by David Mack
“It’s all right.” She knuckled the slumber from her eyes. “I wanted to be awake when you got back, but I drifted off.”
He took off his jacket and dropped it on the deck. “I’m not surprised. It’s been a hard couple of days.” He sat down beside Keiko and stretched his arm across her shoulders. “I’m just glad you’re all right. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His scraggly whiskers tickled her as he kissed her neck.
She kissed his forehead and smiled. “That makes two of us.” They sat together for a moment, and Keiko let herself enjoy the comfort of feeling her breathing rise and ebb in sync with O’Brien’s. He was more than a lover to her, more than a wartime romance: He had become a part of her, one she couldn’t imagine living without. They belonged to each other.
Succumbing to curiosity, she asked, “Was Worf helpful?”
O’Brien sighed. “Yes and no. He has no end of hatred for Klag, and he gave us some good intel that we can use to penetrate the Klingons’ defense perimeter.”
“So, if that’s the good news…”
“The bad news is we don’t have the strength to act on it, and I think Worf knows that. He’s toying with me—giving me good advice he knows I can’t use.” O’Brien looked dejected and distracted, as if his thoughts were light-years away and dwelling on something disheartening. “I don’t know if the rebellion’s ever going to recover, Keiko. Not after a loss like this. The station, all those ships, all those people. It took us so much time to rebuild after Zek and Bashir’s blunder at Empok Nor. Now it’s all gone.”
She pressed her palm softly to his cheek. “No, it’s not. Not all of it. There are still plenty of people ready to follow you, Miles. People who believe in you.” Leaning forward, she put her forehead against his. “I still believe in you.”
“Belief’s not going to win this war,” he said, slipping from her grasp and standing up to pace inside the cramped quarters. “If we’d taken out Olmerak, we might’ve had a chance. But now… now, I just don’t know.”
There was so much Keiko wanted to tell him, but Saavik had forbidden her to reveal Memory Omega’s existence to anyone. She knew it would raise his spirits if he knew that Memory Omega had plunged Cardassia into chaos, or that its agents were even then gearing up for a major coordinated action, but all of that was considered classified. There was, however, one bit of good news she could share with him. “Miles… what if I told you we didn’t have to be alone in this fight?”
A wary glance from across the room. “What do you mean?”
“I still have access to confidential channels of information,” she said, crafting her explanation with care. “From time to time, I get messages from old friends, former allies. One of them contacted me today—with a message for you.”
“For me?” He looked alarmed. “What kind of message?”
Striving to sound upbeat yet diplomatic, Keiko said, “An invitation.”
He ceased his back-and-forth ambulation. “To…?”
“A meeting. To discuss the possibility of joining forces.”
That didn’t seem to sit well with him. “With whom?”
Keiko stood to meet him. “Someone who can help us.”
He was becoming annoyed. “I need a name, Keiko.”
“Calhoun.”
Confusion creased O’Brien’s brow. “The Xenexian? I thought he was just a folktale.”
“No, Miles, he’s very real. And he leads a huge rebel faction—practically an armada. You say we need ships? Well, he has them.”
O’Brien dismissed the idea with a wave of his hands. “I don’t think so. When something sounds too good to be true, that’s because it usually is.” Holding out one arm to stave off Keiko’s reply, he added, “Even if this is for real, what if it turns into another Zek fiasco? If this Calhoun has as many ships as you say, then what does he need me for? What’s to stop him from swooping in here and taking over, like Zek did?”
“I don’t know,” Keiko admitted. “Maybe nothing. But aren’t you the one who said we can’t let our egos get in the way of doing what’s right? That the rebellion’s never been about us, and can’t be?”
She saw the muscles in his jaw tense as he bit down on whatever angry response had first occurred to him. Apparently stung by having his own words thrown back at him, he stewed for a moment before he replied. “I did say that.”
“Then we should at least consider meeting with him.”
O’Brien narrowed his eyes and frowned. “I still don’t like it. The timing’s too damn convenient. Just when we need reinforcements, he calls for a parley? What are the odds of that, Keiko? If you ask me, it sounds like a trap.”
