Defense Force ships should be on the lookout for those emissions.”

Picard put his hand on Riker’s arm, a familiar gesture that Toq thought to be

horribly inappropriate. “Good idea, Number One. Captain?” he added with a look

to Klag.

“Agreed.”

Toq was about to speak with a thought of his own, but before he could, a female

voice sounded from the intercom. “Vale to Picard.”

Picard tapped the communications device on the emblem attached to his chest. “Go

ahead.”

“Incoming call from Commander Vaughn on Deep Space 9, sir.”

Turning his chair to face the viewer behind him, Picard said, “Put him through,

Lieutenant.”

The viewer flickered, changing from a simple display to that of a human face. He

looked just like all the others to Toq, though this one had a beard.

“Jean-Luc, we simply have to stop meeting like this,” the human said with a

smile.

Toq shook his head. What is it about humans? Toq wouldn’t have minded their

obsession with humor at odd times, if the attempts were actually funny.

“Such is the nature of our business, Elias, sad to say,” Picard said. “I believe

you know Captain Klag?”

“Of course,” the human said with a simple nod to the captain, who returned the

gesture.

“What news do you have for us?”

“Nothing good, I’m afraid. There’s too much traffic between Bajor and the

station to filter out the warp signature of the Rio Grande from all the other

ships that went back and forth yesterday. We’re questioning some of the ship

captains and going over the sensor data. That’s being forwarded to you. Oh, and

we found an odd sensor reading that we haven’t been able to nail down.”

Picard nodded. “Starfleet Command found something similar on Earth.”

“In the meantime, I’m going to take the Defiant out to search the area, try to

find the runabout’s warp signature. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Excellent. Picard out.”

At almost the precise moment that the screen went blank, the Vale woman’s voice

came over the intercom again. “Bridge to Picard. Sir, we’ve got another

transmission, this time from Commander Buonfiglio on the Hood.”

“Put it through,” Picard said.

Yet another indistinguishable human face appeared on the viewer.

“Captain Picard, I’m contacting you to let you know that the Hood is at your

disposal.”

Frowning, Picard said, “I was told that the Hood was assigned to Sector 817.”

“We were, but I managed to talk Admiral Koike into cutting that assignment

short. He then told us to contact you—said you were handling the investigation.”

The human’s eyes seemed to blaze with an almost Klingon-like fury that Toq

admired. “That’s our captain who’s gone missing, sir. We’re not about to sit

around mapping quasars. We want to help.”

Toq saw this as the perfect opening for what he had been about to say when

Commander Vaughn called. “Sir, there is, perhaps, something the Hood might be

able to accomplish.”

All eyes at the table turned to Toq—even that of the human on the viewer. Toq

turned to Klag, who nodded his approval for Klag to continue.

“It is possible that the location of the fourth artifact can be determined using

the locations of the three previous artifacts as a base.”

The android pursed his lips. “All indications are that the artifacts were hidden

at random points on the out-skirts of what was then Zalkatian territory,

Lieutenant.”

“There still could have been a pattern—even an unconscious one,” Toq said

stubbornly.

“It is worth looking into,” Tereth said, and Toq was grateful for the implied

approval.

Picard nodded. “The location of the fourth artifact is a likely place for the

missing people to have gone. Very well. Commander Buonfiglio, your assignment is

to try to locate the fourth artifact.”

Data added, “You will need to compensate for stellar drift. The calculations

will be imprecise, as we do not know the exact date when the artifacts were

hidden.”

Buonfiglio smiled. “We’ll figure it out, Commander. And thank you, Captain. We

lost a lot of good people during the war—including my predecessor as first

officer. We’re damn well not going to let them take our captain from us, too.

Hood out.”

Again, the screen went blank. Tereth gave Toq an approving look, which Toq

basked in.

Passing an intense gaze around the table, Picard asked, “If there is nothing

else?” No replies were forthcoming. “Very well, then, let us make it so.”

 

It was even harder to get out of the irritatingly soft and decadent Starfleet

chair than it was any of the chairs on the Gorkon. But somehow Klag managed it.

And he didn’t even stumble.

To Tereth, he said, “Wait for me. I will be along shortly.”

Tereth’s eyes widened, but she said nothing and simply left with Toq.

As the three humans moved toward the other door, Klag said, “Riker. I would

speak with you.”

Riker looked to Picard, who gave a brief nod. Picard and Data then exited,

leaving Klag and Riker in the room together.

Smiling, Riker said, “Seems every time I see you, Klag, you’ve got a different

number of arms.”

Klag returned the smile. “It is good to see you again, Riker—even if you insist

on remaining beardless.”

“Same here, Klag.” Riker rubbed his smooth chin. “As for the beard—for the time

being, at least, it’s still a thing of the past.”

Throwing his head back, Klag laughed. “I will take that as an encouraging sign.”

“So where’d the arm come from?”

“I do promise, my friend, that when this is all over, I will tell you the full

story over a case of bloodwine, but for now—Do you remember what I told you all

those years ago on the Pagh about my father?”

Nodding, Riker said, “You said he was on Qo’noS. ‘Waiting for death.’”

“His wait is now over.” He held up his right arm. “This is all that remains.”

Riker started. “You mean—that’s—” He shook his head. “I have to admit, Klag, I’m

confused. That’s not biosynthetic?”

Klag didn’t even try to hide his distaste at the very thought. “Of course not. I

would never attach a machine to my shoulder and call it my arm. No, I have

decided to restore my father’s honor in a way that he refused to: by living on

in his son.”

“An interesting solution,” Riker said slowly. “How long have you had it?”

“Dr. B’Oraq performed the procedure approximately three weeks after the last

time we saw each other.” Klag placed his right hand on Riker’s left shoulder.

“As I said, it is a long story—and if we survive this mission, I shall tell it.”

Then he smiled. “And if we do not, we will at last have the chance to die

together.”

Riker’s face split into one of those foolish human grins of his. “I look forward

to either one, Captain.”

“As do I, my friend—as do I.” He let out a quick breath. “And now I must go. We

have people to find—or perhaps their deaths to avenge. Either way, we go to

glory. Qapla’, Riker.”

Riker nodded. “Qapla’, Klag.”

Klag left the observation lounge then, content. Riker was one of the few people

who knew the whole story about M’Raq, and he deserved to know the details

regarding his new right arm now.

He arrived at the transporter room to find Tereth and Toq waiting for him, along

with the Enterprise’ 'stransporter operator and a security guard.

“Your business is concluded, Captain?” Tereth asked.

Klag simply nodded and stepped onto the platform. His first and second officer

did likewise. To the operator, he said, “Energize.”

Chapter Twelve

THE LAST OF MALKUS ’S SLAVES FINALLY ARRIVED .

Robert DeSoto had had the farthest to come, and the most to do before his

arrival. His was by far the most important task: he had to bring the other

Instruments.

Now he was here.

Now all the pieces would come together.

Now the campaign could truly begin.

Even Malkus’s great power was limited, after all. He was able to control the

entire population of Narendra III, but not the occupants of the ships in orbit

as well. So he had several hundred Narendrans place themselves into

confinement—an enclosed sporting arena on the planet’s largest continent served

the function; the thralls created a forcefield to keep everyone in—and then he

loosed control of their minds.

Then he took command of the four Klingon Defense Force ships in orbit, as well

as a human freighter that was bringing supplies of some kind.

Soon thereafter, Leonard McCoy and Spock of Vulcan arrived. They had had company

in their conveyances—three drugged Klingons with McCoy and a Klingon and two

humans, all victims of some kind of nerve damage, with Spock—and Malkus had them

imprisoned in McCoy’s conveyance, after having all the ship’s power neutralized

and a forcefield placed around it.

Kira Nerys arrived alone, and then, finally, DeSoto came with the other

Instruments.

Malkus knew that the wind was blowing through this piece of a hill that had been

excavated by the Klingons only because he could feel the wind blow through the

hair of his four thralls, but he could not feel it himself. If his thralls were

cold, Malkus did not permit them to show it. They simply stood obediently,

awaiting instruction, hands at their sides. In front of DeSoto was a sack

containing the other three Instruments.

Bring them to me.

DeSoto picked up the sack and walked over to where his Instrument sat on the

cold ground of Narendra III.

Put the Instruments together. Then my power truly shall be an awesome thing to

behold.

Kneeling down, DeSoto fit one Instrument next to Malkus’s. The two sides of the

Instruments came together as if magnetized.

Malkus felt the power surge through him.

Then DeSoto fit another onto the side perpendicular to the one Malkus’s

Instrument was attached to. Again, they came together, and again, Malkus felt

the power sing within him. Aidulac and her team had done their job so well.

Soon, his power would be all-encompassing. No one would be able to resist

him—none could escape his mental domination; he could infect an entire world

with the adrenal virus, not just a few hundred; and he could destroy suns with

the beam of force.

The unthinkable happened when DeSoto moved to attach the final Instrument into

the corner that would fill out the Great Rectangle. A much less pleasant surge

went through Malkus—feedback on an incredible scale. If the other two

attachments were like magnets coming together, the final Instrument repelled the

other like magnets of the same pole.

Malkus had thought himself beyond feeling pain, but he was wrong.

That pain was transmitted to his thralls, as all across the planet and in orbit,

thousands of beings screamed in agony.

The moment passed, then, and Malkus surveyed the ground before him. The four

thralls had collapsed to the ground in great pain. One of them—McCoy—was frail

and had difficulty getting back up, but the others rose to their feet with

little difficulty.

Three-quarters of the Great Rectangle was assembled, at least. His powers had

been boosted—his control was even greater. To test it, he infected all those

imprisoned in the sports arena on the largest continent with the adrenal virus.

They would die before long. In fact, knowing this species, they would probably

react to the heightened adrenaline levels by massacring each other long before

the virus did its work.

But something was wrong with the last Instrument. And he could not inspect it

for himself.

Of his four thralls, only Spock had had any opportunity to study the

Instruments, so Malkus instructed him to examine it. Malkus suspected that there

was a flaw in it, since he had not been able to feel when that particular

Instrument had been uncovered. According to DeSoto’s memories, an Andorian named

Tharia ch’Ren had used it to sow chaos in a then-disputed region of space.

Malkus wished he had been able to see the destruction that had been wrought in

his name.

Spock hesitated. Examine the Instrument! Malkus mentally bellowed, and this time

the thrall obeyed.

It was odd that the half-breed had been able to hesitate so. Malkus’s control

should have been complete. Perhaps that feedback was worse than he thought….

“There is a flaw,” Spock said, and with the halfbreed’s eyes, Malkus saw that he

was correct. There was a small opening in one of the corners of the Instrument,

virtually undetectable unless one was actively seeking it out—he was glad he had

chosen the half-breed Vulcan, as his eyesight was superior to that of the two

humans or the Bajoran.

Kira had a scanning device in her possession, and Malkus instructed her to use

it on the Instrument.

As he had surmised, there was a component missing.

Unfortunately, a scan of DeSoto’s memories showed that the human captain did not

know precisely where the Instrument had been found. The best it could be

narrowed down to was a particular area of space.

Worse, it was an area of space that was currently politically unstable: on the

border between a once-great power that had recently lost a war and a still-great

power that had won it.

He had to have the component.

Of the four thralls, Kira was by far the most skilled pilot, and she also knew

the region of space well. He instructed her to take one of the conveyances—the

one marked with the name St. Lawrence —and travel to that region of space to

find the component.

A part of Malkus bridled under the delay, but it was a small part. Patience.

