“I don’t think I’ve ever truly appreciated subspace before,” Commander Jordyn Kerrigan remarked as she watched the stars whiz. “It’s just always sort of been there, and I’ve always taken it as a given.” But now it wasn’t. Not anymore. Not since the blackout had enveloped them. No warp drive, no subspace comms, no long-range sensors, none of the things that made interstellar operations possible. Not except for in this little sliver of Klingon territory where, for some strange reason, it all still worked exactly as it should.

“You don’t know what you have until you lose it,” Lieutenant Commander Matthew Coleman said in a surprisingly pensive moment for the usually bashful helmsman. Like the Diligent’s executive officer, he’d never known a time when he couldn’t, with the flick of the wrist, launch himself clear across the galaxy at several thousands of times the speed of light. The thought that he could no longer do that was quite disconcerting. It made him feel constrained in a way he’d never felt before. “What I don’t get – not that I’m complaining – is why it still works here.”

“Smart money is on this all being some Klingon fuckery,” Commander Ryan Hunt suggested gruffly from tactical. He’d never been much a fan of their brash neighbors, even before the rise of Toral, not since his early years working security for outposts along the borderlands. To him, the Klingons had always seemed more trouble than they were worth.

“I dunno, Ry. General Kloss seemed quite shaken by the blackout,” Lieutenant Commander Coleman observed. “And he doesn’t strike me as the type to feign surprise.”

“Imperial politics can be quite fractious,” Lieutenant Commander Emily Essinger chimed in from the operations station. “This could be one house conducting an incredibly stupid experiment – say trying to build a subspace weapon – while all the others have no idea.”

“Or what about a move against Toral?” Lieutenant Commander Coleman hypothesized, letting his imagination wonder. “Cut off K’t’inga so you can move against Qo’nos unimpeded?” The great fleet yards had always been the military right hand of the throne.

“Now, now, kids, let’s not let our imaginations run too free,” Commander Hunt chuckled. “I’m all for a good conspiracy theory, but these are the Klingons we’re talking about.”

“Awww, you’re no fun,” Commander Kerrigan laughed, rather enjoying the casual bridge banter between a senior staff she’d come to appreciate over their year together. “But you’re probably right. A bold Klingon would just rally a grand armada and march on Qo’noS.”

“That is what I don’t get about this though,” Commander Hunt noted, turning things over in his head. “As the chief commander of the K’t’inga Fleet Yards, General Kloss has an entire army at his beck and call, and the K’t’inga system is so well developed that, if it weren’t part of the empire, it might qualify as a regional power itself. So why does any of this worry him? If anyone should be worried, it’s us.”

It was not lost on any of them that they had not come to K’t’inga to enjoy tea and crumpets with old friends. Ambassador Drake and Fleet Admiral Reyes were here to hold the general’s feet to the fire, and they were here as their muscle. Not that they were fooling anyone. An Alita and an Odyssey were an imposing duo, but not when compared with the high concentration of Klingon military might around them here. K’t’inga was the beating heart of the empire’s military-industrial complex, and the Starfleet squadron was outnumbered ten-to-one even just considering the warships milling directly about the system’s eight planets, dozens of moons, and countless drydocks and naval stations.

“Do you think Admiral Reyes is making the right move taking us back to K’t’inga while all this is happening?” Lieutenant Commander Coleman asked. The blackout made him feel like a caged animal. If things popped off, they could neither flee to friendlier shores nor count on help from home. “What about posting up in a place with a few less Klingon warships while we solve this whole blackout thing?”

“No matter where we chose to moor our boat, we’ll still be in the very heart of the Klingon Empire,” Commander Kerrigan countered. “While the braintrust down in the ASTRA labs tries to sort this out, we might as well make ourselves useful.”

“I suppose,” Lieutenant Commander Coleman sighed. “I just don’t like feeling trapped.”

“They are still our allies,” Commander Kerrigan reminded him.

“Are they though?” Lieutenant Commander Coleman furled his brow. “It hasn’t exactly felt like that recently.” They’d been held at gunpoint by General Golroth over Vespara Prime, and then they’d double crossed him back in the Rolor Nebula. Such a slight would not soon be forgotten.

“Well, okay, at least on paper they still are,” Commander Kerrigan conceded. In reality, she couldn’t deny that things had become quite complicated with their long-time ally. Beyond the Diligent‘s own troubles, there’d been scuffles at the border, as well as whispers of Klingon involvement in winter’s crime wave, all while Toral continued to posture and thump his chest.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Lieutenant Commander Coleman smirked. “When this shit pops off, don’t say I didn’t…” 

But the flight controller didn’t get a chance to finish his statement.

“Focus up!” Commander Hunt declared, his tenor and tone shifting instantly as his eyes darted across the displays at his station. The time for idle chit chat was over. “I’ve got something on long-range scanners. Emily, check your scopes.”

