Kedair was startled by her sudden move. “Where are you going?”
“To rest. It will be darling to be back in my own bed.”
“Wait,” Chen said. “Don’t you have to program your illusion?”
Ardra pointed to her head. “It’s all right here.” She disappeared up the steps, leaving a confused Starfleet crew behind her.
Kedair looked to Tuvok. “Sir, do you think she’s being straight with us?”
“If she is not, we will be forced to use one of the programs in the library.” The Vulcan shook his head. Fek’lhr, the Klingon devil, was one of the characters in the system, but Houdini had made him appear as a devil once already and he had no interest in masquerading again. Tuvok was equally certain it would not go over well with the Kinshaya.
U.S.S. ENTERPRISE
APPROACHING NARENDRA III
Forty-two years ago, the U.S.S. Enterprise-C under Captain Rachel Garrett had come to the aid of the Klingon colony at Narendra III. Four Romulan warbirds launched a sneak attack on the blue-green world. The outpost fell, and Garrett’s ship was destroyed—but not before the Enterprise put in a valorous effort.
That Pyrrhic victory had become a historic moment for the Federation’s relationship with the Klingon Empire. Had it not been for the Enterprise-C’s honorable sacrifice impressing the Klingons, many believed the Federation might eventually have slid into war with the Empire. Picard was sure Captain Garrett’s feat would be one of the key moments when Martok and Riker presented their defense of the special relationship at the chavmajta—presuming that event ever happened.
Four attacking ships were again above Narendra III. The planet, resettled and repopulated, was home to millions. Their orbital defenders had just given their last when the Enterprise-E came screaming out of warp.
“They haven’t started planetary bombardment,” Šmrhová said as she eyed the four colossal orbs, drawing closer to the planet through the clouds of debris that had once been the orbital defense stations. Antispacecraft disruptor blasts, appearing as minuscule red needles at this range, lanced upward from the surface. “I’m not detecting any sensor sweeps in our direction.”
“Let’s get their attention,” Picard said. “Photon torpedoes, dispersal pattern sierra.” He pounded his fist gently on his armrest. “This one’s for Rachel Garrett and Enterprise.”
Forty-three
HOUDINI
APPROACHING JANALWA
“Where’s Ardra?” Commander La Forge said as he entered the illusion control center. “We’re nearly to Janalwa. We threw our cloak over Aventine as soon as we entered Kinshayan space—and we’re about to drop out of slipstream.”
Kedair rolled her eyes. She gestured to the spiral staircase. “She went to change clothes again.”
La Forge checked the truthcrafter stations. Everyone—including Corinne Clipet, who had been along since Houdini’s first flight from Starbase 24 to study the ship’s workings—was seated and waiting for something, anything, to do.
La Forge’s combadge activated. “Aventine to Houdini,” Dax said. “Five minutes to slipstream exit. You ready?”
“Stand by, Aventine,” La Forge said. He gave an imploring look to Tuvok, who stood next to the staircase.
Taking the railing in hand, the Vulcan looked upward. “Ardra, your presence is required.”
Nothing.
The two commanders looked around the room—and fixed their eyes on Chen, who was up and moving. “Excuse me, sirs.” Chen set foot on the bottom step and called, “Ten seconds to curtain!”
La Forge heard rustling above, and then saw black heels and a swirl of skirts as Ardra descended. Her hair was still up as before, but she was wearing yet another outfit, presumably from her own stash. Reaching the deck, she adjusted the hem of her dress. “Sorry. I was seeing what still fit.” She glanced at La Forge and winked. “It’s like I never went away.”
“Ardra, we’re running out of time,” he said. “You were supposed to come up with an illusion to counter Blackstone.”
“What, that?” she asked idly as she checked her nails. “I have that taken care of.”
Tuvok raised an eyebrow at La Forge, and then asked, “Is there a database of illusions aboard we haven’t been able to find?”
“Oh, no.” Ardra glanced back at the cylindrical imaging chamber, open since La Forge, Tuvok, and Aggadak discovered it. “You shouldn’t even have found as much as you did. I have everything upstairs.”
