CH. 5 (Part 2)
Captain’s Log, Stardate: 9709.6.
My hopes for this mission have plummeted with the discovery of a Klingon warship in orbit of the Ya’wenn homeworld. I find it likely that this vessel is affiliated with the group attempting to derail the peace initiative between us and the Empire. I will find out more momentarily.
The task force is assuming high orbit and Endeavour is moving into a standoff position before the Klingons. This action may seem unduly provocative, but I want to see just how easily angered our friends out there are. I have a sneaking suspicion as to who the Klingon commander may turn out to be…
“Hailing frequencies open, Commodore.” Smith’s voice came to Ford’s ear. He responded with the usual nod and watched as the bird-shaped Klingon warship grew in the center screen. He also glanced to Mister Thomas who stood near the science console.
Ben shook his head from that position, denoting that the Klingons had yet to react to their somewhat aggressive posturing. Had they raised shields or armed weaponry, Thomas would doubtless be calling out the alarm. The commodore looked back ahead.
“Class and identity?”
It was Ronald who answered the inquiry.
“She’s a Qam’a-Class battlecruiser, Skipper. IKS Gorvek. No intel on her captain. Vessel sighted once in brief border skirmish prior to Praxis Explosion.” The chief of operations was reading straight from his console monitors. He’d likely identified the ship from its transponder.
The battlecruiser was among the newest of Klingon designs. Built on the model of the much smaller B’rel-Class scout, this larger, more heavily armed clone took advantage of the design merits of the previous, battle-proven ships. Her heavily armored wings could be brought down to minimize the chance of a stray shot damaging the warp drive or the main reactor and its general raptor-like shape gave one the impression of fighting a living thing rather than a mechanical construct. The shape was predatory, brooding and dark.
Currently, the Gorvek’s wings were in the raised landing position. Its wing mounted gunnery remained dark, but was moving to track the Endeavour as she closed in. Someone was watching them…
“Now receiving response to our hail, Skipper. Coming on screen now.”
Ford had already straightened his posture in preparation to speak to the Klingon commander. What he saw on the viewer was an oily, unkempt looking soldier; the veteran of too many battles and too many kegs of Blood Wine. Chevis kept his face neutral as he looked on the man. He did not fail to note the man’s rank of Lieutenant First.
“I am Commodore Ford of the Endeavour,” he told the man, careful not to make it sound like any sort of greeting. “Who are you?”
The warrior in the unrevealing image grimaced as though it pained him to speak to a lowly Earther. “Korn, First Officer.”
Ford drew his instant smirk into a simple lengthening of the left side of his lips. The amusement was hard to hide. “Korn?”
“Korn, First Officer of the Gorvek.” The brutish fellow repeated. “What do you want here?”
“We have dealings with the planet below.” The commodore replied with equal curtness. “Where is your captain?”
“Below. Dealing with the planet as well.”
“What is your purpose here?”
The Klingon sneered, reaching for his comm controls.
“Go ask him.”
The screen returned to a visage of the winged cruiser as Endeavour’s forward motion halted. They were now standing right in front of the Klingon warship. The rest of the task force was spread out in upper orbit, ready to react should the Gorvek decide to do something stupid.
Ford arose from the conn and headed aft.
“Alright. Comm, see if you can raise anyone in authority. No one seemed willing to challenge us as we came in… What’s the traffic like around this planet?”
Surall looked back from her sensors.
“Moderate, sir. Mostly civilian and freight traffic. I only count three combat vessels within planetary reach.”
“Lightly defended. I wonder if the rulers are bowing to the Klingon commander in regards to us.”
Spock turned from his own perusal of the communications monitor, hands clasped before him in contemplation. “I think that likely. We will be hard-pressed not to fall into some kind of trap. Likely, this vessel is linked to Commodore Shiloah’s plot.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Maybe cutting some kind of deal for more torpedoes.”
“Perhaps.”
Lieutenant Smith caught both their attention as he wheeled from the comm station. He pulled the silver command microphone from his ear before speaking. “I have someone from the Presidial Office. They are transmitting beam down coordinates for their Premier’s office.”
Ford nodded. At least they were getting this far. He looked to Spock.
