Chapter Twenty-three

Private Bird-of-Prey, Klingon design Klingon Empire Lorrnit Sector

 

“you’reinsane.” Gorlat neither smiled nor hissed. He was matter-of-fact and completely blunt. “That’s

all. You’ve just lost your tiny, warped Klingon brain.”

 

Loire remained silent and continued packing gear into one of the locker compartments.

 

“I must agree,” said the Andorian in his raspy whisper.

 

“Topor, you’d agree with the animal who killed your mother,” one of the other mercenaries said. Lotre

didn’t see who.

 

“My own father killed my mother,” Topor purred.

 

“And you agreed with him,” Gorlat said.

 

Topor smiled thinly and shrugged. “I hired him. What is your point?”

 

Lotre sighed. “While my ancestry may be Klingon, my brain is Romulan—”

 

“Is that supposed to be better?” scoffedone of the nine different aliens gathered about.

 

“Yes,” Lotre said. “It is.”

 

“Ravings,” someone said. “We’re asking for death,” another complained. And again, Gorlat said, “You’re

crazy, Lotre.”

 

“I am not insane.”

 

“Then you’re drugged.” Gorlat pushed Lotre away from the lockers, as if Lotre wasn’t done and on his way

anyway.

 

“I am not drugged.”

 

“Insane or drugged, 7 care not. We’ll all be just as dead if we continue to follow this ship.”

 

Lotre noticed that while Gorlat spoke for himself and probably most of the others, they were all stowing

their gear nonetheless. “You’re supposed to be mercenaries. You’re paid to do as you’re told.”

 

“I’m paid to fight,” Gorlat said. “Not to die.”

 

Lotre smiled. “Fight well, and you won’t die.”

 

“Against a starship? That starship? In case you’d not noticed, that is the Enterprise.”

 

“I noticed. We’ll have help, from the inside.” Lotre turned to them, and smiled. “Now what do you say?”

 

Gorlat sneered. “I say the help’d better be flippin’ divine.”

 

U.S.S. Enterprise. NCC 1701E Klingon Empire Lanmit Sector

 

“Captain, we’re reading increased neutrino emissions.” Spock had been at the science station, waiting

for just such an occurrence.

 

“They’re closing in,” Picard said, stepping up toward the Vulcan.

 

Spock turned toward the captain. “A logical assumption.” He had that glint in his eye. Smiling, without

actually smiling.

 

“Within transporter range?” Picard asked.

 

“In … seventeen seconds,” Spock answered with just a slight glance at the console.

 

Picard turned toward tactical. “Mr. Chamberlain, silent signal of general quarters and intruder alert.

Notify Mr. La Forge.”

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

Determined, the captain turned back, his jaw tight.

 

“Stand by, Mr. Sp—”

 

Cut off by a low rumble and then an alert, Picard stopped instantly and listened. Somewhere, deep within

the ship, a series of explosions vibrated up to the bridge.

 

“Captain,” Chamberlain called, “shields are down! We’ve lost the main shield conduits.”

 

“Reroute, Ensign! And now, Mr. Spock. Now!”

 

The whole process lasted longer than it should have, and for a very brief moment he thought he might

actu

 

allypanic. It was a common phobia, but he pushed it away. He knew that when he finally did materialize,

there would be much to do.

 

Lotre experienced the final stage of transport when his feeling slowly returned. His skin tingled and

then his sight was restored in a hail of harsh sparkle. Enterprise’s engineering room appeared before

him. His disruptor already raised, Lotre targeted the nearest Starfleeter and fired.

 

The man crumpled, stunned into submission. Lotre targeted another, by his rank probably the chief

engineer, but the dark man jumped behind a console. “Fan out,” Lotre ordered, and gave chase.

 

The engineer was fast and well trained. He rolled away quickly, and when he came up on a knee, Lotre

assumed he’d have a weapon. He did. The mercenary bowed left and protected himself behind a support

strut. He glanced back at the nine others who had beamed in with him. They were all still standing, but

only two of the Starfleeters were yet down.Two down, hundreds to go? Only if Lotre couldn’t get to

environmental control and the bridge.

