He had heard the prosecution would bring a star witness, and he had every idea about who it would be. He was not surprised in the least when Odrok walked before the council. He refused to even look at the traitorous wretch as she told the tale of her hundred-year association with him.
It was all true, of course—but every word stabbed. Such betrayal.
“You realize,” Martok said as she concluded, “that you are complicit in all of his crimes?”
She replied, “That is wrong, Chancellor.”
That caught Korgh’s attention. He watched her. When she spoke, it was with a passion he had not seen in her in years.
“I began in Commander Kruge’s service,” she said, “a hundred and ten years ago. He was my liege. I was following his orders when I removed the Phantom Wing from Gamaral. After his death, Korgh represented to me that he was following Kruge’s final wishes.”
“But there were no orders telling you to deceive the exiles,” Martok said. “There could not have been. There were no exiles while Kruge lived. Where his orders ended, Korgh’s began.”
“I believed Korgh to be the rightful heir of the family,” she said.
“You knew he was not,” another councilor interjected. “You arranged with the Unsung to fake his adoption!”
“I knew there was no proof of the rite,” Odrok replied. “But I wanted to believe it. I wanted to think that I could continue to serve Kruge.”
Martok asked Korgh, “You contest this woman’s story?”
He laughed. “It is the delusion of a drunkard. Odrok worked for me as a domestic, before I turned her out.” He glared at her. “This tale is her attempt at revenge.”
“You tried to kill her in her bed!”
“She had called, begging me to visit her after the ceremony. She claimed she was in unbearable pain. She did not merit a warrior’s suicide by blade, so I brought her a hypospray to spare her further suffering. I see now it was an attempt by my enemies to entrap me.”
He looked at the council members. Some still appeared conflicted. Spreading confusion had sown doubt. There were simpler types, he knew, who would never consider financial records, electronic communications, or forensic data as evidence; they looked only to words spoken and the people behind them. He only had to appear more believable than Odrok to some of them—and he hoped he had succeeded.
Martok addressed her once more. “Have you anything to add?”
“Yes,” Odrok said. She faced Korgh for the first time—and her eyes looked daggers at him. “It has taken me too long to admit this, but Korgh is Kruge’s true heir in one thing. Both were willing to use anyone to get what they wanted. Kruge even killed his . . .”
She paused, unable to get the words out. “His lover,” she finally said. “He killed a woman named Valkris.”
Martok’s aide, an official historian, spoke up. “There is no record of such an act. Our investigations only found that Valkris obtained the Genesis data, and that she likely provided it to him.”
“She was never seen again,” Odrok said. “Korgh would have brought me to the same end as Valkris, once he was through with me.” She glared at him. “Perhaps the nobles that claimed the House of Kruge were no heroes. But neither did Korgh deserve it.”
Korgh waited. “Are you finished?” When she did not respond, Korgh waved his hand dismissively. “You have here a serial liar, who stalked me for decades. I suggest the entire mad scheme was hers. There is nothing to connect me to the Unsung and nothing to connect me to the Phantom Wing. It is all a fantasy, a frame-up by a desperate chancellor. Do not be fooled.”
“You disgust me,” Odrok said. She spat in his direction. Then she turned and walked back though the crowd, leaving the chamber.
“Is this all there is?” Korgh asked the High Council. “Lies and misapprehensions? I cannot think you would unanimously accept these tales. Let us bring this to an end—and get back to debating the future of the Empire and its leadership.”
“There is one more witness,” said a human voice from the back of the room.
Korgh looked back to see Picard entering. The Klingon snorted. “Let me guess—you have found a thread from my sleeve where it should not be. What else could you know?”
“I am not the witness.” Picard faced Martok. “Chancellor, the holographic transmission has been established. The Romulans were most willing to assist.”
Korgh blinked. The Romulans?
“Project the witness,” Martok said once the equipment had been set up.
A life-sized figure materialized in the center of the room where Odrok had stood. Korgh gawked as he saw who it was.
“I am Ambassador Spock,” the Vulcan announced. “I am honored to have the chance to address this assemblage.”
“Your words are welcome in this place, Ambassador,” Martok said.
“My work on Romulus makes me unable to attend in person, but when I learned of the events in the Empire—and of my possible role in them—I had to speak. I could not do otherwise.”
Korgh’s mouth went dry. His shoulders sagged.
“I am told that you have all seen the report I filed in 2286, after U.S.S. Enterprise-A’s encounter with General Potok’s exiles inside the Briar Patch, or Klach D’Kel Brakt. You know of my encounter with them—and with the captain of a bird-of-prey who sought to recruit the refuges.”
“Do you see that captain here?” Martok said.
The holographic Spock turned, not looking that much older than when Korgh had first encountered him. “Yes. Lord Korgh is the Klingon I met on the bridge of Potok’s freighter. He had been aboard a bird-of-prey he claimed was part of a secret squadron—and he called upon an engineer named Odrok.”
“What?” Korgh laughed, nerves getting to him. “This—this is madness, a fabrication. That was a hundred years ago.”
“I never forget a face,” Spock said. “And as you said to me back then: Vulcans do not lie.”
