levels of hard radiation in the recent past. That sample was taken from one of the areas we passed through on the way to maneuvers, an area on which I had other data and desired a fresh sample. The peculiar thing is that other samples from approximately the same area, older ones, do not reflect the same bombardment. And there has been ion-storm activity in that area since.”
“Any conclusion?”
Spock looked as unhappy as he ever allowed himself to in public. “None as yet, Captain. It would be possible to indulge in all kinds of flights of speculation—”
“But you are refraining.”
“With difficulty,” Spock said, quietly enough for only Jim to hear him. “The situation is most abnormal. Mr. Naraht is running further studies for me.”
“Yes. How is my favorite pan pizza doing?”
“Sir?”
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. How is he?”
Jim never found out, for at that moment Uhura’s board beeped for attention. She put a hand up to the transdator in her ear, listened briefly, then said, “Captain, it’s the Intrepid, if you want to talk to them.”
“Put them on.”
Uhura flicked a switch. The main screen’s starfield blinked out—to be replaced by a screen full of static.
“Bloody,” Uhura said under her breath. “Sorry, sir, I can’t raise them now. The Intrepid ’s comm officer was reporting the bow-shock edge of an ion storm—force four, he said, and it looked to be worsening.”
“Were they all right?”
“Oh, yes, he said it wasn’t anything they couldn’t ride out. It was just their routine hourly report.”
“Very well. Pass the information along to the other ships and have them take precautions.” Jim sighed in very mild annoyance, then looked up at Spock and saw him still wearing that uncomfortable look. “Well,” Jim said, “here it comes. It’s not as if you didn’t warn Fleet that the climate around here is changing in a hurry. Looks like our operation’s going to get caught right in the middle of it.”
“So it appears,” Spock said. “Though, truly, Captain, I am uncertain what we could do about the problem even if Starfleet Command decided to dedicate all of Fleet to the problem. Relocating entire populations is hardly desirable, or feasible. And there is still something….” He trailed off.
“What?”
“Unknown. I am missing data, Captain. Though I find it most interesting that the subject of our research extends eighteen hundred light-years past the area of the galaxy where we were studying it.”
“ Intrepid again, Captain,” Uhura said, working hard over her board to hold the signal. “Their comm officer managed to get a squirt through between storm wavefronts. It’s up to force six, but they predict it’ll stabilize at that force and then break somewhere in the neighborhood of 766 Trianguli. They’ll leave further reports with the unmanned Zone monitoring stations as they pass them—that way they won’t have to waste time trying to punch through the interference. Their status is otherwise normal; the area’s clear.”
“Eminently logical,” Jim said.
—and the ship abruptly went on automatic red alert, lights flashing and sirens whooping. All over the bridge, people jumped for battle stations. “Ship in the area, Captain!” Uhura said. “Not Federation traffic.”
“Identify it!”
“No ID yet. Power consumption reading, nothing more—”
“Warship, Captain,” Spock said, back at his post and looking down his hooded viewer. “An extravagant power-consumption curve. Approaching from out of the Neutral Zone at warp eight.”
Bingo, Jim thought. At last it’s beginning. “Course?”
“Not an intercept. I would say it has been unaware of us until now.”
“ID now, Captain,” Uhura said, looking both excited and puzzled. “It’s a Klingon ship!”
“The Klingons have been selling the Romulans ships for a long time now—”
“Noted, sir. But the ID is unmistakably Klingon code and symbology. KL 77 Ehhak
Lee Christine
Stephanie Jean
Catherine Ryan Hyde
Editors of Adams Media
D. L. Orton
Håkan Nesser
Nora Raleigh Baskin
Elle Jefferson
Alistair MacLean
Krista Lakes