Chapter Eleven

COMMANDER T’SROH had never been more bored in his entire life.

Intellectually, he knew that he had been given a great honor: to assist his noble Chancellor in carrying out her vow of DIS jaj je. When Kerla had first contacted him and informed him of this important task, T’SroH had puffed his chest out with pride.

And then Kerla filled him in on the details.

The destruction of Praxis had been a disaster on a scale that most Klingons were only now truly beginning to appreciate. T’SroH, like Kerla, had not at first approved of Gorkon’s peace initiatives, but with each day that passed, the unpleasant reality revealed itself more clearly: The Klingons needed peace if they were to survive as the passionate, proud people they had always been. The events at Khitomer regarding one James T. Kirk had startled T’SroH and many others, and when he learned that Kirk was the subject of Azetbur’s DIS jaj je, he was not surprised.

If only Kirk had willingly accepted the great honor that Azetbur had bestowed! Then T’SroH would not be bored, as he was now. It was not the fact that he now owed a year and a day out of his life to fulfilling his chancellor’s honor debt, but the manner in which he had to spend that year and day.

He had followed the large, ungainly ship called the Mayflower II to this planet, nauseatingly named Sanctuary. His ship, the proud and noble K’Rator, had maintained its cloak the entire time, running undetectable while any other ships were in the vicinity and scanning quickly, cautiously, when they were not.

Why had Captain Kirk, by all accounts an adventuresome human, come to this wretchedly peaceful place? The Klingon had been brought up to speed, of course, and knew that there was a blood bond between the starship captain and the younger colony founders. But what purpose would it serve? From what he knew of Kirk, T’SroH suspected the human was as bored as he.

Weeks had gone by in this manner. T’SroH was beginning to think he might go mad. His crew was beginning to grumble as well. At this rate, the entire Year and a Day would pass before Kirk would do so much as stub a toe.

At least there was some activity to break up the monotony. T’SroH had watched with mild interest as the Falorians worked without ceasing to build a spacedock close to Sanctuary. He had made note of the vessels that came and went. Many were large cargo vessels; some were sleek, dangerous-looking fighters. Still others were strange hybrids, clearly cobbled together of many different vessels from many different peoples. One or two T’SroH thought he recognized as belonging to members of the Orion Syndicate, but, of course, he could not be certain unless they chose to display their symbol of a circle and a lightning bolt. Which, naturally, they would be reluctant to do. He made a mental note and let it go. If the Falorians chose to deal with the scum, let them. His sole focus, his reason for being locked in orbit around this miserable place, was James Kirk. All else was extraneous.

To that end, of much greater interest were the daily flyovers the Falorian ships made of the colony. T’SroH kept hoping for some kind of attack to break the monotony, but none came.

T’SroH had also hoped this mysterious facility the Falorians had built on the far side of the planet would prove of interest, but thus far, the shields had only been lowered for the briefest of moments. There had been no time to execute an order to scan so they might discover what that shield protected.

The Klingons had long since adapted to the cycles of this planet’s days and nights, and it was the small hours of the morning on Sanctuary. T’SroH lay in his bed, unable to sleep, although sleep would be an excellent way to pass the time that appeared to be on his hands.

There was a sharp whistle of the communications system. “Commander,” came his second-in-command’s voice.

“Speak,” T’SroH grunted.

“Captain Kirk and two others have left the colony. I thought you would wish to be informed,” continued Garthak.

At this hour? That was indeed unusual. T’SroH sat up in his bed. “What is their destination?”

“Uncertain.” A pause. Then, his voice laced with excitement, “They are heading to the facility.”

T’SroH growled his pleasure and leaped out of bed. This should be interesting. Perhaps the time had finally come to pay the DIS jaj je.

He hastened to the bridge just in time for Garthak to say, “They are right outside the perimeter.”

T’SroH found himself breathing shallowly, his blood racing. Had it really been so long since anything had happened that the sight of two humans outside an alien facility would make him catch his breath so? He made a mental note to challenge Garthak to a good bat’leth practice later today.

But T’SroH was not the only one watching with excitement; he could feel the tension on the bridge. There he was, the famous James T. Kirk. He knew, as Kirk could not, how secure the Falorians were in the impenetrability of their base. Clearly, they thought the colonists would behave like good little Earth sheep and stay where they were supposed to; stay where the Falorians could keep watch over them.

He found himself doing something he thought he would never do—rooting for a human.

“I have heard of his Engineer Scott as well,” T’SroH said. “If he is the one in the vessel, then it is likely that—”

He fell silent as in front of his eyes, the shield went down and the two humans raced inside. T’SroH caught only the briefest glimpses of the shapes of buildings before the blue, pulsating shield went back up.

The shield had only been down for half a second. With any luck, if it was even noticed by whatever security the Falorians had, the brief shutdown would be assumed to be a technical error.

