The Jackal's Trick

by John Jackson Miller

  Hemtara looked back from her interface. “The same results, my lord. There are fifty-one Klingons aboard beyond the confines of the bridge. Our original passengers, plus warriors deployed at Spirits’ Forge who could not return to Kradge.”

  Cross sighed in exasperation. Shift slipped over to him and whispered into his ear.

  “There is something I must tell you,” she said, clutching the book from his Blackstone library in her hands. “You will never believe this.”

  • • •

  “So wait,” Cross said. He and Shift, looking like themselves again, sat together in their deck one hideaway. “You’re telling me that Jilaan’s Kinshaya caper nearly a century ago involved Korgh?”

  “Jilaan’s account doesn’t call him by name,” the Orion replied. She opened the book and set it on his lap. “But the Klingon in the story fits him perfectly. He’s twenty-seven, he says his house was stolen from him—and he speaks of having a secret squadron of ships at his disposal.”

  “And he worked with her for the better part of a year?”

  “As near as I can figure the dates. Jilaan describes in the afterword that they parted just before one of your convocations. I guess that’s when the details of her operation were recorded here.”

  Cross paged through the book. It was stunning news. “You were right. I don’t believe it.”

  “Don’t you see? It makes sense now. We’ve thought Korgh was canny for a Klingon, but the level of deception he’s been involved with is way beyond the Romulan Tal Shiar.”

  Cross rolled his eyes at her playfully. “You met a lot of Romulan spymasters in your previous life?”

  “Of course not.” Shift gave him the little glare she always did when he brought up her slave-girl past. “But think about what he’s done. Korgh spent fifty years pretending to be someone he wasn’t so he could get close to his old house and build it up. Then he attacks it with his puppets.”

  “He wipes out the people who screwed him and gets control of the house.”

  “But that’s not the end. Korgh continues to have the Unsung attack his own house with an operation against H’atoria—and up next, the Ark of G’boj. The strikes throw off suspicion and create sympathy for him—and because the targets were his, he was able to show us how to walk in virtually unopposed.”

  “I wouldn’t have gone along otherwise. As it was, H’atoria was too dangerous for my tastes.”

  “This scheme is beyond a teeth-gnashing Klingon, as you call them—but not an apprentice of the Circle.” Shift smiled with excitement and poked the book with her finger. “And while he wasn’t an official adept, he was learning from Jilaan herself.”

  It boggled Cross’s mind. “I knew we’d drawn from all kinds—but Klingons? And this was in the Annals?”

  She gestured to the book in his lap. “I’m surprised you never read it.”

  “You know me. I probably started and got pulled into watching a recording of a five-hundred-year-old Andorian stage play instead.” He stared at the book and chuckled. “So Jilaan had the idea of impersonating Kahless first. Great minds think alike.” He flipped to the end. “Korgh must not have stayed with her long enough to become a full practitioner—I’d have heard about that.”

  “Korgh’s never said he knows how we create our illusions. What would it mean if he does?”

  “He’s got leverage. Secrets are sacred to magicians,” Cross said. “Our methods are our power. It gives him some insurance against us blackmailing him, I’d guess.”

  “So even if we do find Kahless,” Shift said, “Korgh could sniff out our plan and blackmail you.”

  Cross nodded. “It depends on how much she told him about the Circle. If he spills his guts about how many teams there are and what we can do, it could make Ardra’s capture look like nothing.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask how the Circle survived that.”

  “Everyone was terrified. Practitioners were afraid to impersonate anyone for fear of their truthcrafters getting pinched. But Starfleet must have decided Ardra’s act was a one-off. During the Dominion War, Changelings became the big threat. Our kind of impersonation fell off the sensors.”

  Shift nodded. She checked the time. “Ark of G’boj is about to arrive from warp. It’s payday.”

  “It’s about time.” He stood and straightened his collar. “And don’t worry about getting caught. Starfleet’s still fast asleep. I bet Picard’s forgotten Ardra even existed.”