“Feel like stretching your legs, Ambassador?”
“Indeed.” The tall Vulcan bent his head forward in monk-ish style and headed for the portside lift. Chevy turned to his exec.
“XO, mind the store.”
“Gotcha, Cap.” The huge man replied and stepped down to assume the command chair.
Ford stood looking at the big man sitting there for a while before entering the turbolift. Something about Thomas manning that chair looked…right. More so than it had ever before. Had something changed in his bearing or character since the trial? Chevy could not place the reason for this notion, but he did linger on the thought for a while. Noticing that Spock still held the turbolift door, the commodore turned and hurried off the bridge.
***
The Presidial Rotunda was not a great or grandly built structure. Its architecture was of simple, straight lines and clean, unadorned walls. It had stood for ten generations, since the formation of the Ya’wenn Affiliation. Soldiers of many different former nations and rebellions had besieged this grand building.
It stood in a flat field, grass shorn nearly to the ground stretching out so far as the eye could see. A single road led to it. A hoverpad stood behind it to admit planet bound visitors. More modern out buildings had been added to the complex, but their armored structures had been camouflaged to appear outwardly like the capitol building. The capitol was a tall, four story rectangular building, columned at every corner in alabaster stone. Steps led up to its arched doors, and a wide, pinnacled dome stood atop it. It was a beauty, copied again and again by smaller regional sections of the government. But none approached the simple ingenuity of design and simple grace that this one building impressed.
Within it was equally as simplistic. No futuristic and aesthetically marring apparatus shone out to draw one’s attention and clash with the architecture. No consoles or glowing monitors interrupted the white and blue interiors. Only simple desktop computers had been allowed for modern convenience.
The Presidial Office was no exception to this rule. One computer was evident on the Premier’s desk. That desk was a simple, oaken design. Its craftsmanship was superb, but it could have belonged to a time ages past. Drapes hung over the three great windows looking out onto the Rotunda’s landscape. Aged paintings adorned the walls. The largest hung behind the Premier’s seat, between two of the oval windows. A mere two guards stood their post within.
Likewise, the man sitting at that desk was just as inauspicious. He dressed in simple but formal attire: a grey suit, open at the front and showing a subdued blue under-sash where as a human might have worn a tie. His slacks matched the jacket, and his shoes were slim and low, made for formal comfort. This was how he ran his interstellar nation, and this was how he addressed the people of that nation. No uniforms, no gaudy trinkets of military campaign, even though he was a veteran of two prior wars.
The Premier was a man of peace.
This was why he did not like the sinister, oily looking alien who stood silently grinning close to his desk. The Premier had dealt with regional governors, alien diplomats, tradesmen and officials of all kinds. He knew trouble when he smelled it. And this odd looking humanoid reeked of it.
Two glowing shafts of azure light began to shine in the center of the Presidial Office, accompanied by a growing cry of sound. The Premier fought off the urge to cover his ears, and just as the sound reached its highest pitch, it died almost away. The light had also parted and faded. When it had gone, it left two humanoids, pale in color like to the oily faced man who stood to their left. Compared to the Premier’s more natural, dark grey flesh, these aliens appeared as ghosts.
The Premier remained seated, just as he had for the Klingon. These two men were what the Klingon had called Earthers. One wore a red military uniform. He was bald shaven like many Ya’wenn fancied, and bore what was likely a small weapon on his belt. The taller wore a long, floor-scraping robe of soft grey tones with triangular designs on its chest. He bore himself in earnest, hands clasped peaceably before him and his piercing eyes focused on the Premier with resolve.
He already liked this alien far better than the Klingon.
“Greetings, Premier.” The tall one said. His voice was as even as his countenance. He raised his right hand, palm outward and parted his long fingers into a V. “We bid you peace and long life. I am Spock, Ambassador of the United Federation of Planets. This,” he drew his hand then to the military man beside him, “Is Commodore Ford, commander of the Federation vessels that have traveled here to your world.”
The Ya’wenn ruler half bowed within his seat. The translator on his desk had done a good job in making the alien’s speech understandable. Their language must have been a simple, but articulate one.