He leaned forward in his command chair. After weeks of waiting, T’SroH wasn’t about to miss a moment of this.

There was a low hum and a crackle as the shield went down. Phasers at the ready, Kirk and Chekov charged in. A fraction of a second later, the shield was back up. They remained tense, alert for any sign that they had been discovered, but all was quiet.

Kirk looked around while Chekov studied the tricorder. In the distance was a large tower. Scattered about were six or eight outbuildings, all small, utilitarian looking and single-story. There were a few lights on, but not many. The perimeter was only sparsely lit as well.

“Clearly, they put a lot of trust in that shield,” Kirk said. “Scott said their security systems were a bit lax.”

“I see no cargo areas, no ships, nothing that even remotely resembles a vessel,” Chekov said. Sarcastically he added, “I wonder why that is?”

“But I do see the source of that subspace carrier wave,” Kirk said, stepping forward and craning his neck to look up at the tower. “It dominates the entire area.”

“It’s a subspace relay, all right, but …” Chekov frowned. “This is a Starfleet issue relay, I’m certain of it.”

“What?” Kirk looked with renewed interest at the relay. “No cargo areas, pirated technology … it’s not looking very good for the Falorians’ trustworthiness. Come on.”

Carefully they moved toward the mostly darkened buildings. Scotty might have disabled the security system for the next few hours, but there was always the chance that they’d run into the old-fashioned security system—a guard. But the Falorians were diurnal, as were humans, and it looked as though most of them had gone to bed for the night.

Kirk heard a slight noise and, grabbing Chekov’s arm, pulled him up close against the nearest building. Several meters away, a single bored-looking Falorian guard, carrying a Starfleet-issue phaser, strolled past.

“If that’s their security system, I think we’re a match for it,” Chekov whispered.

“Did you see the phaser?”

“I’m holding one just like it.”

Quietly, they moved on. A window was open across a wide patch of grass, and Kirk squinted, trying to see inside. He saw what appeared to be a bed and a desk, and then the room went dark. These were living quarters, then.

But who lived here?

“Captain,” Chekov said quietly, “There’s a large entrance into the soil at the center of the area. It seems to be a tunnel of some sort. I’m detecting more evidence of high-level technology there than in any of these outer buildings.”

“Then that’s where we should be,” Kirk said. This area was better lit than the perimeter, but Chekov was able to pinpoint the presence of any Falorians. When all was clear, they sprinted for the tunnel.

The mouth was several hundred meters wide and narrowed as it went further into the ground. Kirk could catch glimpses of the technology that Chekov’s tricorder had revealed. His eyes widened slightly. Lissan’s claim that they didn’t have the level of technology that the colonists possessed was clearly a lie of the most elaborate sort. At the end of the tunnel, there was no dirt or stone to be seen. All was metal and alloys, lights and gantries and lifts. Kirk caught a glimpse of similarly clad Falorians scurrying along corridors here and there, carrying padds and looking focused.

Quickly they stepped down onto a gantry and pressed back against cold metal. Chekov was still reading the tricorder.

“I’m detecting very little indication of weapons,” he said as Kirk continued to take their bearings. “This may be a research facility.”

“Let’s find out what it is they’re researching.” It was clearly an enormous complex, and they were only two humans. With the security system disabled, luck ought to be with them. They hopped onto a lift and rode it down. Despite himself, Kirk felt his imagination stir at the sight of all the unfamiliar technology, much of it obviously new. It was probably just as well Scott wasn’t with them. The engineer might have fallen in love.

The lift clanged to a stop. The corridor was empty and they jumped off, ducking into a darkened room. Chekov glanced at the tricorder and nodded that all was clear. Phasers drawn, they proceeded down the corridor.

“What are we looking for?” Chekov whispered.

“We’ll know it when we see it,” Kirk hissed back. Even as he spoke the words, he wondered if they were true. What they were looking for was some reason why the Falorians had woven such an extensive web of lies. Why had they given up an entire planet to an alien race, with the only stipulation being a share in the technology the colony developed, when it was clear they had advanced technology themselves? Why had they erected a shield over nothing more dangerous than a research facility, and called it a “resupply base”? Why were they lying about jamming the colony’s frequencies, and why did they not want the colonists communicating with the outside world? What was a pirated Starfleet subspace relay system doing here, and how had they gotten a hold of it in the first place?

Answers were what he and Chekov were looking for. He only hoped they would indeed know them when they saw them.

Many of these rooms were storage facilities for equipment. And much of this equipment was Starfleet issue. It solved at least one problem. Kirk leaned over and whispered in Chekov’s ear, “The Orion Syndicate.”

Chekov nodded. “Cossacks,” he muttered. Then, wordlessly, he hauled Kirk down behind a cabinet full of beakers of various shapes and sizes.

