As he passed through Chu’charq, Worf saw the new mother and son. Weltern was speaking with Valandris, seeking the younger woman’s advice. Valandris’s responsibilities in the group had grown. The exiles might look to Kahless for spiritual direction, but Valandris, organizer of so many hunts, would make sure they got where they needed to go.
“Let me speak with Worf. I will contact you soon with a destination,” Valandris said. “Qapla’,” she added, half a smile forming as she tried the term on.
“Qapla’.” Weltern gave her gurgling bundle a squeeze and headed aft.
“Their child still has no name?” Worf asked.
“No. But it is not the same as it was during Potok’s time.” Valandris looked at mother and child receding into the distance and nodded thoughtfully. “The elders would have denied us names for our entire lives—and the same for our children, no matter how we lived. This child will have a name; he is of the House of Harch. But first Harch and Weltern intend to seek adversity, as Kahless says, so the name they give him will have honor.”
Worf liked the notion. The emperor had finessed that well. Kahless had squelched the child being named after himself. Both parents felt they should never again deify a charismatic leader. This put the emphasis on the Unsung’s actions.
A topic that still concerned him. “I saw that Harch has taken station aboard Krencha’s bridge. Does Weltern go to join him?”
“She commanded Latorkh, he operated Rodak’s helm. Krencha lost crew at Ghora Janto. It makes sense.” Valandris’s smile dissipated. “It will also be a check against him, should the old reflexes return. I have the rest of the children aboard Chu’charq. I do not doubt the others’ interest in Kahless and the ancient ways—”
“But if we meet the wrong sort of reception, that could change.” Grimly, Worf nodded. “I concur. I had told Kahless earlier that we should travel aboard Krencha, just in case.”
“That makes sense.” She grinned. “I will miss having you as a passenger—even an unwilling one.”
They walked into main engineering, where Kahless stood with several of the exiles around one of the reactors. Looking between his listeners, he noticed Worf and Valandris approach. “Ah,” he said. “I was just telling of how the true Kahless and Lukara took on the five hundred at Qam’Chee.”
“An excellent story,” Worf said. As he had so often over recent days, the commander marveled at how ably the clone had picked the right stories. The tale of Kahless the Unforgettable and the woman who would become his mate reinforced the value of family, something the emperor had emphasized since the birth of Weltern’s son. It also included, as its moral, not waiting to do a difficult thing.
Valandris and the Unsung had decided to take a most difficult path. “How far can we go?” she asked Hemtara.
“The dilithium crystals continue to meet the specifications laid out in the tutorial,” Hemtara replied, gesturing to a padd by a console. “All four vessels are functioning normally—but it’s not clear how many operational hours we’ll get. The tutorial did not say.”
Worf nodded. “Those who provided you the birds-of-prey wanted you to be able to survive some eventualities, but didn’t expect you to be a permanent force. Hence the bombs on board.” He gestured to the padd. “You said that voice belongs to an aged Klingon woman—the engineer who came to train you? You remember nothing else of her?”
“She was as old as our elders,” Hemtara said. “You said the House of Kruge built these ships. Could she have been one of the original engineers?”
“Perhaps. But Lord Korgh informed us he knew of no one alive who could have been involved on the Phantom Wing project. Of course, he also said he had no idea the project existed before this year.”
Kahless scowled. “Find that woman, Worf, and you will find the people responsible. For Cross, his tricksters, everything.”
Valandris took a deep breath. “We will let the Empire figure it out. But the time has come to decide. You said it would be unwise to simply announce ourselves, Worf. What would you do?”
Worf scratched his beard. “I have given this much thought. We could seek out the Enterprise or one of the Starfleet vessels. You would have a better chance of surrendering without bloodshed. It would begin to redress the harm you did at Gamaral.”
Valandris frowned. “We did the greater harm to the House of Kruge. Cross sent us to kill their nobles. And wasn’t H’atoria one of the house’s worlds?”
