Hell's Heart

by John Jackson Miller

  The comm beeped. “Enterprise, this is Spock. We are ready to test the lead freighter’s impulse engines.”

  Damn. Kirk’s concern did not abate. “I don’t want them ramming us as soon as they’re running.”

  “I have the conn of Potok’s vessel for the test flight,” Spock said. “I have some recent experience piloting a Klingon craft.”

  Kirk couldn’t believe any Klingons would sit by and watch as someone from Starfleet played pilot. “What does Potok say to this?”

  There was silence for several seconds. Then the Enterprise bridge heard the general’s voice. “It is acceptable.”

  Kirk didn’t like the reluctance he heard. “I’m serious about this. One false move against the Enterprise, and we’ll blow your other ships out of the sky. You’ll tell all your captains?”

  “They will hear me.”

  Kirk looked to Uhura. “Scan their channels. Make sure you hear the command given.”

  At the engineering station, Scott addressed Spock. “I wouldn’t be thinking about going too far. You’ll just want to see if they can get clear of the Briar Patch.” He grinned. “Then maybe they could trade the whole fleet for one ship made in the last century.”

  “Confirmed, Commander Scott. We will exit the nebula and return.”

  Kirk didn’t like it. The Enterprise would need to remain in the patch to keep watch over the other freighters—and it wasn’t at all clear that they would be able to maintain contact with Potok’s ship. “Turn back as quickly as you’re able to, Spock.”

  “Affirmative. Powering impulse engines now.”

  On the viewscreen, Kirk saw Potok’s freighter shudder. Portions of it looked much cleaner now, thanks to Enterprise’s engineers—and almost imperceptibly, it began to pull away from the shabby flotilla. It was going nowhere fast, but it was moving nonetheless.

  Kirk studied the remaining half-dozen freighters. He still couldn’t believe that the Klingons—any Klingons—would be in what had once been contested space without as much as a meteor chaser to defend them.

  Then the captain had a thought. He stood and walked to the engineering station. “Scotty, you’ve recalled the workpods from the first freighter?”

  “Aye. We’ll be needin’ a shift change before we apply what we’ve learned to the other ships.”

  Kirk looked back at the Klingon spacecraft on the view­screen and then leaned over Scott’s shoulder. “I’d like to get out and take a look myself. In one of the pods, with your team.”

  “Sir, we’re pretty sure we’ve seen all there is. Freighters are freighters.”

  “Indulge me. I’ve flown around ships in spacedock a few times. Maybe a new pair of eyes will catch something.”

  Scott shrugged. “I don’t see any harm in it.” He looked up, keenly, at Kirk. “Are you gonna tell Mister Spock?”

  Kirk flashed an innocent smile.

  Scott shook his head and chuckled. “Well, one of you is going to be right. This should be interesting.”

  Twenty-six

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ

  APPROACHING THE BRIAR PATCH

  “It is difficult to find much of anything in the nebula without entering it,” Odrok said.

  “We can’t find anything when we do enter.” Korgh sat back in his command chair, bored. “Keep scanning.”

  The information from Jylarno had been worth killing for: if Potok and his associates were to be his allies, Korgh couldn’t give the nobles from the House of Kruge another chance to preempt his plans. He had to make sure no one else could track Potok’s freighters.

  Then again, Korgh had the information, and it hadn’t helped his search. The Klach D’Kel Brakt—the so-called Briar Patch—was an enormous, amorphous body encompassing countless cubic parsecs. No one on Jylarno had known Potok’s exact heading.

  Korgh had been making guesses based on something he’d obtained on his recent visit to Qo’noS: Kor’s recorded history of the battle fought there years earlier. Potok had been present for it. But on retrieving the record, Korgh found Potok’s name had already been deleted, mere weeks after the mass discommendation.

  How Klingons treated their history often depended on the chancellor, and his desire to control discordant messages from the past. Stronger leaders were more lenient; the names of shamed villains lived on in certain accounts, generally where responsible historians could make cautionary tales. The current weakling chancellor, under the influence of Kruge’s relations, had swiftly ordered Potok purged.