That was, and always would be, his greatest asset. He had waited this long,

after all. The time it would take Kira to find the last component and complete

the Great Rectangle was infinitesimal by comparison.

Soon…

 

A confusing mass of light and sound assaulted B’Oraq as she regained

consciousness. Half-formed noises and blurred images started to slowly coalesce

into something she could justifiably interpret as real or familiar—up to and

including a dull ache in the top of her skull.

I truly hate being sedated, she thought. The curse of being a physician was that

she knew precisely what the drugs did to her and what the potential long-term

effects were, so she was hyperaware of the precise damage to her

bloodstream—and, thanks to the headache, her cranium—caused by the sedative that

Admiral McCoy had given her.

McCoy. It was absurd on the face of it. Why would a century-and-a-half-old human

in the middle of a shuttle journey from the base on Tynrok to Qo’noS subdue the

doctor who had invited him in the first place?

“Are you all right, Doctor?”

Finally, B’Oraq focused on what it was her eyes told her, especially since she

recognized the voice—which matched the face that stood over her prone form,

looking vaguely concerned.

“Am—Ambassador Worf?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here? How did you get on board?” She sat up, which only made

her headache worse. She had been lying on the very QongDaq that McCoy had been

whining about.

“I do not know,” Worf said. “I was in a runabout en route to Khitomer when

Ambassador Spock subdued me with the Vulcan neck attack. I awoke on this

shuttle.”

“I need to check on the pilots—” She started to get up from the QongDaq, but

Worf put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“They are both fine—as are my pilots. They are attempting to dismantle the

forcefield that surrounds the runabout.”

She got up anyhow, despite the ambassador’s hand. “Where are we?”

“The shuttle’s systems are offline. However, according to the readings we have

been able to obtain with hand scanners, we are on Narendra III.”

B’Oraq shook her head in confusion. “Narendra III? Why would McCoy bring us

here?”

“I do not know,” Worf repeated.

“Didn’t Spock and McCoy serve together in Starfleet?”

Worf nodded. “For many years on the U.S.S. Enterprise.”

A half-remembered history course came back to her. “And the Enterprise was

destroyed at Narendra III. Perhaps this is connected?”

“Unlikely,” Worf said. “The Enterprise that sacrificed itself on this world was

not the same one that the ambassador and the admiral served on.” He took a

breath. “If you are all right, Doctor, I will continue to aid the others in

attempting to bypass the forcefield.”

“Of course. I’ll—I’ll help.”

B’Oraq had expected some kind of objection, but the ambassador simply nodded,

and they both exited the aft chamber of Klag’s personal craft and went to the

fore. She found herself admiring the ambassador. She had only met him once

before, when the Gorkon brought him to his mission on taD, but she had had very

little interaction with him then. He’s quite attractive, she thought. And if

memory serves, his mate died during the war. Perhaps when this is over…

She cut the thought off, filing it away for later use, assuming they got out of

whatever mess McCoy had put her into.

She saw her two pilots—Davok and G’joth—and two humans in Starfleet uniforms all

bent over a console.

Upon Worf and B’Oraq’s entrance, the human male stood up. “The forcefield’s

definitely being powered from the outside, sir. And all this ship’s systems are

completely dead.”

B’Oraq looked over at the viewport. She hadn’t even realized that the only light

source in the aft compartment had come from the viewport in there, and now she

realized the same was true of the flight compartment up front. When night fell

on Narendra III, they’d be plunged into darkness. Although, she thought, there

was light in the corridor, too. She then inhaled; the air didn’t seem to be

stale. “Is life-support also cut off?”

G’joth said, “Yes, ma’am. However, the forcefield is air-permeable, and the rear

hatch is still open.”

That explained the light in the corridor—she had only to have looked behind her

to have seen that.

“How soon until sunset?” Worf asked.

Davok answered. “Five hours.”

Nodding, Worf said, “Then we have that long to come up with a way to overload

the forcefield. I will need all the weapons on board this ship, and any handheld

devices—scanners, communicators, anything with an independent power source.”

“What are you planning?” B’Oraq asked.

Before Worf could answer, the human female said, “You want to try to create a

pulse to knock out the forcefield?”

“That is my intention, Ensign McKenna.”

Making a snorting noise, Davok said, “That may work on Starfleet forcefields,

but these are Klingon fields. They are made of sterner stuff.”

“I would suggest, bekk, that you hope your assumption is incorrect if you wish

to get out of here.”

Davok snarled, but said nothing.

The five of them worked, cannibalizing anything they could lay their hands

on—even some of the dead equipment from the shuttle itself. B’Oraq’s medical

equipment had been removed—along with the shuttle’s armory stores, though Davok,

G’joth, and Worf all carried weapons on their persons that had not been taken—so

she felt particularly helpless. Her technical skills were nonexistent—that’s

what engineers were for. Her only use would be if someone was injured. And then

what? I can tell them to put pressure on their wound or watch helplessly if they

need more than that. I have no bandages, no scanners, no alcohol—

Suddenly, a thought occurred. She went back into the aft compartment, and found

what she had hoped would be under the QongDaq: half a case of bloodwine.

Worf had followed her. “What did you find?”

“Bloodwine. I’m attempting to assemble what medical equipment I can, and this is

the closest to a disinfectant we have.”

The ambassador looked pensive. “We may be able to use that as well—for

weaponry.”

B’Oraq frowned. “You’re going to drink your enemy to death?”

“No.” Worf almost smiled.

He was remarkably taciturn for a Klingon. She wondered why that was. A

by-product of living among humans, no doubt, she thought. Having lived among

them herself during her time at Starfleet Medical, she knew how fragile they

could be—most were physically incapable of handling Klingon passion.

He continued. “Have you ever heard of a human weapon called a Molotov cocktail?”

“Uh, no.”

“It involves lighting a fire on a rag attached to the neck of a bottle of

alcohol.”

Understanding, B’Oraq nodded. “Of course. You get a fire grenade.”

“Of sorts, yes. Since we have needed to use the weapons to power our—device.”

Now B’Oraq smiled. “‘Device’?”

“We have yet to come up with a name for it,” Worf said dryly. “Lieutenant Falce

wishes to call it ‘Fred.’”

“As good a name as any,” B’Oraq said with a shrug.

“I prefer more—direct terms.”

“Yes, but ‘forcefield overloader’ doesn’t have much poetry to it.”

“True. Shall we return to the fore?”

“I will be right there,” she said. “I want to see if there is anything else I

can use in case someone—”

A scream came from the fore compartment.

B’Oraq sighed. “Gets hurt.”

Both doctor and ambassador ran back up front to find the human male—what was his

name? Falce?—on the deck convulsing.

The woman—McKenna—said, “There was feedback— somebody didn’t align the circuits

properly.” This last was said with a look at Davok.

Predictably, Davok responded by unsheathing his d’k tahg. “Are you accusing me

of something, human?”

B’Oraq knelt down beside Falce. He was a young human of considerable height for

his species—which made him average by Klingon standards—with close-cropped black

hair. At present, all that hair was standing on end, thanks to the shock he’d

received. B’Oraq felt naked without her scanner, but the galvanic response of

Falce’s skin was already lessening. She suspected this was an intense, but

brief, surge of electricity through his system.

“What—what—what—what happened?” Falce managed to ask.

“This idiot didn’t align the circuits the way he was supposed to,” McKenna said.

“That is enough, woman!” Davok cried, and lunged at McKenna with his blade.

G’joth made no move to stop him, but simply stood smiling.

Worf started to move to intercept the bekk, but before he could, McKenna herself

deflected the attack and, in one smooth motion, relieved Davok of his d’k tahg.

Then she twisted his arm around to his back, immobilizing him. It looked to

B’Oraq like a poorly executed mok’bara maneuver—probably something from some

human martial art.

Then she threw Davok to the floor. G’joth bent over, picked up Davok’s d’k tahg,

and handed it to his fellow bekk with a smile. “I think you dropped this,

Davok.”

Growling, Davok snatched the blade and started to get up, when a deep voice rang

out in the shuttle.

“Enough!” It was Worf. “If you wish to squabble like children, do it another

time! We have work to do!” In a quieter voice, he said to Davok, “If you wish to

challenge Ensign McKenna, do so after the crisis has passed. But not now.”

“When a woman spreads lies, there is always time for a challenge!”

Worf then grabbed Davok by his chestplate and pulled him close with one hand.

With the other, he held the device that they had been working on. B’Oraq hadn’t

even noticed Worf picking it up.

“You were aligning these circuits when I went aft moments ago. They are now

misaligned, and Lieutenant Falce is injured. Did she spread lies or simply state

facts?”

Davok’s face contorted, but he said nothing.

Worf let go of him and turned to B’Oraq. “How is he?”

“I think he’ll be fine.” B’Oraq hoped her voice carried more confidence than she

felt. “He needs to take it easy for a bit—and stay away from any live

current—but he should recover.”

“Good.” He turned to the others. “We will finish this so we can overload the

forcefield and leave this shuttle. Then we will find who has done this to us and

we will defeat them. Personal issues can wait. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly,” G’joth said jovially and with a large grin.

“Understood, sir,” McKenna said.

Davok said nothing. Worf turned to him. “Am I understood?”

“You don’t have any authority over me, petaQ. You are a traitor to the empire

twice over who gave up a life of glory to be an ambassador of fools. I will not

follow your orders.”

“Very well,” Worf said.

Then he reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, took out a tiny hand phaser,

and fired it on Davok, who collapsed to the deck.

B’Oraq dashed over to the fallen bekk. “It was on stun,” Worf said. The doctor

checked Davok over and saw that he showed all the outward symptoms of a phaser

blast on the stun setting—which meant that he’d sleep not-very-peacefully and

wake up at some point in an even worse mood.

But that was for later. “I take it,” she said, “that you figured stunning him

was better than his getting in the way?”

Worf nodded. “Something like that.”

“Good plan,” G’joth said. “Davok is not a true warrior. He is simply a boor.

Shall we continue working? I believe we should start by realigning these

circuits.”

“I like that plan,” Falce said, sitting up and moving over to the workstation

they had set up. Looking at Worf, the lieutenant asked, “By the way, Mr.

Ambassador—how many weapons you have on you?”

Again, the not-really-a-smile. “Enough.”

While the quartet worked, B’Oraq picked Davok up—not making any effort to be

gentle—and laid him down on the QongDaq in the rear. With the power out, she

couldn’t seal the room, but at least he’d be out of the way there.

“Doctor,” McKenna said when she came back to the fore, “this thing is set to

give off a level-four nelaron pulse. Will that have any negative impact on us?”

B’Oraq thought a moment. “For how long?”

Falce said, “As long as it takes to bring the forcefield down.”

Closing her eyes, B’Oraq juggled figures in her head. Then she opened them. “At

level four, we should be fine as long as you don’t go over five minutes.”

G’joth laughed a hearty laugh. “That is hardly an issue. This thing will burn

out after three minutes.”

“In that case, Ensign, I’d say no negative impact whatsoever.” B’Oraq smiled.

A few minutes later, Worf announced that they were ready. B’Oraq noticed that

the phaser Worf had used on Davok was now part of the device, as well.

McKenna placed the device—which looked like nothing else to B’Oraq but a piece

of surrealist sculpture she’d seen on Earth—next to one of the bulkheads. The

forcefield went all around the ship, so the device could apparently be placed

anywhere.

“Activating nelaron pulse—now.”

On now, McKenna touched a control. A low-level hum started to build in

intensity.