Worf froze. What she was saying was true, but he hadn’t considered it before.
“These are the house’s ships,” Hemtara said. “We should return them.”
“Which would have been the will of the true Kruge,” Dublak said from the back of the gathering. He gestured about the ship around them. “The weapons would be returned to his house.”
Stained with the blood of his kin, Worf thought. He didn’t like this direction at all. “They will not welcome you,” he said. “The fleet protecting Ketorix is strong and likely on alert. They will destroy you as soon as you decloak.” He paused. “But Kahless would be able to announce our presence—”
“He is no hostage, to be traded for our safety,” Valandris said. “We will not hide behind anyone. It isn’t Klingon.” She asked Kahless, “Is it?”
Solemnly, Kahless said, “No.”
Worf appealed to him. “Emperor, this is unwise. It is believed you are dead, at their hands. Many warriors are on edge, and after Ghora Janto there are more dead to avenge. They will retaliate.”
Kahless shook his head. “They seek the difficult path, as Klingons should. To walk to the very gates of those they have offended and declare responsibility? It is something the Unforgettable would have done.”
Silence fell across main engineering.
At last, Worf spoke. “It was the House of Kruge that had your people condemned a century ago—during a different time, under a different chancellor. Perhaps Chancellor Martok and the High Council will respect this gesture.” His eyes narrowed. “But I would increase the odds that the exiles would survive the meeting. All the children are aboard Chu’charq, so Kahless should remain here as well. You may not wish to hide behind another, Valandris, but it is right that they should have someone with which to stand.”
Hemtara looked to Valandris. “We would be revealing that Kahless is with us at some point, if they let us live that long.”
Valandris nodded. “If they see him when they board, they might spare the young.”
“I will stay as well,” Worf said.
Kahless shook his head. “Worf, you told me you wanted us aboard Krencha’s bridge, in case—”
“We will not separate again. I am honor bound to defend you.”
“A Klingon defends himself,” Kahless said, cracking a smile. “But if this is to be one of the great moments in Klingon honor, there is no other’s company I would rather have.”
Twenty-eight
U.S.S. TITAN
ORBITING THETA THORIDOR
“We’ve just picked up Starfleet’s special delivery as ordered,” Dax said. On the screen on Admiral Riker’s desk in his sector command center, the captain rolled her eyes. “My crew would like me to tell you that if this was your idea of making nice after the whole Takedown thing, it leaves a lot to be desired.”
Riker laughed. “They didn’t actually say that, did they?”
“Would I lie to an admiral?”
“Rendezvous with Enterprise. It may be a waste of time—but on the off chance that it isn’t, time is of the essence.”
“We could do this even faster if they can meet us partway.”
“Done.” Riker leaned forward. “Captain, that’s one more I owe you.”
“Maybe you’d better hold off on the accounting until this mission is over,” Dax said with mock seriousness. Then she smiled. “We’re on it. Aventine out.”
Riker rose from his chair—and bumped one of the four padds on his desk. It fell to the deck with a thump. He knelt to pick it up. More than o
ne padd was superfluous, but his multitasking had grown to such a degree that even with a staff to help, he was having trouble keeping it all straight.
The hunt for the Unsung. The upcoming chavmajta. Starfleet Command’s latest flight of fancy, on which he had dispatched Aventine. And now something very odd indeed was happening with the Klingon Empire—or, rather, a particular section of it.
Walking from his office into the operations center, he saw Ssura and several others poring over the mystery. It wasn’t Starfleet’s business to keep tabs on Klingon vessels, military or civilian—and certainly not inside the Empire’s own territory. But the quest to find the Unsung meant everybody was looking at everything—and Starfleet’s vessels had reported that more than a dozen Klingon warships had put out from the frontier territories administered by the House of Kruge. All had suddenly departed, with no destination announced.
“There goes another,” his Caitian assistant reported. He pointed a furry finger at one of the panels in the center displaying the locations of various vessels. “That’s Udakh, out of Narendra.”