“I am Premier Rellin Feece, leader of the Ya’wenn Affiliation. Are you here to present peace?”
This alien, Spock, nodded, a solitary, grave motion.
“Why, then, do you bring a fleet to our doorstep?”
Nonplussed, the ambassador made his answer without waver.
“The accompanying vessels were unfortunately necessary due to the actions of your Over Warden.”
Premier Feece acted taken aback. The implication was unlikely, but he was interested in how one of his prison leaders could have necessitated the appearance of so many armed warships. “Which?”
“A man named Jarn.”
The bald one sneered in genuine looking disdain. He also stared with unhidden anger at the Klingon commander. Feece looked blandly at Spock. “Jarn. Warden of our furthest and most remote prison facility? How could he have inspired such fear to travel through our space?”
“A number of his ships have attacked Federation assets, including the flagship we have brought here.” Spock looked at him evenly. His gaze was measuring and questing. He was gauging the Premier for each of his reactions. Feece knew this was an observant individual. He was likely a skilled negotiator.
Feece had to smile wryly at what this Spock was presenting to him.
“I find that highly unlikely. Kovarn is a low yield facility. If it weren’t, we would remove the prisoners and put a legitimate mining expedition down there. The minerals there are profitable, but in terms of money generated, it barely covers the expenses of feeding and maintaining the prisoners we incarcerate there. Jarn himself is a former prisoner stationed there as the last stage of his rehabilitation.” Ford scoffed here, drawing a cross look from the Ambassador. Feece went on unfazed. “Kovarn can’t have more than three bulk transports and a handful of hoppers at any one time.”
“Common Federation over exaggerations.” The Klingon commander crooned in a silky, seductive voice. This man tried far too hard to be friendly, convincing. He turned half toward the Earthers and slowly waved his gauntleted hands in a low gesture. “They claim hardship and persecution to beg for consideration for their cause. They feign weakness even as they post a fleet on your doorstep.”
There was a slight bit of truth to what the Klingon had said… There was, after all, a fleet in orbit of his world. Feece looked back to the newcomers for their reaction.
Ford was advancing on the Klingon. His brow was a furrowed mess and redness had colored his nose and cheeks. These aliens were capable of such coloration! Spock was watching Ford closely, and though he had yet to move, he believed the man was readying to restrain the rounder shaped officer before he did something rash. The Klingon, for his part, did not back down. Rather, he faced Ford fully and crossed his arms before him menacingly.
Ford stood before the short haired, mustached commander, glaring coldly into his eyes. Feece sat wondering when the violence would begin. Who would restrain Ford first…Spock, or the Premier’s own security men. Feece could see them both tense as the two squared off.
“Your name, flathead.” Ford demanded. Feece couldn’t understand the use of ‘flathead’. Was this some sort of slur? Physically, Ford did not look very much different than the Klingon. The Klingon’s hair was short, but unshaven. His coloration was darker and his hair coarser than either of the other two aliens. But beyond this, and the warrior stylings of the Klingon’s armor, there seemed almost no difference between Ford and the man he glared at. No added limbs, appendages or even bumps on their heads separated them.
The Klingon winced, only just perceptibly, at the insult. The corner of Ford’s mouth curled a touch when he saw that. At length, the Klingon answered as though he hadn’t noticed the slur.
“I am Captain Rell, commander of the Gorvek. Likely you noticed my ship in orbit.” Rell smiled an acid smile as he stared back, unblinking. Ford nodded very slowly at some kind of confirmation he’d just been given.
“Rell. I’ve been anxious to meet you. We got yer buddy Shiloah… Or maybe you knew him better as Brigadier Komar.” Ford obviously took great pleasure in revealing whatever situation this information alluded to. Rell made an effort to maintain full composure.
“Brigadier Komar has been missing for ten years, Commodore. If you found him within your own ranks, he must have seen it as some kind of retirement. A vacation within a simpler career.”
Rell ended everything in a smile. Feece did not trust men who had to force out a smile.
Ford was likewise unimpressed with Rell’s dismissal of what he’d said.
“Keep yer mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.”