  Forty-three

  RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT DEPOT

  STARBASE 24

  “You’re going all the way to the bottom,” the ensign said as the turbolift doors closed in front of La Forge and Tuvok. “Can’t say she gets a lot of visitors.”

  “She?” La Forge asked.

  “Doctor Aggadak.” The ensign shook her head. “I can’t even begin to explain. You’ll find out.”

  Tuvok had already found out quite a bit. Realizing that the emanations he had detected over H’atoria were similar to what he’d encountered at Yongolor while serving aboard Excelsior, the Vulcan had reviewed the data banks and discovered a similar episode in 2367. On Ventax II, a female con artist had posed as Ardra, the devil from that world’s mythology. Her efforts had been assisted by a kind of fakery technology never seen before—projected, it turned out, by a companion ship.

  Houdini, as Ardra’s crew called their vessel, had been the key that unlocked the Ventaxian mystery. Then-Lieutenant Commander La Forge had pierced its cloaking device. Boarding the ship at Picard’s instruction, the Enterprise’s chief engineer had defeated the pretender’s illusions by projecting his own. The woman calling herself Ardra—who, Tuvok learned, had twenty-three aliases in that sector alone—had been arrested along with her accomplices.

  Her assistants were long gone, having served their time. “Ardra,” who remained in custody at Thionoga Detention Center after several escape attempts, had steadfastly refused to assist Starfleet in understanding how her amazing illusion technology worked.

  However, the Houdini still existed. After some bureaucratic fencing, Tuvok located it at a research-and-development depot associated with Starbase 24. Located between Khitomer and Gamma Hromi, Starbase 24 had long been a cutting-edge deep-space research center, despite its proximity to the Klingon frontier. Tuvok had visited the original station aboard Excelsior ninety-three years before. A new station had replaced the old one, destroyed during the Borg Invasion, but the R&D depot had survived.

  While Admiral Riker had called it a stroke of luck that Houdini was so near their position, Tuvok thought it had more to do with the fact that Ventax was far from suitable research facilities. Regardless, the admiral had immediately detached him to Enterprise, which made the trip to Starbase 24 quickly.

  The turbolift doors opened. La Forge and Tuvok left the ensign behind and stepped into the massive bay. Dozens of ships were mothballed here, waiting. Vessels were triple- and quadruple-parked, with little room even to walk between them.

  “I have to hand it to you,” La Forge said as they wended their way through the metal maze. “I never would have connected Ardra’s ship to Object Thirteen.”

  “We both had half the necessary information,” Tuvok said. “You had detected Houdini at Ventax II. The object you began tracking at Thane was similar enough to attract your attention, yet different enough that it did not jog your memory.” He stepped around a landing strut and turned a corner. “For my part, I detected a projection at H’atoria similar to that which I had seen at Yongolor—but it was not until I connected it to Object Thirteen that I realized it had been at Thane.”

  That had made the difference for Tuvok—because of what the still-missing Worf had discovered on Thane: another imposter. A holographic charlatan pretending to be Commander Kruge, commanding the Unsung.

  Chancellor Martok had insisted that Starfleet limit knowledge of the existence of the false Kruge to those who absolutely needed to know. A logical move, given the number of disaffected individuals who
had been inspired to violence by the Unsung. Kruge was a hero to many, and his name might empower them. With Ardra’s whereabouts already known, no one knew who might be impersonating Kruge. But Tuvok and La Forge hoped Houdini might hold answers as to how he was being impersonated.

  “There she is,” La Forge said. He hadn’t seen the ship in nearly two decades. Houdini was about the size of the command portion of a B’rel-class bird-of-prey: forty meters long with warp nacelles on either side and a curious-looking lance jutting forward from atop a center strut. “She crewed twenty when I boarded her. Three decks, including Ardra’s penthouse up top.”

  “Penthouse?”

  “I’m not going up there again.” La Forge shuddered. “The way Ardra had it decorated, it was something out of a Risa pleasure den.”

  “You experienced discomfort.”

  “And she wasn’t even in the place.” La Forge stepped toward the vessel and knocked on the hull. “Well, at least it’s here. I was a little afraid that Ardra had gotten loose again.”

