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Worry about that later,he thought. As soon as he activated the scrubbers to clean the air of the SIp,he sent out a distress signal and ran a diagnostic on all systems.
To his horror, the Romulans themselves lowered the shields. They had the access codes!
The base had also stopped shaking, and Mogh was now reading multiple transports to the surface. The Romulans had sent down ground troops to take care of whoever was left.
That number was small. Sensors registered very few life signs, and several were in this room. Mogh turned around and looked over the unconscious forms. He recognized most of the regular staff, but conspicuous by his absence was Commander Moraq—he wasn’t in his office or the control room. Could he be the traitor after all?
The base shook again, but this was not from disruptor fire. On one of the security viewers, Mogh saw a massive explosion from one of the secondary laboratories in one of the smaller compounds near the base. From the looks of it, the compound’s generator overloaded.
Based on the reduction in life-sign readings, two hundred Klingons died in that explosion alone.
Unfortunately, sensors, environmentals, and communications were all Mogh could get to operate. All tactical systems, from the shields to the ion ca
Mogh was no longer sure if it was Ja’rod or Moraq or someone else entirely who was responsible for this treachery—for this murder—but Mogh swore he would not rest until the deaths of all these good people were avenged. This was nota good day—or a good way—to die.
Then he heard a humming sound behind him. Mogh whirled to see half a dozen Romulans materialize in the room. Mogh had his disruptor out before they could coalesce into their natural form, and killed two of them before he felt the heat of one of their disruptor beams slice into his torso.
As he fell to the ground, his final thoughts were of Kaasin and his son Worf, and of Kurn, who would be the only one left to carry on the family name.
Centurion Tokath shook his head as he looked at the three corpses—the two antecenturions the Klingon had killed before Antecenturion Belear cut the Klingon down. “Senseless. The control room was supposed to be gassed.”
Belear knelt down over another Klingon body. “This one is not dead.”
“Neither are these others,” said another antecenturion.
“That one probably entered after the gas. Senseless,” Tokath repeated. He had served loyally in the Romulan military for decades, but as he grew older, he found that he had less and less taste for death. Perhaps it is time I retired.He had hoped that with the insanity of Praetor Dralath’s regime a thing of the past things might improve, but governments were, he had decided, inherently insane. What is madder, that the Klingons would develop a biogenic weapon or that our response would be to murder four thousand Klingons?
Either way, Tokath had lost his taste for combat.
Aloud, he said, “No doubt he is responsible for the distress signal we detected.”
The young antecenturion snorted. “As if that matters. The Klingon ships in this sector have been led to the Morska system. We have nothing to fear from—”
“Centurion!”
That was Belear, who now stood at one of the control room consoles. “What is it?” Tokath asked.
“Sensors are detecting a ship approaching at high warp!”
Damn those fools in the Tal Shiar, they assured us that Kang’s fleet would be distracted!
Tokath walked over to the display—only to see that the configuration of the ship was all wrong, as was its course. The ship wasn’t coming from the Morksa system, it was coming from the Federation. “It’s Starfleet,” he said after a moment. “They must have been near the border and picked up the distress signal.” More foolishness. The commander had not bothered to jam the signal when it began to broadcast, just before Tokath was sent to the planet. The commander had faith in the Tal Shiar’s information, forgetting that Starfleet had a tendency to come to the aid of—well, anyone, truth be told. The Federation’s desire to help people was as pervasive as it was predictable, and that it wasn’t anticipated as a possibility distressed Tokath. Have I lost the taste for combat, or merely for those who run it?
“Gather up the prisoners—him, too,” he added, pointing at the Klingon they had shot. “The doctor might be able to revive him.” He contacted the mother ship. They were going to need to leave sooner rather than later if they didn’t want to risk a confrontation with Starfleet. Tokath doubted that the commander wished a repeat of Narendra III, after all…
Kaasin arrived in the engine room of the Khitomer Base just in time to see Commander Moraq cut down by a disruptor fired by Ja’rod.
The engine room housed all the control systems and power for the entire base—with the exception of a few of the compounds holding the secondary laboratories, which had their own power sources. She carried only one weapon—a disruptor pistol that Mogh had given her years ago. It had gone unfired, aside from the occasional bit of target practice, for all the time she’d owned it, as Kaasin always came armed with her best weapon: herself. Besides mok’bara,she had mastered several martial arts forms, including some from the Federation. She had every faith in her ability to take on even an armed foe with just her hands and feet and teeth.
However, right now she needed more than faith, she needed surety. Hence the disruptor.
“Kaasin! I’m glad you’re here!” Ja’rod indicated Moraq with his weapon. “This animal betrayed us to the Romulans! We must raise the shields, quickly, before we are destroyed!”
As Ja’rod moved over to the console, Kaasin looked at the prone form of Moraq. He lay in the midst of the wreckage of a console that had exploded in the attack. In fact, the entire room smelled of burning conduits. The base commander struggled to move, but it was obvious that the disruptor had done its job well. He would be dead in moments, and until then he would be unable to make his limbs function properly, the deadly beam having all but destroyed the function of his nervous system.
But he was able to lock eyes with Kaasin. His body was failing, but Moraq’s black eyes burned with the intensity of a warrior.
All her life, Kaasin had heard warriors—mostly old, fat ones—talk about tova’dok,the moment of clarity when warriors spoke to each other without words. She had always given those stories the same level of respect and belief that she did all their other exaggerated tales of mighty prowess—to wit, none whatsoever.
Until now. Because when she locked eyes with Moraq, she knewthat Ja’rod was lying and Moraq died trying to stop the very traitor Mogh had been sent here to find.
Then Moraq’s eyes shut.
“Leave him be, Kaasin! You must aid me in bringing the shields back up.”
She turned and aimed her disruptor at Ja’rod’s back. “Face me, traitor.” Even one such as Ja’rod deserved to look his killer in the eye.
Ja’rod did not do so, however, instead ducking behind a console and firing his own disruptor wildly. Kaasin was able to avoid the beam easily, then she too took cover behind one of the damage-control consoles.
“And to think I thought I had you fooled,” Ja’rod said. “After all, Mogh was finally starting to leave me alone. A pity that none of us will live to see how futile his efforts were. It’s only a matter of time, you know.”
Kaasin was still barefoot from her mok’baraclass. She moved slowly and silently across the room, ignoring the mild pain of the sharpened edges of metal from the damaged consoles as they ripped into the callused soles of her feet. She did not speak, did not breathe, did nothing to give any indication of her position. Only her scent would give her away, but the burning-conduit stink that permeated the room would mask that.