“I’m almost certain it isn’t.”
An accusatory glare. “Almost? So, you’re not absolutely certain it’s safe?”
Growing tired of his obstinate resistance, she dipped her chin and glowered at him. “There are no guarantees in life, Miles. Every decision carries a measure of risk. Some are worth it, some are not. I think this one is.”
He half-turned away from her and thought it over for a few seconds. Then he cast a guarded look her way. “This old friend who contacted you. Who was it?”
“Her name is Selar. She’s a Vulcan.”
O’Brien nodded, his manner thoughtful. “Do you have a secure means of getting our answer to her?”
“Yes, I do. What should I tell her?”
He took a deep breath. “I’ll meet with Calhoun, but I won’t lead what’s left of our fleet into a trap. The Defiant will go alone, and I’d appreciate it if he’d do the same—just one ship and whoever has the authority to speak. I’d rather not draw the Alliance’s attention by putting everybody in one place at the same time.”
“That makes sense,” Keiko said.
He cracked a rueful smile. “Glad you think so. Let’s just hope this meeting doesn’t turn out to be the last, worst mistake of our lives.”
19
Ambition’s Debt
Behold, the future of the Empire!” Klag stood in the center of the High Council chamber, atop the trefoil emblem that adorned the black marble floor. Projected above his head was a three-dimensional holographic star map of explored space.
From the ring of councillors that surrounded him, a youthful voice said, “What are we supposed to be looking at?”
Klag sought out the speaker in the throng and recognized him at once. “Isn’t it obvious, Hegron? What do you see when you look at this map?”
The black-haired councillor snarled and pointed at the hologram. “You call that a map? Where are the borders?”
“Precisely,” Klag said, turning slowly to gauge the other councillors’ reactions. “This is the future, my brothers. Local space without borders—because it will all belong to the Klingon Empire.”
A few of the older councillors guffawed. A battle-scarred veteran named K’mpar raised his voice above the mocking laughter. “Not this old nonsense! What do you take us for, Klag—schoolchildren? Klingon hegemony is a fool’s errand. A romantic fantasy at best, a dangerous delusion at worst.”
“I am not saying it will be achieved in our lifetimes,” Klag said. “But we will lay the foundation for this future with the actions we take here now.” Making a slow circle of the room, he continued. “The tactical and political realities facing us are changing rapidly, more so than ever before. If we are to thrive as an empire, and survive as a people, we must expand. We must conquer.”
Korvog, who hailed from one of the oldest of the Great Houses, looked down his long, narrow nose at Klag. His cultured accent dripped with disdain. “What an original concept, Regent. Who do you propose we conquer first?”
Using a small controller tucked inside his fist, Klag highlighted in bright red a portion of the holographic map. “Cardassia.”
Murmurs of surprise and concern circuited the room. Klag savored the atmosphere of muted shock that followed, and he seized the moment to continue. “For too long, the Alliance has been a house divided against
itself. We’ve clashed with the Cardassians, negotiated with them, bargained with them. By degrees they have eroded our authority, our autonomy, our power.
“Now their union is in chaos. Their ships fire upon one another. Their military scientists unleash atrocities on their own civilians. And that petaQ Damar, having publicly assassinated his leader in one of the boldest coups I’ve ever seen, cowers from the public, either unwilling or unable to wield the power he’s stolen! The Cardassian Union is descending into anarchy.
“For the good of the Alliance, order must be restored. If the Cardassians themselves cannot or will not do so, we will.”
K’mpar shouted back, “That’s an expensive proposition, Klag.”
“Perhaps. But it’s nowhere near as costly as doing nothing. If we fail to fill the power vacuum in Cardassian space, the Taurus Pact powers will not hesitate to claim the Cardassians’ possessions for their own.” He highlighted two more sections of the hologram, in green and blue. “In case you’ve all forgotten basic astrocartography, the Breen Confederacy and the Tholian Assembly both share borders with the Cardassian Union’s sovereign territory. They are better positioned to invade Cardassia than we are—which is why we can’t risk hesitating.”
Hegron looked half-awake. “So the Cardassians fall to them instead of us. What of it?”
