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 this man 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 no doubt in Droga’s mind that a thoughtless act of bravado at that moment would accomplish nothing except the near-instantaneous destruction of his ship and crew.

“Understood, Enterprise. We await your approved flight plan. Droga out.” Magron cut the channel, and the rest of the crew sagged into their chairs. It was obvious that no songs would be sung over that night’s meal aboard the vaQjoH. Staring at the massive gray battle cruiser lurking on their aft quarter, Droga understood all too well why many of his fellow starship commanders had begun using Kirk’s name as a curse and the word Enterprise as an obscenity.

Discreetly savoring the sweet taste of victory, Captain James T. Kirk watched the Enterprise’s main viewscreen, which showed the aft end of the Klingon bird-of-prey vaQjoH as it retreated toward Klingon space with the Enterprise close behind it. All around Kirk, the sounds of the bridge and the hum of the ship’s impulse engines were a welcome aural backdrop after nearly a full day of eerie silence. Acting on orders from the sector’s ranking officer, the Enterprise had been lurking near a planetary debris field, lying in ambush with its key systems running at minimum levels and all nonessential systems powered down. Now the Constitution-class starship was under way at full power, as Kirk preferred.

Kirk got up from his command chair and strode to the forward console, which was manned by helmsman Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu and navigator Ensign Pavel Chekov. “Keep that ship within optimal firing range, Mister Sulu.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu said, his baritone cool and professional.

To Chekov, Kirk added, “Make sure you keep the heat on them, Ensign.”

Chekov looked over his shoulder and up at Kirk. “All weapons still locked, sir.”

As he stepped away, he gave the boyish Russian a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Good work.” He climbed the short steps out of the bridge’s command well to its upper ring and joined his first officer, Commander Spock, who peered intently into the cerulean glow emanating from the hooded sensor display. “Spock, any sign the Klingons have armed weapons?”

“None, Captain.” Spock straightened and turned to face Kirk. “They appear to have taken our warning at face value.”

“As well they should.” Kirk looked across the bridge toward the communications console. “Lieutenant Uhura, inform Vanguard that our objective has been accomplished, and we await further orders.”

Uhura nodded. “Aye, sir.” She turned to her panel and sent the message.

The half-Vulcan, half-human first officer leaned closer to Kirk and looked at the image of the Klingon ship on the main viewscreen. “The advance intelligence Vanguard provided about this attack was surprisingly accurate, Captain. Their mission briefing predicted not only the coordinates of the Klingons’ ambush, but its time and likely attack vector.”

Spock’s observations stoked Kirk’s curiosity—and his suspicions. “You think they had something to do with arranging the attack?”

The question prompted Spock to recoil slightly and cock one eyebrow in mild surprise. “Not at all. I was merely remarking on the admirable degree of precision in their report. In retrospect, it appears to be well grounded in logical assumptions.”

Kirk frowned. “Right down to the Klingons starting to use cloaking devices.”

“A troubling development, to be certain. A Klingon-Romulan alliance could alter the balance of power throughout known space.”

As always, Spock’s knack for understatement fueled Kirk’s cynicism. “That’s a nice way of saying they’d be writing the Federation’s epitaph inside of a year, Spock.”

Brow creased with thought, Spock replied, “I doubt the situation would become so dire so quickly. And, while such a development would prove less than advantageous to the Federation, it would not significantly alter our current security status.”

Anxiety put an edge on Kirk’s voice. “How do you figure?”

Spock folded his arms. “We already find ourselves in adversarial relationships with most of the other powers in local space. Apart from the Klingons and the Romulans, we also face opposition from the Gorn, the Tholians, and, to a lesser degree, the Orions.” His eyebrows arched upward as he added, “While it is not in our interest for the Klingons and the Romulans to pool their resources, share their technologies, and coordinate their actions, I suspect this new alliance they’ve forged will be short-lived.”

“Based on what?”

The first officer cocked his head slightly. “A great many factors. However, I think both peoples will eventually find their respective worldviews . . . incompatible. And I suspect the Klingons will quickly realize their current arrangement benefits the Romulans far more than it helps the Klingon Empire.”

Before the captain could ask Spock to elaborate, Uhura called out, “Captain? We’re receiving a priority signal from Vanguard. It’s Admiral Nogura, sir.”

Kirk and Spock exchanged looks of intrigued surprise. Descending the steps to the command well, Kirk replied, “Put him on-screen, Lieutenant.” As he settled into his chair, the image of the vaQjoH was replaced by the lean, angular features of Admiral Nogura. Striking a relaxed but confident pose, Kirk greeted his superior with a half nod. “Admiral.”

The gravel-voiced admiral’s comportment was stern. “Captain Kirk. Before I begin, let me remind you that Starfleet considers all transmissions in this sector vulnerable to interception—an assessment with which I concur.”

“Understood.”

“Have you held on to your official mission logs, as I ordered?”

“Yes, sir. Though I have to say, Admiral Comstock is starting to insist that we transmit our logs back to Starfleet Command for analysis. He hasn’t yet gone so far as to countermand your order, but—”

“I’ve informed Admiral Comstock your logs will be relayed from here,” Nogura said. “As soon as you finish escorting that Klingon ship out of the Iremal Cluster, set your course for Vanguard. I’ll debrief you in person after you arrive. Understood?”

Masking his unease at Nogura’s gruff manner, Kirk replied with a straight face and not a hint of emotion, “Perfectly, sir.”