The Jackal's Trick Read online

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  Picard still had no answers by the time he contacted Admiral Riker with a preliminary report on the raid. En route to H’atoria, his former first officer was about to be too busy with the conference to worry about anything else—and yet Picard knew he would worry.

  “I’ve ordered Tuvok to get every ship in the quadrant looking for this Object Thirteen,” Riker said. “Good work, Geordi.”

  Seated at an Enterprise conference room table, La Forge looked tentative. “Admiral, it’s a really hit-and-miss method—we might detect a signal once every few days. And the Klingons’ ship sensors don’t have the ability to work on the spectrum. We’re left with just stationary patrol satellites.”

  “I can ask General Kersh to get the satellites above H’atoria looking. If she’s talking to me, that is.” Riker grinned as he scratched his beard. “The Klingons appear to have security on the surface covered. Lord Korgh assures us the team at the fortress is top-notch.”

  Across the table from La Forge, Worf nodded. “The Sentries of Spirits’ Forge are warriors of the highest caliber.”

  Picard could feel he had taken up too much of Riker’s time already, but one thing needed an answer. “I know you want to wrap up, Admiral, but did you look at the proposal I forwarded?”

  Riker smirked. “You mean the ‘Protocol for Beaming Aboard a Cloaked Ship’?”

  Worf cleared his throat. “Klingons do transport on and off vessels under cloak.”

  “Yeah, when they know where they are—and that they exist.” Riker shook his head. “I leave this to your discretion, Captain.”

  That was the answer Picard expected. “Thank you, Will.”

  “Riker out.”

  The screen went black. Picard turned to the trio at the table. “I’ve stopped counting the number of times I have been approached with a plan I thought too dangerous to be tried. Of course, many of them did eventually have to be tried because of desperate circumstances—so the better question is, ‘How many of them worked?’ ”

  No one present wanted to advance a guess.

  “I’m not suggesting any of you would jeopardize the lives of fellow officers in an attempt to undo something that happened in the past,” Picard said. “You are all far too reasonable for that. But you are also strongly motivated. Geordi, Aneta—you’ve both barely slept since the massacre. And Worf—” He paused, studying his first officer. “You have unique obligations to the late Kahless.”

  La Forge and Šmrhová looked to Worf, curious.

  “The clone of Kahless did not fall in battle,” Worf said, “so another must perform a great feat in his name before he can gain access to Sto-Vo-Kor.”

  The chief engineer nodded hesitantly. “I . . . okay.”

  Picard looked to La Forge. “We all have rituals and obligations that follow the death of a loved one. This is something Worf must attend to—but my concern is that Kahless was such an important figure, it may color his choice of feats.”

  “When Commander La Forge told me there was a possibility we could locate and beam aboard an Unsung vessel, I knew nothing less would do,” Worf said. “They killed Kahless before my eyes. But they have killed others and will continue to kill. By stopping them, we would do more than redeem Kahless.”

  Watchful all this time, Šmrhová said, “I don’t doubt our ability to succeed, Worf. But the Unsung are ruthless—and they have nothing to lose. When we disable the cloak aboard the Phantom Wing vessel we’re on, wouldn’t the other ships blow it up?”

  That startled La Forge. “Would they really kill their own people?”

  “Yes,” Worf said. “There are twelve birds-of-prey. Unless we beam aboard their would-be leader’s ship, he could certainly order it. And they would obey.”

  One-in-twelve odds. Not good. The captain took a breath. “So what does this mean for your plan?”

  La Forge thought for a moment. “We have to be prepared. Enterprise might need to defend the ship the two of you are on—taking any incoming fire.”

  “Things could change very quickly.” Šmrhová’s eyes widened. “It could get hot.”

  “The Enterprise can take the heat,” Picard said. “Remember the Greeks. Salamis was basically a land battle at sea, with marines roving from ship to ship; every vessel in the water might go from friend to foe or vice versa at any moment. Captains were inventing new tactics at every turn.” He smiled at his fellow officers. “We won’t wait until the battle’s joined to figure this one out. Dismissed.”