To Klag’s astonishment, Korvog spoke up to rebut Hegron. “If the Taurus Pact seizes Cardassia, it will have enough power to begin annexing what are presently shared possessions of the Alliance. Many of the planets we rely on for dilithium lie within the bounds of the former Terran Empire. I can think of at least six the Breen and Tholians would be poised to take from us if they had all of Cardassia’s resources to feed their war machine.”
“Well said, Councillor,” Klag said. “We’ll need Cardassia’s strength if we’re to stand alone against the Taurus Pact.”
Another young councillor, Krozek, interjected, “What about Bajor?”
Klag met the impertinent question with a venomous stare. “What of it?”
“Its secession cannot be tolerated,” Krozek insisted. “We must make an example of it, before other worlds follow its treacherous path.”
“Bajor will pay for its insolence, I assure you,” Klag said. “But for the moment, it’s not a matter of concern. Governing is about priorities, Krozek, and Bajor isn’t one. Stabilizing Cardassia is. And so is defeating the Taurus Pact.”
K’mpar shot back, “What about the Terran Rebellion? Or the pirate Calhoun and his Romulan armada?”
“The Terrans are routed,” Klag crowed. “They cower in the Badlands, licking their wounds. I expect them to disband any day now. As for Calhoun and his rabble—we’ll hunt them down after we’ve dealt with the most serious threats to our security: the unrest in Cardassia, and aggression by the Taurus Pact.”
His declaration provoked a tsunami of enraged protests. The wave of sound was so dense, so impenetrable, that he couldn’t discern one criticism from another. He let the commotion go on for close to a minute, but then his patience waned. He pocketed the controller for the holographic projection and beckoned Goluk to bring him his ceremonial staff of office. It was an ancient thigh bone from some great beast of prey, its bottom tip jacketed in steel and its bulky length reinforced at regular intervals with bands of iron. Klag took it in hand and cracked its tip against the marble floor repeatedly, until the staff’s sharp reports shocked the squabbling councillors into silence. “I will hear one of you, but not all of you.” He pointed at Hegron. “Speak.”
“We can’t afford to wait before pursuing Calhoun,” Hegron said. “He and his allies are a clear and present danger to the Empire, and they must be exterminated immediately and with prejudice.”
Grumbled assents filtered down from all the other councillors, making it clear that Klag was outnumbered. He could overrule the High Council and force his will into action, but the political cost of alienating every member of the council at once was too high for him to risk it.
“Support my campaign to secure Cardassia, and I vow we will destroy Calhoun and his fleet before we launch our conquest of the Taurus Pact.”
His pledge sparked several sotto voce side discussions as the councillors debated whether these were terms they could accept personally as well as justify politically outside the Great Hall. Within moments, Klag had his answer.
Korvog stepped down from the circle to join Klag on the main floor. “We are at agreement, My Regent.” He offered his left arm, and Klag took it in a clasp that bonded both men to their words. Unfortunately, Klag suspected that this compromise would ultimately prove to be a mistake.
Once again, these fools have made a decision based on passion rather than reason, he lamented. It was the same error that he believed had plagued the Empire for generations: The members of its elite leadership caste had a long history of leading with their hearts rather than their heads. And now they shall drag me down with them. May Kahless forgive us all.
20
The New Wind of Change
The transporter beam released its hold on Picard as he and Troi materialized inside the Solomon. Though it was a slightly smaller vessel than Picard’s ship, its interior felt more spacious because its technology was so miniaturized and compact. The consoles were seamlessly wedded to the bulkheads, following their angles and curves, and rather than fixing certain functions to specific locations, all the interfaces were dynamic, reconfiguring on the fly as needed. In contrast to the many shades of gray that defined the Calypso’s compartments, the inside of the Solomon was a study in pristine black and white.
Standing beside a bulkhead-sized black panel were K’Ehleyr and Barclay. He was operating the controls projected on the panel while she greeted Picard and Troi. “Welcome aboard.”
“A most impressive vessel,” Picard said. “Her exterior is remarkable, but it doesn’t prepare one for this. Are all of Memory Omega’s ships like this?”
