Star Trek: The Hand of Kahless (37 page)

“I could go with you
now,
” she suggested. “To the mountains, I mean. I could remain at your side the long Cold through.”

“No,” he told her. “It wouldn’t work for me to have a mate when none of the others do. It would cause jealousy, dissension. Besides, if Molor were to catch us, the worst he could do is kill us. A female, especially a strong one, would be handled much worse.”

Kellein ran her long-nailed fingers through his hair. “But you’ll come back in the Growing.” It wasn’t a question. “And then you’ll ask the Lord Vathraq for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

He grunted. “I will indeed. That is, if I’m still alive.”

She eyed him with a forcefulness he had never seen in a woman before. It robbed him of his breath.

“You’ll still be alive,” Kellein told him, “if you know what’s good for you.”

Alexander couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling, imagining fleecy sheep leaping over fences in a land of rolling, green hills. They leaped one at a time, making long, lazy jumps.

It didn’t work. It had
never
worked. And it didn’t make it any easier that he had never seen an actual sheep in his whole, entire life.

The only reason Alexander even tried counting sheep was that his mother had suggested it to him. He clung to things he remembered about her a little more than was absolutely necessary.

Like the way she used to sneak up on him and hug him when he wasn’t expecting it. Or the way she would recite nursery rhymes to him, which she claimed were from Earth but sounded more Klingon than human.

Little Red Riding Hood, for instance. Didn’t that one end with a woodchopper slicing a wolf into bloody bits?

Then there was Snow White, where an evil stepmother poisoned the heroine of the tale with a piece of fruit. K’mpec, who led the High Council before Gowron, died after being poisoned.

And what about the Three Billygoats Gruff? Unless Alexander was mistaken, that was about an animal who butted his enemy off a bridge and saw him drown in the waters below. If that wasn’t Klingon, what was?

The boy sighed. He missed his mother.

And now, at least for a while, he missed his father as well. He wished Worf had been able to tell him something more about his mission. It would’ve made the darkness a little less dark if he knew something.
Anything.

Suddenly, he remembered. His father had received a subspace message recently. Alexander hadn’t thought to ask about it at the time, assuming it was something official or Worf would have discussed it with him.

But now he wondered. Could it have had something to do with the mission his father was on now? If that was the case, there would be some evidence of it in the ship’s computer system.

Swiveling in bed, Alexander lowered his feet to the floor, got up, and padded over to the computer terminal in the next room. At the same time, he called for some illumination.

As the lights went on, the boy deposited himself on the chair in front of the computer screen. Then he accessed the log for this particular terminal. It showed him a long list of communications, the vast majority of them from other sites on the
Enterprise.

There was only one from off-ship. And its origin was the Klingon Empire!

Alexander’s hands clenched into fists. His instincts had been right on target so far. Now it was a matter of bringing the message up on the screen.

If it was classified information, he would be out of luck. No one could get into those files without Starfleet priority clearance. And even if he could somehow hack his way around that fact, he wouldn’t. He liked the officers on this ship too much to get in trouble with them.

With a few touches of his padd, the boy established that the message wasn’t classified after all. But it
was
restricted to this terminal and one other—the captain’s.

And Captain Picard had gone with Alexander’s father on the mysterious mission.
The pieces are starting to fall into place,
thought Alexander. Whatever was in the message, it had something to do with Worf’s being called away.

Of course, he could tear the cover off this mystery right now. Tapping again at his padd, he called up the file.

What he saw came as a surprise to him. There was no call for help. In fact, it wasn’t really a message at all. It was a history of some kind.

Curious, he read a few lines. And then a few more. It talked about Kahless and the kinds of things he did when he was young, but it didn’t seem to jibe too well with what Alexander knew of him. In fact, it seemed to be talking about someone else altogether.

Intrigued, the boy propped his elbows on his desk. Resting his face in his hands, he read on.

