“He spoke the truth as he knew it,” Timol said.
“Of that I have little doubt. The question becomes whether or not what he was told was the truth.”
For a brief moment, Koval gazed longingly on the codex book he had set aside on the couch. Cardassian philosophy will have to wait until a more opportune time.
“Return us to Tal Shiar Headquarters,” he instructed his aide.
She activated a control on her wrist, and a green transporter beam whisked them back to the capital city.
Chapter 31
Khitomer
After completing her preclass exercises to limber up, Kaasin went to the board to see who had signed up for this morning’s mok’bara class. She offered two classes, one just prior to the day shift’s commencement, the other prior to the night shift’s, allowing the warriors the opportunity to begin their work with mind and spirit in harmony and ready for whatever trials would come their way.
When she, Mogh, Worf, and Kahlest first arrived on Khitomer a month earlier, she had over thirty people per class. Unsurprisingly, attrition took its toll on that number, and she was now down to a dozen regulars per class, plus the occasional extra, add-on, once-a-week student, or other straggler.
On this day, sixteen names were on the list—her twelve regulars, one occasional, and three brand-new names. Two were recent transfers to the base—crew rotation and replacement always meant new students.
The other was Ja’rod.
Scowling, Kaasin left the warm-up room, clad only in the white, skin-tight shirt and pants traditionally worn for the mok’bara. Unlike her students, the trim on the left half of her shirt’s V-neck and cuffs on both shirt and pants were colored maroon, indicating her status as a master.
As she turned a corner, she literally bumped into Ja’rod. The current Head of the House of Duras stood half a head shorter than Kaasin—who was tall for a female—and was presently also dressed for the mok’bara.
“What do you want, Ja’rod?” Kaasin asked, restraining herself from instinctively wrapping her hands around the man’s throat.
He smiled. “Simply to make your mate’s life easier. He seems determined to follow my every move, and I thought if I took your class, it would allow him time to perform his other duties. Or has he been assigned to be my bodyguard without my being informed?”
Still scowling, Kaasin said, “You know the history between our Houses, Ja’rod.”
“Yes,” Ja’rod said emphatically, “history. As in, the past. We should be concerned with the present—and the future. This rivalry between our Houses must end, Kaasin.”
“If you are so unconcerned with the past, why did you not change your House name to the House of Ja’rod? If you wish to distance yourself from the past as you say—”
Ja’rod laughed. “It seemed pointless. When my esteemed father ascended to Sto-Vo-Kor and I became House Head, I had already named my son Duras. He is the future of our House, and it seemed foolish to change our name when he would simply change it back to the name it has had for two centuries.” Ja’rod put a hand on Kaasin’s shoulder. She glared at it, and he quickly removed it, but he did lock eyes with her. “Kaasin, I ask you please, use whatever influence you have with Mogh to get him to stop. This constant suspicion serves no one. Our Houses are both strong ones—we should be allies, not enemies. For the good of the Empire, if nothing else.”
Kaasin stared right back into Ja’rod’s brown eyes, and took some measure of satisfaction out of the fact that he finally looked away. “I will convey your message to my husband.”
“That is all I ask.” He smiled. “I look forward to learning more of mok’bara under your fine tutelage. I’ve heard many good things about the class.”
Ja’rod walked off. Kaasin growled deep in her throat.
An hour later, however, she had to admit that Ja’rod was an excellent student. His movements were expectedly awkward, but he grew accustomed to the forms with as much speed as anyone Kaasin had ever taught, and more than most. By the end of the class, he was already moving as if he’d been doing the forms for weeks.
After dismissing the class, she overheard a conversation between two of the control-room officers, L’Kor and Gi’ral.
“I think we may finally see the Romulans coming out of their shell,” L’Kor was saying. “Since Narviat ascended to power, their Senate has actually put through some sensible policies. In fact—”
Whatever else L’Kor planned to say about the Romulan Senate was lost when he departed the building where the classes were held—apparently he intended to change into his uniform elsewhere.