Forcefields were generally only visible when they were interfered with: when

they turned on, when they were turned off, and when someone or something touched

them. So when B’Oraq saw a flicker in the field, she felt a similar flicker of

hope.

Then the forcefield crackled and went offline.

Half a second later, the device that they had constructed exploded in a shower

of sparks and a small fire.

G’joth immediately reached for the fire extinguisher that sat under the

copilot’s seat and used it to put the small fire out. The chemicals probably

weren’t good for the device, but an explosion was far worse.

“Well, the good news,” Falce said, “is that we got the field down. The bad news

is that there’s no way in hell we’ll be able to reconstruct this thing—and we

lost some of our most potentially useful equipment—including all our weapons.”

B’Oraq smiled grimly. “Isn’t there some kind of human expression about lemons

and lemonade?”

“What is a lemon aid?” G’joth asked. “For that matter, what is a lemon?”

“A foul drink made from a foul fruit.” With a more playful smile at McKenna and

Falce, B’Oraq added, “No surprise from a race that can’t even handle bloodwine.”

“Hey, I like bloodwine just fine, thanks,” Falce said, returning the smile. “It

makes a dandy lubricant when I have engine trouble.”

“Enough,” Worf said, though in a gentle voice. “Let us see what we can find

outside.” He turned to B’Oraq. “Doctor, it might be best if you remained

behind.”

“I can take care of myself, Ambassador. And I want to know what is going on

here, and I can’t very well learn that sitting here.”

“You are just a doctor,” G’joth said dismissively.

“I can use my d’k tahg just as well as you can, G’joth. Better, probably, since

I’m trained in, shall we say, surgical strikes?”

McKenna snorted. Falce tried to hide a grin.

G’joth stared at her for a second, then burst into laughter. “Very well, Doctor.

We shall face—whatever it is that has taken us together.”

Nodding, Worf said, “Let us proceed.”

B’Oraq was glad no one had argued. On top of everything else, she had no desire

to be alone in the shuttle when Davok woke up.

Worf led them out through the open—and now usable—rear hatch. Behind him were

Falce and McKenna, then B’Oraq, with G’joth bringing up the rear.

PAIN!

The moment they were all out of the shuttle, she felt intense pain in her skull

that made her earlier headache seem meaningless.

As she fell unconscious for the second time in as many days, she decided that

staying in the shuttle might not have been such a bad idea….

Chapter Thirteen

COMMANDER TERETH GAZED OVER THE BRIDGE of the Gorkon and was content.

She had requested this posting the instant she knew that it was available.

Tereth had gone far in her career because she had always had a good instinct for

picking winners. It had been a necessary survival skill. The House of Kular was

not an especially powerful one when Tereth was a girl, and she was the only

child left. Her parents had hoped she would mate well and bring the House glory

that way, but she had been mated twice to men who subsequently died before they

had a chance to forge a path of honor that would bring Kular to greater glory.

But neither of those mates had made her crest ache. They were adequate

par’machkai, but nothing spectacular.

So, though her doddering father was the ostensible House head, she took over

running the House herself—behind the scenes, of course, since women were not

permitted to be House heads without special dispensation from the High Council,

which Kular was hardly in a position to get.

When Gowron—an outsider and political agitator—campaigned to be considered a

worthy successor to the aging Chancellor K’mpec, Tereth had insisted that Kular

back him, even though Duras—a councillor from a most influential House—seemed

the favorite. Her parents had argued, but she insisted. Besides, their debts

were huge, their prospects growing dimmer with each turn. They had very little

to lose.

Sure enough, Gowron eventually became chancellor, Duras died in disgrace, and

the House of Kular reaped the benefits. Gowron forgave many of Kular’s debts,

paved the way for others to be easily repaid, and also sponsored Tereth’s

application to become an officer in the Defense Force.

Since then, she had flourished. She had served with Captain Akhra when he took

the Cardassian world of Hranish. Given the opportunity to serve directly under

General Talak, she chose instead a less prestigious post with Captain Huss as

part of the general’s armada. Once again her instincts proved prophetic: Huss

was soon inducted into the Order of the Bat’leth, then went on to win several

major campaigns against the Dominion.

Her crest ached again when she encountered Klag on Qo’noS when the latter was

recovering from Marcan V. She kept an eye on him, and he soon was given one of

the mighty Qang -class ships. He, too, was destined to join the Order, and

within a month of his shakedown cruise, he had an opening for a first officer

and no viable candidates on-ship.

As with so many others Tereth had chosen as patrons, Klag seemed odd on the face

of it. He had served on the Pagh for an absurdly long time without promotion or

attrition, and even though he was rewarded for his actions on Marcan V, he was

also given no say in his own command crew. His exploits to date were

satisfactory, but he had won no great victories, defeating only simple

foes—Kreel, Kinshaya pirates, jeghpu’wI’ rebels. Still, Tereth’s instincts had

not failed her yet.

The Gorkon pilot, a newly assigned youth named Vralk, recently promoted to

lieutenant and still with a sad excuse for a beard dirtying his face, said, “We

are at the last known position of the captain’s shuttle, Commander.”

“Full stop.” Tereth strode to her position on the captain’s right. To Toq, who

stood at the operations console behind the captain’s chair, she said, “Report.”

“I am picking up the shuttle’s warp signature, Commander,” Toq said. “Its

heading is 156 mark 7—right on course for Qo’noS. They were traveling somewhere

between warp five and warp seven-point-five.”

Tereth nodded and turned to Vralk. “Set course 156 mark 7, execute at warp

five.”

Vralk acknowledged the order and set a course.

“Toq, inform me if the warp signature changes.”

Within a few minutes, Toq said, “Warp signature lost, Commander.”

That was fast, Tereth thought. “Feed the coordinates where you lost it to

Lieutenant Vralk. Bring us to that position and then full stop, Lieutenant.”

Both Toq and Vralk acknowledged and carried out their orders.

At the coordinates, Vralk said, “All stop, Commander.”

Tereth got up and walked over to the operations console. “Toq?”

“I have the signature, Commander.” He looked up from his readings. “The heading

is 211 mark 1.”

Vralk turned around to look at Toq. “That brings them right to the Laktar

system.”

Tereth blinked. The Battle of Laktar was one of the more vicious skirmishes of

the Dominion War. Captain Huss’s fleet had arrived at the tail end of it, but

the battle was over by then: it was a victory for the Empire, but the radiation

that infused that system from the sheer volume of destroyed ships made any kind

of sensor scan impossible.

Anticipating Tereth’s question, Toq said, “The warp signature goes right through

the radiation, Commander. We cannot track them any farther.”

Tereth muttered a curse.

“Something else, Commander,” Toq said. “The discrepant reading that was found on

Earth and Bajor is also here. It was not present when we first encountered the

shuttle’s warp trail, but it is here now.”

“Have you determined what that reading is?”

Abashedly, Toq said, “Not yet, Commander.”

Tereth kept her smile to herself. Toq took great pride in his work, something

Tereth had done her best to encourage. He had the makings of greatness in him.

“The next time I ask that question, Lieutenant, I expect a different answer.”

“Yes, sir!” Toq said.

Leaving Toq to his work, Tereth walked over to the helm control. “Vralk, project

the shuttle’s course ahead. I want to know all the possible places they could

have gone.”

Vralk punched up a display on his console. “I am afraid that list is very long,

Commander.” Tereth was pleased that Vralk had already projected the course, but

had not been foolish enough to volunteer the information before Tereth was ready

for it. “The course takes them directly through the Ch’grath Stellar Cluster.”

Tereth growled low in her throat. Vralk said, “Commander, I—”

She waved him off. “It’s not your fault, Vralk.” She bared her teeth. “If my

displeasure was with you, you would not be able to apologize.”

“Yes, sir,” Vralk said quickly. The boy had only been assigned to the Gorkon for

a week. He will learn the protocols soon enough, she thought, or he will be

reassigned. She smiled, remembering Bekk Kelad’s thoughtless burst of laughter

at Captain Klag’s unfortunate—and temporary—difficulties adjusting to his new

limb. Tereth had thought her captain to be courageous in putting his own ability

to fight over outmoded medical practices and allowing Dr. B’Oraq to give him a

new limb. An adjustment period was to be expected, and it hadn’t affected his

ability to lead them so far. If it did, Tereth would deal with it, as any first

officer would—and as long as it didn’t, any who dared to mock the captain would

pay for it.

Kelad certainly had been paying. His assignment to waste extraction was not due

to end for another two months.

Since Toq was occupied with his sensor sweeps, Tereth went directly to the

ensign at the communications console to Toq’s left. “Send to all ships, planets,

and outposts in the Ch’grath cluster to be on the lookout for the captain’s

shuttle.”

“Yes, sir,” said the ensign.

Again, Tereth looked around the bridge. Vralk kept the ship in position for Toq

to make his sensor sweeps. Next to Toq’s operations station, Lieutenant Rodek

stood impassively at the gunner’s position, presumably ready to go into battle

if needed. Behind the two of them, the four gunner positions sat empty for the

moment. The other secondary stations remained staffed and occupied.

At this point, Tereth realized, she needed to inform Klag of their progress.

Until Toq found something substantial—or something else happened—there was

nothing more to be done without orders from her commander.

“You have the bridge, Toq. I will be with the captain.”

 

Toq’s head was pounding when Tereth walked up behind him.

“Lieutenant, why are you still here?”

Toq looked around the bridge. He was currently sitting at one of the two science

consoles, taking advantage of its ability to do more in-depth study than the

more general applications of his operations station. Ironically, it was the same

post on the bridge that he had served at when he came on board the Gorkon —and

from which he warned the second officer, Lieutenant Kegren, that there might be

an explosive device in the debris of a Breen ship. Kegren ignored this warning,

and the ship was almost destroyed by such an explosive. Toq challenged Kegren,

with Klag’s support, and defeated him; Klag rewarded him with the post of second

officer.

As he looked around, he realized that none of the same people were on the bridge

anymore—aside from himself and Tereth. He checked his chronometer and saw that

his shift had ended almost half an hour earlier. Since he had been in charge of

the bridge, he should have noticed that. And, for that matter, noticed Tereth

returning from the captain’s office…

“I have not yet determined what this sensor reading is, Commander,” Toq said in

answer to the first officer’s question.

“And you will not if you die of starvation. You have not eaten since you came

on-shift, and you are of no use if you collapse from hunger. Go eat.” Toq

started to object, but Tereth didn’t give him the chance to speak. “You have

been staring at those waveform patterns for over an hour, Lieutenant. You need a

distraction. This is not a request.”

Tereth had an odd style of giving an order in such a way that it felt like she

was doing you a service by giving it. Toq wasn’t sure how she did it, but he

found himself getting up from the science console and exiting the bridge via the

turbolift.

He was late for the evening meal, but since tonight was B’Elath’s turn to sing

the traditional song before dinner, Toq didn’t consider that a hardship. B’Elath

always sang the dreadful “Campaign at Kol’Vat,” and always sang it very badly.

She finished the song just as Toq walked in. She had ended on the tenth verse

instead of singing all fifteen, which no doubt pleased all the inhabitants of

the mess hall.

Toq grabbed a plate of pipius claw and bregit lung, then tossed some gagh into a

bowl, grabbed a mug and poured it only half full of bloodwine—he was going right

back on duty after dinner—and went to sit with Rodek and Vralk.

As he sat, Toq asked, “Why do we keep letting that woman massacre that awful

song?”