“Up in your bedroom?” La Forge asked.
“No, my sweet.”
Tuvok felt his control slipping. Calmly he asked, “Do you have mental powers we are unaware of? An ability to interface with computers?”
She smiled and touched his sleeve. “And they say Vulcans don’t have imaginations.”
“Who says that?” Chen asked.
“I do.” Ardra sighed. “Hold on,” she said, walking to the counter next to where Kedair was standing. “This’ll be just a second.”
“Three minutes!” called Aggadak from the bridge.
“You don’t hurry an artist.” Ardra looked at her hands, leaned over, and plunged her fingers into her hair. Working the black follicles, she freed a surprisingly long and extremely thin ribbon that had been keeping her hair up.
As La Forge approached the counter, he focused on the decoration, which seemed to get longer and longer as she worked her hands through it. After a moment, he began to perceive that it was not one long ribbon at all, but many lengths, all of different colors and tenuously connected.
La Forge reached for one. At his touch, it detached from the others.
“Not that one,” Ardra said. She took it back and went searching for another. Finally, she lifted up a single shimmering ribbon and brought it before her eyes, just centimeters away. “Aha! The Mystical Manifestations of Jilaan before the Kinshaya, 2293,” she said reverently. “I know it by heart.”
“A ribbon?” Kedair asked.
“It’s a bookmark,” Ardra said, “for a book your people never found because I had the sense to hide my copies of the Annals where even you couldn’t find them.” She passed the shining band to La Forge. “Here.”
“Microfilaments,” he said, staring at it. “There’s data on here.”
“Mmm,” Ardra answered. She took the many other ribbons, rubbed them together in her hands quickly—and whether through sleight of hand or technology, they re-formed into a single strand. She began putting her hair up again with it. “It was the one thing they let me keep at Thionoga. I guess they thought it was too small for me to harm anyone with, including myself. It came in handy when I had projection equipment smuggled in for my escape attempts.”
Tuvok’s eyes narrowed as he worked it out. “The character Jilaan created is on that ribbon?”
“Don’t just spoil it for everyone,” she replied. She gestured to La Forge. “Go. In the imaging chamber, feed that into the slot.”
La Forge started to move. Then he looked back. “Which slot?”
Ardra looked at the overhead, disgusted. “The one marked MEMORY’S MYSTIC BAND.”
When Tuvok looked puzzled, Chen spoke up. “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” she said, smiling. “That one, I read.”
Inside the chamber, La Forge inserted the end of the filament inside the reader, which hungrily gobbled the rest of it from him. A gong sounded from somewhere—and outside in the control center, displays over the stations suddenly came alive.
Ardra looked around with satisfaction. “My compliments to the doctor. Everything still works. It’s just the rest of you that leave coffee mugs lying around.” She straightened her refixed hair. “Well, I’m off,” she said, starting to walk.
“Wait a minute,” Kedair said, barring her exit. “Where are you going?”
“Why, to the transporter room. You heard them, Lieutenant. It’s showtime.”
Kedair glared at Ardra’s hair. The ribbon, somewhere in there, could no longer be seen. “I know about all your es
cape attempts. I’m not going to have to worry about you running off down there, am I?”
“Another time, perhaps. But I don’t happen to know anyone in Kinshaya space,” Ardra said. “Besides, I have a promise from Jean-Luc Picard. He is many things—but he also happens to be astoundingly, cloyingly, painfully honest. His word’s magic, in my book.”
“You won’t be alone in any event,” La Forge said.
“What do you mean?” Ardra asked, startled.
“Our supporting cast calls for a diplomat,” Tuvok said. “And we have someone in mind for the role.”
U.S.S. TITAN
PHEBEN SYSTEM
“Enterprise has arrived at Narendra III and has engaged,” Kyzak announced from ops. “Four Kinshaya battlespheres.”
“What, did they get a special rate on these things?” Vale asked. “I’d wish him luck, but we’re dealing with four of our own.”
“He’s too busy to listen,” Riker said as he studied the system map. He was weary. Titan had spent several hours engaged against the Kinshaya without help from Gur’rok, which was following its own strategy. Neither had done significant damage to the black spheres, in part because it had been impossible to focus on just one.