Kaasin proceeded to her private changing room, her crest furrowing in annoyance. Like Mogh, she thought Ja’rod the prime suspect for being Lorgh’s Romulan spy. Now, she started to wonder.
That night at supper, she sat with Mogh. Khitomer was a large planet with only four thousand living on it—half Defense Force warriors like Mogh, the other half scientists and other civilian support staff like Kaasin—so there was sufficient space that Mogh was able to obtain use of a ten-room cabin six qelIqams from the main base.
The cabin was proximate to a massive forest teeming with wildlife. After much pleading with his parents, Mogh and Kaasin had permitted Worf to take a hunting trip, accompanied by Kahlest. They had left a few hours ago, and would not be back until the following morning. Kaasin noticed that the family bat’leth was missing from the wall. “Did Worf take the bat’leth with him?”
Mogh smiled. “Of course he did. Can you imagine him using any other weapon? It has been all Kahlest can do to keep him from sleeping with the thing.”
“That weapon has been in the family for nine generations. Is it wise to let a child run free with it?”
At that, Mogh laughed. “Were you not the one who said he wielded it better than I?”
Kaasin returned the smile. “True.” She stuffed some bregit lung into her mouth, the smile falling from her face. “I had a new student for the morning class.”
Mogh nodded. “Ja’rod.”
Of course he knows, she thought. Mogh has been keeping a close eye on him. “He claimed that he signed up to make it easier for you to perform surveillance on him. I think, my love, that you are watching him too closely.”
“One might argue that I am not watching him closely enough. He is a wam serpent, that one, waiting only for the right moment to strike.”
“Perhaps, but if he knows you are hovering over him like a predator, do you truly expect him to reveal himself? And what if he is not the spy?”
Mogh snorted, an action that caused him to spit pieces of bregit lung onto the table. “Who else could it be?”
“L’Kor, for one.” She shared her overheard conversation.
Rubbing his bearded chin, Mogh said, “Perhaps—if nothing else, I should investigate the possibility.” He sighed. “You are right, I have let my hatred for Ja’rod blind me to other possibilities. I will observe L’Kor tomorrow, speak with him, see what—impressions I get from him. And, of course, check his service record.” Then he smiled. “However, that is for tomorrow. For tonight, Kahlest and Worf are far away. Kurn is even farther away. We have the cabin to ourselves.”
Kaasin smiled, tossed her bregit lung aside, and ran her fingernails across Mogh’s bearded cheek, drawing blood. Inflamed by the smell of her mate’s scent, she leapt into his arms.
The transmission was routed through so many subsystems that even if it was detected—unlikely as that might be—it could never be traced. Unfortunately, that also meant that the image of the Romulan that Ja’rod saw was barely visible, the voice laced with static.
The Romulan—Ja’rod had not been given his name—spoke a few words, but they were lost to that very interference. “Please repeat,” Ja’rod whispered. He did not need to speak so softly, of course. He was qelIqams away from anyone, and whispering would not confound any decent listening device. Not that there were any, as he had swept for such devices thoroughly before initiating his weekl
y contact.
“Are you sure of your findings?”
“Not completely, no. But I have investigated thoroughly, and found no evidence of a biogenic weapon. Are you sure that your source was trustworthy?”
The Tal Shiar agent hesitated. Romulan faces were difficult to read at the best of times, especially as skilled an operative as this one, and the poor image quality meant that seeing that face was impossible anyhow. It frustrated Ja’rod—he preferred to know what people were thinking. He certainly knew that—while he had not convinced Kaasin of his innocence—he had seeded sufficient doubt in her mind that she and Mogh would, at the very least, ease up on their surveillance of him. Her gray eyes gave all that away in an instant.
Finally, the agent spoke. “The interrogation record we intercepted from the Obsidian Order passed every authenticity test we could give it. The Klingon they questioned did serve on the team that developed the biogenic weapon prototype.”
