New Bajor

[KVorlag 0]

Gravel crunched loudly under his boots as he stepped off the ramp onto the surface of New Bajor. A cool, pleasant wind breezed through the spaceport, as if to belie the tension in space above them. Members of the Bajoran militia hurried toward him on the tarmac.

 

“Governor!” called one loudly. As he approached, K’Vorlag could see he held the rank of major. “When we first detected your signal, it was too much to hope for.” The major extended his hand eagerly.

 

K’Vorlag took it firmly. “Then you have been cut off from all communication?”

 

“Yes,” the major answered. “Those ships in orbit are doing a good job of jamming even our strongest signals. And they wiped out the entire relay network.”

 

The Klingon nodded. The Scorpiad had done the same, and more, to Dominion targets. So why was this place not a smoldering crater? “Tell me what happened,” he insisted.

 

The major gestured toward the control tower. “General Krim would discuss that with you himself.”

 

# # # # #

 

“They’ve completely cut us off from outside contact,” the Bajoran general explained, “until you.”

 

K’Vorlag took a deep swig of raktajino. This was no time for bloodwine.

 

“We had no indication of attack until our comm satellites started disappearing,” Krim began. “We think they were slow-moving, long-range torpedoes timed to strike at the same time. The ships swept into the system, jamming everything. They destroyed a few outgoing freighters and every impulse fighter we threw at them, but they broke off their attack before entering range of our planetary defense grid.”

 

K’Vorlag set down the steaming mug. “We had reports of orbital bombardment.”

 

“A Scorpiad message,” Krim replied grimly. “After we reconn’ed their position, they sent an attack wave to shell us. Our interceptors did their job, but there was so much incoming. Their ship hit a couple of our self-replicating mines, but two of their devices impacted in unpopulated postions twelve hundred kelicams away. At least 85 isotons. We felt the tremors here in the capital. It seems they don’t want anyone to leave or see what they’re doing.”

 

“What are they doing?”

 

Krim nodded to a nearby colonel in a rust-colored uniform, who stood and illuminated an on-wall graphic of the system. “They’ve gathered their ships somewhere along the asteroid belt that spans the distance between the sixth and seventh planets.”

 

K’Vorlag narrowed his eyes, looking to his own officers. “Is there some significance to that location?”

 

“We know of no tactical or strategic advantage to the position,” the colonel advised. “The whole belt is full of unremarkable iron-ore rocks. They could try to slingshot a big one at us, but it would take months to get here.”

 

“We still have a number of ships in reserve,” General Krim revealed. “We’re preparing a strike.”

 

K’Vorlag felt his lips draw back, baring teeth. How he could have used skilled freedom fighters like these on Betazed! His response was brief but emphatic.

 

“Don’t.”

 

The Bajoran general gaped at him as if he’d seen a Vulcan laugh.

 

“Hoch nuH qel. You defend from a position of strength,” he insisted. New Bajor sat behind one of the most impregnible defenses yet devised, learned from the failures at chin’Toka and Betazed. “They have space superiority, but they do not use it against you. We must first learn why.” K’Vorlag knew his years in Imperial Intelligence had made him a different Klingon than outsiders expected. He revelled in offending their expectations.

 

Krim looked uncertain. “Governor, they already destroyed a Romulan scout…”

 

“Then we will have to do better than the Romulans,” he broke in, getting to his feet. The false dread of that early report had sent ripples of panic among the Allies. “Keep your defenses alert, general. nIteb Qob qaD jup ‘e’ chaw’be’ SuvwI’. You are not alone. The Klingons are with you.”