“You mean she has done that before?” Vralk asked with revulsion.

Rodek nodded. “Many times.”

“And she has not been killed to spare our ears the damage?”

Toq laughed at the young pilot. “Not yet, no.”

“I do not know if you’ve noticed, Toq,” Rodek said, “but every time she sings

before dinner, the next day we are victorious in battle.”

Frowning, Toq said, “That is ridiculous.”

“It is the truth.” Rodek ate a piece of skull stew, but kept talking as he

chewed. “The first time she sang was the night before we arrived at taD and

destroyed those rebel ships. The second time, we engaged those marauders on

Galtra the following day. The third—”

“You are right,” Toq said, as he thought back on their missions. Then he smiled.

“No doubt it is better to die gloriously than to risk hearing her sing again.”

All three shared a laugh at that, though Toq noticed that Vralk’s laugh was

strained. “I suppose that bodes well for my abilities.”

Swallowing his bok-rat liver, Vralk asked, “How?”

“I will soon determine who our foe is, and we shall defeat them tomorrow.”

“So you haven’t unlocked the secrets of the sensor reading?” Rodek asked before

sipping his own mug of bloodwine.

“No,” Toq said with annoyance. “Commander Tereth ordered me to get dinner.”

Muttering into his liver, Vralk said, “That is all she does is give orders.”

Rodek barked a laugh. “She is the first officer, fool. Giving orders is her

duty.”

“Her duty is to find a mate and provide him with sons.”

Toq rolled his eyes. Vralk was the third pilot they’d had on the Gorkon since

Lieutenant Leskit was rotated back to the Rotarran, and each one made Toq miss

the old toDSaH even more. Leskit had been a fine dinner companion and a good

comrade. Vralk was the latest in a series of idiots Command had sent to poorly

fill his boots.

“Feel free,” Toq said, “to challenge her authority, Vralk. I am sure she could

use the d’k tahg practice on your hearts.”

Rodek joined Toq in a laugh. Rodek, Toq noticed, had lightened up considerably

these past few months. When Toq first signed on, he would happily have taken the

humorless gunner’s life as he had Kegren’s, but Rodek had shown signs of

acquiring both a sense of humor and a zest for life. He still performed his

duties as gunner with all the passion of dead racht, but he did his job well.

Vralk, on the other hand, looked like someone had poisoned his bok-rat liver.

“Laugh all you wish, but we could not possibly have a less worthy first officer

than a woman.”

“Spoken like someone who never served under Drex,” Rodek said, wiping grapok

sauce off his face with his sleeve.

At that name, Vralk’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. “The son of Martok? You

served with him?”

“He preceded Tereth as first officer,” Toq said as he chewed on his pipius claw.

“The captain had him transferred off the ship as fast as he could.”

“Then the captain is a fool,” Vralk said unhesitatingly.

Vralk had spoken just as Rodek was sipping his bloodwine, and the gunner gave

out a bark of laughter that caused the wine to spill all over the table. Rodek

set the mug down and said, “Perhaps you should challenge the captain, then,

since you think him to be so—unworthy.”

At that, Vralk squirmed. “Well, no, but—Drex is the son of the chancellor! He

deserves respect!”

“Respect must be earned, boy,” Rodek said.

“And your commanding officers deserve respect, as well,” Toq added. “Klag and

Tereth have led us well, and you will find no one on this ship to support your

cause.”

“Really?” Now Vralk sounded more sure of himself. “You mean to tell me that all

twenty-seven hundred warriors on this ship support a captain who mutilates his

body and a female first officer?”

Toq looked at Rodek. “He sounds like a Ferengi, doesn’t he?”

“Laugh if you want,” Vralk said. “But if I did challenge the authority of those

in charge, do not be so sure that I would be acting alone.”

With that, Vralk swallowed the last of his liver and got up and left.

Rodek laughed as heartily as he ever did. “Yet another fool pilots the ship. I

never thought I would wish for Leskit’s return.”

Toq, however, did not return the laugh. “Is he truly a fool, Rodek?”

“Of course he is. Only a fool would challenge Klag—they’d be dead before they

could get near him.”

“On the bridge, perhaps. But what of the troops? The engineers? We do not know

their thoughts.”

Polishing off his bloodwine, Rodek said, “Troops are loyal to their commanders

unless given good reason not to be. Has Klag given such a reason?”

“His arm.”

Rodek snorted. “He has made himself a better warrior. Don’t tell me you believe

that stupidity about ‘hiding the scars of battle.’”

“No,” Toq said quickly, and he meant it. On Carraya, he had grown up with

Romulan medicine. Indeed, the one aspect of life in the Empire that Toq did not

appreciate was the appalling state of Klingon medicine. One of the many reasons

for his contentment on the Gorkon was the fact that their physician studied in

the Federation. “But if a young fool like Vralk believes it…”

Rodek looked sour—or, rather, more sour than usual. “I will speak with Lokor.”

Lokor was the head of on-ship security, and generally knew everything that

occurred on the Gorkon. Rumor had it that he was also with Imperial

Intelligence, but Toq had always discounted those rumors. Surely there was an II

operative or two on the ship, but Toq doubted that II would place someone in so

obvious a position as security. Indeed, Toq suspected that Lokor himself spread

those rumors for his own purposes.

“And what if Lokor is one of the people who is against the captain?”

“Then I will kill him,” Rodek said simply. “And anyone else who is disloyal.”

Toq dropped some gagh into his mouth. As they wriggled down his throat, he said

in as grave a tone as he could muster, “And I will help you.” He wanted Rodek to

know he was serious. Toq felt more at home on this ship than he had anywhere

else since he left Carraya, and he would not let a young petaQ like Vralk ruin

it.

 

Klag was on the holodeck, about to commence his first bat’leth drill since

getting his new arm, when the call from the bridge came.

“We are receiving a hail from the Enterprise , Captain.”

That was Toq, Klag noted, still on duty. The young second officer had taken a

dinner break, but otherwise refused to rest until he determined what the odd

reading was at the shuttle’s divergent point. Every resource of the Gorkon’

'sconsiderable sensor power had been trained at this region of space, thus far

to no avail. But Klag had confidence in the young man.

“I will be right there. Summon Commander Tereth as well.” A pause. “Progress,

Lieutenant?”

“All I have been able to determine, sir, is that there are some superficial

similarities between this energy reading and the one given off by the Malkus

Artifacts.”

“Which tells us nothing we do not already know,” Klag said as he shut down the

holodeck.

“No, sir.”

“Continue scans. Out.” He let out a breath. In a sense, he was grateful. He had

been hoping that B’Oraq would be present for his first drill. If the call from

the Enterprise was good news, perhaps they’d rescue her before he’d have the

chance to engage in the drill, and she could indeed be there for it.

Klag didn’t bother changing into uniform, since he didn’t want to keep Picard

and Riker waiting, so he went to the bridge dressed only in mok’bara clothes—a

tight-fitting white cloth shirt and pants.

Ensign Morketh, currently staffing the gunner position, gave Klag an odd look as

he entered. The look was mostly directed at the captain’s shorter, lighter,

squatter right arm, which was more visible in the mok’bara shirt than it was in

his more elaborate uniform.

“Speak, Ensign Morketh,” Klag said.

Morketh seemed surprised at the instruction. “I—have nothing to report, sir.”

“Good. Mind your post, then.”

“Yes, sir,” he said quickly.

“Enterprise standing by,” Toq said. Klag nodded in reply.

Tereth—in full uniform—entered the bridge a moment later. As she did, Klag sat

in his chair—as usual, falling rather than sitting with his arms. “Screen on,”

Klag said to Toq.

The bridge of the Enterprise replaced the starfield on the main viewer. Picard

and Riker were present, with Data and a Trill female visible in front of them,

and a human female behind them.

“Progress, Captain Picard?”

“After a fashion, Captain Klag. We’ve picked up the St. Lawrence ’s warp

signature, but it takes it to the Ch’grath Stellar Cluster. There are hundreds

of possible destinations.”

Klag filled Picard in on their own discoveries. “It seems likely that both ships

are going to the same place.”

“The question being where.”

“We have found the same peculiar reading that was at the other sites, as well.

The reading does not appear until right before my shuttle changed course. Thus

far, we have only been able to learn that it is similar to the Malkus Artifact

energy.”

“That was true of the St. Lawrence as well, and Mr. Data’s conclusions were

similar.”

Klag wondered if Toq took any pride in the fact that his accomplishments were

the same as those of Starfleet’s legendary android officer.

Speaking of whom, Toq said, “Sir, we’re receiving a message from the U.S.S.

Musgrave.”

On the viewer, Riker frowned. “If memory serves, the Musgrave was the ship that

took Ambassador Worf from Qo’noS to Starbase 24.”

“Tie the communication in, Lieutenant,” Klag said.

The viewer went to a split-screen image, with the much smaller bridge of the

Musgrave now occupying the right-hand side, and the Enterprise bridge confined

to a smaller space, focused on Picard, on the left-hand side.

The Musgrave captain, a round, blocky human with thick black hair and an

indeterminate neck, said, “This is Captain Dayrit of the Musgrave. I see I got

both of you—good, saves me from having to call you both.”

“I am Klag of the Gorkon. You have something to report, Captain?”

“Yes—we’re on our way to an emergency in the Trivas system, so we can’t

investigate this ourselves, but—we found the St. Lawrence while en route to

Trivas. It’s headed toward the Dorvan system.”

Tereth started. “That’s in the old Federation/Cardassian Demilitarized Zone.”

“And, ironically, one of the subjects of discussion at the Khitomer conference,”

Picard said with a nod.

Riker added, “It’s also not especially close to the Ch’grath cluster.”

Dayrit let out a breath. “As I said, we’re answering an emergency call, or we’d

investigate it ourselves.” He made some kind of odd human noise. “Now I’m sorry

I didn’t take the time out to drop the ambassador off at Khitomer.”

“I doubt that would have made a difference, Captain. We’ll investigate this

further.”

“Thanks, Captain. Captains,” he amended with a nod to Klag. “Musgrave out.”

The screen returned to just the image of the Enterprise.

Tereth walked over to the pilot’s station. “Vralk, set course for the Dorvan

system, maximum warp.”

“Yes, sir,” Vralk intoned.

“Ensign Perim,” Riker said with a smile, “do likewise, if you please.”

“Aye, sir,” the Trill said.

“When will we arrive?” Klag asked.

“Six hours, ten minutes at warp nine,” Vralk said.

Klag looked at his first officer. “Impress upon Commander Kurak the need for

warp nine-point-eight. And have the cloaking device standing by.”

Tereth smiled. “Of course, Captain.”

As the first officer headed for engineering, Riker said, “You’re gonna beat us

there by a couple of hours, Captain. More if your first officer is a good

impresser.”

“She is,” Klag said with a grin.

“Our chief engineer is something of a wiz himself, so it might be less. We’ll

see.”

“We will,” Klag said, trying not to smile at Riker’s use of the word wIj.

Somehow, he didn’t think Riker meant to say that the Enterprise chief engineer

was a farm. “But I’m sure our mighty vessel can handle one Starfleet runabout

without your aid. We shall see you there.”

“Indeed,” Picard said. “Enterprise out.”

Chapter Fourteen

KIRA NERYS GATHERED EVERY BIT OF WILLPOWER she possessed and instructed her

right arm to touch the control on the runabout console before her that would

bring the St. Lawrence out of warp and discontinue its journey to the former

DMZ.

Her right arm remained where it was.

