glance before the first officer turned from the railing.
“Red Alert,” he called out, his voice booming across the bridge. “All hands to battle stations.”
Moving back to his chair at the center of the command well, Blair said, “Shields and weapons, T’Lehr. We’re going hunting.”
Even as he gave the orders, Thomas Blair gripped the arms of his chair and felt a knot form in his gut, his anxiety increasing as he considered the nature of the quarry they might be seeking.
Happy birthday to me.
The bridge of the
I.K.S. Kretoq
was dark and all but silent. The battle cruiser’s primary power generators had been taken off-line, with reserve power being channeled only to systems absolutely required to operate the vessel. Those consoles that were active were muted, their controls casting a pale red glow only just visible in the room’s subdued lighting. From where she sat in the command chair, Toqel sensed the anxiety all around her as she and everyone else on the bridge watched the image of the Starfleet vessel on the main viewscreen. Drifting among the asteroids of the Alamedus system—labeled the Dar’shinta system on Romulan star charts—it rotated in space as it altered its trajectory and began drawing closer to the
Kretoq.
“Maintain position,” Toqel ordered. The chair’s high, unpadded backrest was uncomfortable, designed for Klingon physiology as well as a mindset that viewed concepts like ergonomics as crutches for the weak. Despite the ache at the small of her back, Toqel forced aside the compulsion to rise from the seat, not wishing to appear frail in the eyes of those few Klingon warriors present on the bridge.
“Range ten thousand
mat’drih
and closing, Proconsul,” reported Rezek, the young centurion standing alongside his Klingon counterpart at the tactical station. “They know we are here.”
“They
suspect
something is here,” Toqel corrected without turning her attention from the viewscreen, tapping the nail of her rightforefinger on the arm of her chair. Casting a glance toward Rezek, she asked, “What’s the status of the cloak?”
Pausing to study one of the tactical station’s status displays and to confirm with the Klingon officer assigned to him, the centurion replied, “Operating at full capacity, Proconsul.”
Toqel nodded in approval. The integration of cloaking mechanisms into the onboard systems of six Klingon vessels had gone surprisingly well, even when accounting for the often radical differences in Romulan and Klingon technology. Her cadre of engineers had negotiated those obstacles in fine fashion, leaving Toqel to test the newly equipped vessels in the only manner that was of any tactical importance. Entering foreign territory and attempting to thwart the sensors of an enemy ship would quell any lingering doubts held by the Senate. Once all such uncertainty was laid to rest, Toqel knew the senators would give her the latitude she needed to further strengthen the Romulan fleet, eventually forging it into a weapon against which no enemy of the Empire would be able to defend.
First things first, however.
“Proconsul,” Rezek said after another moment, “the Starfleet ship is engaging its full array of sensors.” When he spoke this time, Toqel thought she detected a hint of anxiety in his voice. “They appear to be conducting an expansive scan of the immediate area.”
Seated at the helm before Toqel, Centurion Nilona turned in his seat. “Should we cut all remaining power, Proconsul?”
Toqel’s immediate response was to arch her right eyebrow as she regarded him. “That would hardly be conducive to our experiment.” Though the new cloaking field was able to conceal the ship’s motion—
an ability lacking in earlier versions—it could not completely mask plasma emissions generated by the impulse engines. Still, the output from the
Kretoq
’s maneuvering thrusters was easily shrouded. Provided no undue spike in power generation took place while the
“Red Alert,” he called out, his voice booming across the bridge. “All hands to battle stations.”
Moving back to his chair at the center of the command well, Blair said, “Shields and weapons, T’Lehr. We’re going hunting.”
Even as he gave the orders, Thomas Blair gripped the arms of his chair and felt a knot form in his gut, his anxiety increasing as he considered the nature of the quarry they might be seeking.
Happy birthday to me.
The bridge of the
I.K.S. Kretoq
was dark and all but silent. The battle cruiser’s primary power generators had been taken off-line, with reserve power being channeled only to systems absolutely required to operate the vessel. Those consoles that were active were muted, their controls casting a pale red glow only just visible in the room’s subdued lighting. From where she sat in the command chair, Toqel sensed the anxiety all around her as she and everyone else on the bridge watched the image of the Starfleet vessel on the main viewscreen. Drifting among the asteroids of the Alamedus system—labeled the Dar’shinta system on Romulan star charts—it rotated in space as it altered its trajectory and began drawing closer to the
Kretoq.
“Maintain position,” Toqel ordered. The chair’s high, unpadded backrest was uncomfortable, designed for Klingon physiology as well as a mindset that viewed concepts like ergonomics as crutches for the weak. Despite the ache at the small of her back, Toqel forced aside the compulsion to rise from the seat, not wishing to appear frail in the eyes of those few Klingon warriors present on the bridge.
“Range ten thousand
mat’drih
and closing, Proconsul,” reported Rezek, the young centurion standing alongside his Klingon counterpart at the tactical station. “They know we are here.”
“They
suspect
something is here,” Toqel corrected without turning her attention from the viewscreen, tapping the nail of her rightforefinger on the arm of her chair. Casting a glance toward Rezek, she asked, “What’s the status of the cloak?”
Pausing to study one of the tactical station’s status displays and to confirm with the Klingon officer assigned to him, the centurion replied, “Operating at full capacity, Proconsul.”
Toqel nodded in approval. The integration of cloaking mechanisms into the onboard systems of six Klingon vessels had gone surprisingly well, even when accounting for the often radical differences in Romulan and Klingon technology. Her cadre of engineers had negotiated those obstacles in fine fashion, leaving Toqel to test the newly equipped vessels in the only manner that was of any tactical importance. Entering foreign territory and attempting to thwart the sensors of an enemy ship would quell any lingering doubts held by the Senate. Once all such uncertainty was laid to rest, Toqel knew the senators would give her the latitude she needed to further strengthen the Romulan fleet, eventually forging it into a weapon against which no enemy of the Empire would be able to defend.
First things first, however.
“Proconsul,” Rezek said after another moment, “the Starfleet ship is engaging its full array of sensors.” When he spoke this time, Toqel thought she detected a hint of anxiety in his voice. “They appear to be conducting an expansive scan of the immediate area.”
Seated at the helm before Toqel, Centurion Nilona turned in his seat. “Should we cut all remaining power, Proconsul?”
Toqel’s immediate response was to arch her right eyebrow as she regarded him. “That would hardly be conducive to our experiment.” Though the new cloaking field was able to conceal the ship’s motion—
an ability lacking in earlier versions—it could not completely mask plasma emissions generated by the impulse engines. Still, the output from the
Kretoq
’s maneuvering thrusters was easily shrouded. Provided no undue spike in power generation took place while the
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