“Let’s hope better options present themselves,” Nogura said.
The intercom buzzed. “Admiral, they need you out here,” Greenfield said. “It’s urgent.” Nogura and Xiong traded stares of alarm, then they hurried out of his office.
The normally busy atmosphere of ops had become outright frantic. Yellow Alert panels flashed on the walls, and junior officers were scurrying from one duty station to the next, collecting reports and handing them off, each in turn, to Commander Cooper. Nogura cleaved a path through the Brownian chaos of moving bodies, bounded up the stairs to the supervisors’ deck, and caught up with the soft-spoken executive officer at the Hub. “Report.”
“Long-range sensor buoys have picked up major movement along the Tholian border,” Cooper said as he keyed commands into his panel on the octagonal command table. Star maps graphically annotated with fleet deployment information and the positions and headings of known threat vessels appeared on one of the level’s enormous, curved situation monitors. “It looks like the armada the Endeavour detected is on the move. They’ve left their space and are crossing the Taurus Reach at high warp—heading straight toward us.”
Nogura didn’t need to ask what time the armada had started moving; that much he could now guess. There was a more pressing question on his mind. “What’s their ETA?”
“Four days,” Cooper said. He lowered his voice, no doubt in the interest of preserving morale for as long as possible. “Admiral . . . Starfleet Command estimates the armada represents more than twenty percent of the Tholians’ active combat fleet. They’re coming in with more than five times’ enough firepower to wipe us off the map. . . . Orders, sir?”
“Show me every Starfleet vessel within four days’ travel at high warp,” Nogura said, doing his best to project confidence and calm authority. “We need every ship we can get.”
Cooper adjusted the deployment information on the large wall screen. It painted a grim picture: there were no reinforcements close enough to reach Vanguard before the Tholian armada arrived. Only two ships, both of which were already assigned to the station, were in range to join the station’s defense: the frigate Buenos Aires was three days away, and the cargo transport Panama was one day out. The Enterprise was just outside of response range, and it was also engaged on a high-priority assignment. That left only the Endeavour and the Sagittarius, both of which were still several days shy of finishing their repairs due to the late arrival of needed parts and equipment. It was an impossible situation, so Nogura had no choice but to start giving impossible orders and have faith in his crew to carry them out.
“Commander Cooper,” he said, “I want every engineer and mechanic who can push a tool working double shifts on the Endeavour and the Sagittarius, starting now. Those ships need to be combat-ready in four days. Recall the Buenos Aires and the Panama, and start running battle drills. Pull every warhead out of storage and have them in our torpedo bays by 0800 tomorrow. I want all phaser banks checked, rechecked, and ready to give the Tholians a warm welcome.”
“Aye, sir,” Cooper said.
Nogura held up a hand. “One more thing: I want every civilian ship within three days of Vanguard rerouted here on the double. We’ll need them to assist in the evacuation of all civilians and noncombatant personnel.” With a nod, he dismissed Cooper to begin preparing the station for battle. Then the admiral left the Hub and stepped over to the communications officer, who sat at her station, nervously twisting a curl of her brown hair around her index finger. “Lieutenant Dunbar.” He waited until she looked up at him, her eyes bright with the fear he knew would soon infect everyone on the station, and then he continued. “Work with Lieutenant Xiong to back up all data from the Vault to the main computer on the Endeavour. Make sure it stays encrypted every step of the way. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Dunbar replied. She shot a look at Xiong, who stepped forward to lean over her shoulder and walk her through the process of accessing the Vault’s top-secret databanks.
Everyone around Nogura was swinging into action, moving with a purpose, and focusing on their jobs in a desperate bid not to think about the incoming Tholian armada. Nogura wished he had that luxury, but it was far too late for regrets. He hurried down the stairs to the main level and bladed through the frenzy of activity, back toward his office.
As he passed Lieutenant Greenfield, he caught her eye and issued an order on the move. “Tell Captains Khatami and Nassir I need to see them in my office right now.”
“Aye, sir,” Greenfield replied as the office door closed behind Nogura.
He went back to his desk, sank wearily into his chair, and checked the chrono. It was 1743 hours. By his best estimate, it would take Khatami and Nassir approximately five minutes to travel from their ships to his office. Which meant he had just less than five minutes to think up a dignified and confidence-inspiring way to convey the message, We are completely screwed.
30
“Tell me you aren’t serious,” Gorkon said.
“I most certainly am,” Jetanien insisted. He and Lugok stood shoulder to shoulder in the sitting room of the Klingon diplomat’s villa outside Paradise City, facing the enlarged image of Councillor Gorkon on the wall-mounted vid screen. “I would not have imposed upon your patience if the matter weren’t of the gravest import.”
Lugok struck an apologetic note as he interjected, “Forgive me, my lord, but my associate refused to take me at my word when I told him there was nothing we could do.”
“With good reason,” Jetanien countered. “The Klingon Defense Force has considerable military assets within two days’ travel of Vanguard. There is a great deal they could do to affect the outcome of the impending conflict. It is simply a matter of marshaling the will to act.”
Gorkon’s eyes narrowed. “Therein lies the impediment, Ambassador. The political climate as it presently exists does not permit such largesse on our part.”
“Yet you saw no such impediment when you sought a favor from me, nor did I shy away from expending political capital on your behalf.”
“And for that you have our gratitude,” Lugok said.
“But not your reciprocity.”
His criticism seemed to stoke Gorkon’s temper. “Do you really think the execution of a low-risk smear campaign on your part merits a costly military intervention on ours? I don’t wish to sound callous, Ambassador, but I think you would have to admit the favor you granted and the one for which you’ve petitioned are far from equivalent.”
The Chelon’s frustration mounted, and he struggled to maintain a civil timbre. “Councillor, if your desire to build a foundation for a future peace with the Federation is genuine, this would be an unparalleled opportunity to lay the cornerstone.”
The councillor’s reply was pregnant with regret. “It is not the Klingon way, Ambassador. Maybe someday, the Federation will be able to seize such a moment and win a debt of honor no Klingon could ignore. But this is not that day, for either of us.”
Jetanien switched tactics. “If you will not intervene for our benefit, do so for your own.”
Lugok and Gorkon exchanged baffled looks, and then the portly diplomat replied, “If the Tholians destroy your space station, that benefits us.”
“Are you certain of that? The Tholians have committed a significant percentage of their combat fleet to this attack. If they succeed in destroying Vanguard—”
“I believe you mean when they succeed.”
Glossing over Lugok’s interruption, Jetanien continued, “There will be nothing to stop them from continuing their rampage. The Tholian Ruling Conclave has made no secret of its desire to see the Taurus Reach expunged of all nonindigenous species. Without our starbase to stand against them, they will be able to lay waste more than five dozen colonies in that sector—many of them yours, in case you’ve forgotten.”