“It’s a Klingon ship,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Sitting at his workstation within the tiny, dimly lit room that—for now, at least—served as New Anchorage’s orbital tracking control center, Colin Rella blinked in horrified disbelief as the animated symbol representing the Bacchus Plateauon his sensor display screen disappeared.
“Oh, my God.”
A second indicator, depicting the other, still-unidentified vessel that had appeared without warning, continued on its flight path, and Rella watched as the ship maneuvered into a standard orbital track. He had already requested a sensor scan from the communications center, and now he cursed the slower turnaround that was part and parcel of civilian sensor equipment. If he had been aboard the Starfleet science vessel he had called home for five years before resigning his commission to join the colonization effort on Lerais II, he already would have received confirmation of what his gut already was telling him.
“Colin,” said Gwen Casale, calling through the doorway separating the comm shack from the tracking center, “it’s a Klingon ship. D-7-class, according to the database.”
Of course it is!Just such a possibility had been on everyone’s mind from the moment the Federation News Service had reported increased Klingon ship movements throughout the Taurus Reach. The incident at Gamma Tauri IV was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and many of the Lerais II settlers were on edge. A good number of those had opted to return to Federation space, and all available passenger berths aboard the transport freighters were reportedly booked. Cot space in the cargo holds now was going fast, and even Rella was considering taking one of those slots for himself, though now it appeared that it might not make any sort of difference. Even a single Klingon vessel would be more than capable of destroying the unarmed merchant ships hovering like sitting ducks in orbit.
As for what might be in store for those still on the planet’s surface, Rella held no illusions. He had seen reports of what happened to the populations of worlds the Klingons chose to conquer. But would the empire be so bold as to take aggressive action against any world with a Federation presence?
We’re not Federation,Rella reminded himself. Well, not really.Though the colony's leader had not taken the extraordinary step of renouncing Federation citizenship, they still had deferred most of the aid offered both by colonization assistance agencies and by Starfleet. Still, a vessel dispatched from Starbase 47 and carrying a contingent from the Corps of Engineers had come to support the settlement’s initial setup and construction efforts. The ship’s captain had graciously acquiesced when asked by administrators to leave the bulk of the work to the colonists themselves, but not before transporting to the surface a cargo bay’s worth of tools and other equipment, along with an open-ended offer to return and render further help if and when asked.
I wish that ship was here now,Rella mused, along with a few dozen of its bigger brothers and sisters.
“Alert the administrator’s office,” he said, hearing the slight tremble in his own voice as the realization of what had just happened continued to sink in. “And get me the other transport ships.” Tapping a string of controls on his console, he adjusted the image on his sensor displays so that he could now see the other vessels’ orbital tracks. So far, the Klingon ship did not seem interested in pursuing them.
Someone behind him opened a door, flooding the darkened room with harsh sunlight that washed across his console and obscured his view. Squinting at the sudden change in illumination, Rella spun in his seat, holding up his hand to shield his eyes. “What in the name of…?”
Silhouetted in the doorway was the squat, portly figure of Pehlingul, one of the engineers who was currently working to upgrade the sensor transceiver arrays on the roof of the building. The Tellarite was engaged in a bout of frantic gesturing, apparently to anyone who might take notice.
“Something’s happened up in orbit!” he said. He pointed a pudgy thumb over his shoulder. “You need to come see this.”
Rella was the first to leave his station, following the agitated engineer through the door and out into the courtyard that served as New Anchorage’s town center. Flanked on all four sides by uneven rows of interim prefabricated single-story structures, the square would soon be supplanted by the permanent buildings being erected nearly a kilometer to the east. Outside, dozens of other colonists had emerged from the various buildings and were gazing upward. No sooner had Pehlingul emerged from the cover of the canopy mounted above the door than he was pointing toward the heavens.
“Up there. Look!”
Barely visible behind the thin haze of clouds obscuring what otherwise was a beautiful, springlike afternoon, Rella could make out at least a dozen faint streaks of light arching across the brilliant blue sky, all originating from a single point. At the heads of most of the contrails were dazzling balls of fire, remnants of the Bacchus Plateaubreaking up as they plummeted from orbit.
Around him, Rella heard reactions of horror and disbelief from some of the colonists, most of whom, of course, did not yet know the reality of the situation currently unfolding far overhead.
“What happened?” someone asked from behind him.
Another colonist answered, “One of the transport ships. It has to be. Maybe they suffered a warp-core breach?”
Rella said nothing, the truth churning his gut, as did anticipation over what might happen next.
He jerked at the touch of a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Gwen Casale staring at him, her face a mask of worry and mounting terror.
“Colin.”
Whatever else she might have said seemed to die in her throat, and Rella saw her expression change an instant before he caught sight of the column of harsh crimson energy that had appeared in the courtyard. Within seconds it coalesced into the form of a humanoid figure. As the new arrival’s body solidified and the effects of the transporter faded, a chorus of surprised and startled gasps and several cries of alarm echoed around the square.
“Dear Lord,” Rella heard Casale say in a croaked whisper.
The Klingon had to stand nearly two meters tall by Rella’s estimation. There was no mistaking the martial nature of his attire, which consisted of a dark tunic beneath a silver vest cut from what Rella knew was a lightweight, flexible variant of chain mail. Dark, patterned trousers were tucked into polished black leather boots, the tops of which reached to the Klingon’s thighs. He was broad-shouldered and muscled, with long black hair falling past his shoulders and a prominent array of brow ridges dominating the top of his head. A massive sidearm, a disruptor pistol, was strapped to his right hip, and the palm of his left hand rested atop the pommel of a long sheathed blade.
Without thinking, Rella reached out and pulled Casale to him. She did not resist, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Earthers and your assorted lapdogs,” the Klingon said, his deep baritone voice bouncing off the temporary buildings’ thermoconcrete walls, “my name is Komoraq, commander of the Imperial vessel M’ahtagh.This planet has been claimed by the Klingon Empire. We established our presence here some time ago. You are therefore trespassing.” Holding out his hands, he seemed to shrug. “It is unfortunate that your ship did not announce your presence in the system prior to making planetfall. As it happens, my vessel’s sensors malfunctioned and registered your freighter as an enemy ship arming its weapons against us. An unfortunate oversight, to be sure. However, in the interest of preserving whatever fragile peace our respective governments and their political puppets treasure, I will offer you a single opportunity: leave, or be destroyed.”
Cries of incredulity and denial erupted from the growing crowd. Rella found it unlikely that Komoraq was intimidated or even impressed by the protests, and there certainly was no outward appearance of the Klingon’s even registering the display. Still, it was obvious that he had anticipated such resistance, if not something more aggressive.