“Commander Cooper,” he said, “I want every engineer and mechanic who can push a tool working double shifts on the Endeavour and the Sagittarius, starting now. Those ships need to be combat-ready in four days. Recall the Buenos Aires and the Panama, and start running battle drills. Pull every warhead out of storage and have them in our torpedo bays by 0800 tomorrow. I want all phaser banks checked, rechecked, and ready to give the Tholians a warm welcome.”

“Aye, sir,” Cooper said.

Nogura held up a hand. “One more thing: I want every civilian ship within three days of Vanguard rerouted here on the double. We’ll need them to assist in the evacuation of all civilians and noncombatant personnel.” With a nod, he dismissed Cooper to begin preparing the station for battle. Then the admiral left the Hub and stepped over to the communications officer, who sat at her station, nervously twisting a curl of her brown hair around her index finger. “Lieutenant Dunbar.” He waited until she looked up at him, her eyes bright with the fear he knew would soon infect everyone on the station, and then he continued. “Work with Lieutenant Xiong to back up all data from the Vault to the main computer on the Endeavour. Make sure it stays encrypted every step of the way. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Dunbar replied. She shot a look at Xiong, who stepped forward to lean over her shoulder and walk her through the process of accessing the Vault’s top-secret databanks.

Everyone around Nogura was swinging into action, moving with a purpose, and focusing on their jobs in a desperate bid not to think about the incoming Tholian armada. Nogura wished he had that luxury, but it was far too late for regrets. He hurried down the stairs to the main level and bladed through the frenzy of activity, back toward his office.

As he passed Lieutenant Greenfield, he caught her eye and issued an order on the move. “Tell Captains Khatami and Nassir I need to see them in my office right now.”

“Aye, sir,” Greenfield replied as the office door closed behind Nogura.

He went back to his desk, sank wearily into his chair, and checked the chrono. It was 1743 hours. By his best estimate, it would take Khatami and Nassir approximately five minutes to travel from their ships to his office. Which meant he had just less than five minutes to think up a dignified and confidence-inspiring way to convey the message, We are completely screwed.

30

“Tell me you aren’t serious,” Gorkon said.

“I most certainly am,” Jetanien insisted. He and Lugok stood shoulder to shoulder in the sitting room of the Klingon diplomat’s villa outside Paradise City, facing the enlarged image of Councillor Gorkon on the wall-mounted vid screen. “I would not have imposed upon your patience if the matter weren’t of the gravest import.”

Lugok struck an apologetic note as he interjected, “Forgive me, my lord, but my associate refused to take me at my word when I told him there was nothing we could do.”

“With good reason,” Jetanien countered. “The Klingon Defense Force has considerable military assets within two days’ travel of Vanguard. There is a great deal they could do to affect the outcome of the impending conflict. It is simply a matter of marshaling the will to act.”

Gorkon’s eyes narrowed. “Therein lies the impediment, Ambassador. The political climate as it presently exists does not permit such largesse on our part.”

“Yet you saw no such impediment when you sought a favor from me, nor did I shy away from expending political capital on your behalf.”

“And for that you have our gratitude,” Lugok said.

“But not your reciprocity.”

His criticism seemed to stoke Gorkon’s temper. “Do you really think the execution of a low-risk smear campaign on your part merits a costly military intervention on ours? I don’t wish to sound callous, Ambassador, but I think you would have to admit the favor you granted and the one for which you’ve petitioned are far from equivalent.”

The Chelon’s frustration mounted, and he struggled to maintain a civil timbre. “Councillor, if your desire to build a foundation for a future peace with the Federation is genuine, this would be an unparalleled opportunity to lay the cornerstone.”

The councillor’s reply was pregnant with regret. “It is not the Klingon way, Ambassador. Maybe someday, the Federation will be able to seize such a moment and win a debt of honor no Klingon could ignore. But this is not that day, for either of us.”

Jetanien switched tactics. “If you will not intervene for our benefit, do so for your own.”

Lugok and Gorkon exchanged baffled looks, and then the portly diplomat replied, “If the Tholians destroy your space station, that benefits us.”

“Are you certain of that? The Tholians have committed a significant percentage of their combat fleet to this attack. If they succeed in destroying Vanguard—”

“I believe you mean when they succeed.”

Glossing over Lugok’s interruption, Jetanien continued, “There will be nothing to stop them from continuing their rampage. The Tholian Ruling Conclave has made no secret of its desire to see the Taurus Reach expunged of all nonindigenous species. Without our starbase to stand against them, they will be able to lay waste more than five dozen colonies in that sector—many of them yours, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Gorkon seemed unmoved by Jetanien’s argument. “We stand ready to defend what’s ours, Ambassador. And we have every confidence that your station will inflict serious losses on the Tholian armada before they both go down in flames. Whatever remains of the bugs’ fleet after Vanguard is gone should pose little danger to our forces in the Gonmog Sector.”

It took tremendous effort for Jetanien not to grind his chitinous mandible in irritation at having his bluff called so quickly and thoroughly. “Then it’s decided: You won’t help us.”

“If Klingon interests were truly at risk, we would already be en route to the battle. But for me to press the High Council to authorize military aid to your station would put me in a most untenable position. While I am in your debt for helping me expose the Romulans’ corruption of Duras, there is no way I can muster support for defending Vanguard without betraying my own rather questionable ties to a foreign power.” A heavy frown deepened the shadows on his face. “I believe that one day, our nations will achieve a state of truce. Perhaps, in generations to come, our descendants might even stand together in battle, brothers and sisters in arms. But for now, the passions are still too high, and the grudges too fresh, on both sides. Just because we have a common enemy in Tholia, that is not yet enough to make us allies.” He added somberly, “May your friends die with honor, Jetanien.”

Gorkon terminated the transmission, and the screen briefly switched to the red-and-black Klingon trefoil emblem before it faded to black. Jetanien turned to Lugok. “Thank you.”

“For what? You’ve gained nothing.”

“Far from it,” Jetanien said. “True, my generosity has yielded no immediate boon, and for that I am disappointed—but I am not disheartened, because your Councillor Gorkon has, at least, offered me something else in exchange.” He noted Lugok’s dubious stare and added, “Hope for the future. I have heard few people speak as passionately for peace as does your lord.”

“Let us drink, then, old friend.” Lugok walked to his liquor cabinet, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of warnog. He filled two steins and carried them back to Jetanien. Handing one of the metal mugs to the Chelon, he raised his own, and Jetanien joined him in clinking the steins together in a toast. “To peace: May we find it somewhere other than the grave.”