I will not succumb to this.

Once, two years earlier, Kira had willingly allowed her body to be a vessel for

the Prophets in order to aid in the coming about of the Reckoning. But she had

spent her life in devotion to the Prophets and was more than happy to give

herself over in service to them.

She was considerably less willing to do so for a ninety-thousand-year-old

tyrant.

It had started on the way back from a committee meeting at the Chamber of

Ministers. The Defiant had returned from its mission to Trill, so Kira had left

Vaughn in charge while she went through her least favorite chore: chatting with

politicians.

The meeting started an hour late, went on for two hours longer than it should

have, and accomplished absolutely nothing of substance. Mentally exhausted and

physically restless, Kira boarded the Rio Grande, looking forward to a very long

bath.

So when she found herself changing the runabout’s course toward Klingon space,

she was rather surprised.

That surprise increased when she tried to stop herself, but her body no longer

responded to any mental directives. As she got closer to her

destination—Narendra III, based on the course she’d laid in—her control

lessened. Even such simple functions as blinking and swallowing were out of her

purview.

She remembered the Malkus Artifact that Orta had found six years ago, of course,

and had heard that another one was found in the DMZ a few months later, though

she had chosen not to dwell on it much in the ensuing years. Thinking of that

just reminded her of the Odyssey and its crew, and of sitting helpless in the

Orinoco while she watched a Jem’Hadar ship do a suicide run into the Galaxy

-class vessel’s deflector dish, annihilating both the ship and its crew.

Kira hated being helpless.

With every fiber of her being, she fought Malkus’s influence.

With every fiber of her being, she failed.

Yet, she kept trying, even as Malkus had her get into the St. Lawrence —the

runabout that had brought Ambassador Spock to Narendra—and take it to the former

DMZ to try to locate the missing piece of the third artifact. Kira had no idea

why she had been sent in this ship rather than the one she had arrived

in—perhaps Malkus couldn’t tell the difference between the two ships, which

were, after all, virtually the same.

The runabout came out of warp in an area of interstellar space. It was here that

the Hood and the Voyager had first detected the third Malkus Artifact on the

Maquis ship Geronimo, and it seemed as good a place as any to start the search.

Except Kira didn’t wish to search for the component. She wished to open a

hailing frequency, to bring the St. Lawrence to DS9 and then take the Defiant to

Narendra III, along with any other ship she could corral, and blow Malkus into

his component atoms with the Defiant’ 'sconsiderable weaponry.

She gathered every bit of willpower she possessed and instructed her right arm

to touch the control that would open a hailing frequency.

Her right arm moved toward the comm panel.

I’ve done it! Kira thought with surprise. She opened a channel.

Then she tried to talk, but found that she could not.

However, even opening the channel was a small victory. It would serve as an

additional beacon to her location, and maybe—just maybe—someone would notice. Of

course, given what this region of space was like these days, that “someone”

could be anyone from a clappedout Cardassian military ship limping on its last

antimatter pods to Yridian privateers to Ferengi merchants to civilian supply

ships. But getting in touch with anyone was a bonus at this point. Someone

needed to be informed about what Malkus had done on Narendra.

Then a sensor alarm went off. She looked up to see a Klingon vessel decloaking.

No! They’ve found me! Malkus had apparently sent one of the Klingon ships in

orbit around Narendra to tail her under cloak, and stop her if she threw off

Malkus’s control.

That doesn’t make sense. Why not send them in the first place?

Look at them. That’s one of those new Chancellor-class ships. That would draw a

lot more attention than a little runabout. Malkus probably kept it around in

case of emergencies.

Stop talking to yourself and do something!

Kira raised the shields and armed the phasers. She did that, not Malkus. Another

victory. She also recognized the ship: the I.K.S. Gorkon, commanded by Captain

Klag. She directed her hail to them—but she was still unable to make her voice

work.

Well, the hell with it—it’s not like I have anything to say to them anyhow.

She fired phasers.

Then the ship hailed her. “Attention runabout. This is the I.K.S. Gorkon. If you

do not lower your shields immediately, we will fire upon you.”

Gee, Klag, thanks for the warning.

Wait a minute. Why would they give a warning? That doesn’t make sense.

She tried to lower the shields, but this time she couldn’t. Malkus was

attempting to reassert his control.

You’ve spent enough time in my head. Get out!

Then the Gorkon fired on her.

She had no idea if it was her will or Malkus’s that made her take evasive

action, and ultimately it didn’t matter. The one goal she and Malkus shared was

a desire to keep her body intact.

However, her maneuver came too late. The blast didn’t penetrate the shields, but

reduced them to a mere ten percent.

She continued the evasive maneuvers, laying down covering fire.

Covering fire, right. I’m about as overmatched here as our old Bajoran

sub-impulse raiders were against Cardassian warships.

Then again, we beat them eventually.

After several decades.

I have got to stop talking to myself.

The Gorkon fired again, though this time with a beam at a much lower power

level. It was just enough to wipe out the runabout’s shields.

They want me alive.

Why do they want me alive?

She got up and went back to the aft compartment to get a phaser.

As she did, her mouth almost fell open from the shock. “How did I—?”

Then she grinned. She had control of her movements and her voice. She could

still feel Malkus’s presence in her mind, but it was not as strong. Maybe he’s

got limits. Maybe I’m out of his range. Or maybe I’m just better than him.

“Whatever,” she said aloud, reveling in her ability to do so once again.

“There’s no way I’m letting him take me back.”

The next step was expected. She felt a transporter beam start to envelop her. It

was neither the raw pins-and-needles sensation of Deep Space 9’s Cardassian

transporter nor the gentle vibration of a Federation transporter. In fact, it

didn’t feel like much of anything.

A moment later, she was standing in a darkened room full of Klingons, all

pointing weapons at her. She counted five aiming at her, with another one behind

the transporter console. She didn’t recognize any of them, but the one time the

Gorkon had been to DS9, Kira had met only the ship’s captain.

Kira pointed her own phaser at the tall one who moved toward her as she

materialized. “You’re not taking me back to Narendra.”

This seemed to confuse the Klingon, whose hair was waist length and in a series

of intricately tied braids. “You have been to Narendra recently?” The Klingon

had a surprisingly pleasant voice.

This did confuse Kira. “You didn’t follow me from there?”

“I’ve never even been there, Colonel. Now lower your weapon, or I will order my

people to open fire on you. Disruptors do have a setting that leaves the victim

alive, but it is not nearly as—bloodless as your Federation’s ‘stun’ setting. I

do not recommend it.”

Kira hesitated. It could be a trick, she thought. But then, what possible reason

would this Klingon have to trick her?

She lowered her weapon. “How did you find me?” she asked, noting that, though

the lead Klingon did likewise, the other four did not.

“The captain can explain that.” He touched the communicator on his wrist. “Lokor

to bridge. We have the Bajoran.”

“Bring her to the wardroom,” came a deep male voice that Kira recognized as

Klag’s.

Lokor nodded to the quartet of warriors, who finally lowered their weapons. Then

he turned to Kira. “Come with me.”

 

Klag sat in the wardroom and listened to Kira Nerys’s tale. With him were Tereth

and Toq and, on the viewscreen, Picard, Riker, and Data. Upon learning that Kira

had come from Narendra III, Klag had immediately had Vralk set a course for that

planet. Once the St. Lawrence was taken on board and placed in the Gorkon’

'sshuttlebay, they proceeded at warp nine-point-eight, with instructions to

Commander Kurak to attempt a greater speed.

The Enterprise was, of course, alerted, and they too had changed course. Indeed,

they had only been twenty minutes away when Klag had contacted them. “Told you

our chief engineer was a wiz,” Riker had said with one of his human grins.

“One last thing,” Kira said after telling her story. “Malkus couldn’t control

the entire planet, and the ships in orbit, so he had a large chunk of the

population imprison themselves somewhere. Once Captain DeSoto started putting

the artifacts together, Malkus gave the prisoners the disease that the first

artifact gave off. If we don’t get back to Narendra soon, those prisoners will

die.”

There was a pause. Finally, Picard said, “You did well, Colonel.”

“Thank you, Captain, but it wasn’t easy. If you don’t mind my asking, how’d you

find me?”

“The St. Lawrence was listed as officially missing,” Tereth said. “You were

sighted by a Starfleet ship that couldn’t stop to investigate. When we arrived

we found a Bajoran in a runabout last known to have a Klingon, two humans, and a

Vulcan/human hybrid.”

Riker smiled. “Needless to say, that set an alarm bell or two off.”

“I can—” Kira hesitated, then shook her head. “Dammit. I think Malkus is

starting to reassert himself.”

Toq said, “The only tales of Malkus using this artifact involve him controlling

people on a world where he was present. His range may not extend this far.”

“Bajor is farther from Narendra III than the region where Colonel Kira was

found,” Data said.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t fighting him tooth and claw on Bajor,” Kira said grimly. “He

caught me off guard. I may have just worn him down.”

“Earth is even farther away, yet Captain DeSoto was sufficiently enthralled to

steal the artifacts,” Data added, sounding nonplussed. Klag had heard that the

android was emotionless, so this almost petulant tone was something of a

surprise.

Tereth bared her teeth. “While I am sure he is a fine leader, Captain DeSoto is

not a warrior.”

Klag nodded. Unlike Klag, Tereth had never met Kira, but they both knew her

reputation.

“And for all we know,” Picard said, “DeSoto is fighting control just as hard.”

Klag smiled at Picard’s attempt to come to the defense of his friend. “Such

speculation, however, is irrelevant for the moment. Colonel, how many ships are

defending Narendra III?”

“I’m not sure. At least three were in orbit when I took the St. Lawrence out,

but there could have been more. And there was a civilian ship. I wasn’t exactly

in a position to do a full scan. But all those ships were under Malkus’s

control.”

“Understood. Captain, I suggest we rendezvous at the Narendra system’s Oort

cloud. We can survey the system from there, then plan our next move.”

Tereth cast a disdainful glance at the viewer. “There is only one next move,

Picard—to attack this Malkus and destroy him, so we can rescue those he has

enslaved and cure those he has infected.”

“Yes, but Picard is right,” Klag said. “We need to reconnoiter before charging

in.”

“Of course,” Tereth said, conceding the point.

“Have you made any progress regarding the sensor readings, Captain?” Klag asked.

“No.” Picard spoke with a certain amount of annoyance.

“Nor have we, though Lieutenant Toq has, at least, eliminated several

possibilities. We will send you what we have done so far.”

“We will do likewise.”

“Good.” Klag stood up. “We are due to arrive at Narendra in seven hours. We

shall speak again then. Gorkon out.”

Kira stood up as the viewer went blank. “Captain, I think it might be best if I

was sedated in your medical ward.”

“You anticipate Malkus reasserting his control?” Tereth asked.

“He might. And if he does, he’ll know everything I know. That’s too much of a

security risk, if we’re going to catch him off guard.”

Klag considered. “A wise move. My physician is, of course, not available,” he

said with a wry smile, “but I’m sure her nurse can handle so simple a task as

administering a sedative.” Klag opened the door to the wardroom and said to one

of the guards posted outside, “Take the colonel to the medical ward and have

Nurse Gaj attend to her.”

The guard nodded and Kira headed toward the door.

As she reached the threshold, Tereth said, “Colonel?”

Kira turned around.

“Should we live through this, I would be honored if you would share a drink with

us. There is a song you might wish to hear.”

Kira frowned. “Really?”

