Star Trek: ALL - Seven Deadly Sins (24 page)

Kein blinked. “From a certain point of view, I can agree. But at the same time, I must ask the question.
Why?
What would any attacker have to gain from such a sortie?” She frowned.

“The reasons are many. To induce instability in the Union’s outer rim, to affirm Starfleet’s claims to these border worlds. Perhaps just because we are a threat to them.” He tapped the screen. “This could be the first indicator of preparations for a preemptive strike.”

She frowned. “Remember what Jagul Hanno said. The Federation are loath to fire the first shots in any conflict. It’s not in their nature to attack without provocation. They do not operate with the same autonomy as our military. Starfleet would need at least the pretense of a reason, if only to appease their politicians.”

Enkoa’s nostrils flared at the mention of Hanno’s name. “And I remember what you said, Sanir.
We are always at war.
”

Kein felt that same, bone-cold chill again. “Laen,” she said firmly; it was the first time she had used his forename since he had been promoted above her. “What are you suggesting?” She asked the question because it was what was expected of her, but in truth she already knew the answer, because she knew
him.

“This is an opportunity.” Enkoa stepped back from the desk. He
would have paced, if he had the room. “For this ship, for my crew. For you and me. A chance to show our mettle.” His voice lowered, becoming conspiratorial. “The Setlik system is close. We can be there before the
Gholen
sweeps back this way; we can act with boldness and cunning!”

She said nothing, watching, making her expression neutral.

“I have … become aware of certain things,” he added, after a moment. “I have contacts, Sanir. Sources outside the chain of command.”

Kein raised an eye-ridge, wondering who or what he could be referring to.

He shook his head, dismissing the words. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I take this opportunity while it presents itself. Hanno thinks the
Lakar
is fit only to patrol in the shallows, tethered to him. This will dissuade the jagul of that. Together, we can show him that we are worthy soldiers of the Union.” He tapped his rank sigil. “That we deserve these.”

When she spoke again, Kein was mildly surprised by the flatness of her own voice. The slow-burning emotions she felt inside did not show themselves. “The data recovered from the probe should be returned to Tantok Nor for deep analysis. Jagul Hanno specifically ordered us not to engage in combat operations.”

“They could be making ready to attack as we speak!” he retorted. “If we leave the area and warp back to Kelrabi, it could be days before a deployment would be ready! We are here now, in range!” Enkoa reached out and grabbed her arm, and Kein forced herself not to react. His expression softened, and a cajoling edge entered his voice. “We can advance by stealth in the shadow of Setlik Major, cross the orbits of the inner worlds, and pass close to the third planet. We can conduct an in-depth scan and confirm what the probe detected.”

She doubted that he would do little more than a cursory survey, perhaps just enough to justify what he had already decided was the truth. Behind that smile and those friendly eyes, Kein knew, Enkoa had already made up his mind. The momentum of his need for a victory, for a way to validate himself, was too great.

“Any delay could prove fatal,” he added. “I need to know you will give me your best when we confront this battle force.”

Battle force.
Enkoa had labeled the Federation presence already,
doubtless so he could make it easier to convince himself he was right. After all, those words had a much more convincing ring to them than
unconfirmed units.

He had no intention of conducting a reconnaissance; Enkoa was planning a sneak attack, nothing less.

She took a breath, held it, and suddenly the slow turmoil inside her
shifted;
it was in the room with her, all around. Kein was in the eye of a storm, abruptly becalmed, with a single, clear understanding in her thoughts.
Whatever I say in the next few moments will alter the course of my future forever. And Enkoa’s with it.

Kein nursed that thought for a moment, let it settle. It had to be a rare thing, to find yourself at a turning point and be fully aware of it. She studied Enkoa and that thin, almost pleading cast to his pale face. Resentment burned hard in her chest, never showing, but inwardly consuming her.

If she wished it, there were options open to her, ways she could stop him from going down this path. A single subspace message to Tantok Nor would be enough. And if it came to open opposition, she rated her chances better than his. Glinn Lleye feared her enough to follow her orders, even if they flew in the face of his commander’s; if mutiny was the only rod she had to play, she would win with it. Kein had already made halfhearted attempts at counseling caution and he had ignored her every time. She could stop him if she really wanted to, but it would require an exercise of energy that the dalin was not willing to expend.

What was it that the server had said?
The ruin of those sorts of men usually comes out of nowhere. Opportunities arise for those around them, those who perhaps feel aggrieved, to let them make their own mistakes.

And here was just such an opportunity.
All that needs to be done is to let it happen.

Her lips parted as a wolfish smile threatened to emerge on her lips. Silence on her part would damn Enkoa, she saw that clearly now; but it felt insufficient. All at once, she wanted to push him, to goad him. “With all due respect,” Kein began, in a tone that showed anything but,
“Lakar
has little experience of combat operations. The crew may not be capable—”

He spoke over her. “You should have more faith in our crew,
Dalin. They are trained and ready for any confrontation.” Color darkened his eye-ridges.

She demurred. “If you believe so, Dal.”

“I do,” he insisted. “Now, take your post. I want us under way to Setlik as quickly as possible.”

“Shall I signal Tantok Nor and inform them of our new mission priorities?”

Enkoa shook his head. “I’d rather wait until I have something impressive to report to Hanno.”

But she sent a signal anyway, on the bridge from her private console—just a vaguely worded report that would be enough to attract the jagul’s interest but not enough to explain the full scope of Enkoa’s ill-considered sortie. She covered her tracks carefully, ensuring that her commander would not become aware of her small duplicity.

