Star Trek #97: In the Name of Honor

by Dayton Ward

  Lorta added, “It also recorded the request you made from that transporter console just a few minutes ago to delete all evidence of the communication you were about to make.”

  Ag’hel was impressed, having failed to anticipate such a ploy. It could be argued that the faux pas was understandable, since most Klingons serving aboard fleet vessels possessed little if any comprehensive software programming expertise. Such work was generally left to support personnel when a vessel reported to a maintenance facility. She had not foreseen the possibility that a Starfleet computer engineer would be proficient in a Klingon programming language. She made a mental note to include this in her report, assuming she survived long enough to make one.

  “Clever,” she said, holding up the communicator that still rested in her hand. “But not clever enough.”

  Before anyone could react, Ag’hel’s thumb pressed the transmit button.

  Chapter Thirty

  “ALLOW ME TO SAY that the accomplishments of the past several days are among the most satisfying of my career. Having lived in an age where war with the Klingon Empire was always a distinct possibility, it is gratifying to see that peaceful relations are achievable. It is my hope that our peoples will continue to build upon the work we have begun here today.” Applause erupted in the conference hall at Ambassador Catherine Joquel’s remarks. The Federation diplomat’s speech marked the end of the peace summit. Opinions in the room were mixed as to whether or not any lasting good would come from the efforts expended during the past week, but that did nothing to dampen the positive feelings of success permeating the atmosphere of the conference.

  Standing just behind and to the right of Joquel, Ambassador Kaljagh felt the communicator concealed in his robes vibrate. He had set the unit to tactical mode to silence the normally audible tone emitted when it received an incoming transmission. As he pretended to listen to Ambassador Joquel’s speech, Kaljagh felt the communicator’s vibration cease, then start up again. The pattern was repeated three more times, finishing out a sequence that the Klingon had been dreading.

  Something has gone wrong. Detonate the torpedo.

  His first instinct was to fumble for the communicator and send the signal that would trigger the explosive, but he realized that was foolish. Now more than ever, he could not afford to bring attention to himself.

  With forced casualness Kaljagh moved his hand into the pocket of his robe until he found the communicator. Keeping his eyes on the audience as Joquel continued to speak, his fingers searched for the control to activate the preprogrammed sequence that would be transmitted to the receiver assembly inside the torpedo’s casing.

  Within seconds, it would be over.

  “In closing,” Joquel continued, “I would like to say that I . . .”

  The ambassador’s words died in her throat and everyone’s attention was drawn to the center of the room as four columns of transporter energy appeared. They solidified into the forms of Spock, K’tran, Chekov, and Lorta. All four officers were armed and no sooner had they finished materializing than they turned and aimed their phasers at Kaljagh.

  “Please do not move, Ambassador,” Spock said. “You are under arrest.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Joquel demanded, making no effort to hide her displeasure. She was not alone, as the audience members began to voice their surprise and disapproval of the interruption. The confusion of the situation was compounded when the main entrance to the conference hall opened and armed officers, both Starfleet and Klingon, began to file in.

  Spock didn’t respond to Joquel as he turned to insure that his order to have the room evacuated was being carried out. Only Toladal, rising from his seat at the front of the room, refused to leave. Chekov looked to Spock for guidance, who nodded for the ambassador’s aide to remain. Only then did he return his attention to Joquel.

  “I apologize for the intrusion, Ambassador. I must report that we have found our saboteur.”

  “Ambassador Kaljagh?” Joquel asked, her voice heavy with incredulity.

  “That’s outrageous!” Toladal replied with equal disbelief. “Captain Spock, you can’t be serious.”

  “We have proof,” K’tran said as he stepped forward. “My own first officer has been revealed to be a spy, working for someone on the High Council. We have already discovered her tampering with computer records aboard the Terthos to mask her activities, including two separate terrorist attacks on my ship.” He held up a communicator for everyone to see. “She used this to contact the ambassador just a few minutes ago; however, we were able to jam her communications signal. Once we arrested Ag’hel, we initiated contact ourselves, and our sensors determined that Ambassador Kaljagh received the transmission.”

  Spock said, “The ambassador has the means to detonate a torpedo that was attached to the hull of the Terthos.”

  All eyes in the conference hall turned to Kaljagh, whose expression remained neutral, just as it had since Spock and the others had arrived.

  “Ambassador,” Toladal said, his voice pleading, “please denounce these lies!”

  Instead of replying, Kaljagh suddenly exploded into motion. His left arm jerked free of his robes and light glinted off the polished finish of a d’k tahg knife. His right arm also moved as he stepped behind Joquel, the forearm coming to rest across the ambassador’s throat. As Kaljagh placed the edge of the knife’s large blade just under her left ear, Spock and the others could see a communicator in his right hand.

  “You will lower your weapons, or I will kill her and detonate the explosive.”

  No one moved in the room. All weapons remained trained on the raised dais, though Spock was sure that none of them had a clear shot. Studying the Klingon’s face, Spock thought he detected uncertainty.

  “Hold your fire,” he ordered.

  “Stun them both,” K’tran countered. “Then take the communicator from him.”

