Chapter XXXIII: Countersign Greeting
From the extra-dim lighting, Semil could tell the Vaq'ghol was running silent under cloak as he strode onto the bridge. Klingon lighting was bad enough for his poor eyesight under normal circumstances, but he had learned how to navigate the bridge largely by touch, sound, and instinct. K'vot, nor any of his bridge officers paid him any attention as he took up a spot at the secondary tactical console.
Through the viewscreen, he could see the expanse of gas, dust, and rock coalescing into broad arcs across the screen - a planetary ring formation.
Glancing down, the tactical displays confirmed - they were in a parabolic annular trajectory over Theta Lankal II. The ship was running at half-impulse
After he had heard K'vot give the order two days ago, he had looked up the star system in the Vag'ghol's database. Uninhabited. Desolate. Remote. Unremarkable.
A perfect hiding spot.
Whatever K'vot and the General were hiding, they had gone to exceptional extra precautions. No ships or transponders were anywhere in sensor or scanning range.
Semil had always presumed Vaq'ghol was one of the B'rel variants specialized for reconnaissance and intelligence gathering. Even for 25th century standards, the ship's cloak and sensor suite were finely attuned to each other, as if they were only intended to operate in concert - neither system betraying the capabilities of the other.
In the distant horizon at the edge of the rings, Semil could just make out a small mote, growing larger.
On his tactical display, Semil could just make out the small moon in their flight path. Theta Lankal Vb. A shepherd moon, no more than a few dozen kellikams across, barely larger than the largest boulders comprising the rings.
Sensors showed no power emissions, no signs of life or infrastructure. Whatever they were headed towards this tiny, quiet outpost for - it was as concealed and shrouded as anything could be.
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Semil could feel the approach slow even further, essentially to a crawl. The small moon sat before them on the viewscreen, its pocked, mottled surface showing nothing.
It reminded Semil of a squashed, misshappen rippleberry.
K'vot sat and stared at the viewscreeen for a few moments before rising and heading to the Communications console. He furtively input a series of commands over the officer's shoulder. Semil guessed that they were protected access codes.
"not mev lingta ghIlab." K'vot spoke aloud, presumably into an open, or maybe encrypted comm channel.
Silence returned. The bridge was unmoved; K'vot and his officers stood stoically, in the face of the quiet.
"reH lingta mev ghel pagh ghIlab." The comms cackled, with precisely no sign of any source.
Okay, a standard sign-countersign greeting. That must be the standard across the galaxy.
K'vot reopened the comms. "ghaH neH chop ghom 'ej wej ghel, ghIlab."
The channel closed. Before them, Semil recognized the telltale shimmer of a cloak dropping - in this case, a duck blind. A massive one.
From behind the warping, a sizeable complex bore into the side of the moon appeared.
A drydock facility. K'vot signalled the pilot to reengage the engines.
As the dock came closer into view, Semil could just make out a pair of nacelles astride a great green triangle hull.