by David Mack
Moving in a low crouch, he inched up to the low wall that ringed the balcony level and peeked over it.
Most of the temple’s floor and decorative elements had been smashed apart and carted away to reveal the eerily smooth and reflective obsidian surfaces of the Shedai Conduit over which the temple had been built. Only a dozen thick sandstone columns had been left untouched. Looking up, Quinn saw why: the ornately carved octagonal columns were the sole support for the temple’s upper levels and its roof.
Perfect targets, he thought with a diabolical smile.
He scuttled to the nearest column. After casting wary glances around the balcony, he opened his bag and removed the first of several compact demolition charges designed for shattering load-bearing supports. He tucked it in the corner where the column met the balcony’s low wall.
One down, eleven to go, he mused as he doubled over and jogged to the next column. Though he might never set off these charges, in his experience it never hurt to have options when seeking an exit strategy.
In about ten minutes he had mined nine of the columns and was on the opposite side of the balcony. Below him, workers had been delivering equipment the Klingon scientists had been setting up. On their way out, the Denn slaves pushed carts laden with sand and chunks of broken stone.
As Quinn set the tenth of his charges into place, there came a commotion from the main level. He ducked behind the column and peeked through an opening in the balcony wall. Beneath him, the scientists stood at a portable console while a squad of soldiers ushered out all the workers. There was a great deal of shouting, followed by the familiar slap of a rifle stock being slammed across the back of someone’s head. When the last of the soldiers left the chamber, the scientists all faced the glowing artifact, which once more had been placed upon the small pedestal in front of the console.
Quinn snuck to the eleventh column and set his next-to-last charge. Then he heard the terrified shriek of a female voice, and he glanced back through a fissure in the balcony wall to see what was happening underneath him.
A pair of Klingon soldiers dragged in what looked like an adolescent female Denn. Judging from her clothes, Quinn suspected she wasn’t one of the nomads but a youth taken from one of the surrounding Shire settlements. She thrashed wildly in the Klingons’ grip but couldn’t break free. The two hulking brutes slammed her backward onto an obsidian slab beside the glowing artifact and locked her to it while the scientists began entering commands on their jury-rigged interface.
A blood-chilling groan reverberated through the obsidian structure and shook a rain of dust from the ceiling high overhead. A black wall to the left of the scientists began to pulse with deep violet light, revealing symbols in a script that Quinn had never seen before. He reached under his robe, pulled out his borrowed Starfleet tricorder, and began gathering sensor data.
Then he stared in horror as tendrils that looked like living smoke rose from the gleaming black floor around the pedestal and snaked toward the girl on the slab. Her hands were manacled together through a gap in the slab’s base, leaving her unable to even turn away from her fate. All she could do was shut her eyes and scream.
Quinn wished he could do the same, but terror compelled him to watch.
The scientists observed the illuminated glyphs on the wall while they made adjustments on their console. They seemed to be working from a checklist. One of them would enter a command, and another would confirm which symbol responded with a momentary increase in brightness.
As they worked, the entity smothering the girl became pale and spectral. Its shape was monstrous: as large as a rhinoceros, it was part lizard and part bug; sinewy limbs ended in clawed extremities; its maw gaped open to reveal swordlike fangs; a stinger-tipped tail whipped hypnotically behind it.
Some kind of organ shot from the ghostly creature’s mouth and vanished into the girl’s chest. Her screaming ceased. She convulsed, and her eyes snapped open. Then she shriveled like a deflating balloon. Fissures formed in her desiccating skin as her dulled eyes sank into their sockets. Within moments all the color of her body faded to white.
A stentorian roar shook the temple. Quinn and the Klingons below him covered their ears. The force of the cacophony pummeled the husk of the girl’s body into dust and bones. Then the clamor ended, leaving only its sonorous echoes to chase one another through the ruins’ empty spaces.