  Spock shook his head. “We do not need to take the communicator, Captain, as it has been rendered incapable of transmitting the detonation signal to the torpedo. However, Ambassador Joquel could still be injured by the knife even if we stun them both.”

  “You are lying!” Kaljagh said, holding up the communicator for emphasis. “You couldn’t possibly have discovered our activities in time to defend against it.”

  Despite the knife threatening her, Joquel’s demeanor remained controlled. “It doesn’t make sense, Kaljagh. You’ve worked as hard as I have to make this summit succeed.”

  “After all the good that has come from our work here,” Toladal said, “why would you attempt to destroy it? What could possibly be worth sacrificing the lives of Klingon warriors?”

  “It was not my plan to kill,” Kaljagh replied. “I am not an assassin.”

  “That much is obvious,” Lorta said derisively. “A true Klingon field operative would have succeeded where you consistently failed.”

  Kaljagh nodded. “With that I will not argue. I had no choice in the attacks that were made, or in the selection of targets.”

  “Are you a puppet?” K’tran asked. “Who controls you?”

  Kaljagh was silent for several seconds, his eyes cast downward toward the floor. Spock got the distinct impression that the Klingon was weighing the consequences of his answer. Finally, Kaljagh looked up at them once more and uttered a single word.

  “Komor.”

  Spock recalled that Komor was a member of the Klingon High Council of some tenure and standing, having held the seat for many years.

  “Impossible!” K’tran snapped. “Komor would never betray the Empire by engaging in such cowardly tactics.” Kaljagh’s expression grew angry as he replied. “I have the proof recorded in my personal computer files. Have your security officer test their authenticity. Komor controls me, as you describe it, because he threatened to kill my family.” He looked into the faces of those who now stood in silence before him, judging his every word. “My wife and three children, one of them a newly born son. Komor threatened to kill th
em all unless I obeyed their commands.”

  “He will not succeed, Ambassador,” Spock said. “We have captured Lieutenant Ag’hel. We have her private computer files as well as yours. We have all the proof we require to expose this conspiracy. If you injure Ambassador Joquel, you will undermine everything you have accomplished here.”

  “What about my family?” Kaljagh demanded. “How can you guarantee their safety?”

  It was Toladal who provided the possible answer. “There is someone on the Council who may be an ally.”

  Of course, Spock thought. Gorkon, who had sent Koloth the information about the Gagarin and who had supported the rescue operation. Toladal had spoken highly of him during the past week, and Spock had learned enough about the ambassador’s aide to deduce that the Council member was a being of integrity and sound character.

  “We can contact Gorkon directly,” Toladal continued. “He will see to it that your family is removed from danger.”

  The knife wavered for the briefest of intervals, and Spock glanced to his left to see whether or not K’tran might take advantage of the small lapse and try to fire on the ambassador. Thankfully, he didn’t, and seconds later Spock’s patience was rewarded as Kaljagh lowered the knife. He released his hold on Joquel, and everyone watched as he moved slowly to the head table and dropped down into his seat. His shoulders sagged visibly as he laid his knife and communicator down atop the table.

  “I only wanted to protect my family,” he whispered to no one. “What have I done? How many have died because of my actions? How many more will die before this madness ends?”

  Then he turned to Spock. “Captain, Komor and other Council members are very worried that Koloth and your Captain Kirk will succeed in their mission to retrieve any Federation prisoners being held in Klingon territory. If that happens, it will cause an uproar across the Klingon Empire and could result in an upheaval of the Council. They will do whatever it takes to prevent that.”

  “What is he talking about?” Joquel said, directing her gaze to Spock. “What is Captain Kirk involved in?”

  Spock spent the next several moments relaying the information regarding the loss of the Gagarin and the subsequent discovery that some of her crew had become prisoners of the Empire. The look of confusion on Joquel’s face turned to shock as Spock described the mission that Captain Kirk had undertaken with Koloth’s help to find and rescue at least some survivors of the ill-fated ship.

  “They cannot allow that information to become public knowledge if they want to remain in power,” Kaljagh said. “There are too many Klingons who would denounce Kesh and Komor and their partners and fight for their removal from office.”

  Spock replied, “He must have believed that if an interstellar incident were to erupt during what should have been a peaceful meeting between officials of the Federation and the Empire . . .”

  “It would give Kesh and Komor time to clean up their affairs,” K’tran completed the thought. “In addition, if they are able to capture Kirk in our space, they will accuse the Federation of using the peace conference as a cover to launch a covert espionage mission. They will even proclaim Koloth a traitor to the Empire to strengthen the deception.” The Terthos ’s captain’s upper lip curled in a snarl of disgust. “Cowards.”

  “I don’t understand, Ambassador,” Toladal said. “Why involve you at all? If Lieutenant Ag’hel was a spy working for Komor, why did he need you to plant the bombs?”

  Kaljagh sighed heavily, as if relieved that he could finally confess his multitude of sins. “Eight of your years ago, I was a court magistrate, one of several who presided over the trial for the crew of the Starfleet ship. It was a trial in name only as members of the High Council, specifically Chancellor Kesh and Komor, had already decided their ultimate fate. There was never any intention of returning the prisoners.