Picard couldn’t help frowning a little as he followed Kahless and Worf into the dining hall in Tolar’tu. After all, his hood was hardly a foolproof disguise. Anyone who had an opportunity to peer closely inside it would realize in a moment he was no Klingon.

All the more reason not to attract undue attention. Keeping his eyes straight in front of him, the captain felt the warmth of the firepit as he crossed the room.

There was a table in the corner with room for three. Kahless gestured, and they all sat down. Taking a moment to survey the place, Picard decided it was just as the clone had described it.

Nearly everyone was wearing a hood. Most were sitting alone, minding their own business, but there were pairs and trios as well. And everyone spoke in such low voices it was difficult to hear what they were saying.

The captain turned to Kahless. “Are they here?” he whispered.

The clone shook his head. “Not yet. But soon.” He eyed Worf. “And you will recognize Lomakh when you see him, I promise. That is, if you look closely enough.”

Picard and his security officer exchanged glances. Worf sat back in his chair and frowned.

No doubt, the lieutenant was wondering if he’d done the right thing encouraging his captain to come here. The closer they’d gotten to the dining hall, the more skeptical Worf’s expression had become.

Still,
Picard mused,
they had ventured this far. As the expression went, in for a penny, in for a pound.

He had barely finished the thought when the door opened and two men walked in. One was tall, the other shorter and broad. Like everyone else here, they wore cowls to conceal their features.

Kahless turned to his companions. Picard could tell from the gleam in the Klingon’s eye that these two were the ones he’d warned them about. Nonetheless, Kahless felt compelled to underline the point.

“It’s them,” he breathed.

Worf looked past him at the newcomers. They sat down at a table on the other side of the room and bent their heads until they were almost touching.

“You see?” Kahless commented. “Do they not look like conspirators?”

The captain sighed. The newcomers looked no more conspiratorial than anyone else in the place. “You said Mister Worf would recognize one of them.”

The clone nodded. “Yes. The tall one.”

Worf’s eyes narrowed in the shadow of his hood. “I cannot tell from here,” he decided. “I will need a better look.”

“Then by all means, take one,” Kahless urged.

His frown deepening, the security officer got up and crossed the room to the firepit. Once there, he made a show of warming his hands by its flames. Then he returned to the table.

“Well?” Kahless prodded.

Worf paused for a moment, then nodded. “I believe the tall one is Lomakh. I do not recognize the other.”

“Then you see what I am saying,” the clone hissed, triumphant. “What would Lomakh be doing in a place like this, concealing his face with a hood…unless it was to plan Gowron’s overthrow?”

“Unfortunately,” said Picard, “he could be doing a great many things.” He was still unconvinced.

“I told you,” Kahless insisted. “I read their lips. I saw them speak of plucking Gowron from the council like a fattened
targ
.”

As on the colony world, the captain turned to Worf, relying on his judgment and his expertise. “What do you think?” he asked.

The lieutenant sighed. “As an officer in the Defense Force, Lomakh is taking a risk coming here. It does not make sense that he would do so—unless he deemed it a greater risk to conduct his conversation elsewhere.”

“In other words,” said Picard, “you agree with the emperor’s assessment of the situation.”

Again, Worf paused a moment, ever cautious. “Yes,” he replied at last. “For now, at least, I agree.”

The captain absorbed the response. As far as he was concerned, they had seen enough. They could go.

But if they left without eating, Lomakh might notice and wonder about it. And if he really was part of a conspiracy, it might then dig itself an even deeper hole, from which it would be impossible to extricate it. So they hunkered down within their cowls and stayed.

A couple of minutes later, a serving maid came over. The clone ordered for all three of them. Fortunately, Picard was a connoisseur of Klingon fare, so he would arouse no suspicion in that regard.

His only disappointment was the lack of fresh gagh. Apparently, he would have to settle for the cooked variety.

The food wasn’t long in coming. But at Kahless’s request, they lingered over it, giving him more time to read lips and gather information. In the end, he failed to discover anything useful.

