Hell's Heart by John Jackson Miller Page A

Enterprise only to be told that the ship was under attack, shields raised, and unable to transport anyone. Then he had tried the surface security team and gotten no one for long seconds, until he finally heard, “We’re trying to reach you. Stand by. Šmrhová out.”
    Outside, through the door and up the steps to the rostrum, he heard disruptor fire and screaming. The assassins were still at work. No one had advanced on the bunker yet, and that had given Worf time to rifle through the lounge looking for a weapon.
    Grabbing an ornamental metal torchère, part of the decorations, Worf pulled it off its base and smashed the head against the wall, creating a formidable bludgeon with sharp, jagged ends.
    Kahless, who had stood mute until now, watched Worf, asking, “What do you intend?”
    Worf set down the makeshift weapon long enough to remove his combadge and hand it to Kahless. “I will stand at the door and delay them as long as possible,” Worf said. “Keep trying Enterprise . If I fall, you have the mek’leth .” He gestured to the ceremonial armament, still in the emperor’s other hand. Then he turned toward the doorway.
    Worf glanced back before he stepped out—only to see Kahless standing there, simply staring at the combadge.
    Kahless looked up, his eyes ablaze. “Worf, you must truly think me a fat nothing if you would protect me like a child. Ora bok-rat, burrowed in a hole!” He turned and threw the badge against the wall. It clattered to the floor.
    â€œThat is not what I meant,” Worf said. He quickly reentered the room, heading to where the combadge landed. “I know your worth in battle. But you are the emperor—and whoever these people are, my life cannot mean as much as yours. If you live, we deny them victory.”
    â€œAnd if I do not fight those assassins, I was never Kahless. And you will have died protecting nothing.” Taking the mek’leth up, Kahless strode toward the door.
    There was no swaying him, Worf knew. He reclaimed the combadge and headed after the emperor.
    U.S.S. E NTERPRISE -E
    O RBITING G AMARAL
    Enterprise ’s troubles kept multiplying—as did its number of attackers, both inside and out. With Gamaral in chaos, establishing transporter service to and from the surface was of paramount importance, even if it meant dropping shields. But the boarders seemingly had no problem transporting through them, and the way they were striking transporter controls, La Forge wasn’t about to risk anyone’s life by energizing a signal that might become lost in transit.
    But Enterprise ’s security teams could at least see the boarders. The situation outside was, if anything, more frustrating.
    â€œThere’s another cloaked contact firing,” Ensign Abby Bali­demaj announced. Normally on the beta shift, she had reported to the bridge to help at the other tactical station while Konya worked to manage interfaces alight with blinking threats.
    â€œTarget phasers on new contact and fire,” La Forge said.
    Balidemaj did. “No result.”
    â€œKeep on it.”
    Another blast buffeted Enterprise ’s shields. The cloaked vessels outside were hornets, darting about and stinging—even if their shots appeared to be no more than harassing fire. With Balidemaj’s new contact, Lieutenant Dina Elfiki’s best guess was that there were at least eight attacking ships. That was based on the science officer’s quick mathematical modeling, utilizing all the readings on when and where the attackers had fired from.
    But there was, as yet, no way for La Forge to predict where they were before they fired. They don’t have a tell.
    In dealing with General Chang’s conspiracy years earlier, a different Enterprise had faced incoming fire from a single cloaked vessel. There were so many safety reasons to avoid firing weapons while cloaked that few ever did it. A subroutine disabling