  Eighteen

  PHANTOM WING VESSEL CHU’CHARQ

  ORBITING H’ATORIA

  A certain terror overtook Cross whenever he sat in the ready room just aft of Chu’charq’s bridge, and he knew what it was. Unlike his lair on deck one where he did most of his important planning, his official office as Kruge came with a big port.

  Outside it, he saw the starships multiplying. H’atoria had a recently constructed orbital resupply station, meaning there were always Klingon battle cruisers in transit. The creeping monsters were ominous and threatening, and while Korgh had assured him that the traffic would clear before the conference began, leaving only Kersh’s Gur’rok, he assumed the battle cruiser wouldn’t be going far. Then there were the support vessels Kersh had brought, a flotilla installing new surveillance satellites.

  And now the conference participants had started to arrive—including Titan. The vessel’s size astounded him—and he had heard that Enterprise was even larger. Cross had not traveled with the Unsung to Gamaral and hadn’t caught a glance of the Enterprise during the evacuation from Thane, but Titan was plenty large enough for him already. The Federation didn’t design its ships to look menacing, but seeing this one sure did a number on his digestive tract.

  In his guise as Kruge, Cross did his best to avoid showing alarm—mostly by avoiding looking outside, and by remembering that he had a dozen ships of his own out there, malignant and invisible. Appearing as N’Keera, Shift showed no fear, standing at the observation port with Zokar playing identify-the-ship.

  “That one’s Ferengi,” Zokar said, pointing. “Are they in this little bargain?”

  “Observer status,” Shift said. “They want the right to use the free-flight corridor to transport their wares.”

  “Of course.”

  Cross found it remarkable that Shift managed to keep track of Korgh’s scheme while at the same time remaining up to date on the politics. Not to mention the care and feeding of his ego. He used his Kruge voice. “Are things prepared below, Zokar?”

  “They are, my lord.” Zokar turned and grinned. “I’m going to enjoy being on the surface when you give the signal.”

  He’d increasingly relied on Zokar to know what was going on aboard the other eleven ships of the Phantom Wing. The old convict—which is what Cross assumed he was—had found a new life with the Unsung while still nursing a healthy grudge against the Empire. That made him the perfect advisor and surrogate. It also didn’t hurt to have someone with shipboard military experience, and while Cross didn’t know how much Zokar had, any at all would trump what the Unsung had.

  Cross went for his most noble Kruge voice. “You are a true warrior and have served me well, Zokar. I cannot do without you.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “This is why I want you in orbit, aboard Rodak, coordinating the squadron’s tactics when the time comes.” He put his hand up to forestall Zokar’s objection. “I know you want to be on the surface when the scoundrels arrive. But this act has no value unless we can extract our team and leave. Your work would be as important, if not more.”

  Zokar looked thwarted. “I understand, my lord. But I wanted to slay Kersh in your name.”

  “Every warrior below can use a blade. Few can fly a starship as you can.”

  The bald Klingon frowned. He started to say something before stopping.

  Shift noticed his reticence. “What would you have us know?” she said in N’Keera’s cooling voice.

 
Zokar looked down. “I wasn’t going to say anything—but it’s Valandris. I caught her down in Spirits’ Forge looking at one of the old tomes—and someone said they saw her accessing historical files here on Chu’charq.”

  Cross and Shift looked at each other. “What does this mean?” he asked.

  Zokar shrugged. “Maybe nothing.” Then he got a canny look in his eye. “But she’s been acting odd for a while. She brought Worf to Thane against orders—and then she wasn’t able to hunt him down when he escaped.”

  “You question her loyalty?”

  “Her devotion. She’s young. Young people get ideas.”

  “Then I will speak with her. Return to your—”

  Two arrivals from warp appeared in the space beyond the observation port, one after another. The nearer one was easy to recognize; even Cross knew the Kinshaya favored spherical starships.

