The Art of the Impossible Read online

  Qaolin hesitated. Then he leaned forward. “We are talking about our history, Yovang. Ch’gran has been one of the great unfinished stories of our people. We cannot allow it to fall into the hands of outsiders!”

  “Do you challenge my authority, Captain?” Yovang asked.

  Again, Qaolin hesitated. I.I. agents were, in theory, exempt from challenges—such matters were handled internally. In reality, of course, they were challenged all the time. However, they were also well enough trained that one only took on an agent if one was supremely confident in one’s ability to win. Qaolin considered himself second to no warrior, but if he won, he’d be in a difficult position with I.I., and if he lost, his ship would be entrusted to Narrk—neither a particularly pleasant outcome.

  But that exemption cut both ways. Just as Qaolin was not permitted by tradition or law to challenge an I.I. agent, no I.I. agent could issue such a challenge. (Then again, they hardly needed to. They had other methods of achieving their goals.) So Qaolin was able to speak words he could not normally utter to a superior. “I suggest that you reconsider, Yovang. The mission is yours, and if you order me to keep this information from Command, I will obey that order. But you would be unwise to give it.”

  “Would I?”

  For the first time since the agent came on board, Yovang’s tone altered from the monotone. Qaolin, however, refused to let it affect him, not when he knew he was right.

  “I would not wish to be the one, Yovang, who informed the High Council that we stood by and let one of the greatest discoveries in Klingon history be taken from us.”

  The monotone returned. “And I would not wish to be the one, Captain, who embroiled us in a war with an enemy we know far too little about. The Cardassians are a military dictatorship, but we still have little information as to the strength of that military. Even if we did know, there is no common territory between our two nations, so any conflict would be a difficult and costly one, as it would require diverting forces away from the Empire at a time when we cannot afford it. The Empire is still replacing the resources lost in the destruction of Praxis. This mission’s purpose is to obtain information about the Cardassians because we believe that they may pose a threat—in the future.”

  Qaolin shook his head. “I had an instructor once who referred to I.I. as bloodless, and now I know what he meant. Look past the analysis, Yovang, and think like a Klingon for a moment. What happens when word of this discovery becomes public knowledge? Do you truly think the Cardassians will keep it quiet? I have seen many artifacts of Cardassia’s history in museums on non-Cardassian worlds because they have proven themselves more than happy to sell their past to the highest bidder. Do you think they will treat our past any better?” Qaolin stood up. “And when that happens, Yovang, how do you think the Klingon people will react? Do you think they will take kindly to our bartering with outsiders over financial compensation for one of our sacred treasures?” He walked around to the other side of his desk, throwing all fear of reprisal to the wind. “When you were a child, Yovang—and I assume that even you were a child once—did you not dream of being one of the Empire’s great heroes? I know I did.” He looked up, as if seeing a vision in the ceiling. “I wanted to be the one who would bring glory to our people by finding the Sword of Kahless. Or the Hand of Kull.” Then he pointedly looked at Yovang’s unreadable face. “Or the Lost Colony of Ch’gran. And all those children who grew up to be soldiers of the Empire will not stand for Ch’gran being in any hands but Klingons’. And then, Yovang, you will have the very war you seem to think we should not have.”

  Yovang then did something Qaolin never expected: He smiled.

  “Your argument is well taken, Captain. And also anticipated. I have already sent a tight-beam transmission to the Homeworld requesting more ships to take Raknal from the Cardassians.”

  Oh, it is a good thing I.I. is exempt from challenges, Yovang, or you would be dead by now. Qaolin was wise enough not to say that out loud, but reining in his temper was almost a physical effort; as it was, his hand moved almost unconsciously to the d’k tahg on his belt. “You could not possibly—”

  “I knew the contents of the Cardassian transmission the moment it came in and acted accordingly. I only ordered your crew to decipher it to provide you with the illusion of control—and to see how you would respond to the discovery of Ch’gran, and to my authority.”

  “Your deception offends me, Yovang.”