On every obsidian wall, glyphs blazed with crimson light—as did the twelve-sided artifact on the pedestal, from which Quinn felt a sickening aura of fear. He had no idea what that bizarre gem was, but one look at the girl’s blanched skeleton was enough to convince him the artifact was too dangerous to leave in the hands of the Klingons—whose scientists were hard at work documenting every sensor reading from their callous living sacrifice.
Quinn switched off and put away his tricorder, planted his final explosive charge, fixed his cowl to cover his face, and stole away down the steps. He resolved to act quickly; there was no time to wait for Starfleet to step in.
Whatever it takes, he vowed, this ends tonight.
44
T’Prynn lay prone on hot sand beside Tim Pennington, observing the activity inside the Shedai Conduit, which was partially cloaked by the desert-worn stone edifice of a decaying ruin. The human journalist gazed through a pair of compact holographic binoculars, while T’Prynn looked through a slender field scope borrowed from a rifle in the Skylla’s weapons locker.
They were witnessing a gruesome spectacle.
Something either released or produced by a glowing object on a pedestal at the center of the Conduit consumed what T’Prynn presumed to be an adolescent native female. The process appeared to have been initiated and monitored by a team of Klingon scientists inside the temple. When the flurry of light ended, a thunderous booming resonated from within the ruins.
More troubling to T’Prynn was the psychic disturbance that followed it. A concentrated wave of projected fear emanated from the obsidian apparatus, and it seemed to produce anxiety in the Klingons, their native workers, and even in Pennington, who flinched, lowered his binoculars, and ducked behind the dune.
Marshalling her psionic defenses, T’Prynn suppressed her own natural flight reaction and continued her observation.
“Jesus,” whispered Pennington. “Did you see that?”
“Yes,” T’Prynn said.
He palmed sweat from his face and took a few deep breaths. “What the hell happened in there? What’d they do to that girl?”
“She appears to have been sacrificed to trigger some hidden function of the Shedai Conduit.”
Tucking his binoculars back into a belt pouch under his robe, Pennington asked, “Sacrificed to what?”
“I am not certain,” T’Prynn admitted. “However, given the circumstances, it is highly likely a Shedai entity of some kind is involved.” She peered through her targeting scope again and watched the scientists gather warily around the radiant polyhedron mounted on a pedestal. “The new element in this situation appears to be that luminescent object. I am unaware of anything like it previously being associated with the Shedai.”
Pennington nodded. “So you think that’s what Kane stole from Vanguard for the Klingons?”
“That is my current working hypothesis,” T’Prynn said. “If it is important enough to be of interest to Klingon Imperial Intelligence, then it very likely is of equal or greater interest to the Federation.”
“Right,” Pennington said. “Now that we’ve got that sorted, all we need to do is get back to the Skylla without getting noticed by the Klingons, and we can signal Starfleet.”
He seemed relieved as he began backing down the dune.
“No,” T’Prynn said.
Pennington stopped and wore a stunned expression. “Beg your pardon?”
“Whatever that object on the pedestal is,” T’Prynn said, “it enables the Klingons to access previously unknown functions of the Conduits. It might also have applications for other aspects of Shedai technolo
gy. We must not leave such a dangerous item in Klingon control for any length of time.”
Holding up his hands, Pennington replied, “Hang on, love. You said this was just a recon mission.”
“I said we would not take direct action unless it was absolutely necessary. In this case, I believe it is.”
Under his breath he said, “I bloody knew it.”
She continued, “We must acquire that crystal and bring it back to Starfleet.”
He shook his head. “There’s two of us and a hundred of them. How are we supposed to take it without getting shot?”
She arched one eyebrow. “Very carefully.”
“I meant, what’s our plan?”
She avoided Pennington’s gaze and looked through her scope at the Klingons’ compound. “Most of the details are still taking shape,” she said. “But one seems to have been chosen for us. We must wait until dark. But when night falls … we strike.”
45
Quinn’s mellul hadn’t slowed from a full gallop since he had taken off its blinders back in the desert. He had been forced to clutch the vulture-faced steed’s mane and coil the reins around his forearms to keep himself steady while the creature raced back toward Leuck Shire.