“We do not often immortalize our defeats, but—after the war, a song was written

called ‘The Battle for Deep Space 9.’ It was about Gowron’s failed attempt to

take your station four years ago. The third verse is primarily about you and the

way you slew ten warriors in your operations center while mortally wounded.”

Kira gave her an odd look. “Actually it was only five, and the reason it wasn’t

more was because the fifth one stabbed me, but—” She broke into a smile. “Thank

you, Commander. I look forward to hearing it.”

Toq also stood up. “With your permission, Captain, I will transmit data to the

Enterprise and see if theirs is of any use.”

Klag dismissed him with a nod. Once he departed, Klag was left alone with

Tereth. She had a look on her face that Klag had learned to recognize over the

past few months. He was also quite sure that Tereth herself didn’t realize that

Klag could read her so easily. “You are concerned?”

Tereth looked up suddenly in surprise. Klag hid a smile.

“Picard is known for many things,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Warfare is not among them. In single engagements, he has performed well, but—I

am not sure how useful an ally he will truly be if we have to go into battle

against multiple Defense Force ships.”

“I think,” Klag said, “the person who twice drove back Borg invasions of the

Alpha Quadrant and liberated Betazed from Dominion control is someone I am proud

to have by my side.”

“He turned back the Borg because he used their assimilation of him against

them—that is not an advantage he will have today. He liberated Betazed with the

aid of four other vessels, including that warship of theirs, the Defiant.”

Before Klag could respond to that, Tereth held up a hand. “I’m not saying he is

not a worthy ally, Captain, but I do think that you should take the lead.”

Klag stared at his first officer for several seconds. He wondered if she was

attempting to curry favor with him or if she truly believed what she said. Or,

perhaps, both. She had been a superlative first officer—though anyone would have

been an improvement on Drex—but she also had far more ambition than Klag was

always entirely comfortable with.

“Perhaps you are right,” he finally said. “But Picard has been commanding

starships since before either of us was born. I would no more presume to lead

him into battle than I would Chancellor Martok. However,” he added, standing up

from his chair, “I will not defer to him, either. This mission has been a

cooperative effort from the beginning. If we learned nothing else from the war,

Commander, it is that a united front is strongest.”

Tereth smiled. “Which applies to arms as well as battles, it would seem.”

Frowning, Klag asked, “What do you mean?”

“You just rose from the chair without stumbling, Captain. Congratulations.”

Klag turned around and stared at the chair. He hadn’t even thought about it. He

was too busy focusing on what he was saying to Tereth….

He threw his head back and laughed. Then he turned to his second-in-command.

“May it be the first victory of many this day.”

 

The second time B’Oraq awoke from unconsciousness in Klag’s shuttle was much

worse than the first. For one thing, where McCoy had apparently gently laid her

on the QongDaq, whoever their latest attacker was had simply tossed her

unceremoniously onto the deck of the fore compartment. For another, this time

the headache extended to her feet.

Once again, she awoke to Ambassador Worf’s face, and once again he asked, “Are

you all right, Doctor?”

“No. My head feels like a targ’ 'srunning loose in it. What happened?”

Worf helped her to her feet. B’Oraq noted that G’joth was still unconscious and

propped up against one of the bulkheads, and McKenna and Falce were standing and

rubbing their temples, looking like they were in considerable pain.

“We were victims of a telepathic attack,” Worf said. “Our captor rendered us

unconscious, placed us back inside the shuttle, and reactivated the forcefield.”

B’Oraq tugged on her braid. “I assume that we won’t be able to cobble together

another miracle device to wipe out the forcefield?”

“No.” Worf masked his anger well, but B’Oraq could feel the undercurrent in his

voice. She found it oddly appealing.

“So what do we do now?”

Falce muttered, “Panicking might not be a bad idea.”

“Oh, cut that out, Matt,” McKenna said. “There’s got to be a way out of this.”

A voice came from the still-open rear hatch. “Perhaps there—there is.”

B’Oraq turned to see a Vulcan male standing on the other side of the hatch.

After a moment, she realized that it was Ambassador Spock. After another moment,

she remembered what Worf had told her.

“Are you responsible for this?” she asked.

“Not—as such, no. I do not have much time. Malkus will reassert his control over

me—soon.”

Falce frowned. “Who’s Malkus?”

“A—tyrant from many millennia ago. Are you familiar—with Starfleet General Order

16, Lieutenant?”

B’Oraq knew nothing of the regulation, of course, but Worf immediately said,

“The fourth artifact?”

Spock nodded. “It was unearthed—here. Apparently, my exposure to—to one of the

other artifacts made me—susceptible to Malkus’s control. Three others—Dr. McCoy,

Colonel Kira Nerys, and Captain Robert DeSoto—are also enthralled. And,

Ambassador—I must apologize for my actions against you, Lieutenant Falce, and

Ensign McKenna. I was—not in my right mind at the time.”

“How are you able to resist now?” Worf asked.

“I am—not sure. Possibly because my brain chemistry has—changed since I

encountered the first artifact—when I died and was reborn on the Genesis

Planet.”

“Of course,” Worf said matter-of-factly, as if people talked about being

resurrected every day. B’Oraq looked at both of them as if they were insane.

McKenna saw the look, and gave the doctor a smile. “Trust me, this sort of thing

is normal for those two,” she said in a whisper. “Read any six random captain’s

logs for any ship named Enterprise, and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Malkus sent me,” Spock continued, “to place you back in the shuttle

and—reactivate the forcefield. I must—return soon or he will notice—that I have

taken too long—or that his control is not what it should be.”

Falce started fidgeting. “So why don’t you just deactivate the forcefield?”

“Great idea, Matt,” McKenna said. “Then we can get zapped again.”

“The ensign—is correct. I had hoped that another—possibility might present

itself.”

Spock, B’Oraq noticed, was giving Worf what seemed to be a very significant

look. Is this some kind of diplomat code or something? she thought.

Then she recalled her studies of Vulcan anatomy—particularly as related to the

Vulcan brain. “You’re suggesting a mind-meld, aren’t you?”

“I am—not, no,” Spock said. “However, it would—be a useful tool for allowing two

of us to resist—Malkus’s control.”

Worf stepped forward. “I will volunteer.”

“I don’t like this, Mr. Ambassador,” Falce said. “I’m not so sure he should be

trusted.”

“Perhaps,” Worf said. “But I would be the most—logical choice. I was the first

to recover from the psionic attack earlier, and I have felt no ill effects from

it. You are still obviously in pain, as are Dr. B’Oraq and Ensign McKenna—and

G’joth is still unconscious.”

B’Oraq hadn’t realized that her headache was so bad that the ambassador could

see it in her face. “I agree with Ambassador Worf,” she said. “His quick

recovery makes him the best choice. It means he’s more likely to be able to

retain his own self, and not be lost in the melding.”

Spock regarded B’Oraq. “You are—familiar with the mind-meld?”

She smiled. “I studied medicine at Starfleet Academy. It included a primer on

the medicinal applications of psionics, particularly as related to Vulcans,

Betazoids, and other telepathic races.”

“Indeed. We are—fortunate, then, that you are here to monitor.”

“I’m not sure how much I can monitor without equipment,” B’Oraq said ruefully,

“but I will try my best.”

The Vulcan ambassador removed a control from the folds of his robes and pressed

a button on it. The forcefield fell and he stepped inside the shuttle. “We

must—we must hurry. I can feel myself beginning to lose control once again.

Malkus has—spread himself fairly thin, which has—aided in my ability to resist.

But that ability—may weaken without the extra support—from Mr. Worf’s mind.”

Turning to Worf, B’Oraq put a hand on his arm. “Have you ever experienced a

mind-meld before?”

“No.”

“It can be a very—overwhelming experience. Try to focus on one particular

thing—a favorite song, a face, an image, anything —before you start. Use that as

a mental anchor.”

Worf nodded. “I understand.”

I hope so, she thought.

“Are you—are you ready?” Spock asked.

B’Oraq took a look at the older ambassador and thought that question applied

more to him. He looked horrible; the strain of trying to resist this Malkus

person’s control was obviously wearing on him. She hoped that this worked,

because if it didn’t, Spock would be in Malkus’s thrall again, and they’d be

back stuck in the shuttle with no way out. Or he might just decide we’re better

off dead….

In answer to Spock’s query, Worf simply said, “Yes.”

I don’t like this, B’Oraq thought. Usually the participants have some time to

get ready—a half an hour at least, especially if Spock is going to attempt a

meld as deep as I think he’s going to.

Spock stood face-to-face with Worf and placed his fingers on the areas of Worf’s

face that were closest to the neural pathways to the cerebellum.

“My mind—to your mind. My thoughts—to your thoughts. Our minds—become one…”

Chapter Fifteen

YOUNG WORF STOOD IN THE DOORWAY of his ancestral family home on Vulcan. His

father, Sarek, demanded to know where he’d been.

“I have been in the mountains,” Worf said.

“You are not to travel to the Llangon Mountains,” Sarek said.

Confused, Worf started to say that Father had taken his brother Sybok to the

Ural Mountains only last week.

“Come,” Sarek said. “It is time.”

 

Young Spock stood in the doorway of the Rozhenko home in Minsk. His adoptive

father, Sergey, demanded to know where he’d been.

“I have been in the mountains,” Spock said.

Father laughed. “We just went to the Ural Mountains with your brother Nikolai

last week.”

Confused, Spock started to say that Father had forbidden him travel to the

Llangon Mountains.

“Come,” Sergey said. “It is time.”

 

(My mind…)

 

“Oh, look, it’s the little human boy!”

“Stinking half-breed!”

“Why don’t you go back to Earth?”

“You’re not a real Vulcan!”

Young Worf was angered at the insults the other Vulcan children threw his way.

He wanted to kill them all—it wasn’t his fault that Mikel had died. He hadn’t

sufficiently restrained himself in the soccer game, but it wasn’t his fault that

their collision resulted in a broken neck!

 

“My God, he killed him!”

“Murderer!”

“Mikel’s dead!”

“Klingon savage!”

Young Spock was confused at the epithets the human teenagers on Gault threw his

way. He wanted to fight back—it wasn’t his fault that his mother was human and

that he couldn’t be like the other, full-blooded Vulcans.

 

(…to your mind…)

 

“Why do you reject the ways of logic, brother?”

Sybok smiled indulgently at Worf’s question. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Vulcan is your home, even more than it was ever mine!” Worf cried.

“You have made this your home,” Sybok said, putting a hand on Worf’s shoulder.

“But I never truly belonged here.”

With that, Worf’s half-brother turned on his heel and left the house at ShiKahr.

Worf would not see him again until many years later while serving on the

Enterprise….

 

“Why are you leaving Starfleet Academy, brother?”

Nikolai smiled indulgently at Spock’s question. “I don’t expect you to

understand.”

“You belong here, even more than I do,” Spock said calmly.

“No, this is where you were meant to be,” Nikolai said, putting a hand on

Spock’s shoulder. “But I never truly belonged here.”

With that, Spock’s foster brother turned on his heel and left the grounds of the

Academy. Spock would not see him again until many years later while serving on

the Enterprise….

 

(…my thoughts…)

 

Images of K’Ehleyr’s broken, bloody form filled Worf’s head as he lunged at Jim

Kirk. As they tumbled, Worf wrapped the ahn-woon around his old friend’s neck.

He had failed with the lirpa, but he would not fail now. As he lifted Kirk off

of him and all but dragged him to the coal fire, his mind was ravaged with but

one thought: K’Ehleyr will be mine forever! The needs of the Pon farr would be

fulfilled.