  Yovang nodded in a conciliatory manner. “That was an unfortunate consequence. But I.I. is only effective as an aid to the Defense Force, not a hindrance. Our purpose is to gather information—not just on our Empire’s enemies, but on the Empire itself. Our methods are not always honorable, but they serve the cause of honor.”

  The agent was interrupted by a beeping sound on a padd he carried in a pocket of his all-black outfit. He removed it and activated its display. “Commander Narrk is about to report that Command is sending two ships to rendezvous with the Wo’bortas here with orders to fire on the Sontok. They will arrive in ten hours. A fleet will be assembled in the Betreka Nebula within two days. If we have not driven off the Cardassians within those two days, the fleet will take Raknal by force.”

  “Good.” Qaolin went back to sit at his desk. “This is now a military engagement, Yovang, and therefore no longer an I.I. mission. If I see you on my bridge, I will have you forcibly removed. Now get out of my sight until I summon you.”

  It was a risky position to take, but every word Qaolin spoke was true. While Yovang no doubt could make Qaolin’s life miserable, the captain had no desire to further weaken his position on the ship—nor did he have any desire to make life easy for Yovang after his deception. My control over this vessel is more than an illusion, Yovang, he thought, fervently hoping that it was true.

  The agent simply nodded. “As the captain wishes. I will be in my quarters if you require any assistance from Imperial Intelligence.”

  Yovang left Captain Qaolin wondering if he had won a victory or simply played his role as a piece on Yovang’s game board.

  He stood up. For the moment, it didn’t matter. In ten hours, there would be battle. Narrk would at last get his wish to engage the Cardassians, and Qaolin—

  The captain smiled. I will be the one who at last brings Ch’gran home.

  Chapter 4

  Central Command

  Vessel Sontok

  In the ten hours since Ekron had reported the existence of the Klingon wreck, the young glinn had become more excited than Monor had ever seen his second-in-command. When he finally returned to the Sontok and reported to Monor on the bridge, the gul found it difficult to get a word in edgewise, Ekron had so much to say. For the first time, Monor looked upon Ekron and did not see a statue. Ekron gestured frantically as he spoke, the words almost pouring out of his mouth, in stark contrast to the measured tones he usually employed.

  “We don’t know much about Klingon history, but what we have learned indicates that their expansion into space only happened a few hundred years ago—long after this ship was built. My guess is that they were built by a lone group of scientists—they don’t value them much, remember—and sent out into space to try to expand. Obviously, it didn’t work, so they didn’t try again. It’s actually very similar to human history, when—”

  Monor finally cut Ekron off. “Glinn, I don’t mean to interrupt your enthusiasm—in fact, it’s good to see; in general, you young people don’t take nearly enough interest in history, if you ask me, so I’m glad to see that someone gives a damn—but right now I need to know more about this planet. Central Command isn’t going to give a vole’s ass about those damned Foreheads and when they first went out into space—even though they probably should. But they’re idiots. You know that, I know that, but they don’t know that, and even if they did, they wouldn’t admit it. What I need to know from you is whether or not I should send a follow-up message to them asking for a colonization fleet.”

  “Oh, most definitely, sir.�
�� Suddenly, Ekron-the-statue was back. A part of Monor missed it, but he also was heartened to see that Ekron recognized that there was a time and place for that sort of thing. “The zenite readings are confirmed, and there’s also a good deal of arable land on the other continent.” The planet, Monor remembered, had two major landmasses, as well as several smaller ones, and two massive oceans. “Besides, this star system puts us in a good jumping-off position for the Klingon Empire and the Federation. I think it will make a fine addition to Cardassia, sir.”

  Monor smiled as he turned to sit in his chair. Then, remembering the squeak, he stopped and settled for standing on the step in front of it. “That’s what I want to hear, Glinn, that’s most definitely what I want to hear. Good work. Get a message to Central Command, tell them to send some ships over here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ekron turned to give the order to the officer at the communications console, then looked back at Monor. “One other thing, sir.”