  The guests attracted Zokar’s attention as well. “What’s the other one?” Zokar asked, squinting. “Gorn?”

  “No, Breen,” Shift said mildly, her attention also rapt.

  A third newcomer appeared, and this time Zokar had no doubt what he was looking at. “Romulans!” His eyes widened.

  “You knew they were part of this,” she said. “Every participant will bring one vessel.”

  “But to send a D’deridex-class warbird?” Zokar’s body tensed. He looked back at Cross. “Lord Kruge, forget what I said earlier. It’ll be my honor to stay topside.” He saluted and excused himself from the ready room.

  Alone with Shift and still disguised as Kruge, Cross let his shoulders sag. “A warbird. This is crazier than I expected.” From inside his vest, he pulled the handheld device Korgh had given him. “This payday had better be worth it.”

  His aide stepped over and kissed his cheek. “It’s almost over, ‘my lord.’ I have things to attend to. And you have to go down one last time to give the troops their marching orders.”

  “One last time.” Cross took a deep breath and let it out.

  U.S.S. TITAN

  ORBITING H’ATORIA

  H’atoria at last. Riker looked out at the planet from the observation port with a mixture of resignation and relief. The conference that had been the bane of his existence these last weeks would be over soon, but it also might well end his career as an admiral.

  Captain Vale’s briefing for the conference had broken up, with her officers heading out to their appointed tasks. Riker and Troi had remained to again go over the list of attendees and the best way to handle them all.

  “It’s much harder without a partner in the room,” she said. “I never would have believed the Klingons would be this antagonistic.”

  “Kersh is who you’d appoint if you want to blow the conference up,” Riker said. “Korgh knew what he was doing.”

  Troi shook her head. “I’d love to meet this man. I wonder if I could have told he was lying about his identity back when he was Galdor.”

  “I don’t know,” Vale said. “Someone who plays a role for fifty years is probably in character pretty deep.” She passed Riker a padd. “Here’s the final duty roster for Spirits’ Forge.”

  Riker mused over the names. “Kyzak? I thought he was at ops.”

  Vale looked at Troi, who spoke up. “We believe he could use the chance to see what diplomatic work is like. He’s still broadening his horizons.”

  “Admirable idea, but this is the site support team. The most he’ll see are the Sentries. From what I understand, they don’t even tell you their names.”

  “Well, maybe that’s all for the best,” Vale said, grinning a little.

  “Right,” Riker said, passing the padd back.

  He stood, remembering how glad he was to see his wife again. Facing the conference without Deanna’s assistance was something he didn’t want to contemplate.

  “Just a second, Admiral.” Vale checked her padd. “Lieutenant Commander Keru just sent his brief for ground security.”

  Riker rolled his eyes. “He’s persistent. I told him, the Klingons are covering ground security.”

  Vale nodded, somewhat spellbound as she read. Then she stopped nodding. “I really think you’ll want to look at it.”

  Nineteen

  SPIRITS’ FORGE

  H’ATORIA, KLINGON EMPIRE

  With local space getting crowded, Cross found that transporting down to Spirits’ Forge was a relief. Certainly it was better transporting this time, as opposed to his earlier visit, when he’d had Chu’charq beam him down from his private quarters to the edge of a blazing furnace to debut his new Kahless impersonation, complete with special effects from Blackstone. Lesser practitioners would never have dared such a thing. He was just glad he hadn’t fallen into the fire.

  In doing so, Cross had defied Korgh’s instruction, which was to use his Kruge character to talk the Sentries outside. That his Kahless character had gone over amazingly well had less to do with his own performance, he suspected, and more to do with the gullibility of those he had fooled. Among Kahless’s most fervent supporters, the Sentries had been primed to accept him as real—especially when he transported through the fortress’s shield using the method Odrok had stolen from the Hunters. In their way, the Sentries had been just like the Unsung: a bunch of sheltered fanatics ready to follow any pretender who was reasonably convincing.

  The practitioners of the Circle of Jilaan had been profiting from such naïfs for years. He prayed the galaxy would never run out of them.