Lieutenant Commander Essinger looked down at her console. Her eyes got wide as she tried to interpret what she was seeing. “What the… multiple subspace disturbances accompanied by intense gravimetric distortions, hyper-localized, originating at a distance of 0.14 light years, centered all around the K’t’inga system.”

“Something to do with the blackout?” Commander Kerrigan asked, still not getting what her chiefs were saying as she didn’t have the luxury of a screen in front of her.

“No, this is different,” Lieutenant Commander Essinger replied as she rechecked the gauges to make certain she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. “These readings are consistent with… with Underspace apertures… not one, but multiple… looks like six in total.” 

They were already dealing with one spacetime phenomenon. What was the probability of another? And six apertures at the same time? That was unlike anything anyone had reported during the Underspace crisis the prior year.

“Captain to the bridge,” Commander Kerrigan said as she tapped her combadge. She then turned to Lieutenant Commander Essinger. “Notify Polaris and Kennedy. Let’s make sure they’ve got eyes on this too.”

“Yes ma’am,” Lieutenant Commander Essinger nodded as she passed the information along. The responses from her colleagues aboard their sister ships came back almost immediately. They too were aware and monitoring the situation.

There was a brief silence, but it didn’t last. 

“Ummm, Commander, there’s more,” Commander Hunt said as his monitors suddenly began to light up with dozens of new emissions sources. “I’m detecting dozens… wait, no, make that well over a hundred starships, unknown configurations, ranging from small craft to ones that dwarf even Polaris, emerging from those novel apertures.”

“Show me,” Commander Kerrigan ordered.

At once, the viewscreen transformed into a tactical overhead of the K’t’inga system. There were hundreds of tagged assets, the celestial bodies, fixed assets and cruisers littered throughout the systemwide fleet yard, but those were not the markers that interested her. What her eyes went to were the others, a swarm of small dots emerging from the six points Lieutenant Commander Essinger had tagged as Underspace apertures.

As everyone stood staring, the turbolift door hissed open, and Captain Dorian Vox stepped onto the bridge. He didn’t have to ask what he was seeing on the display. The way those little dots were swarming, racing towards assets of strategic importance throughout the K’t’inga system, it could only mean one thing. “Klingons piss someone off? Who are they?”

“Unknown, sir,” Commander Hunt replied, turning to greet the captain. “Emissions and silhouettes don’t come back to anything on file, and we’re still too far for a visual.”

“Incoming transmission, all frequencies,” reported Lieutenant Commander Essinger.

“Let’s hear it,” Captain Vox ordered as he took his seat at the center of the bridge.

“People of K’t’inga, heed our call. You are isolated, and you are alone. This is by our design, and no one will come to your aid. There is no glory in resistance, and no honor in death. Surrender willingly, or perish foolishly. Obey at once or know this will be the last voice you ever hear, the voice of the Vaadwaur Supremacy.”

The Vaadwaur Supremacy? Captain Vox perked up at the name. He knew that name. He’d read the reports from Voyager detailing a vast, militant civilization that centuries ago had used their mastery of the Underspace to conquer vast swathes of the Delta Quadrant. But those same reports had also noted how the Vaadwaur had been reduced to rubble and ash, all but eradicated by an alliance that had risen against them.

“Sir, Klingon forces across the system are powering up and moving to engage,” reported Commander Hunt. “Looks like there are about to be some fireworks.”

“How far out are we?” Captain Vox asked.

“0.14 light years, dead ahead, warp 6.5,” Lieutenant Commander Coleman reported.

Still two hours out at that speed. They could do better than that. Much better. 

“Conn, prepare ahead full, max burn,” Captain Vox ordered. At emergency speed, they could close that gap in thirteen minutes.

“Warp 9.98, on your order,” Lieutenant Commander Coleman confirmed as he queued it up.

Captain Vox spun towards Lieutenant Commander Essinger. “Notify the others of our intent to engage. Tell them to follow as best they can.” At full burn, the Diligent would outpace the squadron and arrive on their own, but if this was an attack, even thirteen minutes was far too long. He knew what could happen in thirteen minutes.

“Should we invite the Klingons to the party?” Lieutenant Commander Essinger clarified, although it seemed almost silly to ask given that they’d certainly heard the exact same message.

“They wouldn’t have it any other way,” Captain Vox nodded with a smile. He’d yet to meet a Klingon that wasn’t down to scrap. “And with those bogey counts, I’d even take a clumpship right about now.” For all the firepower they had, the Vaadwaur had brought more.

“All ships confirm intent,” Lieutenant Commander Essinger reported.

“Anything from Reyes?”

“Just one word: Godspeed.”

“Well, you heard the boss,” Captain Vox smiled as he turned back to the conn, where Lieutenant Commander Coleman already had his hand over the throttle. “Warp 9.98, Mister Coleman. Engage!”