The same dynamic had prevented the Kinshaya from making landings. Pheben III was a farmworld; Pheben IV, a processing center for many of the ores of the region. Pheben V was the homeworld of the multitentacled Pheben species, one of the many conquered peoples who labored for the Empire. The fact that the system contained several planets that were not only habitable but also productive had no doubt placed it high on the list of Kinshaya targets. It had also bought the residents of each planet time, because of how the Kinshaya fought.
Whoever was commanding the Holy Order’s squadron seemed unwilling to send a single battlesphere off on its own, lest it find itself double-teamed by Gur’rok and Titan. The fact that he and Kersh had not spoken was thankfully unknown to the Kinshaya. The battlespheres would pair off and head for Pheben III and IV, or III and V, or IV and V—allowing Titan to harry one group and Gur’rok to chase the other. That required no cooperation. It had resulted in an inconclusive engagement that stretched on, with no end in sight.
“It’s not a battle,” Sarai said. “It’s a logic problem.”
“Wish we had Tuvok here.” Riker instantly realized what he’d said. The admiral caught a backward glance from the first officer in the next moment. Sarai had been installed in the post over Tuvok. Sarai, Tuvok, Troi, Ra-Havreii: four commanders was a lot of brass even for an admiral’s flagship.
“New contact,” Keru said.
“Friend or foe?” Vale asked.
“You tell me, Captain. It’s Breen.”
Riker blinked. “There should be a Klingon escort with it.”
Keru shook his head. “Negative, Admiral. Breen warship is flying solo.”
“The Breen ship seems to be observing,” Sarai said. “Taking stock.”
“Hail it,” Vale ordered. Then she looked back at Riker. “Should I ask, ‘Whose side are you on?’ ”
Kyzak said, “I wouldn’t worry about it, Captain. They’re not responding.”
Typical, Riker thought.
Titan banked hard as two of the Kinshaya battlespheres veered off together, heading toward Pheben IV. Vale ordered the starship to follow.
“Aspect change on the Breen,” Keru announced. The Breen vessel could be seen up close, on the main viewscreen, darting into Titan’s path and slowing its progress against the Kinshaya.
“What do they think they’re doing?” Vale asked. “Weapons?”
“No, and shields are not up,” Keru said. “They just won’t get out of the way.” The warship continued to weave back and forth, forcing Titan farther and farther from its optimal pursuit path.
“Passive assistance,” Riker said. “They’ve picked a side without firing a shot. Captain, try to get past the Breen without opening another front.”
Forty-four
HOUSE OF KRUGE INDUSTRIAL COMPOUND
KETORIX PRIME
Few things Korgh had experienced were eerier than existence beneath an energy shield under bombardment from space. Disruptor blasts struck with mighty flashes that coruscated across and along the lines of the invisible protective field—making for the most peculiar effects when observed by Korgh looking through the skylight in the atrium. No nocturnal weather event on Ketorix had ever looked as strange—or frightening.
Reports had placed Kinshaya assault forces already on the ground outside the defensive energy dome. Tragg had made his office the command center for the ground troops rushing to engage the enemy. Korgh had opened one after another of the offices he’d intended for his heirs so that other warriors could use the computers inside to check on the whereabouts of Tengor and the Klingon Defense Force. When another warrior asked him to unlock J’borr’s office—Odrok’s former Unsung command center—Korgh had redirected him to the next office in line. It had been a bitter reminder, and it left an acid taste in his mouth.
All that remained for Korgh was to pace circuits of the torch-lit atrium, mek’leth in hand, alternating glances between the family’s trophies and the intermittent flashes from above. He had maintained this place for fifty years, all the while envying and hating those who held the house. He had not had time to have all the portraits of Kruge’s feckless heirs removed. Every flash of light from above drew his eyes to another, standing in their ridiculous heroic poses. Udakh. J’borr. A’chav. Kiv’ota. Fools, all—every one, murdered by Korgh and his minions. With each blast, they seemed to taunt him.