“Lights,” came a voice. Footsteps passed them, hesi tated. They heard the clink of glass, then the footsteps moved away. “Lights off,” called the Falorian, and all was quiet again.

The next room into which they ventured was obviously a laboratory. Kirk looked around, then spotted what he was searching for—access to a computer.

“Start downloading anything you can,” he said. “I’ll look around.”

Chekov nodded, and immediately began configuring the tricorder to link up with the computer.

Kirk could have made a fair guess at navigating an alien bridge, but here in an alien laboratory, Kirk felt out of his element. Too bad Spock wasn’t here. He’d know what to make of this confusing jumble of equipment and—

Notes.

A padd lay tossed on the table next to a cup of something that had been poured and forgotten and was now growing some kind of mold. That in itself would be an interesting project, but Kirk was certain that was only an accidental side effect of too many hours spent in painstaking research. It was funny how similar scientists were, whatever their species. He picked up the padd, careful not to accidentally erase any information. Of course, it was all written in Falorian, but translation would be easy once they got back to the colony.

“Captain, look at this,” Chekov said. He was glancing back and forth from his tricorder to the screen. Kirk looked up to see a graphic of various shapes parading across the screen.

“What am I looking at?” Kirk asked, deferring to Chekov’s greater familiarity with all things scientific.

“I’m not certain, of course, but I’ve got a general idea of the focus of their research. At least one focus. Nanotechnology.”

Kirk watched, fascinated, as what he now realized were infinitesimally tiny machines marched about their business. “That covers a lot of ground,” he said. “What are the nanotechs doing? Is the focus on medicine, repair, what?”

“They’re not repairing anything,” said Chekov. “I don’t have enough information yet, but my guess is they’re going to be used as some kind of weapon.”

Kirk’s stomach clenched. “I want you to go to the deepest level of information they have in the computer,” he said.

“That could take time.”

“If they’re formulating a weapon, then the clock’s ticking already, Mr. Chekov.”

“Aye, sir.” He hesitated. “So far, I’ve only downloaded basic information. If I try to break into their encrypted files, I could alert someone to our presence.”

“That’s a risk we have to take. We must know what they’re planning.”

Chekov bit his lower lip. This wasn’t his area of expertise, but he was still more familiar with something like this than Kirk would be. With clear reluctance, he sat down and began to try to bypass the security system around the computer.

Kirk’s mind was racing. Everything was starting to make at least some kind of sense now. He looked down at his tricorder. This complex was enormous and ex tended for several hundred meters into the earth. It wasn’t anything new, nor was it anything that had been abandoned long ago and recently reoccupied. The Falorians had to have been working on getting it up and running for some time now. How could Alex not have known about this?

The answer came to him almost immediately, but it was an answer that he almost would rather not have had.

Julius.

Julius had always been the liaison to the Falorians. It wasn’t inconceivable that he had known what was going on from the very beginning, and had conspired with them to conceal evidence of this mammoth facility from any scans and reports.

Kirk’s mind went back to that middle of the night conversation when Alexander and Julius had first shown up on his doorstep. How long ago it all seemed now. It’s all thanks to Julius, Alex had said. He’s been amazing … he’s been the one out there talking to all kinds of alien races to find us our Sanctuary. And Julius’s own words: You have no idea what we’ve been through the last few years, Uncle Jim … the crawling through mud and getting sick and being literally scared for my life half the time that I’ve done to get this thing to fly.

He thought of the Starfleet technology generously peppered through the complex. Oh, Julius. I think I do know what you’ve been through … and what you’ve done.

“I’ve done as much as I dare do,” said Chekov, breaking into Kirk’s thoughts.

“Good job. We’ve got one more stop on this pleasant little tour of the resupply station.”

According to the tricorder readings there was an enormous cavern at the very bottom of the facility. They had seen dozens of labs, conference rooms and storage rooms, but nothing like this.

Kirk had to shake his head at how easy this all was. The shield and the system Scott had so easily cracked had lulled the Falorians into a false sense of security. Doors hissed open as readily for them as for the aliens, and after taking a long ride down on a lift, they stepped into what was clearly the heart of the complex.

Like everything they had seen thus far, this cavern was entirely Falorian-made. There was no glimpse of stone walls or dirt anywhere. Every wall was lined with panels, monitors (most of which, Kirk noticed appreciatively, were blank), switches, buttons, and blinking lights of every variety.

“We’re in a control center,” Chekov breathed, awe in his voice. “A very, very big control center.”

Kirk had moved forward and was now looking at some of the images on the screens. Most of them were of places he didn’t recognize.

But there was one he did, and his heart began to pound fiercely in his chest.

He was looking straight into the formal reception hall of Starfleet’s headquarters in San Francisco.