The question prompted a humble shrug from K’Ehleyr. “This is one of our older ships, actually. I’m told the newest ones are far more advanced.” She looked at Barclay, who shook his head no. “We’ll just be a moment,” she added.
“I don’t mean to be contrary,” Troi said, “but couldn’t you have just told us the coordinates and let us beam down from the Calypso?”
Barclay answered over his shoulder as he worked. “I’m afraid not, Miss Troi. We have strict orders not to release those coordinates to anyone. Ever.”
“Basically,” K’Ehleyr added with a humorous gleam, “we trust you, but not with the lives of everyone we know. To be honest, it’s amazing we were allowed to bring you here at all.”
Picard nodded. “I understand completely. We know the asteroid below is uninhabitable, and Calypso’s sensors detected no energy emissions, so the base must be deep underground. Something buried that deeply would be highly defensible as long as a foe doesn’t know its precise position.”
“Exactly,” Barclay said. “Most starships don’t carry enough firepower to blast open something this big. Even if an Alliance ship got this far, we’d either blow it to bits or be long gone before it ever got near us.”
Troi had the wide-eyed expression of someone struggling to think of something nice—or at least not rude—to say. “That’s quite something, Reg,” was apparently the best she could come up with at that moment.
Outside the Solomon’s forward cockpit, Picard saw the Calypso hanging in orbit above the airless gray planetoid that dominated the view. He imagined what would happen if a random patrol noticed it floating derelict beside the Solomon.
“What will happen to my ship?”
K’Ehleyr took a reassuring tone. “Once we’re inside the base, the control team will use a tractor beam to tow our ships inside a concealed landing bay on the surface. They’ll be out of sight and hidden from sensors.”
Barclay turned from the console. “All set.”
“Here we go,” K’Ehleyr said. “Huddle up.”
The fo
ur of them moved together in the middle of the Solomon’s main compartment. A few seconds later, another transporter beam seized Picard and the others in its golden embrace, and a musical rush of white noise ushered him into a brilliant white haze…
… that faded to reveal a lush jungle oasis. He looked up and saw patches of bright blue sky through a shredded blanket of white fog. Shafts of intense golden light speared down through the low-lying cloud cover, dotting the rain forest canopy far below with shifting patterns of light and shadow. Picard realized he and the others were standing on a cliff beside a majestic waterfall’s rushing plume. The fresh scent of green plants and clean water vapor filled his nose, and he breathed deeply and smiled. Beside him, Troi stared at the vista, amazed.
“It’s incredible!” Troi exclaimed. “Where are we?”
“Inside the asteroid,” K’Ehleyr said.
Troi gazed upward at the azure canopy of sky. “This is inside?”
She was answered by the voice of an older woman. “Yes, approximately two hundred kilometers underground.” Everyone on the cliff turned to see the middle-aged Vulcan woman who walked out of a shadowy corridor cut into the rock wall behind the cliff. “Most of what you see is real—the rain forest, the waterfall, even the sunlight, such as it is. Our holographic engineers added the illusion of sky to stave off feelings of claustrophobia among some of our more neurotic residents.”
“Remarkable,” said Picard, who found it hard to believe. He had seen holographic illusions before, but never anything so perfectly convincing.
K’Ehleyr stepped forward to make introductions. “Luc Picard, this is Saavik, the director of Memory Omega.”
He bowed his head to the Vulcan. “Director.”
She returned the gesture. “Welcome, Mister Picard.”
Barclay joined the tight circle. “Director, this is Deanna Troi.”
Troi shook Saavik’s hand. “Director.”
Saavik scrutinized Troi with an unnerving stare, as if she were peering straight through her, plumbing her depths. “Your empathic skills are even more finely honed than we were led to think,” she said at last. “Most impressive for only a half-Betazoid.” The two continued to clasp hands for several seconds while sustaining unblinking eye contact. Picard wondered what manner of confrontation he was witnessing. Finally, Saavik released her hold on Troi’s hand and repeated, “Most impressive.” Turning to Picard, she added, “Welcome to Memory Omega.”