  Tuvok’s eyebrow arched. The worry seemed odd, almost paranoid. “Is this possible?”

  “They were a clever bunch. They used Houdini’s cloaking device to hide the Enterprise from us.”

  “The entire vessel?”

  “Believe it. And when ‘Ardra’ got loose the year after we caught her, she found Houdini where it was first impounded and went back to her old tricks. But we crossed paths with her on Shanzibar, and soon they were both locked away again.”

  Walking about Houdini, Tuvok was perplexed. “When would you estimate this vessel’s construction?”

  “This century.”

  “I concur.” Tuvok ran his fingers along the hull, examining the material. “It cannot be the vessel I encountered in Kinshaya space.”

  “That’s good, then, isn’t it? That would mean there’s more than one.”

  “Correct.” On the port side, Tuvok found a closed hatch elevated a meter off the deck and went to work on the access panel. “We can test our theory by seeing if its projection equipment creates the same emissions we saw at—”

  The hatch opened before Tuvok was done working the controls. A large hairy head appeared in the aperture and snarled, causing La Forge to take a step back. “What are you doing messing with my ship?” the tusk-faced woman demanded in a braying voice.

  “It is not your ship,” Tuvok said. “It is the property of Starfleet.”

  “What do you think I am, a squatter?” Reaching in the folds of her jacket, the Nausicaan woman produced a Starfleet combadge. “I work here.”

  “Are you Doctor Aggadak?” Tuvok asked.

  “Don’t let it surprise you.” She cycled the hatch further, causing a small stepladder to descend to the deck. “Not every Nausicaan is as dumb as a bag of rocks.”

  While Tuvok did not think that, he was nonetheless surprised to see her. Nausicaa was located near Federation space, but its natives were generally too pugnacious to take part in the cooperative ventures of Starfleet.

  The hydraulics for the steps unexpectedly started cycling shut again, prompting Aggadak to pound the interior controls with her fist. Perhaps still aggressive, Tuvok thought.

  Aggadak stepped down and put her considerable weight on the steps, forcing them back to the deck. This time, they stayed down—and the woman rose to her full two-and-a-half-meter height. “The ship’s temperamental. But I love her anyway.”

  “I am Commander Tuvok of Titan. This is—”

  “Geordi La Forge!” Looking closely at him for the first time, Aggadak outstretched her hands. La Forge took two steps backward, this time, fearing a bear hug. “I didn’t recognize you without the VISOR.”

  “You have met?” Tuvok asked.

  “I know him by reputation,” Aggadak said. “And I could recite his report from Ventax by heart. He brought my baby here.” She patted the side of Houdini, causing an access panel to pop open. She slammed it back shut. Then she pointed at the panel and growled, like a parent scolding a petulant child. “Don’t.”

  La Forge looked at Tuvok and then back at the Nausicaan. “What’s your duty here?”

  “Administrator for closed-case evidence.”

  Tuvok understood at last. “These ships relate to crimes that have been adjudicated. But the ships cannot be returned because no ownership can be established.”

  “Or they are considered too dangerous to be given back,” La Forge said.

  “Some of them are just stuck.” Aggadak looked around and waved her mighty hand dismissively. “Not Houdini. She’s mine.”

  Tuvok’s eyes narrowed. “Your project.”

  “Mine.” Aggadak glared at him. “Do you want to play word games, or do you want to see inside?” She stepped back onto the stairs. “Come on. You’re our first guests in fifteen years.” She looked back. “Make sure your boots are clean!”

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL RODAK

  LANKAL EXPANSE, KLINGON EMPIRE

  Worf’s fever had returned with a vengeance.

  Hours earlier, Worf had thought it was breaking. The burning in his throat had subsided, and his spirits had even been enlivened by a discovery in the tutorial recordings: a way existed to alert Starfleet not only of Rodak’s location, but of all the ships of the Phantom Wing.

  The birds-of-prey contained a stealth positioning system, covertly informing one another of their locations. The system was designed to send the information locally, but it could be made to transmit across interstellar distances. Enterprise wouldn’t know where to look for the signals, but he believed he could create a signal that Lieutenant Šmrhová couldn’t miss.