Kirk made a last, desperate lunge, which saved him from the heat of the coals,

but Worf never lost his grip on the ahn-woon. The light died in Jim Kirk’s eyes.

Victory was his….

 

Images of T’Pring’s serene face filled Spock’s head as he lunged at Duras. Spock

deflected Duras’s tik’leth strike with his bat’leth.

He had failed to save T’Pring from Duras, but he would not fail now. As he

parried another tik’leth strike and then moved onto the offensive, his mind was

ravaged with but one thought: T’Pring will be avenged! The right of vengeance

would be fulfilled.

Duras made a last, desperate parry, but it did him no good. Spock knocked him to

the ground and then slammed his family’s bat’leth into his enemy’s chest. The

light died in Duras’s eyes.

Victory was his….

 

(…to your thoughts…)

 

There were many days in Worf’s life that he would have defined as happy, though

he doubted he would have admitted it aloud to anyone. But to stand there on

Vulcan’s Forge and to marry Saavik right there with T’Lar officiating and all of

his crewmates from Deep Space 9 present was one of the moments he would treasure

until the day he died….

 

There were many days in Spock’s life that he would have defined as happy ,

though he doubted he would have admitted it aloud to anyone. But to stand there

in Quark’s bar and to marry Jadzia right there with Sirella officiating and

Sarek, McCoy, and Uhura present was one of the moments he would treasure until

the day he died….

 

(…our thoughts…)

 

It was small comfort as Worf stood there in the caves beneath Romulus, but at

least Jean-Luc Picard was there by his side—his lone support when he was

discommendated from the Klingon Empire.

*   *   *

It was small comfort as Spock stood there in the Great Hall on Qo’noS, but at

least Jean-Luc Picard had been able to mind-meld with Spock—his last connection

to his now-dead father, Sarek.

 

(…are becoming…)

 

Worf had thought that studying Kolinahr on Vulcan would be the answer to what

had ailed him since the Enterprise -D was destroyed on Veridian III. But then

came the siren call of V’Ger, and he knew he had to go back.

 

Spock had thought that studying under the clerics at Boreth would be the answer

to what had ailed him since he resigned from Starfleet at the end of the

Enterprise ’s five-year mission. But then came the orders to report to Deep

Space 9, and he knew he had to go back.

 

(…one.)

 

The news that Jim Kirk had been lost on the Enterprise -B to some kind of energy

ribbon had saddened Worf more than he thought it would. At least Kirk had

sacrificed himself to save the people of Bajor….

 

The news that Benjamin Sisko had been lost in the fire caves on Bajor had

saddened Spock more than he thought it would. At least Sisko had sacrificed

himself to save the el-Aurian refugees they’d rescued….

 

“It is done.”

B’Oraq stared at Worf and Spock. They’d only been “connected” for a minute or

so, though it had felt like hours. “Are you both all right?” she asked.

Spock nodded. “I am well. I cannot feel Malkus’s influence.”

“Good,” B’Oraq said.

Worf also nodded. “We shall have to hope that we will be able to continue our

resistance.”

“Great,” McKenna said, stepping forward, “let’s go, then.”

“No,” Spock said, putting a hand on McKenna’s shoulder, “you must stay here. As

soon as you leave this shuttle, you will once again be attacked by Malkus’s

psionic blast.”

“The ambassador is correct,” Worf said. “Logically, the best course of action

would be for you to remain here.”

“Agreed,” Spock said.

It took all of B’Oraq’s willpower to keep from laughing. Worf was now standing

in a much more relaxed posture than usual, with his arms resting in front of him

in a serene manner. In other words, the body language of a Vulcan. Spock, on the

other hand, was like a coiled spring. He no longer had the haggard look he had

come in with, and he seemed ready to attack at a moment’s notice.

Spock turned to Worf. “I don’t suppose you have any weapons?”

“No,” Worf said. “We were forced to cannibalize all of our weapons in order to

overload the forcefield earlier.”

“A wasted effort,” Spock said with disdain. “Our tactical position is much

weaker.”

“It was our best course of action at the time,” Worf said calmly. “What kind of

resistance can we expect?”

“Most of the planet’s population has been mentally enslaved by Malkus. He could,

in theory, turn them all against us.”

One of Worf’s eyebrows rose. “Then we shall have to use guile.”

“So it would seem,” Spock said.

“Indeed.” Worf turned to McKenna. “Ensign, remain vigilant. I will take Davok’s

communicator and use it to contact you should we feel that it is safe.” McKenna

was the only one of the two Starfleet officers who still had a combadge, since

Falce’s was used for the device.

Impatiently, Spock said, “Let us go.”

“Qapla’, ” B’Oraq said.

“Good luck,” Falce added.

Again, Worf raised an eyebrow. “I do not believe in random chance.”

This time, B’Oraq couldn’t hold in her laugh.

 

“I did tell you, did I not?” Rodek said to Toq. “B’Elath sang that wretched song

yesterday, and today we go into battle.”

Toq looked up at Rodek. It took him a moment to focus on the gunner’s presence,

much less what he had said. He had been completely focused on the energy

readings that he’d been studying for so many hours now. Stealing a glance at the

chronometer on his console, he saw that it was time for the morning duty shift,

which meant Rodek was reporting back to the gunner’s position. In theory, Toq

would have been doing so now as well, had he ever actually departed the bridge

since returning here after last night’s dinner.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said distractedly. “B’Elath.”

“You’ve been on duty all night?” Rodek asked. The question was asked

matter-of-factly.

“Yes. I still have not learned what these strange emissions are.”

Rodek took up his position to Toq’s right at the gunner’s station. Toq was back

at his operations console, since the ship was on alert status as they headed to

Narendra.

“Take heart, Toq,” Rodek said as he checked over his own console. “The famous

android of the Enterprise has not figured it out, either. In fact, there is

still the chance that you may find it first. That is a victory worth

celebrating.”

Toq laughed bitterly. “At this point, I would be just as happy if he did find

it—just so it would be found.”

“Interrogations are always easier when you know that the subject will talk

eventually.”

“Good point,” Toq muttered. “The universe is usually much more reluctant to talk

than your average prisoner.”

Tereth walked by just then. Toq had been worried that she might reprimand them,

but she said, “The universe is not our prisoner.”

Rodek regarded her. “Are you saying that we are prisoners of the universe,

Commander?”

“We are Klingons, ” she said quickly and with a menacing undertone, “we are no

one’s prisoner. We bend the universe to our will—which is why we will always be

victorious. We do not succumb.”

Toq entered a new scan into his console. “I wish the universe was our prisoner

right now.” He laughed. “In the old days, we could use the mind-sifter on—” He

cut himself off. “toH!”

“What is it?” Tereth asked.

“Computer!” he bellowed, not answering the first officer directly. “Call up

complete specifications for a mind-sifter.”

A security override flashed in front of him. Viewing such files required a

clearance he didn’t have.

“Why do you want to know about mind-sifters, Lieutenant?” Tereth asked in her

most serious tone. “They were banned by the Khitomer Accords.”

“Yes, but if I’m right, those readings are similar to the emissions given off by

a mind-sifter.”

Rodek gave him a look. “Mind-sifters don’t give off emissions.”

“Everything electronic gives off an emission of some kind. You just have to know

how to look for it.” Toq did not look at Rodek as he replied, as he was still

looking at Tereth. “Please, Commander, I think this is it.”

“Since such knowledge is restricted, how did you even know to recognize a

possible connection?”

Toq had been hoping the commander wouldn’t ask that. “I cannot say, Commander,

except that I gained the knowledge before I joined the Defense Force.” That

much, at least, was true. Living in the House of Lorgh for four years had been

a—complex experience, to say the least.

Tereth gazed at Toq for three seconds with an impenetrable expression. Then she

looked up. “Computer, grant Lieutenant Toq access to mind-sifter files, by

authorization of Commander Tereth.”

The computer recognized her voice pattern and the screen showed what Toq had

asked for.

“Thank you, Commander,” he said, gazing hungrily at the readings. “If I am

right, this may be the solution to our problems.”

“What problems?” Rodek asked.

“Colonel Kira told us that Malkus was able to take over the minds of the entire

population of Narendra III. If we can identify how he controls people, we might

be able to defend against it.”

Toq then studied the readings. The waveforms were very similar, as he had

thought, but…

“Commander,” he said, suddenly looking up at Tereth, “permission to contact the

Enterprise. I would like Commander Data to verify this and confer with him on a

possible solution.”

“Granted.”

Within minutes, Data’s face occupied the bridge’s viewer, and Toq had filled him

in. Tereth had, in the meantime, left Toq in charge of the bridge while she

briefed the captain.

“An interesting theory, Lieutenant,” Data said with enthusiasm. “However, we do

not have any records of the mind-sifter apparatus, as your government never

shared them with us.”

“I am sending along the relevant portions of the schematics now,” Toq said;

having anticipated this request, he had partitioned out the portion of the

schematics that dealt specifically with the emissions. Even the famed android

wouldn’t be able to construct a mind-sifter with the limited information Toq was

transmitting, so there was no security breach. “It is a very close match.”

“Datalink established,” Data said, looking down at his console. “Information

incoming.” He looked up. “If I may ask, Lieutenant—what led you to this train of

thought?”

“An accident,” Toq said with only mild embarrassment. Several chuckles went

around the bridge, prompting Toq to add, “Most of the greatest discoveries ever

made were accidents.”

“Indeed. Zalkatian ruins have been found on many Klingon worlds over the

centuries. It is possible that the mind-sifter was created from technology

adapted from one of those sites.” Something grabbed his attention on the

console. “Data transfer complete. Accessing.” A pause. “I believe you are

correct, Lieutenant.”

The screen changed to a more general view of the bridge in response to another

speaker: Picard. “What does this mean in practical terms, Commander?”

Data turned to face his captain, leaving his back to the viewer. “I believe that

we can modify the tractor beams of both the Enterprise and the Gorkon to emit a

psilosy-nine wave that matches the amplitude and frequency of the energy

emissions from Narendra III.”

Klag chose that moment to walk on the bridge, Tereth behind him. “You’re

assuming, Commander, that such emissions are coming from Narendra.”

“Yes,” Data said, turning back to the viewer, “but it is a reasonable assumption

under the circumstances.”

“Can’t we make a portable psilosynine wave guide?” Toq asked. “Then we could

bathe individuals in the frequency—it would modulate their electroencephalogram

to make them resist Malkus’s control.”

Klag smiled at his second officer before taking his command chair. “That would

give us the advantage we need.”

“Agreed,” Picard said. “Mr. Data?”

“It can be done, sir. I believe that Commander La Forge and I can replicate such

a device by the time we reach Narendra.”

“Good,” Klag said. “Then, when we arrive at the Oort cloud, you can beam over

here and test it on Colonel Kira. If it frees her from Malkus’s control, then it

will work.”

Picard nodded in agreement. “Make it so, Mr. Data.”

Getting up from his station, Data said, “Aye, sir,” and moved out of the

viewer’s range.

“We will speak again when we arrive, Captain Picard,” Klag said. “Screen off.”

Toq deactivated the viewer. Then he looked up to see Klag smiling at him from

his command chair. “Well done, Lieutenant. A true warrior goes into battle with

the proper weapon—and you may have given us the best possible one.”

Beaming with pride, Toq said, “Thank you, sir.”

Rodek leaned over. “And if we live this day, we will celebrate your victory over

the android.”