“You’re sure they’ve gone to warp?” Riker asked. “Not just cloaked?”
“Some of these ships don’t even have cloaks,” Ssura replied. “They’re definitely leaving. And here’s the kicker: it looks like most of them are home guard ships.”
Riker gawked. “Why would they pull their defensive units at a time like this?” He looked at the star map. “Has Lord Korgh’s office told us anything? Have they found the Unsung?”
That would fit, Riker thought. Korgh’s son Lorath had somehow tripped over the plans of the Unsung and set a trap at Ghora Janto. He had told Riker about it in advance. How had Lorath learned about the Phantom Wing’s plans? That explanation, the general had taken to his grave.
“Starfleet Intelligence reports that Lord Korgh’s second-born, Tengor, was recently put in charge of the home fleet,” Ssura said. “His flagship just departed.”
“Maybe that’s what it is. They’ve got another lead they’re not telling us about.” It sure is fishy, Riker thought. But then, he could easily imagine Korgh wanting his family to hog all the credit for nailing the remaining renegade ships.
“Can we ask the chancellor?” Ssura asked. “Home guard vessels aren’t always under the command of the Defense Force. But one would hope Martok knows what they’re doing.”
“Maybe.” Riker paused, entertaining another thought. He touched a control on the star map interface, widening the focus to bring in other parts of the Empire. “Are any of the other houses scrambling vessels? Any of Korgh’s allies?”
“We don’t have that information. But I can make inquiries.”
“Do so, quietly. Korgh doesn’t seem the sort to share, not like his late son. If his allies are on the move and it’s not the Unsung . . .” Riker did not finish the statement. A move by Korgh and his allies against Martok and Qo’noS seemed unlikely in the extreme. Klingon regimes were constantly in danger of military overthrow, but the new lord was playing the political game so well he hardly needed a coup.
The lieutenant had caught his drift. “If they are moving against the chancellor, do we warn him?” Ssura asked, worried. “I remember during their civil war, we had to be careful about intervening.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Riker said, knowing full well he would try to help Martok and hang the consequences. “In the meantime, let’s assume they’ve got a lead on the Unsung. Find out where they’re headed.”
U.S.S. ENTERPRISE
CABEUS
The explorers of the fifteenth century on Earth had gone looking for a route to China and discovered the New World instead. Enterprise’s quest to discover why the Breen ship Sustax had lingered in the Cabeus system had not yielded any signs of the Blackstone. However, sensor sweeps had found something else: evidence that several birds-of-prey had been there. It wasn’t the Northwest Passage, but the Enterprise would explore it.
His security chief, Aneta Šmrhová, had been following any possible lead, no matter how slim, with a singular passion. When the captain and Doctor Crusher entered the transporter room, they found only Ensign Jaero, looking rather haggard, waiting. He had an evidence-collection case in one hand. “Lieutenant Šmrhová is already on the surface,” Jaero said.
“Very well,” Picard and Doctor Crusher joined the ensign on the transporter platform. “Energize.”
The ensign’s work previously had been critical to the discovery of the underground starship factory on Gamaral. Earlier that day, one of Šmrhová’s endless scans had possibly detected something on Cabeus that simply didn’t belong. Picard wondered if Šmrhová had badgered the Tellarite ensign into agreeing with her assessment that the cave needed to be checked out.
It wasn’t long, however, before Picard realized that her persistence had paid off.
“Here, sir,” Jaero said in the cave. With his tricorder open and scanning, he set down the case and opened it, revealing several stacked petri dishes. With great care, he scraped a fine shiny powder from the ground into one.
“Illium-629,” he said, running his tricorder over the material. “A byproduct of decrystallized dilithium. Relatively inert, yet detectable by our long-range sensors.” He studied the tricorder’s readings. “It looks purposefully deposited, perhaps by individuals unsure that it was safe. Chemical markers suggest it was removed from a warp core reactor within the last seven days.”