 

“Secure engineering,” Lotre ordered, “I will proceed with the plan and meet the other—”

 

Squinting in sudden pain, Lotre pressed his free hand’s fingers into his skull above one ear. “Sonic!”

hegrunted.

 

“They don’t hear it,” cried one of his men. “Earplugs.”

 

Something Lotre hadn’t thought to bring. “Find where it’s coming from!”

 

A painful distraction that could win this battle for the Starfleeters.Lotre looked for any speaker

centers or

 

communicationshubs, and at the same time needed to defend himself from phaser shots. He darted between

support struts, painfully zeroing in on the place from where the sonic whine seemed to emanate.

 

He reached for his tricorder, but the scanning device was missing. Odd—he’d not felt it drop. Too small

a concern to occupy his mind now.The pain in his head was too great. He felt the sound reverberate

throughout his skull, now his spine and breastbone. He couldn’t take anymore. He fired toward the area

wildly. Foolish, really—his ownorders were to maintain stun settings so that neither necessary

equipment nor necessary personnel would be damaged.

 

Disrupter energy punched forward from his weapon and slammed into a force field. Containment fields!

“They had time to raise containment fields!” Loire screamed in pain, but fought to keep himself from

grumbling. He reset his rifle to full and fired a prolonged burst

 

Raw energy finally pushed past the electronic barrier and the console exploded. Fire suppression force

fields quickly surrounded the flames, but smoke had already plumed into the room.

 

Loire coughed hard, but the painful noise was gone and he ran toward the exit. The air was cleaner inThe

corridor, and he remembered the deck map clearly as he turned toward the turbolift, and the armory.

 

“Two sets of ten life-forms have transported aboard, sir.” Chamberlain’s voice was thick with

apprehension. He anxiously leaned on one leg and then the other as he stood alThe tactical station.

“Shields are still down.”

 

“La Forge?” Picard asked.

 

Chamberlain shook his head. “Comm systems are down, too. Also due to internal explosions.”

 

“Sabotage,” Picard growled. “Ensign Bradley.” The captain motioned the man quickly forward. “Alert

security. I want the guard doubled around T’sart.”

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

“Chalna, find La Forge and get him to find a way to bypass the destroyed conduits. Sanderson, I want

status from every deck. You’ll have to go on foot.”

 

All three cleared out for the turbolifts.

 

The captain pivoted toward the upper deck. “Mr. Spock?”

 

Spock nodded but didn’t look up from his internal ship’s scanners. “Internal sensors show all intruders

are accounted for. One of the ten from Engineering is on his way to deck twelve.” He looked up and met

Picard’s eyes. “Engineering has been secured by the intruders.”

 

“They’ve been lucky until now,” the captain said. “Let’s see that luck doesn’t hold.”

 

Spock’s left hand glided over his console. “Aye, sir.”

 

Lotre stopped quickly, catching himself before he entered the turbolift. Obviously the sonics had left

him more disoriented than he thought. He knew better than to confine himself in an elevator, and he’d

committed to memory every ladder access he’d need and a few he shouldn’t, but might. And he’d wasted

time running in the opposite direction.

 

Dull footsteps echoed up the corridor. Damn Federation! What kind of warship has carpeted halls? Boots

 

MAXIMUM WARP: BOOK ONE

 

onmetal would have alerted Lotre sooner; now he had only seconds.

 

Ducking into a doorway alcove, Lotre hid and waited until he could hear their breathing. He quietly

reset his weapon to wide stun, and when he heard them closeenough, he curled his weapon arm into the

hall and fired.

 

Lotre fell to one knee and rolled across the corridor and into the next alcove. He was one of twenty men

on a ship full of Federation soldiers. He would take no chances.

 

When he glanced up the hall during his roll, he saw all four security officers were down, stunned. He

sighed, rolled back into the corridor, and jumped into a run. Leaping over the Starfleeters, Lotre fired

up the hall as two more rounded a corner. They quickly deflated and collapsed to the deck.

 

He couldn’t help but smile. It was going well. Very well. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

 

A force field snapped to life and blocked his way.