Laughing, Toq said, “Oh, the bloodwine will flow very freely tonight!”

 

Vralk was late for his shift. He had overslept, like a fool. It was all well and

good to think poorly of one’s commanding officers, but it was better to proceed

from a position of moral certitude. If Vralk was to get any kind of support from

the crew for his planned overthrow of the Gorkon command structure, he’d need

his own record to be above reproach.

Today, in fact, was when he intended to begin his campaign. He’d spent his time

aboard getting the lay of the land, and he knew that there needed to be a

change.

Vralk’s father had raised him to be a better Klingon than one who simply stood

by and let such deterioration of values go unchallenged—unlike Toq and Rodek.

And Vralk knew that there simply had to be others who supported him. Lokor, for

one. He was a Housemate of Vralk’s, so he knew—

“Vralk! I will speak to you!”

The deep voice that halted Vralk in the corridor was Lokor himself, the chief of

security for the Gorkon. Vralk had always admired Lokor growing up.

“It is good to see you, Lokor, but I am late for my shift, and—”

“Then be late.”

Finally, Vralk realized just how furious Lokor was. His black eyes smoldered,

his long, elaborately braided hair seemed to cover his head in a black flame,

and all his teeth were bared. If it were anyone else, Vralk would fear that he’d

be challenged. “What is it, cousin?”

Lokor spit. “Cousin—pfagh! You are no cousin of mine, you are an idiotic petaQ

of a child!”

Vralk found his mouth falling open in shock. “I—I don’t understand!”

“What kind of idiotic things are you saying to the rest of the bridge crew,

boy?”

“I—”

Lokor leaned in close. Vralk could smell the raktajino and gagh on his breath,

and he imagined he could hear the blood roaring in Lokor’s veins. “I just had a

talk with Lieutenant Rodek. He wanted to know if there was dissatisfaction with

Captain Klag in the ranks. If there was concern about having a man such as him

in command and having a female as his first.”

Vralk let out a breath in relief. “I assume you told him the truth, cousin.” He

turned to continue walking toward the bridge, assuming Lokor would accompany

him. “You of all people know that this kind of perversion has to be stopped

before—”

His words were interrupted by Lokor’s meaty hand punching him in the back. Vralk

stumbled forward onto the deck. Lokor then picked him up and slammed him into

the bulkhead.

“I—I don’t understand,” Vralk managed to cough out. It was suddenly very

difficult to breathe. “You—you grew up with—with Grunnil just as—as I did!

You’re the only thing that has made assignment to this cesspool tolerable!”

“In that case,” Lokor said—and now he was smiling, but it was a smile that

filled Vralk with tremendous dread—“this cesspool is about to get much much

worse.” He leaned in close, his arm pressing Vralk against the bulkhead, making

it even more difficult to breathe. “Understand something, Vralk. You’re only

still alive right now because of me. And the only way you’re going to stay alive

is to—”

Vralk knew where this was going. “Betray Grunnil’s teachings?” He couldn’t

believe that a Klingon was saying these words to him.

“No, toDSaH —the only way for you to stay alive is to get off this ship as fast

as you can. Trust me, you will find no allies to rally to Grunnil’s antique

causes here. You’re in the real world now, boy, and it’s time you acted like it.

Trust me—keep your head down, your mouth shut, and I will see to it that you are

transferred before your hearts become targets for d’k tahg practice.”

With that, Lokor stood up straight, relieving the pressure from Vralk’s chest.

However, since that was also all that was holding him up against the bulkhead,

he fell to the deck.

“This is the only warning you’ll get, boy. And do not expect being part of my

House to protect you any further.”

Lokor walked back down the corridor the way he had come. Vralk coughed once and

struggled to his feet.

As he now ran to the turbolift, he thought, This place is worse than I imagined.

My work is cut out for me….

No, I cannot afford to be the idiot Lokor thinks me to be. I am in no position

to effect change—yet. I must be patient. He entered the turbolift. I shall take

that transfer, and work my way up the ranks. Eventually, I will be able to show

everyone what it truly means to be Klingon.

 

Kira was having a strange dream.

She was walking all over Deep Space 9, but it had been abandoned. Yet every once

in a while, out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone familiar. First there

was her father. Then Commander Vaughn. Then Kai Opaka. Then Quark. That led her

to run into Quark’s Bar, where she found Jake Sisko, Odo, Morn, and both Jadzia

and Ezri Dax all drinking through straws from a vat of kanar.

Jadzia looked at her and said, “Colonel, you awake?” But she said it in a man’s

voice.

Then the bar started to congeal and melt into an amalgam of random colors and

lights that, after a second, coalesced into the more familiar sight of the

Gorkon medical ward.

The last conscious thought she remembered having was the unpleasant face of

Nurse Gaj standing over her. Now, though, there were four different people

gazing intently at her. She knew all of them: Klag and Toq from this ship and

Data and Geordi La Forge from the Enterprise. In fact, in her dream Jadzia had

spoken with La Forge’s voice.

“You all right?” La Forge asked.

What is going on here? “I’m fine—I think.”

Toq asked, “Do you feel the influence of Malkus?”

Kira was about to instinctively answer in the affirmative when she realized

that, in fact, she didn’t feel Malkus at all. She hadn’t noticed it until Toq

mentioned it, but—“No, he’s—he’s gone.” She broke into a smile. “It’s nice to

have my head to myself.”

“It worked!” Toq said.

“What worked?” Kira asked.

Klag smiled. “You, Colonel, are the beneficiary of the genius of the other three

men in this room. We have found a way to combat Malkus’s telepathic influence.”

“That’s the good news,” La Forge added.

Frowning, Kira asked, “What’s the bad news?”

“We are presently in the Narendra system’s Oort cloud,” Klag said. “Sensors are

detecting seven Defense Force ships and one Federation civilian ship in orbit of

Narendra III—and they are in defensive formation. The civilian ship is a part of

the formation, which leads us to think—”

“That they’re all under Malkus’s control,” Kira finished. “Dammit.”

Klag nodded. “Three of the ships are birds-of-prey under the command of Captain

Huss. I know for a fact that they were at Ty’Gokor only yesterday.”

“It is likely,” Data said, “that they came to Narendra III and were also

enthralled by Malkus.”

“So it’s four-to-one odds,” Kira said. “Assuming Malkus doesn’t enslave the rest

of us.”

La Forge smirked. “Well, thanks to Toq here, that won’t be an issue for us. The

thing is, we can neutralize Malkus altogether with our modified deflector—we’re

gonna rig it so that it broadcasts a large-scale version of what we hit you

with. I was hoping to modify both ships, but the Gorkon’ 'sdeflector won’t take

to the modification, at least not in the time we’ve got. But if we’re under

fire…”

“Reinforcements?” Kira asked.

“The seven ships in orbit comprise all the Defense Force ships assigned to this

sector,” Klag said bitterly. “Others are en route, as are Starfleet

ships—including the Defiant and the Hood —but no help will arrive for at least

two more days. And we cannot afford to wait.”

Data said, “Dr. Crusher has replicated the cure for the disease, based on the

records from the Constellation and the Enterprise a century ago, but we cannot

administer it until Malkus is neutralized.”

La Forge put a hand on Data’s shoulder. “I need to get back and rig up the

deflector.”

Nodding, Data said, “Lieutenant Toq and I will inoculate the Gorkon crew against

Malkus’s influence. Then I shall return to the Enterprise and do the same for

our crew.”

“How long will that take?” Klag asked.

“About an hour,” La Forge said. “And at that, we’ll be pushing it, but Beverly

said we can’t afford to wait much longer than that if we’re going to have any

chance of curing those people.”

“Get to it, all of you,” Klag said, and the trio departed the medical ward.

Kira got up from the biobed. Klag shot her a look. “What are you doing?”

Standing at attention, she said, “Colonel Kira Nerys, reporting for duty,

Captain.”

Klag threw his head back and laughed a loud, hearty laugh. “You are not a member

of the Defense Force, Colonel.”

“No, but I’m sure as hell not gonna sit around and let you do all the work,” she

said with a smile. “I’m ready, eager, and damn willing. So give me a post,

Captain.”

Still smiling, Klag touched his communicator. “Klag to Rodek. Lieutenant, has a

new fore port gunner been assigned?”

“Bekk Lojar was to be assigned, sir.”

“Is there some reason why he shouldn’t be?”

“He is a half-blind yIntagh with the gunnery skill of a grishnar cat. Otherwise

he is perfectly adequate for the job. Sir.”

Kira smiled. This Rodek person spoke in a very simple tone, conveying none of

the invective of his words.

“We have someone else for the position, Lieutenant. Out.” Klag cut the

connection. “The Gorkon has four secondary gunnery positions for the twelve

rotating disruptor arrays. One of the warriors assigned to the position died in

a duel a week ago, and—as you heard—his replacement is inadequate.”

Breaking into a grin, Kira said, “Not anymore, she isn’t. I’ll report to the

bridge right away.”

“Good,” Klag said, leading her out of the medical ward. “Our controls may be

strange to you. I suggest taking the next hour to familiarize yourself.”

“Captain, I’ve flown Bajoran sub-impulse raiders, Starfleet starships, Klingon

birds-of-prey, and Jem’Hadar strike ships. I think I can handle a rotating

disruptor array.”

“Then report for duty, Colonel,” Klag said as they arrived at a turbolift. “I

will see you on the bridge.”

Kira entered the lift and headed to her temporary new post.

Chapter Sixteen

MALKUS SEETHED —AS MUCH AS A disembodied mind could seethe, in any case.

It was impossible for one consciousness to maintain control over thousands of

minds. But if the Instrument could allow control over only a few people at a

time, it was functionally useless to Malkus. So Aidulac’s team had hit upon a

way of sending out shards of the user’s telepathic essence to the person being

controlled. That sliver of Malkus—independent, yet connected—provided the

control. Malkus himself could monitor assorted shards and make adjustments as

needed, but it was not required that he himself maintain constant oversight.

That ability had many good points. It meant that he was able to imprint shards

of himself in the other three artifacts, and it enabled the number of people he

could enslave to be in the thousands. The one bad point was that pawns could

sometimes slip out of his control without his knowing it right away.

Most frustrating was his inability to hold on to Spock. The ambassador had been

able to resist control practically from the beginning, and it had taken Malkus a

great deal of effort forcing the shard of his consciousness to maintain its

grip.

Then, when he checked on Kira Nerys, he found that his shard was nowhere to be

found in her mind. Somehow, she had managed to expel it.

Unfortunately, until he was able to attach the fourth Instrument to the Great

Rectangle, he did not have sufficient power to reestablish his control over her.

As it was, he barely had enough to control the people on this planet and the

ships in orbit. The former were busy constructing new buildings and structures

and weapons for Malkus’s use, as well as an android body for him to transfer his

consciousness into.

When Spock had yet to return from dealing with the people in the shuttle, he

connected with the shard in the ambassador’s mind—only to find that it, too, was

nowhere to be found.

No, wait—it was there, but it was cowering in an astral “corner” of Spock’s

consciousness, helpless. Malkus tried to take direct control, but he could not.

There was something—different. The mental impression from Spock should have

enabled Malkus to have complete control.

Then he realized that the mental impression was divided—split into two beings.

Spock had performed some kind of telepathic trickery with the other ambassador

he had traveled with in order to gain an advantage.

At that moment, Spock and his fellow diplomat—Worf—became more trouble than they

were worth. As useful as they might have been, they now needed todie—as did