Star Trek: Vanguard: Storming Heaven by David Mack Page A

five hundred qelIqam s. Kopar, stand ready to drop the cloak, on my command. Rothgar, target their engines, but do not fire unless I give the order. We want to board this ship, not destroy it.” Returning to the captain’s side, he shouted, “Drop cloak and come to attack position!”
    The bridge lights switched from a dull, ruddy background glow to a harsh white glare as the cloaking device disengaged and the ship’s crew switched into combat mode.
    Garthog declared, “In position!”
    The weapons officer added, “Torpedoes locked!”
    “Magron,” Tarpek said, “open a hailing frequency.” A moment later, the communications officer nodded to Tarpek that the channel was open, and the first officer nodded at Droga.
    “Attention, Federation vessel Ephialtes . This is the Imperial Klingon warship vaQjoH . Drop to impulse, surrender, and prepare to be boarded.” Droga waited several seconds while watching the slow mountain of a ship on his viewscreen. Then, to his satisfaction, the enormous cargo vessel slowed to impulse just shy of an intimidating-looking planetary debris field. The vaQjoH circled the freighter once, then took up a prime firingposition off the ship’s aft starboard quarter. Looking toward Magron, Droga asked, “Have they surrendered yet?”
    Holding up one hand to signal that he needed a moment, Magron first looked perplexed, then alarmed. Slowly, he turned to face the captain. “Sir, we’re being hailed by a different ship.”
    “ Another ship?” Droga spun toward Tarpek. “Where is it?”
    From the weapons console, Rothgar answered, “Behind us, sir.” Anticipating the captain’s next order, he patched the aft angle to the viewscreen, and the image of the Ephialtes was replaced by that of a Constitution -class Starfleet battle cruiser. “They have a full weapons lock,” he added with a note of submission that Droga found distasteful.
    “They’re hailing us again,” Magron said.
    Bloodlust had Droga’s pulse thundering in his ears, but for once his wisdom prevailed over his passion. He took a deep breath, then said in an even voice, “On speakers.”
    “Attention, Klingon vessel vaQjoH . This is Captain James T. Kirk, commanding the Federation starship Enterprise . Power down your weapons immediately, or we will fire upon you. Acknowledge.”
    Droga pointed at Magron, who opened the response channel. “Captain Kirk, this is Captain Droga of the Klingon warship vaQjoH . Apparently, there has been some misunderstanding. We—”
    “There’s been no misunderstanding,” Kirk interrupted, his words sharp and quick. “You intercepted a Federation vessel and ordered it to surrender and prepare to be boarded. You armed your weapons and locked them on an unarmed civilian ship. That’s an unprovoked act of aggression, Captain.”
    Shooting a glare at Rothgar, Droga pointed at the man’s console and then pulled one finger across his throat in a slashing motion. Rothgar released the weapons locks on the Ephialtes and began powering down the weapons. Droga had played his fair share of games of chance, and he had earned a reputation as a skilled gambler. He knew a bluff when he heard one—and thisman Kirk was not bluffing. Though the crew of the vaQjoH enjoyed a battle as much as any band of Klingon warriors, Droga was certain none of them were in the mood to commit suicide, and it would do the Empire no service to lose a warship for no good reason.
    “We’ve complied with your directive, Enterprise . With your permission, we’ll depart.”
    “Yes, you will—on a course we’ll specify, with my ship’s weapons locked onto your warp core. And if you try to engage that cloaking device or go to warp speed before I give you permission to do so, I will blast your ship to bits. Is that understood?”
    Humiliation churned into rage deep inside Droga’s gut, but he knew he was in no position to dictate terms. Kirk’s reputation, earned over just the last few years, preceded him. There was