Feece glanced back to Spock. The ambassador was eyeing Ford with baleful intent. Such blatant aggression was obviously not his modus operandi. When Ford finally stepped back a pace from the Klingon, Spock and Feece’s guards settled. Spock pushed on as though the exchange had never occurred.
“The commodore refers to Klingon interference in Starfleet operations with intent to disrupt the peace between our two powers. Ultimately, there is much at stake here. More so than I had previously guessed. Rest assured that what I claim about Jarn’s military strength is valid. Whether he has secretly built a war fleet or has made some sort of alliance with other commanders to gain the ships he wanted, your Over Warden possesses a fleet of impressive size. Starfleet has estimated he commands no less than twenty vessels of varying sizes. And it is also believed he has made a deal to gain access to advanced weaponry of Federation design.”
Ford seemed ready to pounce on the Klingon commander. Feece looked from him to the ambassador. He had just now noticed that this Spock possessed one difference from Rell and the commodore. His ears were pointed. Feece wondered if he was of some different creed from Ford.
“Twenty ships…” The Premier started as he repeated that statement. He glanced up to Spock. “The entirety of the Affiliated fleet has only thirty ships.” The leader blanched over admitting such intelligence to these would-be interlopers. But it was a well-known fact in this sector that Ya’wenn military strength did not lie in the number of its ships. Their race had only had access to warp technology for the last two centuries…
The idea of Jarn possessing a fleet to rival that which he controlled was absurd. And…frightening.
“Perhaps Jarn has laid hands on more resources than he has admitted to you, Premier.” Spock suggested. The idea was one that made Feece pause.
Rell made a dismissive gesture and crossed before the two aliens. His serpentine eyes glanced to the Premier as he continued to smile. “Or perhaps you listen to more Federation lies, Premier. Ambassador Spock can doubtless list a data pad’s worth of diplomatic credentials that would have led him to a negotiating table with your people…But the simple truth of the matter is that a year ago, and indeed most of his life, Spock was a soldier in the Federation Starfleet. His every breath is to further the militant goals of his people. Pay no heed to his prattle.”
Ford snapped his head back to Rell, his blazing glare daring the other to action.
“And just what the hell are you here for, Rell? The Premier here evidently doesn’t know about your deal with Jarn. Did we interrupt yer attempt to draw him into the deal?”
Premier Feece leaned back into the reclining comfort of his office chair. Rell had entered offering a deal of alliance between his Empire and the Ya’wenn. He’d alluded to having dealt with the Premier’s underlings previously, but had not elaborated once word of the approaching Federation force had come to the Presidial Office. Now Ford had given him reason to suspect Rell had been about to mention Jarn. But to think that Jarn had access to and command over such a huge fleet… It would mean chaos within the Affiliation.
Another war…
This was not something he could leave in the hands of underlings. He would lead the investigation himself. He opened a drawer on his desk face to grab out his comm unit. He withdrew the small hand radio and looked up to the argumentative aliens.
“I am disinclined to believe either of your views at face value. As Premier, my people rely on me to accurately weigh all information brought to me before making any decision that will alter or affect their lives. The idea that an Over Warden has amassed a combat fleet to rival that of his own government is one that bears investigation. But I will not allow my race to be drawn into the intrigues of two opposed powers. I will have my command ship relay me to Kovarn. Your respective vessels will accompany mine on its trip. The bulk of your Federation fleet, however, will depart Affiliated space. I will allow only your command ship to remain. Then we will reach the facts of this…situation.”
Ford did not seem happy with the Premier’s decision. Spock merely bowed thoughtfully. Rell smiled on, eyes glittering. The Premier resigned himself to tending with the details that accompanied leaving the planet for an extended period of time. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but he could not let claims of Jarn’s double dealing go without looking into. Captain Rell had been far too adamant that he not listen to the Earthers. This alone made the Klingon’s motives suspect.
“We shall make our departure and send orders to our fleet as a sign of cooperation.” Spock said as he nodded to the commodore. Ford glared icily back.
Captain Rell said nothing, but produced his own brown metal communicator and pressed a thumb stud on its side. He dissolved into a subspace energy field and beamed away. The Premier watched him go, wary of the journey he was about to embark upon.
***
Topic: Endeavour Story #9 (Read 16562 times)