  The Klingon and the Federation conference prep teams had started to arrive. They were still at the far end of the causeway, giving him enough time for a quick final inspection. On his walk through the redoubt, he found his Number One Fools doing his bidding to the letter. Dozens of Unsung warriors now wore the gear of the Sentries, with their faces partially hidden by their filtration masks. Others, similarly disguised, remained stationed along the causeway, standing immobile as Kersh’s advance team of engineers began their work installing transporter inhibitor towers at the end nearest the landing zone. No one had noticed the Sentries had been replaced.

  Then his minions showed him the big surprise they had waiting for the conferees. He’d known about it, having passed along the order from Korgh, but seeing it going into place nearly made him break character with laughter. Korgh, you’re the devil himself. It took effort, but Cross had kept it together. It wouldn’t do for Commander Kruge to get the giggles.

  At last he saw Valandris, returning from her shift posing as one of the guardians outside. “Our enemies have started installing transporter inhibitors at the far end. It will take them some time to work their way to the fortress,” she said. “My lord Kruge, you will have to depart before they arrive.”

  A thousand force fields wouldn’t keep me here, Cross thought. “You know your assignments. Not a word to the visitors; do not even look on them. This is the behavior they will expect from the Sentries. The diplomats are interlopers on your grounds, and you have been ordered to tolerate them: that is your motivation.”

  It felt strange to be teaching acting skills to a bunch of fanatics. But if anyone was capable of it, he was.

  “They have not questioned our presence at all.” Valandris looked to another woman across the room, someone that Cross understood to be the unofficial engineer aboard Chu’charq. “Hemtara, do we know if our transporters will be able to defeat the inhibitors they’re installing on the causeway?”

  Hemtara pursed her lips. “I do not know. Klingon transporter inhibitors may work on the same principles as their force fields—or they may not. It is not something that came up in our studies.”

  Valandris looked to Cross. “Do you know, my lord?”

  Cross froze. He had absolutely no idea—and he wasn’t surprised that the Unsung didn’t know. Even with the remedial lessons they’d gotten from Potok’s generation and the resources Korgh had sent, it had been challenging enough to get them up to speed to fly the birds-of-prey within a year’s time. They had hit on an area he hadn’t been bri
efed about.

  Improvisation, however, was something he understood. If you don’t have the line, at least sound like your character. “Do you care so much about escaping a fight, Valandris, that you would mewl like a whelp who found the gate closed?” He walked around the room, feeling the eyes of his listeners following him. “You should desire to stay—to give your last breath to kill every traitor on this globe. Ignore trivia about gadgets. If you are worthy, you will find your way back to us.”

  The Unsung cheered. Valandris joined them, belatedly.

  As they went back to their tasks, he found an alcove and called her over.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “I am told you have been reading of Kahless,” he said, his voice lower. “Do not deny it.”

  Her eyes widened, but she did not shrink back. “I don’t deny it, my lord.”

  “The qeS’a’ is not worth your time.” Cross was proud of himself for having learned the word in his studies. “It is a tool of the High Council to keep people in line.”

  “I know. But some of it seems sound. You said we were to be the children the true Kahless deserved.”

  “Only after we have succeeded—then will I decree who the ‘true Kahless’ really was. Some wisdom ascribed to him is useful. Some has been twisted and must be discarded. Put your faith in me to decide.” His eyes narrowed as they focused on her. “Or do you think you can decide better for yourself?”

  “No. It’s just that our tactics—”

  “Are my tactics. I think you have been deciding things. Is that how the Starfleet commander eluded you on Thane?”

  “No, my lord!”

  “Worf escaped to warn Enterprise—and saved the lives of people who intended us harm. People who had staged an event honoring the petaQpu’ who stole my house. Allies of the Council, who would put you all in chains for another seven generations. Did you free him?”

  Valandris stiffened. After a moment, she responded. “I answered my conscience.”

  “You will answer me.” Cross reached for his communicator and called for a beam out.