“You’re certain this material could not occur naturally?” Picard asked.
“There is no dilithium on this planet, Captain. The Klingon mining surveys are quite complete—and our studies corroborate that.”
“Which would make this planet a good place to hide, if you happened to know that,” the captain said. It wasn’t clear to Picard how the Unsung could have known, but any doubt about their presence here was quickly disappearing. He watched as Šmrhová and Crusher scanned the inside of the cave. Both women had done more work with forensic evidence during the Unsung crisis than they had in a long time: tedious, painstaking work. The doctor seemed enervated, enjoying the mystery. The lieutenant wore a determined expression as she strode over to him.
“Landing gear imprints,” Šmrhová said. “Birds-of-prey, looks like four.”
“And we are seeking four,” Picard said.
“The footpads matched with the marks found elsewhere. It looks like the Unsung were here for quite a while. We’re finding evidence of campsites by the gaseous fissures.”
Crusher had even better news. “There are hairs and dead skin cells all over the place. They were here for some time—and may only have left in the last twelve hours. I think we just missed them, Captain.”
Picard considered the timeline. “I’m wondering if the Breen ship had detected them, but chose not to share that with Captain Klag.”
“Why?” Šmrhová asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a complete coincidence,” Picard said. “But we’ve suspected all along the Unsung had someone’s help—and if they’re recrystallizing dilithium, that’s further evidence. That isn’t something the exiles would have figured out on their own.” He turned to Crusher. “Assemble a team. Begin data collection and DNA typing. Compare the material found with what was left at Spirits’ Forge. Make sure this is the Unsung and not just some group of squatters.”
“Squatters with birds-of-prey?” The security officer pressed him. “I’m not sure we need further proof, sir.”
“That . . . is not the only reason to do the analysis,” Picard said cautiously.
Šmrhová studied him and for the first time in days smiled. “You’re hoping to find evidence Worf was with them?”
“Hope springs eternal, Lieutenant.”
Picard stared into the cave and wondered aloud, “We know the Blackstone was nearby. Could the illusionists have made another attempt to impersonate Kruge, luring the Unsung here? Could they still be in the area?”
“Commander Tuvok is running the detection protoc
ol he developed and La Forge reports Houdini’s sensors would know if Blackstone was in the system and projecting.” Šmrhová said. “So no illusions—but they could be cloaked.”
“Ready to strike again—perhaps even at us.” It seemed they were once again just behind the Phantom Wing, forever doomed to keep chasing—
His combadge chirped. “Captain, priority message from Starfleet Command,” announced Glinn Dygan. “We are to rendezvous with Aventine, all possible speed.”
The captain looked at Šmrhová. Her face went sour and she mouthed, What?
“Glinn,” Picard said, “make them aware we have new evidence—and are on the Unsung’s trail.”
“I took the liberty, sir. Orders stand, all possible speed.”
Šmrhová looked back around at the cave, her frustration evident. “Sir, let me stay.” She frowned. “I can investigate. Leave me a runabout. You just can’t—”
Realizing what she had said, the lieutenant went silent.
“Doctor, would you and Ensign Jaero take the samples back to Enterprise?” Picard asked.
The two complied—and Picard waited until the hum of the transporter faded. Šmrhová stood at attention waiting to take her medicine. She had been running herself—and anyone she thought could help her find the Unsung—ragged.
“Lieutenant,” he said, “I know you were not at fault for Gamaral. Worf knew the risk, as did you when you volunteered. Aneta, I need you to listen to me: you are not at fault.”
“Sir, I should have—”
“That’s an order. No more.”
“Yes, sir.” She breathed deep and inhaled. “Thank you, sir. Any idea what could be so important, Captain?”
“I haven’t a guess,” he said. But if it’s another wild-goose chase, you won’t be the only person upset.
Twenty-nine
HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND
KETORIX PRIME
“Nothing still?” Korgh asked from the hallway as he looked into his youngest son’s new office.
The Hall of Heroes Page 15