  “What is it, Glinn?”

  “It’s possible that the ocean might be a suitable place to transplant the hevrit.”

  Monor frowned. He hadn’t known this about Ekron. “Glinn, I’m as much an animal lover as the next man, but I’ll not have this ship being used for the propaganda—”

  “Sir, with all due respect, the hevrit are dying out. None of the waters on Cardassia are fit for most marine life now, least of all the hevrit. We’ll be able to preserve one of the greatest treasures of Cardassia—and one of the finest delicacies.”

  Shaking his head, Monor said, “If you wish to investigate the possibility while surveying the planet more thoroughly, Ekron, go ahead, I won’t stop you, but it better not interfere with the full survey. Our primary concern is the greater good of Cardassia, not the greater good of Cardassian fish, do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I don’t want people to think of this world as the place where we saved a few fish, I want people to think of this world as the place where we found a new source of zenite that will make life better for Cardassians all across the Union. That’s why we’re here, dammit!”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Hoping it wouldn’t start another lengthy diatribe, Monor asked, “Anything else about that Forehead wreck?”

  “Only that most of the wreckage is well buried, sir. It would take a great deal of specialized equipment to get most of it out. Based on the scans we took, what we found only recently resurfaced due to changing tidal patterns on that beach. If we’d arrived here a year ago, I doubt we would have found it.”

  “Mmm.” Monor found he couldn’t work up more than a grunt in response to that. If nothing else, this wreck might prove useful as something to line Central Command’s coffers—maybe even enough to provide ships with command chairs that don’t squeak, he thought angrily as he sat down in his and heard it do exactly that.

  “In any event, sir, we placed transporter inhibitors and force fields around the entire site.”

  “Good.” The security was necessary. For now, the only message that had gone out regarding the wreckage was a coded one to Central Command, but the stars had ears bigger than those of the Ferengi, and it wouldn’t be long before privateers of all sorts showed up to see about the Klingon treasure. The Sontok could provide security against obvious threats; the force fields and inhibitors would work for those who worked more subtly.

  Ten hours later, Central Command had confirmed that a fleet of survey vessels, escorted by the Third Order, was en route. Ekron and a team had done a more detailed survey of the planet’s surface, which confirmed everything the preliminary readings stated—or improved upon them. The amount of zenite was impressive, and the world was rich in other minerals that were more common, but no less useful and/or valuable for all that. Maybe I can work something out with Legate Zarin, Monor thought, get a piece of prime land on this world cheap now and reap the profits for my retirement. Not getting any younger, after all, and it’d be nice to have somewhere to take the grandchildren. Monor had seven children and three times as many grandchildren, and he suspected that an exotic location like this would appeal to most of them as a vacation spot. Well, maybe not Aris and her irritating little brood, but if she doesn’t come with that idiot she married, all the better for the rest of us.

  Ekron then suddenly cried out, “Sir, three Klingon Birds-of-Prey decloaking!”

  If he had been asked to compose a list of sentences he expected his second-in-command to utter, Monor doubted that those words would have even been put on it. “What the hell are the Foreheads doing here?” This was unclaimed space, after all, not really that close to the Empire—though it was hardly the heart of the Union, either—and, their new discovery notwithstanding, the Klingons had never shown any interest in the sector before. “Defensive posture,” he added. “How soon until the Third Order arrives?”

  “Another day at present speed,” Ekron said.

  “Get a message to them, tell them to get here as fast as possible.”

  “Sir, the survey vessels—”

  “Will be useless in a fight,” Monor said tightly, sitting in his chair and ignoring the damn squeak. “Think with your brain instead of your neck ridges, Ekron. Survey vessels don’t matter a damn right now if the Foreheads want to take us on.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ekron looked down at his console. “Sir, the Klingons are generating a jamming field. I can’t guarantee the message got out. And they’re arming disruptors.”

  “Take aim at the lead ship and fire.”

  “Sir, they haven’t—”

  “The Foreheads don’t decloak like that unless they mean to kill us,” Monor snapped. “Fire on them!”