  “As I moved into politics, I tried to put the entire distasteful episode behind me. I worked in the diplomatic corps. We furthered relations with the Federation to the point that revealing the Council’s actions of years ago would do more harm than good. Kesh and Komor know that the tides are turning and that peace with the Federation is inevitable. The only way they can hope to remain in power is to accept the evolving reality and position themselves to benefit in spite of the changes that will surely affect our society.”

  “And that means removing any evidence that Federation prisoners have been held in Klingon space,” Chekov said.

  “Exactly. The fact that I was attending the peace summit was an added bonus to them. I am one of very few Klingons who are even aware that Starfleet officers are being held illegally.”

  Kaljagh turned his attention to Spock. “Captain, you should know that Komor has dispatched a warship to follow after Koloth and your captain with orders to destroy the prison facility on Pao’la. No proof of the prisoners’ existence will remain.”

  “Good lord!” Joquel’s expression was one of stark horror. “They would order so many deaths merely to keep their secret?”

  “They will stop at nothing, Ambassador,” Kaljagh replied. “Even if Koloth and Captain Kirk succeed in rescuing any of your people, they will never be allowed to leave Klingon space alive.”

  Joquel’s face was now a mask of pure fury. “We have to do something. We can’t just stand by while corrupt politicians commit these heinous crimes.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the beeping of Spock’s communicator.

  “Spock here,” he said into the unit as he flipped its antenna grid open.

  “Captain,” said Lieutenant Clev, the Andorian communications officer assigned to gamma shift, “sensors have detected a change in the torpedo’s readings. It’s activated itself.”

  Spock’s eyes moved to focus on Kaljagh’s communicator, untouched since the ambassador had abandoned it.

  “It armed itself?” K’tran’s voice was laden with disbelief.

  Chekov replied, “That, or the torpedo was programmed with a fail-safe option, designed to trigger a detonation after a given length of time.”

  Dumbstruck, Kaljagh jumped from his chair. “I did no such thing! I was supposed to send the signal myself.”

  “Ag’hel,” Lorta said. “It must have been her.”

  Spock returned his attention to his communicator. “Mr. Clev, how much time until the weapon detonates?”

  “Unknown, sir. We’re trying to determine that with sensors now.”

  “Patch me through to Mr. Scott.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  ONE OF THESE DAYS, I’ll find an easier way to make a living. As fast as the bulky magnetic gravity boots would allow, Scotty walked across the surface of the Terthos ’s hull, the helmet of his Starfleet-issue environmental suit echoing the sound of his own breathing. Beside him K’vyr, the engineer of the Terthos, maneuvered in similar fashion. The ship’s transporter had deposited them twenty meters away from the torpedo, sufficient enough distance from the explosive that they could get a good look at the device before moving closer.

  Scotty scanned the explosive with his tricorder. “Aye, she’s active all right. Chekov was right, there is a transceiver inside the casing, but I dinna think I can get at it.”

  “Such an attempt may detonate it,” K’vyr replied.

  “Aye, she may be designed to go off if we tamper with it. I think our original plan is still the safest.” Though Chekov and Lorta had succeeded in finding and blocking the frequency of Ag’hel’s and Kaljagh’s prearranged communicator signals, Scotty would not be able to relax until the torpedo itself had been disposed of.

  All things considered, though, I’d rather be in a pub on Argelius.

  “It is also the option that will take the least amount of time,” K’vyr said, already retrieving from his belt the cutting torch he had brought with him.

  To remove the torpedo from the Terthos, Scotty and K’vyr would have to cut out a measured section of hull around the weapon large enough for the Enterprise tractor beam to lock onto without bei
ng disrupted by the inhibitor inside the torpedo’s casing. K’vyr had already seen to it that the entire section inside this area of the hull was evacuated and the compartment sealed and depressurized in order to minimize possible damage to the interior of the ship.

  Cutting through the hull of the Klingon ship was slow going. Though the plating wasn’t composed of trititanium as on Federation starships, it was still dense material, no doubt chosen for its ability to withstand combat conditions even when unshielded. It was tiring work, made worse by the threat that the torpedo might go off at any moment. Scotty tried not to think about that, concentrating instead on the task at hand as he guided his own torch across the surface of the Terthos ’s hull. The task proceeded for several minutes without incident, with both engineers working steadily.

  Though he couldn’t hear the alarm of his tricorder, he had strapped it to his forearm so that he would be able to see the unit’s display panel. Because of this, Scotty saw the indicator light as the tricorder’s sensors detected what he had programmed them to look for, and hoped they would never find.

  He swore a particularly vulgar Scottish oath before saying to K’vyr, “She’s activated herself somehow. No signal was received, so she musta had some kind of programmed delay.”

  “Is there any way to determine how much time we have?” K’vyr asked, his attention still on the cut he was making in the Terthos hull.

  “Aye, but it’ll take time to adjust the tricorder, and I’d rather spend that time cutting.”

  So focused was he on the job that he thought he might have a heart attack when Spock’s voice blared in his ears.