4: The Benefits of Lacking an Imagination
There were a number of things that Hornblower hated about turbolifts.
First, they were fundamentally undignified. Structurally, the lams were cramped and uncomfortable. They carried the distinct likelihood of unstructured social contact. Second -- and more importantly, at least in those times when Hornblower had not recently been forced to make small talk with ensigns while panting and sweating and on his way back to his quarters after one of his periodic bursts of masculine pride that persuaded him to try and keep up with Bush at the gym -- Hornblower was convinced of their fundamental inefficiency on ships of a certain size.
The Lydia was just large enough to need turbolifts, but not so large that she carried a substantial bank of free lifts. Engineering remedied this to some degree by rigging a priority system for officers on duty and personnel going to and from vital areas, but it struck Hornblower as being profoundly inefficient to wait eighteen seconds for a six second ride. He loathed the impracticality of it.
It was even more annoying to pretend calm as he came out of the turbolift. If the Legate's viewscreen was wide enough, it would be possible for him to see Hornblower come out of the lift.
" -- fascinating period of Terran history five hundred standard Earth years ago." Bush had latched onto the historical period for her holodeck adventures with Gerard. The Legate's head was propped on one hand, and he stared off into the far distance with an expression of profound boredom.
Bush forged on, though. "Interestingly enough, the early frigates were the hardest working ships and used as patrolling and escort vessels, rather than more intense fighting. Frigates carried their guns on a single deck, as the lower deck was converted from a gun deck to a berth deck. This allowed frigates to open all gun ports even in the roughest seas, unlike larger two-decked fighting vessels-"
"Ha-h'm."
Sheepishly, Bush took two small steps away from the command chair towards her own station.
The Cardassian that called himself Legate was sitting in a room filled with various military trappings that all seemed jumbled and hastily assembled as if quantity took precedence over quality. He was a thin and frail looking man shrouded in a military uniform too large for his frame, his once black hair now grey and thin. His dark eyes narrowed when he saw Hornblower.
"You have been a long time," snapped Alvar.
"My apologies. Captain Horatio Hornblower of the Federation starship Lydia, at your service, Governor Alvar."
Alvar pounded his fist into his desk. "Legate! I am a legate you ignorant fool!"
"Ha-h'm." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bush make a face. "My apologies Legate."
"I have tracked a transported signal to your ship. I know you have Ambassador Wellesley on board your vessel!"
"Yes, Legate. She --"
"You will return her immediately!"
In his time in the Badlands, Hornblower had had many dealings with Cardassian military and civilian officials and he knew that he could depend upon irrational assumptions, shiftiness, double dealing and paranoia. Flat out delusional madness, however, was new. Hornblower needed make his position known. At the same time, diplomatic relations in the sector were tenuous, and he needed to keep channels open.
"Legate Alvar," Hornblower began. "I have been ordered by my superiors to collect the Lady Barbara and return to her Federation space."
A strange, wistful expression formed on Alvar's face. "Yes, she arrived carrying all the delights from your Federation President that I should agree to be his friend."
"I am sure, Legate."
"Your Federation has offered itself to me as an ally in the noble fight against the Maquis vermin that plague this sector."
Hornblower shifted his feet. "Sir, my orders are to return the Ambassador to Federation space."
"No!" The bridge crew jumped slightly as Alvar pounded his fist again. "She will remain here!"
"I will obey my orders."
"You will return Lady Barbara to me instantly! You will provide me with troops and weapons and place your ship under my command so that I will wipe out the Maquis once and for all!"
"Lady Barbara is a Federation citizen-"
"Captain! Captain, uh . . . " Alvar trailed off, confused.
"Hornblower."
"Hornblower! Captain Hornblower your disrespect is unacceptable, but I am merciful and forgiving. I am sure it is due to your inferior birth."
Bush expressed her indignation with a noise that Hornblower hoped the Legate could not hear.
Hornblower's brain churned. A little more pressure and this self-proclaimed legate might try and destroy his ship. Worse, this conversation could upset the delicate political balance in the sector -- he had been ordered not to offend Cardassian sensibilities in this sector, and he could imagine, quite vividly, the consequences if he did. He would be lucky if the Admiralty exiled him to one of the Deep Space stations, as they would for offending the Ambassador. At least on one of those, he might even see action or command the occasional shuttle mission. For offending a valuable potential ally, they would bury him at the space dock on Earth. He would spend the rest of his life triple-checking requisition orders and transporter schedules; they would break him to lieutenant, then place him in an office where, whenever he lifted his head and looked out the porthole, he would see younger, luckier captains gloat over their commands. He would live with Maria for the rest of his life; Hornblower could almost taste the grease of her cooking and see her fat, round face before his eyes.
His sole bit of luck so far had been that Bush, utterly lacking in diplomacy as she was, had somehow managed to keep from offending the Legate. Perhaps her unimaginativeness had finally done him a favor.
"I am sure that my inferior and alien birth have contributed significantly to my impertinence, Legate Alvar." Hornblower called on every reserve of ambition and self-control to keep his voice appropriately deferential. "Unfortunately, I must follow my orders and return the Ambassador to Federation space. If you have issue with this, please address these concerns to her superiors in the Diplomatic Service. I bid you good day, sir."
"Hornblower! You will return Wellesley to me, or we will seek her out and punish her -- "
Hornblower brought his hand down, sharply, which gave Clay the signal to cut the transmission. The Legate disappeared; Panama spun beneath them, and Hornblower gave an additional order.
"Back us away at three-quarters impulse, Helm. As soon as you're able, take us to warp five."
"Sir!" shouted Bush, pointing to the viewscreen, where a dark mass was taking shape against the sun. Hornblower watched, with a cold feeling in his stomach, as it resolved into the distinct, unmistakable profile of a Klingon bird-of-prey dropping out of cloak. But, no, that was not quite it. The ship was also covered with bits and pieces of smaller vessels, like mushrooms sprouting from the side of a tree. A Cardassian cruiser melded onto its ventral hull; Maquis raider cannon bristled across her bow.
Stahl was reporting bizarre energy signatures for the class. Bush roared at Engineering to bring the auxiliary engines online for more power to the forward shields. Hornblower knew that he, himself, had also just given a second order for Helm to take them to Lydia's maximum warp rather than warp 5, but his mind was racing in other directions. The auxiliary engines. The Maquis and their stolen quantum torpedoes.
This was a K'Vort class ship equipped not only with a cloaking device, but one good enough to disguise all emissions from Federation sensors. She had twice the size of the Lydia, likely carrying twice the crew, and this particular variant had at least double the firepower, if not more, and Starfleet had not given him any indication that there was a ship of this class in the neighborhood. How had their intelligence failed so badly? How had the Legate gotten his hands on a Klingon ship?
The fact that the Lydia slipped into warp a moment later, in good order despite the surprise and a slight shudder of her engines, before the bird-of-prey was able to bring her weapons to bear, was no consolation at all.