That thing back in the temple must’ve spooked him as bad as it wigged me, Quinn figured.
Thanks to the creature’s unflagging speed, it was barely dusk by the time Quinn reined it back to a trot on the outskirts of Tegoresko. The Klingons still had the center of the village under surveillance, which meant Quinn had to take a roundabout path back to the Rocinante.
Now that his mellul had slowed its pace, and the air was no longer breezing past him, he caught a whiff of the musky odor produced by the animal’s exertion. “I was wonderin’ what that stink was,” he said to the beast while tousling its mane. “Have to hose you down when we get back to the ship.”
He tugged the reins to guide the animal around a turn that would lead to a pass sheltered by the piled wreckage of several fallen buildings. Two sets of hands reached out from either side and grabbed his mellul’s bridle, halting the creature.
Quinn’s hand was already pulling his stun pistol from its holster when he recognized the two Denn women who had stopped his mount. “Naya, Lirev,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”
Naya replied in an agitated whisper, “He took her, Mister Quinn! He came with the Klingons and took her away!”
Dismounting in a hurry, Quinn looked at Lirev, who seemed a bit calmer. “Took who?”
“Your friend. The one you call Bridy Mac.”
The news filled Quinn with a nauseating feeling of dread. “The Klingons have Bridy?”
“No,” said Naya, shaking her head frantically. “They helped him, but he took her.”
Fearing he already knew the answer, Quinn asked, “What do you mean he? Who took Bridy?”
Naya looked at Lirev, who answered, “The one you faced on the dunes. The man with midnight skin.”
Zett. You sonofabitch.
Again suspecting he knew what bad news was coming, he asked the women, “Do you know where he took her?”
“Back to the desert, with the Klingons,” Naya said.
Quinn expected to be so angry he couldn’t think straight. Instead, he felt a deathly calm take hold, and he knew exactly what needed to be done.
“Lirev, are your people at the temple good to go?”
“Yes,” she said. “They have met up with your fighters and are ready.” She lifted one of the Klingon communicators Quinn’s men had captured during their recent ambush of the convoy. “When you say it is time, I will use this speaking box to tell our people to attack.”
He nodded. “Okay, solid.” Turning toward Naya, he said, “Get the landgraves and other females to shelter.” To Lirev he added, “Tell the men to wait for my signal to attack.”
“What will be the signal?” asked Lirev.
“Trust me,” Quinn said. “They’ll know it when they see it.” He handed Naya the reins of his mellul and continued his journey back to the Rocinante on foot.
Naya called after him, “Mister Quinn, wait! The man with midnight skin found your ship. He led the Klingons to it.”
This just keeps getting better and better. “And … ?”
“They left four soldiers there to ambush you,” Naya said.
Quinn couldn’t help himself. He smiled. “Well, then,” he said, “I’d hate to keep ’em waiting.”
“Delivered as promised,” Zett said as he handed the human woman over to Commander Marqlar, the officer in charge of the Klingon garrison at the desert temple.
Marqlar cupped the woman’s face in one large, callused hand. “Skinny and fragile-looking,” he said. “And not as young as you’d promised.” He looked at one of the scientists standing nearby for confirmation. “Will she suffice?” The scientist nodded, and that seemed to satisfy Marqlar. “Very well. She’ll do.” He snapped his fingers, and a pair of Klingon warriors dragged her away toward the obsidian altar.
“Can I trust you’ll abide by our agreement?” Zett asked.
The barrel-chested officer scowled at Zett. “For now,” he said, nearly bowling Zett over with the stench of blood and booze on his breath. “I still want to know what a pair of humans are doing this far from their Federation allies.”
“Knowing Quinn, they were looking to cheat someone who’s never dealt with their kind before,” Zett said.