“Could he have been lying?”
Even the poor image quality allowed Ja’rod to see the Romulan’s eyebrow rise in a disturbingly Vulcan-like manner. “I was under the impression that your people preferred not to lie.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“A small one, admittedly. However, the interrogator in question is known to me, and I truly doubt that he would extract anything but the truth.” A pause. “Still, it does not matter.”
Ja’rod frowned. “Why not?”
“Because my supervisor has already passed on the details of the interrogation to some friends of hers in the military. They are planning an attack on Khitomer in two days.”
Now Ja’rod growled deep in his throat. “You cannot be serious. There is no proof that a biogenic weapon is being developed here.”
“Proof is no longer an issue. The very existence of an outpost on that world is a constant reminder of your people’s alliance with the Federation. That alliance is an affront to us.”
“They are ‘my people’ in name only.” Ja’rod spat with contempt. “Our future lies in an alliance with a strong empire, not with a weak collection of fools.” He bared his teeth. “The Federation alliance is an affront to me as well, and many other Klingons.”
“Just so. Your job is to transmit the access codes to the lead Romulan ship so that they can lower the shields and provide any other means of sabotaging the base.” The Romulan then proceeded to outline the exact time and nature of the attack, which ship would be leading it, and several other details. Ja’rod had no doubt that some facts had been left out—like how the Defense Force vessels assigned to this sector were to be dealt with—but Ja’rod knew what he needed to. “You will die for the greater glory of both our peoples.”
“Yes.” Ja’rod smiled. That, more than anything, was why Klingons and Romulans needed to be allies. Romulans understood what it meant to die for one’s people. The Federation was far too concerned with the pointless extension and preservation of life, which served only to crowd the galaxy with more weaklings. Without a willingness to give one’s life, there was no strength. When the quadrant bowed before the joint Klingon–Romulan Empire, Ja’rod hoped that perhaps all would finally understand that.
He only prayed that his son Duras would live long enough to see that day.
It was with an energized sense of purpose that Mogh entered the outpost control room. Although this room itself was being left mostly untouched, it was from here that most of the upgrades that Mogh was supervising would be implemented. The new shields were already in place, ready to defend the outpost against anything from Romulan disruptors to Cardassian phasers. The new weapons systems would be online within a week, and the old ion cannons were still in place. While ancient, they still had sufficient firepower to disable a ship in orbit.
Today, he was determined to find the Romulan spy. He had already begun a computer search on L’Kor’s activities over the past years, and began some inquiries among the contacts Lorgh had given him regarding the man’s activities. It might have been nothing, but he had to investigate the possibility. The conversation Kaasin overheard meant he could do little else.
And I will not cease keeping an eye on Ja’rod.
“The upgrades go well,” Mogh said to L’Kor.
A big, broad-shouldered man, L’Kor stared at Mogh for several seconds before simply saying, “Yes.”
“I wish to run a simulation on the new shields. I assume we have enough information on Romulan weaponry to do so?”
L’Kor stared at Mogh some more. “Do you think such an attack likely?”
“I think such an attack is possible. After all, one praetor has been overthrown—who is to say another might not be? Politics are unpredictable.”
“That is certainly the case. But I cannot imagine why Romulans would attack this base. There is much about them that is honorable.”
“True.” Mogh pretended to concede the point, though he disagreed fervently. “I have always admired Romulans.” He smiled lasciviously. “And their women.”
Another of the officers assigned to the control room, a woman named Gi’ral, said, “For shame, Captain Mogh. You are a married man.” She smiled. “Though I will admit, I have seen some Romulan men who might be tolerable in bed.”
At that, all three of them laughed. Mogh added, “I merely speak of aesthetics. Believe me, I would not do anything to anger my mate.”
Gravely, L’Kor said, “Then you are a wise man. Kaasin’s mok’bara class revealed parts of my body I was unaware could ache in such a manner.”