You do not belong, they said. Kruge never adopted you. He took the Phantom Wing from Gamaral without telling you. You were never his son!
Korgh snarled in anger—a sound that startled the four warriors standing guard in the spooky atrium. The lord turned away from the walls and moved toward the center of the atrium, beneath the statue of Kruge battling the Kinshaya. Clutching his mek’leth hard, he looked up at Kruge’s graven face, a visage he trusted and knew. Knew well enough to engineer the perfect impersonation of the commander, for his own ends. Disruptor-lightning flashed again and again beyond the skylights, backlighting the head of Kruge’s statue and giving the icon’s face an otherworldly grimace.
The blasts above came ever faster. Korgh could not take his eyes off Kruge’s face—and in his ringing ears the old man heard the voice of the commander he once knew, saying words that chilled him to the bone:
You used my face and name!
You are a disappointment, without honor!
You were never my son. And you are no Klingon!
Korgh went to one knee, shut his eyes tightly, and screamed, “No!”
Outside, another flash: the biggest yet, a light so bright he saw it through his eyelids. Korgh felt the shockwave pummeling downward, as if a hammer had struck the whole complex. He heard the crash of glass and the pained yells of warriors.
The sound still reverberated through his skull when Korgh opened his eyes and saw what had happened. The skylights had blown out, their shards injuring all the warriors and blinding one; only Korgh’s position beneath Kruge and the Kinshaya statue had protected him. Portions of the ceiling between the panes had given way, raining down debris. Through the gaping hole, he saw directly into Ketorix’s night sky—where large orbs of death could be seen descending.
So horrid was the scene above that Korgh barely noticed Tragg arriving. “Father,” his youngest said, “the Kinshaya have destroyed the shield over the compound!”
“I know,” Korgh said, gripping his mek’leth and rising. The bombardments had stopped in the immediate area, and he knew why. His face looked grim in the torchlight. “Prepare.”
KINSHAYA BATTLESPHERE FERVENT-ONE
OVER KETORIX PRIME
“Fervent-Three, descend. Fervent-Four, descend.”
All was going exactly as planned. The Kinshaya were far from the best shock troops Thot Roje could imagine; they were an undisciplined lo
t. Ykredna’s partisans were a mixture of regular military and religious fanatics, and for every serious-looking fighter, there were two decorated as if on parade.
The armor the Kinshaya wore was formidable, and he could easily imagine them stampeding in the streets below, disruptors blazing as they ran down hapless Klingons. Yet during his inspection of Labarya’s troops, Roje had seen many who had spent more time on painting their armor than on understanding how to hold their weapons.
The best had already beamed down and were closing in, now that the energy shield was defunct. They would form a perimeter, trapping the Klingons as the battlespheres descended over the cityscape, becoming platforms dealing death. Then they would beam down the remainder of their troops as an occupation force.
“Fervent-Three reports the Kruge family’s industrial headquarters is in visual range,” his lieutenant said.
Roje repeated it to Labarya, who responded, “Do not destroy the devil’s home. It must be a spoil, to be taken by our forces and sanctified by his blood.”
“Very well,” Roje replied. “Pass it on to the ground assault teams.”
He looked quickly at his displays reporting the situation at other locations. Kruge’s home guard fleet had yet to return—a wonder, Shift was—and only a few Klingon Defense Force ships had reached other worlds. But the picture was not entirely positive. Enterprise had somehow lucked onto the assault on Narendra III and was hotly contesting the planet—while several Breen warships had been forced to abandon their pretense of searching for the Unsung in order to interfere with the defenders at Pheben and elsewhere. The domo had strictly forbidden Breen forces from openly engaging with the Klingons and their Federation ally, but they were in it now.
Within the hour, Roje estimated Ketorix Prime would be wrapped up. The Breen Confederacy would have, through the Kinshaya, a secure foothold in what had been Klingon territory. “There’s nothing else to do up here,” he declared. “Prepare to descend on my—”
“Proximity alert!” his lieutenant said. “A bird-of-prey decloaking!”
The Hall of Heroes Page 23