  What Kor’s account recorded was his stops in the nebula. While Potok’s name was absent, his presence could still be detected by someone willing to read between the lines. Very few exploitable worlds had been discovered in the Klach D’Kel Brakt, and the difficulty in travel made finding them more costly. Even after driving off the Romulans, the Klingons had chosen not to occupy the place. But the limited number of stops Kor’s forces made cut down drastically the worlds Potok might have tried for.

  Even so, it had been an arduous survey. Traveling under cloak the whole time, Chu’charq had visited the three locations Kor stopped at nearest to the nebular boundary. Korgh had found nothing but annoyance. As the historical accounts had warned, the wretched conditions made travel slow. Korgh ordered Chu’charq to go back out the way it came in each time. Traversing the nebula from one suspected destination to another was madness; darting in and out was the path of least resistance.

  He hoped that it would have the effect of narrowing down the area he had to search. Wherever Potok’s ships entered, they might not be far from the perimeter, if fortune were with them.

  “Contact up ahead,” the engineer at the conn said. “Freighter. L’chak-class.”

  Korgh sat straight up. One of Potok’s? It had to be—no one else would be dragging around here in a vessel so old. “What is it doing?”

  “Moving at impulse. It appears to be making a wide arc.”

  “Entering or departing the nebula?”

  “It may be reentering. It appears to be doubling back.”

  Perhaps he came out for a while to remind himself what regular space looks like, Korgh thought. “Where are the other freighters?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Approach. Let’s get there before he goes back into that mess. Monitor transmissions.”

  Korgh could barely contain his joy. He had his squadron now; he had his crews. Better late than never. It would be the rope that would pull Potok’s people out of their pits—and restore Korgh’s legacy.

  He could only imagine how surprised the Kruge family would be when he led his fleet to Ketorix, simultaneously unseating them and undoing Potok’s sentence. J’borr, Udakh, Kiv’ota, and the whole useless lot: he longed to see the expressions on their faces.

  And then he would stab them in their eyes.

  KLINGON FREIGHTER I (STARFLEET DESIGNATION)

  OUTSIDE THE BRIAR PATCH

  Seated at a forward interface, Spock guided the freighter through open space. Here, free from the metaphasic radiation of the nebula, the ship’s diagnostic sensors would give a true account of its operating condition. Approving of the readings he was receiving, Spock heard the door open behind him, at the far end of the bridge.

  He looked back to see Potok passing between the two Starfleet sentries stationed on either side of the doorway. The Klingon had not returned to the command center since their earlier discussion; Spock surmised the motion of the starship had alerted him. “General, your vessel is now functioning within acceptable parameters,” he reported. “We should be able to apply the same procedure to your other freighters.”

  Potok stepped forward slowly. At length, he reached Spock’s side and looked out the port at the stars, now clearly visible beyond. He grunted something inaudible and said no more. His old reserve was back.

  Perhaps he believes he said too much ea
rlier, Spock thought.

  The freighter had lost contact with Enterprise minutes before it left the Briar Patch. Potok had managed to lead his people into one of the more hostile parts of the nebulosity; Spock now wondered if it had been purposeful. Or perhaps it had been done mindlessly, Potok’s despair overtaking care.

  Whatever the reason, it would be unwise to attempt again. “In the future, I would advise against cutting through high-density debris fields. You would risk repeating the same outcome. And we would not be present to assist.”

  Potok stared forward. “You will be leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  Potok turned his head to look at Spock directly. “Will Kirk report our presence to the Empire?”

  “He is duty bound to tell his superiors at Starfleet. But since no rescue mission is required and this territory is neutral, I do not believe the Federation will contact your authorities.”

  Spock heard a breath escape Potok. The general propped his hands on the console and looked out at space. “A debt owed by a nameless beggar is of no worth, Vulcan. But had I my honor, your act would bind me to—”

  Potok stopped suddenly, gawking at something outside the port. Spock leaned forward in the pilot’s seat to see something large shimmering into view less than a kilometer away from the freighter.