She found it easy to do this, and on some level she marveled at it. Another Kein, the younger Kein aboard the
Rekkel,
the woman who then still had some rein upon her own bitterness, she would not have found it so effortless to lie and conceal. Every Cardassian grew up knowing that the currency of life was secrets, but inside the military there was a different creed—or so she had thought. The spirit of comradeship she recalled from her cadet days suddenly seemed like a childish fiction.
This
was the reality of military duty in Cardassia’s name: a lifetime of service among braggarts and fools, where the wiser commanders played games with other people’s careers and hoarded influence like coin. Kein chided herself for ever believing that the Fleet was a meritocracy. It was a hidebound morass of fealty and petty authority; it was everything about Cardassia she had joined the Fleet to be free of, everything she had rejected in her own family.

And now, only now when she was buried in it up to her neck, could Sanir Kein see the truth of that. Hate and frigid envy washed over her.

On the main screen, the cold blue sphere of the Setlik star grew larger as they made their approach.

The
Lakar
came in at warp two, down the barrel of the star’s solar winds toward the third planet. It was a large, dun-colored world with a
few shallow oceans and mountain ranges that curled over the landscape like thin white talons. The Federation colony was on the smaller of two continental landmasses, down toward the more temperate regions of the equator. Nothing stood in orbit to challenge them, only the mute spheres of two weather-control satellites.

Kein watched the play of data from the passive sensors as they ranged over the local sector of space. She saw traces of energy that were common to the passage of ionic storms but nothing that resembled the residue of weapons fire. As she had suspected, if the probe had passed through the Setlik system, the damage it sustained had not come from an enemy vessel. She did not bother to commit this conclusion to her log; not yet.

“Scan the outpost,” Enkoa ordered. “Look for matches to the data we recovered from the probe’s memory core.”

“Acknowledged.” Lleye worked the scanner console, making no comment about the specificity of the dal’s order. Effectively, he had asked the glinn to find him an excuse to open fire.

Kein’s hand strayed to the scar on her brow, and for a moment an odd sensation rose in her thoughts.
What was that?
she asked herself.
Reproach?
Was there still some small element of the noble-minded recruit buried deep in there, saddened by her elder self’s bitterness? She shook the thought away, banishing it, staring back at the detector screen.

A reading from the aft sensor grid made itself known to her, and this one, Kein decided, was worth mention. “Dal. At extreme range … ghost images, difficult to interpret.”

“Where?” he snapped.

“Several light-years out beyond the edge of the Setlik system. They could just be false returns reflected off the solar radiation belts, or . . .” She trailed off, leaving Enkoa to supply the answers he wanted.

“Ships.” He paused, perhaps reconsidering his attack.

Kein noted the hesitation and pushed. “More intruder craft, perhaps. We won’t be able to identify them until they close, if they are indeed actual vessels.”

“Federation Starfleet?” asked Lleye.

Kein pushed again. “Perhaps we should withdraw.”

Enkoa’s hands gripped the arms of his command chair. “Glinn!” he snarled. “Report! Are the energy patterns visible down there?”

“Confirmed.” Lleye gave a single, slow nod of his head. “But there are conflicting readings, sir.”

“They’re obviously trying to mask the signature of the stockpiles.” Enkoa leaned forward. “It won’t do them any good.”

And with that, he smiled and Sanir knew they had stepped across the point of no return. “What are your orders, Dal?”

“Start by destroying those orbitals,” he began, the smile growing wider. “Then move to pinpoint salvos against all target locations.” Enkoa stood up, looming over the compact bridge. “Execute!”

The Setlik III colony had little in the way of defenses, only a handful of ground-based deflector shields and scattering field generators designed to protect the settlement from transporter bombs or a massed beam-in. There were no weapons there capable of reaching the
Lakar
’s orbit, only small arms in the possession of a dozen families and the armory of the local civil marshal.

There was enough of a warning for the hurricane sirens to sound. The planet’s harsh storm season meant that every large building had a shelter beneath it, and many of those who didn’t automatically seek cover stayed outside because the sky was clear, because the orbital satellites had said the day would be fine. These people were the ones who saw the amber streaks of lightning falling from above, screaming through the air with hissing shockwaves of plasmatic gas marking their passage. Then the buildings began to explode, the hydroponic farms and the grain silos vanishing in the sudden, star-bright liberation of matter to energy. It had been dry for several weeks, and secondary fires took hold, washing across the fields in a black tide of smoke.

Each time the bombardment seemed to be over, the cruelty of the pause between salvos was made worse. Disruptor blasts rained down in five-fold impacts, seeking out what at first seemed like randomly chosen locations.

Death came from the morning sky without pause, without reason, without mercy.

“Proximity alert!” cried Kein. “Signal traces are resolving … Two ships on intercept course, high warp. They’re coming in fast!”

The expression of cold intent on Enkoa’s face became a glare of annoyance, petulant at being interrupted; then a heartbeat later it became worry. “Break off the attack. Disengage and extend away!” He rose to his feet. “Stand by to go to warp—”

A warning klaxon keened across the command tier. “They’re right on top of us!” Lleye stabbed a finger at the main viewscreen as a warp-speed distended shape came out of nowhere, dropping to sub-light velocity in a punishing deceleration that flashed out around the craft in sheaves of spent luminosity.

The new arrival swept in underneath the
Lakar
and turned to place itself squarely between the escort and the surface of the third planet, blocking the path of any further bombardment. Slowing, it revealed itself, and Kein felt her heart pounding against her ventral ribs. The port manta-wing of the ship’s upper hull filled the screen with a wall of sand-colored titanium, and briefly a wine-dark sigil drifted past: the hooded shape of the Galor Banner.