheads surrounding its forward torpedo launcher.
Multiple torpedoes from Reykjavík rifled aft towards the approaching K’tinga.
“Mister Glal,” Trujillo hissed between clenched teeth, “get me that knife.”
* * *
An hour and a half later, Reykjavík stood nose-to-nose with Kang’s flagship, T’Kuvma. The starship had just emerged from the PDD and had been about to establish orbit of Qo’noS when the menacing cruiser had decloaked directly in their path.
From Tactical, Jarrod said, “T’Kuvma’s shields are raised and their weapons systems are active.”
Trujillo rubbed her temples, a headache threatening. “Open a channel.”
“Aye, sir. Channel open.”
“General Kang, to what do we owe the pleasure of your unexpected presence?”
The viewscreen wavered and then showed Kang standing at the front of his bridge, his arms folded across his armored chest. He glowered at Trujillo from across the intervening kilometers.
He began without preamble, “You came all this way, braved all these dangers, only to surrender K’mpec to our enemies on the cusp of our victory?” The disbelief in Kang’s voice was matched only by his contempt. “You handed him over in exchange for the lives of mere technicians?” Kang spat the final word, leaving it dripping with derision.
Trujillo rose from her seat, unconsciously tugging at her tunic as she did so. “Am I to understand that you take issue with my refusal to sacrifice the lives of dozens of Starfleet personnel for one man, General?”
“This is why the empire can never forge an alliance with your Federation,” Kang rumbled. “You have no honor, and your oaths are empty words. I was a fool to have trusted you.”
Trujillo snorted, dropping her head for a moment with a strangely curious chuckle. When her gaze came up again, there was steel in her eyes. “Let’s drop the pretense, shall we? I’ve played along with your little deception for as long as I could, but I drew the line at sacrificing more Federation lives in support of your fraud.”
“What do you mean?” Kang practically snarled the question.
“You are a patriot, General. I have studied you at length since I was a cadet. Having now met you in person I know with certainty that you would gladly die before entrusting the future of the Klingon people to Federation hands, no matter how desperate the circumstances. That was my first clue.
“Credit where it’s due, Physician Kardec’s genetic modifications to the man you handed over to us were better than Federation medicine believed was possible for your people. Placing him in cryo-stasis to exacerbate and explain away the damage to his genetic structure was very clever. Under other circumstances, it might even have worked.”
Her eyes bore into Kang’s, giving expression to the anger and frustration she’d held in check since entering the Klingon home system.
“What you clearly did not know is that when General Korrd, K’mpec’s grandfather, was taken hostage on Nimbus III thirty years ago the Klingon government reluctantly turned over Korrd’s DNA profile to Starfleet so that if he were killed the General’s remains might be identified. From that sample, my ship’s doctor determined that our guest’s DNA had been modified to make it appear as though he was a descendant of Korrd. Despite your efforts to mask those alterations we discovered them. The man I handed over was not K’mpec, son of Anag. He played the part flawlessly, and perhaps he may even have believed he was K’mpec, but you and I both know that to be a lie.”
Kang’s sneer evaporated and his face relaxed. He inclined his head towards Trujillo. “Well done, Commodore. You are correct. While our enemies were preoccupied with pursuing your ship, the real K’mpec was delivered safely to the surface some hours ago. He has already begun solidifying a power base from which to challenge his family’s enemies within the High Council.”
It was Trujillo’s turn to cross her arms. “And yet here you are, play-acting like some two-darsek Orion troubadour. To think that you had the gall to lecture me about honor, you feckless taHqeq.”
Kang’s expression darkened. “You would do well to watch your tongue, Human. I remind you that you are in Klingon space at our sufferance.”
Trujillo resumed her seat with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We have collected our people and I have had enough Klingon hospitality for one day. I will save entertaining hollow Klingon threats for another time, General.”
She reached down and picked something up that had been lying near the base of the command chair. Trujillo held a Klingon d'k tahg knife up and appeared to be admiring its edge. “In the remains of Praxis you will find three of your ships crippled and adrift. They sought to contest our egress from the PDD, and it proved necessary to demonstrate Federation resolve in its fullest measure.
“Sadly, Commander Verad proved sufficiently obstinate that we were forced to destroy his ship entirely. I’ve taken his blade as a trophy.” She made a point of inspecting the sigil on weapon’s handle. “House KaTaj’j has a rather handsome crest, don’t you think?”
Kang’s face was unreadable as he took a moment to absorb Trujillo’s words. Then the general offered a smile commensurate with the bellowing laugh he emitted. “You do not disappoint, Commodore. You have performed dual service to the Empire this day. Verad and his house vocally opposed K’mpec, and Verad’s death helps pave the way to K’mpec’s ascension.”
Trujillo said nothing in reply, and Kang returned to his seat. “You may depart with your trophy, Commodore Trujillo. I hope that at some future time when the Empire’s strength has returned that I might face you on the field of battle.”
“Though I may hope for such in my heart, General, my duty requires that I seek the path to peace.”
“Tell that to Verad,” were Kang’s parting words as the transmission ended.
“Helm, plot a course to rendezvous with the task force. Ops, inform Captain Kiersonn that our mission was a success, and then arrange to transport Kardec over to Kang's ship before we depart.”
Glal sidled up to her chair. “Would it be bad form to start adding the silhouettes of those Klingon ships to our hull before we’ve left their home system, sir?”
“We’ve tested our luck enough for one day, Commander, but I trust you’ll see to that task at the earliest opportunity.”
* * *