  A bird-of-prey.

  As he heard the signature whine of a Klingon transporter materialization effect behind him, Spock instantly knew Kirk had been correct.

  It had all been a trap.

  • • •

  Korgh had decided his reunion with Potok called for a grand entrance. The general, he had reasoned, almost certainly would have blamed Korgh for failing to deliver the Phantom Wing at Gamaral months earlier; it was important to make a show that would restore his confidence.

  Korgh had uncloaked the Chu’charq before the freighter and beamed quickly across without hailing. He was accompanied by the three engineers who could most credibly portray serious warriors when disruptors were placed in their hands. Arriving with armed warriors would be impressive, and on the off chance the L’chak-class freighter carried someone other than his allies, he would be in a position to take the bridge.

  When he materialized, he saw Potok standing far forward, as he expected—but a bark from one of his companions drew his attention aftward, where two astonished Starfleet security officers stood. It was unclear who was more surprised, but the situation favored Korgh’s larger force, whose disruptors were already drawn.

  “Drop your weapons!” Korgh fired a warning shot that blazed over one of the human’s shoulders, striking the bulkhead behind. Despite being outnumbered and outgunned, the other officer gamely raised his phaser.

  “Stand down, Lieutenant,” came a stern command from behind the Klingons.

  The voice startled Korgh; it was not Potok’s. But his eyes did not leave the Starfleet officers. Hearing a repeated command, they reluctantly placed their phasers on the deck and raised their hands.

  Korgh turned to see the speaker rising from the pilot’s seat. A Vulcan. “I am a Starfleet officer,” he said, “on a mission of mercy. My companions pose no threat to you.”

  “You’re right about that.” Korgh stalked up to one of the security officers and jabbed his disruptor in the human’s face. “How many more of you are here? Tell me now, or I kill him!”

  “One in the hold,” the Vulcan officer said.

  Korgh spotted the communicator attached to the security officer’s belt. “Summon him,” he said, gesturing to the aft doorway. “Now—and no tricks.”

  “Do as instructed,” the Vulcan said.

  The officer complied—and thirty seconds later, a Bolian became Korgh’s latest prisoner on the bridge. With two of his companions keeping their weapons trained on the security officers, Korgh sent the remaining one to check out the cargo hold.

  Then he returned his attention to the Vulcan—and to Potok, who had stood at the forward port watching it all, mesmerized. The Vulcan addressed Korgh. “I was not the general’s prisoner. Am I yours?”

  The question astounded Korgh. “Of course.”

  Snapped out of whatever trance he was in, the general spoke. “My lord?”

  “I told you I would save the day, Potok. The day was simply delayed.”

  Twenty-seven

  The Vulcan said nothing as Korgh and his minions used the crash harness to strap him into one of the chairs behind the pilot’s seat. Korgh knew the physical strength of Vulcans was formidable, even in an older specimen such as the commander; not about to test it, he’d kept his disruptor trained on him the whole time.

  The engineer he had dispatched to the hold returned, accompanied by two beefy Klingons. “There are fifty-one total in the hold, my lord,” his minion said. “And perhaps two hundred fifty more in the other six freighters.”

  “Three hundred?” Korgh brightened. It was more than he could have hoped for. Somehow, Potok had kept everyone together. “But where are they now?”

  “In the nebula,” Potok said.

  That made sense. “You will show me where they are, ­General—after we deal with your intruders.” Chu’charq had brigs, of course, but transporting the Vulcan’s escorts there wouldn’t work without a jailer present to activate the force fields. He doubted any of the four he’d left aboard the bird-of-prey could find the right end of a disruptor.