  And best of all, the device was accessible from port engineering support, exactly where he’d intended on heading.

  Not wanting to wait for Sarken’s help, he had gone to the hallway door to see if the path was clear—and had promptly lost his balance. Dizzy and shivering, he crawled back to his hiding place. A warrior, so close to success—defeated by something he could not see.

  He lay in anguish, the events of Gamaral and Thane flooding his addled mind. He was on the edge of delirium when Sarken appeared over him. He couldn’t tell if she was real or not.

  “Sarken, is that you?”

  “What is it, Worf?” Her face came and went in his mind, and he felt her hand touch his. “Is it bad?”

  He moaned. She spoke about something having arrived, but in his clouded state he couldn’t tell whether she was referring to herself or to Rodak. He could only remember the thing that had been stuck in his mind that he needed to say.

  “I did not . . . tell you all, earlier.” He gripped her hand hard. “I killed Tharas.”

  “What?”

  “Your . . . father. I killed him.”

  The girl shook her head. “You’re sick, Worf. You don’t know what you’re—”

  “No,” Worf said, sitting partially up and looking, wide-eyed, directly into the young face. “I killed him. In the jungle . . . before the explosion.”

  Sarken was astonished. “Why?”

  “He was hunting me. I had to.” His head pounded, and he released Sarken’s hand. “It was . . . honorable.”

  “Honorable? What does that mean?”

  “How . . . I did it. I called out to him . . . it was not an ambush.”

  Sarken recoiled. “But you killed him. My father!”

  “I am sorry.” Worf lay back down, exhausted. “I tell the truth . . . it is the thing to do.”

  The girl bolted upright. He saw three of her in the doorway, every face looking down at him with horror. In his haze, he knew he had done the right thing—but something else told him it was the completely wrong time.

  “Please,” he said. “Do not . . . say anything about me . . .”

  The last thing he saw before he fell back into his stupor was that she was already gone.

  Forty-four

  TRADING POST KURABAK

  CHELVATUS III

  “We’re getting a lot of looks,” said the head of
Riker’s security detail.

  “I’m used to it.” Flanked by his protectors, the admiral paid little mind to the unhappy Klingons on the gravel path and headed into the bazaar. Titan had uncovered that the Unsung’s birds-of-prey had recently been on the outskirts of the settlement. Riker was damned if he was going to let a little Klingon resentment keep him from learning more.

  After Tuvok had departed with the Enterprise, the orbital satellites surveying Klingon space had discovered a possible signal from Object Thirteen. Eager to stop the Unsung and locate Commander Worf, Titan had taken on the pursuit. They had gotten a taste of what Enterprise had been doing: tracking, eliminating false leads, and following sensor ghosts. Finally, the trail led to the frontier world of Chelvatus III.

  A Klingon outpost with a transient population of traders and refugees, the planet had given Titan the chilliest of welcomes. The warriors on Chelvatus III, understandably infuriated at the desecration of Spirits’ Forge, had turned their ire on Starfleet in the wake of increasing demagoguery from Lord Korgh and his growing list of allies on the High Council. Titan had destroyed a Phantom Wing ship at H’atoria, but just as in the aftermath of the Borg Invasion, only an empty fortress was left.

  That the structure stood at all was thanks to Kyzak’s and Xaatix’s heroics, but that didn’t matter. The Federation had allowed the Unsung to take root in the Briar Patch, and Starfleet had failed to stop their violent acts. The result had been hostility at every turn, and while no one had dared to threaten a Starfleet officer, Vale had doubled the admiral’s security detail when he insisted on going down to the planet.

  “Sir.” Riker saw a hulking Orion security officer beckoning to him from the entrance to the trading pavilion. “I think I’ve got something.”

  Riker approached. “What is it, Dennisar?”

  “The Unsung were here.” Chief Petty Officer Dennisar had escaped a life surrounded by criminal activity to join Starfleet. His understanding of that seedy underworld had come in handy.