Korgh looked around the room. There was no doubt in any of the councilors’ faces now. The witness was unimpeachable.
“Thank you, Ambassador,” Martok said. “You have been most helpful.”
“Before I end transmission, Chancellor, I would like to say two things.”
“Of course.”
“First, I understand many blame General Potok for his poor choices in running his community. The Klingon I met was a man of introspection—and, I believe, had a strong sense of honor. He did not accept exile because he was guilty of the crime he was accused of. He judged himself and his allies as having failed—and that is why he chose to go. Had I known that the harshness of his views would, in later years, damage the well-being of the exiles and their descendants, I would have advised moderation. But he would not have accepted my counsel.”
The hologram looked around the room, as if he were studying the faces of the councilors he could see. “Second—and more importantly as we approach a century of peace: There are those who say that the accord between the Klingon Empire and the United Federation of Planets is not an equal one. They compare the number of starships or the amount of territory, and find the bargain uneven.” He paused. “Speaking as someone present at the beginning, I make the following observation: they are correct.”
A rumble of surprise quaked through the hall.
“They are correct,” Spock said, “in that we are not two beings born from the same cell, with identical compositions. We are distinct, with different cultures. We will always maintain our individuality—and we can do so while still remaining partners. Because there is one area in which we can be exactly equal: faith. Our faith in you is exactly equal to yours in us. When trust is diminished, our prospects together are limited. When we trust one another, no crisis can divide us.”
Shaking his head at his fate, Korgh could barely look at the listeners—but he could see they were spellbound.
“Recent events tested your people’s faith in the Federation,” Spock said. “We understand why—and take responsibility, jus
t as I do for my own role. But our friendship was never in danger, because of the Federation’s faith in the Klingon Empire. Some may have thought the successful resolution too slow, but no one should have doubted it was coming. We are honored to be your friends, and we always will be.”
Shouts of approval came from the councilors and the audience members alike.
“An important legacy has been bequeathed from my generation to yours. Peace is the work of ages. Let us continue working—together.”
Fifty-eight
U.S.S. ENTERPRISE
ORBITING QO’NOS
Korgh had been convicted.
While confident of Korgh’s guilt, Captain Picard had remained uncertain of the trial’s outcome until the message from Ambassador Spock had arrived. The news that the Vulcan had learned of the proceedings and wanted to contribute had changed everything. No Klingon doubted his memory or his trustworthiness. Yes, Picard could see the hand of the Romulans; Spock had been working openly with their Unification movement, and they were aggrieved with Korgh over the near-killing of their ambassador at H’atoria. They would have seen that Spock learned the whole sordid story. But the net result had been positive.
The trials and their verdicts had been followed with interest aboard the Enterprise. Korgh’s sentencing had been put off until the next afternoon and was closed, for Klingons only. Having returned to Enterprise, Picard steeled himself and headed to the conference room near the brig, where he had a legal matter of his own to deal with.
Ardra was there, resplendent in burgundy. She and Gaw chatted as the old friends they were. Also in the room were the other Blackstone truthcrafters, happy to be reunited with the Bynars 1110 and 1111. Emil Yorta, the sole lawyer in a roomful of defendants, was a popular person.
Picard stepped to the head of the table. “The Klingon Empire has agreed to allow Starfleet to handle your cases in appreciation for your help in Korgh’s capture and conviction.”
“Bless you, Captain Picard,” Gaw said.
“I have also spoken with the Judge Advocate General about your cooperation. However, the facts are that the truthcrafters were accessories to the murders of the Sentries on H’atoria and played a role in the conspiracy creating the Unsung.” He faced Gaw. “You cannot walk away.”
Gaw’s smile went crooked. “You’ve got us there.”
“Ardra,” the captain said, “what you did on Janalwa not only negated what Shift did to those people—but you also unraveled the same fraud performed years earlier by Jilaan.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “And?”
“Starfleet has been made aware of a large number of episodes where other—practitioners, you call them?—have disrupted societies.”
“Oh?” Ardra said innocently. “Where would you have learned that?”
“A series of books found aboard Blackstone. The Breen apparently did not have time to remove them.”
Ardra turned and scowled at Gaw. “They’ve got your copies of the Annals!”
Gaw shrugged. “What am I supposed to do?”
“What indeed,” Picard said. Lieutenant Šmrhová entered and handed him one of the recovered volumes. “I understand that many of your illusions were harmless,” he said, opening the book. “But for every one of those, there is an episode where truthcrafters acted to the detriment of a whole civilization.” He faced Ardra. “We believe that you can assist in undoing the work of your Circle in Federation space—and of thwarting future attempts.”
Discussion broke out between the truthcrafters. Ardra, incredulous, put up one finger and the room fell silent. “Come now, Jean-Luc. Do you really think I would work against the Circle?”
“Consider it another way. You’ve suggested that standards have declined in your order. Starfleet will put you aboard the Houdini to spend your sentences working on behalf of the Federation. You would act as a control on the Circle, undoing past harms and preventing excesses.” Picard gestured to the book before him. “These recorded episodes suggest your people originally created illusions from a love of the art, not for material gain or to create chaos. This service would bring the Circle back to its traditional path.”