 

Anger furrowed his brows where nature had not, and he pushed against the field for a frustrating moment.

A foolish and yet instinctive reaction to being trapped-test the cage.

 

A waste of time, he thought, and knew he didn’t have the time to squander. To snare him, they’d had to

have known where to find him. He probably had only seconds.

 

He pulled a small device from a pouch in his tunic and set it on the deck. A one-use force-field

disruption unit. He’d thought he’d need to use it around the bridge or the armory, but he needed it now

for the force fields that ran through the ship’s bulkheads and decks. Resetting

 

hisdisrupter, he aimed it at the floor and pulled the rifle’s trigger. A cascade of sound and energy

squashed the deck beneath it. Spark and smoke gushed toward his head and he bowed away, but continued to

fire. First just burning,then melting, the floor finally gave way and crashed to the deck below.

 

Lotre leapt and followed it down, his boots crunching into molten debris as he landed roughly and nearly

stumbled. He jumped again, this time off the rubble he’d created and onto the clean floor.

 

The corridor was clear, but above him he heard the cursing of those looking for him in their trap.

 

Now he had to run—they would be on him again, and soon.

 

Two decks away he’d find reinforcements. His men were in the main armory, beamed directly there, and

that would be where most of the Enterprise security personnel would be. There, and trying to get his

other nine mercenaries out of Engineering.

 

“Status?” Picard asked Chamberlain.

 

“Commander La Forge is working on the shields, sir. No ETA yet. I have a weapons lock on the enemy ship.

They’ve scanned us, so they know it. They’re just waiting.”

 

“Waiting for their boarding party to get a foothold. We can’t accommodate that many more. We need those

shields up.” Picard paced toward tactical and looked over Chamberlain’s shoulder. “Just in case, arm the

crew. Hand phasers for all personnel.”

 

“Aye, sir.”

 

Spock approached and handed Picard a sidearm. He also holstered one for himself.

 

“I want to know how we were damaged. And by whom,” Picard said as he took the weapon.

 

“I shall investigate,” Spock said. “The enemy number in Engineering is down to six. They’ve sealed

themselves in and are attempting to override environmental and helm controls.”

 

The captain pursed his lips and marched back toward the command chair. “Make it difficult for them.”

 

“Of course,” Spock said.

 

“What about the other team?”

 

“The armory.” The Vulcan turned toward one of the sensor readouts on the console behind him. He tapped

at the controls. “Ten life-forms of various races, with one of the enemy force fromEngineering

apparently making his way there. A Klingon.”

 

“Interesting,” Picard said. “A Klingon working for a Romulan?”

 

“Not unheard of.”

 

“Indeed not. Just unusual.”

 

“The question is,why would he break away from those he beamed in with?”

 

“Easy answer.” Picard stood and walked toward Spock. “He’s in charge.” He leaned over Spock’s shoulder

and watched the sensor readouts. “His people secured Engineering, and now he’ll make sure they secure

the armory.”

 

Spock nodded. “Very logical, Captain.”

 

“I have my moments,” Picard said. “Let’s see that

 

theirleader gets a leader’s welcome outside the armory. Add a few more to the security team.”

 

Spock’s fingers did a lithe dance on the computer console. “Added.”

 

“We’ll see how long it takes him to get into the armory now.”

 

“Hold it right there, Mister.”

 

Lotre turned quickly and ducked into a doorway alcove for cover.

 

He got a quick glimpse of the officer who’d caught him short. Red accents and the rank of commander, if

he wasn’t mistaken. Looked like the first officer, Riker.

 

The tall Starfleeter had just a hand phaser, but he seemed to know how to use it. Lotre was pinned down,

and if he allowed that for much longer there would be a swarm of security officers around him.

 

So damn close to the armory, he thought. A phaser shot sizzled past his head and was absorbed into the

bulkhead close to him. Heavy stun.Federation fools. If his ship was the one being invaded, he’d be

firing tokill .

 

“It’s over,” Riker said. “Give it up.”