  That wasn’t his impression of the two Klingons who’d accompanied his engineer from the hold. Shabbily dressed and wearing scraggly beards, they little resembled the proud warriors he’d expected to find. Discommendation had brought Potok’s people low indeed. No layers of dirt, however, could hide the fact that the two had been born for battle; easily twice the mass of Korgh’s most muscular engineer, both had hands for crushing skulls. It occurred to Korgh that rather than sending them across to man Chu’charq’s brig, they might be more useful close at hand, as leverage against the Vulcan.

  Gesturing to the other Starfleet personnel, Korgh said, “General, order your warriors to go with mine and take this rabble to the hold.”

  Potok glanced from the Vulcan to Korgh—and then to his underlings. “Do it.”

  Korgh watched with sheer satisfaction as the unkempt Klingons—his first real foot soldiers—followed the general’s orders. No—his orders. Apart from the odious Chorl, Korgh had had very little interaction with Potok’s officers before Gamaral; keeping the would-be heir’s identity known but to a few was the general’s way of protecting the secret of the Phantom Wing. Now that Korgh had both the ships and the crews, there was no further need to pretend he and Potok were equals.

  And he wanted answers. “Explain, General. Why were these people here?”

  “They found our freighters damaged in the nebula. Spock has repaired this one.”

  “Spock?” Korgh’s eyes bulged as he looked at the Vulcan. “From Genesis? From Enterprise?”

  Potok nodded. “The same. Right now, Enterprise is in the nebula with our ships, awaiting our return.”

  Korgh gawked at the general. That can’t be right. “Enterprise was destroyed.”

  Potok saw Korgh’s confusion. “Starfleet commissioned a new starship by that name and sent Kirk out with it.”

  Korgh nearly fell over. “Unbelievable!” He’d heard about the inquest that had followed Kirk’s return to Earth, but not about any new assignment—and certainly not about another Enterprise. “Kirk admits his crimes, and Starfleet sends him right back out with a brand-new ship!”

  He advanced toward Spock, waving his disruptor in his face. “Is Kirk aboard Enterprise? You will answer—or fifty Klingons in the hold will tear your friends apart.”

  Spock looked straight ahead, not seeming to register the weapon’s presence. “I am on a mission of mercy—aboard this ship by invitation. That is all I will say.”

  “By invitation?” Korgh look
ed accusingly at Potok. “They didn’t force their aid on you?”

  Potok pursed his lips while he decided how to answer. “I did not ask for help. But I did not refuse it.”

  Korgh stared at the general, baffled. There was something different about him, something changed since Gamaral. Exhaustion and hunger from the ordeal, perhaps? Still, those should not have made him forget himself—and his duty. “You took aid from Kruge’s killer.”

  “Not from Kruge’s killer. From Spock.”

  Korgh growled at the older man. “What kind of Klingon are you?”

  The general looked blankly at him, saying nothing. Then, without being dismissed, Potok turned away and began walking aft.

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Korgh said. Recriminations could wait on revenge. “We have six freighters to free from this Vulcan’s ‘aid’—and from the demon Kirk.” He activated his communicator. “Odrok. There is a Starfleet vessel in the nebula—”

  He stopped. It dawned on him he didn’t know the craft’s specifications. He called after Potok. “This new Enterprise. What are its armaments?”

  “Better than the original,” the general answered from across the bridge. “It is the most advanced Starfleet vessel I have yet seen.”

  Spock spoke. “Enterprise is more than a match for your ship. It would be wise to avoid conflict.”

  Korgh responded with a sneer. “You don’t know how many ships I have.”

  That was true enough—but unfortunately, all the rest of them were light-years away, at Aesis. Chu’charq, with its skeleton crew, would be unlikely to disable Enterprise. Perhaps, he concluded, it might be better to allow the Federation ship to finish its repairs and depart, allowing him to fetch the other Klingons later.

  But it would mean giving up a chance to avenge Kruge . . .

  The freighter’s comm system crackled. “Enterprise to Spock!”

  It was a human voice. Potok’s attention drawn, the general walked forward on the bridge. When the hail repeated more clearly, he looked at the interface, and then at Spock. “They’re too far inside the nebula. How are we able to receive anything?”