“Kaasin is rather skilled at that. She demonstrated those skills last night very well.”
Now it was L’Kor’s turn to smile lasciviously. “With a child in the house? Impressive that you would be able to bed your mate without interruption.”
“Worf was out hunting with his nurse last night—they returned this morning with an animal that will make a fine feast tonight for the troops. He donated it to the mess hall.” Mogh smiled. “And we never actually made it to the bed.”
Again, the trio laughed.
A voice came from behind Mogh. “If you are to conduct tests, then do so and have done with it.”
Mogh turned to see Commander Moraq standing in the doorway to his office, which adjoined the control room. The supervisor of this base, the commander had not been pleased at Mogh’s assignment, feeling that he himself was perfectly capable of supervising the upgrades, and that Command did not need to send someone else to do the work of overseeing them. Since his true work on Khitomer could not be revealed to Moraq, Mogh had gone to great lengths to stay out of the man’s way and not interfere with his command of the base. Moraq deserved no less, especially after a check of his service record indicated nothing suspicious—quite the opposite, in fact, as his list of kills included a considerable number of Romulans.
Unfortunately, Moraq’s attitude did not improve with time. He was never insubordinate, but he kept his desire for Mogh to be elsewhere at the forefront.
“Come,” Mogh said, slamming L’Kor on the shoulder, “let us run these simulations, and see what will happen if the Romulans decide to forgo that honor we both admire so.”
L’Kor nodded in response. Moraq simply turned on his heel and went back into his office.
Chapter 32
I.K.S. Sompek
“Sir, we are receiving a distress call.”
At last, a call to battle, Kang thought. For the past week, he had been given the “honor” of conducting several members of the High Council—including Kravokh—on an inspection tour. The Sompek was one of the new Vakk-class ships that had been constructed as part of Kravokh’s ship construction initiatives, and now the Council, in their infinite bureaucracy, wished to see them in action.
Except, of course, Kang knew that there was no action to be had as long as such important personages were on board. The tour was as much to show the people how much interest Kravokh and the Council took in the defense of the Empire, and so not only did everyone know that they w
ere present, but they had a virtual armada for an escort. All the ships assigned to this sector served as protection, as well as Qo’noS One and three of the Council’s own strike ships. This collection of vessels could no doubt conquer several small inter-planetary governments without too much difficulty. No one would be foolish enough to challenge them.
As a result, Kang had spent a week observing. Worse, what he observed were Kravokh and the assorted councillors observing. A scientist, his mate Mara appreciated the value of such tasks, but Kang had no use for them. He was a warrior, one of the most renowned soldiers of the Empire. That made his choice as the captain to lead this nonsensical “tour” as inevitable as it was frustrating.
Now, however, the monotony may be broken. “Specifics,” he instructed the operations officer who gave the report.
“It is coming from the Morska system, sir. The I.K.S. Konmat is under attack by three Galor-class vessels.”
“Cardassians.” Kang almost sneered the word.
Just as he spoke it, the rear door to the bridge slid open to reveal Kravokh and three of the five councillors who accompanied him—as well as their entourage of bodyguards—came onto the bridge.
“What Cardassians?” Kravokh asked.
Kang turned to the operations officer. “Report to the chancellor.”
The officer seemed surprised at first, but recovered quickly and spoke in a far more respectful tone than Kang had ever heard the young officer use to Kang himself. “Sir, according to this signal, the Konmat is under attack by three Galor-class ships, but—” He hesitated.
“But what?” Kravokh prompted.
The officer looked quickly at Kang, who cried, “Speak!”
“I—I am not sure that the distress signal is genuine, sir.”
Kang’s lips curled. The officer was too intimidated by the presence of such exalted warriors to be anything other than truthful. If anything, he had probably understated his case. Kang looked at the pilot. “Time to Morska?”
The Art of the Impossible Page 26