The commander furrowed his thick eyebrows as he eyed the woman. Like the rest of his garrison, Marqlar looked sandblasted by his tenure in the desert; tiny granules clung to the coarse hairs of his goatee and seemed to have scoured patches of color from his uniform. Despite his swarthy complexion, his face and hands looked sunburned. He frowned. “Might they be spies?”
“I doubt it,” Zett replied as he watched the soldiers force the woman to lie on top of the glossy black slab. “Quinn’s never been much of a joiner.”
As the woman’s wrists were locked together through a gap in the altar’s base, Marqlar said, “We’ll know for sure once my men capture him and make him unlock his ship’s secured systems.” He threw a glare at Zett. “Some of the hardware they saw on board was new and highly advanced.”
From the altar, the woman called out, “It’s also all stolen.” She waited for Zett and Marqlar to give her their full attention, and added, “Quinn and I swiped some of it from Vanguard and stripped the rest from a ship docked at Station K-7 about six months ago.”
Her declaration made Marqlar smile. “And why are you telling us this?”
“Because there’s more hidden on our ship than gadgets,” she replied. “Dilithium crystals, tannot ore, laundered credit chips, you name it. Let me go and I’ll make you rich men.”
Zett held his arms wide and grinned. “I’m already a rich man.”
“I’m not,” Marqlar said. He walked over to stand beside the restrained woman. “But then, not everyone longs for money. And I think you’ve failed to understand why we’ve brought you here.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Explain it to me.”
Marqlar kneeled beside her and dropped his voice to a menacing hush. “Whatever lives inside that artifact at your feet, it responds to blood sacrifice. The more we give it, the more control it grants us over this apparatus.”
He caressed her face with his dry, leathery fingertips. “Our first offering was one of the slaves’ children. It was a very successful effort, and my research team assures me only one more sacrifice should be necessary for us to take full control of this machine and unlock its secrets.”
The Klingon stood and gestured toward the temple’s entrance. “Unfortunately, it spooked our workforce. They fled in such terror that it took my men most of the day to round them up.” He looked down at the woman. “The last thing I need right now is a slave revolt—not because I couldn’t suppress it, but because I can’t afford to waste a valuable, finite resource.”
Zett stepped beside the woman as he explained, “That’
s where you come in. You’ll make a perfect sacrifice to the Klingons’ new toy—just as soon as you’ve helped me lure Cervantes Quinn to his death.”
“You’re wasting your time,” she said, then shook her head. “Quinn’s a selfish coward. He won’t come for me.”
Zett took a thin synthetic whetstone from a pocket of his white suit jacket and began sharpening his yosa blade. The soft scrape of steel against stone drew an icy stare from the woman. He smirked at her.
“You don’t know Quinn very well, do you?”
46
Lieutenant Gortog crouched beside the mouth of the tunnel, lying in ambush for the human pilot named Quinn.
The Nalori assassin Zett Nilric—who had helped Gortog’s crewmates from the I.K.S. Rojaq capture the human woman who had been tending Quinn’s vessel until his return—had assured Gortog the tunnel was the only means of access to the insurgents’ lair, which was concealed inside a gutted building.
Unwilling to take the killer at his word, Gortog had ordered two of his men to patrol the catwalks that hugged the walls above the battered ship. He also had posted a fourth soldier inside the humans’ starship in case Quinn tried to remotely activate its systems and use them against Gortog and his troops. As an added precaution, they’d planted a booby-trap in the ship’s impulse drive and concealed a homing beacon behind a bulkhead in its cargo bay.
All that remained was for the human pilot to arrive.
The orders from Commander Marqlar had been clear: Capture the man alive and make him unlock the secured systems on his ship. Fortunately, alive did not necessarily mean unharmed. Gortog sincerely hoped the human put up a fight.
Breathe slowly, he reminded himself. Be absolutely still as you await your prey. He adjusted his grip on his d’k tahg. The flat side of the ceremonial dagger’s blade was cool against his bare forearm. Though the night air outside the hollow building had begun to cool at sunset, the brick and mortar shell around the humans’ ship radiated the heat it had absorbed all day long.