 

Starfleet arrogance at work. Lotre was nowhere near ready to give anything up. He had a few stun

grenades, but the problem with those was that they were really more for a covert operation. Tossing a

stun grenade at someone who saw it coming and could disable it with a well-placed phaser shot… well,

it wouldn’t do too much good. But as a distraction … He took one grenade, then decided to take another

as

 

well. He punched in the codes to arm them and tossed them up the hall toward the Starfleeter.

 

Jumping forward as the grenades clattered up the deck, Lotre rolled along the floor and around the

corner. He heard Riker fire twice to disable the grenades. As he assumed the Starfleeter would.

 

He peeked up the corridor and saw no one coming from in front of him. But when he turned quickly back

around’ Drop it.” Riker was standing there, close enough to have his phaser aimed right at him, point-blank, but far enough away to be out of easy striking range.

 

“How—” Lotre was amazed.

 

Riker stepped forward and kicked the Klingon’s rifle up the hallway. It skittered against the deck and

out of reach. Lotre looked from Riker to his weapon, then back to Riker. He rose slowly, feigning a

defeated posture.

 

Gesturing for him to take a walk up the corridor, Riker was sure to keep his distance. All that meant to

Lotre was that he’d have to lunge.

 

He landed painfully on his elbows at Riker’s feet, and managed to pull the Starfleeter’s legs out from

under him. Riker fell back with a grunt and Lotre pulled the man’s tall frame toward him. As Riker

struggled to rise without leverage, Lotre grappled for the phaser.

 

The Starfleeter’s grip was like iron and Lotre grumbled, “How strong are you?”

 

Smiling, Riker said, “Stronger than you,” and he kicked out from underneath the Klingon, sending him a

few feet down the corridor.

 

His right leg taking most of the blow as he fell on the

 

deck, Loire got up quickly. He didn’t have the phaser, but somehow neither did Riker. Lotre saw it,

leapt for it, and rolled shoulder to knee as he grabbed it.

 

Now Riker was the captive, Lotre thought, and smiled.

 

Oddly, Riker was smiling, too. Startled for a moment by the expression, Lotre hesitated at the blur that

Riker became, gray and red suddenly close to him.

 

“By the Praetor—” Lotre gasped, and Riker was right there, backhanding him onto the deck.

 

Rage boiled deep without the Klingon. When he spoke he was sputtering with fury. “How the devil are you

so strong?”

 

Riker scooped up Loire’s disrupter rifle and leveled it at him.

 

For a short moment Lotre actually felt defeated, his head pounding in anger. But the warm Federation

phaser was still in his hand. He didn’t look down at it, but his thumb found the setting control and

leaned heavily on it. He fired, and a thin but powerful orange thread connected Riker with the weapon.

 

Riker howled as the beam swiped down into his weapon arm. Sizzling through flesh and bone, sealing the

wound with the same heat that cut it, the rifle-with Riker’s arm still attached—fell to the deck.

 

The Starfleeter collapsed in agony and rolled into the bulkhead.

 

Lotre scooped up the disrupter rifle. The Klingon checked the weapon’s power cell and available state,

and chucked it into ready position.

 

Gorlat approached from up the corridor, various scatered bodies, the stunned carcasses of Starfleet

security, littering his path.

 

He kicked one, for good measure and probably for personal pleasure.

 

“It is done,” he said.

 

Lotre looked down at Riker’s shocky, quivering form and smirked. “So is he.”

 

“Having a central armory is insane,” Gorlat snorted. “We vaporized their store in a matter of minutes.”

 

Lotre moved to the next nearest Starfleeter and took his weapon. “But you saved the power packs,

correct? We can convert them for our own weapons.”

 

“Of course. This is not my first such mission.”

 

“It is your first Federation Battle Cruiser,” Lotre said, taking the next man’s weapon, too, and handing

it to his comrade.

 

Gorlat couldn’t seem to argue with what Lotre said, so he merely grunted.

 

“It’s time to bring the others.” Lotre pulled out a communicator and brought it to his lips. “This is

Lotre. Teams three through five, begin transport.”

 

Static crackled back at him and a small spike of apprehension raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

 

“Topor! Respond!”

 

Again, biting silence.

 

“Topor? Lormit? Anyone, respond!”