After a rather extended stay, Lomakh and his crony paid for their meals and left the place. The captain felt a bit of tension go out of him. Lomakh hadn’t seemed to pay any undue attention to them. Apparently, they had been careful enough to avoid suspicion.

Finishing their food, which was as tasty as the clone had predicted, they gave Lomakh enough time to make himself scarce. Then Kahless took care of their bill and they departed.

Outside, the air was chill and the sun was beginning to set, turning the sky a few shades darker in the west. Obviously, they had been in the dining hall longer than Picard had imagined.

As they retraced their steps toward the main square, which was a good half-kilometer distant, the captain asked “Now what?”

Kahless looked at him. “I was hoping you would have a suggestion, Picard. After all, the captain of the
Enterprise
must wield considerable power.”

Picard understood the implication—or thought he did. “Not the kind you need, I’m afraid. We can’t exactly assume orbit around Qo’noS, beam down a security team, and place Lomakh under arrest. That is, if we even believed that was a good idea.”

“Which it is not,” the clone agreed. “As I myself pointed out, Lomakh is only a part of this. If we were to arrest him, we would never expose the rest of the conspiracy.” His eyes narrowed beneath his bony brow. “I was speaking more in terms of your influence, Picard. Surely, the Federation maintains spies within the Empire, who would—”

The captain looked at him. “Spies?” he repeated. He laughed. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Kahless returned the look. “It is only logical. With the surgical techniques available, I imagine—”

“The Empire and the Federation are
allies,
” Picard asserted. “We have no spies among the Klingons.”

The clone smiled a thin smile. “Either you are naive or you seek to conceal the truth, human. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and embrace the first possibility.”

The captain shook his head. “I am neither concealing anything nor am I naive. We conduct no espionage within the Empire, period.”

Kahless harrumphed. “Then your Starfleet Headquarters informs you of every move it makes—without exception?”

Picard could see this was getting them nowhere. “Believe what you like,” he said. “The bottom line is I have no influence here, no resources. If we are to expose Lomakh’s conspiracy, we will have to resort to other means.”

The clone frowned. “Very well. If you won’t help, or can’t, we can always call on our—”

Picard looked at him, wondering why he’d stopped in midsentence. Then he saw the masked figures emerging from the alleyway to Kahless’s right, each of them clutching a three-bladed
d’k tahg
in either hand.

Even as the captain prepared himself for their onslaught, he spared a glance in the opposite direction—and saw more trouble coming from the alley opposite. Altogether, it looked to be six or seven against their three. Fortunately, Picard and his allies weren’t entirely unprepared.

They hadn’t been able to carry phasers off the
Enterprise,
for fear of being identified by them—and disruptors might also draw undue attention. But everyone carried a blade of some sort, and Kahless had seen to it they were no exception.

Slipping his
d’k tahg
free of the sheath on his thigh, the captain braced himself. Before he knew it, one of their assailants was on top of him. Twisting quickly to one side, Picard narrowly avoided disembowelment. And as the Klingon’s momentum carried him past, the human slammed his hilt into the back of the warrior’s head.

The masked one hit the ground and lay still. Picard barely had time to kneel and pick up a fallen
d’k tahg
before the next assault came. This time, perhaps seeing what the captain had done already, his adversary approached more slowly and deliberately.

Then, with a viciously quick and accurate lunge, he stabbed at Picard’s throat. The human fended off the attack with one of his own blades and countered with a backhand slash of his own. The Klingon leaped back, and the slash fell short.

Almost too late, Picard turned and realized what was really happening. The frontal assault was only a decoy, so a second Klingon could stab him from behind. Reacting instantly, he ducked—and the second assailant sailed over his head, confounding the first.

That gave the captain a chance to see how his companions were doing. He noted with relief that they were both still alive. There was blood running down the side of Worf’s face and Kahless had a wet, dark rent in the shoulder of his tunic, but their wounds weren’t slowing them down.