“Flying around the galaxy, showing how our tricks were done?” Gaw was animated. “I still can’t see why we—” Then Gaw paused. “Wait. Did you say in there you’d be letting us go? No prison?”
“No prison,” Picard said. “You would serve your sentence aboard the ship, with Doctor Aggadak and a Federation security team helping you.”
“Parole officers,” Gaw said. “Going where you make us go. Same as the Breen intended for us.”
“No,” Picard said. “You would be doing it because you owe it to the societies you swindled. And we would not ask to learn your methods. We would just direct where and how you used them.”
“It would be . . . an odd kind of community service,” Yorta said.
“With the community being all of space.” Seeing Gaw and the other truthcrafters giving it serious consideration, Picard closed the book. “That is the offer.” Taking the volume beneath his arm, he turned to leave.
Ardra attempted to follow Picard into the hall, but was stopped by Šmrhová. Picard waved her off. He spoke with Ardra alone outside. “Yes?”
“This plan of yours,” Ardra said. “I didn’t do the things that they did. What I did for you at Janalwa gets me out of prison. We agreed!”
“It gets you out of Thionoga and erases Ventax II.” He gestured toward the book in his hand. “What do you suspect Starfleet will find that you have been involved with?” A wry smile crossed his face. “The Mighty Ardra, known under twenty-three aliases in one sector alone?”
She pursed her lips and looked at the book. “You wouldn’t know which ones were me.”
“I’m confident that your style would shine through.”
“Why, thank you,” Ardra said, smiling in spite of herself. She stood for a moment, considering. “You know, there hasn’t been an Illusionist Magnus since Jilaan. I suppose if I start policing the Circle, that puts me in charge.” Her eyes went wide. “They might name it after me.”
“The Kinshaya say circles are eternal. There’s immortality there.”
She chuckled—and regarded him closely. “It has been good to see you again. Are you really married, or was that a ruse?”
He eyed her warily. “Really married.”
“Well, I should have known you wouldn’t lie about—well, anything.” Ardra straightened his collar. “Tell your people I’ll take the deal.”
“Excellent.” Picard stepped back from her. “I hope to hear a good report.” He turned and started down the hall.
“Let’s not wait nineteen years before our next meeting,” she called out.
Entering the turbolift, Picard wasn’t sure if two decades would be long enough. But he was certain of one thing: however many years passed before he met her again, he knew she would look exactly the same as she did when they first met.
Like magic.
Fifty-nine
FIRST CITY
QO’NOS
“Martok’s officials talk of restocking the game on some of the nearby islands on H’atoria,” Kahless said as he and Worf walked the grounds around the parked Chu’charq before dawn. “I expect there will be excursions now and again.”
“Another reason for me to visit,” Worf said. Day had broken over the military landing grounds, and Defense Force warriors were working alongside the former Unsung—now Sentries—to restock their vessel. Both groups would later board Chu’charq to fly to a public site for a ceremonial sendoff; it promised to be a madhouse.
“I am surprised to see Starfleet here,” Kahless said, nodding in the direction of Admiral Riker and the three captains conferring at the edge of the tarmac. “Will you come to the farewell?”
“Aventine will return to its explorations. Titan and Enterprise will join the honor escort to H’atoria before heading on their way. I am waiting on Korgh’s sentencing. I will go to that.”
>
“Yes, there is something you must do,” Kahless said. He thought for a moment. “If they require any additional punishment for Korgh, tell them that slaving in sewage pits can be quite invigorating.” He chortled.
They stood silently for several moments, looking back at the Chu’charq and the mix of warriors and Sentries working together.
At last, Kahless turned and clapped his hand on Worf’s shoulder. “I am a Klingon of many words, Worf—most of which came from another, born long ago. But I speak for myself when I say I owe you a debt which I may never be able to repay.”
Worf shook his head. “I only sought to do my duty to protect you.”
“It is not that. In retirement, the life had gone out of me. I thought the Empire no longer needed me. But I now see,” he said, glancing at the workers, “that there will always be those who need help finding the path.”
Worf looked at the group—and saw Valandris exit Chu’charq’s landing ramp. She looked different. She wore the garb of a Sentry of Spirits’ Forge, and the young woman had bound her unruly hair in that group’s manner. Valandris saw the two of them and smiled.
Noticing Worf’s gaze, Kahless smirked. “A reason for you to visit H’atoria,” he said, shaking Worf’s shoulder. He departed to speak to the Starfleet officers, chuckling all the way.
Valandris walked up to him, pulling at her collar as she did. “It feels different to wear this for real,” she said.
“The duty is a great honor,” he said, straightening.
“It is,” she said. She looked back at her people. “It is good that the children will be living on the same world with us. I will keep my word to you about Sarken.”
“It will do you both good.”
Shuffling awkwardly, she spoke without looking at him. “I—I don’t know what I expected when I kidnapped you. But I am glad I did. I do not fear the future for my people any longer.”
The Hall of Heroes Page 30