  Ekron followed his orders, and phaser fire slammed into one of the Birds-of-Prey’s shields.

  “Evasive maneuvers. Give us some distance, and get us the hell out of orbit.”

  “Birds-of-Prey are trying to hem us in, sir. And they’re firing.”

  The Sontok felt the impact of the Klingon disruptor fire. Monor checked his display. The Klingons were surrounding them on three sides, blocking all the best avenues for escape.

  Fine, we’ll take one of the worst ones. He quickly calculated the course necessary to achieve the proper angle. Haven’t done this in years, and it was with a ship a lot smaller than this one.

  “Set course 113 mark 9—and yes, Ekron, I know that’ll take us further into the atmosphere. Specifically, it’ll take us in at an angle to bounce off the atmosphere.”

  “Laying in course now, sir,” Ekron said, stock still as ever.

  “When I give the word,” Monor said, “adjust attitude and pitch by forty-five degrees.” He waited, watching the readings on the screen in front of him.

  Another impact. “Shields are down to forty percent, sir.”

  “Are they pursuing us into the atmosphere?”

  Ekron nodded. “Yes, sir, but Birds-of-Prey are atmospheric craft.”

  “Can’t be helped, Glinn.” Ideally, the pursuing ships would either avoid the atmosphere or risk being damaged by it—but these smaller Klingon ships were designed to withstand such friction. “Adjust angle!”

  The ship lurched, as the Sontok made a course change not mandated by the instruments, and therefore slowing the reaction time of the inertial dampeners and artificial gravity. The ship then shot out of orbit at nearly full impulse.

  “Set ship’s course to match,” Monor said. No sense fighting where the ricochet was taking them.

  “Now at 94 mark 2, seven-eighths impulse speed.” Ekron looked up at Monor. “The Klingons are pursuing.”

  “Arm aft phasers and torpedoes and fire on the first ship that comes into range. Increase our speed to full impulse.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ekron looked down at his console, the light again casting odd shadows on his deep ridges. “Sir, the Klingons are taking up a wide formation—only one ship will come into weapons range, and that won’t be for five minutes.”

  Monor got up from his chair, ignoring
the squeak. This wasn’t good. The Klingon captain was driving him from the planet. He needed to even the odds—individually, the Birds-of-Prey were no match for an Akril-class ship, but the three of them could pick away at him until he was dead. And no way to know when reinforcements will arrive.

  “Reverse course, bring us about and hit them with everything we have. Then set an intercept course with the Third Order, warp eight.”

  “Sir, if they pursue us—”

  “They won’t,” Monor said confidently. “They must have intercepted our message about the remains and want to claim it for themselves. We’ll let them have it for now—and return with the Third Order and take it right back from them.”

  “Very good, sir. Firing on lead ship.”

  Monor looked at his display. The Sontok’s phasers plowed through the shields of one of the Klingon vessels, then came about and—taking several dozen disruptor hits—went into warp.

  “Shields down to ten percent. Warp drive intact, and holding course at warp eight. No sign of pursuit.”

  Nodding, Monor said, “As expected. Fine, let them think they’ve won. Knowing them, they’ll be drinking to their victory within the hour. What’s that stuff they like, blood vinegar?”

  “Bloodwine, sir.”

  “I’ve tasted it, Glinn, trust me, blood vinegar is what it is. Well, we’ll come back and take Raknal V from their drunken hands. You did protect the crash site, Ekron?”

  “Of course, sir. I doubt that the Klingons will be able to penetrate the force fields or the transporter inhibitors.”

  “Good.” Monor sat back down in his chair, wincing at the squeak. Dammit, I’ve already picked out my retirement spot. No Forehead’s taking that from me.

  Chapter 5

  I.K.S. Wo’bortas

  “What do you mean we can’t get at it?”

  Qaolin was furious. They had victory within their grasp—they had Ch’gran within their grasp! And now Narrk was telling him that they could not actually close their fists around the prize.