 

Nothing.

 

“We’re being jammed, or they’ve been silenced at the source.”

 

Gorlat snarled. “We cannot maintain control of this vessel with so few men. We were supposed to be the

 

advanceteam to make sure they couldn’t get their shields back up, and to take out their armory without

destroying the rest of the ship.”

 

Marching up the corridor, Lotre spat, “I know the plan, Gorlat! It was a strategy of my own creation!”

 

“What do we do now?”

 

“Gather your team,” the Klingon said. “We take the bridge, and find out what has happened to our ship.”

 

“The bridge will be heavily protected.”

 

“And we,” Lotre said indignantly, “will be heavily armed.”

 

The Starfleeters were formidable, there was no denying that. They’d cut off the turbolifts, and when

Lotre found a transporter room, that proved to be useless, too. This was not how it was supposed to have

been.

 

The plan had been to secure Engineering and the armory, assuring the shields would stay down and the

crew would not be armed. Then Lotre would have been free to beam a team directly onto the bridge.

 

Now he had no such support.

 

“Three of you take that hatchway,” Lotre ordered. “The rest of you, with me.”

 

He didn’t like breaking up such a small number, but with the lifts not working that meant more than no

one could easily get on the bridge; it meant no one could easily get off.

 

The three would attempt access through the conduits that serviced the exterior of the bridge. Lotre

would take the rest via an open lift shaft.

 

Without help, he pried the turbolift doors open.

 

“Hold them,” he ordered whoever reached out first. Gorlat held them open as Loire pulled a small device

from a pocket and stuck it inside the lift shaft. He switched the small apparatus on.

 

“Someone check that.”

 

One of the others pulled out a small scanner unit and nodded. “Sensor dampener functional.”

 

Lotre ducked his head in and twisted his gaze upward. “Fools didn’t lock the car at the top. We have

access.”

 

“It could be booby-trapped.”

 

The Klingon nodded. “Yes, Gorlat, it could. You go first.”

 

Gorlat sneered, but leapt to the tube’s hand-rungs and began climbing.

 

The ascent was tedious and, for Lotre, angst-ridden. He tried only to focus on each rung as herose hand

over hand, but his mind kept whirling around the possibilities. He could not hold captive hundreds of

Starfleet crew with twenty men. It was going to be difficult with two hundred. And if they couldn’t

communicate with their reinforcements … By the time they’d reached the top, it was obvious there was

no defense perimeter, no booby traps

 

Gorlat stood off on a narrow slice of ledge to one side of the closed entry. He reached to open the door

with his hands, but Lotre motioned him off. “Too slow,” he mouthed quietly, and motioned for Gorlat to

move down the ledge more. He then nodded for the others to climb past him and onto the ledge as well.

 

He wanted to be first on the bridge. He wanted to take down Picard himself.

 

Lotre pulled out one of the Federation phasers he’d taken off a stunned crewman and set it to die

highest level.

 

He showed the weapon to the others,then aimed at the door.

 

“Once in, fan out,” he whispered. “Picard is mine.”

 

And he fired a short burst.

 

The doors decayed outward with an orange flash and a puff of smoke. Balancing on the service rungs,

Lotre propelled himself through the hole he’d opened and rolled onto the bridge.

 

He surged over the guardrail and toward Picard, bringing both the phaser and his own rifle up to aim.

His men would take care of any others, and he ignored all but the captain.

 

Picard’s face was etched in surprise as Lotre first backhanded him with his phaser,then dropped the

weapon in favor of grabbing Picard’s neck and moving him closer.

 

Blood drizzled from one corner of the Starfleet captain’s mouth.

 

It all felt so good, Lotre thought that perhaps his Klingon blood was betraying his Romulan upbringing.

 

Should he want this so much, this man’s death, that he could taste it? Just for the victory?

 

No, it wasn’t his honor he fought for, it was his master’s.

 

Lotre stabbed the barrel end of his rifle under Pi card’s chin and didn’t stop himself from releasing a

tight, dark snigger.

 

“The Enterprise,” Lotre whispered mirthfully, “belongs to T’sar!”